Honor and Distinction: Act II (Complete)

by EPClover

Military life in the Empire continues as Valen Rannix returns to a fleet seeking vengeance and justice against the Rebellion for the destruction of the first Death Star. Andorus Merik, newly transferred to the Imperial Marines, must also adjust as he fights his way through the frontlines of the Galactic Civil War.

Act II

Chapter I: Sand

Murmurs. Echoing. Muffled words. The voices of squadmates. Friends. Mentors. They blur together; a warbling mess, unable to be discerned, but not at all inaudible. Rather, absolutely unignorable. The voices are ever present in Valen's mind, as if being spoken directly into his ear all at once. Friendly jokes, first meetings, imparted wisdom, they all ring in his head until the cacophony is unbearable. The laughs streak across Valen's mind like fire, the cries of friends and burning ion engines. Listening to the harsh screams of the TIEs, Valen flies amongst his Delta fighter squadron, high above the surface of the Death Star. Darius soars out in front with his Epsilons, and they're flying directly at a flight of X-Wings and Y-Wings.

"Epsilons, Deltas, take them out!" One by one, as they approach, the Epsilons disappear in flame all around Valen, each pilot begging for him to help, until only Darius and Valen remain.
"Take out that Y-Wing, Rannix!" Shouts Darius' staticky voice through the comms. Valen dives on the Y-Wing and fires his TIE's green laser bolts into its tail. The shields hold, unaffected. The sluggish Y-Wing remains in front of him as he tries another burst. Nothing. "Take it out! Quick!" Darius pleads to Valen as the Y-Wing goes down to the surface. "Before they kill all our pilots! Hurry Valen!" Valen lines up and gives it all he's got, firing continuously. But the shields hold as if he isn't firing anything at all. Valen watches as his weapon temperature gauge reaches the red zone. The Y-Wing bombs the surface in a bright red fireball, and swivels it's ion turret towards him and Darius. The blue ionization crashes into Valen's cockpit, and he convulses uncontrollably in his seat. The panels all around his cockpit fry and spark, as Valen writhes in pain.

He hears Darius screaming out as his fighter is disabled as well, but the voice sounds strange, like someone else. "We're losing him! Help me!" Valen tries to recover from the shock, and tensely looks out his front window as X-Wing fighters close in on his friend.
"F-Folund!"
"Valen! Help!-" Valen tries to let out a scream as he watches Folund's TIE break apart and fall to the surface in flames, but can't eek out a breath. It's as if his chest is being constricted. The X-Wings spin around and close in on Valen's defenseless ship, as he tries in vain to get a response from any of his control surfaces. Frantically, he pounds at his buttons and switches as the fighters come in right on top of him, and pierce his cockpit with blazing red light.

Valen shoots upward screaming, and is pinned down onto his back by multiple people. He thrashes his limbs around, unable to make words as howls and cries tear forth from his throat. The room rolls like there is no up or down. He whirls onto his side, trying to kick away the men attacking him, but they flip him onto his back and hold him there. Someone puts their knee on his chest, and a stabbing pain shoots through him, paralyzing, and suffocating. Valen's vision begins to go black as he gasps for air, the men grabbing his flailing arms.

Valen's mouth opens wide in his helmet, trying to steal a breath in vain from his life support unit. He claws at his own chest, and cycles his life support system, releasing air through his breather tubes again. He heaves and sighs, taking in breath as if it were a treasure long forbidden to him. He looks about his darkened cockpit, and it's quiet once again. His breath begins to calm and quiet down, and he assesses the situation.

The power is out, save for a few functions. It's cold, freezing, and black inside the cockpit of his fighter. In shock, Valen checks his systems as he looks at his cockpit glass. It's covered in frost, as are his instrument panels. So much, it's like he's outside, in the snow. Valen's never seen snow before. Not outside of a training simulator, anyway. He unlatches his harness, and slowly reaches forward with his gloved hand. Swiping across his front viewport, he can see the stars outside. He wipes the frost away, and as he gets to the bottom of the window, there is a horizon. Valen cocks his helmeted head to one side as he continues to brush the frost away.

Wait. This is the Death-

The horizon immediately, and deafeningly erupts, the shockwave crashing into his fighter and heaving it up from underneath. Valen lets out a strangled yell that will not get any louder, no matter how hard he strains. The starfield whirls around in his viewport as the cockpit glass shatters and showers him in sharp, stinging pain. As he tumbles out of control, the telltale orange glow of an engine fire starts to peek around the outside of his window.

Valen swings his limbs around, trying to climb his way out of the fighter, but he's pinned to the other side of the cockpit from the escape hatch. The fire tears through the viewports into the cabin, engulfing Valen in flames. He slaps at his arms and body to put the flames out, but the fire is overwhelming; a terrible and blinding pain. In a panic, Valen thrashes in his cockpit, trying to break his way out, smashing his hands into his instruments. In a final push, he lets loose a scream of horror, muffled by bubbles.

Valen's eyes open wide, and his body is in mid-motion, crashing his limbs against a piece of glass. Someone on the other side is running up to him from below, waving their arms over their head and mouthing, "No!" The person looks….bluish-green. In fact, everything looks bluish-green. Valen looks down at his hands and feet, and sees that he is suspended in a tank of cyan colored fluid.

…Bacta? Where…But I was just...

As the person runs up from the other side of the room to the console in front of the tube, they put a hand up, palm forward, as if to tell Valen to be calm. As Valen pulls his hands away from the glass, his limbs start to sway slowly, and gently, out to his sides. The person reaches down to the console and clicks a switch. Valen flinches slightly, as the gentle sound of static permeates the fluid.

"Lieutenant Commander Rannix. Can you hear me?" The voice comes through, tinny and dry, the smooth static in the background. As the voice stops, the static clicks off again. Valen tries to speak, but only bubbles rush up into his eyes. He lifts his hands to feel his mouth and nose are covered in a breathing mask. As he starts to make sense of his surroundings, he looks down at the medic, and slowly nods his head in the thick liquid. The light static hisses back to life, with the person giving a pause, then speaking clearly and succinctly. "You are on the Star Destroyer Tyrant, sir. Try to rest."

Giving his full attention, Valen nods again, slowly. As the person salutes him and walks out, Valen slowly drifts back away from the glass that surrounds him, and relaxes in the middle of the tank, his limbs feeling as if they are floating away from his body in the neutrally warm bacta. Valen lets his body go slack, and his head begins to gently tilt back, until he's looking at the ceiling. He closes his eyes and puts himself at ease as he rests.

I'm saved. My Empire has rescued me.

---

"Valen. Are you alright?" Valen looks down at his drink, and feels his father's hand fall gently on his shoulder. Overwhelming sadness starts to wash over him as Valen can feel his father's reassuring hand pat down on him.
"I'm gonna to miss you, dad. And mom, too." Valen looks up at his father's face. Father is smiling, but with a turned up wrinkle in his brow.

"Son, you've become such a great man. Your graduation means so much to our family, and I know you will bring glory to our Empire."

"What if we don't make it back?"
"We'll make it, Valen." Ando walks up with a drink in his hand, wearing his Naval Academy uniform as well. "We'll watch out for each other."

We'll watch out for each other.

The silence of the beautiful gardens begins to give way to a calamitous rumble. The rumble grows, accompanied by a sharp shriek.

"I said, 'how long is that gonna take?'" A scout trooper leans in with a wide, low stance, his buzzy, demanding voice emanating from the speaker on the front. The trooper's strange monocle lens looks out from under the helmet's overhanging square visor.
"I'll have it locked down Scout Sergeant, 3-4 minutes."
"Get it done, Lance Corporal! We launch the bikes in 5!" Ando sits on one knee in the dark, a case of tools under his foot to keep it from wandering away on the moving floor. Deafening thuds accompany huge, heaving movements, rocking the dim compartment back and forth. He looks miserably up at the ceiling as a harsh screeching sound sings over the thumps and clangs; metal scraping together. The only lights come from blinding white portholes in the sides. The thundering metal box is unbearably hot inside as Ando pants and wipes at his shining forehead, replacing beads of sweat with streaks of black grease. He leans forward against a sand painted speeder bike as it hangs from its rack, and looks into the main part of the armored room. Towering special forces sandtroopers stand at the sides with each of their hands holding a loop next to their heads. Ando looks at one of them as they stare out a tiny hole in the thick wall, blinding white light bleeding through and reflecting off of a dirty white helmet. The troopers sway and rock with the compartment as it heaves back and forth.
"HEY!" The scout trooper pushes Ando roughly with his knee. "PAY ATTENTION, MERIK!" As Ando looks up at him, the trooper holds up a black gloved hand. "FIVE MINUTES!"
"Yessir!" Ando grabs himself a metallic brace and a tool, reaching up under the bike's front cowling with both hands, just underneath the handlebars. The angular stabilizer blade at the front of the bike jiggles and twitches as he clangs around underneath. As he tightens things up, the stabilizer stops twitching and stays firm in place. Ando's arms come out covered in grease, only the tool in one hand. He grabs his toolbox and drags it two steps to the front of the bike and checks the blade for play.
Ando twists back, looking at the faceless scout trooper. "Stiff as a board, Sarge!"
The trooper stands next to the bike, and gives him a thumbs up. "Nice one, Merik!" the trooper shouts over the grinding, squealing machinery, and then turns to the officer standing next to the crowded, compact garage. "We're clear to disembark!" The older, helmeted deck officer nods with a very stern, serious face, and puts his hand up to his earpiece. The Sergeant jumps on the bike and starts fiddling with the controls, the stabilizers angling up and down, left and right. "Alright, Merik," the Sergeant says as the rumbling stops, and the cabin goes still.

Ando closes his toolbox and shoots upward in a split second. The rest of the scout troopers line up at the rack, save for one, as he and Ando push the speeder bike along a railing to the wall on one side, locking it into place. The sergeant sits on the bike as a sandtrooper walks up and stands by the garage hatch with a heavy blaster rifle. Ando moves to a console with a series of switches on it. The trooper nods, and the Sergeant gives the order.
"Bikes going out, stand clear!" The Sergeant's voice rings out. Ando hits a button, and a cable reels out above the Sergeant's head. A large, rectangular hatch drops down and outward from the garage, and the sandtrooper swings his weapon out into the blinding sun. Sand and hot, dry air blows in, knocking Ando's cap off his head. Ando squints his eyes and throws a switch. The Sergeant and his bike slide clear out into the light, and drop away on cables, his position replaced by the next vehicle. Ando repeats, throwing the switch 4 more times, each time sending a bike and trooper out. For the final one, Ando runs up to the open hatch and looks outside. The final bike lowers quickly down past the transport's towering metal legs to the sandy, yellow ground. As it unclips from the harness wires, it zips off at lightning speed, kicking up a cloud in its wake far below. The hum of the bike's repulsorlifts that Ando tuned echo off the desert floor.

Man, those ones make my old speeder bike look like a junk barge.

As the bike disappears, Ando watches in wonder at a fast moving, two-legged scout walker marching past, down on the ground. Bizarre machines, agile for their size. Scanning up across the horizon, he can spy a cloud of dust behind the other behemoth AT-AT as it continues stomping down the path next to theirs. The giant trooper at the door puts a meaty, armored arm up to hold Ando out of the way as the hatch swings up, slamming shut. Ando steps back into the dark compartment, and the trooper at the door lowers his weapon, going back to his handhold. Ando looks around on the drab grey floor for his mechanic's cap, but is interrupted as the compartment starts to heave back to life, affecting everyone inside. He rocks back on his heels and bumps into one of the soldiers.
"S-sorry." Ando murmurs, rebounding harmlessly off the hulking trooper's back as he lazily turns his head. The thundering continues as Ando walks along the railings, keeping handholds as he goes. He looks along the floor as he searches for his cap, and finds it under the boot of a sandtrooper in the staging row.

"Sir?" Ando says meekly as the sandtrooper looks on, out the window. Trying to steel himself, Ando says more assertively, "Sir, excuse me." Nothing. The large trooper stands with his back towards him, oblivious to his calls; like talking to a steel door. As Ando stands awkwardly, working up the courage to speak louder, the trooper next to him looks over. This one bears an orange sergeant's pauldron on top of his shoulder.

The dirty white skull leans over right through Ando as if he's not there, and gives the other giant a heavy double slap on the helmet with his palm. The gargantuan armored man finally looks over, and the pauldroned sergeant motions downward at the floor. Without saying anything, the offending trooper shuffles his foot off Ando's cap, and goes back to looking out the window. Ando leans down quickly and picks up his cap, addressing the sergeant as he looks back at him.
"Thanks-" Ando's cut off as the trooper pushes him back and away from the staging area.

"Ando! Ando, get back here!" A greasy hand grabs Ando by the back of his collar and pulls him to the rear of the compartment. The deck officer sneers at him from under his bucket-like helmet and goggles as Ando is pulled past. A young man about Ando's age, dressed in mechanic's uniform, lets go of the collar. Illyan Morchusa, a ragged, low-class man looks around the room with widened, dark brown eyes, like they aren't supposed to even be there. "Keep away from the troopers, stay back here, and wait until something breaks."
"Yessir!"
"Don't call me sir, it makes me feel weird. We're gonna have a fight soon, Merik, and we needta keep this walker movin'. I gotta go up to the second deck and check the motors to see where this damn screechin's comin' from. The sand's been playin' hell with them; it gets everywhere." He reaches into his back pocket and says, "Here, I've got some extra goggles for you. Keep 'em clean or-"
"Or I will die before-um." Ando's pilot training blurts forth out of his mouth, and he cuts himself off.
"Wassat?" Illyan slurs as he wipes off the goggles with a greasy rag.
"...Nothing, sir," Ando says, and Illyan hands him the dirty things.
"Stop callin' me sir, Ando, jeez!" He says, frustrated, and starts going up the maintenance ladder in the back of the compartment. As Ando looks down at the smudged, grease covered goggles, Illyan's voice echoes through the cramped metal access tube. "We're just mechanics!"

Ugh…

Ando sighs and turns back to face the compartment from his now spacious speeder bike garage, and leans on a railing. He looks out at the hardened group of sandtroopers lined up in front of him, and begins to wish he at least could be in their shoes, ready to actually fight and kill the enemy.

The staging officer stands just outside Ando's garage doorway, staring through a pair of tinted goggles out his own private porthole. Ando checks out the officer's field armor from where he can stand, unnoticed. The slightly wrinkled man's olive colored uniform is obscured by a dense grey armor-plated vest. Dedicated slots hold the officer's code cylinders. The man's head is protected by a heavy, open-faced bucket of a helmet that drops down over the back of his neck.

As Ando inspects the officer's armor, the old man throws a gauntleted hand up under his helmet, to his ear. Ando strains to listen, but over the banging of the engines and creaking of the malfunctioning machinery, he can't make it out. The officer nods, listening to the unheard voice, and speaking quietly back. After a moment, he removes his hand from his ear, and reaches up to flip a switch. The lights in the dark cabin glow red as a klaxon goes off. The troopers' dirty white helmets swivel to give their attention.
The officer's voice erupts from his throat as he addresses the troops amongst the heavy noise. "Check your packs and report any malfunctions! Longeye reports enemy battle formations ahead! Prep to deploy!" The troopers inspect their ammo pouches and turn to check each others' heavy black backpacks and drop harnesses. After a moment, an armored hand raises out of the lines. The deck officer raises his chin and leans to one side so he can see down the aisle. The officer's bucket helmet whirls back, revealing his furrowed, wrinkled face. A black glove raises, waving Ando over.

Ando jumps up and jogs over to him. The old officer shouts over the clanking of the mechanics, pointing down the line with his entire arm, "Number four, secondary power cell!"
"Yessir!" Ando jumps back to his toolkit and brings a replacement cell and a small tool, shaped like a crescent moon. He quickly hustles down the line as the rest of the troopers continue to check their functions and prep their enormous heavy rifles.

Stopping at the trooper as his partner stands back, Ando reaches for the pack, quickly attaching the crescent shaped tool around the edge of a cylinder sticking out of the bottom. With a quick twist, followed by a downward wrenching motion, a small panel opens under the pack, dumping the old power cell onto the floor. Ando immediately gives it a kick, sending it skittering through the garage doorway. In one fluid motion, he slips the new cell up into the space and locks the little hatch.

The trooper's partner butts in, pushing Ando out of the way. He grabs the pack firmly, shaking it to see if everything holds together. After a flip of a switch on the side, the trooper looks up at the deck officer with a silent thumbs-up, to which the officer gives a nod and gets back on his radio to the cockpit.

As Ando sorts out his tool and heads back, he receives a hand slap on his shoulder so heavy it almost knocks the wind out of him. Ando jumps forward a half step, and then continues back to his garage to pick up the power cell.

Ando crouches down low in his dark garage and looks out into the red lit compartment. The troopers sway back and forth with the rocking of the cacophonous room. Relatively, without any action to keep him occupied, the restless Ando starts getting bored again. He leans back against his tool cabinet and fiddles with the power cell. It's covered in grease, and grainy particulate.
"Blast this sand," Ando mumbles to himself as he snatches a rag off the railing and starts wiping the cell down. The grease-caked sand sluffs off in sloppy clumps, revealing scraped and scratched metal. He digs into his toolkit and pulls out a slender can of pressurized fluid, and starts spraying into the inner workings of the cell. Ando trades more sweat off his head for grease as he furrows his brow and concentrates on the fine parts needing attention, when he blinks, and his brow raises again. A funny echo from outside. Like a bird call. Ando strains to hear over the racket of the motors, and the bangs of the transport's long legs. He looks back out at the red compartment, and the lead troopers are all looking out the windows, the rest in the back all straightening up.

After a moment of relative silence, nothing again. But Ando keeps listening. He's certain he heard something. There. Another funny echo, high-pitched. Another moment passes, as Ando listens, and then more echoes. These ones sound mechanical. A reverberating series of clicks in the distance. Ando jumps as three quick bangs clatter against the armored walls of the room, followed by more sporadic impacts all across the outside. The compartment jostles shortly after, as the heavy Imperial vehicle starts to open fire. Piercing sounds of heavy blaster cannon fire burst forth from the front of the transport, and Ando jerks backward, dropping the power cell to cover his ears.
"Soldiers!" The old deck officer shouts with a gravelly, thunderous voice, somehow able to be heard over the constant cannon firing and the awful squeals. "As you can hear, we are close to our landing zone! Go show these renegades what happens when they defy our Emperor and his allies!" The soldiers in the front row hook up their harnesses to the front railing with a series of metallic clicks. The officer's olive drab bucket looks back at Ando and points him over to the console behind the staging area. Ando flips his greasy goggles down over his eyes and runs to the hatch control console.

"Out you go, boys!" The grizzled officer growls, signaling to Ando. Ando hits a switch on his console, and the whole wall that the sandtroopers are facing flips outward, the hot wind rushing in again as Ando holds onto his cap. A yellow blast of energy zips in and scorches the ceiling of the compartment. Ando hits the floor as more fire shoots by, impacting just outside the doorway, some lucky shots getting in and burning holes into the plating.

Two of the armor clad soldiers take cover at the edges of the door and shoot downward to the ground with their long rifles as the deck officer leans out the side, signalling each row to exit as they move forward. The officer is fearless, completely ignoring the shots as they whizz by. Ando watches him, studying how he disregards the danger and rousts everyone out of the transport. Row after row, the giant sandtroopers disembark, more of them coming down from the upper level to exit with the rest. The more that go out, after a while, the less the gunfire returns to hit the compartment. Ando listens as the sharp sounds of Imperial weapons echo off the desert floor. Before he knows it, all the troopers have disembarked.
"Good! Good boys!" the grey officer snarls as the last ones make it out. "Alright, close it up!" Ando throws the switch back and the panel slowly closes up, locking with a clang as the sporadic fire raps harmlessly on the outside of the armor. The officer turns back and goes to his post, folding his gauntleted arms as he leans back on a wall. Ando makes eye contact, and receives nothing but a scowl in return. He hurries back to his bike garage like he's got something to do, and picks up his power cell again.

Stupid hunk of garbage, how's anything supposed to work with all this sand getting everywhere?

Just then, he hears Illyan's voice echo down from the top deck. "Hey, Ando. ANDO! You there?!"
"Yessir-...er."

"Yeah, whatever. Throw me that hydrospanner, okay?" A greasy hand and face poke out upside-down from the access tunnel above the ladder. Ando looks around from where he's sitting, and doesn't see anything. He scans the shelf of tools he's carefully organized and sees the spot where it should be. Empty.
"Uh, are you sure you don't-"
"The...THE HYDROSPANNER, RIGHT BY YOUR HEAD!" The dirty hand points a finger past Ando. He spins around and sees the hydrospanner has been left out on the surface above him, rolling around next to a mess of greasy bolts. He reaches up and grabs the tool, rising to his feet and handing it off.
"Thanks. Think I've got this licked." The hand retracts, disappearing up the ladder. "Keep an ear out, should be able to hear it!" Ando listens carefully as nuts and bolts clatter on the floor upstairs. "How's that?!"
"Nothing, I don't hear anything!"

"Well that's good right?!"
"No, I mean it's still running like crap!" Ando shouts up the tunnel over the screeching metallic sounds.
"Oh….ok, just a second!" After a moment, the grinding and screeching cuts out, and the clean, albeit still noisy machinery can be heard. "How's that?"
"Better! I can't hear the-" A deafening bang buckles Ando's knees as the floor pushes up underneath him. He and the deck officer go rolling toward the front of the compartment, as the transport lurches to one side. Small arms fire starts to clatter against the armored siding of the compartment again, the intensity growing. For the first time ever, Ando's communicator rattles to life.
"Mechanics!"
"I think a rocket just hit the rear drives, I'm taking them offline!" another voice buzzes on the same channel. It's Illyan from upstairs. "We're stuck until I can get them running again!"

"Fix it! We stay here long and we're gonna have Trandoshan crawlin' all over this thing!"

The old deck officer gets up off the floor and stomps over to the wall, grabbing a handful of grenades. He growls into his earpiece, "Donnely, get down here!" The upper deck officer climbs downstairs from the access ladder next to the garage, and starts looking out the side windows. Illyan pokes his head down the access after the way is clear.
"Hey Ando! Get me that big toolbox with the servo repair kit in it!" Ando goes to the wall and unlatches a panel, pulling on it. As he pulls it away from the wall, a big heavy box scrapes out with it.

"You want this up there?"
"Just hurry up! Hand it up here!" Illyan says, shaking his outstretched hands as he reaches both of them down out of the hatch. Ando rocks it upwards with a haphazard rattling of the contents, turning it on its side. Ando's smaller pilot's frame struggles to lift it from the bottom of the ladder. After a moment of hopeless floundering, Ando works it up the ladder, setting it on each rung until it's within reach of Illyan.
"H-...here!" Ando huffs out as Illyan helps to take some of the weight of the huge box, and it disappears up into the second deck.
"Stand by with the laser cutter and the v-hammer, I'll be on comms!" Illyan's voice rings down through the hole in the ceiling. Ando grabs the tools and sits at the bottom of the ladder, watching the officers shuffle and stomp about, checking the viewports.
"Roger, I see them," the middle-aged upper deck officer says into his earpiece as he looks out the side windows, and leans his head back slightly to address the other officer. "We've got some far out on the starboard side, but Stalker 2 is between us and them."

The old lower deck officer walks around, stepping on switches in the floor, opening small hatches not big enough for anyone to squeeze through. He walks up to one and leans over it as it opens, looking down below. "We've got some alien slime down by the legs, trying to climb up," the older man says with a gruff voice as he closes one tiny hatch, and moves to another. He holds his toe above a pressure switch and primes a grenade. He lowers his toe, popping open the hatch, and drops the grenade through the hole. Just after he depresses the switch and closes the hatch, a distant pop goes off down below, accompanied by strange, animal like shrieks. "Donnelly, grab some grenades."

The upper deck officer turns from the window, and just at that moment, a massive explosion pierces through the upper edge of the main bay door. Fire and sparks jet out of the wall, engulfing the upper deck officer in the blast. The deafening explosion throws the lower deck officer off his feet, and he collapses against the opposite wall. The officer's grenades clatter to the floor, and weapons and equipment fall from their racks as the cabin lights go dark.

Ando sits on the deck below the ladder, folding his arms above his head to shield himself from the ear-splitting blast. The sudden shockwave pounds on Ando's chest, and his hearing goes muted. Nothing but high pitched ringing. As he looks up in a daze, both deck officers are on the floor. Only one of them is moving, slightly.

"V-Hammer! Ando, quick!" Illyan's muffled voice grabs Ando's attention again, and he spins around. Illyan's hand is reaching down from the upper deck. In the aftermath of the blast, Ando had risen to a crouch and started walking into the compartment to check on the officers.
"The deck officers are down!" Ando looks back and forth between Illyan and the damaged deck. There's a small fire starting by the hole in the wall, bright sunlight shining through. "I gotta do something, or-"
"I need you to stand by with the tools, Ando!"

"Here!" Ando says as he stands up, handing both tools to Illyan. "Get the drives going, I'll hold them off!" Before Illyan can say anything, Ando is running to the other side of the compartment. He grabs a bottle of fire suppressant and sprays the burning wall down with it, quickly dousing the flames. Leaning back to the hatchway at the front of the room, pounding on it as he he shouts through the reinforced door. "Lower deck is under attack, seal the hatch to the cockpit!" After a quick moment, a clank emanates from behind the hatch.

He runs back and picks up a long, heavy blaster off the floor. Ando wrestles with the unwieldy weapon, but then tucks it against his hip, getting it under control. He hurries to the center of the room with the long rifle, and steps on a floor switch. He crouches over the small hatch and looks down through it.

Lanky, tall reptilian creatures are clambering up the walker's four giant legs, approaching the compartment. Ando can see them take notice of the small hatch opening, as they look straight at him through the porthole with their bizarre red eyes. Clawed hands reach for their weapons and take aim up at the small door. Without thinking, Ando immediately stands up, straddling the open hatch, and puts the end of the blaster's barrel through.

Breathing heavily as he holds the large rifle, he starts firing shot after blind shot, periodically changing the angle of his aim. The compartment flashes red with Ando's blaster fire as he sneers, sweat dripping off his greasy face.

As he fires down the hole, Ando is roughly pushed aside. The old lower deck officer has recovered from the blast and grabbed a blaster rifle of his own. This one is a short, stubby one, like the ones stormtrooper regulars use. He snatches Ando's heavy rifle and shoves the stubby one at his chest.
"Go get the Lieutenant's helmet, my earpiece is on the fritz!" The old man growls. Ando turns, and is immediately jerked backward, as if caught on something. The officer's hand tugs at the goggle strap on Ando's head, snapping the goggles off and pulling the cap with them. "Get these greasy things off your face, you're gonna catch yourself on fire!" Putting the barrel back down the hatch, the old officer starts opening fire again. "Get goin'!"

Ando sprints over to the Lieutenant's body and kneels down, rolling him onto his back. The officer's chest armor is scorched black, and his uniform underneath is torn and burnt at the edges, like an ancient book. The officer's burned skin shows through the shoulder of his uniform, charred and cracked. Ando hesitates for just a moment, then leans forward, unbuckling the Lieutenant's chin strap. He lifts the blackened helmet gently, as if to not wake him.

Sorry, Lieutenant...

Ando stands in the flashing, dark cabin, and quickly puts the open-faced helmet on his head. As the built-in earpiece reaches his ear, Ando can now hear the real radio conversations he's been missing.

"Command, Armor 1 is in distress, looks like they're disabled."

"Armor 1, this is Longeye, do you read? You've got another on your rear leg."
"Copy Longeye, we've lost contact with the deck officers, but someone's still back there. We've sealed access to the cockpit."

"Stalker 2 on Armor 1's starboard side, holding off a squadron of heavily armed…"
"This is Stalker 4 right behind you, Armor 1. Gonna try and isolate this enemy unit and take the pressure off."

"This is Armor 2, we are approaching the target with the Rangers."
"Copy, Armor 2, proceed with assault."

"Armor 1, this is Longeye. Be advised: They're getting pretty far up the legs. I don't have many good shots left here."

Ando repeats to the deck officer over the cracking and banging of enemy fire on the hull, "Sir, Longeye reports enemies are getting up the legs!"
"I ALREADY KNOW THAT, GO FIND MY GRENADES!" the officer howls as he continues firing down the hole. Ando runs across the dimly lit and smoky compartment with his blaster, scanning the floor for any of the cylindrical canisters. It's too dark, Ando can't spot them in all this smoke, but just then, some light shines in. The floor becomes a little clearer, and Ando can feel the wafting of the desert winds all of a sudden.
"Sir?- SIR!" Ando interjects with wide eyes as he points past the officer. A clawed, scaled hand is poking through the hole in the damaged bay door, and is starting to pry it open. Caught off guard, his weapon still through the hole in the floor, the old officer's head swivels toward the wall. With a mighty yank, the wall falls outward, and three giant creatures start climbing in. Tall, frightening, barbaric looking things, the lizard-like Trandoshan warriors crouch slightly as they storm into the compartment. They wear orange and red plated armor over their jumpsuits, not unlike the massive stormtroopers that were just onboard. The deck officer pulls his heavy weapon from the small hatch and swings it at the group, blasting one through the chest. Its large, bulky body staggers backwards and disappears as it falls out the door. The officer crouches and takes aim again, but the monstrous lead Trandoshan swipes the weapon out of his hands, snarling at him with sharp, carnivorous teeth. As it approaches the officer, it points a gnarled claw at Ando, hissing a twisted alien language at the other creature.

"Illyan, seal the upper deck!" Ando yells and backs away from the grotesque beast as it rushes at him, aiming its bizarre weapon. Ando quickly stumbles backward, falling against the opposite wall, and a bolt pierces right through the enemy's back from outside. The bolt penetrates clean through the alien and hits the wall, sizzling just above Ando's head. As the creature drops to the floor with a mighty thump, Ando hears the scout sergeant's voice buzz in his ear.
"Clean shot, that's a target down." As he looks up from the floor with adrenaline pumping through his body, Ando sees the deck officer wrestling in vain with the other ferocious monster. The giant stands a head and shoulders taller than the old man, and muscles him around the room without much effort. With a great thud, the beast cracks the officer over his helmeted head with its forearm, knocking him to the floor. The officer yells in pain as the creature picks him up above its head, its taloned claws digging into his leg. Without so much as a hint that it's holding the entire man's weight, the creature roars and heaves him against the wall of the compartment.

As the deck officer rolls over on the floor, he sneers with bloodied teeth and draws a vibro blade from his boot. The monstrous foe gives a guttural hiss, and slowly moves forward at him, looking for an opening. Two more enemies enter the doorway from behind, facing outward and firing their bulky weapons down at the rest of the Imperials on the ground.

Ando raises his blaster rifle and takes aim from the corner, firing a quick shot into the alien's torso. The beast growls and hisses, clutching at its side, and turns at Ando as he takes aim again. Ando shouts back and fires a burst of shots, and the brute falls backwards onto the floor. The two new soldiers are taken by surprise, and they spin to take aim, but Ando is back on his feet already. He crouches and briefly exchanges some wild shots with the aliens before they are both struck. One drops backward, straight out the hatch, and the other falls to one knee, crumpling lifelessly onto the deck.

"Corporal! The grenades!" the deck officer shouts as he crawls across the floor on his stomach, blood streaking across the floor as his injured leg drags behind. Ando looks across the now-lit deck, and easily spots the grenades scattered about. He kicks one across the way to the old officer, checking back at the open side of the compartment to make sure they don't get ambushed again. As Ando runs back to look out the bay door, the deck officer grabs up the grenade and primes it. He immediately slaps the switch next to him and drops the grenade down the chute, slamming the hatch shut and rolling away onto his back.

Ando looks down over the side at a few more Trandoshan climbing the legs down below. He takes aim, but then an explosion bursts in the air next to them, sending the barbaric looking beasts somersaulting down to the ground. A crowd of the insurrectionists are still holed up below though, taking cover behind the AT-AT's feet from the two-legged AT-STs nearby.

"Got it!" Illyan's harsh voice buzzes into Ando's earpiece once again, as the machine lumbers to life, immediately heaving into motion and picking up its feet. Ando lurches off balance and grabs for a handhold as he nearly falls overboard. With their cover picking up and getting away from them, the aliens down below panic and run out into the open desert. Ando looks out the side, watching from far away as the guerillas are stopped and surrounded by the two-legged AT-STs. Sneering slightly, but then relaxing again, Ando turns back away from the sight to grab some tools and reel the bay door back up. The deck officer slowly rises to his feet, picking up his heavy blaster and holding it like a walking stick.

He stands back and watches as Ando reaches up and unbinds the cable reel to the bay door, and starts to manually crank it up. "So...you're a mechanic?" the deck officer asks, puzzled.
"Y-yessir," Ando replies, huffing and puffing as the last of the line is winched in, and the door closes. Ando slaps a button, switching on the interior lights again, and turns around at attention. The officer scoffs through his nose, and his wrinkled face smiles a big, bloody grin.

"Bull."

---

Chapter II: Choosers

Gentle, organic silence. Among the quiet warble of bubbles, a warm reddish glow of light filters mildly through Valen's closed eyelids. The voices, the screams, the cries for help have faded to the back of his mind. Valen floats, suspended amongst muffled engine noise, and the sickeningly sweet taste of the bacta as it sits in his mouth and lungs. Peaceful, but in a way unlike Valen feels among the stars. It is a comforting, nurturing embrace. The gentle hiss of the comms opens up into the tank, and Valen lets the bright white lights of the medical bay into his eyes. His eyes focus a little sluggishly as they look out through the cyan fluid. There is a lone medical droid looking up from a console at Valen.
"Lieutenant Commander," the droid's gentle voice emanates through the fluid, "I am Toowunbee: medical droid and surgeon for intensive care unit C. I am preparing to empty the tank, please make yourself ready to stand." Now much more clear on his situation, Valen nods slowly in the translucent liquid. Small bubbles begin to emanate from the grated floor of the tube. As Valen looks up again, the surface of the solution slowly begins to drop. Gradually, his body lowers, and he stands on the grate as the medical bacta continues to drain around him. The air feels cold to the touch as the warm fluid falls away. Valen pulls on the straps to the breather mask, and it tugs back at his face as it leaves marks along his cheeks and ears. Pulling it up and over his mussed up hair, he drops it into the knee high solution, and it floats slowly to the grate as the tank empties.

The soft voice returns, this time echoing sharply in the empty tube, "Sir, if you please, you have drying cloths to your right. I am now retracting the tank." The tank seals hiss slightly as the pressure equalizes, and the glass raises up over Valen's head.

With the new air rushing in, Valen takes a deep breath, but immediately starts gagging and coughing. As he buckles over, the familiar fluid gurgles out of his throat and splatters on the floor.
"Are you alright, sir?" the gentle metallic voice says. Valen just stays leaned over, and dryly spits the sickeningly sweet broth onto the floor. After a moment, he looks to his right and grabs the white drying cloth off the rack, rubbing his face and hair in it. As he dries the rest of himself, the cloth steadily takes on a pale bluish tinge. It doesn't take long before Valen is beginning to tire of bacta.

"Ugh," Valen grunts to himself as he looks down at the discolored cloth. "Where am I again?"
"You are on the Star Destroyer Tyrant. Your fighter was adrift in open space." Valen blows his nose into a new drying cloth, sneering slightly as the bacta stains this one as well. "You are lucky we found you when we did."

"Yeah, I thought I was a goner too," Valen states casually, considering what his Empire must have gone through to save him from Rebel space.
"Yes. Fortunately, the fleet was sweeping the sector for Lord Vader's ship, and came across your stranded fighter."

"Oh." Valen's brow droops slightly as he averts his eyes. He looks down at the grating as he tries to figure out what to say.

"...I am sorry sir, if I have distressed you in any way. It is not in my programming-"
"Can I talk to a human please?" Valen says shortly, getting impatient with the droid's assumptions.
"I-...will have a medical officer summoned."
"Thanks, and a uniform."
"You are welcome, sir. Your uniform is in the changing room on your left." Valen turns and walks into the changing room where a uniform sits folded on a bench. As he gets changed, he looks in the mirror. His face is pale, but otherwise uninjured. Valen stares, however, at the persisting lines from the breather mask imprinted on his face.
"Hey, Toowunbee, how long was I dunked?"

"Your body was starved for oxygen to an extreme degree, sir. When you were recovered, you had fallen into a coma. To reverse the damage, severe measures were required."
"How long?"
"Including the time you woke up and kicked me in the head? About a month, sir," an unfamiliar voice chimes in from out in the medical room. Valen pokes his head out and sees a medic standing next to the medical droid. Valen steps back in and straightens his uniform, putting his officer's cap on. As he emerges, the medic salutes with an outstretched arm. "Lieutenant Commander, sir."
"Lieutenant," Valen says, noticing the rank pin on his medical uniform.

"Sir. I'm Lieutenant Gregor," the man says as he drops to an 'at ease' stance. "Staff Medical Officer for this block. I was on the team assigned to reviving you."

"Yeah, uh….thanks," Valen says as his face twists a bit.
"Oh." The medical officer snatches a glass of water off a metal tray in front of the droid. "Here, sir. Swish this around and spit it out. Should get rid of some of the taste," Gregor quickly says, and then turns back to the unaware droid. "Dangit, Toowunbee."
"Apologies. My 'bedside manner' is in need of programming," the light blue metal man says in a soothing, artificial voice. Valen washes his mouth out and spits it back onto the grated floor, wiping his face with his hand. The medic holds his hand out, and Valen gives him the glass. Gregor passes it back behind himself, and as it does not immediately leave his hand, he looks back, clinking the vessel on the droid's metal head. The droid looks over and notices, bringing a silvery clamp up and gingerly clasping the glass. "Thank you, sir."

"Who am I reporting to?" Valen asks, eager to leave the sweet smell behind.

"You are to be debriefed on the battle over the Death Star at Yavin with-..."

...Yavin.

The name fills Valen with dread as it enters his mind. The medic's voice starts to drop away, and Valen can start hearing the voices again. The sounds of inescapable death. The folly of those in charge of his and his brothers' lives. He blinks quickly, and lightly shakes his head. "Say again?"
"Oh-um. Captain Lennox, sir. You're scheduled to speak with him on the bridge after your discharge from the medical bay."

"Ok."
"Likely you're ready to get caught up, so let's get this done quickly. Raise your left arm please, sir...Alright now move your fingers, starting from your thumb to your pinky…Ok, and now the other..." The medic gives Valen a quick once over, going with very basic motor function tests. After a few more general tests, Gregor says, "Alright, I think you can make it around the hallways just fine," as Valen goes back from awkwardly standing on one foot. "Just head down the corridor and make a left to exit the medical block. Come back and see me if you have a hard time focusing, or moving your fingers or toes."

"Thanks." Valen walks out into the drab grey hallways of the Tyrant, turning the corner to the left. The familiar corridors are welcoming, comforting. The sounds of the ship's engines are warm, like the soothing coos of his mother's voice when he was a child. His clean, fresh boots fall lightly onto stable floor plating as he walks freely through the halls, from block to block. Walking into the garrison hallway, Valen feels a slight anticipation. A barely noticeable excitement. But his mood soon turns somber as he walks through. In the sparsely populated hallway, the faces are unknown. Unfamiliar.

This is not the Phalanx. The pilots Valen knew and flew with will never again be here with him. They are all out amongst the wreckage of the Death Star. Valen starts to think of their names.

Cody. Kol. Marsh. Darius.

Suddenly Valen feels the urge to practice his pilot's meditation. He quickens his pace out of the garrison. As he steps into the turbolift, he looks back at the strange faces in the hallway. Just as the door closes, he can see the eyes of the pilots are all looking at him. The turbolift whirs to life, and the muffled whoosh of passing floors goes by like a constant, distant drumming.

Valen leans back against the wall of the tubular room, and closes his eyes for a moment, turning his head up to the ceiling. He can see the warm reddish hue of the lights as they glow through his eyelids, like during his rest in the bacta bath.

"Val-Valen."

Valen opens his eyes again, pushing away from the wall as the sounds of burning laser fire sneak back into his head. He stands in the steady humming of the lift, keeping his eyes open. His brow crushes down over his widened eyes. Valen's stance remains rigid, on guard as he stares ahead at the door. The turbolift noise drops in pitch, until it comes to a stop.

The small room opens into the rear of the bridge; the command center of the Tyrant. A long, elevated walkway extends out in front of him, crewmen all working at consoles underneath it. Valen steps out onto the elevated area and looks out to the front. The forward deck of the bridge is lined with enormous, triangular observation windows. It doesn't take long before Valen is approached by another officer. A young naval trooper in black uniform, a standard issue sidearm on his hip. His youthful face peeks out from under his awkwardly large, black, open-faced helmet, which flares out wide above the back of his neck.
"Lieutenant Commander Rannix?"
"Yes."
"Captain Lennox is expecting you. This way, sir," the young officer says as he leads Valen down the walkway. Valen can see the ship's Captain standing at the forefront of the bridge, his arms folded as he looks out the row of interlocking triangular viewports. As they arrive at the Captain's shoulder, the officer introduces Valen. "Sir, Lieutenant Commander Rannix from the Delta subsquadron."
"Skipper," Valen follows up. Abruptly, the Captain turns, as if previously captivated by the starfield.

"Lieutenant Commander. I trust all went well with your recovery," he says matter-of-factly with a deep, commanding voice.

"Yessir, Lieutenant Gregor has cleared me for duty, barring a few check-ups."
"Good." Lennox looks at Valen with serious, dark brown eyes. "The loss of the Death Star has been felt throughout the galaxy. In the wake of the terrorist attack, the Empire has already begun retaliation." Lennox starts to walk along the windows of his bridge, Valen following with the trooper as he listens. "Lord Vader has organized this fleet, assigned to hunting down and eliminating the Rebellion on a major scale. We are the hand of the Emperor, seeking vengeance for the deaths of our compatriots." Lennox turns back toward Valen. "Internally...the hunt is on to oust spies among the ranks. Another costly incident like Yavin will never occur again."

"Get me back in a fighter and I'll make sure that never happens, sir."

The Captain gives a quick, affirmative nod, curling his already serious frown downwards. "Welcome to Death Squadron, Lieutenant Commander Rannix." Outside the bridge windows, Valen can see the speartip shapes of other Star Destroyers in formation. Valen narrows his eyes slightly, as he notices one of the cruisers is completely covered in shadow. Turning from this unusual display, he looks back toward Captain Lennox.
"Yessir, Skipper."
"My assistant, Petty Officer Adolas Owan, will show you to your quarters. Get caught up and report to Commander Zain tomorrow." Lennox says, turning and facing back out at the stars, as Valen walks to the back of the bridge with Owan. Silently, they step inside, and the doors to the lift close.
As the turbolift begins to whir to life, and the floors start to rush by outside, Owan hands Valen a small, puck shaped device. "Commander Rannix. This holo will get you caught up. An official statement from the Emperor, following the loss of the station." Valen takes the holo emitter and fiddles with it for a moment, before putting it down at his side.

"Thanks." Valen looks up at the display, showing the decks they are passing on their way from the bridge. He stares for a bit, until he can feel the presence of the Petty Officer out of the corner of his eye. He looks over. Something is on the tip of the trooper's tongue. Valen looks back up at the display, dismissively asking, "Something on your mind?"
"Uh...well," he blurts, and pauses. "It's not very appropriate." Valen stares at the young man as he looks away under his flared helmet. Puzzled, Valen furrows his brow, and the doors open. "This way, sir," the officer says, and walks out. Valen follows, his brow still knitted.

The door to Valen's new quarters opens with a whoosh, and he and Officer Owan walk in. The room is drab and grey, pretty much like his old room, but it's been emptied of the additional bunk. In place of the bunk is a small utilitarian desk, and a chair.
"Hm," Valen hums, unsure what to make of these special accommodations.

"It's not much, sir, but Commander Zain insisted that you'll need the additional amenities. You've been cleared security access to use the console on the desk."

"Thank you, officer."

"Yessir," he says, and walks out. Left back in silence, Valen flips the little holo emitter onto his bunk, and sits down, leaning back against the wall. He stares off into space at his new desk; a noticeable afterthought in the room.

Well, it's my own room anyway.

He leans forward and casually opens one of the drawers. Empty. He checks through the others. They're all empty. He puts his elbows against his knees and sighs quietly, hanging his head to relax his neck. He hasn't been bored since his patrols around the Death Star. Anxiety starts to well up across his shoulders and back, and he rolls his head around to try and keep things loose. He should be relaxed. At ease. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, and leans his head back. The sharp clash of shattering glass startles Valen, and he quickly spins to check his TIE's rear viewport. Nothing.

I could have sworn...

He looks down, and his hand is frozen over his chest, reaching for where his life support unit should be. After a moment, he turns to the closed door to check if anyone saw what just happened.

Valen looks down at the holo emitter on the bed and lightly picks it up. He rises to his feet and walks around his desk to inspect the chair. He looks around it, investigating the chair like it's not his. Valen gives it a quick push, and it rotates slightly. Oddly, Valen returns and sits back down on his bunk, leaning on his knees again. Trying to keep himself busy, he activates the holo emitter. A shiver runs up his spine as the cloaked vision of his Emperor appears in a grainy blue haze above the device.

"Citizens of my proud and righteous Empire. Yesterday, our prized Imperial Naval station was dispatched on a mission of peace to the Yavin system. At the request of Rebel insurrectionists, the station was to send ambassadors to negotiate the terms of Alliance surrender, and all systems' return to our Empire.

"Luring with offers of peace, and a united galaxy once again, the Rebel scourge launched a sudden and deliberate attack on the Imperial station. Lives numbering in the millions of our most proud and loyal soldiers, and their families…were tragically lost.

"In this period of great sorrow, we must remain strong. To the worlds among us undecided in their allegiance, I say, 'Unite! Our Empire will have peace.' To our loyal star systems, I say, 'Remain resolute, we will rebuild.' And to those who would ally with these corrupt fanatics in their condemnable rebellion: Such injustice will not go unavenged. You shall taste punishment for your treason.

"Glory to the Empire."

Valen flicks the recorded message off, and flips it back onto the bed. He gets up quickly, but once up, doesn't really know where else to move. Valen puts his hands on his hips and restlessly looks about his new little room for something to occupy his mind. Tilting over his desk, he activates the console. The screen pops on, and the standard red writing starts scrolling down. He cocks his head to one side, reading the text upside down.

-Delta Squadron-

Valen's brow lowers, and he walks around the desk immediately, sitting in the chair. He leans forward on the desk and hunches over the screen. He sits alone in his dark quarters, diligently reading in silence.

---

The door hisses open, and a young officer in black stands in the doorway. An exhausted Valen looks up from his chair, squinting at the bright hallway lights. He's been reading in the dark for hours.

"Lieutenant Commander?"
"Ahem-...Yes," Valen says in a gravelly voice, leaning heavily over his desk from his chair. He straightens up sluggishly, like an imprisoned man who's finally being released.

"Sir, I am Junior Lieutenant Kenz. If you'll come with me, I'm to bring you to Commander Zain."

"Yeah, uh…" Valen's heavy eyelids strain to keep open. He rouses himself out of his seat, and circles the desk. "Lead the way." They walk out of the quarters and into the garrison hallway. As they move down the corridor, Valen looks to either side. He glimpses eyes looking at him from the pilots in the hallway.

"Valen Rannix. 'The Ace of Epsilon.'" A middle-aged man, shaved bald, stands from his desk as Kenz follows Valen into the office. He has an oddly neutral-to-soft shape underneath his black officer's uniform. The uniform is immaculate, however, especially the Commander's rank pin on his cap, which has been placed in orderly display on his desk. "Thank you, Kenz. That will be all," he says, immediately dismissing the Junior Lieutenant.

"Commander Zain." Valen stands at attention.

"At ease. It's great to finally meet you-uh, outside the tube," he says as he flips his officer's cap over his shining head, tugging forward on the brim. He lifts his chin and flattens his lips into a grin. "I am the Commander of Hawk Group."

"'Hawk' Group?"

"Honor and Distinction, Rannix," the bald Commander says with a raised, empowered fist. "Squadrons want to stand out from the pack, they should start with a name that stands out."

"Yessir."

"As are many, we're relatively new to the fleet, and we intend to stand out as the best of the best," Zain says enthusiastically. "The most powerful TIE squadron out there, full of the most devoted Imperials. My Hawks will show my prowess for command, and with the Ace of Epsilon commanding our subsquadron, we're sure to make waves!"

"Uhh-"
"I've arranged for you to keep your Delta designation, as an homage to your squadron on the Death Star."

"...Well-"
"Good! I have great plans for us, Valen, and they start right here. You'll be observing our boys on a special exercise after we get you situated. I trust your new accommodations are adequate."

"Adequate, yessir."
"Call me Thamus," the commander says, the thin lipped grin spreading across his face once again. Valen takes a mental step back from all this friendliness, and feigns a smile in return. "You'll be hand picking yourself five pilots for your Deltas, so-"
"I've got a few in mind, sir-" Zain cocks his head as if to remind Valen what he just asked of him. "Uh...Thamus. I've read of a few pilots I'm interested in."
"Oh? How've you had time to do that?"

"...I didn't sleep much last night." Valen's face droops a bit, the circles under his eyes evident.

"Ah, well. You should get some rest, and we'll meet at-"
"If it's all the same to you sir, I wouldn't mind if we got going," Valen says. The prospect of being left idle with his thoughts again makes him anxious.

"Hm." Zain's eyes flash cold for a moment, and then return to their friendly state. "Well, it will take me some time to have the fighters prepped for the exercise," he says with a light grin on his face. "Take a walk through the Tyrant, and get acquainted with my ship. I will have the pilots mustered for the exercise in an hour or so."

---

"Pilots of Hawk Group. We have an exercise to carry out," Zain says as he addresses the column of men in black jumpsuits. "A disused Rebel station has recently been bombarded by the fleet, and I have commanded that we finish it off." Valen notices the commander's slightly smug grin at the remark. "Several attack points have been marked with high explosive charges for the purposes of…" As Zain continues to outline the mission, Valen can see down the lines of pilots, many are staring back at him. Eyes peer off center, disheveled heads of hair all swiveled slightly in his direction.

"This is a live fire exercise, and I've arranged for trainer drones amongst the target area to simulate enemy fighter units. They are mobile, and will fire back, so be aware. They won't kill you, but if you're hit, I will be observing to remove you from the exercise. Some of you want to impress more than others.I'm going to remind those of you now to follow orders, and destroy this base as I direct." After a brief pause, Zain's demeanor turns serious. "This is Lieutenant Commander Valen Rannix. I've had him assigned to us as our new subsquadron leader." The disheveled heads bob and look back and forth. The faintest of whispers pass through the column of pilots. "He will also be observing the exercise with me. Glory to the Empire."
"LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR!" the pilots bark in unison, and Zain joins, saluting enthusiastically.

"To your fighters. Let's handle this exercise by the book, and catch back up with the fleet." The pilots all move out to their catwalks, heads swiveling back in Valen's direction every once in a while. Zain turns to Valen and puts a hand around his shoulder. "I've requisitioned a shuttle for us to observe from," he says as he points Valen at a white, tri-winged Lambda Class shuttle.

Commander Zain and Valen sit down in the cockpit. Spacious without a full crew or passengers onboard, it's a rather long reach to the consoles, with a massive piece of canopy glass overhead.

"Ever flown one of these fancy things, Valen?" Zain asks casually, buckling himself in with his gloved hands.
"I've been trained in piloting various Imperial-"
"Great. Retract the ramp and take us out. I'll be on the comms and nav," he says as he leans hard on one arm rest, kicking his boots out sideways. "Hangar, this is Shuttle Sycadia, preparing to disembark for field exercise observation 0470-1."

A voice buzzes in through the comm channel, "Sycadia, copy. Standing by for your priority launch."

Valen looks over to see Commander Zain revelling in the mention of his 'priority.' Zain smiles slightly and waves his hand toward the hangar exit. "Take us out, Valen."

"Yessir." Valen leans forward, clicking a button and pushing forward on a throttle stick. The shuttle whirs to life in a muffled, tranquil hum. Valen sits back and takes the control yolk, and the ship starts to slowly lift off the floor of the hangar bay. Watching the nav display of their clearances, Valen takes them out over the empty black lake once again. The bulkheads and scaffolding slowly rise out of view, giving way to the stars as Valen lowers the shuttle out of the bay.
"Deploying wings for flight mode," Valen says as he operates from the massive panel in front of him. "Wings deployed."
"Tyrant Hangar, Sycadia is clear. Launch the Hawks." Zain turns back towards Valen. "Alright, Rannix. Take us out toward the station, sector 6-1. That's a good safe spot to watch from." The shuttle accelerates and banks leisurely to port. A beige colored planet comes into view, the remains of the Rebel space post hanging in orbit. Valen flips a toggle, and they begin to cruise towards the station on autopilot. Valen can see blips on the radar spreading out behind them. After a moment, the Hawks begin to form up above the Sycadia's cockpit window. Zain clicks on the comms. "Hawks, show us what you've got. Pincer attack, neutralize defense drones and attack target points on the station. Primary kill point on station is off limits until I give the order." Zain clicks off the comms and looks up through the viewport as the fighter column splits in two and spreads out. He unlocks his copilot's chair and lazily spins towards Valen as he continues to lean heavily to one side. "So, heading out to port are Hawks 2-20, and starboard are 21-41."
Valen is leaning forward, watching each of them closely. "I'm looking for Cirres Lohm, Rolf Daxxis, Fyrrus Zhinnae, and Bhors Kositz. Where are they in the group?"
Zain looks sideways at Valen, his eyes flashing with that familiar coldness Valen saw in the office. "You have been doing your homework, Valen," Zain says seriously, but then starts to pull the smile back over his face. "Those are some of my best pilots!" He proceeds with a chuckle, shrugging off the issue. "Lohm and Daxxis are paired up as 12 and 13. Zhinnae and Kositz are 21 and 39."

The TIEs approach the installation in the distance, and the bright engine flares of the training drones burst out to meet them. Valen leans forward and activates the holo display, which whirs to life in red. Clicking in a few buttons and dials, the image zooms in, and the fighters of interest are highlighted in brackets. Zain watches Valen carefully as each of the pilots are highlighted on the holo display. Soon the pilot's comms start to buzz in.

"Enemy targets dead ahead."
"Copy, sweep around and surround them."
"Keep in formation, overwhelm the targets." As the fighters begin to engage, green flashes go off in the distance near the station. On the holo readout, the enemy drone blips start to disappear as the TIEs twirl around them. But soon, a yellow mark highlights a TIE, [HIT.]
"Blast it!"
"Forget him, keep on the other fighters."
Valen turns to Zain. "Who's that?"

"Hawk 2: Vanatus Farenn. He's my field man. Natural born leader, best patriot I know."

"Ok," Valen says, concentrating intently on the blips.

"Push them to one side and hit them from behind," Farenn's voice continues.

"Copy." The fighters sweep in and use their superior numbers to put the target drones between them.
"Ok, hit them hard, and we'll-"
"For glory!" Valen watches as a blip grabs his attention. It zips out of the group and heads straight toward the station. He looks through the cockpit window, squinting to see the TIE breaking formation. Zain leans forward suddenly, as if about to jump out of his own seat. The station's training emplacements open fire with yellow bolts of light as the TIE barrel rolls underneath, firing up into the underbelly of the station, where the prime target charge has been placed. The target point explodes immediately, shattering the derelict Rebel station to pieces.

"What?!"
"Whoa!" The TIEs begin to receive "HIT" markings as the drones take advantage of the confusion.

"Sirius! Blast it!" Zain shouts into the comms as the lone pilot hoots, twisting through the burning wreckage of the station. The training drones break free and the instances of hits on Hawk Group start to become more frequent. The drone blips bleed out from the group of TIEs and converge on the lone pilot. The TIE immediately reads "HIT," and he yells into the comms.
"Ah! HAHAHA, VICTORY! Long live the Emper-"

"Enough!" Zain growls, his bald head turning crimson at the sight. "The exercise is over, mission failed! Hawks, come in, NOW." he says as he violently snaps the comms switch. Out among the fighters, the drones go still, and stop firing. They form up in a tight, mechanical grid behind the TIEs as they head back to the Tyrant. Zain jumps up from his seat and paces to the back of the cockpit, grunting in frustration. "Take us back, Valen," he grumbles as he turns back and puts his hands over the backs of the seats.

Valen stands outside Commander Zain's office as the growls and shouts emanate forth from behind the closed door. After a moment of silence, the door whooshes open, and the offending young pilot walks out, around Valen. A slight mischievous smirk spreads across the rookie pilot's face as he passes by, keeping his eyes to the floor. Valen remains at attention in the quiet by the open door, until Commander Zain's voice calmly calls out from inside.

"Come in."

Walking in at attention, Valen can see Zain's head and face fading from a blood red color. "Commander Zain, sir."

"Yeah Valen, at ease. Can I help you?" he says, his expression transitioning back to amiability.
"I was hoping to talk to you about selecting pilots for my squadron."
"Yeah, sure." The Commander gives a flat smile.
"Vanatus Farenn-"
"No," Zain says in an unfriendly tone, the cold washing over his face like a drink had just been thrown in it. Immediately, the smile comes back. "He's my best pilot. I want him to lead Hawk Group when I move up in the ranks."
"Yessir. Umm, Lohm and Daxxis."
Zain chuckles again. "You're picking out all the best in my group, Valen. Here, I can spare these boys," he states, dismissively handing Valen a tablet with writing on it. Valen looks down at it, puzzled.
"I wasn't considering any of these pilots, sir."
"Take it or leave it, Valen. You are the supporting squadron. Honor and Distinction will be ours, but not if I give away all my best pilots," Zain laughs.

Valen looks down at the tablet and sighs calmly. After a moment, he looks up from under his brow. "Was that the Sirius kid you had in here just a second ago?"
"Ugh, that boy's a pain in my ass," Zain says, flicking his gloved hand up to rest his bald head on as he rotates in his chair slightly. "Don't get me wrong, the kid's a real patriot. More guts than brains. Great candidate if we need a suicide mission, but that's about it."
"If I take him off your hands, will you let me have Farenn?"
"Absolutely not. Maybe Daxxis, but Farenn is too valuable to me. He and I have agreements."
"Both Lohm and Daxxis would be better. More effective, since they've been flying together as wingmen."
Zain takes a moment to think, wringing his gloved hands together. "Ok, Lohm and Daxxis, if you take Sirius and my pick of two other pilots from the group."
"Uhh-"
"I can make it an order, and not a negotiation, Lieutenant Commander," Zain says, his face flashing cold once again.

"Yessir."
"Good." Commander Zain snatches the tablet from Valen, and picks two others. "Pyr and Jorlessen. Final offer, or I'll just assign your squadron to you."

"Done," Valen says shortly, eager to exit this 'deal' with whatever he's got now.

The Commander clicks some keys on his desk console, and hands the tablet back to Valen. "I hope you know you owe me for this favor. Welcome to the Hawks, Delta Leader." Valen stands and takes the tablet, saluting. "That'll be all, Rannix."

Valen marches out, and heads down the hall, studying the tablet as he goes.

Delta Squadron Roster

Cirres Lohm: Jr Lt

Rolf Daxxis: Jr Lt

Janos Sirius: Flt Officer

Benjen Jorlessen: Flt Officer
Hathorres Pyr: Flt Officer

Great. Nearly all of them are entry level flight officers.

Valen purses his lips and walks into the turbolift, dropping the tablet to his side. As the door closes, he drops his head backward on his shoulders and closes his eyes, forcing a sigh out of his nose. After a moment, Valen opens his eyes again and looks around the lift, as if he expected someone to be there. He looks down at the drab metallic floor, and the corners of his mouth pull back in a slight grin.

Hm…no voices...

He takes a solid breath and exhales in relief, flipping his officer's cap up over his blonde hair and tugging forward on it. Invigorated, Valen stands up straight as the door opens, and marches out into the garrison hallway. The pilots, all walking around and chatting, turn and silence themselves as Valen approaches. Without missing a step, Valen passes each group of pilots, picking men out of them.

"Daxxis, Lohm. In my office….Pyr, you too….Jorlessen, with me, to my office." As he walks down the hallway, he checks his tablet, looking up periodically to see if he recognizes any other faces. Nothing. He stops for a moment, as the other pilots catch up. Scrolling through the info, he checks the profiles on the roster.

"Janos Sirius

CTQ: Bunk P-9748-b"

Valen picks up speed again, the pilots trailing behind. He walks up to the door that reads, "Flt. Officer Janos Sirius." Entering a personal code, the door unlocks with a solid clunk, and hisses open. Sirius is lying on his back, his feet lazily draped across the small room and over the opposite bunk. Startled by the door opening, Sirius shoots upward to attention. Valen stands in the doorway with the other pilots behind him.

"...Sirius?" Valen says nonchalantly as he looks down at the tablet.
"Lieutenant Commander, sir!" he barks at full attention, doing his best not to squint at the bright hallway lights.

"Out."
"No-can-do. I am confined to quarters for completing an exercise in record time, sir."
Valen spins quickly, shutting up the chuckling pilots behind him with a glare. He turns back to Janos, composed. "In my office."

Valen walks into his cramped bunk area and sits behind his little desk, putting the tablet down and clicking on the console. The pilots cram into the small room, lining up shoulder to shoulder as Valen looks up at them.

"Pilots," Valen says dutifully.
"Yes sir!" they shout together at attention, Janos the loudest of the group.
"Welcome to Delta Subsquadron, my name is Valen Rannix."

"We know who you are, sir," one of the pilots says, his eyes gleaming black. Cirres Lohm, a senior among the group as a Junior Lieutenant. He stands a half head taller than the rest. A clean, short cut of hair up top, like he just left the Academy yesterday. "It will be an honor serving under the Ace of Epsilon."
"We are a supporting squadron," Valen continues, ignoring the flattery. "That means this is it. The six of us. Usually a supporting squadron is made up of, well to be frank, good pilots with records: Ringers." Valen watches up from his desk at each pilot as they sink slightly. "I see this bothers you," he says as he gets up, leaning forward on his desk. "Good. You should feel unprepared. I've been tossed a handful of rejects and some of the more promising Academy graduates, am I wrong? Do any of you 'relatively new to the fleet' have real combat experience?" Valen sits silently as none of the pilots say anything. "I see….For TIEs, this is obviously an Imperial suicide squadron."

"Then we'll be heroes for our Emperor, and sacrifice ourselves for his victory!"
Valen looks quickly over at the owner of such a certain voice. Sirius. Of course. He looks back at the rest, and they all hesitate to agree. Valen stands up straight, and walks around to the front of his desk, right in Sirius' face. "Like you did in the exercise today, Flight Officer Janos Sirius?" The rest of the pilots make a quick chuckle, and stifle themselves. "I think the entire Tyrant could hear how pissed Commander Zain was with you. You should count yourself lucky you get another chance to be a 'hero' in my squadron, and aren't scraping the grease off droid servos in engineering, or glued to a turret gunner position."
Sirius speaks meekly, "I saw an opening-"
"What was that? Speak up."
"I saw an opening and achieved surprise," Janos returns assertively. "Before the enemy could react, I was able to complete the mission by destroying the station."
"Sacrificing yourself."
"Yessir."
"No. Incorrect." Valen stares at Janos with stone cold blue eyes. "You sacrificed nearly everyone else. You broke formation and let the enemy out of a calculated maneuver, and then you, a graduated Imperial Pilot, got yourself terminated by a training drone. We pilots are a proud elite amongst the Emperor's armed forces in our own are you supposed to be a 'hero for your Emperor' when you turn such blue milk run conditions into a suicide mission? Giving your life should be for a reason. It should be because you have no choice, and you want your death to mean something for your compatriots. You opted into a death run, and killed everyone else."

Sirius stands quietly. All he does is stare ahead, unable to speak. Valen turns, facing down the short line of pilots. "I hope you'll learn from this ultimately forgiving failure. You'll all get opportunities to be actual heroes for your Empire, but it'll be because your commander gave the order." Valen looks at Janos' defeated face, and then returns back behind his desk. "I've booked a squadron patrol to start in a few hours. Get prepped, meet me in the main hangar bay."

The pilots file out and the door closes, leaving Valen alone in his office. Immediately, a wave of exhaustion washes over him, and his shoulders droop. Circling his desk, he boyishly collapses face first into his bunk.

After a moment, he picks his head up, and notices a light blue discharge on his pillow. "Ugh, bacta..." Valen groans lethargically, as he turns his pillow over and falls back asleep.

---

Chapter III: Make it a Double

A high-pitched electronic whistle zings through the cabin, waking Valen with a start. With a sharp inhalation, he shoots up in his bunk and looks around. Nobody in the room. Valen's alone. He begins to slouch back down into his pillow, and stops as he notices more light blue staining it. He picks it up and inspects it with a disgusted face, when the whistle chimes again. Valen's head swivels, pinpointing the source. Someone's outside the door. Suddenly, the tingling, tense sensation of anxiety rushes through his body and up to his head.

"Aaaah hell! Patrol!" Valen mutters to himself as he vaults out of bed, reaching back for his cap. He bends down to his footlocker and grabs up his rucksack with his flightsuit in it. Clapping his hand on the wall console, he opens the door to his quarters to face Junior Lieutenant Kenz again in the harsh hallway lights.

"Sir, your squadron's-"

"Yeah, patrol, got it!" Valen says as he hurries past the young pilot, running down the hallway.

Running up to the hangar access, Valen slows down to secure the last of his flightsuit over his disheveled officer's uniform. Peeking around the doorway, he sees the boys lined up and waiting. Ducking back, Valen clips together his helmet and flight hoses, and straightens up, marching into the hangar hurriedly.

"Delta Squad!" Valen shouts as he walks in, putting on a serious face.

"YES SIR!" They shout enthusiastically, snapping to attention.

Acting like nothing has happened, Valen marches past the small line of pilots. "To your fighters, I'll brief you on the way." The pilots fall out of line and blindly follow Valen to the TIEs. As he approaches his fighter, the squadron marches single file down the catwalk, moving on to theirs.

Valen stares down into the hatch. Hesitating, he looks down the gaping maw at the flight seat and harness. Marred with trepidation all of a sudden, Valen glares at the seat as if a captor's chair in a prison cell. Shaking the apprehensiveness away, he rushes halfway into the hatch. Valen spins and sees Janos Sirius looking at him from the catwalk. He quickly knits his brow and nods Sirius toward his fighter, throwing on his helmet and dropping down. Pulling the hatch over the top, he seals the spherical pod with a clunk.

From then on it's muscle memory. Valen's hands lock him into his harness, passing from console to console. His feet make minute movements against the pedals on the floor, bringing the fighter to life. The twin ion engines slowly begin to scream through the hull of the pod as they spin up.

Systems up, heatsinks nominal, energy recycle 110%...huh...that was easy. Engines spooled, life support 100%.

Check that again. Life support: 100%.

The TIEs slide down the railing with mechanical clunks as everyone checks their systems, the launch cranes locking them in position over the lake of black. Valen looks below and notices the Tyrant is not at lightspeed. The lake is still and brackish below the fighters. Putting his hand above his head and whirling it in a clear looping motion, Valen signals for the TIEs to be rotated into launch position.

"Alright squad, I'm dropping us on my mark."

"Copy, Lead. Do we have wingmen assigned?" Lohm chimes in, his enthusiasm for leadership speaking up.

"No wingmen for now, you'll all follow my lead, and I'll observe. Mark." The scaffolding in front of the squadron shoots upward, yielding an impressive sight.

Holy...

The sea of stars in front of the squadron are blotted out by an immense ship. Bigger than any star destroyer by at least 10 times, a massive dreadnaught looms ahead of them, its multitude of giant engines glowing an intimidating deep red. Not as big as the Death Star, but for a starship, it seems impossibly stupendous. Several escorting star destroyers sit off in formation around it, absolutely dwarfed by its visage. The giants in their own right, mere playthings by comparison. Valen leans forward towards his cockpit window to take in the awesome sight, and throttles up towards the impossibly huge, speartip shaped vessel.

"Pretty amazing, isn't it, Squad Leader?"

"I'll say, Daxxis," Valen nearly whispers, finally addressing his squadmates with a slightly casual tone. "On me, squadron. We're going to pass along this thing's portside." The squad follows and approaches the massive ship, it seeming to take forever to even get close.

"The Executor; Death Squadron's new base of operations," Sirius chips into the conversation as the flagship continues to become more and more massive the closer they get. "The fleet is invincible with a ship like that at its head."

"Hmf." A scoff erupts quietly from Valen's throat as they quietly pass the bridge near the aft of the ship, the central blocks sitting proud of the hull below like the megalopolitan surface of Coruscant. "I bet that Ozzel character is onboard this thing."

"You know Admiral Ozzel?" Jorlessen asks, as if the notion would be incredible.

"...We've spoken a few times," Valen says dismissively. Perhaps now is not the time to tell them what the so-called Admiral of this fleet is really like. "Alright squad, form up on me, we're gonna pass in front of the bridge and make ourselves known."

Valen swivels in his seat to observe each of the fighters as they follow him off to starboard. The bridge tower of the ship, nearly a speck compared to the whole thing, looms high above the upper surface, slowly moving toward them as they cross in front.

"Executor, this is Lieutenant Commander Valen Rannix from Delta Squadron, checking in for patrol. Uploading flight codes."

"Copy, Delta Leader, proceed across the bridge's forward axis. You are cleared for patrol as scheduled," a humdrum voice buzzes through the comms.

"Alright, Deltas, let's get lined up and prep for some combat maneuvers. Keep on me, and we'll proceed once we're clear of the Executor's starboard side."

"But sir, we were ordered to patrol and watch for Rebels," Sirius says, oddly insistent to follow orders.

Valen looks up and around at the star destroyers, and other scattered fighters on patrol in the area. "Roger, Delta 2, I'll keep an eye out and sound the alarm as soon as I see any. Don't you worry." The pilot's tinny voices all chuckle over the comms at the sarcasm. "You're my wingman, Delta 2, I expect to see good things from you."

"Uhh, yessir, Squad Leader, sir." Janos' voice sounds upbeat, invigorated.

"Alright. Lohm, Daxxis: Academy highgrads. I'm going to split you to mentor the junior flight officers. Lohm, you're with Jorlessen. Daxxis with Pyr."

"Roger."

"Yessir."

"Delta Squad, 30 degrees port, pull up to sector 3 and stand by in formation." The TIEs swing slowly up into position, holding their grid perfectly, as trained. "Ok squad. Take a look around. Just as I said; 'we're it.' Our squad's small size means that losing even one of us would be devastating. Pay attention to your wingmen, value each other in your group. The Hawks will be depending on us for support, and you are extremely inexperienced. I'm going to teach you how to engage with X-Wing fighters."

"What about the fighter bombers? What do we do about those?"

An odd question to ask right off the bat, but Valen shrugs it off. "Delta Squad has neither the numbers or the experience to take on Y-Wings, Jorlessen. I have a few maneuvers that'll help you stay alive if you encounter one, and hopefully buy you enough time for Hawk Group to engage. But as a small supporting squad, we play on our strengths; mobility, stealth, and deception. We make sure Hawk Group gets the upper hand in all engagements. Ignoring the superior firepower of our main squadron and grabbing at glory is what will get us wiped out. I intend to survive, and kill many rebels, clear?"

"YES, SIR!" the pilots shout through the comms in unison.

"That's what I want to hear. Here is a move that will utilize our superior maneuverability in situations where it's two on one with Rebel fighters. Basketweave. Pyr, Daxxis, you're up first. I'll be in chase as the enemy." The three TIEs head out into a clearing, the other three observing. As Valen instructs, the two rookie pilots zigzag back and forth, with Valen chasing. "Ok, now I know this can be risky, but when you're faced with fighting rebel ships, the gamble will always be there. Utilizing superior numbers all the way down to 2 on 1 will save your lives. Here, I need to get a bead on one of you, and with you zigzagging like this, I need to commit to a target. Once I do, like this, the free wingman will bleed off speed and get on their tail as soon as possible."

Valen drops in behind Daxxis, and Pyr shakily jumps back and behind as instructed. "It's not over yet, make no mistake. Once an X-Wing pilot is on you alone, your moments alive begin to count down rapidly. Rely on your ship's maneuverability to avoid the enemy's fire enough."
"Enough for what?"
"Enough to get your wingman time. You rely on him not to die." The squad sits in an awkward silence as they wait for Valen to continue. "With our numbers, we'll likely be split up if engaged directly. It's imperative that you stick with your wingman; a team within a team. Ok, now we'll apply this with targeting. I'm going to try and bullseye you, use the basketweave maneuver to shake me off and take me out."

The TIEs line up, and Valen swings in behind. Daxxis and Pyr start weaving back and forth, and Valen's computer lights up. "You're both dead. Do it again. Wider turns. You need to split my attention, otherwise I'll just shoot where you cross." They turn around and start again, the TIEs turning wider this time. Valen jerks to the left after Daxxis this time, and Pyr doesn't notice, going for another criss-cross. "Pyr," Valen sings slightly, like a father warning a child. "Daxxis is dead."
"Yessir."
"And now so are you. Keep your head on a swivel when you fly."
"Yessir."
"I'm here to kill you. Every second counts. Every misstep is fatal," Valen stresses in a deathly serious tone. "Do it again. The rest of you watching up there? It's their first time, but I expect when I do this with you that you'll have learned already."

"Roger, squad leader," the other three affirm dutifully. They line up again, and Valen drops in behind.

"Keep communicating, I don't hear you calling out where I am!"
"Yessir! Uh, Daxxis, enemy at 2.85, coming in high on our six!"
"Copy, I see him, basketweave! Portside first!"
"Here we go!" The rookies weave back and forth perfectly, and Valen goes for Daxxis again. Pyr drops speed rapidly, and dives at Valen.
"Hit! I got him, Daxxis!"
"Good hit, good timing, Pyr. Daxxis, I killed you twice already, work on your evasion. He's diving back to save you, prove you're worth it."

"Yes, sir!"
"...Yessir."
"I want you to be disappointed, Daxxis. As I want for all of you. You're unprepared for real dogfighting with the anarchist Rebel scum, and we all need to feel the pressure to improve quickly. Captain Folund Darius taught me how we can counter Rebel attacks in the field, and what they think of us and our ignorant grid fighting style. Hopefully we can get enough uneventful patrol missions in to learn these things before we encounter any. Lohm, you scored highest on your Academy targeting and offensive simulations."
"That's affirmative, sir. I-"
"Try to kill me and Sirius, we'll apply the basketweave maneuver to keep you off us."

"Roger," Lohm says with a slight hesitation in his voice as he and Sirius switch places with Pyr and Daxxis. As they begin, and Valen starts to criss-cross with Sirius, they do well, but when Lohm starts chasing Sirius, Lohm gives out an affirmative hit.
"Ah…" Sirius mutters under his breath, annoyed, but accepting the loss.
"Again. Lohm I want you to keep targeting Sirius so he can evade you….Ok, he's on you again, Sirius, up above! 2.87, I'm dropping back on him!"
"Target lock, sir."

Sirius grunts in frustration again.
"Keep him off you for just a few seconds, that's all your wingman should need. Lohm's a good shot, Sirius. The Rebels are even better."

"Yessir."

"Again….Ok, coming in high, see him?"
"I see him!"
"Ok, keep weaving….alright he's on you at 2.79, keep your speed up...that's it, and-"
"Target lock."

"Blast it!"
"Keep it together Sirius, I'm telling you where he is! Again!" The TIEs line up, and Lohm dives in on the two of them. As they begin to weave, Sirius' TIE immediately blasts heavily on its retro thrusters, dropping speed so rapidly that Lohm has to pull up to avoid colliding with him, speeding past.
"Target lock, squad leader!"

"Good hit, Sirius. That illustrates a maneuver I had experience with fighting the Rebels at Yavin." Valen and the other two form up and cruise as he explains. "They are a desperate enemy, and do everything they can to get the upper hand, including using up all their emergency retro fuel."
"Thank you, sir!"
"No problem. Don't ever do it again, Sirius, that's an order," Valen says without missing a beat. "They have shields. We do not. There's no guarantee they won't use their full strength to plow through you, and kill your wingman when you're not around to save them."

"Oh. Yes, sir."
"Again. This time, concentrate on evading Lohm." The TIEs line up, and Lohm starts going for Sirius again.
"Ok, he's coming in fast off your portside, criss cross with him now! Just like you were with me, never go the same direction! I'm dropping in behind him now. Target-"
"Hit."

"Blast it to hell!"
"You did better this time, Sirius."
"How am I supposed to be the bait if he can hit me in seconds?! Why don't you do it Squad Leader?!"

"Roger, line up."
"What's that?!"
"Sirius, I'm depending on you to take Lohm out for me. Lohm, re-engage, and target me."

"Copy."

Sirius' line goes quiet for a moment. "Uh, yessir."

"Alright, basketweave, Sirius! Starboard! Enemy approaching dead on our six!"

"Copy, leader!"
Valen looks out his aft viewport as Lohm darts toward him, trying to get a lock. "Enemy fighter on my tail, get on him Sirius!" Valen dives downward hard, Lohm in chase.
"R-roger!" Sirius stutters slightly, inexperienced in the role. Trailing, he starts pursuing Lohm's 'enemy fighter.'

"Take him out, Sirius!" Valen barrel rolls wildly, faking to one side and banking to the other, nearly losing Lohm as he struggles to keep up.

"I've almost got him, keep him off for a few more seconds!" Sirius says frantically, closing in on Lohm. Soon Lohm breaks off pursuit to evade Sirius. "Target lock! Got him, Squad Leader! I got him!" As the pilots cheer and congratulate Sirius, Valen slowly leans back in his seat, and breathes out a sigh of relief. Under his helmet, he blinks a small drop of sweat out of his eye.

The TIE's hatches open up in the catwalks of the hangar bays, the invigorated rookies all jumping out to chat with one another as they descend to the flight deck, where Valen stands with his helmet off. They all quiet down as they approach and line up.

"Good job, pilots," Valen says formally. "There're many weaknesses to improve on for each of us, but with practice, we might even survive a Rebel attack."
"With your tactics, we're sure to be an ace team!" Daxxis enthusiastically exclaims, energized by the effective new lessons.

"There's a lot to learn if you intend to survive. So, I've booked our squadron for double patrols while we're still in Imperial held space." Puzzled looks dart back and forth among the rookie pilots, unsure about this workload they're about to take on. Valen studies their reactions, and decides to respond. "Fighting Rebels is not a joke. It's not school," he says as they straighten back up. "If you don't learn as much as you can now, the Rebels will kill you in the first engagement, and then they will kill your friends because you were not good enough to protect them. Clear?"
"Yes sir!" the boys bark.

"Lohm, Sirius, and Daxxis. You're good at targeting, but you need to work on evasive maneuvers. I want you to study the members of Black Squadron's evasive actions during the early civil war. They employ some individual tactics that you should memorize. Jorlessen, Pyr. I want you to revisit the Advanced Academy lessons on quick targeting, and to study how they apply to enemy blind spots, focusing on the X-Wing."
Valen dismisses the pilots, and they walk out of the hangar. Valen stands straight, as Flight Officer Sirius remains at attention in front of him. Valen turns his head slightly. "You're dismissed, son."

"Permission to speak freely, Squad Leader, sir?" the young officer asks respectfully.

"Granted."

"Sir, why am I your wingman? Lohm is obviously a better pilot."

"Good question, son," Valen imparts with a stoic smile. "You're dismissed. Study up, we start double patrol in another 8 hours." Befuddled, Sirius compliantly turns and marches out of the hangar, leaving Valen alone.

Valen stands on the stark flight deck as he turns back toward Delta Squadron's fighters. The sharp angled, hexagonal shapes of the TIEs' solar panels glint in the bare white light of the hangar bay. Holding his helmet under his arm, his hand nervously grips and re-grips the lower edge as he inhales deeply. Valen's eyes narrow at the combat fighters as they're taken into a maintenance bay at the back of the hangar by the cranes. Awkwardly left in the hangar, Valen looks around, as if he doesn't know where to go. He peers down into the black lake of stars, and at last exhales.

---

"No, no!" Valen grunts as he sits far above, Daxxis and his wingman Pyr sitting dead in his sights. "Keep communication, and feign disorganization. I came in right on top of you, you need to call me out and start splitting before I even get here. An X-Wing squadron will try to make up for your high maneuverability by diving on you. The quick hit and run tactic, that's what the rebel pilots will go for, countering superior numbers in any way they can."

"You're too fast, Commander, we can't catch you!" Pyr blurts, frustrated at how long they've been at it.
Valen sighs under his helmet, "You're doing much better than yesterday, Pyr. But you need to learn as quickly as possible before the squad's first combat mission."

"We did fine," Sirius chimes in with a rather inflammatory remark.
"You're teamed up with Commander Rannix, Janos, ya nerfherder!"
"Alright, cut the chatter. This patrol's over, we're starting our double now." Undisciplined groans crackle over the comm system as they line back up. "Now, keep an eye out for me, I'm-"
"Delta Leader! I didn't know you were out on patrol still!" Zain's cheerful voice interrupts the maneuver. Valen swivels in his seat to see the full squadron of Hawks approaching from above the massive Executor, The Lambda Shuttle flying along side.
"Yessir, Commander Zain. Welcome, Hawks, we were just running some exercises."
"Valen, allow me to show you what the great Hawks have been learning as well." Commander Zain's jovial voice pushes the squadron to one side, as the Hawks move into the sector.
"Yessir. Deltas, holding pattern at the top of the sector. Let's take this opportunity to study the squadron we'll be supporting."
"Great idea, Valen! I knew the Ace of Epsilon would be an asset to my squadron," Zain says as the gleaming white shuttle passes in front of Valen and his pilots. Hawk Group is enormous in comparison to the Deltas. A mass of 30 to 50 TIEs.

The Deltas sit far above the Hawks as they watch. Hawk Group lines up below, forming a giant grid. Formations of TIEs split off and go through basic tactical motions, stiffly moving around, paying special attention to staying in their columns.

"That's a lot of firepower down there," a voice breaks the silence.
"That's right, Jorlessen. The grid formation is formidable offensive power. I've seen TIE grids applied to great effect, tearing multiple X-Wings to pieces."
Lohm's voice chimes in, "Why don't we practice with grids, Commander?"
"A grid of TIEs presents a very large target that easily telegraphs its moves. Focusing on staying in formation, a grid can be as slow as its slowest pilot. Organized and easy to command from a central leader, but sluggish to change direction. Heavy losses to a grid can be had if an enemy just fires wildly into it."
"Yes, Squad Leader." Down below, Zain's shuttle releases a faux squadron of training drones. They light up yellow, and begin to engage. The Hawks maneuver around them, engaging via their formations. The firepower is evident, concentrated.

"What? They get drones? I feel like it's been forever since I've fired these cannons."
"Take it easy, Sirius. Practicing with each other is the best way to learn. You're fighting other humans who make real decisions, and you're learning how your wingmen fight."

"...Right." Sirius sighs over the comms.

"Well, it looks like they're keeping with the grid formations as usual. See, Leader?" Lohm changes the subject back. "The pincer maneuver," he says as Valen looks down and watches the two major columns of fighters crush the drone formations between them. As the formations finish off the drones and reset for another run, Pyr speaks up.
"Did we look this boring when we were part of the Hawks?"
"Probably for the best we're not down in there with the grids," Jorlessen says, weary of just how vulnerable the squadron looks from above.
"Ok, that's enough. Hawk Group will need our protection….especially if they insist on flying like this." The pilots laugh quietly to themselves as Valen drops the scathing remark. "Pyr. You studied the X-Wings in focus. Tell me where you would attack if you were in one."
"Uh-"
"Up from underneath and behind would be ideal, sir," Lohm interjects quickly.
"Um...yeah. From behind and underneath," Pyr quietly follows, acting as if he knew the whole time.
"Ok, Junior Lieutenant Lohm," Valen says after a slight silence among the pilots. "Why's that?"
"That'd put you in the TIE fighter's blind spot while not exposing your own, and you can score a lot of direct hits into the TIEs' lower fuel tanks on approach."
"You've been doing quite a bit of reading, Lohm. That's right."

"Thank you, sir," Lohm says.

After a moment, Valen poses, "So, squad. Where would you be to prevent that from happening? Where would you be to protect Hawk Group?"
"Down farther below and behind," Lohm says quickly.
"That would make sense, wouldn't it? No, Junior Lieutenant. Staying down there would only put your blind spot first. The Rebels would take you out, and then continue through to take on the main squadron. Anyone else?"

"Up above and in front?" Jorlessen throws out a guess, hoping to be right.
"No. Come on, Delta Squadron uses their heads. In a major column, the supporting squadron wants to be below and in front. At least in space anyway." The pilots sit in silence, as if they'd never learned this in Academy. Valen finishes waiting for the pilots to 'get it,' and continues. "That way, if enemies are approaching from behind, we can drop back and intercept them quickly, Hawk Group passing us in the opposite direction. If enemies are in front, we're already there. However, if we were behind and they showed up in front, we'd use precious time struggling to pass the Hawks." The pilots' voices begin to murmur sounds of understanding as Valen tries to explain it. "We stay below because the TIE has great visibility above and behind it, and if a squad of X-Wings decided to attack us first from our blind spots, they'd end up in front of an entire enemy fighter group. They wouldn't risk that on the small supporting squadron."
"YES SIR!"
"Good. Write that down. When you're covering, and you don't know where you should be, get out in front, and below." Valen looks around at the other TIEs as they float silently in formation alongside. Leaning back, he stares out the front of his cockpit at the sea of stars, the bow of the Executor stretching off to infinity below them. After a while, Valen slouches in his seat and sighs as he leans on his elbow. He looks around his cockpit at his instruments, and catches a shape above his head. Valen's eyes fall on the large, utilitarian emergency power breaker. Quickly, he looks away, out the window again. Finding a way out of this downtime, Valen clicks on his inter-squadron channel.
"Commander Zain, sir."
"Yes, Delta Leader, what is it?" Zain's voice crackles through, very formally.
"Requesting permission to participate with Hawk Group. We'd like to practice our covering maneuvers in real time."
"Permission denied, Lieutenant Commander. Hawk Group needs to practice too." Zain's communication is stern and commanding. "Hold position up there until further notice."

"Yessir." Valen clicks off the channel, and lets out a quiet groan to himself.

---

Chapter IV: Sulon

"Delta Leader, you've got one on your six! Dive to .05 and I'll cover!" Two lone TIEs split apart against the backdrop of stars at combat speeds.
"Copy 2! I can't shake him, enemy's right above me!"
"Hold on, Lead! I'm dropping in on his tail!" The TIEs dart around, the enemy fighter in chase between the two of them.
"Hurry, Sirius! I don't think I can keep this up much longer!"
"Almost…Got him! Got him, target lock!" Sirius exclaims, his computer beeping in victory.
"Copy Delta 2," Valen says, relief in his voice. "Good hit-Sirius, two new targets! Coming up from below!"
"I see them, I'm gonna draw their fire!" Sirius dives on the enemy fighters and twists his TIE between them. They both whirl around to chase him. Valen smiles slightly under his scowling black skull mask as he targets Pyr.
"Target lock on Pyr!"
"Ah, blast it!"
"The other one's breaking off pursuit! I'm going after him!" Valen reflects on how the past uneventful weeks have been good for the squadron as he watches Sirius chase down and target Daxxis. "Take that you rebel scum!" Sirius shouts with intensity in his voice.
"Another, up above you, Sirius! Watch it!" Valen yells as he loops around towards his wingman.
"I've got him, last one!"
"Negative, Sirius, keep evading. I can get him from where I'm at."
"He's headed right at me, if I can hit him first-"
"Target lock on Sirius."
"AH!" Sirius barks into his comm, frustrated.
"Copy, Delta 2 down. You and me, Lohm."
"Yessir." Lohm and Valen circle each other in tightening spirals above the Executor, fighting to get the upper hand. Valen is calm and grinning under his mask, as he watches Lohm visibly struggling to get on his tail. All of a sudden, Valen jerks on his steering yolk. The fighter leans out to one side as if it were leaving the loop, and Lohm exits to pursue. But immediately, Valen doubles back into the spiral and dives in on Lohm from his side, getting an affirmative beep from his computer.
"You're dead, Lohm, target lock!"
"Damn! How do you fly like that, Commander? I can never take you out!"
"Alright, team. Form up on me," Valen says, ignoring the compliment as usual. The TIEs collect from their scattered positions and line up behind Valen's ship. "Delta is doing well with the advanced maneuvers against multiple targets. Lohm, you especially."
"Thank you, sir."
"Pyr, Jorlessen, you're both good communicators, but you need to work on your targeting still. Daxxis, Sirius, you've both improved a lot. Sirius, you need to adjust your judgement when you improvise. Try and think. Your improvisation has worked before, but sometimes it's luck."
"It's always luck, Commander-"
"Adjust. Your. Judgement," Valen speaks clearly into his commlink.
"Yes, Squad Leader."

"Ok, I think we have time for one more sparring session. Daxxis, Pyr. You're the wingmen. The rest of us are Rebels. Everyone-" A beep chirps from inside Valen's helmet. "Stand by." Valen checks his channels. The hailing is silent. Going to his command console, he sees red text scrolling down, and chills run up his spine.

[ALL SQUADRONS RETURN TO TYRANT]

Clicking on his squadron's channel, he addresses the team. "We're cutting this one short, squad. Everyone back to the Tyrant."

"Delta Leader."
"Skipper," Valen says as he walks into Captain Lennox's well appointed office. "Commander Zain." Zain smiles his friendly smile as Valen lines up next to him and another few officers.
"Squad Commanders. The Tyrant is being dispatched," Lennox begins with a commanding voice. "A lead informs us of a Rebel convoy sneaking about along the edge of the Sullust System. The Tyrant will engage and eliminate the convoy."
"Easy enough, my Hawks will eradicate this Rebel slime for you, Captain." Commander Zain volunteers his squadron with enthusiasm. It seems he has something to prove with his new Hawks.

Valen decides to throw his hat in the ring. "Wouldn't it be wise to track this convoy and see where it's going?"
"Intelligence suggests the small convoy is carrying Rebel saboteurs and specialists to Sullust in an effort to foster the insurgency on the planet. We have no need to learn too much, but we will be sifting through the wreckage for any leads, Rannix."

"Yessir."

"Adolas," the Skipper says over Valen's shoulder.

"Yes, Skipper." The young naval trooper has appeared out of thin air once again as Valen turns around.

"Notify the helm. Lightspeed." With a nod of his oversized helmet, the young man spins in place and puts a hand up to the panel on the wall. As he speaks, his voice echoes through the hallways outside.

"Lightspeed to Sullust, stand by."

So that's the face of the mysterious voice on the comms.

Captain Lennox sits down in his fixed office chair as the engine noise of the Tyrant builds. Valen puts his hand out to steady himself, as the rest of the officers widen their stances.

As quickly as the disorienting acceleration begins, it's over, and the Skipper continues as the engines continue to hum at lightspeed. "Gentlemen."

"Yes. We will intercept the rebel convoy as they pass the central planet's moon of Sulon," a brown coated officer states.

"Good. Skipper, if you put us directly in front of them as they pass the moon, we can smash them against it," Commander Zain boasts. Valen gives it some thought, and nearly says something, but holds his tongue.

"Rannix, what is it," Lennox says, as if he has no time to wait.

"Sir, I think we should see if we can get in front of them before they get to Sulon. The moon presents the only cover in a few lightyears. If they have defensive capabilities, they may use the moon to hide behind and regroup. If we get between the Rebels and the moon, we can chase them out into the system, leave them exposed."

"It's a good plan, Rannix, but if we chase them out into the open they'll escape into hyperspace," Zain interjects before Lennox can say anything.

"The gravity well would prevent-"

"It's risky to chase the Rebels into open space. If they evade to a point they can jump to lightspeed we will lose them," Lennox says quickly. "If they use the moon to recover, the Hawks will split and surround them on the other side. The Tyrant will move out from Sullust to help push the Rebels away from their objective."

"Yessir."

"Gather your pilots. We're on a course to cut the Rebels off as they pass the moon." Zain and Valen salute, and exit the office.

The bright streaks of starlight illuminate the hallways of the Tyrant. Commander Zain and Valen walk the corridors in silence as they enter the quiet turbolift down to the garrison hallway.

"There's no shame in it. Captain Lennox picked a clearer, more straightforward tactic."

"With all due respect, sir, the strategy I'd laid forward was not that unclear."

"I like your strategy, Valen, but the Captain is a straightforward tactician. He doesn't understand the subtleties of space combat like I... or you do."

"I guess," Valen mutters. "But we'll do as ordered."

The doors open, and the coarse looking rousting officers are lined up outside the turbolift doorway. As they walk by the officers, Zain nods. One officer marches up and hits a console on the wall. The familiar lights above the doorways light up red, and the doors whoosh open in unison. Valen and Zain walk down the hallway as the brown coated officers begin shouting the pilots out of their rooms behind them.

"Calling Hawk and Delta. Pilots to the main hangar bay, all pilots to the main hangar bay," a buzzy voice echoes down the hallways overhead. The pilots all start to wander out of their quarters to either side of Valen and Zain.
"So, what's the news, Lieutenant Commander?" Sirius says as he pokes out of his room, sorting out his freshly cleaned helmet. Almost immediately, Sirius is picked up by his harness and pulled into the hallway by a rousting officer.
"Can't you hear, boy?! Hangar bay! Move it! Move!" the large man growls as he muscles Sirius down the hallway.

Valen just finishes lining up beside Commander Zain on the flight deck of the hangar bay as the pilots begin to file through the access in front. The muffled shouting of the brown coated officers emanate from behind the group as it pours out onto the deck and lines up in a column.

"Pilots! Welcome to Hawk Group's inaugural engagement," Zain says proudly, his gleaming white shuttle perched on the deck behind him. "We are en route to the Sullust System, where a Rebel convoy is attempting to sneak insurgence specialists to the planet and incite turmoil. We're dropping out of hyperspace and cutting them off. Stay in your grids, boys. We will rip the Rebel scum apart, and be back to celebrate for our Emperor."
"LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR!" the entire hangar bay erupts patriotically.
"And glory to us! To your fighters, Hawk Group out first." Zain turns and starts to head toward the loading ramp of his shuttle with an accompanying pilot. Valen furrows his brow and turns slightly as the pilots head to the catwalks.

Catching up to Zain, he inquires, "Sir, should your supporting squadron not be the first out?"
"Haha, is the Ace of Epsilon looking for glory in such an engagement?"
"No, sir-Thamus. I just think if protection's our objective-"
"Valen, it's a convoy strike. A small one. Let the Hawk boys have their glory, you'll be out there with us soon enough," Zain says, the grin pulling over his face as he leads his pilot up the shuttle's loading ramp.
"Ugh," Valen mutters as the ramp closes, and turns around. Met with his subsquadron, Valen immediately hides his expression.
"So, we're out last, sir?" Lohm inquires, having obviously listened in.

"Yeah-" Valen interrupts himself to parlay orders. "Everyone prep for second wave launch, let's go," he says, hiding his disappointment and waving his pilots up the catwalks.

Valen sits in his quiet fighter as the orders and commands echo through the hangar bay. The Hawks swivel slowly on the launching grid in front of Valen and his pilots, and lock into place. As they sit perched above the illuminated lake, he no longer feels the anxiety he used to. The massive starship shudders, and the lake goes black once again. The Hawks immediately drop into it, row after row. The great, white shuttle rises up and sluggishly begins to lower itself into the sea of stars below.

Finally, the Delta TIEs jerk forth on their railings. The subsquadron is preparing for launch. The anxiety rushes back up behind Valen's ears as the deathly black lake moves underneath them. "Alright, Deltas, final prep for launch," Valen quickly says, almost caught off guard that they are launching.

"Woo! Here we go!" Sirius shouts, his voice so wildly emphatic it rattles the comms.

"Keep a lid on it, Sirius. You die, I die."
"Yessir, just excited to blast rebels, sir." The TIEs lock into place above the infinite, brackish sea of stars, and their engines start to cry and howl as they spin into place.

"I'm dropping us on my mark. Keep in formation, we need to catch up and get to covering position on the Hawks." Throwing his hand up in his cockpit, Valen clenches his fist and drops it in a downward gesture. The clamps clunk violently as they unclip around the TIE's hull, and the scaffolding shoots upwards once again.
"Tyrant hangar, Delta is clear." As Valen checks his systems and looks out amongst the stars, he gets his bearings. The large, black and orange planet of Sullust looms on their left, the moon of Sulon ahead of them. "Delta Squadron, form up and head towards that moon."
"Hawk Group got really far ahead."

"Cut the chatter, Daxxis. Full throttle, we need to catch up." The TIEs wail even louder as they accelerate to attack speed.
"Squad Leader, I have visual on the Rebel convoy," Lohm speaks up, keeping focused. Valen's readouts highlight the Rebel formation out in empty space to the right of the moon. Hawk Group's nearly 50 fighters are headed straight for it. The convoy accelerates and starts fleeing toward Sulon. Perhaps this will be another 'Vuiros' assignment; easy.

"Copy, let's cut this corner and save ourselves some time." Valen banks to port and makes a direct path toward the moon, rather than the Rebels. Up ahead, the Hawks are in pursuit, and start firing en masse from their grids, chasing the Rebels toward Sulon. The Rebel convoy lights up, trailing fiery explosions in the distance. The Hawks start getting closer in Valen's viewport as they catch up, passing Commander Zain's shuttle.

"Fight well, Valen! I think my Hawks have everything under control though."

"Copy, Hawk Leader." Valen politely ignores Zain as they begin to approach the Hawks up close, dropping beneath them.

"Delta Leader," Sirius says, finally sounding like a soldier. "I have visual on two GR-75 medium transports, and...five unidentified shuttles."
"Copy, Delta 2, do not engage. We need to get into position to cover the Hawks. Anyone see enemy fighters?"

"No, sir."
"Nothing from here, Lead."

"Keep your eyes peeled. Hawk Leader, Delta is in cover position beneath Hawk Squadron."

"I read you. Stay with my fighters, the Rebels look like they're going to use this moon as cover."
Valen rolls his eyes under his helmet after hearing this latest 'surprise.' He looks up through his dorsal viewport and watches the massive grid begin to split. "Roger, Hawk Leader, we'll follow the left flank around the moon and meet at-"
"Negative." Commander Zain's voice cuts Valen off. "Negative Delta, my Hawks need cover on both sides, you will split and guard."

Valen hesitates to respond to this command, his helmet subtly shaking from side to side. After a brief moment of silence, Lohm chimes in on the Delta's private channel. "Uhh, sir? I don't think-"
"Roger, Hawk Leader," Valen interrupts quickly and clicks back over to the Delta's private channel. "Deltas 3-6, you head off on the right flank."
"Sir-" Sirius blurts before Valen speaks over him.
"Remember your training, and stay in front and below. Keep your eyes open, we'll meet on the other side in a few minutes."
"Yessir," Lohm buzzes as the rest of Delta peels off out of Valen's rear viewport. Valen's wingman, Sirius remains behind.

After a moment, Sirius's voice hisses in a private channel between him and Valen. "Sir, do you think we're ready for that?"
"Sirius, I want you to keep your eyes peeled for enemy fighters, keep focused. It's just us two out here for now." Valen constantly swivels his head around, looking out each window in turn before returning to look at his readouts.

If fighters hit the rest of Delta now, they haven't got a chance.

Laser fire chatters overhead as Valen and Sirius circle the moon. Looking up above them, a shuttle bursts into flames, its pieces scattering toward the surface. On the far side, the other TIEs disappear around the horizon.
"Delta Squadron. Lohm, status update." Fizzy static returns. The only things he can hear are the bursts of laser cannons on deflector shields. "Tyrant, this is Delta Leader. We're getting interference from this moon."
"Copy, Delta. Bouncing the signal off our comms." Off in the distance behind them, the massive Tyrant is slowly keeping up with the engagement.
"...elta Lead-r. This is Delta 3, do you copy?"
"Copy, 3. Status report."
"Nothing over here yet, will let you know. Hawks are hammering the shuttles up above us."

"Same here. Keep your eyes open." Valen and Sirius stick close below the grid of Hawks as they bite away at the Rebel ships' shields. Above, a shuttle breaks from the group and tries to flee for Sullust below. The Hawks stay in their grids above and don't pursue.
"Sirius, engage."
"Yes!" Sirius shouts through his commlink, slightly taking the lead as they pull up towards the shuttle. The Rebels are in a panic, they probably didn't even see Valen and Sirius waiting below.
"Don't let them get to the surface. Let 'em know we're here."
"Roger, Leader." Sirius fires a few shots across the bow of the shuttle, aiming away so as not to hit any of the Hawks. The shuttle immediately begins to evade and pulls back away from the surface of the planet. It adjusts course straight toward the Hawks. After a moment, Sirius chimes in. "Uhh, sir? Are they on an attack vector?"
Valen's eyes widen. "Sirius, take that shuttle out, they're right in the Hawks' blindspot!" Sirius and Valen blast off on full throttle to catch the shuttle as it heads toward the underside of the Hawks' grid. Valen is just behind Sirius as he watches him try to target the shuttle.
"Hurry Sirius, they're nearly in range!"
"Almost got it!" Things are getting close. Too close. Valen begins to target the shuttle over Sirius' shoulder. The targeting computer narrows in and prepares to initiate a lock, but just as Valen's thumb nears the firing button, beams of green light shoot forth from Sirius' TIE. The shots eat through the shuttle's rear deflectors and strike the starboard engine, sending it careening out of control.
"They're still in this fight, Sirius, finish them!" Immediately, Sirius banks to starboard and cuts the shuttle apart with another burst of fluorescent green fire.
"Woo! Yeah!" The flaming pieces scatter, and twirl out into space as the two wingmen return to their positions underneath the Hawks.
"Did y-u get a -..t over there?" Lohm's voice hisses through the comms, slight interference edging in once again.
"Yeah! I took out a Rebel!" Sirius yells, immensely excited.
"Good shot, Sirius, keep your eyes open for any more," Valen warns as he clicks back over to the general channel. "Tyrant, this is Delta Leader, we're getting more interference."
"C-py Delta, expect-...blackout…th-next few min-...clear of the moon-..."
Valen looks out his aft viewport, and sees the Tyrant, nearly completely obscured by the moon.
"Delta Squadron, be advised. We're going to lose comms. Stick with the Hawks and we'll rendezvous on the other side."

"D-...Lead...say aga-n, we-..."
"Delta Squadron. Lohm, Daxxis. Do you copy?"
"..."

Looking back out his window, Valen can't see the Tyrant anymore. Out his dorsal viewport, he can see the Hawks chasing down the teardrop shaped rebel transport and its shuttles. As he stares back at Sulon's surface, Valen mutters to himself, "Hurry up, Hawks."

After a moment of uneventful glaring at the moon as it passes over them, the system's sun flares out over the horizon, with a series of growing orange stripes. Brilliant flames streak the black sky as the other transport emerges from the opposite side of the moon in pieces, the TIEs all following suit. Soon the buzzes and hoots of the pilots from the other half of Hawk Group can be heard through the static. The TIEs begin to close in on the final Rebel ships. They break away from the moon, and head out into open space.
"The Rebels are fleeing, don't let them jump!" Commander Zain's voice shouts over the comms. "Hawks 2-17, get between them and open space, 18-36, target their engines." Valen looks out his forward viewport to see Zain's shuttle, keeping its distance from the fight, struggling to keep up.

"Hawks, you heard the Commander. Get out in front and crush them, we'll bring up the rear." The voice of Vanatus Farenn booms through the comms from the lead TIE. The two columns rush after the Rebels.
"Deltas, on me, we're running cover from the very front." The rest of Delta Squadron forms up on Valen as they begin to accelerate past the first Hawks. The enemy ships can just be made out in front, from their mixed colors of engine flares. The Hawks are catching up. Soon they'll be in range again. Valen fights off the tunnel vision as they get closer and closer to their targets.

"Almost in range, Hawks. Target the main transport," Farenn's authoritative voice commands. Half the Hawks' grids line up behind the rebel ships, the other half beginning to pass underneath them. Valen looks up out of his dorsal viewport to see the Hawks between his Deltas and the rebels.

Almost got this thing.

As Valen looks out at the open space in front of the enemy, he starts to feel anxious that they could escape at any moment. Suddenly, something appears, as if out of thin air. A stark and sudden entrance. A massive ship, ragged and shabby looking. A great mass of hull at the front, with a long, slender protrusion at the back, linking it with an engine module.

"What the-"

"Frigate! Rebel frigate dead ahead!"

"Farenn, what do we-". The enemy cruiser unleashes a barrage of turbolaser fire into the TIEs, shaking their grid apart. Sporadic explosions erupt from inside the group of Hawks as their chatter becomes chaotic, overlapping one another.

"Hawks, break off pursuit!" Farenn sounds flustered and confused. "Uhh, we need to keep out of range!"

Trying to keep control amongst the chaos, Valen says "Delta Squadron, pull around to .08 and watch for-"

"Delta Leader, more hyperspace signatures!" Lohm's voice blurts into the comms. As the formations weave about in disarray, Valen struggles to keep his squadron in a good covering position. Valen looks back, above the frigate as tiny spots in the distance blink out of lightspeed.

"Copy, I see them, we've gotta get out of this barrage! Up above Hawk Group." Valen jerks his TIE vertical, and shoots upward above the Hawks. Looking up out of his cockpit, he can see the Rebel transport and the shuttles as they slip underneath the frigate, and escape to lightspeed. "Blast it. Deltas, are you with me?"

"Copy, we're here sir. What now?" At this point, Valen is completely out of his depth. He looks behind him, down at the Hawks as they flee the withering fire from the Rebel frigate.

Damnit, Folund. Where are you when we need you?

Steeling himself for the only thing he knows, Valen imparts, "Deltas, keep your eyes on the Rebel fighters. We'll intercept them once they exit the covering range of the frigate."

Daxxis jumps in, stating what everyone is thinking. "We can't do much about that thing without support. Where's the Tyrant?!"

"They're on the other side of Sulon, our comms are cut off," Lohm states.

"You mean they don't even know what's happening over here?" Sirius adds incredulously.

"The Rebels planned this." Valen knits his brow as he watches the X-Wings start moving toward the Hawks. "There, the fighters are moving in. Deltas, engage the X-Wings." The TIEs begin to dive down, Valen out in front. "Pay attention, rookies. We're coming in from right where they can see us. Hopefully we can scare them off their path and buy the Hawks some time." The fighters start getting closer, and the laser fire from the frigate starts to light the inside of Valen's cockpit.

"Are we improvising, sir?" Sirius asks, worried.

"Just get ready to split, Sirius. Everyone, stay with your wingmen. Here we go, open up!" The Deltas fire down on the X-Wings' formations, and they begin to turn away. Valen begins to feel light and anxious in his stomach at the sight.

"Do we split?"

"Forget it, they're wavering! Punch through!" Valen shouts as he speeds up. Now's a chance to break the Rebels' advance and even things out. The Deltas form a tight arrow and fire into the lead ship, blasting it to pieces. The enemy formations begin to loosen, and scatter as the Deltas tear through the middle.

"We did it!"

"You can have that one, Pyr. Keep your heads on your shoulders, this is where the real fight begins!" Valen warns as the X-Wings twirl and change directions toward them.

1, 2, ...7, 8,...10 ships. The Hawks better help engage these guys...

"Hawk Group, we're engaging 10 X-Wing fighters."

"Copy Delta, fight them off, I'm sending the Hawks on an attack run," Zain says, ignoring how outnumbered the Deltas are. The Hawks form up an assault formation and start to move toward the cruiser once again.

Valen's lips press together under his scowling helmet. "Negative! Negative, Hawk Leader, there are too many!"

"Keep them off my Hawks, Rannix, that's an order!" The X-Wings are closing on the Deltas' tails now, spinning and flashing streaks of red light through the squad.

Sirius chimes in, "Sir, we're gonna die out here without help! What do we do?!"

"Sirius is right, we can't hold them off like this! We're not ready!" Lohm affirms, panic in his voice.

Valen looks out at the enemy cruiser, its turbolasers blasting away, pressing the Hawks against the moon. "Uh, ok. We won't get their numbers down if we can't get behind them. Sirius, with me to starboard. The rest of you, keep them off as long as you can!" Valen and Sirius split off. The X-Wings stick to the larger number of fighters and continue to chase.

"Ok, they're chasing us! Now what?!" Daxxis yells.

"Sirius and I will get on their tails. Head toward the Hawks."

"Sir, we're supposed to keep them away from the Hawks!"

"Shut up, Sirius!" Valen orders and switches to the inter squadron channel. "Hawk Group, we're dragging the X-Wings up in front of you, we need you to engage them as they pass."

"Negative Delta," Farenn's voice buzzes in. "Our orders are to engage the frigate."

"Farenn, this is gonna be a massacre unless you help us strike these fighters!"

After a brief silence from the comms, Farenn returns. "Hawk will not deviate course, but is on standby to engage."

"Deltas, full throttle in front of Hawk Group! We're right behind you!" Valen shouts. The Deltas zigzag their way up toward the Hawks. "Sirius we need to distract them, covering fire!"

Valen and Sirius barrel roll in, chattering away through the enemy formations. They bite at the X-Wings' rear shields as the two of them zip overhead. The enemy group splits in two, 5 breaking off to chase Valen and Sirius.

"We can't hold them for much longer!"

"Keep at it, Jorlessen! We're almost there!" Lohm does his best to keep the group headed toward their goal.

"I've got one right on me, I've gotta bail!"

"Pyr, don't! Keep on course!" Daxxis' voice is shaking with fear and panic.

Pyr splits from his wingman and heads back out to open space, two of the enemy fighters on his tail.

"They're on me still, I can't shake 'em!"

"Pyr, get back in formation, we can still-" In a jet of fire, Pyr's TIE disappears from the starscape, the two X-Wing fighters swooping through the wreckage. Valen's face twists as Daxxis screams through the comms for his wingman.

"Damnit, Pyr! Daxxis, you form up with Lohm and Jorlessen." Valen does his best to dismiss the loss and keep them going. The other Deltas have more even odds, but Valen and Sirius are sorely outnumbered. Thinking quickly, Valen devises a plan. "Deltas, double back, we'll shake them off each other!" The Deltas spin around, pulling the X-Wings back together. As they pass, they fire across one another, causing the pursuing X-Wings to evade and scatter. "Nicely done, Deltas. Now-" Valen's cut off as the missing two fighters dive past him and Sirius.

"Sir!"

"I see them, Sirius! Lohm, hard to starboard!"

"Where?!" Lohm blindly jerks his fighter to one side just in time. Blazing energy zips through the Deltas. Lohm blurts out a yelp as a shot sparks off his port spar.

"Lohm, you're hit!" Jorlessen shouts.

"I'm fine, keep going!" The Deltas speed off together again as the X-Wings hurry in chase.

"Keep going, we're almost there!" Valen growls, the crimson beams of energy skipping off the insides of his solar panels.

Farenn's commanding voice buzzes through the comms, "Delta Leader, we see you. Hawk group, prepare to fire." The Deltas tear up in front of the Hawks, the Hawks immediately closing the door on the enemy fighters with a screen of laser fire. 3 burning explosions accompany flitting and twirling bits of starfighter scattering out into space. The rest of the X-Wings scatter up high and begin to regroup.

"Final approach! FOR THE EMPEROR!" The grid of Hawks hurdles on toward the Rebel cruiser, straight into the withering fire from its turbolasers. Valen grimaces as he watches ship after ship be destroyed on their haphazard charge through the barrage. Opening fire, the Hawks' rake the broadside of the cruiser. Even with the combined might of the Hawk's firepower, the shields hold on the behemoth frigate. The formations pull up and away from the cruiser as they pass.
"Did you see that?! We didn't even get through!" a Hawk pilot shouts through the comms, dismayed. The hail of red continues unrelentingly, blasting away at the Hawks as they double back the way they came, the Rebel cruiser now chasing them toward the moon of Sulon.
"Zero effect! Hawk Leader, advise!" Farenn's worried voice comes through as the Hawks flee.
"Hawks, fall back!" Zain's shuttle turns in the distance and runs for the moon. As the cruiser begins to accelerate, the enemy X-Wings form up above it.

Valen watches the Hawks pass underneath as they flee the devastating barrage, and commands his squadron. "Delta Squad. Cover Hawk Group's retreat."
"But sir! We won't last long against the X-Wings and that frigate!"
"We're saving lives, Sirius! Deltas, shield position!" The five remaining Deltas line up behind Hawk Group as they run for the moon, facing down the pursuing forces. Valen glares out his front cockpit window at the encroaching X-Wings, with the rebel frigate behind them, his breath beginning to slow.

Damn you, Zain.

Just as Valen is about to command an attack, an overpowering static blares in on the combat channel. From the hiss emerges a new chatter, precise and controlled.
"Turbolasers 1-6 in forward position."
"Roger, tower emplacements, quads up and running."
"Heavy turbolasers, primed."

Valen looks out at the moon for the source of the transmission. The massive, angular shape of the Tyrant is cresting Sulon and charging into the fray!
A familiar, commanding voice rings clear, "Hawk Group, Delta Group, bank to port. Clear the lane." It's Captain Lennox.
"Uhh, roger, Tyrant! Hawks, on me!" Farenn's TIE leads the remaining Hawks up and out of the way, Zain's shuttle quickly moving with them.
"Delta Squad, clear the firing axis!" As the TIEs bank away, enormous, blazing green ordinance rushes past from the Imperial battlecruiser, scattering the enemy fighters once again. The shots hit with bone-shattering bangs, crashing into the shields of the Rebel frigate as it charges forth, firing in return. Valen can feel the impacts pound into the Rebel vessel's shields, his TIE shuddering as the giant passes by. The titans charge toward each other, butting heads with their devastating firepower.
"Get 'em, Skipper!" The Hawks erupt, cheering the Tyrant on.
Lennox's calm voice projects through the combat channel, "Shields to port side, concentrate fire on the frigate's central spar." The speartip shape of the Imperial Tyrant begins to cross with the spindly, ragged hull of the Rebel Frigate. The cataclysmic bursts of fire increase as the battlecruisers bombard each others' broadsides, the ordinance clapping heavily on the shields. The impacts judder the hull of Valen's fighter, even as he sits high above the clash. Suddenly, the frigate's shields begin to fold, and masses of plating begin to upheave from its side. Looking on in awe at the sight, Valen shakes his head, and looks around for the enemy fighters. The telltale shape of the X-Wings have formed up high and are starting to dive on the Tyrant.
"All TIE squadrons, enemy fighters coming in."
"Copy, Tyrant! Hawks, engage!" Commander Zain's voice returns, finally giving orders to attack the fighters.
Valen jumps in to coordinate with the attack. "They're going for the shield generators, engage from starboard and turn their flank!" The Hawks rush upward at the approaching X-Wings, with Valen and his Deltas sweeping in from the side, blasting through their shields.
"Burn, Rebs!" Daxxis shouts through the fear and anger as one of the fighters' wings are clipped, sending it spinning through the Hawk's formations. The X-Wings roll off, evading the Deltas and putting the entire Hawk Group on their tail.
"Good shot, Daxxis! You've got them on the run, Hawks! Take them down!" The mass of TIEs screams off after the Rebel fighters, the superior numbers quickly overwhelming them as they destroy ship after ship. Soon, the few remaining X-Wings break away and scatter to lightspeed as the pilots all cheer. Looking far below, Valen sees the Tyrant is coming about as the Rebel frigate runs for open space. With a clearer head, he can see that the Rebel frigate is dwarfed by the size of Lennox's Star Destroyer. The Rebel ship's wounded hull is spouting flames and gas.
"To the Tyrant!" Farenn yells as the TIEs dive down to form up above their home.
"Disable the engines, before it gets to open space!" Zain yells through the comms. "Assault formation!"

The TIEs rush forth from the Tyrant and brave the barrage of red turbolasers once again, raking the engine module with their concentrated firepower. In a shower of sparks, two of the engines are immediately ablaze, the TIEs' attack having penetrated the weakened shields. The Hawks peel off, getting out of range as the frigate continues to limp toward open space, the Tyrant quickly catching up.
"They're getting away! Another pass at those engines, now!" Zain yells. As the Hawks come about again, two more Star Destroyers blink out of hyperspace in front of the frigate, fighters pouring out of their launch bays. An allcomm rattles through the commlink from the Skipper.

"This is Captain Lennox of the Imperial Star Destroyer Tyrant. Cease any action. You will surrender or be destroyed." The Rebel frigate powers down its wounded engines and slows to a stop as the massive fighting force surrounds it. Valen and his squadron join the flights, the pilots all cheering to victory over the comms.

---

Chapter V: Gunning for it

"Amazingly well done, my pilots!" Commander Zain congratulates his group on the flight deck of the main hangar from in front of the gleaming white shuttle. Valen looks down the lines. The column is littered with empty spots. Off to the side, he sees his small row of ragged Deltas, short one exhausted face. "We Hawks have snatched glory from our enemies with mighty talons!"
"GLORY TO THE EMPIRE!"
"AND LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR!" he says with a subtly raised fist, excited at his first victory. "Instead of destroying a convoy en route to Sullust, we beat a frigate into submission! You should all be proud of what you have accomplished today. Now! I'll have combat reports from Lieutenant Vanatus Farenn and Lieutenant Commander Valen Rannix. Return to your quarters and rest up, gentlemen." The pilots all file out, Valen and Farenn meeting with Zain.
"Sir."
"Commander, sir."
"Yes, to my office. We have some confirmations to make," Zain says, his flat smile spread wide across his face.

"Alright, gentlemen. Confirmed kills," Zain says excitedly as he rounds his desk and drops himself into his seat. Taking off his officers cap and wiping his shining scalp with it, he requests, "Valen, you first."
"Junior Lieutenant Rolf Daxxis I can confirm took out an enemy X-Wing during one of our final engagements."
"Great, I knew the highgrad would be an asset to your team!"
Valen continues through the interruption. "Flight Officer Hathorres Pyr scored a fighter kill during the first engagement, and Flight Officer Janos Sirius eliminated a shuttle as it attempted to engage the Hawks."
"Sirius?" Zain asks, ignoring Pyr's fighter kill. "Well, the boy's got spunk. I suppose his wild tendencies would at least land him a shuttle kill," Zain chuckles to himself, and then looks back at Valen. "Any others, Valen?"
Valen's face is stone cold. "No, sir."
"Not even for the Ace? My goodness, it seems the Hawks truly have seized the glory! Vanatus, please. Regale me with the kills from our Hawks."

"Junior Lieutenant Mullane, Io, and Asyff destroyed a shuttle each en route to the moon. Officer Ulerius I can credit with the final blow to the transport on the right flank." Farenn's normally in-charge demeanor starts to waver slightly. "I have confirmed kills from Officer Yamanus, and Junior Lieutenant Seldon and Uborras for X-Wings. As well, Junior Lieutenant Kenz and I took out two X-Wings each."

"Very promising!" Zain leans back in his chair and smiles, adding the toll up in his head. "I'll need to watch each and every one of these boys!"
"Junior Lieutenant Kenz and Mullane are available for commendation, sir." Commander Zain raises an eyebrow as Farenn continues to expound. "The rest were shot down during the engagement with the Rebel frigate."

Zain's face goes cold and serious, and he leans his elbows against the desk, placing his muzzle against clasped hands. After a moment, his eyes shift upward to Farenn. "Well. I suppose sacrifices are necessary for victory, son. Good men like them will be hard to replace, but I'll refill our ranks with the best I can find."

Valen steps in, "Pyr was killed in combat as well, Commander."
Dropping his hands to the desk, Zain turns to Valen. "As will I find a replacement for your lost squadmate. Tangling with X-Wings I hear is quite difficult." Keeping his sympathetic face, he dismisses Farenn, who walks out of the office.

"It's doubly difficult when we have to face them alone, sir," Valen half-mutters.

Commander Zain deflects the remark. "That's a bit informal, Rannix."

"May I speak frankly then, sir?"

Zain glances sideways at Valen. "It seems you already were," he says with a flattened brow. He hesitates as Valen awaits his permission, and then gives a quick nod.

"Sir, it was a tactical mistake to leave my squadron alone with so many X-Wings. It's a good thing Farenn cooperated with some assistance. We could have been routed before you sent your squadron to run on the frigate."
"It's your job, Rannix. I had confidence an Ace Leader would have everything under control against a few Rebel snub fighters."

"With all due respect, sir. What were you hoping to achieve, using the Hawks' light weapons against the cruiser?" Valen continues, trying to keep the conversation formal.
Commander Zain raises his chin, certain of his motives. "We are the Empire, we don't retreat from Rebel cowards. I was looking for a weakness, Valen."
"At what cost? We weren't prepared to take on a frigate single-handedly, we didn't know how best to engage one. With our force, we should have kept outside their range until the Tyrant and its firepower joined the fight! You were playing into their hands, the whole point of the trap was to separate us from our cruiser"
"You're making assumptions that I'm not entirely comfortable with, Valen! How do you know it was a trap?!" Zain comes back, confronting Valen.
"It's common sense! Without us to protect it, the Tyrant could have been seriously crippled, or worse. What if other Rebel cruisers were hiding in the system? You executed a poor strategy, and it cost us all dearly. We were dead in the water until Captain Lennox showed up with the Tyrant."
In the silence proceeding, Zain slowly, and quietly stands up from his desk, leaning forward on his hands. "That's enough, Lieutenant Commander," Zain speaks calmly. "I'll not have you spouting such insubordination in my office again."

Valen returns to attention. "Yes, Commander."

In a change of mood, Commander Zain immediately pulls back from the confrontation. With a gentle sigh, he says, consolingly, "You've shown you're a good squad leader, and I do value your combat experience. I'm sorry you lost a pilot today." He straightens up from his desk, and walks around toward Valen. "An opportunity arose that we couldn't ignore. If the Rebel cruiser intended to simply escape with the saboteurs, we would have returned empty handed. Failure is not an option for us." Valen furrows his brow, trying to understand what the Commander is saying as they walk out into the hallway. "You could say we snatched victory from the jaws of defeat today, showing courage against overwhelming odds. I know you did so valiantly at Yavin," Zain says as he turns to Valen with an optimistic grin.
"...Yessir."

"If you'll excuse me, son. I need to requisition replacements for our pilots and order new fighters. I'll see if I can spare you a good one." Zain salutes Valen, and returns to his office.

Valen stands alone out in the hallway, confused as to how the meeting went. Deciding to clear his head, Valen takes the long way to his quarters, still wearing his flight suit with his officer's cap. Walking into the turbolift, he sits quietly, leaning back against the wall. Taking a deep breath, Valen looks down at his helmet as he holds it like a bucket of water. Tensing up slightly, he holds his breath and stares up at the floor numbers as they count down to his destination. The door opens out to the observation deck, where it's looking pretty crowded, the atmosphere loud with the murmurs of conversation. Outside the giant windows, the battle scarred Rebel frigate lingers below a Star Destroyer, boarding shuttles moving back and forth between them. Valen observes as the Star Destroyers circle their new catch, listening to the enthused crowds of crewmen.

Mutters from a group of proud officers can be heard. "That's the Phalanx and the Judgement over there, taking our kill."

An engineer captivates a wide-eyed group of junior crewmen, recalling, "I was in emergency engineering near the big towers when we engaged broadside."
"What was it like?"
"It was so loud! The deck was shaking like there was no tomorrow, I couldn't hear anything for a half hour afterward!"
"I heard Hawk Group was routed when we got around the moon," one crewman says to another.
"Yeah, but the-oh." They stifle themselves as they notices Valen's pilot jumpsuit amongst the crowd. Valen pretends not to hear, and continues walking through the observation deck to the opposite lift, overhearing other murmurs about the clash. Valen arrives at the lift on the opposite side of the crowded deck, and as the doors open, Petty Officer Owan is standing inside.
"Lieutenant Commander," Owan greets politely.

"Owan," Valen says with a nod as he enters the lift.
"Where are you headed, sir?"
"Barracks please."
"Yessir," Owan complies with a click of a button on the console, and says, "Sir, I was on my way to speak with you."

Turning to give his full attention to the Skipper's representative, Valen says, "Yes, how can I help?"
"The Captain's requesting a formal report on the engagement. There was much we missed on the other side of Sulon." Owan hands off a tablet.
"I'll turn the report in to Commander Zain, thanks," Valen says as he receives it.
"May I speak with you...informally, Lieutenant Commander?" the young man asks, having finally mustered enough courage from last time.
"Of course."
"What's it like out there? In a TIE fighter?"
Valen chuckles slightly, and looks back up at the floor numbers. "It's pretty good I guess," he says, glossing over it with a smirk. They stand in silence, the conversation going nowhere for a moment.
"I always thought it'd be pretty amazing to fly one. I know I couldn't. Not fast enough to be a pilot."

"Well to be honest," Valen says, motioning to the blaster on Owan's hip, "I was never trained to use a firearm."
"Really?"

"You probably know how to fight on your feet better than I do."
The Petty Officer grins sheepishly under his chinstrap, huffing a humble laugh through his nose. "I don't think I could outwit a fighter ace, sir."
"Tell you what," Valen offers calmly. "You show me what you've got with a blaster sometime. I'll tell you what it's like flying a fighter. Sound even?"
The young man's eyes light up. "Whenever you've got time, sir." The door to the turbolift opens out to the garrison hallway, and Valen walks out.
As Valen walks through the corridor, he notices the pilots are all lying or sitting in their quarters. Nobody talking, not one pilot chatting. The air in the hallway is cold and lonely; somber. Valen notices, as he walks by, multiple bunk rooms in a row with no nameplates on them anymore. An unfamiliar pilot is standing in front of a bunk entrance with a missing nameplate on it, staring blankly inside. The nervousness starts to creep across Valen's shoulders once again, and he hurries his way through the passage to his quarters.

The door hisses closed behind Valen, and he stands alone in the dim silence of his quarters once again. After taking in a moment to be alone, he unclips the oxygen hoses from his chest piece, and places his helmet on the desk. Twisting and reaching awkwardly under each arm, he unlocks his chest armor, unseating his cap and mussing his hair as he pulls it over his head. Lazily, he lumps his cap together with the chest piece, and tosses it onto the footlocker. Unclad from his armor, he sits down on the side of his bunk, and unzips his jumpsuit. Valen looks underneath and scoffs to himself, smirking as he realizes he's still wearing his officer's uniform underneath. As he sits there for a moment however, his eyes pass along the floor, staring into the distance. Reflecting on the events of the mission, Valen's smirk slowly falls away.

---

"Alright, kid. Let's get you situated. You do your reading?" A large man with red hair asks.

"Yessir, Gunnery Sergeant, sir." Ando squints as he buckles the uncomfortable chinstrap under his helmet with bulky leather gauntlets. The two sit side by side in a cramped, armored room with their open faced bucket helmets on.
"Arm combat systems."
Ando raises his hand above his head and flips a row of switches, then extends it to the center console and clicks a button. A red targeting display lights up. "Combat systems up, ready to engage."

"Twin blasters."
"Front and center," Ando says quickly, his relatively elite Naval recall kicking in. He reaches in front to a steering yolk.
"Light blaster."
Ando reaches out and yanks a lever. "Toggled to light blaster."

"Prime shell launcher."
Spinning in his seat and leaning to one side, he unfastens a large shell from a box shaped hopper on the floor. Lifting the heavy ordinance with both hands, he seats it in a metal cradle on the side wall. The shells are attached to each other by a belt of small jointed chains. "Priming breach, hands clear." Reaching above the cradle with both hands and grabbing a large lever, Ando assertively jerks downwards on it. The cradle abruptly takes the shell into the wall, and a mechanical clunk emanates from outside. Turning forward again, Ando reaches above his head and brings a targeter down in front of his eyes. "Launcher ready, sir."

"Enemy troops up high, Corporal, danger close."
"I'm on it!" Ando unbuckles himself and rushes halfway out of a hatch in the ceiling. "Turret's up, targets sighted!" he shouts from outside.

"Open fire."

Taking aim, Ando swivels his turret towards a series of lit up targets on the walls and opens fire. After a series of bursts, the targets light up green.
The red haired man speaks calmly into his commlink, "Merik, enemy turret position at 1 o'clock, .5 kilometers."
Throwing his hand up under his helmet to his earpiece as he'd seen from the courageous Deck Officer on Zelliros, he shouts, "Roger!" Jumping down, Ando drops into his seat, clipping himself back in.

"Twin blasters, take it out."
Ando pushes the lever back into position, arming the weapons, and pulls at the steering yolk. A mechanical whine resonates from the floor underneath them. Looking out a small open window flap in front of his seat, Ando can spot the target in the distance as the room rotates into position. Excited, Ando continues shouting while the other man remains calm. "Target acquired, opening fire!" He pulls the trigger, and the cannons fire a deafeningly shrill double pulse.

"Negative impact, shielded position. Switch to shell launcher."

Pulling the viewfinder back in front of his eyes, Ando can now clearly see the shielded target in the telescopic view. "Firing!" Ando reaches to the right of the yolk, yanking backward on a lever. Immediately, a hollow poof rocks the cabin, followed by the metallic rattles and bangs as the mechanism reloads itself. In the viewfinder, fluorescent smoke billows from the target.
"That's a hit, nice shooting Merik. Disarm weapons."

Reaching up and flipping the switches back down, Ando attempts calmness, "Safeties on."

The red haired man grabs up a corded commlink and speaks into it, "Training control, exercise over."

An echoey voice rings and buzzes from outside, "Galley closed, training session over. All safe."

The two men jump out the top hatch to their "room"; an AT-ST training platform on board the Phalanx. Looking like the upper half of the affectionately named "scout walker," the functioning cockpit of the simulator sits atop a skeletal framework in the training bay.

"Good shots Corporal Merik, I think you're qualified to ride with me," the red haired Marine says as they climb down a ladder in the large open room.

"Yessir."

"When I'd heard from Lieutenant Commander Scheiffer about your wild performance on Zelliros, I knew you had to have some sorta fancy background. TIE Pilot."

"Yeah."

"Go figure. Had no idea they didn't train you flyboys to shoot a blaster," he says with a guffaw as they drop from the scaffolding to the deck. "Well, your targeting's off the charts for a ground trooper anyway, so whyever they sent you here, they're missin' out," the man says, letting loose with a familiar hard-as-stone backslap, nearly knocking Ando off his feet.

Entering the walker storage bays through a giant accessway, the pair continues down a line of tall, grey, creature-like machines. The bay is alive with the blue flashes of welding torches, and the clanks of machinery. Ando looks around to see that the men working are almost all wearing the same pilot's uniform.

"Yep, Corporal," the red haired Gunnery Sergeant says proudly, as if he was asked. "Our walkers are our own, and we take care of them." The other pilots look up from their work as the two walk by. Goggled, greasy faces all tracking the newcomer. "You won't find 'just another TIE' in your bay, made up of pieces. We're the pilots, gunners, and engineers for our vehicles, and we get only one." The two of them stop at a walker in its maintenance bay. Sparks stream off the top of the walker's head like a waterfall. The bay reads "01" in large white letters next to the towering machine.
"Hey Boss!" the red haired man growls. The sparks at the top of the machine stop, and a goggled head pokes up over the edge.
"That the new guy, Hammand?!" A voice shouts from up top. By the deep sounds of it, he's another large man.
"Yeah Boss!" As Hammand affirms, Ando stands straight, prepping for an introduction.

The head pops back out of sight. After a moment, the shower of sparks begin again for just a moment. "Hang on!" the voice moans over the sounds of arcing electricity from behind the vehicle's squared off browline. After a second, the sparks stop, and Ando can hear the tool drop carelessly with a clang. The officer descends from the back of the walker on a cable as it reels out. Hitting the ground, he marches out from the rear of the maintenance bay. Surprisingly, a lightly built, dark haired man walks from the shadows. Deceived by the voice, it turns out this man is not large at all; built more like a pilot. He wipes his hands on his dirty uniform and pulls his goggles up onto his forehead.

Hammand introduces him, "This is First Lieutenant Staleksridge: Battalion Commander."
"First Lieutenant Stal...eksridge," Ando fumbles, trying to pronounce the name

Staleksridge smirks in a puzzled fashion, and nonchalantly turns to Hammand. "Zelliros?" he asks shortly.
"Yeah. Corporal Andorus Merik. Ex-flyboy." Hammand replies as if he's revealing something Staleksridge doesn't know.
The man sizes Ando up with narrowed hazel eyes. A shorter man, he stands only slightly taller than Ando. Backhanding Hammand in the torso almost roughly, the Commander remarks, "Looks like he'd fit a walker better than you, Hammand."
The giant grins at the jab. "Yessir, I'll enjoy the elbow room."
"Welcome to the Imperial Dragoons, kid. You're gunner for my Second, and Scrubber for my Battalion," he says, pointing up at Hammand with his thumb. Directing his attention into Ando's eyes, he sharply says, "Don't miss. Very important."
"Sir," Ando affirms quickly. It seems, like Ilyan Morchusa back on the AT-AT, they don't speak in complicated words here either. These men seem lowbrow; common.
"Hammand," he dismisses the pair with a nod as he turns back to his mechanical beast.

"Come on kid, this way." Hammand's stoney hand lands with a crash on Ando's shoulder, jostling him heavily and directing him down the line. "This one's ours," he says as he motions up at the grey walker in Bay 02. Ando stares up in wonder at the bizarre machine, its ghostly hollow eye slits looking out at nothing in particular. They climb up the ladders to the access catwalks.

As they head up, Ando asks, "Gunnery Sergeant?"
"Yeah, what's up?" he huffs as he lugs his large body up the ladder.

"First Lieutenant Stolens-kredge? Does he have a first name or something I can call him so I don't embarrass myself again, or should I just stick with 'sir?'"
"Haha, yep, don't call him that. He was busy, but he goes by 'Stalek,' or 'Boss.'" The big guy stops, and turns back after a moment. "Probably stick with calling him Boss." He turns forward, grunting as he continues up the ladder, "He'll let you know what to call him."

"Yes, Gunnery Sergeant Hammand."
"Don't call me that either. Takes too long."

Confused, Ando asks, "Do you have a first name, sir?"
"Nope."
"Oh," Ando says, in the absence of anything else to say. They get to the top of the towering metal vehicle, and Hammand drops into the hatch. Standing halfway out and looking up at Ando, he slaps his meaty hand over the top of a mounted repeater. The hardware gives a solid clack in response.

"This is my addition. Sergeant Weiss and I used it to shoot Rebs off the other Dragoons." He continues, matter-of-factly, "Weiss is dead, so, you're on this now."

"Uh-...Yessir," Ando stutters slightly at the remark.

"Don't get shy, Flyboy, his last one was a good one." Come on," he says as he waves his gauntleted hand. "Check out your new metal box." They both climb inside. The interior looks...lived in. Shabby and patched in various places.

"This is Dragoon 2, I call her Legs."

"Customized seat?" Ando speaks in a casual, shorter tongue, trying to get used to the informal atmosphere.

"Yeah, little big for a pilot," the man grumbles proudly, slapping each broad shoulder, "so I bent the framing here, and rewelded here," he says, pointing underneath his seat in the cramped cockpit.

"Nice, how fast does she go?"

"She's a good old girl, but her top speed dropped ever since we added the turret on top. She should go up to 90 across flat ground, but I've never seen that, personally."

"Well, have you looked at-"

"You sure it's not from luggin' your heavy hide around?! Maybe she's tired!" A heckling voice interjects from outside.

Hammand leans forward in his seat toward his personal armored porthole and looks outside. "Raythe?! Raythe! Get back to work!"

"No, sir! Bring that kid down here!" Ando leans forward to look out the porthole in front of his seat as well. Raythe stands on the deck below with a small crowd of greasy walker pilots.

"What'd I say 'bout callin' me sir?! I'll bring the kid 'round later, we're talking mech stuff! Your uneducated mind wouldn't understand!" Hammand follows up with a scathing remark to try and ward them off.

"We wanna see the fancypants Navy boy!"

"Shaddap, Hix, go clean your guns! You couldn't hit a fat Dewback at 2 meters last mission! Lemme finish my intro with the flyboy or I'll jump down there and tan some hides to cover my seat!" The Gunnery Sergeant roars out the armored window.

Discouraged, the crowd of pilots start moving away as Hammand continues hurling insults at them. He drops back into his seat, shuttering the plate over the porthole with a mechanical lever. The plate slams shut with a solid clunk.

"Now. What're you sayin'?"

"Ah, have you diverted energy from the gyro to the motors?"

"Yeah, that won't work, the motors are maxed. There's nothing I can do to add power, and you want that gyro to get all the power it wants, or she'll tip over."

"Well what about tightening the leg suspension and lightening the walker? The added response would help at least."

Hammand's laugh booms through the compartment. "I don't see how that'd work, but tell you what. I'm gonna leave Legs here with you, and you do what you can. We'll run her up and down the bay tomorrow to see how your changes are."

"Yes, Gunnery Sergeant."

"Alright, Flyboy, you be good to Legs now," Hammand grunts as he heaves his body up out of the hatch.

Left in silence, Ando excitedly looks around the cabin for the toolbox. Leaning down and snatching it up, he opens the case to reveal a haphazard pile of greasy tools. Wandering about the cockpit with his eyes, he absently wipes the tools off on his pantleg. As he tests surfaces for weakness, pulling on plates and jiggling control boxes, he's interrupted by a noisy row outside the cockpit.

"Hey! I told you to get back to work!" Ando looks around with a start. Shouts and cackles erupt from down below outside. Ando leans forward to see Hammand grabbing Raythe and Hix around the neck under each arm and dragging them to their walker, the rest of the pilots keeping their distance and laughing uproariously. Leaning back in his seat, Ando resumes his work, pulling a patched plate off the wall.

---

Chapter VI: Developments

The hiss of a door can be heard as the bright hallway lights bleed into Rolf Daxxis' dark quarters.

"Daxxis." Valen stands in the doorway.

Rolf sits quietly in his bunk, dark circles under his eyes. His uniform is ragged and disheveled as he stares across the short gap to the empty bunk opposite him.

"Suit up. Patrol started at Oh Six Hundred," Valen says firmly. The rest of the pilots sit off to the side.

"I should have gone with Pyr. I should have covered him," Rolf says as he stares into the bunk. Valen stands for a moment, and waves the pilots away with a silent head motion. After the concerned squadron quietly walks away, Valen enters the room, and closes the door. Slowly, Valen approaches, and sits in the opposite bunk.

"It couldn't be helped, son."
"I-...I'm a Highgrad," Rolf says. "Top scores from the Academy. I should've had the skills to protect Hathorres."

"You don't have the experience. You did well sticking with the squad, it kept you alive." Valen folds his hands. "Your replacement's waiting for us to teach him how to fly like a Delta."

His face twisting and contorting, Rolf puts his head in his hands, his fingers clenching around his hair. "I don't-," he says with a pause. His arched back starts to tense and convulse as he leans over. "I don't know if I can do it again, sir," he says, fighting sporadic sobs. "What if I lose my replacement?"

"Then we'll get-" Valen begins at a raised speaking voice, but stops himself and looks toward the door. Turning back, he continues more quietly. "Then we'll get you another one who can follow orders!" Valen whispers harshly, quickly leaning forward. "Pyr split from the formation against my orders, and nearly dragged you with him. We had a plan, and he got scared. He could have killed you, and Lohm with his mistake. Who knows what would have happened to the rest of us after losing our senior pilots?" Rolf looks up from behind his hands as Valen continues, putting a hand on Rolf's shoulder. "He was dead as soon as he abandoned us. I'm glad you didn't go with him, Rolf."

"Y-yessir."

"You did me proud at Sulon, cutting that Rebel fighter down. I have it recorded as one of my new squad's first achievements." A quiet, consoled laugh coughs forth from the young Junior Lieutenant as he sniffles back the tears. "But I need my Highgrads ready for patrol. Clear?"
"Yessir," he says, putting a soldier's face back on. "Clear, sir."
"Shake it off. Get suited up," Valen imparts to the rookie with a half-smile, standing up and opening the door. As the white light from the garrison hallway bleeds in once again, Valen tenses slightly, looking in at Pyr's empty bunk. "I want you ready to kill Rebels for us."

Valen closes the door and leans against the wall outside as he waits. Closing his eyes, Valen takes a deep breath to try and forget the image of the vacant bunk. Looking into his mind, he revisits his family's garden. The vibrant flowers, and peaceful black stars above.

"He gonna be alright, sir?" Startled by the quiet voice, Valen looks over suddenly to see the squad is still in the hallway. Lohm is standing at the front, concerned for his fellow Highgrad and former wingman.

"Yeah. Take the squad and see to the newcomer, we'll be there shortly." Valen straightens out his face in front of the pilots. "Kid's probably still waiting on the flight deck."

Delta squad hangs around on the flight deck as they chat casually with the new pilot, when Valen's voice echoes from the access way. "Julos? Bevurrant Julos?"
"Yes, sir!" The young man barks as the squadmates part. Valen and Daxxis walk in from the hangar access in their flight gear. Daxxis is trying his best to stand straight and keep a stoic face. Julos throws an arm forward in salute as the two approach.
Throwing a casual salute back as they continue to approach the young pilot, Valen responds, "Ok, greenhorn," as if to tell him to calm down. "This is Junior Lieutenant Rolf Daxxis. You're his wingman."
"Sir, it will be an honor flying with you," Julos says formally, clicking his heels.

Daxxis walks by without stopping and sighs out a, "Yeah, ok," leaving the new kid standing a little awkwardly.
As the pilots leave him, Valen stops in front of Julos. "Mount up, and stick with him, Julos."
"Sir, I will follow your orders."

Valen scoffs quietly, smirking. Throwing his hand on Julos' shoulder and facing him toward the catwalks, Valen just says, "Sure," and gives him a little push.

"Sir, this boy's not acceptable for the squadron. If you need Delta to protect your Hawks-"
"We're all working with what we're given," Zain says as he cuts into a fine looking meal in his office. "It was a big shipment of new pilots."
"This kid isn't just new," Valen says, slightly shaking his head. "With due respect to him, the boy doesn't even think without me telling him to. He's practically a clone."

"Great, he should do very well under command from an Ace. Look, the fresh faced pilots aren't important, they'll all improve in time. I have secret news that you're going to want to hear; it affects all of us pilots." Zain settles in his seat to prepare to give his exclusive news. "Word is the Alpha tests with those blue Interceptors have gone very well, and the Empire's been accelerating production of the fleet versions. I have some information on their assignments that you should read; get an idea of their performance, and a little info that I think we as Commanders should know." He leans forward and slides a tablet across his desk toward Valen. Smiling an excited grin, Zain continues. "I'm going to pull every string I can to get us in those Interceptors first."

"Yessir." Valen leans over the desk to receive the tablet. Zain's hand stays on top of the device, holding it down. As Valen looks back up, Zain is staring him in the eye with the coldness that is starting to become familiar to him.

"This is top secret, Lieutenant Commander. I shouldn't be showing you this," he says as he releases the tablet, smiling again. He leans back in his chair. "Mutual trust, Valen. You understand." Valen takes the tablet and holds it down at his side, as usual. "Review that in your quarters, please. Don't let anyone know you have it."
"Yessir, Thamus," Valen says. Zain smiles warmly at being referred to by his first name, and dismisses Valen. Valen exits the quarters and walks quickly down the hallway, heading for the turbolift. Moving swiftly, Valen looks out the small windows as they go by, watching the cruisers moving slowly among the stars. Subtly, as he moves, he starts to turn the tablet towards himself, and look down at this new information.

"Lieutenant Commander." Valen flips the tablet back down to his side, and looks up quickly. Officer Owan is walking towards him in the opposite direction. Valen stops in his tracks and waits for Owan to finish approaching him, holding the tablet as discreetly as he can.

Keeping a straight face, Valen asks, "How can I help you, officer?" Owan puts his hand up to his hip and on his sidearm.

"Are you busy, sir?"

"Uh- no, why?" Valen asks, trying to hide his nervousness.

"I'm headed to the range, if you'd like to join, sir," the officer says, tapping his hand on his sidearm. Breathing an inward sigh of relief, Valen nods, and Owan leads him down the hallway. Valen holds the tablet close.

"Petty Officer Adolas Owan," Owan says quietly at the entry desk to the firing hall. "Standard range is fine, thanks," The muffled sounds of blaster fire echo from behind the walls. The sounds of personal weapons are slightly unfamiliar to Valen, as he listens to the twangs and shrill ricochets. After a moment, Owan turns to Valen. "This way, sir. I've signed you in."

The two walk down to a door that reads "FH-2," and head in. The walls inside are stark, but for the multiple spots of scoring along them from repeated use. Valen stands back as Owan walks up to a waist high counter top, where he unholsters his weapon and sets it down. With a small mounted scope, and a silvery firing muzzle, it looks almost elegant. Special.

"Sir, are you familiar with the DH-17?" Quietly, Valen shakes his head. As Owan waves him over, he walks up to the counter, still clutching the tablet down at his side. "Well the standard safeties and firing modes are universal between this and the E-11. Here," he says, flipping it on its side. "This is the safety. This here will toggle. Stun. And here. Lethal. This one's single shot, scope probably needs adjusting but-…."

Valen tries to look interested as his mind stays on the tablet at his side. He nods, and gives interested, understanding hums.

"Stand back sir," Owan says as he turns a dial on the countertop. At the end of the range, a target appears, and moves back to an ambitious looking distance. Owan picks up the weapon and readies it as Valen stands back. Holding the pistol at arm's length in front of him, Owan fires. A deafening whistle accompanies a series of sparks off the left wall near the target. "Heh, um...Well the standard issue weapons aren't the best at long ranges," he says sheepishly as he puts the safety back on and starts adjusting the scope. After a moment of finagling, Owan takes aim again and fires the pistol, clipping the top right edge of the target. Valen scoffs quietly to himself. Apparently not quietly enough, as Owan quickly looks back. Muttering to himself nervously and re-aiming, he fires a number of shots, each hitting the target around center mass.

"Ah, that's better!" Going back to adjusting his weapon, Owan remarks, "The scopes on these go out if you don't use them for a while. You can guess how often I get to fire my sidearm from the Skipper's side." He turns toward Valen and hands him the weapon. "Probably for the best," he says as he reaches to take the tablet. Valen hesitates, pulling the tablet away slightly. After a moment, Owan gives a quick, "Sir. Your tablet."

Valen loosens his grip and hands the officer the device.

"Thanks, sir. 'Safety first.'" Owan steps back and stands at Valen's shoulder as he awkwardly holds the weapon.

"Huh. Pretty heavy, isn't it?" Valen says, subtly bouncing the weapon up and down in his grip.

"Bulky, yeah. But not as heavy as the DL-44. Those things are pigs, as far as I've heard," Owan says as his attention idly falls to the tablet in his hand. Thinking quickly, Valen takes quick aim and pulls the trigger. The weapon reacts with a sad click.

"Hah!-ahem, sorry sir. It's an old training phrase; 'Safety first.' Disengage the safety before engaging the enemy." Owan dryly informs, stifling his smile. He leans forward to remind Valen, pointing to the side of the weapon. "Right side, there."

"Oh. Thanks," Valen says quietly, aiming down the sights this time. Pulling back on the trigger, the pistol kicks upward, whistling a red bolt over the top of the target. It sparks off the back wall. Embarrassed, Valen looks back at Owan to see what he thinks, and finds that Owan's watching him intently.

"That's good, sir. Just keep a good grip on it. The 17's got a bit of a kick."

"Right," Valen says, slightly frustrated as he looks back down the sights. Trying to relax and keep Owan's attention, Valen asks, "So, how'd you end up an assistant to the Skipper?"

"Just the right place at the right time I guess. Lennox was stopping off at Corellia, and-"
Valen fires a shot, missing the target outright. "Oh, you're Corellian? So," Valen pauses awkwardly as he tries to word it, "were you...um-"
"Drafted? Oh no, I volunteered. With a recommendation from my family house, of course." Owan fiddles with the tablet. "Got me right into officer's school. Guess it worked out okay."

"I'll say. Representing the Captain's not a bad job," Valen says, trying to take aim with the apparently awkward sidearm once again, firing another poorly aimed shot. "Blast it," he slowly mutters to himself.

"I've got high scores in linguistics and 'officer's conduct,' so I guess that made me a good candidate."

"Well your scores must be pretty good with a pistol like this then," Valen remarks, trying to put a little blame on the weapon for his dismal performance.

"Oh no, I think I'm pretty average. Just good interactions with the high command, clerical stuff," Owan says, to Valen's inward disappointment. Valen fires off another shot, hitting the target low.

"HA! Got it!" he spouts in victory.

"Good shot, sir. I'd say that's a stomach hit. Definitely out of the fight." Valen flips the little safety and turns back to the Petty Officer as they trade once again. Owan takes his stance back at the counter, firing off a few quick shots. "So, what's it like to fly, sir?"

Valen sits back in a chair with the tablet on his lap. "It's the best thing I can imagine. Out in the stars, it's you and your ship. Those powerful ion engines screaming through the hull are amazing, and I gotta tell ya," Valen starts to speak casually, "that series 2 TIE helmet is the most comfortable space helmet I've ever worn."

Owan lets out a chuckle as he lines up for another shot, straightening his own helmet. "Well it's a damn sight better than these Naval Trooper helmets-uh, excuse my language, sir. I don't know why we don't get a facemask like the Marine Stormtroopers. Guess we don't really use a visor's systems much aboard a cruiser."

"It is an odd design, isn't it? Well in an engagement or during hazards, you get more protection than me. I only wear my armor in a TIE, and without any shielding, it doesn't really do much if-...um..." Valen stops himself. His smirk starts to fade a bit.

Owan tries to change the subject. "Well, where'd you learn to fly? In Academy?"

Snapping out of it, Valen says, "Oh, uh, no. No no, I learned how to fly in the family's shuttle back home."

"Back on Coruscant?"

"Hm?" Valen's eyebrows shoot upward. "What makes you think I'm from Coruscant?"

"Oh, I didn't mean to assume, sir. You just...You speak like you're from the capital." Owan faces back toward the target, and takes aim. "Sorry, sir."

"That's fine, son," Valen says, Darius' voice echoing through him once again. "No, my father's from Coruscant. I guess I speak more like him than I thought."

"Yes, Lieutenant Commander." After a few shots, Owan turns back to Valen and hands off the pistol. Valen trades with him without hesitation this time.

"You can address me by name, Owan, it's fine."

"Uh, yessir, Mr. Rannix, sir."

Valen just smirks at the stiff response and gets lined up again. "My family owned a sub sector near the Kuat system, you know, like the shipyards? Just outside of there, so not technically the Imperial Core." He fires off a shot, clipping the target low again. Not so subtly grunting in victory, Valen continues, "We had a beautiful space station there, jointly, with a few other regional families, on the other side of the field from the Kuat system. I was always fascinated by the Navy ships growing up, and my best friend and I used to steal the shuttle to go see them at the docks." Valen chuckles, turning back to Owan. "One time we got a little too close, and the Imperial Navy came to see us instead." Owan laughs politely as Valen continues. "I got to see some TIE fighters close up as they escorted me and Ando into the shipyards for questioning."

"What happened?"

"Well, they were impressed that we got through the asteroid belt, for one thing. They weren't patrolling that side because they didn't think anyone could come in from there. Dad was furious, of course. When he came to get us though, the commanding officer suggested flight school. For Honor and Distinction."

"Ah, yeah. The promise of the Imperial Navy." Owan adjusts his bulky helmet again. "I'd like some of that someday. There isn't much honor or distinction going around following the Skipper everywhere."

"For being in a war, you've probably got the best opportunity to see the end of it." Valen flips the safety back on and hands the weapon back to Officer Owan. "Thanks for the tutorial."

Owan trades off with Valen, handing him the tablet again. "Of course, sir," he says politely, holstering his sidearm. The two walk past the entry desk and out into the corridor. "Where are you off to?"

Valen hesitates again for just a moment. "Just heading to the office. Garrison hall."

"Yessir. Have a good day, sir," Owan bids, saluting formally. Valen salutes back, and heads off to his quarters.

Shutting the door and locking it, Valen sits down at his desk and leans back. He sits in silence, waiting as if someone should come crashing through the door at any second. After some time watching the door, he looks down and brings the tablet up, placing it on his desk. Leaning forward over the device, he clicks a button. Red code text begins to scroll down. A diagram appears alongside, with the familiar shape of a TIE cockpit pod. As Valen scrolls, he sees the dagger-like forked solar panels. The words "Field Test: Alpha" line the bottom of the diagram.

---

Chapter VII: Cavalry

Cool, morning mist shrouds a boggy forest. Deathly, ghostly silence. The tall splintered bodies of black trees stand high in the dim light, vanishing into the heights of the thick white haze. A slight breeze sighs through the long dead forest, and wafts the mist slowly along the damp black soil. In the field of straight vertical tree trunks, a few look different however. Crooked, but no less still. In the dense fog, the frightening skeletal forms of two-legged monsters stand in the cold silence, their angular metal bodies sitting mismatched against the organic landscape.

Peering out his porthole into the damp breeze, Hammand leans forward, silently scanning the open space in front. Water condenses and drips off his porthole hatch as the cloudy air drifts through into the cabin. Ando leans forward as well, looking as far as he can into the open, grassy field. Hammand slowly and carefully pulls a tethered commlink off the console in front of him.

"How's it lookin' Boss?" Hammand whispers into the rectangular device.

"I don't see anythin' Hammand. Sounds good on the combat channel though," a staticky voice whispers back. "Just keep your eyes peeled and your ears open."

"Yeah Boss." Hammand lowers the commlink and turns to Ando. "Can't see nothin' in this soup."

"I heard that, Hamm. Take your big thumb off the channel switch," the Lieutenant says over the comms, startling Hammand.

"Yeah Boss," he says quietly and puts the commlink back in its place. The twisted cord quickly becomes tangled in his clumsy fingers, and he accidentally yanks it back off the console. Ando snickers for a moment as Hammand uncoils his hand from the commlink and puts it back in its place. He immediately reaches over and pushes Ando in his seat. "Keep an eye out, Corporal!" the large, red haired man whispers harshly. Ando keeps chuckling with quick breaths, until he stops himself. Something muffled in the fog. A thump. He rushes forward in his seat, and Hammand does the same. They lean forward over their consoles, bobbing their heads around the small portholes.

"Anyone hear that? Sounded like an impact," another voice chimes in quietly as Hammand reaches back for his comm.

"Copy, Hix, least you can hear," the Lieutenant replies sarcastically. "Sounds like our ordinance; heavy cannons." The thumps continue in the distance, unseen. Nothing but mist. The rumble begins to grow, and the thumps intensify into distant thuds. After a moment, the discernable warble of repulsor engines begins to enter the relative silence. Soon, rather than a thud, a bang echoes through the empty field in front of them, and the mist flashes a dim red. The mist goes relatively quiet once again, the sounds of splintered branches crackling in the distance.

Ando strains to listen, as the sounds of troopers shouting can now be heard. The bangs get closer, more frequent. Far away rattles of small arms fire chatter through the trees, and the waning fog begins flashing more and more. Soon, the shots become more audible, more present. Sporadic whistles of blaster bolts piercing through the air can be heard.

Stalek whispers, "Alright, Dragoons, ready your gyros. They're passing right in front of us." Ando shivers slightly in the morning mist. He had no idea they were that close. He strains to see through the fog, but still can't see anything. Hammand reaches up above his head, and flips some switches. The deathly quiet room hums to life as it raises slightly, the lights on the consoles illuminating in subdued crimson.

"Flyboy," Hammand whispers, thumping Ando on the arm with an open hand. "Weapons up."

Moving into action quickly, Ando reaches up and powers on the systems, lighting up the consoles in front of him. "Weapons online, Hammand." As he peers down out of the armored window, he can see slight movement through the haze below the cabin. The subtle, slow motions of the scout troopers can just be made out as they crawl to the front of the treeline, alongside each of the walkers. The muddy white armor moves with deadly stealth, like the slithering of a Zharan glass snake, as they settle in with their rifles. A bang close by accompanies the sounds of screams, as the flash briefly illuminates the field in front of the Dragoons. Ando can see the silhouettes. A scattered field of running men, from right to left, showered by clumps of damp soil from the explosion. Sporadically, they spin in place and fire back towards the treeline to the right. They're wearing mismatched garb, and bulky looking backpacks.

"Do we engage?"

"Not yet, Raythe. Wait for the armor."

"Fog's starting to lift, Boss. Gonna lose cover soon," Hammand warns. Though the sounds of the repulsor engines are close, Ando still can't see any Rebel armor. As they wait, the sounds of shells rush overhead, the unmistakable hum of the repulsors growing louder. Branches crackle and fall in the thinning mist, unseen as the loud twangs of heavy weapons discharge close by. Ando leans forward, and then spots them; broad shapes exiting the treeline, moving into the black field. Turrets pointed to the right. They're reversing.

"Rebel tanks at 2 o'clock. I count 6."
"Copy."

"Dragoons, fire on my mark." Ando lines up his crosshairs on a broad, dark shape as best as he can. Stalek's voice booms as he says out loud, "Fire!" The walkers fire deafening blasts from their twin blasters, and two of the dark shapes immediately set ablaze. The enemy soldiers drop to the black soil as they shout and search for the source of the shots.

Stalek chimes back in, quiet once again. "Hold position. They're moving away." Looking out the window, Ando can see the shapes spin and back away from the Dragoons' treeline. They disappear into the mist, and all is quiet. The small arms fire, and even the shelling has stopped. The low rumble of the burning tanks is all that can be heard, and the subtle shapes of the Rebels around the orange flames is all that can be seen. Lone voices in the fog shout out to each other.

"Down! Down!"

"Eyes open!"

The Dragoons keep silent, staring out their dark cabin portholes. Stalek's voice buzzes in again as his walker straightens up slightly to Ando's left, "Prepare to charge. Hammand, right behind me. Raythe, left flank. Fyllus, to the right once we exit the trees." It's quiet once again. The breeze lightly starts to whip away the mist, and more bodies on the ground can be seen. The Rebels are all facing the treeline, prone. In the clearing haze, a Rebel shouts out loud in the distance.

"Walkers!"

The cry sends shivers up Ando's spine, and a thick red burst of energy zips out of the fog, obliterating a tree behind the group. The split trunk crashes to the ground, crumbling its dead branches and burning on the forest floor. The rebels on the ground start firing into the trees, and the scout troopers return fire from their cover. The small bolts clatter and ping off the armored plating.

"This is it! Dragoons, charge!" With a stomp, followed by another, and another, the Dragoons all lurch forward, storming out of the treeline. The thundering sounds of the leg actuators reverberate inside Ando's and Hammand's cabin. "Anyone got eyes on where that shell came from?!" Stalek's gruff voice shouts through the comms over the machine noise.

"I see it! 11 o'clock, up on the opposite ridge." Hix's high voice shouts.

"Put some rounds over there!"

"Ando, blast that treeline, 11 o'clock!" Ando joins the group and swivels the walker's head to the left. Jolting the cabin, Ando sends a few double bursts into the trees, lighting up the dawn. The silhouette of the rebel hovertank can be seen in front of the burning vegetation. "Negative impact!" Hammand untangles the commlink's cord from his wrist again and shouts into it, "Legs, moving left. We're on your left, Boss!"

"Copy, Ham, we're pushing right. Keep zig zagging!" Stalek's walker criss crosses with Hammand and Ando, as a heavy blast flashes between them, bursting into the trees behind. "Target dead ahead! For the Empire!" Stalek's walker fires a shell into the fog, and a blast opens up in the distance, burning. "That's three! Keep 'em coming, Dragoons!"

Ando sees the silhouette of the rebel tank moving forward out of the burning trees. Firing a double blast from the walker's chin cannon, Ando's shots skip off the front plating.

"Ray shielded, Ando! That's a Heavy!"

"Yeah, I'm on it!" Ando affirms quickly, spinning in his chair. Throwing the shell into the cradle and priming the ammunition belt with a clunk, Ando spins back and pulls down the targeter. "Shell's up! Firing!" A hollow thunk reverberates through the cabin, and the side of the enemy tank erupts into flame. The once hovering hull of the machine crashes down onto the soil. "Got it!" To Ando's surprise, the immobilized vehicle starts swiveling its turret toward them. "Hammand! Hammand, they're aiming at us!"

"I got it! Raythe, you're too close, get back! Give us some space!" Raythe's walker changes direction as Hammand and Ando circle the swivelling turret, pivoting the head towards the tank. "Get a bead on it!"

Ando leans forward, using the controls and looking through the targeter. They're circling the tank so quickly to avoid its turret, Ando can't get it into the sights.

"Hurry up!"

"It's not that easy, you need to slow down or we're gonna break our neck!"

"Come on, Legs-...Hang on, Flyboy!" Hammand shouts as he slams all his driving levers back in the opposite direction. The walker hunkers down and halts, its clawed footpads digging into the dark soil. Immediately, the grey two legged walker starts to backpedal, and the turret fires a deafening blast as the legs pass in front of it, shuddering the cabin.

"They missed! They-"
"SHADDAP AND HIT 'EM!" Ando gets the target in his sights and fires another shell. This one pierces the body of the rebel tank directly from above, blasting the heavy turret off. It clangs and crashes into the soil to one side.

"Wooha! Got him!" Ando yells, celebrating, but suddenly, a bang claps into the side of the cabin. A deafening ping judders the armored room as it shoots to one side. Ando's thrown sideways in his seat and his shoulder collides hard on the wall. Their walker staggers and recovers clumsily as he reaches back for his controls.

"Hammand, you hit?! You alright in there?"

"We're fine, boss, just skipped off. Where's the-"

"We're engaging the last tanks, but Fyllus's got a problem. Get that Flyboy on the mount!"

"Copy. Ando, you know what to do!" Ando unclips himself and scrambles up the half step in the back of the cabin. Just like the simulator. Twisting the hatch wheel to one side, he opens the cabin.

Standing up out of the armored room, Ando flinches back down as blaster fire ricochets off the surface from below. He tries to rise up again, but flinches back down as another burst from the ground sparks off the open hatch. All of a sudden, everything feels different; exposed. It's just like flying in his TIE again.

"Hurry, Flyboy, they're tryin' to open the hatch!" Fyllus yells, a slight panic in his voice. Kneeling down low on his step, clinging to the walker's roof, Ando peeks out across the field at Fyllus' walker. It has two rebel soldiers on top of it. Ando sits frozen, looking at the other walker as it tries in vain to shake the rebels off.

"HEY!" Hammand roars from the pilot's seat. "You're not gonna hit anythin' from down here! Grow a backbone and scrub those rebs off!"

Ando shakes it off, barking a, "YES SIR!" and stands up in the hatch, spinning the mounted turret towards Fyllus' walker. With a pull of the trigger, Ando's repeater sprays red blasts across the opposite walker's head. They bounce harmlessly off the heavy armor, but riddle the enemy soldiers as the shots pass right through them. Ando releases the triggers as the rebels' bodies tumble lifelessly from the top of Fyllus' walker.

"Thanks, Ando! I owe you one!" Fyllus says as another tank explodes off to the left.

"Ha! You owe me one too, Fyll! Whatchu think of that, Hamm?!" Hix's voice yells triumphantly through the comms. The Rebels all start scattering towards the trees.

"Keep it tight, there's one more tank runnin' off into the trees, and lots of troops around our feet," Stalek interjects. "Ando, put some rounds on the floor, and keep an eye out. Stormtroopers are moving into the field. Let's clean it up, Dragoons!"

Ando grins slightly at the imminent victory. "Roger, I'm-" Something hits Ando on the arm. It clanks onto the surface next to his right hand. Round and silvery, it plants itself on the deck.

Reflexively, Ando slaps it away, yelling a startled, "AUGH!" and attempting to drop into his hatch. It skitters off the back edge of the cabin, and explodes in the air with an earsplitting blast, nearly knocking Ando's bucket helmet off. Ando slips on his step and falls into the cabin, banging his head against the hatch on the way. As the walker rocks forward, the hatch slams shut above with a clank.

"You alright, Flyboy?!" Hammand yells, spinning slightly in his seat.

"That really hurt!" Ando says, reaching up under his helmet at his ringing ears. Immediately, Hammand starts bellowing out enormous guffaws. "What's so funny? What?!"

"Hahaha, nothin'! Handle those reb soldiers, Corp'ral! Get to it!" Hammand says with a wild smirk, pointing a big thumb over his shoulder towards the hatch. Ando jumps back up and checks the mounted weapon. It seems fine, aside from the carbon scoring across one side. Looking across the ground, he can see dirty white uniforms pushing into the field. Along a burned out stump, a small group of stormtroopers sits hunkered down and separated as rebels fire at their cover. Plastoid armored hands wave for help from behind the stump.

"Friendlies under fire on the right, 100 meters!" Ando shouts as he hunches down, pointing at the position with a chopping motion. The walker starts making its way around, and Ando spins the turret in their direction. The rebels in the area take notice and start firing up at Ando's position. Taking aim at the rebels in the clearing, he jerks on the trigger, firing a spray of red blaster bolts. Immediately, 3 rebel soldiers collapse and fall to the black soil, as the rest begin to scatter to the cheers of the stormtroopers. The white armored ground troops emerge from their cover, chasing the rebels off into the woods. In the distant forest, Ando sees a burst of fire rising from the trees.

"Final target down. Dragoons, regroup." Stalek's voice buzzes through the crackly comm channel.

"Copy, Boss," Hammand replies as Ando jumps back down into the armored cabin. "Raythe, Fyllus, on me. We're heading north into the trees." Ando clips himself in and retakes control of the weapons. As Hammand looks back over, he scoffs uncontrollably and starts laughing again.

"What's so blasted funny, Hammand?!" Ando shouts, frustrated.

"Hahaha, your face!" Hammand says as he pulls his goggles off his head and faces them at Ando. Ando looks into the reflection to see his bright eyes staring back out from under blackened brows. Half his face and helmet are covered in carbon residue from the detonator. Hammand continues to huff and puff as he puts the goggles back over his helmet. Ando rubs at his face with his gloved hands, and smirks back out the window as the noisy cabin rocks back and forth.

"Great job, Dragoons!" Stalek's deep voice booms in triumph. Utilitarian metal cups collide with a muted clunk as the men hail in the mess hall.

"We smeared those rebs!" Hix cheers as the team leans over their food trays at their table. Drinking down a few rationed Imperial Ales, the team celebrates.

"You probably would have done better with Stalker Team there on the opposite flank. I hear there were a few close calls with those tanks!" An officer says, standing from another table and raising his metal cup above the jovial hurrahs.

"Just say the word, Dirion, and the Dragoons might let the Stalkers have a few kills next time!" Stalek announces with a chuckle, spinning from his bench. The Marine walker pilots rumble and cheer at their latest victory.

"I'd like to, um-" Hammand stands his large body up, scooting the bench back while the smaller Dragoon pilots all make disoriented sounds and act as if the ship is capsizing. The rest all laugh uproariously at the spectacle. "Shut up! Everyone shut'cher traps, that's an order!"

"Hang on, hang on now!" Stalek shoots upward. "The Stormtrooper wants to talk!" Everyone erupts into even more laughter.

"Alright, alright! Now, it's not about me this time!" he says as he extends his cup out in front of himself. Everyone quiets down and gives Stalek's Second their attention. "I wanted to say that since Weiss kicked it, I've been in need of a solid gunner. His last one was a good one," he says sombrely, subtly raising his cup.

The pilots echo, "A good one," and raise their cups as well.

"Sure as hell can't use any of you, that's for sure…" Hammand grumbles, lightening the mood with a jab. The pilots all groan rowdily as he continues. "Who woulda thought our newest member would do so well? I know Fyllus and Oppel already owe him for scrubbing a team of demo soldiers off their walker, and I gotta say, he looks like he's gonna do well with us Dragoons. To Corporal Merik! Our Flyboy!" The benches of walker pilots all cheer and whack Ando on the back as he stands up to receive the praise. The Dragoons all finish their mugs, and Hammand booms formally, "Traditionally, of course, new guy gets the next round. How 'bout it, Boss?"

Put on the spot, Stalek hesitates. Everyone seems to have had plenty already. But then, smirking, he produces another alcohol ration card as the men all cheer. "You know what to do with this, Flyboy. I want a mug at my spot when I get back," he orders over the din as he sidles out of the group. The pilots all jostle and push Ando from the bench and towards the refreshments counter. Ando staggers a bit under the influence of a few rounds of Imperial Ale as he gets to the counter, and slides the ration card toward the service droid.

"Corporal, now, huh?" a familiar voice says. It's brimming with insinuation. "It seems you're moving down in the world." A tall officer in a black uniform appears next to him. As Ando looks over, the red-striped shoulder patch sits at eye level.

Ando addresses him, standing up straight, sort of. "Lieutenant Yudoran, sir."

"Congratulations on sparing yourself from the battle on Yavin. I thought you were dead," he says condescendingly, a venomous grin stretching over his teeth. Ando tries to keep a straight face as the thought of his lost friend enters his mind. "Might as well be, tossed in among the stunted rabble of enlisted walker pilots." As the drinks are slid across the counter, Yudoran helps himself to a cup. "You're doing quite well at retrieving drinks for your new superiors. An admirable quality for an errand boy," he says as he looks down into the metal mug, swirling the remaining liquid around. "I really shouldn't be fraternizing, but maybe we can arrange to transfer you back to the Navy. As my assistant."

"There a problem here, Flyboy?" a large voice booms sternly from behind. Ando turns to notice Hammand has appeared, and is not addressing him by his nickname.

Yudoran rolls his eyes. "Shut your mouth, Sergeant, I wasn't talking to you."

"Excuse me, kid?" Hammand says as his hulking frame pushes between Ando and Yudoran. Ando looks over to see the walker pilots are all watching, and getting up from their table. "I don't answer to skinny Navy boys. Better turn your pressed uniform around and march it back toward your fancy 'gentlemen's' table, 'fore I get mad n' bloody you."

"I guess they hold you in high regard, boy," Yudoran says over Hammand's broad shoulder before looking back at Hammand. "I suppose they would." Looking Ando's copilot up and down, he continues on his roll. "Even a shamed TIE pilot like you can be of use to these drunken, ground-borne bucket heads."
"WHATCHYOU CALL ME?!" Hammand lunges forward, nearly shoving Yudoran off his feet. The pilfered cup clatters across the floor, splattering ale into the air. The moan of benches suddenly scraping across the plated floor echoes through the mess hall, accompanying a sudden silence. The Alpha pilots are all up and heading over. Yudoran's eyes widen, and he rushes back with a growl, pushing Hammand violently. Hammand's solid body takes one step back in response.

"Keep your hands off me, Sergeant! Do you even know who I-" Hammand lunges forward again, slamming his forehead into Yudoran's face. The Alpha's eyes roll back in his head as he staggers backwards, and he slips on the spilled ale, falling to the floor. Hammand immediately rushes on top of him. The Alphas run at Hammand as he reaches down to pick the dazed pilot up from under the armpits. Taking a punch to the face, Hammand's head whips to one side, and he starts growling an excited laugh. He frees one arm as he continues to hold Yudoran's slumping body, and throws a clumsy elbow back at an Alpha pilot, knocking him flat on the floor plates. Yudoran begins to wake from his daze and starts to fight against Hammand's iron grip. Struggling to keep the now conscious and wriggling officer in his grasp, Hammand stumbles off balance, another pilot jumping on his back. Overwhelmed, but still smiling a bloody grin, Hammand's legs start to buckle as fists and feet crash into him. Immediately, the Dragoons rush in. The feisty pair, Hix and Raythe pull the Alpha down off Hammand's back and swing wild, drunken punches at him. Suddenly the entire mess hall erupts in a massive brawl, trays and cups flying everywhere.

"HAHAHAHA, these little guys're strong!" Hammand shouts as he regrips Yudoran and recovers. "C'mon, hit this flyboy for me!" he encourages Ando, holding Yudoran in an embarrassing full Nelson hold. Yudoran struggles furiously as his arms flail awkwardly above his head.

Hammand has no idea what he's getting himself into. "Hammand!" Ando yells to try and get his attention.

"Hurry up! Knock 'is teeth in!" Hammand roars with crazy, wide eyes over the clattering of dishes and tussling of fighting bodies.
"Get off me!" Yudoran growls from under a bloodied nose. "All you walker pilots are dead!"

"Hammand, put him down!" an astounded Stalek orders as he runs into the fray from the restroom area, a slight panic in his voice. Prying at Hammand's arms, he yells, "You don't know who they are!" Shocked by his superior's reaction, Hammand immediately switches off his crazed look and drops Yudoran on his backside.

Turning to Stalek and standing at attention, he shouts, "Dragoons, attention!" but immediately, Yudoran shoots upward from the floor and whirls around with a hook. Cracked across the jaw by the powerful punch, Hammand spins and staggers away.

Stalek intervenes again, putting a hand on Yudoran's shoulder. "Stand down, sir! I've got this under-" Yudoran stuns him with another wild fist, sending the First Lieutenant reeling. Stalek stumbles backward, crashing into a table and dropping roughly onto the bench to steady himself. In a rage all too familiar to Ando, Yudoran roars at Hammand to fight. Recovering from the impact, Hammand sees Stalek getting up from the bench, and starts to run back at Yudoran.

"ATTENTION!" A gravelly voice echoes clear over the ruckus. Stalek spins on point and snaps to attention. The mess hall goes, at once, silent and still. Hammand halts his charge as Yudoran stands at attention as well. After a moment, everyone in the mess hall is standing straight upright, the dishes and cups rolling to a stop. A tall, jet black uniform emerges from the entryway. The officer's glossy black boots echo through the deafening silence as he approaches.

"Captain Antilles, sir," Stalek says with a subdued volume, swallowing the blood out of his bruised mouth. The Elite Captain strolls in amongst the mess with hands clasped behind his back. Black coated soldiers walk in behind and stand at the doorway. They bear red stripes on their Imperial insignias as well, and hold firearms against their chests. Ando notices the military police crowd outside the door as the black uniformed guards block it. Antilles walks up next to Stalek and stops. Slightly rolling his foot to one side, he looks down and inspects his boot with a sneer as he lifts it from a smearing of food on the floor.

Taking a deep, sighing breath, he says, "What seems to be the problem here, Staleksridge?" lazily rolling his eyes toward the First Lieutenant.

"No problem, sir. Just a soldiers' fight."

"You mean, 'a soldier's assault on high ranking Elite officers?'" The Captain narrows his eyes at Stalek.

Stalek is sweating as he stands at attention, Antilles circling around in front of him. "...Yessir. I was not present at the moment. But I will deal-"

"Then who was present, First Lieutenant?!" Antilles growls into Stalek's face. Stalek, a strong man, winces in the face of the challenge.

"Sir," Hammand interjects in the awkward silence. Antilles spins in place and stares at him, flashing his cold, green eyes. Hammand doubles his attention, and tries to continue. "Lieutenant Yu-"

"Thank you, Sergeant," Antilles says. He immediately walks up to Yudoran, who is trying his best to stand up straight while blood trickles from his chin. The Elite Captain circles him, looking up and down his disheveled uniform and bloodied visage with a disgusted look on his face. He halts at Yudoran's side, and assertively says, "Alphas: Out. We have orders...elsewhere." Antilles begins to turn back to Stalek. "Staleksridge, keep an eye on your men." He pauses for a moment as his eyes fall on Ando. Continuing his turn, he puts a gloved hand on Stalek's shoulder very gently. "Or I will keep an eye on them for you," he hisses. The Elite Captain walks out silently, the disheveled and bruised Alphas following. The Elite guards turn away and clear the door, and immediately the brown coated officers come rushing in, shouting orders to line up single file.

---

Chapter VIII: Alphas

Commander Zain stands in front of a now replenished column of men on the flight deck of the hangar bay. Together, they all stand in plain dress, regular officer's uniforms. Behind the Commander, on the rack, are several blue hued TIE fighters with knife shaped solar panels. "This," he says as he motions up at the sleek starfighters, "is the new face of the Imperial Navy. Prototype tested personally in combat by our own dedicated Elite, the TIE Interceptor is designed to take on, and exceed the capabilities of the Rebel X-Wing. We are first among Death Squadron to be honored with fleet versions of these powerful new weapons, and with them, we will achieve distinction. I've pulled some strings, and here to assist us are the experts themselves." Valen turns as the sounds of boots clomp in from behind the column. The recognizable black uniformed squadron march to the front, and they line up alongside Commander Zain. "This is Elite Captain Terrus Antilles, Squadron Leader of the Alphas. You will give him your undivided attention."

"Hawk Group. Delta Group," Antilles greets the column formally, turning to Zain, and then to Valen. The pilots straighten up further. "Officer Warren behind you has declassified documentation to read on the schematics of the TIE Interceptor," he says with a furrowed brow. "You will study it. Tomorrow at 0400, you will observe Alpha Squadron in practical demonstration. That is all." The Captain nods to his squadron, and they begin to file out as Commander Zain stands, flabbergasted at the short introduction.

"But Captain, don't you think-" he says, cutting himself off with an exasperated sigh as the Alphas ignore him. "Hawk Group, at ease. Pick up the documentation and, uh...read it." Valen follows the pilots back to the entrance, where the officer is issuing data tablets, when he notices Captain Antilles approaching him.

"Lieutenant Commander."

"Captain Antilles, sir," Valen says, snapping to attention.

"In my office, please," he says calmly, and with an odd politeness.

The door to Captain Antilles' office is guarded by two soldiers wearing jet black uniforms. As the Captain walks up to them, they stand aside and open the door. Valen and Captain Antilles head in, and Antilles walks past to sit at his desk as the door slides closed. It is unnaturally silent inside with the door sealed behind. The hum of the ships engines seem all of a sudden more distant. The office looks stark, with a locked crate of effects sitting in the corner.

"Valen Rannix. Subsquadron Commander from the wiped-out Epsilon Group. You are now in charge of Subsquadron Delta."

"Yes, sir. We've met-"

"I remember you," Antilles says dismissively, sorting out some papers, but this time with a slight grin. Looking up at Valen with steely green eyes, his grin melts away quickly. "I've been wanting to fill in some blanks surrounding the Battle over Yavin."

"Yessir. Epsilon and Delta launched to defend the stand-by decks."

"I have no record of orders."

"We had none, sir. Power went out on the stand-by deck. In the absence of orders in combat, defending pilots' lives was our personal aim."

Antilles looks up from under raised brows. "Interesting." He looks back down, and writes a footnote on the paper. Looking across the papers, he inquires, almost as if he knows the answer, "And yet...no kills for Delta Squadron, hm?"

"What? No, sir," Valen says, surprised. Impulsively, he leans forward to see the papers Antilles is looking at, and is stopped as the Captain looks back up at him. Snapping back to attention, Valen reports like a machine. "Delta Squadron scored multiple kills, both with Epsilon and independently."

"Oh? Anything notable?" Antilles inquires, dropping his brow as he looks back at his papers.

"My wingman, Dryll Marsh, made his 5th kill over Yavin," Valen says quickly as he starts to go a little quiet. "He would have been an Ace…"

Antilles continues matter-of-factly, "Odd. You turned in this report to your Commander detailing your part in the fight, yes?"

"Correct, sir," Valen confirms, putting on an officer's face once again. Curious of Antilles' interest, Valen asks, "May I inquire freely, sir?"
"I will do the inquiring if you don't mind," Antilles states matter-of-factly as he continues reordering the pages. After a moment of looking at the writing, he presses his lips together, almost frustrated. Folding the papers and pushing them to one side, he looks back up at Valen, folding his hands together. He speaks clearly, and softly. "Write a new report detailing the engagements Epsilon and Delta Squadrons took part in over Yavin. Turn them directly in to me."

"Why the interest in our engagement, sir?" Valen asks, ignoring the brush-off.

Antilles' face stays frozen. He turns his head slightly sideways, and remains silent for a moment. "The details of my duties are not your concern, Lieutenant Commander," he hisses quietly, giving a subtle, false smile. Immediately, the door behind Valen opens, the ships engines rushing back into his ears. The black coated guards step quickly inside the office, shutting the noise out once again. One approaches Antilles and leans down as the Captain whispers something into the guard's ear, and hands him the folded report. Feeling immediately uncomfortable with the other guard behind him, Valen stares ahead at attention. The guards are armed with compact rifles, like stormtroopers. After a moment of silence, Antilles looks back at Valen. Smiling his snake-like grin, he says politely, "You're dismissed, Rannix. You should be reading." Valen wastes no time in exiting the office, and heads down the hallway towards the garrison.

"Lieutenant Commander," Lohm says, snapping to attention with the rest of the squadron as Valen approaches his locked quarters. They all stand eagerly, with their tablets in hand.

"Squad. Greenhorn," Valen says formally, stopping at the group outside the door. "Did you want to see me for anything?"

"Sir, have you read the schematics on these new interceptors?" Jorlessen asks, excited. Disavowing his own contraband knowledge, Valen shakes his head. "Compared to the X-Wing, these things outclass them in almost every way! The Emperor's finally sent us superior fighters!"

"Well, that's exaggerating, but the new targeting systems are amazing! And four cannons, that matches the X's dogfighting firepower, sir!" Sirius joins in.

Lohm steps in to reveal what is obvious to Valen already. "No shields or missiles though, Sirius."

"A true Imperial wouldn't shame himself with the use of homing torpedoes, or shields, surely." Valen turns to see the new kid has finally spoken up. It wasn't terribly bright, but Lohm steps in to put the rookie in line.

"I don't know about you, Julos, but I wouldn't mind a 'shameful' shield system to keep me alive."

"Yessir, sorry sir."

"Well at any rate, the superior speed, even better maneuverability and firepower would be amazing for Delta," Sirius interjects, blurting, "We won't lose anyone again, right Daxxis?" Valen glares quietly at Sirius over the remark. The group goes silent, but Daxxis doesn't say anything. The stillness stretches on uncomfortably.

"Well, what do you think, Rolf?" Valen says, trying to break the ice again. Daxxis looks back at Valen for a moment.

"I'm sorry, sir?"

"The fighters, son. What do you think of the new fighters?"

He stands there for a moment, and gives a generic answer. "I'm sure we'll burn a lot of Rebs with them." The squadmates all chuckle and jostle Daxxis by the shoulders. Soaking in a bit of the encouragement, Daxxis begins to crack a slight smile.

Valen relaxes and opens the door to his office. Immediately though, he stops, noticing that the squad is following him. He looks inside and sees Zain's tablet sitting on the desk, and turns to block the doorway. "Is there anything else you need, pilots?"

"Uh, well. We've already read up on the TIE Interceptors, sir," Lohm says quietly. "We thought we could discuss them more with you."

Valen stutters mentally, and then comes up with something. "I have plenty of reading to do on the new fighters as well. I'll need time to work out valid tactics that match the interceptors' abilities. We can discuss them after the hands-on tests."

"Ah." Lohm steps back, and leads the squadron in a salute. "We'll discuss amongst each other, sir."

"Good. We'll reconvene in the hangar bay when we're slated to meet the Alphas for training. Glory to the Empire."

"LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR!" The columns of pilots stand at attention in their ranks, Commander Zain and the Alpha Squadron lined up in front. Rows and rows of gleaming black helmets scowl, stone-faced on the flight deck.

"I trust you've all done your reading on the impressive new interceptors. As we're spearheading the Interceptor distribution to the Imperial fleets, supplies are limited. Priority will be given to the most accomplished pilots. Kenz, Mullane, Farenn…." As Zain continues to rattle off names, the Hawks called move forward and stand at the front. Valen looks across his subsquadron as the pilots all lean forward, listening closely for their names to be called. In a private channel, the squadmates talk amongst each other.

"Can't wait to try one of these things out," whispers Sirius.

"They don't have that many, they're only calling out the most accomplished among us," Lohm chimes in.

"Well that rules you out then, doesn't it Janos?" Daxxis says, jabbing playfully at Sirius. Inwardly, Valen breathes a sigh of relief to see that Daxxis is seeming a bit better.

Sirius flexes an elbow and bumps him, "Like you're getting called up there, Dax?"

"One of us is gonna get called up," Lohm says, trying to calm the excited squadron down. "Bet it'll be the Lieutenant Commander at least."

However, as the names get called, and more and more Hawks move up, the Deltas start to look nervous. Valen can feel in even himself a prodding anxiousness. He's already counted the interceptors, and the remaining numbers are dwindling.

"Aw, Pothus? Really? He didn't even shoot anyone down! I could fly circles around that cropduster-"

"Keep a lid on it, Sirius," Valen steps into the channel. "Zain's not gonna call any of us," he mutters as his squad members look at him, surprised.

"I don't understand, sir."

"I dunno, Jorlessen," Valen grumbles as the final name is called. The Hawks begin to break up, and Valen pulls his helmet off, revealing a frustrated frown. "I'm gonna go ask." Valen marches up to the shuttle's ramp as Commander Zain finishes speaking with Captain Antilles. "Commander, sir."

"Yes, Valen?" Zain says formally, with a smile.

"Permission to inquire why the hell we weren't granted any interceptors, sir."

Looking quickly back at Antilles as he walks away, Zain urges, "Keep your voice down, son."

"As a supporting squadron, sir, perhaps the Deltas should have the equipment to put up a fight against-"

"Like I said, Valen. We have limited supply. I know you have an individualist attitude towards commanding your squadron. Until we know more about how these fighters behave, I feel safer learning with them under my command." The answer sits bitterly with Valen. His shoulders tense as Zain speaks quietly to him among the shuffling pilots. "And with the Deltas protecting us, we have an extra layer of defense to keep the valuable fighters safe."

"Sir, with all due-"

"Don't worry, I'm watching out for you, Valen. Your Deltas will have their interceptors just as soon as I can spare some," Zain says with a grin. "We'll be operating out on the Tyrant's port side. If it's any consolation, I've reserved an observation deck for your Deltas to watch from privately. See what these things can do."

Valen sighs intensely through his nose. "Yessir." Zain cocks his head, like a father expecting more of his son. Valen stands at attention. "Yes, Thamus."

"Thank you Valen. Let's try to keep these talks between the two of us, alright? Observation Deck OD-2."

"Yes, Thamus, sir," Valen says, and turns back to his squadron as they wait on the deck. Gripping his helmet tightly, he stiffly marches back down onto the flight deck.

"What's the word, sir?" Sirius asks as the squadron collects around its leader.

"No interceptors this time. We're grounded today-" Valen tries to continue over the groans of the pilots, raising his voice. "We've been reserved an observation deck to study the Alphas from. Let's go. Come on, let's go."

The squadron sits uncomfortably on a row of durasteel seats as they stare out the window at a series of tiny dots in the distance. Valen leans up against a window brace as the rest of the pilots sit forward, squinting to try and make out what's happening. At such a distance, it's all but impossible to see, much less learn anything from. Sirius is sitting back, experimenting with putting on his helmet to see if that will help.

"Sirius, see anything?" Jorlessen asks.

"Ugh, nah," moans Sirius, pulling the helmet back off. "These helmets work best hooked into our fighters' sensors. I can't see a thing in it." He looks around to one side to see Julos writing furiously in his notebook. "Hey. Greenhorn. You see something we don't?"

"Huh?" he says, stopping.

"What you got there?" Sirius says, trying to lean around him and see the book. Julos slightly brings the book around himself, obscuring it. "Come on, we're bored!" Valen looks back at Sirius, hearing the restlessness familiar to him from his old friend, Ando.

"Oh, uh…" Sheepishly, Julos lifts his notebook.

"Ha! Hey, that's pretty good, Bev," Sirius blurts, the rest of the pilots now leaning in to check it out. "Look, guys. This Reb's on fire, and the Deltas're burning him down!" The pilots all laugh, pointing out the details. Covertly, Valen lifts his head up, trying to spy the sketch from where he stands. After a moment, however, he feels a presence at his side.

"Sir." It's Junior Lieutenant Lohm.

Turning towards him, Valen inquires, "Yeah, speak freely."

"Sir, we're all pretty disappointed we weren't given any interceptors. It'll be a while before the Hawks return." Valen narrows his eyes a bit, wondering what Lohm's getting at. After a moment, the pilots are all looking at the two of them. "Sir. Permission to have a drink?"

Valen scoffs out a slight chuckle at the unexpected request, as the squadron members laugh. Looking back out at the sorry specks in the distance, Valen groans, "Yeah. We're not learning anything here."

"Yes, haha! I knew Rannix wasn't such a hardcase!" Sirius blurts, once again. "Let's go drink to our Empire!" Looking forward to some distraction, Valen just lets the remark slide, and walks out into the hallway. The once depressed pilots spring boyishly out of their seats and follow Valen out to the mess hall.

"To the Empire!" the small group of men toast jovially, yet quietly in the empty mess hall. Dull sounds of metal cups clunk in the silent room.

"So. Greenhorn, where are you from?"

"Corellia."

"Of course-hey, where'd you learn to draw like that? You some kind of artist?"

"Before the draft, yeah. I actually prefer sculpting though. It was my job."

"Well, you can draw better than you fly-oof!" Sirius is cut off by Lohm as he receives an elbow in the side.

"What made you choose flight school?" Lohm tries to keep things on track, and inoffensive.

"Well, I didn't really. My family did everything they could to get me a clerical job on Corellia, but the Navy said they needed combat personnel." Julos finishes his ale and puts the cup down. "Then my family used their influence to try and put me in the sky, above the fighting. We've heard rough things about being on the ground."

"Well, I'd hate to break it to you, Julos," Daxxis finally chimes in to his new wingman. "The fighting's no better up in the stars." The group goes a little quiet, as Daxxis looks at Valen. Soon, the rest of the group is looking to him.

"He's right, Julos," Valen says, trying not to venture too far into his previous experiences. "Fighting's fighting, even above the ground. It can get pretty tough against the rebel ships."

"Well, once we get some interceptors, things will change." Lohm says enthusiastically.

Jorlessen thrusts his mug into the middle of the group. "Yeah, we'll fly loops around those snubs!"

"And with double the firepower, we might even be able to take on a Y-Wing!"

"I don't think that'd be wise, Sirius," Valen warns.

"Oh come on, Ace, you've taken one on before."

"Eh, not really."

"Tell us about it!"

"I don't think so," Valen brushes him off uncomfortably.

"Come on! I've heard the stories. 'A lone rookie pilot,'" he says, throwing his hands out to the sides, like he's telling tales around a fire. "His Squadron in danger, on final approach to a rebel outpost. The squadron leader defeated by a marauding Rebel fighter bomber!'" The story surprises Valen; Is this the battle at Sarron? Sirius continues, standing up from his bench and gesturing with his metal cup. "X's all around, he fights them off single handedly, while facing down a Y-Wing!"

"Command, anybody, this is Theta 4! I need assistance!"

Valen's brow furrows as the flashes of red laser fire sneak forward from the corners of his mind. "The youngest flying officer to ever command a squadron!" The pilots all raise their cups and give a hurrah, but by now, Valen is trying to shut his eyes to keep the memories out. "To Valen Rannix! The Ace of-"

"Stop," Valen says, standing up. "That's enough."

"But sir, you defeated-"

"It was my first-" He stops himself as he notices his own raised voice. "….that's enough," Valen says as he finishes his cup, and drops it on the table. "Everyone finish up your ales and get back to quarters." He steps over the bench and starts walking out of the mess hall. "I'll let you know when we have some real orders."

"Valen! Help me!"

Valen walks swiftly through the corridors, passing the unlucky Hawk pilots stuck on the Tyrant as he makes a B line for his quarters. They all turn and watch him as he tries to keep his eyes to the floor. The rampant thoughts of shattering solar panels and rending Dura steel cannot be pushed back.

"Bail out, Cody!"

"I can't reach the hatch!"

The images, and the sounds of screams are chasing him down the hallway. Numbers rattle off in his head as the lists of killed are announced like someone counting impatiently to 100. A cold sweat beads off Valen's forehead as he turns sharply towards his door and clumsily hits the console. After a few frantic tries, the door opens, and he rushes in.

Shutting the door quickly, Valen rushes through his latches and straps to escape from his TIE pilot armor. Shedding the plate vest, he lets them drop onto his footlocker. He anxiously unzips the top of his jumpsuit, yanking it off his shoulders. Down to his casual undershirt and thermal trousers, he drops down to sit on his bed, pressing his palms over his eyes, as if to keep the images from entering his mind. The voices start to come in more quietly.

"We're not gonna make it, are we, Ace?"

Leaning hard on his hands and muttering to himself over and over, "It's fine….it's fine, don't be a coward…don't be a coward," he rocks back and forth on his bunk. After a while, his rocking slows, and his breathing becomes a little more calm. "It's fine…..it's fine…."

After a moment, Valen pulls his hands away from his eyes, and leans back. "I think I need to see a medic." Laughing nervously to himself over the notion, he takes a deep breath, calming back down. He wipes the sweat off his brow, and looks around for something to keep himself occupied. His eyes fall on Zain's tablet. Trying to keep himself company, he mutters, "At least he did something for us," and leans forward. He grabs the tablet, and lies down on his bed. Absent mindedly, he holds down the scrolling button as the red text zips by. After a moment, he chooses a time to lift his finger from the tablet controls. After scanning around to see where he's ended up, Valen's brows furrow as his eyes fall on something bizarre. Cocking his head, he leans into the tablet as he focuses on the words.

Alpha Mission: 64.8

Parameters: Field test.

Target: [CLASSIFIED]

Account: Alpha 002 - [ELITE] Lt. Yudoran Antilles

Lord Vader is leading us on another hunting mission along the belt of Uxorre. The target seems set on running, which makes the hunt all the more interesting. I'm doing my best not to underestimate this scum and his parlor tricks, as Captain Antilles has warned. I don't know much about [REDACTED], but they seem to use deception quite a bit; a sneaky and cowardly lot they are.

We came in fast on a town the target was heard to be lurking, and we razed it. No warnings this time, couldn't take the chance. The new weapon systems aren't bad on these interceptors, though I prefer the older ones. After Intel foraged through the wreckage, it doesn't look like there's any sign of them. Looks like [REDACTED] got away again.

Post-Mission Result: [FAILURE]

With his brows still furrowed, Valen looks through the following log, but sees no mention of this mysterious target. Dropping the tablet over his stomach, Valen sighs, frustratedly. Furrowing his brow still, he leans over and places the tablet in one of his desk drawers. He lies in his bunk, wondering quietly what the Alphas have been up to on their Elite missions.

---

Chapter IX: Boots on the Ground

"Delta Leader, repeat: keep up with the lead Hawks and cover." Commander Zain's gleaming white shuttle sits off the border of an engagement zone as the fighter group's new interceptors tangle with a small group of X-Wings. The Alphas hang in escort quietly, behind the shuttle. They watch the dogfight unfold, green and red laser fire blinking back and forth in deadly flashes. Valen's Deltas climb and roll about in their standard TIEs, cutting around the outside of the area, getting a new angle on the pursuing Hawks.

"Copy, Hawk Lead, I read you. Deltas, up and over these formations and cut the corner," Valen says quickly as his squadron chase down several blue interceptors. The fork-winged fighters dart and weave about at amazing speed as they engage scattering X-Wings, trying even Valen's skills to keep up. Flashes of green strobe double-time from the tips of the solar panels, quickly crushing the shields of their prey.

"Hawk Leader, this is Hawk 2, enemy fighter destroyed."

"I copy, Farenn. Burn them out and clean it up. The battle's all yours. Rannix, follow Hawk 2's lead and keep the interceptors covered, priority 1," Zain commands as Farenn and his interceptors tear up through the middle, running down the Rebel fighters.

Valen keeps his eye on the interceptors, trying to hide his disappointment. "Roger, we'll do our best. Hawk Group, enemy fighters regrouping above, about 3 of them. Stand by, we'll scare them off."

"Not a problem," Farenn's enthusiastic voice buzzes in. "We're evading to .05 and doubling back to engage."

"Targets are lining up for lightspeed," Valen says as he looks up out his dorsal window. The enemy fighters are scattering to the outer edges of the engagement zone.

"Good job, Hawks. We'll scatter this snub fighter scum to the far corners of the galaxy! Nav, record the Rebels' escape routes." Zain boasts excitedly, the Rebels blinking off into the stars in all directions.

Getting his bearings again, Valen looks around. The Hawk Interceptors are collecting below, and Delta Squadron is catching up behind him. "Alright Deltas, well done. How's it coming, Julos? You starting to work it out?"

"I think I'm getting better at umm," he pauses a moment to try and remember what he was taught, "adapting and making decisions, Delta Leader."

"Good. Well, we're all alive, so you're definitely learning. I think the Rebs are surprised for now at the TIE Interceptors. We'll use that to our advantage as much as we can before they catch on."

"What do you mean, sir?" Sirius asks quickly. "We've got superior fighters to protect. I'm not even sure if they need us."

"They're still commanded with stale tactics. They'd be best used in a supporting role, it won't be long before the Rebs realize. We'll debrief on board the Tyrant," Valen finishes the conversation before saying too much, and they line up to enter the main hangar behind the Hawks.

"Hawk Group did well today, Thamus." Valen stands at attention as the Commander walks down his shuttle's boarding ramp.

"As did your Deltas, Valen," Zain says proudly, pulling his gloves off as he walks down. "These past missions have gone well since we started receiving Interceptors. Fifty percent reduction in casualties, a number I'm sure even you could be proud of."

"Yessir, very proud," Valen affirms as he follows Commander Zain out of the busy hangar and into the corridors. As the hangar access closes behind them, the banging and clanking of hangar machinery disappears, yielding to the calm engine hum of the Tyrant. The quiet sounds of boots stepping on durasteel plating. "Thamus, sir. I've been meaning to speak with you about that. We've been receiving more Interceptors, yes?"

"That's correct, nearly twenty percent of Hawk Group is the high priority fighter. We're starting to catch up to our casualties!" Zain huffs proudly.

"That's great news," Valen says politely, and continues to his point. "Sir-...Thamus. As a supporting squadron, it's a task to keep up with the Hawks. It's becoming exceedingly difficult to protect them."

"Come now, son, not another request for Interceptors. Try to see it my way. We're attacking the problem at its source. A more capable Hawk group with superior fighters needs less cover from Delta. We've seen results from this method already; zero casualties for your pilots for the past few missions."

"Yessir, I'm very pleased with my pilots' performance," Valen is forced to agree. "Though we're still spread pretty thin-"

"I agree wholeheartedly, son. Your pilots perform amazingly in order to cover my Hawks with so few fighters. I'm going to compile some paperwork on Delta, and write up some commendations for your squadron. Honor and Distinction, Valen," Zain says, throwing up a salute, and parting ways with Valen.

Valen clenches his fist slightly at yet another brush-off. He stands in the corridor, figuring out where to go when he realizes the ship seems a lot more busy than usual. Everyone is moving a half step faster than normal. Looking at the officers and crewmen bustling around him, his eyes fall on the windows to the outside.

The Titan is breaking formation. They just came back, I wonder where they've been dispatched to?

Something catches the light in the corner of his eye. A gleaming black helmet with a wide brim. Officer Owan. Valen gives a nod in greeting, but oddly doesn't receive one in return. Owan hurries past with an uncharacteristically stern look on his face.

Valen furrows his brow and decides he should head somewhere that he can get some information, and walks down the hall towards the garrison. As he walks, he looks back out the windows. More Star Destroyers are breaking formation; the Phalanx and the Caliber. Something big is happening. Valen quickens his step and grips his flight helmet, when a hand drops onto his shoulder.

"Lieutenant Commander, sir." Valen spins to find Officer Owan has doubled back. "Sir, you're needed by the Skipper on the bridge immediately," Owan says quickly.

Valen begins to give an, "Of course," but stops himself as he sees Owan's face. The young officer seems visibly bothered. After a brief moment, Valen, almost more personally gives a quiet, "of course." Owan immediately turns and leads Valen down the hall. Valen knits his brow behind, trying to work out what that look was all about.

"This way, sir. Do you know where Commander Zain is? His commlink is off and I need to collect him ASAP."

Keeping up with the alert pace, Valen says, "He was just with me a moment ago, said he was going to fill out some paperwork."

Lifting a commlink to his mouth, Owan speaks into it. "I have Lieutenant Commander Rannix, heading to the bridge. I need a post waiting at Zain's office to collect him immediately."

"What's this all about, Adolas? It looks like the whole fleet is mobilizing."

"Yessir, it's a major mobilization," he says, marching as quickly as he speaks. As they arrive at the turbolift, the door opens, revealing a full room. "Skipper priority, we need this lift," the Captain's representative commands, his peculiar rank showing as the officers clear the turbolift. Valen follows Owan into the small room and the door closes.

"The Rebels are attacking Corellia, sir."

The turbolift accelerates toward the bridge, and Valen's heart sinks for the young Corellian. A core world under attack. His world. "How bad is it?" Valen asks quietly.

Keeping a straight face, Owan says, looking towards the door, "It's a major attack."

The doors open to the bridge, and the Skipper is already there, addressing Captain Antilles and other commanding officers. The officers face him, and he joins the semicircle as the Skipper continues.

"The Rebels made landfall at Coronet with a small fleet of ships. They've overwhelmed most of the Naval outposts in the area. Analyzing the attacks, this is likely the work of a Rebel VIP. Elite Captain Antilles, care to fill us in?"

"Crix Madine; ex-Imperial Army Commander. High level traitor, fancies himself a Rebel General now. He erased his records before abandoning the Empire, but the intelligence that the Elite keep on him is still intact," the towering Captain informs. "Before disappearing, he had informed the Rebels on a number of secret military operations. Information that cost many Imperials their lives." An animosity seems to seethe beneath the Elite Captain's skin as he continues. "We believe he has a hand in the tactics that overwhelmed the outposts so quickly. As a Corellian native, he may be leading the forces on the ground."

"Thank you, Captain. Long range communications state a small fleet is sitting above the area where the forces are making landfall-Thank you for joining us, Commander Zain." Valen turns to see the Commander walking quickly up to the group. "The first responder cruisers Caliber, Phalanx, and Titan will drop ground relief forces ahead of us to establish a beachhead and engage with the Rebel Army. It's up to the rest of Death Squadron to cut off the fleet, and bolster our army's containment. Commander Zain, Officer Owan has a briefing tablet for you on engaging with Rebel cruisers. Your Hawks will be flying with the Spear's Omegas in close combat against the enemy fleet. Lieutenant Commander Rannix, you'll be heading down to the surface with General Mallus. General, I want you to keep Delta Squadron on call for atmospheric air support. We're going to be pretty tied up in orbit."

"Skipper, sir, I don't-" Zain interjects, flustered. He's quickly silenced as Lennox puts a calm hand up and continues with the General.

"You'll be meeting Commander Ferros at the beachhead." Ferros. Valen remembers that name. "He has orders to assist you with any aerial bombardments needed. Captain Antilles has also requested that his squadron head down planetside with you. Any information regarding the possible whereabouts of this Madine fellow should be funneled directly to him." Finished with his orders, he turns toward Zain. "Commander Zain, what is it?"

"Skipper, we need Lieutenant Commander Rannix in orbit to cover the Hawks."

Plainly, Captain Lennox explains, "I have ordered Rannix to the surface with General Mallus, Commander. Your...robust Interceptor squadrons should be enough to push the Rebel fleet away. Adolas." The Skipper motions to Rannix, and Officer Owan hands him a tablet. "Study up on Corellia's weather patterns for the north-eastern hemisphere, Rannix. You're under General Mallus' command for now. That will be all, gentlemen, get your forces on the comms and prep for lightspeed." The officers break up, speaking into their respective commlinks. Valen looks across the faces to see Zain looking pale as he marches away.

---

"Stalker Battalion!" an army officer shouts over the clanking and whirring of cranes, "You're on the Illium! Dragoon Battalion, to the Pyrios!"

Stalek shouts over the cacophony. "Dragoons! Bring the tow skiff 'round!" he yells as he waves his arm over his head. Ando looks back as Hammand lumbers off toward the palette platform holding their walkers. The AT-STs perch on the platform, collapsed over folded legs. Raythe and Hix sprint off past Hammand and jump on board the skiff, taxiing it away immediately as the giant man growls at them from the deck. The palette slowly and carefully moves up, latching to an armored chamber underneath an enormous landing craft. Stalek and his gunner, Boris, march through scores of crewmen on the deck to the craft and climb into the armored container. Ando catches up to Hammand, looking around at all the commotion. A massive AT-AT is thundering its way up a boarding ramp into an even larger landing barge. The stomps of its giant footpads on the metal ramp echo through the already noisy area with huge metallic clanks, the footfalls of the massive mechanical creature shuddering the deck.

"Have you ever seen that, Hammand?" Ando asks as they pass by a column of Stormtroopers heading down the deck.

"Nah, Flyboy, I haven't seen these types of forces gathered since the late Clone Wars." Hammand walks by, greeting the troopers and giving them heavy-handed slaps over the shoulders. Seeing them next to each other, Ando can see a similarity between his Gunnery Sergeant and the enormous, white armored soldiers. They seem built similarly, and greet each other in the same way.

"Hammand, sir," Ando asks.

"Heh?"

"Uhh, so were you a-"

"Hey, Corporal!" a buzzy voice cuts Ando off. Ando looks over to see a small group of Scout Troopers stepping out from the column. "Zelliros, right?"

"Uh, yessir, Scout Sergeant Gailon," Ando says, recognizing the visored mask from that sandy planet.

"With the Dragoons now, huh?" the lightly built trooper says as he regards Ando's new uniform. "Looks like we'll see you on Corellia. Good luck. Hammand."

"Rux, Longeye," Hammand bids as the Sergeant nods quickly, and catches back up with the column. Fyllus and Oppel meet Ando and Hammand, and they all look up at the massive dropship; a broad, bluish grey shuttle with folding wings, like a giant version of a Lambda class shuttle, with a massive armored container hanging from its underbelly. "C'mon, guys. Let's get inside."

Buckling himself in, Ando sits in the dark of their walker's cockpit, Hammand secured in the seat next to him. Hammand looks a little off, wringing his gauntleted hands together and double checking his harness. In the relative silence, he can hear the hangar command voices humming orders over the speakers outside. They're calling out numbers and ship names. Before long, Stalek's voice buzzes in Ando's earpiece.

"Alright Dragoons, as you can figure out, we're making a fast drop into hostile territory. The Corellian capital of Coronet is reportedly crawling with Rebels. We're among the first wave, dropping outside the city's borders. Stalker Battalion is coming in low and dropping on the other side of town. Stalker will set up a diversion, and the Dragoons are to move into the city with the 939th." The Phalanx shudders to a stop, and Ando can feel the trademark shift as the landing craft begins to move. Quickly, Stalek switches gears and orders, "Check systems."

"This is Raythe, check."

"Fyllus, check, all systems standing by."

Ando sees Hammand leaning forward in the dim light and picking up the commlink as he holds onto the console. "Hammand, check. We're ready to go, Boss."

"Roger, Boris and I are locked in. Prep for drop, Dragoons," Stalek's voice says in the dark as the pilots are shifted around in their seats. It's deathly quiet as the cabin rolls lethargically through the vacuum. The hooks and plates of the armored container creak slightly as the craft changes direction. Listening closely to the silence, Ando can hear the distant cries of ion engines passing by. The TIEs he used to pilot, soaring so close. It's the first time he's thought about them since joining the Dragoons. Before he can realize, the cabin is beginning to judder and vibrate, breaking the silence. There is a roaring, rushing sound outside their armored container's walls. The dropship is entering Corellia's atmosphere. Shaking the cabin, the air continues to tear and claw at the container's hull plating. The roaring dies down slightly, yielding to the calm rushing of wind around the walls.

Ando looks over to Hammand, who seems tense. Trying to get his mind off of things, he asks, "Hey Hammand. How did you join the Dragoons?"

"Uhh..." Hammand starts, still a little tense, "well, I started..." He freezes up at the next shuddering of the hull. Clamping his eyes shut, he blurts, "Can we talk about this another time, Flyboy? Check your systems."

Ando flips through his screens, checking one after another. "Weapons systems operational, gyro power nominal and on standby," he says, and pauses, holding a slight smirk. "Landing tethers are all secure and holding, sir." After a moment of relative silence, Ando hears the ordinance begin to pass by. Strange pitched twangs zip around the walls outside. Pops and rumbles vibrate the cabin in the darkness. Over the noise, the landing craft pilots buzz in on an inter squadron channel.

"Landing crews, we're hitting some resistance," the voice says, a constant stream of information being rattled off in the background. "Brace for evasive maneuvers." The craft immediately leans heavily to one side, pressing Ando's body into the bolster in his seat. Another shriek shoots close by, shuddering the armored container. The engines outside spool up and raise in pitch as the turbulence increases, and the ship lazily leans to the other side. Ando braces against the opposite side of his seat, and then all of a sudden feels the negative G forces lifting him from the bottom of his stomach as the craft quickly begins to drop altitude.

"Whoooaaa!" Hammand wails, shocked as his arms begin to raise up off the console.

"You alright, Hammand?!"

"You might not get sick from all this tumblin' around, Flyboy, but I do!" Ando just laughs it off as Hammand reaches out to grab onto the consoles again. It never really occurred to Ando that he wasn't in the company of flying pilots. As the landing craft continues to dive, the pilot's voice buzzes in again.

"Dragoons, prep. We're-" A sudden bang jolts the cabin, and the craft begins to lean back. The force starts thrusting the walker pilots into their seats, Hammand groaning miserably in response. Clattering sounds rattle across the outside of the armored container, as the pilot's voice returns on the comms, the urgent notes of an alarm going off in the background. "We're reaching low altitude a little ahead of schedule, drop in 30 seconds!"

"Battalion, prepare to deploy!" Stalek orders over the comms. The G forces begin to even out as the ship slows to a stop, and then, immediately the armored container drops. After an almost dismissible firing of thrusters, the container slams onto the ground with a calamitous bang. Ando's heavy helmet jolts forward on his head from the impact, dropping embarrassingly over his eyes. The walls of the container suddenly fall completely away, giving way to blinding sunlight and choking clouds of dust.

"Ah, blast it, I bit my tongue, Boss!"

"Dragoons, deploy!"

Hammand throws a lever forward on his console, and another force rocks Ando around in his seat, the blinding horizon tilting and wandering outside their portholes. The walkers raise up on their tall legs and lock into a standing position, immediately lumbering forward down the landing ramp. Scattered small arms fire zips over their heads, disappearing harmlessly into the sky. Stalek's voice booms through the comms, "Spread out, shield position."

"Copy, Boss!" Hammand barks. Roughly, he pushes the controls to one side. The Dragoons stride out into a wide firing line.

"Dragoons, stand by," the dropship pilot's voice says quickly. "Pyrios is touching down."

"Copy, Pyrios, we're keeping an eye out. Battalion, eyes front."

Squinting through the sunlight, Ando puts his tinted goggles on and leans toward his viewport. Getting the lay of the land, he looks out at the capital city of Coronet. The landing zone is on a large hill, looking down across a brush field onto the city. The sky is a dismal greyish red with smoke, the metropolis on fire, bolts of light firing from the buildings into the air as landing craft drop down from the sky. Soon, the clearing dust begins to kick up again, a massive rush of wind coming from behind the battalion walkers.

"Boots on the ground, Pyrios returning to the Phalanx," the pilot's voice informs as the dust begins to clear again. Ando pivots the walker's head to the side and peers down at the columns of white armor clad stormtroopers.

Continuing to look around through his porthole, Ando reaches back and slaps Hammand on the arm. "Hey Hammand, check that out!"

Hammand grumbles miserably and leans forward to look out his viewport. On the opposite ridge, an AT-AT is disembarking from its titanic landing craft, speeder bikes and scout walkers moving out ahead of it.

"Yep, we've never been deployed with one of those before. That's usually Stalker Battalion covering those things."

"I'd rather keep mobile and wade into the enemy forces quickly," Hix claims confidently over the comms, getting an enthusiastic response from Fyllus and Oppel.

"Alright, keep it tight. Watch Armor 1."

"What do we do?"

"Once Armor 1's drawn the Rebel forces to that side of the city, we'll flank into the city borders. The 939th knows what to do, they're following our lead." Not long after Stalek explains, the border of the city begins to erupt in fire at the behemoth AT-AT in the distance. Blazing red beams of light skip and dissipate across the energy dampening armor of the ultra heavy vehicle. As the fire grows, a line of Rebel vehicles begins to move out from the outskirts, charging the long range assault vehicle.

"See that, Boss? Looks like heavy tanks."

"Armor 1's heavier, they can handle it. That's our diversion, prepare to move on the city, Dragoons." Stalek's walker hunkers down a bit, and after a moment, slowly begins to stomp over the crest of the hill.

"Alright, keep in formation with the Boss, half march." Easing forward on his controls, Hammand pilots his and Ando's walker to follow suit.

"No artillery, sir?"

"No, Raythe, you watch your fire. This is an Imperial city," Stalek warns as his walker begins to pick up the pace. "Quick march, Battalion. Prepare to-" Ando jerks forward in his seat as a sniper shot sparks off of Stalek's walker up in front. "Full charge!" The small arms fire begins to increase as the walkers climb down the hill. Just as the small arms fire begins, so do sporadic explosions across the bank.

"Mortar fire, mortar fire incoming! Call targets and engage, priority!" The explosions land close, the clatter of shrapnel bouncing against the outside of the cabin making it hard to hear the comms. Clumps of dirt heave up out of the ground and spray in through the open portholes. After another close hit, Ando can hear screaming outside. The mortars are aiming at the column of troopers behind them. Ando strains to look across the city borders. He can see scattered figures running between the buildings. After a moment, he sees a tight grouping around a small weapon emplacement.

"I have a target! Mortar position; 11 o'clock, high tower!"

"Copy, another one over here at 1 o'clock!"

"Take 'em out, Dragoons!"

Ando arms the light blaster and rakes the position, covering it in dust. In the thick cloud, the only thing that remains is the weapon. Arming the main chin gun, Ando lines up the shot and obliterates the emplacement.

"Target 1 down!"

"Target 2 destroyed!" Boris follows up from the lead walker.

The city borders are getting close, the buildings getting taller as the column gets to the bottom of the hill. Ando looks across the rest of the land they're traversing. An empty field, sparsely populated with rural brush. At the border buildings, Ando can see Rebels scurrying through the streets, setting fires and roadblocks. The enemy blaster fire begins to intensify, red bolts shooting down from the rooftops. Underneath the cabin of the tall vehicle, the stormtroopers return fire from behind its legs. Coming up on a main road entrance to the city, a stream of blaster fire suddenly cuts a line between the walkers, riddling the charging troopers. Jumping into action, Hammand sidesteps their walker between the weapon and the column of troops. Taking the brunt of the fire, the inside of the cabin becomes a deafening metal drum, the steccato blaster fire rattling the hull. As sparks bounce through the portholes of the vehicle, Ando flinches back in his seat, covering his ears and trying to keep out of the line of any stray shots. Leaning forward quickly, Hammand yanks back on a lever and slams the portholes shut.

With the armored plate shuttered over his porthole, Ando yells, "Hammand, we can't see!"

"All we gotta do is keep moving forward!" Hammand flips a switch and brings up a display that broadly shows the distance between them and the city border. "Repeater on the rooftops, Boss, we're blind here!"

"I see it, ….!" Staleks voice rattles through the combat channel over the dismal racket as the repeater fire continues to drum on the armor.

"Repeat, Boss! We don't copy!"

"Keep your heading!" After a moment, the clatter of blaster bolts pinging against the armor plating thins out. Flipping open his porthole, Ando looks out in front. Stalek's walker is overlapping positions with them, taking some of the fire. The other walkers are collected shoulder to shoulder, the stormtroopers charging behind. With a blast from Stalek's shell cannon, the corner of the building pours a waterfall of brown dust onto the roadway. "Good shot, Boris! Enemy position down! Move into the city!"

Slowing down as the buildings pass on either side of the walkers, the Dragoons turn outwards, facing the rooftops of the buildings. On the street, the stormtroopers pour into the doorways, red flashes strobing out of the windows. Hammand and Ando watch the roofline as the battle unfolds unseen through the floors of the smoking buildings.

Staring vigilantly, Hammand points a thumb up at the top hatch. "Hey, Flyboy. Get up on the turret." Quickly, Ando unbuckles his harness and starts up to the hatch, throwing it open and readying the weapon.

"What's up, Hammand?" Ando says as he leans back down into the cabin.

"Keep your eyes on the rooftops, Ando. They're about to make a run for it."

Peering back at the rooftops, everything's empty. The insides of the buildings sproadically flash red with blaster fire. "Hamm. Hamm, I don't see-" Ando immediately shuts his mouth as he sees a disheveled head of hair peeking over the roofline. The Rebels are sneaking out of the building to the roof. After a moment, a small group of heads is starting to collect on the roofline as they get pushed out of the structure. Leaning back down, Ando whispers out, "I see them." Hammand gives an assertive nod in response, and stares back out his porthole. Ando tenses up, ducking behind his weapon as if he mustn't be seen, and watches the roofline as the heads all duck down below it for a moment. Soon, blaster bolts begin to shoot out from the rooftop access, and the Rebels reappear, sprinting away from the charging stormtroopers.

"There! Hit 'em, Ando!" Hammand growls, slamming a lever all the way forward. The walker stretches its legs, raising the cabin up high so Ando can see over the rooftops. Ando hunkers down behind his turret and fires across the roofline at the Rebels as they flee. Walking the vehicle forward, Hammand tracks the enemy soldiers as they're chased by the white armored troopers. Before they get far, the enemy leaders are all cut down, and the stragglers are jumping behind cover on the rooftops.

"Freeze!" Ando shouts over the dying stormtrooper fire. Trying to put back on his best highborn officer's voice, he yells, "In the name of the Empire, you Rebels are under arrest! Lay down your arms!" Leaning down into the cabin, Ando whispers, "Hammand, aim the cannons at the Rebs!" Switching to his override gunnery controls, Hammand swivels the cabin towards the Rebels' positions. The Rebels' heads look unsure as they swivel back and forth between the intimidating machine and the advancing stormtroopers. "Do it now, or we will blast the rooftop!"

After a moment, the dirty gloved hands of the Rebel militia slowly begin to rise from behind cover. Scared faces stand up with their hands on their heads. Over the comms, the Dragoons hoot and cheer as the stormtroopers move across the rooftop and begin to search them for additional weapons. Looking around, Ando can see Fyllus' walker circling another group of Rebels on the street as they surrender, the rest of the stormtroopers fanning out and securing the area.

Ando looks out across the street at the Battalion leader's walker, standing next to a burning roadblock, a group of troopers trying to put the fire out. The captured Rebels are being escorted down the street with their hands clasped above their heads. Stalek speaks calmly with a trooper officer as they stand on the ground in the midday shade, upwind from the smoke. Leaning over at Hammand, Ando asks, "Whaddaya think they're talking about?"

The trooper officer raises a holo emitter, shining a miniature version of the city. Hammand purses his lips as he strains to see what's going on. "Looks like the next battle plan to me."

Walking out from under the tall Scout Walker, Stalek puts a gauntleted hand up to his brow to shield from the hot sun, and stares up at the sky. Leaning down under his porthole, Ando looks upward with him. The daylit sky holds ghostly images of the Imperial cruisers next to the Rebels' above, sporadic flashes popping between them.

Returning under his walker, Stalek puts a hand up under his helmet. All of a sudden his voice crackles into everyones' ear. "Dragoons, stand by to move."

Snatching up the commlink off the console, Hammand gives a, "Yeah, Boss," and spins up the systems again. "Here we go, Flyboy!"

On his way up the boarding cable to his walker, the Battalion Commander is still speaking with the trooper. After a final exchange, Ando can hear the trooper shout, "Demo!" as he waves his hands at the roadblock.

"Dragoons," Stalek greets over the comms. "We have reports from a forward scout unit that Corellian Security forces are stranded deep in the city with refugees. We're cutting a safe path to extract them. I'm uploading objectives to you now."

Hammand looks down at his console as the city map comes up, pieces of the blocks becoming highlighted. Speaking up into his commlink, he says, "That's a long way in, Boss."

"The 939th will be trailing in behind us. We'll move in and meet the scouts with Horizon Team. They'll establish contact with the CorSec forces in hiding and give them the all clear to come out.-"

"Fire in the hole!" Stalek stops for a moment while a loud explosion blasts the roadblock open, extinguishing the lingering fires. A group of white clad stormtroopers move through the wreckage and collect on the other side of the roadblock, waiting for the walkers.

"The troopers'll take it from there while we secure progress into the city."

"Yeah, Boss."

Stalek's walker straightens up and starts to trudge towards the open roadblock. "Hammand, on point. Cycle your drives and keep your eyes open, Dragoons, we're pushing our lines hard into this city." Hammand files his walker in front of Stalek's, with the rest of the Dragoons following closely, the trooper column bringing up the rear. Moving cautiously down the main street, they push on into the smoldering metropolis.

Keeping his eyes front, and checking on his map for checkpoints, Hammand stays vigilant while Ando scans around outside his porthole. The streets and buildings are scarred in black carbon, the walls pockmarked and charred from firefights. Smoke rises from horizons all around them as the buildings become taller, the once proud capital of Coronet looking like a ghostly ruin. The streets are quiet. Nothing but the grumble and crackle of fires, and the distant sounds of battle on the other side of the city.

"Where is everybody?" Oppel asks, breaking the silence.

"I was wondering the same," Ando asks. "Shouldn't we be fighting our way in, rescuing citizens?"

"A lot of Coronet's been evacuated by CorSec during the attack," Stalek explains. "Horizon Team will be meeting us near the pickup point." The once towering scout walkers are now becoming dwarfed as they make their way into the tall buildings of the financial district. The sounds of rubble crunching underneath the walkers' feet echoes off the skyscrapers in the empty streets.

"Hey, I used to get ales there with my friends. Long time ago," Raythe's voice crackles over the comms in the silence. Ando's eyes swivel to a small shop with shattered windows. Around the corner, a group of uniform-clad bodies lay slumped against a pockmarked wall; CorSec officers. The wall above them is marked with a crude red symbol, and the word, "FREEDOM," scrawled in basic. The officers' hands are all tied behind their backs.

"Rebel scum," Hammand mutters under his breath, having spotted the sight. His fist crinkles and strains the gauntlets as he clenches his hand around the controls. He tensely looks around the rooftops and buildings as if he were about to find whoever's responsible. "Hey Boss, any word from Horizon?"

"Spotty contact, but they're guiding us right now, Hamm. Uploading the next checkpoint to you now. Keep your eyes up." As they get farther in, civilian, CorSec, and Rebel bodies dot the metropolitan landscape. More and more graffiti covers the abandoned buildings, and burned out speeders smolder and smoke along the sides of the road.

"Here," Hammand says, halting the walker in a crossroads. "This is the meeting point." Ando stares out his porthole at a lower building down the street, about four stories tall at a T intersection between them. It looks empty. Stalek's thumping walker continues around them on the right side and moves toward the T intersection, stopping on the road. After a moment, familiar white masks poke out from the roofline. It's Horizon Team. A scout trooper jogs out from the building and stops in front of Stalek's walker while two others stand up on the rooftop. The pauldroned stormtrooper sergeant from the infantry jogs up to meet him as well, with a pair of soldiers at his side.

"Those Scouts are somethin' else, aren't they? Would be pretty amazing to get this far out into enemy territory all by yourself with one of those rifles."

"I'll stick to my armored box with my big guns any day, Hix," Oppel chimes in.

"Good boy," Hammand says.

"Where're the rest of 'em? They usually do teams of five," Ando asks Hammand, looking across the rooftops. The scout trooper looks back at faces peeking out of windows in the buildings, and waves them out. Dirty, ragged civilians, and bloody looking CorSec officers start to pour out. Slowly, they walk out towards the stormtroopers in the street. More and more of them, a crowd of devastated looking refugees, covered in ash and bandages.

"Maybe they lost a few on the way in," Fyllus says as the troopers on the ground continue to talk, unheard.

Hammand looks out the window, assuring, "We'd hear about it if the scouts were spotted. They're probably out keeping an eye on the Rebs."

After a moment, Ando can hear raised radio voices on the street in front of them. Looking out at the road, he can see the trooper sergeant's guards are moving in front of him. The scouts on the rooftop look alerted, and all the civilians and CorSec officers hesitate in the street. Something's wrong.

Furrowing his brow, Hammand leans forward towards his porthole, grabbing his commlink. "What's goin' on up there, Boss?" Curious as well, Ando pulls down his targeting rangefinder to try and get a closer look. The stormtroopers are gesturing forward at the scout trooper, and the scout trooper is beginning to back up by half steps, looking defensive. Pointing his scope up towards the roofline, he can see the scouts up top are leaning forward. Scanning back down, the stormtroopers stand forward aggressively, pointing their weapons at the scout trooper and shouting through their comm speakers.

"They're Rebels!" the stormtrooper sergeant yells, raising his weapon. A blast flashes from the rooftop, and the pauldroned sergeant collapses onto the street. The outed Rebel in trooper armor makes a break for it, sprinting for the nearest building, but is immediately cut down by the soldier guards on the street. The pair reach down to try and drag the Sergeant's body from the street, but suddenly the rooftops erupt in withering fire, shooting down on the pair of troopers. The ragged clothed civilians all scatter for cover, uncovering hidden weapons and firing them at the Imperial formations. Caught by surprise, the stormtrooper column returns fire from the street, white armored bodies falling to the ground. Stalek's walker begins to backpedal and take aim, when a rocket fires out of a window into the backside of its left leg, snapping the hydraulic pistons. Stepping back on the injured leg, the walker immediately crumples in a heap against a building, falling onto the roadside.

"Stalek!"

"Boss!" Hammand shouts, leaning forward at his porthole, and before Ando can react, he's being showered with sparks. Hammand slams back into his seat, growling a choked growl and clutching at his throat. Blaster fire rattles across the front of the walker up from the street as the rest of the Battalion shouts from behind them. Still holding a hand on the side of his neck, Hammand snatches at a lever and yanks back on it, shuttering the portholes once again. The comm chatter explodes into chaos.

"Up on the rooftops!"

"They're everywhere!"

"Stalek, you copy?!"

"Hix, shoot back!"

"On the rooftops, Oppel! Get outta there, Boss!"

"Firing!"

"Tanks! Rebel tanks inbound to the left!"

"We're flanked, pull back! Covering fire to the left, everyone get back!"

"Hammand, what are you doing?! Move!"

Thumps rumble the cabin as concussive shells go off around them. Hammand reaches across himself with his free hand and throws the controls sideways, strafing the walker to the right. "F-...Flyboy!" he growls over at Ando as the walker marches away, out of control. Struggling to speak, he gestures, tapping on his helmet where his ear is, and hands Ando the tethered command commlink.

"I got it, Hammand, I got it!" Ando yells as the clatter of small arms fire follows them. Leaning across the console, he grabs the commlink and shouts over the impacts, "This Dragoon 2 on a blind evade, I think we're heading south on, uhhhh," he peers over Hammand's blood soaked displays and wipes off the city map, "East Coronet Ave, I think!" Hammand nods stiffly, leaning forward against his console and throwing his controls another direction. Ando leans hard as the walker turns and moves a different way. "We've been ambushed by Rebel forces in the Financial District! Our lead walker is-" A moment later, a massive bang, and the cabin violently shudders, the sounds of concrete scraping across its side shrieking through the cockpit. With a surprised look on his face, Hammand clumsily shifts the controls again, and the scraping goes away. After a moment, the blaster fire dies down, and stops rapping on their armor plating altogether as the walker trudges on, blind. Grunting and spitting blood onto the floor, Hammand grimaces as he pulls the vehicle unevenly to a stop with one hand. The blaster fire in the distance begins to fade away. Frantically unclipping his harness, Hammand stiffly rises from his seat.

"Hammand, stay down, keep pressure on it!" Ando tries to urge him, putting a hand on his shoulder, but the Gunnery Sergeant will not be convinced. Slapping Ando's hand away, he points a bloody glove back at his driver's seat and kneels in the back of the cabin. Dropping against the inside wall of the cockpit, he spits more blood onto the floor as he scrambles for some rags with his free hand.

"Get on the hel-ack! Get on the helm, Flyboy!"

"You need a medic!"

"SHADDAP!-" he chokes, speaking through gritted teeth. "Just!-...drive!" Doing as he's told, Ando jumps to the other seat and buckles in. Opening the porthole shutters carefully, he looks out to see where they are. Staring off center, he's looking down a quiet, narrow road. Toggling firing control overrides to the driver's seat, he swivels the walker and looks around. Engaging the drives and moving back the way they came, Ando watches out his porthole at the rooftops and windows, glaring at suspicious rubble that could be used to hide in. Turning the corner and slowly peeking towards where the ambush happened, Ando sees white armor plated bodies littering the street, and Stalek's crumpled walker laying on its side against a building. The familiar warble of repulsor engines bounces off the building sides around their walker. Rebel soldiers, suited in drab colors, run through the street ahead of them, and Ando reaches for the blaster controls. He sinks in his seat as the enemy in plain clothes pull a uniformed body from the hatch of the felled walker. While the Rebels rummage through the vehicle, Ando sneers, thinking to himself how many he could take down if he surprised them. Getting on the commlink, he tries to contact the Battalion.

"Battalion, this is Dragoon 2, what's your status?"

"Dragoon 2, we read you!" a buzzy trooper's voice returns amid the sounds of hectic blaster fire. "Dragoons are covering, we're falling back along the-..." A massive rattle clips the audio on the comms, and Ando can hear the sound of a muffled explosion in the distance. "We're falling back along the main road!"

"Roger that. Gunnery Sergeant's injured, we need medics, urgent."

"What's your position?!"

"According to the map, we're 3 blocks northeast."

"Negative, the area between us is crawling with Rebels! Can you make your way south?!"

Looking down the street, Ando steps his walker back behind the building as a pair of tanks rumble after the retreating troopers. "Negative, the area's too hot, please advise." Ando listens to the comms for a response. Nothing but static and chatter and blaster fire. "939, do you read?" After a disturbing moment of silence, someone gets back.

"Flyboy?! Flyboy, this's Staleksridge!"

Ando's heart jumps in his throat to hear from his commander again. "Yessir, Boss! I hear you. Hamm, it's Stalek! He's alright!"

"Troopers're busy! There's an alleyway 2 blocks north- Okay, hang on, hang on!-... 2 blocks east from there is a hospital, should have supplies! We're displacing again-..." Another heavy crash of static clips the comm audio, echoed by another rumble in the distance. After a moment, Stalek's voice resurfaces from the interference. "Gimme that blaster! We're moving southwest, get Hammand some medical, that's an order! I'll send for help!"

"Stalek?! How do I-...Boss!" Met with silent static, Ando slowly lowers the commlink, and leans back in Hammand's seat, staring out the porthole. Racking his brain, Ando tensely taps the device against his helmet, and tries to figure out what to do next. Coughs and sputters behind the seats snap Ando out of it. "Hamm, you alright back there?"

Chuckling, Hammand says nonchalantly, "S'good as-" He pauses his jest as he chokes. Blood spatters and dribbles from the corners of the large man's mouth. Recomposing himself, he gurgles, "Good as can be…...h-how're you doin', F-...Flyboy?"

"I'm doin' good, Hamm."

"You shot?"

"No, I'm not shot," Ando replies, wiping more blood off the street map display.

"Good, goo-...that's good…don't get shot, OK kid?"

"Yessir, Gunnery Sergeant." Ando gets the walker moving, rocking the cabin back and forth as they move out alone. "We're headed northeast up the road to a hospital, gonna get you some medical."

"I'm alright...This rag's still got some white on it."

Down the empty road, the walker clumsily stomps off in the desolate city, the sounds of far off blaster fire growing all the more distant. Watching around every corner, and in every window, Ando keeps an eye out for danger as they close in on their destination. All around them, Ando can constantly hear the wavering pulses of repulsor engines echoing off the tall city buildings. Eventually, the walker tromps up and stops at a dark alleyway. It's littered with rubble and garbage, lines of tattered clothing hanging from one side to the other. Worryingly, there's a dead end; one way in or out. Ando stares into it, double checking the map. Breathing a heavy sigh through his nose, he backs the walker into the alleyway.

"This is it, Hamm," Ando says as he shuts down the systems and unbuckles himself from Hammand's large chair. Moving quickly to the wall, he unclips the emergency rifle from its straps. After a moment of no response, Ando asks, "Hammand?" and spins back to where his pilot is sitting. The large, red haired man is slumped in the corner. Kneeling down, Ando puts the weapon on the floor and inspects him. He looks half asleep. "Hamm," Ando says quietly, giving him a prod with his fingers.

"Huh? Ahem-I'm fine, I was just...resting my eyes….Flyboy," Hammand says, his eyes looking drunk as they try to focus on Ando's face.

"We're here, but I gotta go and get you something for that hole. Hold on Hamm, you stay here."

"Hey-" Hammand barks, coughing. "Don't forget."

"What?"

Having a hard time speaking, he points with his free hand and stamps his foot on the floor as he coughs and chokes. "E…..E-11!"

"Oh, thanks," Ando says quickly as he picks the rifle back up. The stubby black weapon still feels a little awkward and heavy in his hands. "Stay down, Hamm, I'll be on the comms."

"I'm not goin' anywhere," Hammand says from under half closed eyelids as Ando rushes out of the hatch. With a clank, the hatch shuts and seals, leaving Hammand alone.

Reeling down on his cable, Ando hits the ground and scrambles to a piece of rubble, hiding his small body behind it. Peeking out, he looks down the small alleyway, darkened in the shade of the buildings. Muttering to himself, Ando tries to get his bearings.

"Ok, ok. So, just to the left, down 2 blocks...umm...oh right," he says as he turns his weapon on its side, flipping a switch. "'Safety first.'" Looking up from under his helmet, he moves from cover, and sticks to the alley walls all the way to the street. Turning the corner, he looks around nervously. All clear. The city is deathly silent, the streets full of quiet rubble, voiceless bodies. Clutching the blaster rifle close to his chest, every step Ando makes as he jogs through the empty avenue seems to echo far too loud. As he moves along the sides of the buildings, he can see where he needs to go, just up the street. A courtyard sits in front of a long, wide structure. Above the entrance, the sign reads in basic, "Coronet North Medicine."

Ando walks up the grass, through the courtyard, but then stops for a moment, lifting his helmeted head into the air and looking around. Immediately, he whirls and drops to the ground behind some garden bushes. The familiar sound of Rebel tanks reverberates through the street, getting closer. Making himself as flat as he can, he looks out from the green plants, listening for the enemy vehicle. After a moment, he can see it, passing by between the buildings with several Rebel soldiers in tow. Amidst the group is a skiff with large crates onboard. Ducking down and watching between the leaves of the courtyard shrubbaries, Ando waits quietly until the group move on. As soon as the soldiers pass beyond sight, Ando sneaks through the courtyard into the hospital entrance.

Kneeling as he enters the hallways, Ando points his weapon down the corridors. The hospital is dark and quiet, the rooms filled with still shadows. Creeping down the darkened hallways, he strains to spot signs that will point him towards supplies.

"Uhh…'surgery?'...No...what's that?" Ando murmurs to himself as he rises up and jogs through the shadows. "'Bacta chambers?' Hmmmm...can't move any of that. Blast it!-oh!" Ando exclaims quietly to himself as he quickly changes direction in the hallways, his boots squeaking on the smooth floors. "Supplies!"

Running quickly up to a door labeled "Medical Supplies," he stops with his hand on the door controls. Looking up and down the hallway to see if he's being followed, he activates the override, opening the room with a hiss. Entering quickly, he looks in on a trashed, messy storage space. Likely someone's already been through here, but there is still plenty left. Ando gets to work, scrambling through bins and cupboards as supplies fall to the floor. Feeling around in the cupboards for the items he needs, he sorts it on the countertop below him. Muttering again to keep himself company, Ando mentally arranges the items.

"Dressing rolls, ummm….blast it, ah there it is, sealer foam….okay, medical tape-" His thought process is interrupted by the loud sound of a clattering cup behind him. Taking in a sharp breath, Ando wheels around, knocking the supplies across the counter and onto the floor. Aiming into the dark room with his rifle, Ando stays, frozen with wide eyes.

After a moment, he wills himself to speak in an assertive voice, trying to hide how badly he's shaking. "Wh-who's there? Come out! I see ya, c-come out or I'll blast ya!" The skittering bottle of sealer foam stops at a silhouette in the dark, and it bends down. "Leave it! Don't touch it, that's mine!" Ando says, lunging forward with his rifle raised. The silhouette raises one limb in surrender, while reaching forward at the item on the floor. A pale, pinkish purple hand peeks out of the shadows along the floor, and Ando aims his rifle down at it. "Don't you speak basic?! I said, 'stop!'" The fingers gingerly come within an inch of the bottle of sealer foam, and flick it back towards Ando. Kneeling quickly, Ando catches it from skipping across the floor, and before he can look back up, the alien has scrammed out the door, sprinting down the hallway.

"Hey!" Ando shouts after him, aiming the weapon down the corridor. The strange creature drops something, and turns back in the shadows. A simple bottle of medicine rolls to a stop against the wall. After a moment, the being continues to run off, and vanishes around the corner. Lowering the rifle, Ando has another look around, and rushes back into the room. Quickly collecting what he found, Ando throws it all into his utility pouch and runs out into the hallway once more.

Taking a moment to check the area, Ando hurries at a half crouch through the courtyard. Listening for the tanks, he moves along the sides of the buildings. As he creeps from cover to cover, stopping at bits of rubble, Ando quickly makes his way back. Spotting the familiar shape of Legs across the street, Ando breathes a sigh of relief, and stands up to head over. As soon as he does however, he jolts back down, shrinking behind a piece of broken building. He can hear speaking. Someone's close. They're not alone. Frozen in place behind his cover, Ando readies his black E-11. Peeking above the rubble with as little of his head showing as possible, Ando sees a group of uniformed Rebels passing on the street in front of the walker, chatting. As they pass, however, they notice the obviously stashed Imperial vehicle. Raising their weapons, they turn down the alleyway towards it.

Ando ducks back down, thinking up as many swear words as he knows. It now occurs to him that, in his haste to help his copilot, he should have at least collapsed the vehicle down onto its legs again. Trying to work out how he can take on 5 Rebel soldiers at once, he turns away and leans on his cover, exasperatedly looking around. The element of surprise could work in his favor. They're all stuck in that alley.

Maybe...ugh, I dunno…but with a few lucky shots...not a lotta time, Ando.

Bracing himself, he tucks the stubby weapon into his shoulder and turns back towards the enemy soldiers. Taking aim through his sights, he prepares to spray blaster bolts into the alleyway across the street. As he gets ready, however, he stops. He can see something above the soldiers, on the rooftops of the alley. It's a familiar, stealthy creeping. White armor. A scout trooper is quietly looking down on the walker. Wary of what he's seen before, he takes a close look through his scope, only to see a black gloved hand waving slowly, subtly from the rooftop. Ando's brow furrows as he lifts his head from the weapon. Diving back in for another look, Ando sees the scout waving again, at him. Staring through the sights at the quiet trooper, Ando watches the black gloved hand slowly put a finger up in front of the mouthpiece. The scout steadily settles in and takes aim with his long, slender rifle as the Rebels proceed, unaware, into the alley. The one in charge points another Rebel over to the side, and they spread out. The Rebels draw ever nearer to Ando's defenseless walker, and the scout trooper picks his moment. In a green flash and a loud bang, the lead soldier crumples to the alley floor.

Startled by the noise of it, Ando throws his weapon back up to observe through the scope. Stunned, the Rebels dive for cover and aim up at the rooftops.

"Sniper!"

"Where?! Where, I don't-"

The soldier is cut off as one of the others fires up at the scout trooper in a panic, shouting, "Over there!"

In a flash, the sniper has already disappeared behind the roofline. A moment later, Ando spots a blink of white armor as it sprints between the rooftop fixtures. The Rebels fire erratically at where they saw him last.

"On the right!"

The scout sniper seems to appear out of thin air again. Swinging his rifle down and aiming quickly, he fires on the Rebels once more, another collapsing to the alleyway floor. Spinning around, the Rebels fire up again, backing up toward the street, but the white armored soldier has vanished once more. Ando sees his chance, and takes aim with his weapon.

A familiar voice crackles through Ando's earpiece. "Flyboy...is that you makin' all-...all that noise?" The voice sounds faint, and exhausted.

"I'm on my way, Hammand!" Ando shouts, and pulls the trigger, firing a burst of shots into the alleyway. Attacked from all angles, the small group of Rebels flee the blaster fire, sprinting out into the street.

Waiting quietly for them to leave, Ando hides tensely behind his cover, and then runs for it across the road. With his medical supplies in tow, he clumsily jumps the debris and bodies on his way up the alley, untying his boarding cable from the leg and taking it up to the cabin. Climbing up over the top, he takes a quick moment to look across the rooftops for the scout trooper, but doesn't see anyone. With no time to search, Ando jumps into the hatch.

"Hey, Hammand," Ando greets in the relative silence, climbing down through the hatch. As he crouches down and loosely shuts the hatch, he notices he's gotten no response again. Kneeling down quickly, he inspects his copilot, laying the E-11 on the floor. Hammand is still, his face grey under the dark, dried blood.

"Hammand," he says again. No response. "Hammand!" Ando says more assertively as he gives him a whack across the helmet with his palm. Hammand's head bobs to one side, pulling on his neck. Waking lazily, the injured man winces, hissing through bloodied teeth.

"Ugh...damn it all, Flyboy..."

"Stay awake, Hamm!"

"Hell..." Hammand grumbles, sputtering, "Yeah, yeah-...I'm awake," though his eyes seem to be staying shut.

"Hurry up, lemme see."

Hammand stiffly pulls his chin up, peeling away the blood soaked rag. More blood begins to trickle from the hole burned in his neck. "How's it look?" Hammand asks, like a man half asleep.

"I dunno, I'm not a medic. Not good?" Ando quips as he uses a wad of clean dressing to wipe some of it away. Rummaging through the supplies, he pulls out the bottle of sealer foam and puts the applicator into the wound. After depressing the trigger, the pressurized fluid bubbles up inside.

"Ahhh! Blast it, that stings like hell!" Hammand bellows deliriously, slapping angrily at the bottle. The medical tool clatters loudly against the metal floor, the sound echoing off the alleyway walls outside.

"Would you shut it, Hamm?!" Ando yells, immediately throwing his hands over Hammand's mouth. "Those Rebs might hear us!" Ando warns, trying to make Hammand aware of where he is again. Jumping up to spy out his porthole, he checks around quickly. "We didn't get all of 'em, they ran off." Folding some of the dressing into a square, he kneels back down and tapes it to Hammand's neck. "This stuff isn't bacta either, so don't move. It's barely filling the hole right now."

Hammand coughs, his eyelids drooping closed. "Still not goin' anywhere."

"Keep your hand on it, I gotta-..." Ando falls silent. Standing up in the cabin, he listens around. It's deathly quiet outside. Ando squints his eyes, confused at the strange silence. All of a sudden, blaster bolts shoot out from the rubble in the street, sparking off the porthole armor. Ando jolts downwards, rushing for Hammand's seat as stray shots bounce into the cabin.

"Stay down, Hamm, we got trouble!" Ando shouts over the din as he keeps as low as he can, and clips himself into the harness. Powering up the drive systems, he straightens up the walker. Switching the controls, he pivots the cabin towards the street, and multiple Rebel soldiers begin to scatter from the cover. Firing the main chin blasters, Ando crushes the rubble, firing red double pulses in succession. The alleyway shoots fire and sparks up into the air as the struck Rebels roll and fall in the alleyway. Ando lunges forward toward the commlink.

"Stalek! This is Dragoon 2, under Rebel attack, we need help!"

"I copy, Dragoon 2. Hang on, we've got reinforcements! Raythe and Fyllus are fighting their way in from the southwest, ETA 30 minutes!"

"We don't have 30 minutes!"

A flash emanates from a rooftop on the right, followed by a strange snaking motion against the sky. A rocket squirms and twists its way through the air, impacting with a massive clap on the walker's right side. The cabin jerks to one side, spinning hard to the left. Thrown sideways, the creature-like vehicle auto balances, staggering and crashing against the alley wall. Alarms go off inside the cockpit, and Ando checks around the cabin for damage. The chain connecting the shells to the shell launcher is ragged and broken, hanging off the wall from the gnarled mechanism. Looking across his controls, the displays are listing the shell launcher and the chin blasters as "offline." Growling from the impact, Ando tries to channel it into aggression, shouting to himself.

"Blast it!" Ando switches to the light blaster on the left side and swings the crooked cockpit back down the alleyway. The clumsy weapon is meant to fire into enemy formations much farther away than this. Firing the light blaster wildly into the approaching Rebels, Ando tries to no avail to ward them off. The small, scattered Rebels are overwhelming, pushing forward at the walker. Switching to the drive controls, Ando clumsily backs the injured vehicle further down the alleyway.

Frustrated with the complexity of the controls, he shouts, "Dammit, Hamm, I could really use your help right now!" The walker backs all the way up, banging into the alleyway's back wall, shaking rubble off the low rooftops. After the scrapes and crunches die down, a pair of clunks reverberate through the ceiling. Someone is on top of the vehicle. Ando swivels in his seat, and looks down at the E-11 he forgot on the floor. Before he can react, smoky sunlight is pouring in through the unlocked top hatch. A messy looking Rebel soldier drops inside, rifle in hand, and fires wildly into the cabin. Ando leans as far as he can behind Hammand's seat as the haphazard blaster fire rakes across the control panels, showering the cabin in sparks. Yelping as a bolt sizzles through his pilot's uniform and burns into his shoulder blade, Ando can do nothing but make himself as small as possible behind the seat back.

Growling, Hammand stomps sideways at the Rebel's foot, throwing his legs out from under him and dropping him to the floor. Scrambling forward off the wall with an uncanny swiftness, Hammand lunges and grabs the surprised Rebel by his helmet, throwing his head into the seat supports. Roaring and bellowing at him as the Rebel's limbs flail in defense, the large man puts his weight on the enemy soldier, trapping the weapon between them and the floor, and reaches for the E-11. Holding him down, he fires a burst of blaster shots into the enemies back. The Rebel soldier goes still, and Hammand slowly wilts, choking and breathing shallow, frantic breaths. His sputtering becomes more violent as he struggles weakly for air, and collapses on top of the intruder's body.

"Aghhh..." Ando groans, hissing and leaning forward, grimacing hard over his injury. His arm cramps tight against his torso, his fist clenching as he tries to shake off the pain. The gunnery controls and command comm are destroyed. Whirling backwards, Ando looks to the floor. "Hammand!? Hammand, you alright?!" Unbuckling himself, Ando shutters the portholes and kneels down to check. Hammand is not moving. Pushing hard on his still body, Ando shouts at him, "Hammand!" Hammand remains, unmoving.

Is he?...

Kicking him, Ando yells, "Dammit, Hammand, you better not be dead!" as he scoops up the blaster rifle and puts a hand to his earpiece. Breaking protocol, Ando switches his helmet commlink to an all-call channel.

"This is Dragoon 2, in distress! We're cut off and under attack in Zone 2! I have a critically injured officer onboard, if there are any Imperial forces in the area, we need evac, immediate!" Ando throws the hatch open and points his weapon out into the sunlight. A pair of Rebels is on the roof behind the walker, caught off guard. Shouting a cry of defiance as he did on Zelliros, Ando sprays red hot blaster bolts out of the hatch, and they both fall backwards, out of sight.

"Uhh, roger, Dragoon 2, we're engaging heavy activity in that area. What are you doing on this channel? What's your operating number?" a crackly voice returns on the comms.

Spinning back to the mounted weapon, he grabs it and takes aim down the alleyway. Blaster shots bounce and skip off the heavy armor of their scout walker as the Rebels try to shoot Ando off the turret. Ducking down, Ando raises his arms up high, pivoting the mounted weapon down at the ground and opens fire. Unleashing a blinding barrage, he shouts over the racket, and sweeps the weapon from side to side.

"This is Corporal Andorus Merik! Uhh, TD-427-4309, under heavy attack in the financial district!" Firing sporadically at Rebel heads as they poke up out of cover, Ando frantically tries to continue speaking. "My Gunnery Sergeant's-...been shot! If we don't get medical, he's not gonna make it!"

The static remains silent. Ando continues firing until the Rebel faces have all scattered, hiding out of sight. He looks around, searching for any friendly faces amongst the rubble. Nothing. Ando's hold of the weapon begins to droop. They're not getting back. After a short moment, however, the static springs to life once again.

"We copy, Dragoon 2. Sit tight, Ando. Support is on the way." Ando's brows shoot upward on his forehead at the sound of the voice.

"Ando?"

The blaster fire returns again as his attention falls from the situation at hand. Ando ducks down into the hatch, blindfiring back to try and scare them off.

"Well, ya better hurry!" As he looks to either side, he can see Rebels scrambling along the rooftops. He sweeps at them, ducking his head down to avoid the constant barrage of blaster fire. His panicked heart sinks as he peeks out at a shape appearing down the alleyway. The broad hull of a Rebel tank is creeping slowly around the corner in the street. The heavy turret slowly swivels towards Ando's helpless walker.

A cry bellows from the sky, echoing off the walls. The familiar shriek of ion engines tears through the alleyway, deafening Ando as he throws his hands to his ears and looks to the sky. Flinching down, he looks up out of his hatch as burning green flashes rake across the alleyway rooftops, crumbling the building edges and piercing their walls. Flames and shreds of white hot metal shoot up into the sky where the tank was, engulfing the end of the alleyway in fire. Bits of rock and dirt rain down onto Ando's heavy helmet. In a sudden bark, a small squadron of TIE fighters sweeps through, cutting a path down the city from above.

"Dragoon 2, move out of the alleyway and proceed north. You're being patched through to Stalker Battalion, secure channel 02-05."

"Roger!" The voice doesn't have to tell Ando twice. Kicking his feet off the step, Ando quickly drops into the cabin, pulling the hatch closed behind him. Making sure it's locked this time, he jumps into Hammand's bloodstained seat and charges the walker forward. Shouting over his shoulder as they head towards the burning tank, Ando yells, "I dunno if you can hear me, Hamm, but we're gettin' outta here!" The damaged walker moves quickly out to the entrance of the alleyway and spins right. Immediately, Ando can see down the road two AT-ST's charging towards him; Stalker Battalion.

"Dragoon 2, keep coming! We're covering you!" another voice buzzes in. Without warning, a flash blinks past Ando's walker from behind, obliterating a building in front and pouring dust down onto the cabin. Ando's vehicle stumbles slightly over the obscured rubble as it keeps running through. As he emerges from the cloud, the walkers in front of him return fire, blasting red shots back the other direction. One of them lets loose a startling bang from the shell cannon on its side, shaking the dust from the buildings around them. The shell rushes past Ando's walker, reverberating and shuddering the cockpit. "Break right, Dragoon 2! Break right!"

Ando immediately complies, jerking the walker to the right at the next street, coming face to face with 2 more walkers as they come in from the sides, columns of troopers moving in behind them.

"Alright Dragoon 2, keep moving past us. Turn left at the third street and continue for about 2 clicks."

"Copy, Stalker," Ando replies, letting himself breathe once again as the vehicle lumbers more calmly through the columns of white armored troopers. Leaning back in Hammand's seat, he wipes the sweat from his face and looks out the porthole as the squadron of TIE fighters continues to circle the city high in the dimming sky. In a more sedate fashion, he adjusts the controls, turning along the designated street as more and more troopers and walkers head back in the direction he came from.

"Medic! We need a medic here, now!" Ando yells from the top of his walker as he throws some boarding cables over the side. Engineers join a medical officer and ride the cables up to the top of the vehicle.

"What's the problem?" the medic says quickly as he clambers over the top, crouching by the hatch as Ando stands in it.

"Gunnery Sergeant's hit, he's not moving."

"Where?"

"In the neck," Ando says as he turns to go back into the cabin. "I got him some first aid, but-" he stops as he crouches down over Hammand's still body. The medic climbs in to check on him, and Ando sort of stares off at the floor, his focus beginning to blur. "...I don't know."

Slowly, the medic rolls Hammand onto his back. "OK, yeah. Well-...Wow, there's a Reb in here. Bet that was a close one," he says awkwardly as he spies the extra body underneath. "Corporal-….Corporal," he says sternly, trying to keep Ando's attention. "Hold that dressing there and move his head just like this, OK?" Ando does as he's told and cradles Hammand's head to one side, exposing the wound. Blood is getting past the sealant and is trickling down onto his collar again. Leaning in, the medic pulls out another can of sealant and douses the area. Looking down at his Gunnery Sergeant's face, Ando sees a weak grimace in reaction to the stinging medical foam. Finally, a response, but the giant pilot looks like he's barely breathing. Snatching the new dressing from Ando's hand, the medic throws it over the bubbling matter. "He's going to be OK, but we gotta get him into the field hospital now."

"What do I do?"

"Grab his arms, I'll get his legs."

Ando immediately grabs the large man under his armpits and begins to heave, but then crumples. "ARGH!" Nearly dropping his wounded pilot, Ando jolts downward in the cabin. A searing pain spreads across his back, like a hot knife scraping down his shoulder blade.

"Careful now! You alright, Corporal!?" The medic says, concerned. He gently puts Hammand's legs down and checks on Ando. Ando's wilting as he struggles to hold Hammand's weight. Looking over Ando's back, the medic's head rears up slightly. "You're shot, kid! You can't move this guy."

"I'm fine, let's just-"

"Hey!" the medic says, startlingly. "See the pin?!" he asks angrily, pointing at his chest.

"Yessir."

"Medical Officer."

"...Yessir."

"Put him down. Can you make your way down to the ground on your own?"

"Agh….yessir," Ando says, grimacing as he lowers Hammand's shoulders to the floor, the pain finally starting to settle in.

"Get the engineers on your way out to help me with the big guy."

Ando sneers in anguish and folds his arm against his torso once again, echoing another, "Yessir." Limping his way out of the hatch, he waves the engineers into the cabin, and lowers himself on the boarding cable. Standing with his feet on the ground, he looks out at the clouds on the horizon. The squadron of TIEs is circling the city, bright flashes of green shooting down into the buildings below. They pass out of sight as they're obscured by the body of an AT-AT, standing like a massive fortress among the skyline.

The pain begins to wash over Ando's body, and he staggers away from the walker. In his mental haze, Ando is caught by someone else, who holds him around the shoulders. Trying to focus, he can see another medical pin. Letting himself be led, Ando goes with the new medic to the field hospital, as the unconscious Hammand is slowly lowered from the tall vehicle.

"Shell's away!"

"Hit, hit!"

"Watch it, more tanks moving in from Coronet Ave!"

"I see 'em, cover left!"

The chatter rattles in chaotically from the ground below as Valen and his squadron circle over the scarred metropolitan streets. White armor plated bodies hurry from building to building, amid distant flashes of blaster bolts. Grey scout walkers line up shoulder to shoulder at a major avenue and fire a cascade of shells at a pair of Rebel tanks as the overlapping voices continue to shout information. After a moment, the comms mute themselves as the command channel overrides them.

"Delta Leader, this is Base 1," General Mallus' grizzled voice speaks clearly and calmly through the comms.

Snapping to attention in his seat, Valen replies, "Base 1, go ahead."

"I need you to cover at Coronet Ave. Heavy targets at uploaded coordinates, 939th and Dragoon are getting hit hard in the south."

"Copy, coordinates received," Valen's scowling black helmet buzzes. Banking to starboard, Valen's TIE bucks and shudders in the thick atmosphere. This is nothing like space flight. More like trudging through a thick, hot stew. The air is harsh and smokey, heavy and treacherous, the hot sun baking Valen's black flightsuit. Delta Squadron passes over a burning building and the column of heat pitches the lightweight fighters through the smoke. Everything requires a compensation from the controls. Just wrestling through this thick air is enough to fatigue Valen.

"After that, I need you to circle around and help Stalker and Hunter Battalions push back the Rebel offensive towards Base 2."

"Copy, Base 1," Valen says again, adding yet another strafing run to the list of tasks. Though the runs so far seem rather mundane, flying combat speed in atmosphere is extremely harsh on the TIEs' resources. A half tank of fuel has already been expended from all this drag. Valen leads his squad over the city, circling back towards the south. Patching into the ground channels, Valen checks in. "Dragoon Battalion, Delta squad is engaging targets at 2-2 and 2-4, keep your distance."

"Copy, Delta. Boy are we glad to have you around!" a crackly, low class voice says from the ground.

"Squad Leader, we're running low on fuel as is, sir."

"This is the last pocket of Rebels and they're heavily concentrated, Lohm," Valen remarks. "We need to help keep them contained; buy us time to refuel and come back without them breaking through again." The squadron dives through the turbulent smoke onto the broad avenue with two Rebel tanks on it. Soaring over white uniformed soldiers, the screaming TIEs let loose a flurry of green laser fire. The deadly energy pulses streak down the road, kicking up pavement, dirt, and fire until they reach the target. Valen supervises the shots as Sirius' pierce directly through the tank's hull, scattering the heavy armor plating down the avenue towards the retreating Rebels. The squadron cheers over the comm system at the hit.

"Woohoo! Did you see that?!"

"Great hit! That's another target down, Squad Leader!"

"Nice shot, Sirius." Silently, Valen gives a little hurrah for his squad to be performing so well. It's about time Delta's regular TIEs outmatch a foe. The squad tears through the pillar of fire, low to the ground as small arms fire shoots up from the buildings. At this point, the ground strikes seem routine. As the squadron climbs from the city skyline, Valen sits back in his cockpit. "Base 1," Valen says into the comms. "We're coming back around to the north, ready to take on targets. Advise on priorities, we're low on fuel up here."

"I'm uploading coordinates on the northern line. I need you to drive a wedge between our forces and theirs. I'm authorizing an orbital, let me know when you're clear."

"An orbital strike?! We can't-" Julos blurts before Valen mutes his comm.

"Copy that, General. Delta Squadron is en route." The squadron pulls up high above the smoking capital. Valen looks up into the sky at the ghostly visages of star destroyers alone in low orbit. The immense, spear shape of the Executor looms in the distance above, a symbol of the Empire's full presence. The Rebel fleet is nowhere to be seen. He opens up the squadron channel again to hear chatter going on between Lohm and the new pilot, Julos.

"-still an Imperial city."

"I'm sure this is a last resort-"

"What's the problem, Deltas?" Valen says shortly, cutting through the out-of-line chatter.

"The greenhorn's just a little unsure about striking an Imperial city, sir," Lohm stumbles, trying to mediate.

"Well they didn't ask us for our input," Valen pushes back. "Keep your heads in it, we have one last run before we refuel."

"Yessir."

"Roger, Delta Leader."

"There's the northern line, right in front of us. I want a broad firing pattern, push the Rebels as far in as possible." The Deltas line up side by side and tear a path in the ground as they pass over the pockmarked buildings once again. Sporadic explosions light the surface as the sound of laser cannons rattles through the fighters' hulls. Pulling back up, the squadron shudders in the thick atmosphere as they bank to port, flying away from the city.

"Delta Squad attack run complete. The Rebels are pulling farther back into the financial district. We are heading back to Base 1 to refuel."

"Copy, Delta. Nice work out there."

The TIEs swoop in and lower slowly onto a dirt airfield outside the city. Dust kicks up as they settle down gently on their broad solar panels in the reddening evening light. Watching the crosswinds, Valen touches down and powers off his wailing ion engines, the dark cockpit silent once again. Unbuckling his harness, he pushes the top hatch open and stands up. Pulling the scowling black skull helmet off his head, Valen can feel the natural, albeit smoky air gently waft across his face and mussy hair. Safe back down on the ground, Valen looks out across the horizon at the setting sun, blazing red in the murky sky.

Blinking, he looks down at the engineers as they run up to the fighter, attaching fuel hoses and flipping open maintenance panels. The ship is worn, and dirty looking from flying through this atmospheric muck. Usually, when a TIE docks aboard a ship, it's taken into a maintenance bay to be disassembled and reassembled with new and refurbished parts. This one has been stalwart; a good, reliable ship through many flights more flights than the standard lifetime of a TIE so far. Valen's never gone so long with a single fighter before. He looks down for a moment, and picks his gloved hands up off the grimy surface, the thin film lifted from the hull creating the shape of his handprints. His hands. His ship. Suddenly, Valen thinks back on Darius' defiantly scarred helmet, mirroring his facial scar from Sarron. His "honors," as Ozzel had once put it a while back. His distinction. Smirking slightly at the notion, Valen pulls a small tool from a compartment and begins scratching something very small onto the fighter's hull. A ground crewman shows up beneath Valen with a ladder, reaching up and clipping it onto the fighter's hull. Finishing his etching, Valen wipes away the particulate to reveal his work, scraped into the plating.

V. Rannix

Swinging his boots out of the hatch, Valen begins climbing down toward the ground.

"How's the run, sir?" The crewman asks informally.

"Good runs," Valen says as his boots drop down to the soil.

"Any issues?"

"The muddy air keeps rattling that auxiliary panel loose." Looking out across the airfield, he can see Delta Squadron is the only set of ships on the deck, aside from a few shuttles. The bombers are nowhere to be found. Still scanning across the flat base, Valen asks, "Where's Commander Ferros?"

"The bomber squads have been called back up to orbit. Commander Ferros wanted me to tell you: He says it was good flying with you again, Lieutenant Commander."

Valen gives a nod in thanks to the relayed compliment. A green flash brightens the sunsetting sky, and he turns towards the Coronet skyline. The ground erupts in brilliant orange flame, and the impact shudders up through his boots, even at this distance from the city. More streaks of bright green light shoot down from the clouds, rumbling the ground, and lighting the distant skyline red with fire. A skyscraper takes a burning green bolt from above, the middle floors ejecting fire and glass as the structure buckles over itself. The taller, downtown portion of Coronet's financial district begins to fall away, the skyscraper folding and sinking into the fire. Looking across the airfield, Valen sees his pilots looking on at the spectacle. All but one. The young Corellian, Bevurrant Julos, stands separate from the rest of the pilots as they marvel at the destruction of the Rebel sector.

"Sir," the crewman says, getting Valen's attention again. "General Mallus says he'd like to speak with you."

"Sure, I'll be right over," Valen says as he walks off the cleared field.

Valen enters a drab field tent with his helmet under his arm. Stacks of crates litter the ground underneath fabric coverings. The wrinkled, grey General Mallus stands in his gunmetal field officer's armor, leaning over a table of papers and tablets. His face is grizzled and serious; weathered by years and years of experience. His balding grey head is uncovered, the bulky bucket helmet set down on the table.

"I understand, Lieutenant Dirion. Keep me informed on your findings," the old officer says, clicking a button on a command box.

Giving the General his respect, Valen announces himself. "Sir, Delta Squadron is refueling. Ready for our next run in 10, General, sir."

"Ah, Lieutenant Commander," the General greets as he leans back from the table, adjusting his bulky officer's breastplate and wiping his thinning silver hair to one side with an ungloved hand. "That won't be necessary. Stalker Battalion says the orbital strike has nearly obliterated the last of the Rebel forces, they'll be inspecting Point Zero soon. We should have requested that earlier, would have saved us some resources. Only thing left to do now is mop up the mess."

"Yessir."

"Anything of note on the battlefield during your last run?"

"Nothing, sir. Just the usual evacuation forces throughout. 2 more transports."

"Noted. The stranded soldier from the northern sector's been debriefed. During his time behind enemy lines, he made some valuable observations. It looks like he spotted the Rebel scum stealing supplies. Didn't get a good look, but he described them as large containers with Imperial markings." The General sits down in his chair and leans forward on his elbow, looking over the papers on his desk. Heaving a large sigh, the General looks up at Valen and asks, "You sound like a fine Imperial from Coruscant. You know about Coronet, Lieutenant Commander?"

"I've heard about it," Valen says, ignoring yet another assumption about his accent. "Lots of soldiers from here."

"Coronet boasts a shipyard they say is second to none, and several major weapons factories and caches," Mallus says, as if reading it off a tourist pamphlet. "After the Empire deemed it necessary to draft soldiers to fight the Rebel threat, it's no secret there was," he pauses as he raises his silvery brows at the pilot leader, "'dissatisfaction' on the planet. Public anti-Empire demonstrations at the CorSec headquarters have been quelled almost daily. What that soldier spotted is more evidence that confirms our worst concerns," he grumbles as he presses his fingers into the bridge of his nose. "That Corellian traitor Madine's gutted the planet right under my nose. Ships, weapons..." The obviously troubled General recomposes himself, standing up straight and approaching Valen. "Well. I'm hereby returning you to your Skipper's command. Thank you for Delta's contributions. Good luck, Lieutenant Commander." Mallus throws up a salute, and reaches to shake Valen's hand.

"You're no longer in need of air support, sir?"

"Battle's over. I'm stuck here on this rock with an occupation force while we help these treacherous Corellians rebuild. Likely as punishment for letting Madine get away."

A little shocked by the notion, Valen just nods in response, and bids farewell. "Glory to the Empire, General."

"Long live the Emperor."

---

Chapter X: False Starts

The silvery grey door whooshes open once again, the dim lights illuminating Valen's small quarters. Valen walks in, dropping his rucksack roughly on top of his footlocker. The room seals shut as he unclips his helmet from his chestpiece, setting it on the top of his desk. Shucking his pilot armor, he puts a hand up to the drab grey wall of the room to steady himself as he slips out of his jumpsuit and trades it for his officer's trousers. Before he has time to don his tunic, a high pitched whistle emanates from the doorway.

"Uhh, come in," Valen says awkwardly, sorting his coat and reaching for his belt. The door opens and, oddly, it's the surrogate squad leader: Vanatus Farenn.

"Sir. Commander Zain would like to speak with you." Farenn's presence representing the Commander for such a task seems strange. It's usually Junior Lieutenant Kenz who comes to summon him.

"Yeah, what about?" Valen asks, making conversation as he buckles his belt and checks his desk drawer. Out of the Lieutenant's sight, Valen can see his tablet is still there.

"He, uh-..." Farenn pauses slightly, and Valen looks back up, shutting the drawer. The normally dutiful and serious Farenn seems….tired. His brows seem crushed together, his eyes weary. Blinking slightly, Farenn continues, "He'd like to go over the battle, sir."

"Of course, just a moment," Valen says politely. Farenn just stands blankly in the doorway. After a continued silence in the room while he sorts his uniform, Valen tries give a rivalrous quip to roust the Hawk Lieutenant's attention. Smirking, Valen jests sarcastically, "So, where's Zain's usual 'emissary?' Junior Lieutenant Kenz?"

Farenn's serious face stares ahead. He gives a quick, subtle shake of his head, and Valen's grin melts away. Suddenly, he can see the mask he's been staring at. Farenn looks all at once so familiar, Valen can't believe how oblivious he was. Farenn looks like Daxxis after Sulon. Like himself, since Yavin. How many friends has the unsung squadron leader lost in the skies over Corellia? Valen hangs, embarrassed in the silence, holding his breath as he tries to think of something to say.

"...I see…" he says, gently gesturing out the door. "Please, Lieutenant."

Valen follows Farenn out into the corridor, straightening his uniform. As he tugs his officer's cap over his head, he takes notice of the garrison hallway. It looks stark. Hauntingly empty. They march in silence towards the turbolift, their boots echoing past several rooms in a row with the nameplates removed. Valen looks towards Farenn as he walks in front. The Hawk pilot's head remains still, almost stiff, deliberately looking away from the empty rooms.

"Sir, Lieutenant Commander Rannix, as requested."

"Thank you, Vanatus. Dismissed, get some rest," Commander Zain says from his desk. Farenn steps out of the office, shuttering the door behind him. Zain sits with his officer's cap off, looking tired as well. A tablet with rows of names on it sits on the desk.

"You wanted to see me, Thamus?" Valen asks his Commander by first name, anticipating the mood.

Zain offers a half smile at the gesture, and points an open hand to the space beside his chair. "Valen, please sit." Valen pulls a chair around the desk and sits on one end. Zain leans sideways against his workstation, resting his muzzle against a gloved hand. Raising his brows, he points towards the door. "Vanatus is a good man. Good pilot." He pauses for a moment as he looks down at the desk, and then redirects his attention to Valen. "How went the fight down on the surface?"

"Pretty routine. We encountered little resistance, mostly support for the ground forces, uneventful bombing runs on the outskirts with Commander Ferros."

"Ah, good. Good, that's good," Zain says vacantly, nodding gently. "You may not have heard," he says as he clicks off the rollcall tablet, "but my Hawks fought well among the stars today. Taking on the Rebel fleet was certainly a sight to see. We lost..." Zain pauses for a moment in thought as he pushes his chin up and dismissively bobs his head from side to side, "quite a few." He continues optimistically, "But, I think the triumphs we had outweigh any impact this could have on our reputation. It's a shame Delta couldn't share in this honor."

"How many?"

"Hm? Oh. 60%, but they were mostly regular TIEs," Zain blurts dismissively, grinning and shaking off the numbers.

60 percent…?

Valen realizes how hard he's just blinked trying to comprehend the loss when he notices Zain's furrowed brow at the expression. "Hawk Group lost more than half?-"

"We saved most of the Interceptors. Considering that Delta wasn't there to cover us, I think we did well," Zain says matter-of-factly, a thin wash of cold noticeable on his face.

"Sir, I was assigned by-"

"Oh that's fine, Valen. I know, 'orders are orders.'" Zain cuts Valen off, diverting the confrontation once again. "We can always get more pilots." Zain reaches into his desk drawer and hands Valen a data card. "Here." Valen takes the card and places it in his pocket. "We've got the Rebel fleet on the run, and we'reorganizing to hunt them down. Review that in your quarters and relay the brief to your pilots. Dismissed."

The door to Valen's quarters hisses shut once again. Casually flipping the official card onto his desk as he passes, he moves around and sits down in his chair, immediately opening the terminal. Scrolling through red text, he scans through rows and rows of names.

Cpl. Andorus Merik [INJURED: MINOR]

With a mechanical click of a button, the screen brings up his name and profile. Valen lets out a sigh of relief to see his best friend alive down on the surface. Leaning forward again, he types a few keys on the console. Frustratingly, he's met with an abrupt denial.

[COMMS ACCESS RESTRICTED: COMMAND LEVEL CLEARANCE REQUIRED]

Blasting out an annoyed sigh through a sneer, Valen grabs the card instead, and plugs it into his terminal to study.

---

Ando moves around anxiously, fidgeting in his bandages. They feel soaked in the middle of his right shoulder, and irritatingly dry and scratchy around the edges. A tingling sensation sits in the middle, but not painful. Bored with lying flat on his stomach as instructed, Ando slowly rises from his hospital bed and looks around. The field hospital is laden with half-suited and unsuited soldiers, the subtle moans of pain murmur above the quiet conversations between medical personnel. Scorched and bloodied plasteel armor plates sit in a disorganized pile in the corner of the area. Ando scans the beds of injured troopers for his copilot, and sees a medical droid passing between the cots.

"Hey," Ando beckons informally, raising his good arm. The light blue metallic humanoid stops, and slowly and calmly turns. Quietly, and delicately, the droid approaches Ando's bedside.

"Greetings, Corporal Andorus Merik," the droid says in its standard, soothing robotic voice. "You must lie flat for your bacta dressing to be optimally effective."

"Yeah, sure," Ando says, ignoring the metal man's remark. "I need your help."

"How can I assist you?"

"Do you have my Gunnery Sergeant here? Hammand. No last….um...or first name," Ando says unsurely.

"Yes. A Gunnery Sergeant Hammand is present."

"Take me to him."

"Excessive mobility in your present condition would not be recommended."

"I'm fine," blurt the familiar words from Ando's mouth as he hops up from his hospital bed. The sudden jostle sends waves of stinging pain across his shoulders and down one arm, and he winces slightly. The droid leans forward with silvery limbs outstretched as if to try and catch him, and continues in its soothing voice.

"Corporal, I must insist-" Ando reflexively pushes the droid's metal arms away as he straightens up, unassisted.

"What's goin' on here?" a voice asks quickly. The familiarly weathered and stern face of the medic Ando saw on his arrival appears from behind. The droid turns stiffly towards the medical officer.

"Second Lieutenant Briggs, sir. I was just informing the Corporal that he must remain still for his injuries to-"

"Clean up this cot and make room for someone else."

"Yes, Lieutenant," the medical 2-1B says, immediately setting to work and gathering up the sheets.

"Toowunbee, where's the kid's pilot?"

"Gunnery Sergeant Hammand is in recovery ward 2, next to Surgery."

"Got it?" the man asks, quickly turning his head toward Ando, an apathetic look glazing across his face.

"Yessir, Lieutenant Briggs, sir," Ando says as he reaches to gather his folded uniform, snatching it up before it's picked up by the droid. The droid swivels a slightly dejected look towards the clothing as it's taken away, and then robotically resumes its work. Ando walks off toward the next recovery area, pretending he didn't just try to force his injured arm through a sleeve.

Hammand lies motionless on his cot, a brace holding his head still. Approaching quietly, Ando calmly leans back against a neighboring hospital bed, and takes a small cloth swab to fidget with. Slowly, Hammand opens his eyes, pointing them towards Ando.

Glad to see him awake, Ando quietly greets him. "Hey, Hamm."

"Flyboy," Hammand squeaks in a raspy whisper, swallowing hard after speaking only one word. His face is still grey and lacking in color, a bandage wrapped all the way around his neck, stained with blood and bacta. "You shot?"

"Heh….yeah, I'm shot," Ando acquiesces, turning to show Hammand the bandage on his back.

Swallowing hard again, Hammand pushes his voice out his injured throat. "Thought I told ya-" He stops himself to stifle a cough, pressing his eyelids together in pain at the aggravated wound. After a pause, he just moves onto the next subject. "Legs make it?"

"Ssssort of," Ando reveals, squinting his eyes and pulling the corner of his mouth flat.

Hammand grumbles slightly at the sheepish remark. "Ugh. Alright," his heavy hands reach up to free his head from the bed brace. "Let's...see what ya did."

Ando reaches up to stop him from unbuckling the brace. "Hamm, don't-"

"I'm fine!" Hammand growls, coughing and swinging at Ando's hands. Reaching up as if all of his strength had suddenly been restored to him, Hammand rips at the strap holding his head down. After two sudden tugs, he tears it from its anchors. Free of the restraints, he swings his massive legs over the sides of the bed and sits up. Immediately, he buckles forward and starts hacking uncontrollably, blood slightly lining his lips. Suddenly, another 2-1B appears behind Ando, leaning in to try and put Hammand back in his bed.

"Sir, please lie back, you need rest." Hammand puts a hand up to stop the droid, and the droid stands back, waiting for him to stop coughing. Hammand's cough subdues a bit, and he straightens up, clearing his throat. After a moment of awkward silence, the droid continues, "Sir, if you would please-"

Hammand cuts the metallic humanoid off by hocking a gob of blood against its chestplate, leaving the droid looking around in shock. "Ugh...that's better," he says, wiping his mouth on his arm and sliding off the bed.

"Erm, sir, that is an alarming amount of clotting-"

He snaps up his folded uniform and shakily starts his way out of the hospital as the droid impotently asks him to remain in bed.

"I don't think it would be wise, sir-... Sir, please remain still, I can't recommend-"

"Come on, Flyboy. We gotta get Legs fixed up." Left standing with the powerless and embarrassed droid, Ando grabs up a small package of extra dressings and runs off to catch up with his pilot as he hacks and coughs his way out of the hospital.

---

"Welcome back, Delta." Valen sits in his small quarters behind his desk, the Deltas standing at attention in front of him. As usual, the lights are dim in the crowded quarters. "It's clear we did very well on Corellia. The planet's been liberated, and both General Mallus and Commander Ferros extend their congratulations. With their support, Commander Zain has finally approved my recommendations. Junior Lieutenant Daxxis, a commendation for your steadfast actions during the battle above Sullust. And Flight Officer Jorlessen, commended for your razor-keen execution of orders 'concerning the protection of Hawk Group.' Sirius..." Valen pauses, smirking slightly. Sirius' eyes widen as Valen places a small black box on his desk. "Zain wouldn't let me promote you," he continues as he places another box next to it, "unless I promote Lohm as well." Murmurs and unabashed grins appear amongst the small group of pilots as they stare at the diminutive black boxes. "Flight Officer Janos Sirius. For your honorable progress in skill and acuity, I am proud to promote you to Junior Lieutenant. Congratulations, wingman." Sirius beams with pride, as the squadron applauds in the small office. "And Junior Lieutenant Lohm, promoted for your display of natural leadership, organization, and level-headed attitude in combat. You are now, very deservedly, a Lieutenant, and my Second in Command." Valen holds proudly for more applause and congratulations amongst his squadron.

"Thank you, sir," the pair say in unison.

"Right, back to Corellia," Valen speaks quickly, trying to conceal his pride. "Any questions?"

"What happened to those transport groups we spotted?"

"Some of the stragglers were captured, but the early ones all fled the planet while our Navy was occupied. Their paths are being analyzed to follow back to the Rebel fleet."

"The fleet? We're hunting the Rebel fleet?"

"While we were down planetside, our battle groups met with theirs in orbit." Pausing to think of the best way to gloss over the losses, Valen continues. "Glory to them, Hawk Group was among the vanguard. Reports as I've seen were that the Rebel fleet didn't stay long to fight, but their retreat was supported by Mon Calamari warships." The squad members look uneasily at each other. "We all knew this day would come," he assures, attempting to ease his pilots' anxiety. "The Rebel armada has shown itself, and is no longer the rabble of scattered frigates we've heard about." Valen keeps a stoic face, trying to hide his concerns. "But it's still small, and no match for Death Squadron as a whole. When we chase them down, the firepower of the fleet at our back will be more than enough to eradicate them." In the back of his mind, the concern wells up in Valen, and he finds himself compelled not to follow this very similar promise with a mirroring fate to Epsilon at Yavin.

"What's the plan then?" Lohm asks, settling into his leadership role.

Valen sighs slightly, once again trying to think up the best way to put it. "Admiral Ozzel's organizing the fleet into a widespread search formation. Assignments for outer range TIE patrols will be rotating around the clock, two pilots per team." The pilots' heads swivel violently amongst one another, and the murmurs become clearly voiced concerns.

"Two? Outside signal range?"

"What're we supposed to do if we run into the enemy fleet?"

"What happens if we encounter anyone? Two's not much against a squad of X's."

"Calm down, pilots."

"Sir, that can't be right, we're a squadron," Lohm voices, concerned.

Valen tries to speak quickly amongst the simultaneous questions. "This was ordered by Commander Zain, even the Hawks will be-"

"Zain's a moron, what does he know about tactics?!"

"SIRIUS!" Valen shouts, standing from his desk. The pilots go silent and stand at attention. "You will lose your rank if you can't act like you've earned it! We make our tactics within the scope of what we are ordered to do. Now," Valen says, circling his desk, and trying to change the subject back to their duties, "we all know speed and maneuverability are the TIE's advantage. If you encounter the slightest reading, you run back within signal range, X's will never catch you if you pull back immediately. Simple as that. If you have to fight, you fight on the run. Glory on a patrol like this comes from sounding the alarm, not taking the fleet on, consider this protocol. Read up on sensor variations and stand by," he orders, standing by the door panel and opening it. "We'll meet periodically to assess our patrols. Delta Squadron, dismissed."

Quietly, the pilots file out. As the young rookie Julos comes by however, Valen puts a hand on his shoulder. "Hold up, Julos."

"Sir?"

Valen waits for a moment while the rest of the group leave. "Have a seat, please," Valen says, pointing to his knee-high footlocker. As the Flight Officer sits, Valen shutters the door and kneels down, sitting frankly with him. "You, uh… had some concerns you seemed like you wanted to voice down on the planet." Julos sits uncomfortably on the locker, holding his tongue. In the awkward silence, the floor plates shift slightly, the Tyrant taking off for lightspeed.

"Uh… no sir. It was nothing, sir."

"You were concerned for the city."

"I wasn't, sir-"

"Coronet's your home city, is it not?"

Julos looks up with an ashamed look on his face. "...I'm sorry, sir."

"I imagine it must have been tough fighting for your Empire there."

Young Julos' face breaks as he admits, "I recognize every street corner, sir. I could tell you the name of each storefront. They were all burned out, littered with the bodies of my neighbors." Watching him closely, Valen can see the slightest of shines in the corners of the young officer's eyes. "Some could still be alive...hiding…. I...couldn't believe the fleet was about to strike the sector. My home will never be the same again."

Nodding slowly, Valen consoles the rookie. "This war changes the faces of many homes, Julos. Were it enough to simply repel the scum, I'm sure Command would have ordered us to do so. Coronet's an Imperial city, as you said, and thanks to your actions, it'll remain so. Your home on Corellia will rebuild under Imperial protection."

"Yes, sir."

Valen stands up, becoming the Commander again. "You were out of line when you voiced your opinion on the squadron channel. The General heard you. And your dissatisfaction with the orbital strike was noticeable on the airfield."

"Yessir, sorry sir."

"I need to know if you can keep your wingman safe. Can Daxxis rely on you?"

"Rebels are scum. Especially the Corellian Rebels. They destroyed my city and left it in ruins. If you want to know that I can still kill...I won't let you down, sir."

Studying Julos' pained face, Valen leans back against the wall. "Thank you, Julos. Take care during your patrols. Dismissed." Opening the door, Valen stands to one side as Julos quietly walks out. Silent in his office once more, Valen closes and locks the door, and grabs his helmet on his way back to his desk. Throwing himself down in his chair once again, Valen sighs heavily, eager for anything to get his mind off of things for a moment. He reaches into his desk drawer for his polishing rag, and then sees Zain's tablet. After a moment, Valen sets the helmet on the desk and grabs the tablet instead. Quickly opening it, he scrolls down the red text.

Alpha Mission: 86.2

Parameters: Field test.

Target: [CLASSIFIED]

Account: Alpha 001 - [ELITE] Cpt. Terrus-

Valen's thoughts are interrupted as the familiar electronic whistle rings through his quarters again. Julos is back? What for? Valen opens his drawer and slips the tablet in, exchanging it for the rag. "...Julos?-"

The locked door unexpectedly opens as Valen finishes closing the drawer. Raising his head up, Valen freezes as the tall, thin Captain Antilles enters the quarters, silently placing a black security code cylinder back in his breast pocket. Trying to react more appropriately as the Elite Captain lets himself in, Valen shoots up from his desk to stand at attention. "Captain Antilles-"

"Please, sit," the man in black orders nonchalantly as he enters, clasping his hands behind his back. Valen sits back down and looks outside as Antilles strolls in. The ever-present Elite guards stand out in the hallway, shutting the door behind the Captain. Quietly, Antilles stands amid the cramped quarters, inspecting it up and down with his needle-like green eyes. Eventually, his eyes fall onto Valen as he sits behind his desk, and a light smile materializes on his face like a hologram.

"This is unexpected, um... how can I help you, sir?" Valen says formally, trying to break the silence.

"Rannix," he greets, keeping his falsely pleasant face. Tilting his head to one side, he asks, "How is the new Delta Squadron? I see now that they had quite 'valorous' shoes to fill since Yavin."

"Oh you read my new report? Uh, yes, Delta is doing well. They've received recent approvals for commendations and promotions. Making me very proud."

"All of them?"

"...Yes, sir."

"Hm," the thin man says as he holds his blank face, and after a silence, suddenly asks, "What do you make of Corellians among your ranks?"

"...Sir?"

Strolling one or two steps across the cramped quarters, Antilles finds something to occupy his eyes. Absently, he picks up Valen's flight helmet off his desk and looks at it. "Since the draft, some 20% of forces, stretching to the far corners of the galaxy are Corellian. This latest...incident has heightened our Empire's tensions."

"Sir, was the invasion force not repelled in Coronet?"

"Coronet was not 'invaded,'" Antilles corrects, looking back toward Valen. Putting the helmet down, he continues, "it was evacuated. As it stands, the traitor Madine has led the most insulting uprising in the history of this war. A core world's capital has fallen into chaos and disarray because the populace has turned to the Rebellion in the wake of the draft. The loyalties of all Corellians are now called into question from the highest power. We must remain vigilant."

"Yessir," Valen says quickly, taking the Captain's meaning. "I just had a talk with Julos, he won't be a problem."

"I saw." Antilles pauses for a moment, thinking as he adjusts his black gloves. "You're a fair leader for your squadron, Rannix. Your talents do not go unnoticed, no matter what measures 'others' may take," Antilles says, the deadly mask stretching out into a slightly wider grin. Almost as if a smile were uncomfortable to the stoic man, the appearance of emotion quickly melts away again. "Thank you for your time," he says, and turns toward the door.

"Yessir. I do hope you catch them."

"Who?"

Puzzled, Valen clarifies, "Oh, um. Madine, sir."

"Ah," Antilles exclaims quietly as if it had all of a sudden slipped his mind, putting on his deeply disturbing grin. "We will." Opening the door, and spinning back in the doorway, Antilles bids, "Glory to the Empire, Lieutenant Commander."

"Long live the Emperor, Captain." As Antilles exits, the guards outside shut and lock the door once again, leaving Valen in silence. Sitting alone, Valen looks down at his desk drawer and puts a hand on it. Hesitating, he pulls his hand away, and looks across the small desk to his helmet.

---

Chapter XI: On the Edge

"WHAT DID YOU DO?!-" Hammand says, coughing out his exclamation. They stand under the shade of their sorely injured walker, Legs, in the midday sun. The field base has calmed down quite a bit since last night's orbital strike.

"We were lucky to get out alive, Hamm!"

"She looks like she's been punched in the face by a rancor!" the large man shouts, growling past the wound in his throat.

"That was a rocket, actually," Ando mumbles defiantly at Hammand's ungraciousness. "It's actually really hard to man the guns and the drives at the same time, Hamm."

"And what's this?" Hammand asks in disbelief, walking around to the other side of the walker, pointing up at a massive, paint-peeled scrape, and bent armor plating.

"Uhh….you ran us into a building driving blind," Ando reminds him, trying not to act smug about it.

Surprised, and a little sheepish, Hammand backpedals sarcastically. "Oh. Well, I kind of like it-...adds character-" Grumbling through another stifled cough, he tries to change the subject. "Jump in and get the parts checklist, I'm gonna find the quartermaster."

"Yeah, Hamm."

"Well, look at you!" a distant, deep voice shouts. The pair spins and sees a skiff approaching, a battered and damaged walker laid out across it. "They told us you were here!" A pair of the mechanized beasts march alongside the large hovering skiff as they approach. First Lieutenant Staleksridge is standing on the flat platform, waving an E-11 over his head.

"Boss!-" Hammand chokes as he tries to yell across the field. Slowly, the skiff pulls up and stops alongside the injured Legs. The walkers all halt in the field, and the hatches pop open. Raythe stands up out of the hatch, while Hix leans forward in the porthole, his helmet hardly fitting through. Fyllus pops out of the other walker's hatch, and is immediately pushed all the way out to make room for Oppel.

Stalek leans into the window and speaks to the driver before jumping off the skiff. Marching up to Hammand, the Battalion Commander jostles him as usual, clearly glad to see him. "How'd you end up here, Hamm?! We were looking around for you in the southern base! You just walk Legs all the way through the Rebel lines or somethin'?"

"The Flyboy did it," Hamm says proudly, guarding his neck as Stalek slaps him over the shoulder. "Got us out here before the bombardment."

Pulling back from his congratulatory hits, Stalek leans over uncharacteristically gently to check on Hammand's wound. Turning to Ando, Stalek gives him a nod. "Yeah, ya did good, kid." Reaching over to slap Ando on the back as well, he stops himself as the young gunner flinches away, guarding his shoulder. Looking up at the state of the walker, he says seriously, "Looks like it was a close one, huh?"

"Yessir, very close, sir," Ando says, snapping to attention as he used to in the Navy.

"Hey, he didn't do everything. Ando, tell him about the Reb."

"Uhh…"

"Reb?" Stalek asks, his head pivoting from one person to the other. "What Reb?"

"Flyboy forgot to lock the hatch. Reb got in and almost-"

"You got him though!"

"Yeah, lucky for you, kid!"

"Bad luck for the Rebel, then."

"Yeah, Boss." Hammand moves forward into the group as the other pilots descend from their walkers. "Boris make it?" he asks softly.

Broadly shaking his head, Stalek says, "His last one was a good one."

"...He was a good one," Hammand says solemnly.

After a moment of silence, the Battalion Commander immediately moves along, ordering, "Alright, we need a parts list, everyone shake down your walkers with the usual checks. Battle ready ASAP."

"Yeah Boss!" the Battalion says in unison. As Ando runs for his boarding cable and rides it up to the cockpit, he watches as Hammand speaks with Stalek. After a short moment, the two split up, Stalek heading for the hospital area.

Clambering up over the top of their walker, Ando drops down inside the beaten interior. The dark, hot cockpit reeks of blood and blaster burns. The Rebel soldier's body has been removed, but other than that, it's a horrid mess inside the cabin. The consoles are spattered with blackened, dried blood. Reaching up on the wall, Ando pulls down the inspection checklist. He flattens his lips in a frustrated sneer, and looks through a charred hole in the notepad.

It really was close, wasn't it?

After a short moment, Ando just decides to start marking where he can, around the charred hole, and soon he hears a cable reeling up outside. The cable fizzes and buzzes until it comes to a stop, and Ando can hear the labored huffing and puffing of his injured driver as he climbs onto the walker's roof. It goes quiet for a moment, and then Ando can hear Hammand give a loud cough, and spit over the side.

"Hey Flyboy!" Hammand growls, a slight gurgle in his voice. As a shadow is cast into the cabin, Ando looks up to see Hammand's broad shoulders blocking the Corellian sun in the hatchway. The mighty pilot kneels down, and speaks confidently, as if not referring to a hole in his throat. "You got those bandages?"

"Yeah," Ando says, quickly grabbing them out of his pocket. Before he can hand them up, Hammand's huge boots clomp down onto the floor of the cabin. Hammand, oblivious to Ando's startled reaction, crouch-walks his way over to his modified seat and throws his body into it, heaving out a heavy sigh, and a slight painful hiss.

Looking over the fried and bloodied control panels, Hammand blurts, "This all came outta me?"

"Some of it's from me, but yeah, most of that's you," Ando explains with a little shame, passing the bandages off to Hammand's outstretched hand. Hammand nonchalantly whirls the old bandage scarf off from around his neck, and begins to replace it, dabbing some bacta field gel onto the dressings.

"So...you know how to fight, Flyboy? They train you in hand-to-hand stuff up in space?"

"We got in a few fights with the other squadrons...well...actually….my friend did the fighting," Ando pauses sheepishly at the admission. "It didn't work out well."

"So, no training."

"No, sir."

"I gotta give you a few tips on how to repel boarders later."

"Yessir, that'd be very useful."

"Quit callin' me sir, already, how long you been with us? Nobody's 'sir' in this battalion."

"Yeah, Hamm, sorry about that."

"Whatever, Flyboy. Ok, consoles 1, 3, and 5-7 need replacement." Swivelling stiffly in his seat and looking at the bulging bulkhead, he continues. "Shell cannon components look totaled, we need a whole new module there, probably need to replace the armor plating on the whole side as well. My chair needs some stitching, and we gotta clean this place out. Stinks like blood in here."

"Right. I'll get out and check the chin blaster, it took some damage in the fight too."

"Nah, I'm gonna do that," Hammand strains as he heaves his large body out of the seat. "Need some fresh air. You swab this mess and disconnect those consoles."

"Yeah."

"I'm gonna go back and pinch a few more bandages to keep in the cabin, too."

"Yeah, Hamm," Ando says, flipping pages on the list and getting to work.

Hammand half rises up in the hatchway, but stops. Turning back under the midday light, he drops a heavy, but gentle hand onto Ando's good shoulder. "You did good, kid," Hammand reiterates Stalek's congratulations. After a moment, he repeats himself. "You're doin' good."

"Yeah, Hamm," Ando says quietly, as Hammand vaults himself out of the hatch. Leaning past Hammand's seat in the empty cockpit, he reaches under the console and a mechanical click emanates from below. Giving a yank, Ando prys the fried console out.

---

The dark night sky flashes red, the sounds of blaster fire echoing off the thick cloud cover. The ground is damp with rain as stormtroopers and refugees criss cross each other in droves. Ion engines pierce the stormy air as a lone TIE fighter sets down on the chaotic airfield. Jumping down out of the cockpit, Valen is immediately met by a deck officer.

"Sir, we need you in the sky! The Rebs are overrunning Corellia, the FOB's gone! We're losing the planet!"

"I need to find someone!" Valen shouts over the blaster fire, and wades out into the crowds of armored troopers, abandoning the deck officer. Rain streams down over Valen's flight goggles, blurring and obscuring his vision as he tries in vain to look across the sea of moving bodies. Pulling his helmet off, Valen calls out, "ANDO?!" his voice nearly inaudible amongst the close fighting. A Rebel mortar shell explodes through a nearby building, collapsing a wall as stormtroopers rush to the breach. Clutching his helmet close, Valen spins and swivels his head as he wanders through the throngs, and trips over something. Falling backwards onto the muddy ground, he looks upon a grizzly sight.

An officer in grey uniform lays silent, strewn across the ground. His body lifeless and still, soaked in mud, blood having long since stopped streaming down his back. The officer's once carefully preened hair, flopped into the muck, the once dignified Lieutenant's cap trampled into the soil. Valen stares in this silent moment as the oblivious feet of the panicked troopers above jostle and step on the body of the passed man.

Trying to snap himself out of it, Valen pulls his helmet close again, and looks around. He's fallen onto a muddy ramp to a building. Standing up in the crowd, he sees another explosion cracking open a building across the airfield, blaster fire suddenly erupting from the other side. Turning, Valen pushes through the crowd into a field hospital complex.

He presses into the dimly lit field hospital, looking amongst injured TIE pilots and stormtroopers. The hospital staff is trying to get them all up. Pulling and pushing the patients out of their beds, the medical officers shove blasters into some of their hands, directing them out the door. Bandaged men scramble to throw on their body armor, some only walking outside with chestplates on. Walking in against the current of soldiers, Valen catches a medical officer.

"Medic! I'm looking for someone; Andorus Merik! Do you know where he is?"

The officer just points off toward another room as he heaves a bleeding trooper out of his cot. Valen hurries through and enters the relatively quiet room. A young man sits up on his bed, frantically trying to buckle oversized white armor around his chest.

"Ando!"

The young man spins. "...Valen?" In surprise, he jumps off his cot, and the two friends finally embrace each other once again. Another nearby explosion rattles the temporary building, the already dim lights going completely dark. The pair go quiet as shouting echoes out in the blackened main room, and blaster fire starts to flash crimson off the walls. Ando snaps up his rifle, and starts toward the door. "They're here faster than we thought, I gotta-"

Valen grabs at his friend's arm, holding him back. "Whoa, Ando what're you doing?!" Valen asks incredulously.

"The Emperor's ordered us to-"

"I'm getting you outta here," Valen persists. Ando tries to pull his arm away, but Valen's grip holds. "Corellia's gone! We have to run!"

Ando defiantly yanks away and reaches for his helmet as he heads for the doorway. Clumsily, the helmet is knocked to the floor, clunking unseen in the darkness. Awkwardly forgetting the helmet, he leans up against the doorjamb, peeking outside for the Rebels as the blaster fire moves into the complex. Hesitating, Ando looks back, the distress obvious in his eyes. Valen stays in the back of the room, urgently shaking his head at Ando as the bangs and flashes get closer. Gripping his rifle, Ando's frightened face disappears out into the strobing area, the blaster fire immediately showering the room in sparks. Valen ducks and takes cover behind the doorway as bright red bolts zip into the small room and burn holes into the wall. Immediately, the main room outside goes quiet. The the clatter of plasteel armor hitting the floor echoes in the empty silence, and Valen suddenly knows what's happened. Recklessly, he scrambles to his feet and rushes for the door.

Not one step outside, Valen finds his friend. Ando's lies motionless in his white armor, face down, his arm draped over an upturned cot. Just a moment before, lively and headstrong, his body sits in the silence among the others who litter the hospital floor.

"No!" Valen cries out, rushing to his friend. Dropping quickly, Valen turns him over, the hole in the chestplate still smoking. "Ando! Ando, come on!" Tears stream from Valen's face as he sits over his friend in the dark room. For a moment, he just stays in the dark, empty room, holding Ando's body up from the floor. The sounds of blasters erupt a few rooms down, shattering the silence. Gritting his teeth and furrowing his brow, Valen grabs for Ando's blaster and runs for the next room.

Ducking at the side of the doorway, he sees the Rebel troopers, their white helmets flaring over the backs of their necks. There is a mix of resisting Imperials trapped at the end of the hallway. Half suited stormtroopers and TIE pilots knock over medical beds and desperately duck behind them as the Rebels continue their barrage. Taking his chance, Valen fires into the group of Rebels from his position. Nothing. They continue fighting, his comrades falling, one by one. Valen ducks back behind cover, and checks his weapon. The safety is off, it should be fine. Popping back out, Valen fires again, to which there is no response. The Rebel soldiers ignore him as they kill off the last man, who falls in a clatter of armor not dissimilar to his friend. Slowly, the Rebels check the bodies, and then turn around in the shadowy hallway, as Valen stands exposed. He raises his weapon and fires wildly into the group, the blaster shots disappearing harmlessly. Not one falls. Reacting in their own time, the Rebels raise their rifles, firing at Valen as he screams in fright and anger against them. The bolts pierce and punch through his pilot armor, drilling holes into his chest. His life support unit sparks and flies apart as he can no longer stand against the withering fire, and begins to fall.

Valen wakes, inhaling sharply and raising up in his seat. Looking around frantically at his dark and silent quarters, he tries to open his hand. It's frozen, clutching his chest, crushing the fabric of his officer's uniform. The automatic lights begin to flicker on once more, highlighting a cold sheen across Valen's forehead. Sitting in front of him is his TIE helmet, and Zain's tablet. He must have fallen asleep at his desk again. Deactivating the tablet, he pulls it off the desk and drops it into his drawer, quickly grabbing up his helmet and rag. His hands scramble about the space helmet as he tries to position it in his lap. Taking a deep breath, Valen tries to calm himself, and begins his pilot's meditation.

He takes the rag and traces the outer edges of the goggles. Slowly….slowly. His hands tremble, and slip off the lens. Starting over, he tries again. His hands are crumpled and tense, and slip off the lens a second time. Stopping again, Valen takes another deep breath, closes his eyes, and starts over. Concentrating, he calls on his training.

I can do this...calmly….Goggles first. 'Sight is life.' Check the optics, then the breathers. Filters, auxiliary tubes…One thing at a time, Valen.

Slowly, Valen's hands steady themselves, and he continues his maintenance.

Return lines...return lines are good…. Ok, clean the comm grilles…

Valen's hands calm completely as he holds the anxiety in, subduing it down as far as it will go. Taking deliberate, controlled breaths, he continues until the helmet is finished. Giving it a thorough once-over, he sets the shining helmet carefully down on the desk, and admires its condition. The dim white glow of the room's lights dances off the helmet as if it just came to him off the factory line.

After a moment, Valen leans back and relaxes his eyes, content with the helmet. But as his eyelids close, a creeping anxiousness crawls back that pulls them open again. Nervously, Valen runs his hand through his hair, and leans forward at his desk. He looks back at his helmet to try and center himself again. There's nothing left to do on it. Not one fingerprint. Rising suddenly, Valen circles his desk and snatches his chestpiece off the foot locker. Throwing himself down into his cot, he inspects the life support piece, turning it from side to side. Looking around nervously, he rises and grabs the rag off the desk, and sits again, beginning to clean it.

Receiver needs work. I'll get my tools and check these switches in a second-

The electronic whistle emanates from the doorway, startling Valen. All of a sudden agitated and guilty, Valen jumps up to check the desk for the tablet, and drops his armor.

"Ah, blast it!" he exclaims, remembering that he'd already hidden the stolen data. He leans down to pick up the chestpiece, and projects toward the door, "Yeah, what is it?"

"Janos Sirius," a muffled voice speaks dully from the hallway outside. "Door's locked, sir." Absent-mindedly walking towards the door while he inspects the armor, Valen unlocks his quarters. The door opens with a hiss. His recently promoted wingman stands politely in the doorway as Valen walks a few paces back into his room, turning the armor over to check for scratches.

"Sir, reporting for patrol."

"Ah...yeah, come on in, Sirius," Valen grumbles as he drops back onto his bunk and starts scrubbing at a newly discovered mark.

Noticing the familiar sight, Sirius asks respectfully, "You busy?"

"No no, it's fine." Valen finishes his scrubbing, and looks over the armor one more time. Placing his armor onto the bunk and throwing his jumpsuit over his standard clothes, he preps himself. "Let me get suited up. Won't take a minute."

"Yessir."

"First patrol. You do your reading?"

"Yes, Lieutenant Commander. I am now a specialist in scrutinizing sensor variations, sir," Sirius quips, trying to lighten the mood after interrupting Valen's obvious meditation. "I hope we find some excitement out there. Got a feeling it'll be pretty boring though."

Valen chuckles at the light-hearted attempt of his wingman, and picks up his chest armor. "I'm sure boring is what it'll be. So, how's it feel being a Junior Lieutenant, Sirius?"

"Feels good, sir, thank you. I appreciate being recognized."

"You deserve it," Valen says, fastening the last buckle on his chestpiece, and scooping up his helmet. "Provided you can watch that hot head of yours." Sirius smirks slightly, as if it was secretly a compliment. "Alright, let's head to the hangar."

The pair exit Valen's quarters and head out into the garrison hallway, holding their helmets at their sides. The garrison is looking a little more lively, albeit full of new faces. Young junior officers are lining the hallway and sorting into their assigned shared quarters. As Valen and his wingman walk by, some snap to attention, while others stare and whisper to each other.

"That's Commander Rannix."

"Delta Leader? Yavin Delta?"

Walking silently, as they pretend to ignore the comments, Sirius sighs sarcastically to Valen, "Nobody says anything about 'Junior Lieutenant Sirius.'" Valen wipes away a smirk as it creeps across his face. They continue towards the end of the garrison hallway, and a pair of Hawk pilots joins them, fully suited.

"Lieutenant Commander, sir," one of the pilots greets. Valen nods in response, and the pilot turns to Sirius, asking, "Edge Patrol?"

"Yeah, sector 8-5."

"Oh, we're 8-8. Looks like we're flying out to the Spear together." The four pilots all walk out into the hangar bay, where six TIEs sit on the rack. Another pair of TIE pilots walks along the hangar deck towards them as they enter.

Pointing back out the hangar opening, one of the pilots addresses the group as they pass. "Yeah, don't worry guys. There's nothing out there."

The other one scoffs, "Yeah. A whole BUNCH of nothing. Don't get stir crazy!"

"Ugh," Sirius mutters under his breath. "I hate 'nothing.'"

Valen gives a short smile in response to Sirius' eagerness.

...Nothing…

The thought crosses his mind in a way that Sirius probably hasn't thought about. He tries to shrug it off and continue across the flight deck. "Alright, Sirius. Let's get this over with, but stay vigilant."

"Yessir. I think we'd all rather die in an honest fight."

"That's right," one of the Hawk pilots says as they all head to the catwalks. "Shoot me out of the sky, Rebs, but I'm going down shooting back."

Climbing halfway into his TIEs hatch, Valen takes a quick moment to look over the hull. Scanning over the plating, he searches quickly for the etching. Nothing this time.

Dropping into the cockpit, Valen leans forward and looks down below the hangar. The Tyrant is not at lightspeed. They're not preparing for an emergency deployment into battle. No planet. No anything. The stars sit still in the dizzying blackness. Leaning back and buckling himself in, Valen spins up the ion engines, double checking his life support.

"How's it looking, Sirius?"

"All systems ready and standing by," his wingman confirms in an overly machine-like and serious tone. "I am spun up and prepped to waste some fuel for my Emperor, sir."

"Alright, cut the sarcasm, Hothead. Delta 1 and 2, prepped for launch."

"This is Hawk 24 and 33, we are prepped for launch."

The locks and clamps slide open around the hull, dropping Valen's ship out of the hangar bay. The group of TIEs loosely fly in the same direction, banking to starboard and heading into the distance.

"Lieutenant Commander," a voice chimes in on the comms.

"Copy, Hawk 24, what is it?"

"Requesting permission to fly in formation with Delta until we reach the Spear."

Flattered, Valen smiles slightly underneath his helmet. "Sure, permission granted. What's your name, officer?"

"I'm Junior Lieutenant Lennan."

"Flight Officer Dellus."

"Valen Rannix. This is Janos Sirius."

"Haha, we all know Delta, Lieutenant Commander."

The group quiets down after a few chuckles, and continues off into the stars, the Tyrant getting smaller and smaller in Valen's aft viewport. Looking around, Valen can no longer see anything but the stars, and a distant Star Destroyer in front of them. The cruiser's wedge-like shape is all but invisible in Valen's cockpit window, but getting closer. Checking his power levels, Valen puts himself at ease to see them all in the green. Turning his attention to life support, he checks the unit on his chest and the connections to the helmet.

All good. Plenty of oxygen left-

"Delta Leader?"

"-Yeah, Sirius, what is it?"

"Lennan and Dellus were just saying they wouldn't be good enough to join the Deltas. I was telling him what you told us all when we were assigned."

"Oh," Valen scoffs at the remark. Pausing for a moment to finish his checks, Valen rejoins the conversation. "Yeah. Zain bargained a team for me of the most inexperienced, and poor-record pilots out of his Hawks. I thought we were destined to be a suicide squadron. Especially so, with Sirius."

Sirius groans humorously, and the group chuckles again as the Spear's silhouette begins to loom over the edges of Valen's front window. The laughs are cut short when the comms ring out.

"This is the Star Destroyer Spear. State your callsign."

"Copy, Spear. This is Delta 1 and 2, and Hawk 24 and 33, passing you for Edge Patrol. Sending code clearances."

"Clearances received. Happy hunting, Delta and Hawk. We'll be your checkpoint when you return."

"Copy."

"Alright, Lieutenant Commander," Lennan says after the exchange is finished. "Maybe we'll get to fly with the Deltas again sometime."

"When we find the Rebel fleet, rest assured, Delta will be flying with you, Hawks," Valen says politely.

"Yessir. Have a good flight, Delta." The Hawks bank off and fly away as they pass above the Spear.

Valen and Sirius increase speed, pulling away from the Edge Patrol Star Destroyer. It doesn't take long for the slow-cruising ship to shrink away in Valen's aft porthole. Looking forward, Valen sees again the sea of empty stars in front of him. Not a single planet nearby. They must be between star systems. Checking the signals, the Spear begins to fade.

"Okay, Lead. Edge Patrol Star Destroyer is… now out of range."

"Confirmed, Sirius. Our patrol starts now," Valen says, hiding the fact that he's checking his energy outputs again. The pair fly out in the infinite black, tiny specks amongst the vast starfield. Valen stares at the unreachable stars, each of them impossible to ever get to in the short range fighter. He quietly rolls his shoulders around, uneasy and alone in his cockpit. After a moment, he reaches up and readjusts his seat harness.

The pair of starfighters wander through the speckled sky, Sirius' ship flying side by side with Valen's. Sirius chimes in again, restlessly trying to break the silence.

"Man. It's beautiful out here, isn't it, Squad Leader?"

"Uh, yeah."

"This why you joined? See all this?"

"Sure," Valen says, trying not to look. Finding something to occupy himself, he checks his consoles for any signal variations, and unfortunately what he sees does not help anything. It's absolutely empty out here. Nothing on the readouts. Not even the shadow of a signal.

"I know, I know. 'Keep your eyes on the sensors, Sirius.' What do we do if we run into Rebels then?"

"It'd be nice to see some Rebels, honestly. Give me something to look at."

"I know what you mean. I joined up to fight off the Rebel scum, not sit around sifting through the void for their hiding place." They sit in silence for a while longer, the stars seeming to go to infinity.

Valen's eyes wander about his fighter's cockpit, looking back and forth over empty sensor displays, zeroed detection readouts. Checking through his energy readings for an unknownth time, he reads the outputs, but then blinks for a moment, furrowing his brow.

97%?

Valen stares for a moment, and then swivels his head to check the solar panel inputs, and looks back again.

96%...93%

His eyes widening, Valen opens the long-quiet channel again.

"Sirius, I've got a funny reading here. The TIE-"

85%

"My ship's losing power, I don't...The solar panels are reading 100%, but-... Energy's dropping fast, down to 75 now." Valen frantically refreshes the systems to see if it's a glitch, and then stops. Something else is wrong. The Junior Lieutenant has not responded.

"Sirius? Delta 2, respond." Nothing. After a moment, Valen looks out his rear and dorsal windows, and his wingman is nowhere to be found. "Sirius, where are you?!" Valen's voice cracks slightly, bordering on fear. Anxiety boils over into panic as he pulls the fighter around to look for his wingman. Nobody's there anymore. Sirius seems to have vanished without a trace. Valen's alone.

Looking back at his readouts, the energy reading is now at 50%. It won't be long until he's adrift in deep space. "Sirius! Where are you?!" Nothing returns from comms. Just that familiar dead static, like amongst the wreckage of the space station. Are the comms being jammed? Valen's brow knits together as he tries to make sense of the situation. The reading keeps dropping steadily, down to 45%.

The only way is to make it back within comms range before the ship loses power completely. Throwing the throttle forward, Valen panics and takes off at combat speed back in the direction they came. He won't be lost to die alone in space again. "Is anyone out there?! Ship in distress!"

35%

"Sirius, I hope you're alright," Valen says under his breath, a cold sweat beading on his forehead as he glares at the dropping energy output. "Ship in distress, ship in distress! I have a malfunction, my ship is losing energy fast! My wingman's missing, if anyone's out there, please assist! Spear, respond if you can hear me!" Valen breathes quick, shallow breaths as he rushes back towards signal range of the Edge Patrol Star Destroyer.

15%...10%

"Come on!"

5%

"COME ON!"

0-

The cockpit goes black. All the consoles shut down, and the engines that once screamed through the hull go quiet.

"AH HELL!" He barks, pounding on his consoles. "No! Not again!" Valen checks the switches in his cockpit for response, and twists around in his seat, looking out each of his windows for any sign of anyone. Looking up, he spots the large manual breaker above his head. "Come on! This's gotta work!" he shouts to himself in a panic as he rises up and holds the familiar handle. Hesitating as he holds the hand grip, he hears a faint voice call his name.

"Rannix!"

Valen's head rises up, listening. The voice is quiet. Not staticky, but just...faint. Leaning back down, Valen looks across his consoles for anything that might still have power. The cabin is still dark. Valen calls out, "Hello? Is someone there?" He taps on his helmet, trying to jog his comms into working condition again.

"Valen, can you hear me?!" the quiet voice responds.

"Sirius?"

"What're you doing, Squad Leader?!" The voice says as it gets clearer.

"I lost power, I'm drifting. Listen carefully, I need you to-"

"You're still at full throttle!"

Valen looks across his consoles again, and they're lit up. The cockpit is as it should be, no signs of power loss. The sounds of the ion engines begin to creep back into his ears. They're screaming at full power.

"Sirius, where are you?!" Valen cries, perplexed.

Sirius' voice returns, speaking calmly to Valen. "I'm right here, I'm on your six." Trying to center himself, Valen looks out the window behind his seat, and sure enough, Sirius' TIE is struggling to keep up. "Ease off, sir. Ease off the throttle."

Valen complies, confused at what just happened. The TIE's engines quiet back down to a normalized volume. "...I don't...I couldn't see you, Sirius."

"What happened?" Sirius asks, sounding as confused as Valen is. "We were in formation, and I heard you asking where I went. Then you tore off in the other direction in a fright."

"I, uh...my ship was reading a loss in power…" Valen says quietly, trying to make sense of the situation. Looking across his readouts, the energy levels read 100%. Furrowing his brow and dropping his head, Valen sighs and says, embarrassed, "Looks fine now." Sitting in silence as Sirius hangs in the starscape with him, Valen heaves another sigh. "I dunno if I'm going crazy here, Janos. I thought I was alone again."

"You alright in there, Valen?" Sirius asks, worried.

"I just...after Yavin…" he rambles, "I usually love flying through the stars. It's always been peaceful to me. Used to remind me of home." Valen pauses, and thinks before saying more. "When the Death Star was destroyed, I had to run….I was out there for days…. I flew until the ship gave out, and...then I drifted. Nothing but me and my distress signal. No idea if it was ever reaching anyone." Stopping, Valen checks his systems compulsively. "Eventually, my suit ran out of oxygen. I was going to die, forgotten by my Empire."

"But the Empire found you. They found their Ace."

"They weren't looking for me, son." The pair sit in a bit of an awkward silence, as Valen tries to recover from the embarrassment of his breakdown. "Come on, let's get back to sweeping this sector." The two ships pull back around and set toward their patrol headings once again. After a while of quiet scanning, Sirius tries to get Valen talking again.

"Back on Korfo II, we knew of Alderaan's defiance. When I was going through basic, I'd heard through travelers from Caamas."

"Caamas? In the Cirius system?" Valen asks, aware of the similarity.

"Yeah. My family was named for the star...um, an Imperial version of the name, of course. They always wanted to move there, but the system was too close to Alderaan. We knew they'd be trouble soon." Continuing his train of thought, Ando says, "When we heard at the academy that the planet had been destroyed, I knew the Emperor meant what he said. He's going to force this galaxy to unite for peace. That's when I decided I'll be a hero for him. A real hero, like the fighters of Black Squadron. I'm going to be part of this history, for Honor and Distinction."

"Ambitious. That sounds very noble of you, Janos."

"When you picked me for your squadron, I knew I was destined to join my Emperor's heroes. Delta Squadron: 'The Last Defense Wing.' You know what they're saying about Delta?"

"No, Janos, what're they saying?" Valen continues the exchange, welcoming the smalltalk to distract him from his own thoughts.

"Delta's the new Black Squadron."

"HA!" Valen barks finally. "Now, why would we be comparable?"

"Well…" Janos stalls, self-conscious. "We have an Ace at our head."

"Black Squadron was full of Aces. Double and triple Aces."

"Well, regardless, sir," Sirius says, trying to stay polite, "the pilots say what they say." The two fly in silence for a moment, and he adds, "And I'd like to be an Ace with you."

Sighing again, as he tries to relax away the sight of the empty stars in front of him, Valen leans back in his seat. "You will be. I think the Deltas all could be, if we use our heads." Checking the time, and their coordinates, Valen continues. "But not on this flight. Patrol's over, let's head back."

"Roger, Squad Leader."

The pair bank off and start heading back towards the fleet.

"So, uh...Janos."

"Yessir."

"When we get back, I'm going to sort this all out. No need to, um-"

"I hear you, Valen."

The pair of fighter pilots jump out of their TIEs in the Tyrant hangar bay. Valen, hesitant to face his wingman, starts off the catwalk early. As he gets down to the flight deck, he sees his pilots, Lohm and Jorlessen, approaching from the garrison access. The pilots continue across the deck in front of him, and Valen feels transparent. Slowing to a stop, he stays frozen in place, standing awkwardly as they walk toward him. Could they feel his fear? His anxiety? Lohm is too smart, surely he sees right through Valen. However, Sirius appears behind just as Lohm and Jorlessen arrive.

"Enjoy a quiet flight, guys! Nothing to worry about out there!" Sirius shouts as he walks up, diverting the attention away from Valen. Giving him a bump in the shoulder as he stands with him, Sirius tries to shake Valen out of it. "Right, Lieutenant Commander?"

Straightening up, Valen takes the assistance and unfreezes himself. "All quiet so far. Keep your eyes open, don't just fly out there," he commands, keeping up the leader's appearance. "We're scouring the galaxy for the Rebels, so stay sharp. You need to be ready if you're the ones who find them."

"Yessir," Jorlessen affirms, dutifully.

Lohm follows up seriously, "They won't catch us by surprise, sir."

"Fly safe, our squad will meet after the first round of patrols."

The wingmen head to their fighters as Valen and Sirius walk off the flight deck. Strolling through the hangar access, Valen says under his breath, "Thanks, Janos."

"Sure, Valen. You gonna be alright?"

"I'm fine. Get some rest, I'll see you later."

"Yessir."

"Lieutenant Commander," Lieutenant Gregor greets as Valen walks into his medical office. His section's 2-1B droid swivels it's mechanical head from another office doorway. Ignoring the droid's curious eavesdropping, Gregor continues as the weary pilot enters. "This is an unexpected surprise, it's good to see you again." Valen flops himself down into a chair with a great weight, leaning back against the wall. "Is something wrong, sir? Are you having motor function problems?"

"I've been having some anxiety issues."

"Yeah?" Gregor asks, standing from his desk and shutting the door in front of the medical droid.

"But, um...more than normal."

"Come on over here, sir." Gregor motions to a medical bed, and Valen complies. "Get the armor off and let's have a look." Shucking his flight suit, Valen sits sideways on the medical cot in his officer's uniform. Setting to work, Gregor gets a small light out, and shines it into Valen's eyes. He pops the light into his mouth as he studies the pilot commander's upturned hands. "Hm. You do have schome very schlight muschle tremors. Any numbnessch, schir? Isschues with your exschtremities?" he slurs, looking back up towards Valen's face with a thoughtful expression.

"Nothing, no. I think that's fine. It's just…"

Removing the little light from his mouth again, the medical officer asks with clearer enunciation, "So just anxiety then? Arms out please, thumb-to-pinky, as usual." Valen follows as he's told, and Gregor continues his inspection, putting his light away and trading it for another tool. "Have you been doing your pilot's meditation? Standard practice, it keeps a pilot normal-"

"Yeah, I know," Valen grumbles slightly. "I've been doing it whenever I'm feeling anxious."

"That's fine, arms down please, sir." Gregor leans in, peering across Valen's face. "You been getting sleep? You look tired."

"Off and on. I'm pretty busy." Gregor hums and nods in acknowledgement as he continues checking around Valen. "I usually sleep at my desk, and...it's usually by surprise..." Valen trails off sheepishly.

"Hm," Gregor says with a smirk. "Well, first thing, I'd suggest trying the bed. You might enjoy it. You take any leisure time between assignments?"

"Not really...Well, I did visit the firing range once."

"Ah, well that's good!" the medic encourages enthusiastically. "How'd you find it?"

"I dunno, neither here nor there, really. It was alright I guess."

"That's also good. Feeling nothing does more to relax a soldier than he might realize. As a medical officer, I'd suggest for someone of your position to maybe make a hobby of it. Visit the range regularly, help clear your head." Keeping to the additive measures, Gregor continues awkwardly, and with a bit of humor, "Of course, uh...along with regular meditation...and sleep...in a bed."

"Heh. Aye-aye, Captain," Valen says with a smirk, and a half-hearted salute.

After a while, Gregor completes his once-over checkup, and sits down across the room in the chair as Valen remains on the bed. "You're not here because of simple anxiety, are you, sir?"

Valen stays silent for a moment, concerned. "Uh…"

"It's alright, sir. This is all between you and me. Toowunbee can't hear you."

Looking over at the small office with the closed door, and then back at Gregor, Valen begins quietly, "When you recovered me...after Yavin, your droid said my brain was starved for oxygen?"

"Yessir, your internal damage was extensive, but we reversed it."

"Do you think there was any, um...irreversible damage?"

"Hm? Oh, no no no. You made a full physical recovery, the team made sure of that. It was very high priority that we get another of the rare accounts of Yavin. It's not often that an Elite team like Black Squadron is-..." Gregor trails off a bit. "What seems to have happened for you to have these questions?"

"I got assigned my first Edge Patrol mission, and I lost sight of my wingman. He disappeared."

"'Disappeared,'" Gregor echoes, straight faced. "You sure he wasn't just in a blindspot or something? I hear the old standard TIEs have big blindspots 'cuz of their solar panels."

"No, he was gone...um, to me anyway."

"I don't understand."

"And there was a funny reading. My ship's energy levels dropped alarmingly fast, or I thought so…" Valen stops, and looks back at Gregor, who is staring at him a little perplexed. "You don't believe me."

"Oh, no, I mean yes, of course I do. Go on, I'm listening, sir."

"With my ship losing power, and having no wingman, I ran back for the sensor range of the Edge Patrol cruiser, but then the ship blacked out. I was sure I'd die out there."

"How'd you get back here then?"

"Well that's the thing, my wingman-"

"The 'disappeared' one?"

"Yeah. Sirius was there the whole time, and my ship had never lost power. He caught me flying at full throttle."

"Hmmm," Gregor says. "That is strange. Sounds like a hallucination to me."

"That's why I'm seeing you. You don't think there's anything wrong with my brain after Yavin, do you?"

"No way, you're in perfect health, sir. Your old follow-ups we conducted point to a full recovery. When you do get to rest, how is your sleep?"

"Um…"

"Do you remember any dreams? Nightmares?" Valen just looks at the medical officer, and stays tight-lipped. Gregor raises his chin in understanding. "Nightmares then. Hm." Standing up from the chair, the medic moves over to one of his many countertops and begins rifling through his cupboards. "Sounds to me you're suffering some extreme stress; Combat Trauma Exhaustion. You're not the first to stop in here that I've diagnosed with that."

"Yeah?"

"It's very stressful in war, this happens all the time in extreme cases. I'm going to prescribe you a medication to be used if things ever get really bad."

"Okay," Valen blankly affirms, lost in all the advice. At this point, he feels willing to try anything.

"Sir, I'll stress that you should get proper rest, and seek out something to occupy your off time as well as your meditation, but here." Gregor turns and reaches into a half empty box, and pulls out a small device. "I want you to try this if anything psychologically interferes with your performance again." Handing it off, the medical officer says, "It's an inhalable." Valen takes the small, glossy black and silver device from Gregor, and turns it over in his hand. It looks like a tiny cylinder with a tube protruding from the end of it, in a T shape. "That's the mouthpiece. Depress the button in the middle, and it will deliver a dose. Here."

Turning and reaching down, Gregor picks up the chest armor. A slight rush of unease flows through Valen as the medical officer haphazardly grabs his equipment, the loose hoses flopping about. Bringing it over to the bedside, he reaches out and plucks the small device from Valen's hand. "This one is meant for troopers and pilots with facemasks. It's compatible with the auxiliary input on your life support unit," he informs as he places the tool into the input slot on the chestpiece. "Same as any other time. If you have an episode in flight, attach it to the port, depress the button, and it will deliver a dose."

"Okay," Valen says, taking the armor under the guise of inspecting how the device attaches. Secretly, he turns the armor over, looking for new marks.

"Alright, that's it. Don't forget my suggestions," Gregor says, dropping a hand on Valen's shoulder, and slightly helping him off the medical bed. "Come to me if you need any refills, or if you experience any side-effects."

"Thanks, Gregor," Valen says, and walks out of the office.

---

Chapter XII: Venomous

Ando's breathing heaves and sighs as he sits in the Corellian midday sun. Stinging sweat drips across scrapes and bruises on his shoulders as he kneels in the dry dirt.

"Get up, Flyboy! Hit me like you mean it!" Hammand barks, punching a fist into his own broad chest.

Ando rises to his feet, slapping the arid dust from his pants and military undershirt. "Yeah, Hamm." Raising his fists up, he huffs, "I'm…I'm ready." The pair of them stand in the maintenance yards among piles of supply crates, the base moving slowly in relatively low action.

"Come at me!" the giant Gunnery Sergeant beckons, gesturing with his hands. Ando lunges in, his punching hand immediately caught, and wrenched toward the sky. Nearly lifted off his feet, Ando reaches up with the other hand to try and free himself. Suddenly, a great block of a fist shoots in and hammers Ando's exposed ribcage, crumpling his knees underneath him. He coughs hard as the air is explosively forced from his lungs. The giant red haired man releases Ando and lets him drop to the dirt as he gasps for air. Pacing back and forth, Hammand puts his hands on his hips as he waits for Ando to rise again.

"Well, your legs must be pretty strong, spendin' all day gettin' up from the ground, Flyboy."

"Come on, Flyboy, you got him!" Oppel encourages from the side, sitting on a supply crate with the rest of the lower rank pilots. They all cheer and egg him on, while quietly betting on a crate behind them.

"You gotta break through my defenses, and hit me here, in the chest. Best place to move me from is here."

"You're….you're too strong, Hamm. I can't move you."

"You gotta get mad! Get angry, it'll give you power!"

"I can't….I can't do it."

"Ugh," Hammand sneers, disgust in his voice. Throwing his hands up in disappointment, he moans, "Aww...All you high-born Navy boys don't know how to fight!" Ando lowers his brow, unsure what his copilot's on about, but he's pretty sure he's being insulted. Hammand starts shouting, pacing harder, kicking up clouds of dust beneath his feet. "You're a bunch of BLACK-SUITED, scrawny COWARDS who don't know what real fighting is! What it's like to kill Rebs face to face!" Now Ando is sure he's being insulted, and whether it be from the adrenaline, or his damaged pride, a rage starts to build up inside him from the remarks. Turning to the other pilots, Hammand states, nonchalantly, "From what I've seen, aint a surprise he's a disappointment to the Emperor-"

"AAAGH!" Ando shouts out as he rushes from the ground in a fury, throwing a balled-up fist at Hammand. Hammand quickly blocks the shot and gives Ando a crack across the cheek to fend him off, spinning him back toward the soil. His raging heartbeat roaring in his ears, Ando whirls back, and rakes his fingers along the ground, scooping up a handful of dry dirt. Leading his attack, he scatters it into the air at Hammand's face. Surprised, Hammand flinches away from the cloud of stinging dust, and catches a quick, shocking punch on the jaw, his footing slightly shaken. Snatching a second wild attack as it rushes in, he grabs Ando from his shirt with the other hand, and lifts him high in the air, bellowing an enthusiastic growl in return. As quickly as Ando is raised off his feet, Hammand slams him flat on his back, to a sympathetic hoot from the other pilots. Ando's mouth shoots open, trying in vain to pull in some air. He rolls over to try and get up, and a gigantic boot plants itself in his side, knocking what was left of the wind out of him. Hammand walks around in a circle, moving his jaw back and forth as he waits for Ando to rise again.

"Woo! Nice one, Flyboy, you got me fair and square on that one," Hammand chuckles, revealing an unmarred smile. "Which of you bet Ando could hit me?!" Raythe raises an excited fist toward the air, cheering and clenching some credits as the rest of the pilots slap and push him from his crate. Grinning, Hammand looks back at his gunner. Ando is still on the ground, trying to catch his breath. Noticing the Flyboy's hesitance to rise, Hammand flattens his mouth. "Come on, Ando, I didn't hitcha that hard. Get back up," he bemoans impatiently. Ando stays down, buckled over on his hands and knees, coughing into the dirt. Frustrated, Hammand throws his fists up again. "COME ON, FLYBOY, YOU'VE GOT SOME LEFT IN YA!"

"Hey, Hammer!" a voice emanates from a little ways off. Ando watches from the ground as small-ish man with slightly long hair walks up, dressed in casual clothes. Hamm turns around, switching off completely. As the man shows up, he and Hammand clasp hands and greet each other. "Sparring?" the blonde man asks.

"Hey, Gailon. Yeah, just sorting out some hand-to-hand skills for my gunner."

Gailon? That's the Scout Sergeant?!

Ando shoots up to attention, throwing up a salute, "Scout Sergea-!" and immediately wilts back down, unable to keep an upright posture. It feels like Hammand's giant fist is still planted firmly in his gut.

Gailon chuckles a few hums, and says proudly, "It's Scout Captain now, actually." Hammand puts on a clownish face of approval, and claps sarcastically. Ando tries to return to attention, and crumples down once more, planting his hands on his shaking knees to keep upright. The man looks Ando up and down, and jests to Hammand, "He doin' well?"

"He caught me on the chin just now, but mostly…" Hammand pauses and looks at Ando as he stays buckled over. "Nope. No, he's not doin' very well."

"Trooper combat?"

"Yeah, honest boxing," Hammand states plainly, as if it's the only answer.

"Uhh...don't you think he's a little...hm, mind if I?"

"Sure, Gailon," Hammand says, standing back. "Give him a good beating. He's a brave kid, I think he's takin' notes." Gailon walks up into the area and stands with Hammand. Ando, bruised up and short on breath, tries to straighten for the lesson. He slowly raises his fists, but then Gailon turns away.

"Merik, we're about the same size," Gailon looks over his shoulder back at Ando. "Give or take." He settles into a fighting stance, facing Hammand. Hammand, a little surprised, smirks and takes a fighting stance of his own.

"Haha, you dirty…"

"Watch how I beat a man Hammand's size."

A look of entertained determination spreads across Hammand's face. Defiantly, he grumbles, "Hmph. You can try, Rux," and lunges in for an attack, which Gailon dodges immediately, ending up at the other end of the dirt ring of boxes. Charging in, Hammand runs for Gailon, who dodges again. The pilot's large body keeps going, and he slams into a stack of crates to help himself change direction. Running back, Hammand goes for another swing, which Gailon seems to dodge with impunity, but then throws his hand around Hammand's guard and snaps it across his ear. The contact makes a deafening clap. Hammand yelps, and trots to a stop at the other end of the ring yet again as he slows himself, checking his ear for blood. Gailon strolls up behind Hammand, and stands close to him as he addresses Ando.

"Now, see? In combat, with a small man like you or me, that could be a vibroblade." He dodges again, ducking under another angry shot from Hammand, and striking him twice in the back with quick, light, tag-like hits. "You got slow, Hammer! Probably from sittin' in that chair!" he goads, nearly laughing. Gailon circles the outside of the ring as Hammand stands, frustrated, in the middle. "With a knife, those would all be fatal. I'd have killed myself 3 Hammands by now."

"SHUT UP AND FIGHT ME FOR REAL RUX!" Hammand howls, annoyed.

Drawing his vibroblade from his boot and waving it in front of him, Gailon says, "I don't think you want me fighting you for real, Hammer."

"Haha, you know what I mean! Come on, full contact!" Hammand bellows, grinning wide and breathing hard. Setting the blade down on a crate, Gailon marches up in fighting stance.

"Watch me, Merik. Small men are built for speed and stealth." Immediately, Hammand steps in to throw another haymaker, and Gailon takes a strange step into it. It looks as if he steps where Hammand was about to, suddenly shifting the large man's footing. Off balance, Hammand's throw lands clumsily and off-target against the Scout Captain's block. Reaching in at lightning speed, Gailon cracks at Hammand's throat with the edge of his hand. Immediately coughing and sputtering, Hammand flinches and buckles, but before he can react, Gailon's behind him, throwing a foot into the back of his leg. The immense, red haired man drops hard onto his knees. As he tries to heave his large, heavy body upwards, Gailon strikes at his knee again.

Hammand bends awkwardly sideways, and puts a hand out to stop himself, but immediately, Gailon's forearm swings right into Hammand's face. Hammand tips backwards and falls into the dirt like a great tree, landing with an, "Oof!" The red haired pilot rushes for a roll to get up, but he's too slow. Pushing off the ground, Hammand tries to rise again, but Gailon sweeps his hands out from under him, following with a kick to the head. Hammand can't help but cry out in reaction to the kick, and goes down once more, holding himself up from only an elbow, huffing clouds of dust off of the ground. Gailon steps back, and allows Hammand some space. Unhindered, he quickly springs up in a torrent of dust, throwing his fists up in front of him. He doesn't attack though. He just stands there, in fighting stance. In fact, he looks like he's having trouble even standing. His dusty face sneers, trying to hold back a wince, his body wobbling slightly.

"Good?" Gailon says, dropping out of his fighting stance, his face still friendly.

"Hahaha-" Hammand howls, and stops to cough out some dust, and a little blood, straightening up. His shaking knees buckle slightly, and he droops back down, barely holding himself up straight. Heaving labored breaths, he says, "Okay...we're done….But everyone saw...it's 'cuz you gave up…"

The Scout Captain barks out a laugh, and slaps Hammand over the back, to which the large man reacts with a grimace. "Alright, old buddy. You got me this time." Smiling, Hammand shoves him and his condescension away in a playful manner. The Scout Captain jumps back, still laughing, throwing up a mock fighting stance. Turning to the crates and picking up his vibroblade as Hammand struggles to catch his breath, he says almost poetically towards Ando, "Keep a large enemy on the ground, and he becomes small." Throwing his blade into his boot again, he looks up at the astounded gunner. There isn't a scratch on him. "If you wanna talk more about hand-to-hand, catch me around the base. I got time when I'm not on assignment."

"Yessir, Scout Captain, sir."

"Thanks, Rux," Hammand says, finally able to stand upright, smiling a wide grin. "Someone's gotta get through to the kid." He and Gailon clasp hands again, and the Scout Captain heads off of the maintenance field. As soon as he's clear, Hammand walks over to the other pilots and reaches into their pile of credits. To their chagrin, he grabs all he can swipe in one handful as they moan and protest.

"Hey, HEY! That's mine!"

"Hamm, what're you doin' that for?!"

"In case you were betting I'd lose!" the large man growls, shoving the pilots aside as they reach in to take back their bets.

"You did lose, ya oaf!"

Ignoring them and pocketing the credits, Hammand motions for Ando to follow him out of the 'ring,' while the pilots all complain and shout after them. Hammand waves them off, yelling, "GO GREASE YOUR GEARS! BACK TO WORK!" Walking for a moment back to their unfinished walker, Hammand says quietly, "Hey, Flyboy."

"Yeah, Hamm. Oh, thanks for showing me how to fight," Ando says politely, though inwardly he knows he didn't learn anything from him. "I appreciate it."

"Don't mention it," the giant man says, looking up at Legs from the shade. "You still got some of that bacta gel?"

"Yeah, you need it?" Ando says as he fishes it out of a crate at their walker's feet.

"Maybe a little, but give yourself some for that cut first," he says, nodding in gesture.

"Huh?" Ando asks, stopping and reaching up to check. His salty, dirty hand immediately finds a stinging cut on his cheek where Hammand punched him. "Ow," Ando exclaims plainly under his breath, wincing. Pulling his hand away, blood stains his fingertips. "Thanks for that, Hamm."

"Hey, it was a light crack on the cheek, pretty boy."

"Yeah, yeah." Ando dabs some of the cyan gel onto his hands and rubs it into his cut. "You sure you don't need some for the, uhh…" he quips, motioning at the mark on Hammands chin where Ando finally hit him. Among the bruises and scrapes left behind by the Scout Captain, it's barely noticeable. Hammand chuckles, coughing again as he takes the tube and empties a gob into his bloody mouth.

He swishes it around, and makes a grotesquely disgusted face before hacking it out of the back of his throat. He declares violently, "Wow! Awful stuff," and tries to hide his face by digging deep into a crate for some parts.

"Haha, I know what you mean," Ando assures while his copilot pulls a heavy ring shaped bracket out of the crate. "Got the 'full dunk' before, back in the Navy."

"That sounds bad, I hear it gets everywhere. Hey," Hammand nudges Ando with his elbow as he holds the heavy part. "You did alright today." Ando grins and nods politely as Hammand goes over to another crate. "It's probably best you talk with Rux about fighting hand to hand though. Think his style's up your alley."

"Yeah, the Scout Cap's really good!" Ando admits unabashedly, revealing how much he was hoping his copilot would admit it. "Are all the scouts trained like that?"

"No, no. He's alright though," Hammand seems to say proudly. He straightens back up out of the crate with a second part, snapping it over the top of the ring and coming back to Ando. "Maybe about even with me. We go a long way back sparring, him and me."

Keeping up with the work, Ando pulls some bolts out of a sack just before being handed the large parts. With a huff, Ando eeks out, "You can beat him?" before deciding to set the parts down on another crate to bolt them together.

"Nah, I can't beat him."

"Uhh…Okay," Ando drops the subject, confused. Taking a moment to set all the bolts into the holes, and grabbing a hydrospanner, Ando asks, "You call him 'Rux.' That his first name?"

"Nope, he just has a stupid name, so I call him Rux. Sounds better."

"And he calls you 'Hammer?'"

"Yeah...Got that name in the Trooper Corps."

Jumping to one side, Ando points triumphantly, "So you were a Stormtrooper!"

"Yeah, yeah," Hammand grumbles hesitantly. "Well, I wasn't hardly keepin' it a secret was I?"

"Ha! It all makes sense! How'd you end up a walker pilot?!"

"Maybe I'll tell you about it sometime. You done with that snapring?"

"Here," Ando says, stepping back and pointing at the now-very-heavy part with his tool. Hammand looks at him sideways and grabs it with one hand, using the other to hold onto his boarding cable. He slowly reels his way up to the cabin of the injured walker, which has an entire wall removed from it, the cockpit exposed to the midday sun.

---

A flash and a piercing twang echoes through the firing range, sparks bursting out of the far wall as the target remains untouched.

"Every time," Petty Officer Owan mutters under his breath, turning the pistol to one side and adjusting the sights. Behind him, Valen tries his best to hide a smirk at the repeated failure. "Well, I have to say, Lieutenant Commander," Owan says as he keeps looking down at his pistol, "I'm surprised you still wanted to join me at the range after Corellia."

"Owan, if the Skipper trusts you, I think that makes you trustworthy," Valen says, absent-mindedly fidgeting with his gloves. "Although, if there's something you'd like to tell me…" Valen looks up, pretending to be serious.

"N-no, sir. I'm not a spy," the young officer assures nervously.

"Take it easy, I was just joking," Valen grins.

"Oh...Thank you, sir. Sorry, I've just been questioned a lot since then."

"Yeah…" Valen takes a moment to consider if he should say anything more.

"So, what made you want to come back to the range, sir?"

"Well, I'm a pretty poor shot, for one." Owan laughs quietly at Valen's humble self-jab; atypical for an officer. "And the word is I 'need a hobby.'" Chuckling again, Owan comfortably raises his pistol for a shot. Firing off another shrill sounding blast, the shot hits the target dead center.

"Alright! Second shot, not bad!" Owan cheers triumphantly, and aims down the sights once again. Firing three consecutive shots, two hit the target in its shoulders, the last zipping past its head. "Ehh," he murmurs to himself as he resets the safety and puts the pistol on the countertop. Turning back to Valen, he exits the firing counter and walks to a chair. "I liked the first hit better. You're up, sir."

"Okay," Valen says under his breath as he switches places with the young officer, trying to concentrate on relaxing. Picking up the pistol, he raises it to eye level and looks down the sights at the target, which is a bit closer than last time.

"'Safety first,' sir," Owan's voice prompts.

Lowering the weapon and flipping the little switch quickly, Valen says snidely over his shoulder, "I know."

"Just checking," the voice returns, jokingly. Valen tries to shake off the friendly embarrassment and aim down the sights again. Firing off a blast, the target beeps and flashes.

"A headshot! Very nice, sir!" Owan claps politely, and Valen conceals a proud grin behind his shoulder.

"I was aiming for the chest."

"Wherever you're aiming, that Rebel's dead now, sir. Nice shot."

"Thanks." Lining up for another, Valen tries to fire three shots, like Owan did earlier. In a chorus of high pitched screeches and a shower of sparks, Valen embarrasses himself once again. One shot hits the back wall, and the other two spark off the ceiling.

"Remember to brace with your-" the young Naval officer stops himself as he turns slightly away. Raising his hand up under his helmet, his eyes dart around as he listens to an unheard communication. "Yessir? Yessir. I'm with him, sir. I'll bring him immediately." Looking back toward Valen, the young officer snaps to his duties, approaching quickly, his arm outstretched. "Safeties back on, sir, I'll need my sidearm back."

Flipping the safety back on and handing Owan the weapon, Valen asks, "Is something wrong?"

"Skipper's orders, sir," the young man says as he holsters the pistol. "You will accompany me to the bridge."

"Of course, lead the way."

The two of them march out into the hallway, and head toward the turbolift. "Sorry, Mr. Rannix, we'll have to try for the range another time."

Entering the bridge, Valen and Owan approach Captain Lennox, who is in an intense looking conversation with another officer. Subdued though they may be, his hands seem to be gesturing heatedly. Lennox turns as the two cross the bridge walkway. The look on Lennox's face is serious, and solemn. Valen furrows his brow as they walk up, trying to figure out what is wrong. Like a shadow, Captain Antilles' sharp, hawkish face steps out from behind the Skipper.

"Sir, Lieutenant Commander Rannix as ordered," Owan introduces.

"Skipper," Valen greets with a nod. "Captain Antilles."

"Thank you, Owan." Quickly waving his hand and sending his Petty Officer away, the Skipper begins. "Rannix, something has come up," he says, folding his hands behind his back again.

Stepping forward, Antilles says, dryly, "Two of your pilots have failed to return from patrol."

Valen's heart sinks. "Why wasn't this brought to my attention earlier? Who? Lohm? Jorlessen?"

"Why do you say that?" Antilles asks, tilting his head inquisitively.

"It was Daxxis and Julos that didn't return," the Skipper quietly picks up, "It's suspected that...in light of recent events, given his background, Julos has gone AWOL."

Valen's eyes widen over the shocking news. Shaking his head lightly, he rebuffs, "No. No, sir, I don't believe he would-"

"The boy was a Corellian, Lieutenant Commander," Antilles interjects. "A draftee. I have it on record that he was 'visibly disturbed' by the battles over Coronet."

"With all due respect, the two of them were on patrol; looking for the Rebel fleet. Don't you think it makes more sense that they were ambushed?"

"We are between star systems, boy," the tall man says from the other side of the Skipper. "There's not a rock out here that could interfere with sensors or hide a trap."

Nodding slightly, Captain Lennox concurs, "I have to agree, there's little that would allow Rebels to get close enough for a surprise attack."

It seems the two Captains have discussed this at length. Antilles continues, "Even if they were lightspeed ambushed by X-Wings, the TIE's quickness could take almost any pilot back within sensor range before being shot down. The fleet would have been alerted if they were engaged."

Trying to hold his ground against the pair of head officers, Valen insists, "Julos is loyal, and even if he wasn't, Daxxis would never allow-"

"I believe Julos betrayed his wingman to join the Rebellion," Antilles says dryly once more.

"Rolf Daxxis," Valen stresses his full name, nearly cutting the Elite Captain off of his point,"was a highgrad from the Naval Academy, sir. Highly trained, top scores, and with more experience. Bevurrant was quite junior in comparison. He would have never gotten the drop on Daxxis."

"You're right, Rannix." The Elite Captain squints his eyes. "Daxxis also has recent records of treatment for Combat Stress. Perhaps they both defected."

"Careful, Terrus," Lennox warns against Antilles' apparent antagonism, keeping his voice calm.

Pushing back, Valen can no longer contain his disagreement. "Maybe this is a flaw in our 'great Admiral's' strategy to have two TIE pilots alone in deep space outside signal range!" Antilles smirks and raises his chin, looking down his nose at Valen as the Skipper stays between them.

"Enough." Lennox puts a hand up to silence the two. "We are officers, and must act as such. Rannix, you will display respect for your superiors."

"Yes, sir. My pilots were both loyal, sir," Valen says to Lennox this time, lowering his voice and trying to maintain composure. "Have we even investigated for wreckage that could prove their innocence?"

"Rannix, you know patrols go on for hours at a time. There is no way we could authorize the entire fleet changing direction to search for wreckage that may never be there. The only way we can have the fleet move is if there's a confirmed engagement."

"We must be vigilant, Xamuel," Antilles stresses, stepping in again. "We must watch our Corellian crewmen carefully. We can't afford the embarrassment of another mass betrayal. It'd be pandemonium. The Navy would tear itself apart."

"Is there no way I can clear my pilots' names, sir? I know they wouldn't defect."

"There isn't sufficient proof of their loyalties, in either direction," the Skipper says, gesturing his final argument by raising a gloved finger to both officers. He folds one arm against his torso and rests his muzzle against his hand in deep thought. "But...evidence points to both exhibiting negative traits before their disappearance, one bordering on 'unpatriotic.' And unless they showed enough ineptitude to get them both killed before sounding the alarm," Valen starts in, but Lennox speaks over him, keeping him quiet. "Which I know could not be the case with your accomplished Deltas...I have to question how they disappeared otherwise." Valen remains speechless in the face of these points. In the silence, Lennox stands, considering the options, and continues. "To give the benefit of the doubt to your highgrad, I'm willing to consider that Julos caught him by surprise. I'm sorry, Rannix." Turning to the Elite Captain, he says, "Captain Antilles, I'm authorizing you to conduct more thorough surveillance throughout the ship."

"I will begin my investigations immediately." Clicking his heels, Antilles prepares to leave.

"Terrus," Lennox beckons. Narrowing his eyes, the Elite Captain halts himself. "I am aware that you're Elite, and there are many things you have already been doing in the shadows," Lennox says as he stands like a tree, Antilles looking back, sideways. The black suited man turns and faces him dead-on, staring at him with a falsely attentive face as he continues. "But those shadows are still on my ship," the Skipper says in a bold tone. "You will leave my representative out of it. No more questioning him without my consent."

The pair glare at each other. Valen stands in the deathly silence with the two Captains, daring not to move. "Xamuel," Antilles hisses, "the one I seek 'consent' from...does not like to hear I am being interfered with." Lennox's eyes widen slightly. His once sturdy stance appears shaken, the great tree slightly uprooted. "Keep out of my shadows," the tall man jabs with finality, flashing his piercing green eyes. Lennox looks about his bridge, noticing the crewman are all staring.

Swallowing noticeably, he says stiffly, "You are dismissed, Captain." Without so much as a nod, Antilles quickly and silently passes Valen on his way off the bridge, leaving him with the Skipper. Suddenly, the murmurs and shuffling of the crewmembers spring back to life, as if all work has quickly resumed. Turning towards Valen again, Captain Lennox relaxes, saying almost softly, "I know this is difficult for you, son."

Valen tries to keep to his own business. "Forgive my frankness, sir, but I'm still not convinced."

"You're a good leader, Rannix," the Captain says as he pats a gloved hand against Valen's arm. "Get yourself some replacements and try to put this behind you." Valen stays silent, and just nods. His heart sinks to consider that this must be the judgement for his two missing pilots. Lennox stands up straight, the tree planting its roots once again. "Good. I'm glad I can count on you, son. Dismissed." Nodding once more, Valen sees himself off the bridge.

"NO! No, sir!" Lohm outbursts in a rage, unlike himself. "Daxxis would never turn against us!" Tensely pacing as if he can't stand still, Valen's Second in Command steps from side to side in the small office in front of the desk. The rest of the pilots stand scattered, trying to figure out this news.

"And neither would Julos, sir," Jorlessen adds, joining his wingman.

"I know him too well, he's a good pilot! An Imperial pilot!"

"He was just getting good at fighting with Delta."

"That's the judgement as it stands, pilots. It's out of my hands. There's no way for us to prove they both died honorably on patrol. It's either 'cunning and treacherous' or 'honorable and incompetent' at this point."

"There must be some other answer!" Lohm says intensely, bordering on shouting across Valen's desk. "Daxxis was my wingman in the Hawks, we graduated high honors together from the Academy-"

"Have a seat, Lieutenant," Valen insists calmly, gesturing to his cot. Lohm glares a bit, and then drops himself onto the side of the bunk, leaning forward on his knees. Valen tries to assure them, "The Skipper has allowed for the possibility that Julos caught him by surprise."

"I still don't think Julos killed him, sir," Jorlessen stresses, siding with Lohm. "Sure, he was drafted, but he was an 'all orders' kind of pilot. He did exactly as he was told."

"If Julos didn't kill him, then where is he, Ben? Joining up with the Rebs?" Sirius jumps in, pushing back against Jorlessen. "If we accept that Julos is the traitor, then we can at least let Daxxis keep his honor. We all know Rolf more than Julos." The other pilots stand in the tense quiet, trying to think as they look amongst each other for something to say.

"Pilots." The squadron all look to Valen as he grabs their attention. "I don't believe any of these options are right. There must be something more." He stops for a moment, trying to swallow what he'd been told on the bridge. "But for now, there's no other answer. The Captain's decided Julos has killed Daxxis and gone AWOL. Julos' name is marked on a list of traitors, but for now, Daxxis is spared from that list."

"Yes, sir," the pilots say in unison, deflated.

"Lohm," Valen says, looking at his Second from his desk. "You okay?"

The young Lieutenant sighs the breath out of his lungs, and acquiesces, "Yes, sir. I think I just need a moment, if that's alright."

"Sure. Keep your eyes open on your patrols. I'll be speaking with Zain about replacements. Dismissed."

Valen arrives at Zain's office, and hits the doorchime. Standing awkwardly with a clipboard of papers as he waits out in the corridor, Valen looks around at the officers as they walk past. After a moment, he clicks the doorchime again.

"Yes?" a voice emanates from inside.

"Sir, Lieutenant Commander Rannix."

"Oh, come in." The door opens immediately with a whoosh. Zain is at his desk, finishing a meal and reading from his desk terminal. Walking in, Valen stands at attention as the door closes behind him. "Sit down, Valen, sit down," Zain says in a friendly tone, as if he shouldn't be so polite. Valen sits at the chair in the nice looking office, pulling it up to the desk.

"Thamus, I'd like to request-"

"You seem to be all over this ship at once. Have you found time to sleep?" Zain chuckles to himself at the joke, breathing hard through his nose as he chews. Swallowing, he shakes his head and tries to be serious. "I understand. I've heard what happened. Shame about poor Daxxis, I'm so sorry."

"I-it's fine, sir," Valen stutters slightly at how quickly word seems to travel.

"Have you told your squadron?"

"I just broke the news. They're...taking it as well as they could."

"Embarrassing to shoulder treachery in your ranks, I hope the best for your boys. I'm sure justice will come to that Corellian traitor."

"Actually-..." Valen stops, tired of having the same discussion yet again. Putting his clipboard on the table, he changes the subject. "I'm hoping to request a pair of pilots from your ranks, if you can spare them. I have them listed by priority, in case there are some you can't part with."

Wiping his mouth and gesturing as he finishes chewing another bite, Zain says, "Go on, go on."

"Orsen Feld, and Yail Morrus?"

Zain immediately shakes his head around and frowns, waving his hand. "Take them."

Valen furrows his brow and rears back his head slightly. Is there something wrong with them? Is there a mark on their records he missed? Looking down at his list, he has at least seven more pairs of names to try and bargain for. "Are you sure, Thamus? They're pretty well decorated."

"Are they? Bah," he grumbles, wiping off his hands and scrunching his face. It seems like Zain would care more if Valen asked to borrow a pen. The Commander stands up and reaches across the desk to shake Valen's hand. Valen snaps up from his seat, collecting his clipboard, and reaches forward to receive the handshake. "Good luck, Valen, keep an eye on them."

"Yessir, thank you, Thamus." Valen exits immediately, taking this good fortune with him before Zain has a chance to change his mind, or worse yet, decides he owes him for the favor. Heading off down the halls, he enters the turbolift to the garrison hallway.

Standing in his own company again, Valen takes a deep breath. Absent mindedly, he checks his pocket for the shape of the inhalant device. Pulling it out, he inspects the small tool for a moment, occupying his mind until the turbolift reaches his floor. Walking out into the garrison hallway, Valen searches the nameplates for his new pilots. It doesn't take long before he finds them chatting in the hallway, leaning on their door.

"Junior Lieutenant Feld? Flight Officer Morrus?" Valen asks as he walks up to the pilots, slipping the device back into his pocket.

The pair spin, and snap to attention. "YESSIR!" they bark in unison.

Looking nonchalantly down at his list of names, Valen speaks casually, "How do you feel about supporting the Hawks?"

"As Deltas?" Morrus asks.

"That would be the job we want, sir," Feld oddly completes his thought in an enthusiastic voice. Morrus nods in agreement, remaining at attention.

Looking up from his list, Valens eyes dart slightly from one pilot to the other. "I've just received permission from Zain. You're with me now."

"It's an honor to serve Delta, sir."

"We've been studying Delta Squadron's tactics, sir!"

"At ease," Valen says, trying to lower the energy. These are the right pilots. Valen can feel it. "Come with me, tell me about yourselves." Valen starts walking toward his office quarters, the pair of pilots trailing closely. "Feld?"

"Proud Imperial, sir. Drafted from Corellia. Graduated the Naval Academy early with mid honors."

"Early. Uh huh. Morrus?"

"Also drafted, sir. I wanted to join, but my family didn't want me in the war."

"Oh? That's interesting." Suddenly, Valen knows why Zain let them go so easily.

"Imperials, through and through, sir. My family just didn't understand what it means to support our Emperor as a soldier. They represent themselves with credits, and I represent them in the skies, sir." The pair seem as enthusiastic patriots as any. The pilots arrive at Valen's office and file in.

Valen turns calmly, and leans against his desk as the new pilots stand at attention once again. The door closing behind them, he speaks in a relaxed fashion. "So, what do you know of Delta Squadron?"

"Sir. Delta Squadron is the namesake support squadron of the great Death Star defense wings," Feld begins. "They covered Captain Folund Darius' experimental squadron, Epsilon." Raising his eyebrow at this knowledge, Valen nods for them to continue.

"We have personal experience watching Delta cover us as Hawks, and have both been interested in your tactics from the get-go, sir. We studied how such a small squadron can be so successful."

"And what did you find?"

"Value in wingmen, sir. Fighting as a unit down to two ships can yield an advantage against any X-Wing fighter."

"We can relate."

"Clearly," Valen remarks, noticing how in-tune the pair seem to be. "And what say you of the Rebel Y-Wing?"

"We have experience with them."

"Oh, you do?" Valen says, surprised.

"Yessir," Feld takes over again. The pair speak as if they are one person. "Hawk Group fought vanguard over our home planet, and came in contact with a trio of Y-Wings."

"Vicious ion cannons, sir, and heavy shields. Commander Zain ordered Hawk Group in front of Omega when we made contact. He demanded we seize the glory for those Y-Wings. Farenn took the lead-"

"As he always does," Feld adds quickly.

"The enemy fell back to a cruiser, but Zain ordered us to pursue."

"Omega wouldn't cover." The pair of pilots fall silent for a moment, their enthusiasm waning. Morrus continues, the attitude changing.

"Omega's supporting squad already got wiped out trying to cover both major flight groups alone," he says in the quiet. The pair start to look down.

"Psi Squad."

"We, uhh...we got flanked by X's when we chased the bombers."

"Lucky we had so many Interceptors. Farenn split them into a covering squadron and led us out."

"I see a lot of Farenn. He's at the head of Hawk Group at every engagement," Valen inquires indirectly, finally getting some real inside opinions on Zain's squadron.

"Hawk Group's real leader."

"The squad all look up to him."

"They have to, since Zain's so-"

"Okay, that's fine," Valen stops them, lest they incriminate themselves. "Keep it patriotic, alright? And take it easy with the double answers, it's odd."

"Sorry, sir," they both say in unison once again.

Giving a sideways glance to the pair of young pilots, he continues, "Hawk Group are all fine Imperials, and I look forward to having you two flying for me. You seem like you have a lot of history together," Valen mentions, noticing how much they speak for each other. "Did you graduate in the same class?"

"Yessir, lots of history," Feld says plainly.

"Adopted brothers, sir."

"Oh...That's peculiar." Valen raises his chin. Dropping his gaze down to his clipboard, he remarks, "Two family names."

"Yessir. We consider each other blood, but my family insisted Orsen keep the Feld name. It joins us as two powerful houses on Corellia."

"I see." Valen pauses, and switches gears. Though it tires him to bring it up, Valen asks, "How do you two feel about the Corellian uprising? You know, they're calling it an uprising now."

"They brought shame to Coronet, sir."

"There are still families in the city that want to restore its Imperial honor."

"And if you had to fight these Corellians? Corellians that you might personally know?"

"We would kill every last one, sir. They're traitors," Morrus says with conviction. Valen studies their faces, standing up as they remain at attention.

"You know, this squadron is suffering rumors of a traitor. They say Bevurrant Julos, a Corellian, killed my highgrad Daxxis on Edge Patrol." Valen strides the small office, standing in front of the new Deltas. "As citizens of that planet, I'll make it no secret that you have a lot to prove to my pilots."

"We won't let you down, sir."

"Yessir, we are loyal Imperials."

"Always have been."

Valen hums and holds a serious face as he stares at the two of them. "You'll need to show what you say. Continue to study Delta maneuvers, especially with wingmen. You can meet the squadron at our next assessment." The pair nod quietly in agreement. "If you'll excuse me, time is short, even in these slow moments," Valen says, pulling two briefing tablets from his desk and handing them off. "My patrol shift is coming up, and yours later. I trust you'll carry out your missions with honor until we meet again."

Dismissing the new pilots, Valen returns to his desk. Weary from helping the squadron recover, he leans back in his seat, alone in his quarters once again. Clicking on his desk terminal, Valen glares at the UI. A timer is slowly counting down on it.

[Delta Edge Patrol - 18:29.6]

Anxiety starts to crawl up his neck slightly, and he clicks the terminal back off. Valen grabs up his armor from next to the desk, and grabs an adjustment tool. Checking the bolts and testing the rivets, he systematically gives the mechanics a once over. Slowly and methodically adjusting the switches, Valen's eyes fall onto the auxiliary input. Slowly, he leans back with the armor in his lap, and looks down on it. Pulling out the inhalant device again and staring at it, Valen thinks to himself, dreading what could happen on the next assignment.

I can't put Sirius at risk again.

Committing, Valen quickly attaches the small T shaped device to the chest piece. Sneering at the tool, he feels slightly ashamed for needing it. The foreign object, as integrated and well fitted as it is, grabs Valen's attention on the armor he's so used to looking over in great detail. After a moment though, he starts to feel better, knowing that it will be there to fall back on. Sighing, and trying to relax, he sets the armor onto his desk and throws his jumpsuit on. As he finishes donning his modified armor, Valen picks up his helmet and attaches the hoses, turning it over and compulsively checking for scratches. The door chimes, and he opens it with his helmet at his side. Sirius stands out in the garrison hallway, suited up as well.

"Punctual, Janos."

"You're on-time yourself, Valen."

The wingmen head out into the hallways, and pass through the hangar access. A pair of TIEs sits alone on the rack again, ready for them to take out. Heading up into the catwalks, Valen and Sirius split and jump into their respective fighters. On his way in, Valen glances across the hull for his marking. Nothing again.

Valen buckles himself in and contacts the crane operator on the comms. "Hangar, this is Delta 1, spinning up."

"Copy, Delta. Another patrol is docking, will drop you in order."

"Delta 2, prepped for launch, sir."

Flipping up the switches, Valen checks his life support and energy readings as the TIE's engines scream to life. Scanning his eyes over his sensor displays, Valen tries to avoid looking down into the black starfield. The fighter idles smoothly, waiting to be released, while Valen sits, locked inside the pod. Feeling slightly restless, he feels compelled to check his energy readings again. After a moment, he can see below him as another pair of TIEs passes underneath. The rack shudders as the fighters dock behind them, shaking Valen's cockpit.

"Delta, your launch path is clear."

"Right...Right, launch," Valen stutters slightly as he puts his hand up in signal. Suddenly, the hangar superstructure raises up, yielding to the empty starfield yet again. The vastness surrounds Valen's ship as they power off toward the Spear. Anxiety starts to creep across his shoulders again, and he tries to shrug it off.

Come on, Valen, Sirius is counting on you…

"Hey, Sirius, how are your systems?"

"Systems nominal, sir. Everything's A-OK. You?"

Welcoming the conversation, if a bit wooden, Valen responds, "Systems all at 100%." The Tyrant begins to disappear in Valen's rear window, with the shape of the Spear growing in front.

"How you doin' Valen?"

"Alright so far," Valen says, taking Sirius' meaning. The great Edge Patrol Star Destroyer chimes in as they close in on it.

"This is Star Destroyer Spear. State callsigns," an abrupt voice comes in on the comms.

"Delta 1 and 2," Valen replies in an equally short tone.

"Deltas, welcome to Edge Patrol," the comms officer says monotonically, sounding bored. "…uhh...codes please."

"Copy, Spear," Valen says dutifully, transmitting the codes. In the back of his mind, he wonders if everyone is bored out here except for him.

"Okay, those check out. Have fun out there…see you when you get back," the tired voice sounds off. Valen furrows his brow, and the pair fly over the cruiser, past the bridge. The massive ship passes underneath them as they continue through the area. Soon enough, the Spear is out of sight, long disappeared behind them.

Valen sits uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact with the stars once again. Scanning over his readouts once, twice, three times over, Valen keeps his eyes down, trying to regulate his breathing. It's been another long silence out on patrol in the empty stars.

"Welp," Sirius says, breaking the stillness again. "Said it before, and I'll say it again. I'm bored."

"Yeah," Valen says shortly, keeping his head lowered. He compulsively continues monitoring his energy readings.

Don't do it again.

"It's frustrating, looking around for the Rebels. How do they disappear out here like this? I mean, we're out here, wasting fuel…" Sirius rambles on as Valen shallows his breath, trying to keep himself controlled.

Don't do it again.

His brow crushes over his eyes as he hyper focuses on his instruments. Valen's breaths are short, shaking slightly, his heartbeat pounding wildly in his ears. Valen's arms tense, his hands wringing his flight gloves. His fingertips have long since gone numb. He clenches his fists, and opens them again. Repeating it over and over, Valen tries to get feeling back into his fingers.

"Valen?"

Don't do it again.

Sweat starts to bead on his furrowed brow as his eyes begin to dart from readout to readout. Valen looks over at the energy readings, but doesn't read them. Before he knows it, he's scanning the engine temperature, but doesn't read that either. His eyes scramble nervously about the cockpit, as if watching every inch would hold the fragile fighter together out in this vast no man's land. His frantic, darting vision falls on the emergency power restart handle above his head.

"Valen?!"

Immediately, Valen reaches in and prods at his chest, hitting the device. A tiny hiss rings through his ears as the medication is released into his life support unit. Focusing on getting the medication into his system, Valen gasps, deliberately breathing in and out. In, and out. Slowly. He breathes in, and then out. One more time, in, and then out. Valen's shoulders begin to drop, relaxing as his squinted eyes begin to open again. His clenched fists slowly release, opening into relaxed hands. His eyes fall onto the stars.

"Come on, Valen!" Sirius' voice yells from the comms, bordering on panic.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Valen replies abruptly, as if nothing had happened.

"Valen...come on, sir. Are you OK? Really?"

Valen stares out at the stars, remembering how he used to see them. They look vast and open now, like a comforting field Valen could lie down in. Looking about his cockpit, the instruments sit, focused in his vision. Crisp, and easy to read. "Yeah, Janos. 100%."

Sirius blasts out a sigh of relief, crackling the comms. "Thank you, sir."

"What do you see on sensors?"

"Nothin' and nothin'." Valen smirks slightly, listening to the worry lift from Sirius' voice. He looks back out his window, actually enjoying his view of the stars again, until Sirius says, "Wait."

Valen lurches forward in his seat, quickly checking his sensors. "What is it?"

"Nope. More nothin'."

"Okay, Sirius, If you're not gonna to take this seriously," Valen says sarcastically as Sirius laughs. "I'm gonna put in a request for a new wingman."

"Hahaha," Sirius chuckles, enjoying the informal tone. "Oh, come on, sir." The pair keep flying across the empty black starfield. "There's still so much for me to learn out here!"

---

Chapter XIII: Enemy at the Gates

"Hey, Boss! You done with that yet?!" Fyllus shouts up at Staleksridge's now standing walker. The battalion pilots all sit, hiding in the shade under Legs, the Corellian summer sun beating down onto her freshly replaced plating. Ando leans back, reclining across a long supply crate with a metallic cup of water, listening as his battalion all jokingly harass their leader.

"You know, I can order you all to help me and Neville!" a voice emanates from inside. Tools clank around unseen inside the cabin of the tall, metal beast. "But I don't, 'cause I'm a good leader!"

"It's lookin' pretty crowded up there with the new guy anyway!" Hix joins, yelling up towards the high cabin from a crate. "We'll just stay here in the shade!"

"Not one more word outta you, Hix, or I'll have the Flyboy kick your teeth in! I hear Hamm's teachin' him how to fight!"

"That's right, Boss! He's doin'-"

"Who, this Flyboy?!" Ando looks around quickly from his box and is suddenly grabbed around the neck from behind. Immediately, the two lightweights go rolling off, their feet and metal cups flipping up into the air. Unceremoniously, the pair of small gunners flop into the dirt, squirming around and trying to get the upper hand. The rest of the walker pilots jump out of the way, hollering and cheering as Ando tries to defend himself. "Come on, Ando, I can take ya!" Ando does his best to put up a guard as trained, while Hix reaches in, laughing and playfully tagging him on the face with light slaps.

"Alright, Hix! Come hold this plate down while Neville welds it!" Stalek's voice growls from behind one of the walker's eyes. The two pilots stop fighting and rise up from the dirt, Hix putting on the look of a reprimanded child. "Hamm, get him up here!"

"Awww-Ow!" Hix blurts as Hammand's broad hand slaps him on the back of the head. The rest of the pilots all turn their harassment towards Hix now as he walks through the hot sun to the walker's feet.

"Get on with it, Hix! Cable's right there!" Raythe shouts, laughing with Fyllus and Oppel. Stalek hops out of his walker and zips down to the ground, throwing a sarcastic hand on Hix's shoulder as they switch places. He walks towards the group, scrubbing his hands off with a dirty rag. Taking a deep, obvious breath, he makes a show of being relieved to be in the shade again.

"Ahhh."

"Thirsty, Boss?" Hamm says, handing him a metallic cup.

"Parched, thanks Hamm. Here, let's talk." The pair stroll off out of earshot. Ando is left slapping the dirt off his uniform yet again as Raythe, Fyllus, and Oppel sit in the shade. They lay around, sporadically chirping smalltalk from their crates.

"It's so damn hot out today. Someone shoot me so I can sit in the nice, cool hospital building for a bit."

"Hey, refill."

Cups flip back and forth as they're tossed to Fyllus, who's closest to the water tank. Lazily, he fills each of the cups and sets them down next to himself, the pilots going by and retrieving theirs one by one.

"Looks like sparrin' with Gailon's not workin' out very well," Fyllus says snidely as Ando walks up to get his refilled cup.

"Shut up, Fyll," Ando snaps, sore at the embarrassment. "Hix caught me by surprise is all."

Fyllus grins, twisting the knife, "Whatever, keep practicin' there, Flyboy."

"Hey, Raythe," Oppel asks. "Y'think that old shop's still got some ales in it? I'm thirsty for a little more than water."

"Ale?! Who's got ale?!" Hix's voice rings out from up high.

"Oh...Corellian ale's a little taste of home I wouldn't mind," Raythe says happily, ignoring his gunner. "When we get back up and head into Point Zero, we can ask the Boss to take a look."

"Guys?!"

"Yeah, that'd be good. Hix! You done with that plate yet?!"

Hix's head squeezes halfway out of the walker's eye, his teeth flashing in the Corellian sun as he strains to shout out of the cabin. "Lick my boot, Oppel!" And disappears again.

"Hix!" Stalek yells as the two upper ranks return from their talk. "How long's it take to weld a plate?!"

Hix's tussled hair pokes out of the walker's eye again, and he shouts back, "I said, 'Lick my-'..." He stops, looking down at the group. Seeing Stalek, the head quickly pops back inside the cabin, the flashes of the welding torch quickly lighting the inside. "Almost done, Boss!" his voice cracks from the cabin, the battalion erupting in rowdy laughter.

"Get it done in 30 seconds and get down here with Neville!"

"Yeah, Boss!" the pair shout from inside the cabin. The sparks continue for a bit, and then cut out. Eventually, the two pilots, drenched in sweat, pop out of the hatch, and lower themselves to the dirt. Stalek gets started as they make their way over to the group.

"Dragoons. Provided Neville and Hix can weld a plate, we're now operational. General Mallus wants an armored presence on the refugee lines."

"What?"

"The 'Point? Awwwgh, there's nothin' to DO there! I thought we were being put out at Point Zero!"

"Yeah, Boss. Any action's gonna be out there, not at the checkpoint."

"There's barely any fighting anymore. Some strings have been pulled, and we're being requested there just temporarily. Mallus doesn't even want us in the walkers, he wants us to park them by the lines to keep order. We're posting below them, and are to help the citizens wherever possible."

"That sounds dumb-"

"SHADDAP!" Hammand bellows, lurching in front of the Battalion Commander and shoving the group towards their vehicles. "Boss says 'MOUNT UP,' Dragoons!"

The familiar hum of the gyros surrounds Ando and Hammand as Legs whirs to life, raising the sunbaked cabin slightly. All the cockpit lights blink on, scrolling diagnostics cascading down the newly replaced screens like water. Ando checks his weapons, and then leans back, unneeded. Hammand pulls the complicated controls around as if Legs is an extension of his own body, stomping the mechanical rig forward to Stalek's walker. Heavy footfalls resonate and echo behind them as the rest of the walkers follow the Second in Command to their mutual leader. Moving out without communication, the only thing Ando can hear is the trudging of metal feet. The column stops at the checkpoint at the edge of the yard, as Stalek's new gunner, Neville, pops out of the hatch to speak with the guards. Waiting on the exchange in the hot sun, it doesn't take long for Ando to start sweating in his seat. Unbuckling himself, he opens up the top hatch and stands out of the cabin, sprawling his arms over the mounted repeater. After a moment of inaudible conversation, an olive uniformed officer waves a gloved hand, and the column begins to move again.

Marching the mechanized creatures through the base, Ando's idle eyes wander across the sections as they pass. Spacing out in the breeze, he watches the hospital pass by, and then the trooper garrison, and piles of Imperial supply crates. A few minimally damaged buildings smolder silently as the Battalion head into the edge of the city to the exclusion zone checkpoint. The dry heat warps his view across the tops of the lower buildings, and pulls the sweat from his brow.

"Hey, Hamm," Ando says, leaning down into the hatch.

"Yeah?"

"When we get done here, can we put some extra water rations in this thing? I think I'm dying."

Hammand mops a layer of sweat out from under his helmet, and huffs over his shoulder, "Yeah. I wouldn't say no if you 'found' an extra one layin' around. Stalek's saying this Corellian summer's the hottest on record, but atmo coolers are 'strictly for desert ops.'" Dismissively gesturing up at the sky above them, he grumbles, "The equipment's just sittin' up on the Phalanx gatherin' dust while we roast down here." Jumping on the comms, Hammand breaks the silence. "Hey, Boss."

"I hear ya, Hamm. What's up?"

"Ya think we can pinch ourselves a private water cooler or somethin'? This sun's brutal."

"We're not goin' out in the field or anything. Should be easy access to water out at the 'Point."

"Raythe says there's a shop out at Point Zero with some ale," Hix butts in casually.

"Well, we're not out at Point Zero, are we?"

"I didn't say that!" Raythe interjects. "The whole area got blasted, Hix, we don't even know if their cellar's in one piece."

"Well if it is, there's a buncha ale waitin' for us."

"Why don't you just wait until we've got some off time and I get a refresher of alco rations?" Stalek says calmly.

"I'm just sayin'...if we could sneak a few free ones, why not?"

"I'll consider it," the Battalion Commander brushes it off, ending the conversation. "Checkpoint's up here."

"I'm bored already," Fyllus chimes in, Oppel chuckling in the background of the comms as they arrive at a gated wall in the middle of a large avenue, the column of long legged vehicles halting at the crowds. Suited stormtroopers and CorSec officers file and process civilians as they pour through the gate in line, but outside, the crowd piles up in a disorganized fashion. Upon the Dragoons' arrival, the troopers begin to push the throngs of refugees out of the way, waving the Battalion through the gate. Stalek's command walker leads the way, slowly stomping its way through the open gate. As the Battalion follow him, the sounds of the crowd start to sour.

"Walkers!"

"Let us through, we need water!"

"We want our city back!"

The cries confuse Ando, but before he can say anything, Stalek speaks over them.

"Alright, Battalion. File in along the gate, make an aisle to organize this rabble into an orderly line." Stalek's walker trudges through the opening crowd, and stops at the side of the road, facing inward. "Fyllus, by me. Hamm, you and Raythe line up on the opposite side." The machines all file in, and the troopers try their best to direct the crowd in between them as the Battalion crews all exit their vehicles and meet up on the side of the avenue.

"You'd think they'd be happy," Ando steps in, aware of this less-than-warm welcome. "We're here to help."

"Yeah, I don't get it," Oppel agrees.

"They're just scared. They've been through a lot," Stalek says calmly, pulling his heavy gloves off. In a lower class fashion, the First Lieutenant wipes the sweat off his hands and onto his pantlegs.

"We should show them we're on their side," Raythe chimes in, the only Corellian in the Battalion.

"They should be on our side. They need to be screened here," Stalek warns. "We don't want another situation like in downtown."

"They're all Imperials, same as us."

"Yeah." Stalek stops and thinks for a moment. Stepping into action, he immediately begins commanding, "Everyone gimme your rations. Food and water."

"What?! Boss, c'mon," Hix complains, holding his field rations as everyone passes theirs to the leader. Waving his hand back at the gate, he exasperatedly moans, "They're gettin' food as soon as they get inside!"

"We're keepin' order outside, ya pleb!" Stalek stabs, snatching the rations out of Hix's hands. Turning, he shoves a few at Hammand's chest. "Give 'em a little relief, and let 'em know there's more. Flyboy," he beckons, handing off a small device. "You're a well-spoken kid. This commlink's connected to the speakers on the command walker. Put on a good voice again and tell 'em why we're here. The resta you, see what you can do, and be friendly!"

"Yeah, Boss," Ando says nervously as he takes the commlink, the pilots wading into the crowd, Hammand and Stalek immediately met by outstretched hands. He takes a deep breath, and calls on his upbringing, using his 'officer's voice.' "Citizens of Coronet," his voice rings out over the crowd, "Please line up in an orderly fashion."

"Let us in, we've done nothing wrong!"

"You will be screened for weapons and background. Please have your Ident card ready. This is for everyone's safety."

"We're not Rebels!"

A hand raises into the air, catching Ando's eye. A CorSec officer is silently gesturing over his head toward the back of the crowd. Some people are gathering their belongings and moving away from the gate. The hulking white armored bodies of stormtroopers immediately march into the sea of people, forcing their way toward the back. The crowd starts looking inward at the spectacle, uneasy.

"Uhh," Ando stutters, unable to explain why the armed soldiers are moving in. Civilians are roughly knocked to the side as the giant men continue their advance through the crowd to the back. "Everyone please...remain calm-"

"You there!" a trooper's microphoned voice shouts out, exacerbating the situation as Ando tries to keep the crowd under control. By now, the Battalion pilots have all stopped and are watching the troopers as they shove their way toward the back with greater and greater aggression. The people at the back take notice of the advancing soldiers, and begin to run down the broad avenue. "Stop!" the microphoned voice shouts again. A scream shrieks from the crowd as the troopers raise their weapons.

The throngs of people scatter to the sides, crying out as the twangs of the soldiers' E-11s echo off the buildings. As suddenly as the blaster fire begins, it's over. Just a quick series of bursts and red flashes. The civilians go silent, staring on in horror. The still bodies of the runners litter the street in the distance as the stormtroopers stand at the edge of the crowd, watching for movement from behind their rifles. Slowly, the troopers lower their weapons and approach the bodies, pushing at them with their feet. Looking over at Stalek, Ando sees him gesturing with wide eyes from the crowd. The Battalion Commander subtly rolls his hands, one over the other, as if to say, 'keep going.'

Ando nods quickly, and raises the commlink to his mouth. "Everyone," Ando beckons calmly over the speakers, holding a hand above his head. "Look at me." One by one, the terrified faces swivel away from the gruesome sight down the road, and focus on Ando. "Please…have your Ident card ready. You will be processed through this gate." He pauses for a moment, distracted slightly as the white armored troopers drag the bodies from the street. "Do not resist, or exhibit suspicious behavior. This is for everyone's safety." Slowly, the crowd remains quiet, and forms a neat line outside the gate.

---

"Look. Valen," Sirius' voice speaks starkly through the comms channel as they approach the Tyrant. "I'm just saying they don't really have a good track record, you know?"

"Feld and Morrus are pretty well decorated," Valen rebuffs. The pair of fighters soar through the stars, dropping down below the massive grey speartip, their untouched solar panels glinting in the light of a distant sun.

"Corellians, sir." The pair settle underneath the giant opening, and slowly begin to lift upwards. In the weeks since Daxxis and Julos disappeared, it's been one uneventful patrol after another. "It's a big ask to put our lives on the line for them, after what happened to Daxxis."

"Well, what happened to Daxxis? Because I don't know."

"You know what happened, sir. Julos killed him. He killed him in cold blood, and ran off to betray us for the Rebellion."

"That's the 'official' word, Janos."

"It's all we can believe, right? Captain Lennox's decision."

"And then the Skipper said to put it behind me; try and move on," Valen tries to get through to Sirius on the matter. "It's hard to trust the new guys, I understand. Same thing happened when Julos joined, but we got around it."

"Look where that ended up," Sirius' voice mutters over the comms.

"Well," Valen says with finality as the fighters lock onto the rack, "they're not going anywhere. They're good kids, and the most qualified amongst my choices. They'll do well as Deltas."

"Right."

Safely back in the hangar, Valen shuts down the engines and unclips his harness. Checking for his inhalant device, he stands in the cockpit and opens the top hatch. The bare grey catwalks stretch out across the ceiling of the hangar, Sirius jumping onto them ahead of Valen.

"Another successful patrol!" Sirius shouts out light-heartedly, pulling his helmet off. As Valen does the same, Sirius continues his sarcasm, his voice echoing through the racks. "It's been tough getting used to this 'tactical half-throttle,'" he jokes as they both head towards the lift, "but I think I'm getting the hang of it."

"Heh, shut up, Janos," Valen chuckles, stepping into the lift. Pulling the device from his life support, he drops it into his jumpsuit pocket. Looking out the bare skeleton of the turbolift, the pair of wingmen hear indiscernible chatter echoing forth from the crane operator, and the pilots' two TIEs haphazardly skitter along the rack. Oddly, the TIEs don't head out towards the doors to the maintenance bays, but rather, just off to the side of the hangar. Sharing a sideways glance, Valen and Sirius step out of the lift as it reaches the flight deck to see what's going on. The maintenance bay doors slide open, and blue, forked solar panels pierce through into the hangar bay. Six Interceptors slide into position, locking up on the launch rack above the brackish lake. Footsteps echo across the flight deck. Quick, running footsteps.

Across the deck, six matching pilots quickly and quietly run in through the hangar access, throwing their helmets on over their heads. As they come closer, Valen can see their uniforms. They all have Elite stripes.

Alphas.

Alerted, Valen watches them pass by, their gleaming black helmets pointed up at the fighters on the rack. One helmet, however, swivels directly at him. Two deep red stripes bleed down the front like war paint under the goggle lenses. Valen can feel the piercing green eyes of the Elite Captain staring at him from beneath the emotionless mask. The glare is wordless, and chills Valen to the bone. The red striped pilots all run into the lift, heading up to the catwalks. Somewhat speechless, Valen looks over at his wingman, and receives a clueless shrug in return. The sounds of ion engines screaming to life fills the hangar bay, the shrieks ringing off the polished floor. The clamps unlock, and the fighters tear out of the hangar, leaving it in silence once again. After a moment, everything continues as usual, the wingmens' TIEs moving back along the racks toward the maintenance access.

"Well, they left in a hurry," Sirius says plainly. "Wonder what that was all about."

Valen returns the shrug to Sirius. "No idea. Let's head to my office. Assessment." The two head out of the hangar bay and into the hallways towards the pilot garrison.

"Oooo, another one," Sirius says with more false enthusiasm. "Here, lemme guess how it's gonna go. 'Nothing,' 'nothing,' and especially for us, 'nothing.'"

"Better than it was the first patrol."

"No," Sirius says quickly, admitting the improvement, "I'm really glad you're better, sir. It's just…" Sirius pauses as they make their way down the grey corridor, "you can't possibly be happy with all this sitting around, can you? I mean, we're trained to kill Rebels, right? We can't even find them."

"I know, I know. But if they're not going to stand and fight, there's not much we can do. They don't fight like us, Janos. Scouring the stars for them is exactly what they want. Wasting our time, letting them build their strength." Trying not to get too negative about their present situation, Valen assuages Sirius with an optimistic lie. "Rest assured, Janos. The longer we wait, the more glorious the fight'll be when we find them."

"Ugh, can't wait," Sirius restlessly rolls his head back on his shoulders. "You think we could drag some drones with us on the next patrol? Get some practice? I feel rusty." The pair arrive at Valen's office door, the squadron standing at attention next to it.

Valen smirks and opens the door, letting everyone in. "I'd just hate to hear what Zain thinks I owe him for borrowing some." He follows the squadron in, sighing, "At ease," as he walks behind his small desk. The pilots all boyishly lean against the walls and sit on the bunk. The squadron, thoroughly meshed, sits slightly apart from the two Corellian newcomers.

"So," Valen says informally, expecting the predictable answers, "what's new, Deltas?"

"Nothing new to report, sir," Lohm says, holding onto his discipline, as usual. Jorlessen nods in agreement.

"Nothing, sir," the brothers Feld and Morrus echo, speaking almost at once.

"And nothing new for us, as usual," Valen sighs again, leaning sideways against his armrest. "Feld. Morrus. I'm sorry if the life of a Delta isn't exactly as glorious as you'd hoped. I'm sure it'll pick up eventually. Keeping up with your studies?"

"Yessir, Commander."

"We're revisiting the Vuiros assignment."

"What for?"

"It's a situation in which the Empire is chasing down Rebel escapees. It might be useful when we come across the fleet."

"If we come across the fleet," Sirius mutters.

"Perhaps it would be good then to revisit the Sulon incident. The Rebels engaged a trap, utilizing the firepower of a frigate."

"Yessir."

"Anything else?"

"Sir," Lohm says quietly, almost shyly. "I've been hearing more rumors. Other patrols in the fleet not coming back."

"More going AWOL?"

"Corellians?" Sirius asks quickly, perking up for any excitement.

"Dunno. Probably." The wheels seem to be visibly turning in Lohm's head. He pauses for a moment. "Sir, if there's anything to it, do you think you could check with Commander Zain?"

"If there are more pilots going missing," Valen says, headstrong, knowing that his pilots need something to occupy them during this downtime, "I think we should all know. Anyone have anything else to add?" Valen looks around the quarters at his pilots, and they stand silent. Bored. "I'm going to go speak with Commander Zain. Keep your eyes and ears open. I'll see you all again after our next rotation." The squadron stand and salute, quietly filing out of the quarters. Sirius, the last one out, stops at the door with Valen.

"Hey, Valen?"

"Yeah. What's up, Janos?"

"While you're in Zain's office, what do you think about requesting the drones?" Sirius insists. He seems to be itching for anything to do. "Promise I won't bang them up too bad," he says with a smirk.

Valen hums out a few chuckles and pays back a little of the sarcasm he's been hearing lately, "We can just have a good old fashioned dogfight if you want."

"Ha ha, I don't think I'll ever be able to beat you, sir."

"I'll ask about the drones. Glory to the Empire, Janos."

"Long live the Emperor, sir."

Stepping up to Zain's office door, Valen hits the chime.

"Who is it?" the muffled voice asks from inside.

"Rannix."

"Come in." Valen walks in through the door, closing it behind him. Zain is slipping away some paperwork and a tablet as Valen comes in. "Please, sit. It's been awhile since Hawk and Delta have met, how can I help you, Lieutenant Commander? Keeping an eye on the new boys?" Zain smiles oddly, putting Valen on guard.

"They seem to be doing well."

"Fitting in though?"

"Um...with time"

"That's good. I'm sure it's tough to trust men of their background with our lives." Zain readjusts in his seat, idly glancing up at the ceiling of his office.

Getting to the point, hoping it will move things along, Valen inquires, "I was actually chasing up anything you might have heard lately."

"About?"

"My pilots are hearing about other mysterious disappearances." Valen gives a false smile to try and ease this awkwardness of the question.

"'Mysterious?' The Corellian pilots are not to be trusted, pure and simple. These disappearances are not 'mysterious,'" the Commander brushes off, wrinkling his face.

Valen's eyes widen. "So, there are pilots going missing?"

"Not often, but the incidents are noted; Mostly Corellian types." Zain blinks oddly, forcing a furrowed grin. His disdain for the Corellians seems to have escalated since a few weeks ago. "The fleet bring more in to replace them, although the ships lost can be moderately expensive."

"We've proved that Corellian pilots are going AWOL? So we can clear Daxxis of-"

"Well, it's assumed, of course. As with the first incident, we can't just turn the fleet around to go investigate the odd missing patrol. Although," leaning forward at his desk, Zain speaks quietly, "I have been listening in on a quick scramble from the Alphas."

"Scramble?" Valen plays dumb, pretending he wasn't wondering what the Alphas rushed out so quickly for.

"They're out of range now, but it's another check for signals out on the Edge. Usually I'm the one sending my Interceptor boys out to check any odd signals, but this time it was Antilles and his group of 'aces.'" Zain leans back a little and takes a deep breath, furrowing his brow.

"That is odd. I wonder what they're so interested in."

"I'm going to keep checking for whenever their report comes back, and I suggest you do the same. It makes me anxious that they're investigating signals like this now. With the rarity of activity lately, I worry they'll steal my glory when the Rebel fleet finally shows its face," he says with a sneer, lowering his brow.

Dropping his brow in kind, Valen tries to calm the Commander. "We have hundreds of thousands of other pilots out there, sir. You don't think-"

"Of course I do, Valen. They are 'the Elite,'" Zain stabs slightly, bitterness in his voice. There seems to be something on Zain's mind; Something dark. "They always know something we don't. If glory is coming our way, mark my words, Valen, they will snatch it out from under us!" Zain growls harshly, pulling out his tablet and presenting it, flaunting the forbidden information. A slight sheen of perspiration builds across his brow as it sits under the brim of his Commander's cap. "That's why I want us to be watching them." Slapping the information down on the desk, he leans in again. "Glory will never be ours unless we seize the opportunity from them. We need to keep them and theirs in check." Valen sits silently with a wrinkled brow at this intense and odd display. The strange behavior is confusing, and he silently tries to work out what Zain is on about. "Elite Intelligence officers lurk in the shadows on this very ship, more now than ever. Tell me you haven't seen a relative abundance of small red stripes in our corridors."

"Well, they're here to investigate suspicious Corellians-"

"Spies, Valen! They're here to watch all of us! Those damn Corellians are a convenient excuse to involve us all!"

"What are you talking about, sir?" Valen asks, alerted by how shaken Zain seems to be. His behavior and this conversation are alarmingly erratic; paranoid.

The Commander clenches his fist, looking down at his desk. Trying to maintain his composure, he explains tensely, "I've been questioned more than I can stand by those red stripe bastards, and it's these damn Corellians' fault of course."

'Their fault?'

"If they don't want suspicious pilots in our navy, they shouldn't have them sullying our ranks now, should they? Surely, there are plenty more Imperial patriots out there!"

"Surely, sir," Valen echoes, following up quickly. It seems Zain is convincing himself, thinking aloud.

Going quiet again, Zain's face twists, his mouth opening in an odd snarl as if he's about to say something. Lowering his gaze, his words eek out, suddenly quiet, and honest. "I've, uh…" He stalls, looking for the words. "I've lost a patrol, Valen." His expression breaks quickly, a nervous smile practically exploding across his face, and then fading immediately. For the first time ever, Valen feels sympathy for his Commander, watching the confusion and helplessness cross his face. Looking back down at his desk, Zain continues. "Out at Edge 9-1. Two of those Corellians got away out there, and there's nothing we can do about it. I am... shamed... by the cowardice and treachery of my pilots. Alphas went out to investigate, because 'of course,' my Hawks are garbage; compromised. Incapable of investigating this themselves." He takes a sullen breath, trying to work out what to do next. "Now I see why you seem so eager to grasp at straws... for the 'innocence' of your pilots. Valen… I practically wish the Rebel fleet is out there right now, my pilots' disappearances a glorious sacrifice in the first shots before the 'great battle,'" he stalls again, falling back in his seat and dragging the tablet off the back of the desk with him. He looks down at the tablet, searching it hopelessly as he mops his brow with a gloved hand. "But I know the obvious truth. I'll need to take measures against this dishonor in the future. If that'll be all, Valen, I'd appreciate some time to contemplate this."

"Yessir." Valen rises from his seat, and heads to the door. The thought of Sirius' request sits on his mind, but he's unsure if now is the time. Stopping in the door, he turns. "Actually," Valen interjects, receiving a silent head-raise from across the room. "I was wondering if I could borrow some trainers, please. Personal practice."

"Ah…. Of course. I'll drop you a code for your next patrol. Keep them in good condition, they're expensive."

"Thank you, Thamus," Valen says, making sure to use the injured Commander's first name. Saluting, and receiving one in return, he closes the door and heads back toward his quarters.

---

"I hope all is well with you, pilots," Valen says, stopping for a moment, before breaking the news. "It's not easy to say this, but unfortunately, we will need to reorganize. In the interest of security, Commander Zain has mandated that no two Corellian pilots may be together on Edge Patrol." The squadron look amongst each other, puzzled. After a second, Feld and Morrus step forward to protest, but are interrupted by Valen. "Lohm, you're with Morrus now. Jorlessen, you're with Feld."

"Sir, I don't see what this will accomplish," Lohm says, hesitance on his voice. "I'll do as I'm ordered, but as your Second, I can't say I'm with you on this."

Jorlessen stutters slightly, protesting, "I-I don't think I can do this. I'm Lohm's junior wingman, sir...I don't have the experie-"

"With all due respect, we can take care of ourselves," Feld says assertively, a wrinkle in his brow. Standing with him, his brother nods in agreeance. "We're experienced flight partners with each other, we know how we fly, and splitting us will only make us weaker. This order isn't right."

"I don't appreciate what this decision does to our team either, but Zain says this must apply to everyone if we're to stem the desertions. There are increasing rumors of patrols disappearing all over the fleet's edge, you yourselves tell me you hear them too." The squadron look at their feet, unconvinced. Sirius looks tense over the news. He jumps forward, trying to speak, but Valen speaks over him as well. "Command say Corellians together can too easily conspire to slip away on the Edge. A non-Corellian wingman must be present at all times to 'enforce loyalty.'"

Sirius steps forward again, blurting, "It's putting us true Imperials in danger, sir, we can't trust them just by being forced to fly with them!" Morrus and Feld turn towards him, shock across Morrus' face at such an outburst. "What'll it do to have Cirres and Ben paired up with the Corellians? Rolf was with Julos on the Edge, and Julos just killed him! What'd stop them from doing the same?" Morrus and Feld begin to face Sirius, grouping close, shoulder to shoulder. Morrus seems particularly offended.

"Sirius, calm down-"

"Lohm or I might be able to take Morrus, but-"

Morrus lunges at Sirius, grabbing at his uniform. "I can fly circles around you, Janos!"

"Everyone calm down!-"

Whipping his hands upwards, Sirius breaks Morrus' grip, rushing back at him. "Try it, Corellian! I'll snipe you right outta the sky!-" The three start yelling and grappling with each other in the middle of the office. Jorlessen stays out of it as Lohm jumps in to shout some sense into them, grabbing at Sirius' shoulder. Sirius throws a wild hand backwards, rattling Lohm's jaw, and the Corellians begin throwing punches as well. Outnumbered in the cramped confrontation, Sirius immediately begins to buckle under the ferocity of the Corellian brothers' attacks.

"HEY!" Valen barks, his voice bouncing off the small quarters' walls as he rushes around the desk and descends on them. Pushing through Lohm, Valen grabs Feld from the back of his collar, and throws him backwards against the desk. "THAT'S ENOUGH!" Going back in, Valen growls and shoves Morrus away into the wall on the opposite side of the room, leaving Sirius recovering in the middle. "GET OFF HIM!"

Sirius snaps up with a bloodied mouth. "Hold that traitor! I'll-"

"YOU SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH JANOS, ADJUST YOUR JUDGEMENT!" Valen cuts him off with a pointing finger, furious. "EVERYONE AT ATTENTION! NOW!" The squadron snap to attention where they stand in the small office as Valen regains his composure. "Whether they're all guilty, or none of them are, Corellians fly with us! They're Imperials! Now, for our Navy's security and unity, we are ordered to do this! Lohm!"

"Yessir."

"You're with Morrus! Jorlessen!"

"Sir!"

"You're with Feld! Any questions about your orders mean, 'officers?'" The squadron remains quiet, afraid to utter even a 'nosir.' Valen's eyes are wide and full of rage at his squadron's embarrassing behavior, his officer's cap knocked out of place. "Get to know your new Corellian wingmen, pilots. They're here to stay!" Pacing back behind his desk, Valen barks, "IN LINE!" pointing at the floor in front of him. The pilots all hop into position, standing next to their new wingmen. He glares at his misshapen squadron as they stand as still as they possibly can. Removing his cap, Valen pulls his hair back, and replaces it once again, jerking forward on the bill. Seething, he forces himself to move slowly, leaning forward and placing his hands on his desk. Speaking with a more subdued volume, Valen addresses, almost as if speaking one-on-one. "Feld. Morrus. You are honorable men, yes?"

"Yessir."

"Yes, sir."

"We will trust you with our lives, and you will trust us with yours."

"Yessir."

"Yes, Commander."

"I say you will stay with Delta until you die for your Emperor, or stand with him in victory. I say nothing your fellow pilots say will shake your loyalty or devotion to them."

"Yes, sir."

"Of course, sir."

Valen stands in the silence, looking up from under his knitted brow. "Don't make me a liar." His gaze pierces each of his pilots individually as he slowly scans the room. "Get out."

The pilots pivot in place and file out without eeking out a sound, Valen continuing to glare as they leave. At the back of the line, Lohm turns and looks inside from the hallway the deep red welt from Sirius' wild strike beginning to take shape on his left brow. Turning away again, he shuts the office door. As soon as the door closes, Valen drops into his seat. Taking a quiet breath, Valen presses his eyes closed, and tries to rest, reaching into his pocket. Retrieving the small silver and black device, he puts it to his mouth and depresses the button. Pulling it from his mouth, Valen looks down at the diminutive tool, a sudden hesitance on his mind. Letting his hand drop to his lap, he stares out at his quiet office for a moment, and puts it back in the desk drawer. Rolling his shoulders to relax them as the medication takes effect, he looks across at his flight helmet. Pressing his lips together, he sighs and quickly throws his hand across the desk terminal controls. After a moment of taps and clicks, a voice comes in.

"Lieutenant Commander. How can I help you?"

"Owan, uh…" Valen pauses, pressing his fingers into the bridge of his nose. Standing up and circling his desk to try and shake off the tension, he continues, "You have any time to bullseye a few targets?"

"Uh, yessir. I'm currently on call, but free. I can meet you at the range."

"Thanks for meeting me on such short notice, Owan," Valen says as the young Officer enters the blaster-scarred hallway.

"Of course, Mr. Rannix," Owan says politely, walking up to the counter next to Valen. Shaking hands, he asks, "Have you been waiting long?"

"No, not long," Valen assures, hiding the fact he's been pacing at the range since right after he called the young Officer.

Owan unholsters his DH-17 and stands next to Valen at the firing counter. Casually giving a look down the sights to check the weapon, Owan mentions, "You seem to be making quite a hobby of this. You ever thought of requisitioning a sidearm?" With everything in order, he hands it over to Valen. "In case I'm not available?"

Valen takes the blaster, and immediately gives a half-hearted aim down the range. "I suppose that wouldn't be bad." He fires a surprisingly blistering volley of shots. The walls and target flash with sparks and smoke, unclear what has hit and what hasn't. Lowering the weapon to observe the damage, he asks, "But what use would I have for a sidearm?"

Surprised by the aggressive shooting, Owan states flatteringly, "I'm sure Delta Leader needs no reason for the quartermaster to find a spare, sir."

"Surely," Valen says plainly, lifting the weapon again and firing another violent series of blasts, filling the back of the range with smoke. Lowering the blaster, Valen turns it sideways in both hands, as if to inspect it. He immediately flinches his hand away as the hot weapon singes his fingertips, hissing out a curse as he shakes off the pain.

"Careful, sir. The heatsink can get pretty hot, firing like that."

"Yeah, sorry, Owan." Valen carefully flips the pistol and hands it back to the Petty Officer. "I just wanted to blow off a little steam. Does it damage it?"

"Hm? Oh no, that's what the heatsink's for, sir." Owan turns it on it's side and flips the heatsink panel open, hot atmosphere hissing out of it, warping the air near the port. After a few seconds, he gives the weapon a flick from the wrist, flipping the heatsink closed again, smirking proudly at his little hands-free trick. "I don't think you can fire this weapon fast enough to overload it, but you probably want to keep the temps low for longevity," he assures as he takes aim down the range. "If you don't mind me asking, is everything alright?"

"Oh...squad's getting a little stir crazy, is all," Valen summarizes, glossing over what he's just dealt with. In stark contrast, Owan fires a single, controlled shot down the range. The target lights up, struck low. "Aside from blowing off steam," Valen says, changing the subject after being clearly outdone, "I was hoping I could get your input, so long as you're allowed."

"Of course, sir," Owan begins formally, taking aim again. "As the Skipper's Representative-"

"As a Corellian, actually...I was wondering, what are you hearing around here?"

"As a Corellian?" he asks, and takes aim again. Valen spies Owan's brow lowering, his face becoming serious as he eyes the target. His expression simmers with a frustration just below the surface. "The usual….We Corellian people are not to be trusted." The range flashes red as he fires a shot. It misses, and he sneers. "We're less than Imperial." He lets loose another bolt, his hand kicking off aim as he tensely jerks back on the trigger. "Corellians are better off on the front line," he says as he starts to fire a few, continuing, "so they can serve a purpose before they desert the Empire, because we're 'cowards.'" After making his point, he punctuates it with several final staccato blasts in the general direction of the target. With his back to Valen, he lowers the weapon, the hisses of hot air escaping as he quietly flips the heatsink open again. "That sound fair to you, sir? As someone who's got Corellians under their command?" Owan sets the smoking weapon down on the countertop to cool off and turns around.

Valen sits down on a chair, and Owan folds his arms, leaning back against the counter. "I see what you mean. I've been seeing it happen more and more since Corellia. In truth," Valen pauses, "I just came from a meeting with my squad. There were…tensions between my pilots and the new replacements. Corellians. My wingman and the two Corellian boys got into it over the latest order for us pilots. The trust is already tough because they're new. Compound it with the fact that we're split up, flying two at a time on patrols, we can't even get to know each other. And this situation with Corellia. They're ordered to fly with them, alone. My pilots don't even want to know them. Having to order your pilots to trust their new wingmen is not the way it should work."

"I imagine it must be the same for Corellians in every squadron. Because of my position, I think I've been questioned about my allegiances even more than my Corellian brothers. I keep telling them, 'I wasn't drafted, I joined,' and apparently, that makes me even more suspicious. Pilots keep disappearing over the Edge, and they'd rather charge treason than investigate a Corellian. I mean, how far out can one of those fighters get into space?"

"Far enough," Valen says gravely, without thinking. Owan looks down at the floor, embarrassed he may have offended the TIE Leader. The two sit quietly, racking their brains over the current events, until Valen clears his throat, trying to jog the two of them out of the awkward silence. "So, am I up?"

"Oh," Owan says, snapping out of it. He jolts up away from the counter and makes room for Valen. "Please, sir." Valen leans forward off his seat and switches places with the young officer. Picking up the weapon, he takes aim down the sights.

"Whoa, whoa! Wait, sir!" Owan exclaims, lunging back and grabbing the firearm away from Valen. With the weapon in his hands, he lets out a relieved sigh. Without speaking, he flips the small hatch on the side of the blaster closed again. "You can take a hand off if you don't keep this heatsink closed. Really sorry about that, Commander, I should have remembered."

"It's fine, son," Valen says.

"I got distracted," the young man rambles. "It won't happen again."

Holding his hands up in front of himself and wiggling his fingers, Valen insists, jesting, "It's alright, Owan. No harm done." He holds his undamaged hand out to receive the sidearm again, "All safe?"

"...Yessir," Owan says, second guessing himself and checking over the weapon one more time before handing it over.

"Thanks." Valen puts himself into a standard firing stance, paying attention to centering himself and using technique. Smirking as he aims down the sights, he jokes, "I think I'll aim this time."

"Take your time, sir. I'm enjoying these sessions we have."

"Yeah?"

"It's great practice. Since we started, I've fired that thing more than I have in my whole career." The two officers chuckle in the firing hall, trying to put themselves at ease. Taking an aimed shot, Valen hits the target once again. "Nice hit, sir. Would you like to move the target back?"

"Maybe next time, I'm just starting to relax again." Valen smiles and takes meticulous aim again, striking the target in the center once more. Grinning unabashedly at his second aimed hit, he rolls with his momentum, and takes aim for another. "I'd hate to frustrate myself." Fully relaxed, Valen fires off another blast, and the target bleeps another hit.

---

In the pitch black of Valen's office quarters, the walls are illuminated a dim red. The console on the desk is flashing quietly in the silent office, red letters slowly pulsing, on and off. A slow rustling breaks the silence in the darkness, as Valen turns over in his bed, groaning at the intermittent glow. After a short moment, the stark white lights blink on, revealing Valen sitting up in his bed, waving his hand around to try and activate them. Valen squints and pulls his disheveled blonde hair back on his head as he rises to his feet, approaching the desk. The desk terminal is blinking a notification for the next upcoming Edge Patrol. Clicking a button on the desk to stop the flashing time, Valen sighs hard to himself, and takes a few steps over to his foot locker to grab his gear.

Throwing on his jumpsuit, Valen sits down to inspect his armor, going through the mental checklist one thing at a time. After a moment, he hops up and pulls the medical inhaler from the desk drawer. Quickly, he turns his chest armor over and puts the device up to the auxiliary port. Hesitating for a moment, he pulls it back out, placing the inhalant device in his mouth and depressing the button. Nothing. Valen furrows his brow, and tries again. The familiar hiss does not emanate from the device. Valen quickly stands from his bunk.

"Ah, blast it," he says under his breath, pacing anxiously from one end of the room to the other, suddenly rushed. Immediately remembering his chest armor is in his hands, he stops and throws it on, heading towards the door as he clips it around his torso. Spinning around nervously, he lunges back and snatches his helmet off the bunk, and turns to the door again. Checking back to see if he left anything, he hits the door button and walks out, barreling through Sirius in the doorway.

"Oof!" Sirius huffs as the two pilots collide. "Sorry, sir!"

"Yeah, it's alright," Valen says, rushed, heading away.

"Where you goin', sir?"

Valen stops quickly, turning in the hallway. "What?"

Shrugging, Janos pauses, raising his eyebrows. "...Patrol?"

"Yeah, I gotta stop somewhere first. Picking something up."

"Yessir," Sirius says, catching up to Valen as he paces down the garrison hallway. "Look, I've been meaning to talk to you."

"Yeah, what about?"

"The fight in the office."

"Oh, right," Valen says shortly, half-listening as he hits the button for the turbolift.

"I wanted to apologize for how I acted, sir." The door opens, and they step into the small room. "I should do as I'm ordered without question. It was inappropriate to act that way."

"That's fine."

"Really?" Sirius asks, perplexed. The door to the lift closes, and the small room begins to hum quietly as the floors start to pass by. "I thought you'd still be mad about that."

"About what?" Valen's eyes drop off the floor numbers as they illuminate in sequence above them.

"The...fight. Sir, are you OK?"

Valen takes a mental breath, and tries to slow down. "Yeah, I'm fine, Janos. Sorry. Just tired, I think." After a pause, Valen looks at Sirius' face as he stands there, unconvinced. "It's fine, really," he insists. "Look, we're all a little stir crazy over this whole Corellian situation. You're my wingman, and we depend on each other with our lives. I'd back you up any time, Janos. But not in a fight between you and the rest of Delta's own pilots."

"But, sir-"

"Even the Corellians," Valen stops him. His wingman goes silent, remaining respectful so as not to escalate the conversation to another argument. Valen looks back up at the floor numbers. "You know you clocked Lohm pretty good."

"Yeah," Sirius mutters, looking down at the floor. "That was embarrassing. I've already apologized to him for that." He scoffs, jesting, "Stiff guy might still be mad at me."

Valen idly clips the oxygen hoses from his helmet to his life support unit. "I don't blame him. He's doing his job, helping me keep hotheads like you and the Corellians from fighting each other." The turbolift stops, and the door opens, the pair of pilots heading out into the medical wing hallway.

"Yeah...not my finest moment." Taking a moment to look around, and noticing the area, he asks, "What're we doing here?" Valen just responds by holding the inhalant device up at shoulder level, and waving it slightly as he walks into a doorway.

Lieutenant Gregor looks up from inside an office area next to his 2-1B droid, and strolls out to greet Valen. "Lieutenant Commander Rannix. Everything alright?"

"Oh yeah, everything's fine, but, uh," Valen stutters, holding up the small device.

"Ah, Serenum. Well, I'm surprised you let that one hold you over for this long." Gregor says excitedly, clasping his hands together and raising his brow. "How was it? Effective enough? Any side effects? Do you mind if I do a checkup?"

"Sorry for being short, Lieutenant Gregor, but this is a quick stop. Junior Lieutenant Sirius and I are scheduled for a patrol along the Edge."

"Yessir, just a moment," the Medical Officer says, holding a finger up and walking quickly towards his box of supplies. "This is very effective stuff, so...I'm glad it's working out for you." After rifling through, he returns to Valen with a pair of new inhalers, grinning. "The Tyrant needs her Delta Commander." Gesturing with the second one, he says, "One to keep on you in case you run out in such a situation again." Gregor hands off the gadgets, and salutes Valen.

"Thanks, Gregor," Valen says, quickly turning, Sirius following close behind. Speaking loudly back over his shoulder, he continues, "I appreciate it!" The pair of pilots march a half step faster towards the turbolift, and wait at the door.

"So, what is it?; 'Serenum?'"

Holding it to his mouth, Valen depresses the button and breathes deeply as it hisses its medication out through the mouthpiece. Breathing out, Valen responds, "I've never heard the name before, but yeah." He pauses, attaching the device to his life support, and throwing the other into his pocket. "It's to help me deal with stresses like you." Sirius smirks at the jab, glad that Valen is relaxing a bit. The lift comes to a stop, and they stride out into the corridor towards the hangar bay.

The cranes clang and hum as the pair of wingmen walk into the empty hangar, their new TIEs waiting for them on the rack.

Sirius sighs out loud, "One of these times, maybe we'll be seeing a pair of those fancy blue interceptors up there."

"Yeah, that'd be nice."

"Not that it matters."

"Don't worry about it, Janos, we'll have something to do this time around," Valen says, nodding towards a row of pill-shaped machines in the staging area of the deck. The plating is pockmarked and scorched, the naval insignia repainted over and over.

"Oh, you got some drones!" Sirius exclaims, elated. "Tell me what we owe Zain. Alcohol rations? Maybe a pinky?" he jokes, raising a gauntleted hand and wiggling his pinky awkwardly.

Valen barks out a laugh and throws on his glossy black helmet. "Let's just get out in these stars," his buzzy voice emanates from the speakers in the facemask. Sirius follows suit, throwing his on as well.

"Yes, sir!"

The pair of Imperial fighters shriek to life, slowly dropping out of the hangar bay, the row of barrel-like drones lifting off from the deck and following them out. The hexagonal solar panels glint in the dim blue light of another distant star as they emerge from the great cruiser, and head off.

"So, what do we do? Full fighter wing assault? Maximum difficulty?" Sirius motormouths as the pair soar through the empty stars, the Tyrant disappearing in their aft view.

"We'll have to, I doubt these things will be much of a challenge for me or you." Valen checks around his consoles as the Spear comes closer on the scopes. "Probably activate all four of them at once."

"Haha," Sirius laughs, practically giddy over having something to occupy their time on patrol. "Advanced tactics. I'm excited."

"Clearly. Hang on, I'm getting buzzed early from the Spear."

"Unknown fighter squadron. State your callsign," the disembodied voice demands from the distant cruiser. Valen keeps his heading and clicks on his comms as the Star Destroyer begins to loom large in their forward windows.

"Delta Leader, heading out for Edge Patrol with Delta 2 and four TD-8 Fighter Training Drones. Uploading clearance codes now."

"My mistake, Commander. Be careful training out there, sirs, happy hunting." Valen's security screen gives a positive flash, and he deactivates it with a click. Banking off, the pair of TIEs and their autonomous drones cross the Spear's bow, and fly towards the endless sea of stars.

The ion engines wail in the emptiness, their cries lost to the infinite void of the starfield. The Spear is no longer in sight, it's communication signal beginning to fade.

"So, what do you think, Janos? Warm up with some 4 on 2?"

"Then 5 on one. I'm gonna take you down this time, Valen!" Sirius says enthusiastically.

"With those odds?" Valen chuckles. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't." Reading his signals, he watches the Spear fade into a 'last seen' checkpoint. "Okay, Janos. Signal is flatline. Patrol begins now."

"Copy, Delta Leader. I am reading zeroes across all sensors, shall I log it?"

"Alright, cut it out. Let's at least pretend we're doing our job for a bit before getting sidetracked." Valen looks across his nav console at the projected path of the fleet. "Death Squadron should be moving a long ways off on our port side. We'll run along it and put some more distance between us," he says, looking out the window and gesturing with his hand, as if guiding someone lost. "We can cover more of our patrol area if we head towards the middle of the sector. You can feel free to riddle these drones then."

"I'll wait, sir. Right behind you." The grey and black fighters scream off, further into the open stars.

Embracing the silence, Valen looks out at the stars as he did when he was younger. Leaning into his seat as the fighter glides through the black, he thinks about home.

"Look at you, Ando. Y'look like a damn admiral!" Valen shouts humorously as the two graduates cross the courtyard and stroll towards Ando's residence. Ando's impeccably pressed Naval uniform seemingly holds no wrinkles whatsoever.

"Speak for yourself, Val!" Ando says back with a grin, giving a mocking salute. Running his hands sarcastically down his torso to further iron out any stray creases, he continues, "These fancy things certainly earn the term 'ceremonial.' When we go back though, we're gonna be in the official Navy officer uniform!"

"Have you seen the guys with the Bloodstripe?"

"Isn't that a Corellian thing?"

"No, on the badge."

"...Elite Stripes? Like 'Black Squadron' Elite?" Ando laughs it off, shaking his head at Valen. "Don't bother."

"I just don't mind standing out, that's all."

The pair of friends meander into a dark garage, the lights flickering on to reveal two lumps in the corner behind the family speeder, covered in a tarp. Making their way through the garage, Ando takes a deep breath and pulls the tarp off. Two speeder bikes, one clearly in better condition than the other, sit untouched on the floor of the garage.

"Here it is. My baby's still here," Ando says with a grin.

"Your mom kept this? She's always goin' on about you getting hurt on your projects, I'm starting to believe her. What an antique."

"Don't get bitter, just 'cause your parents sold yours as soon as we left."

"I think it got even older while we were gone."

"Just needs some work, that's all!"

"Yeah...a lot of work."

"The Mark 1's a classic! I'll show you, let's go for a ride, you can ride my old one!"

"You mean, 'the new one?' Let's be fair, the old Mark 1 could never beat the 4."

"I'm a better rider, so it'll be closer if you ride the 4."

"Oooh!" Valen hoots, and paces over to the newer bike, pulling it out of its spot. "I guess we'll see!"

"This spot seem ok to you, Valen? I've got nothin' on the scopes still."

"Yeah sure," Valen says, snapping back to reality. "I'll set up the trainer squad a few clicks to our six." Valen taps a few keys, and the control console lights up with a scan of the drones. After a moment, the four blips stop and spread out behind them. "Don't forget to dial down your firepower. Shred these things and Zain won't be doing us any more favors."

"Copy, Valen."

After getting a bit of space between them, the fighters come about and head towards the drones again. "Alright, Sirius. Drones activated, max difficulty." The drones light up yellow in the distance, their engine flares dancing about the empty starfield. "Combat speed, enemy on approach!"

"Copy, leader, right behind-"

"This is yours this time, I'll cover."

"Roger, bank to starboard, we'll hit them from the side!"

"Incoming fire, they're splitting up," Valen says calmly, watching the drones use their numbers. Sirius leads him up and over the top of the two pairs of drones.

"Alright, I'm pushing in from above to draw their fire, you hit them while they're occupied!"

Valen immediately sees the risk in this maneuver, but keeps calm and does as he's told for the exercise. Whipping around to the side as the drones close in on Sirius, Valen dives through and tags one. "One down, Delta 2, you've got the other 3 on your tail."

"Get 'em off my tail!"

"Yessir," Valen says mockingly, coming about and closing the distance again. This tactic, as usual for Sirius, is needlessly risky. With the three drones grouped together, Valen drops in behind and fires, tagging two of them. In response, the final drone breaks off to go after Valen. "I've got most of them, but there's one last one heading at me."

"I'm on it!" Sirius' TIE barrel rolls as it comes about, corkscrewing into the tail of the final drone. "C'mere, you Rebel scum!" Firing a few volleys, he tags the drone, getting a confirmed kill. "Got him!"

"Copy, Delta 2, let's reset." The set of drones all line up again. "What do you think happened there?"

"I made it more exciting."

"Haha, oh really?"

"Yeah...I was also just warming up, so…"

"I see. Well, you wanna take these on solo then? Judging by how that last one went, you might need some practice fighting off the enemy while your wingman's dead."

"That a challenge, Valen?"

"Only if you can't do better than you just did, Hothead."

"Alright then. Sit this one out and take notes, Valen."

"Drones armed." The autonomous training drones move in towards Sirius. Charging head-on at them, Sirius goes for some wild shots at the tight grouping, and banks off. One of the drones marks "HIT" on Valen's screen, and goes still in the starfield after the exchange.

"Whaddaya think of that, Valen?!"

"Still risky, Janos. You've got 3 left."

"I see 'em!" Sirius banks hard, beginning an upward spiral, not unlike a move Valen encountered at Yavin. The drones whirl after Sirius' TIE, blasting harmless yellow beams of light. Cutting out of the helix, Sirius tries to get some distance between them, but the drones keep close after him.

"Pretty hard without a wingman, huh?"

"Shut up, Valen, I've got it under-" Sirius' fighter quits banking, and heads in a dangerously straight line, the trainers closing in.

"Sirius, watch it!"

"Hang on, I've-" Sirius' ship gets clipped with a bright yellow flash.

"Aw," Valen says facetiously, "looks like you're dead, Junior Lieutenant."

"Sir, I've got something on sensors, cancel the session."

Valen flips a switch, and the squadron of automated training drones goes still in the empty starfield. "Signal?"

"Yeah, faint."

"On me, now. Reset your cannons." Valen looks across his consoles, and sees a weak signal bounce. With Sirius back on his wing, they head off to seek out the signal. "Group up tight," Valen says cautiously, all of a sudden serious, and wary. They're all alone out here; vulnerable. Isolated. His eyes scan out each of his windows, checking dorsal, aft, and forward viewports. Nothing yet, but something's out there. Is it watching them? Can it see them too? Are there others? Valen's tense mind begins to wander back to the medical attachment on his life support. Is he not thinking clearly? Hallucinating again? Does he need this?

"Right in front, two thousand meters or less."

Valen tries to bring himself back to the present moment. "It's coming up pretty fast. Ease off the throttle and keep eyes out."

"Roger, I dunno which direction it's going. The signal isn't even accur-whoa!" Something zips over Valen's cockpit, a dry rattle clanking over his fighter's hull. Valen swivels in his seat, trying to track it out his aft window as it falls back behind them. Sirius' fighter falls back into formation after taking a quick evasion.

Valen sighs, slightly relieved. "That's debris," he informs, a slight groan of relief to his voice. "Sirius, let's come about, reduce to 2%. We'll come to a stop right in front and write this up."

"Aww, debris?" Sirius' voice buzzes in, disappointed. "Yessir, I'm on you."

Valen leads his wingman as they turn in the empty space, heading towards the miniscule debris. "Keep an eye out, Sirius. It might still be a trap. The signal's weak, but it's raising and lowering in strength. Hard to get proper coordinates on. You reading the same?"

"Yeah, it's barely there."

The twin fighters slowly creep up towards the mystery object, a slight dusting of glinting material around it, like a faint cloud. After a moment, silently, the object flashes.

"What was that?!" Sirius asks quickly, alert.

"Take it easy, Hothead. Look," Valen says, trying to calm his wingman down. They watch for a moment, and then the object flashes again, regularly. "Signal went up again. It's just spinning." The wingmen ease down, slowing as they approach the debris, matching the speed of its drift. After a moment, the hairs on Valen's neck stand on end. Watching the twirling piece as it flashes in the light of the distant stars, it's all at once familiar.

"Sir," Sirius says, his voice raised in pitch. "...That's solar plating."

"That's a piece of a TIE," Valen says in a worried, somber tone. He flips a switch, and the squadron of drones reactivates, lighting up in the distance. Snapping to duty, Valen puts on an assertive voice. "Eyes to the stars, we're getting the hell out of here and reporting this."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm calling the drones to set up a perimeter." Soon enough, the drones power in and come to a halt around the debris. Taking a second to look around, Valen continues, "I'm overriding their weapon settings to full firepower. Let's get away from this place."

"I should stand guard with the drones."

"Sirius, adjust your judgement. Get on my wing, we're alerting the fleet. This is exactly what we're out here for, now let's do the job right."

"Yessir," Sirius says as they depart from the formation of drones. The pair accelerate to combat speed, running back toward sensor range. Keeping his eyes glued to his instruments, Valen scans the sensors for anything else suspicious. "What do you think it was?"

"We can talk about that later. Concentrate on your sensors."

"Yessir." The pair rush through the stars in silence, their eyes darting across their surroundings, the ion engines of their fighters screaming hard in the brackish void. After some time, the faint signal of the Spear begins to grow on Valen's readouts. Clicking open the comms channel, Valen waits as the fuzzy static changes pitch and stabilizes.

"Star Destroyer Spear, come in. This is Delta Leader in Edge Sector 9-5. Alert. Repeat, Spear, this is Delta Leader, do you read?" After a moment, the hiss returns, the faint voice of the comms officer becoming clearer.

"Copy, Delta. This is the Spear."

"We have an anomaly in sector 9-5, sending coordinates now."

After a short moment, the comms officer returns the communication. "Elite Intelligence has been notified. Continue your heading and return to the Tyrant."

"We have enough fuel to return to the site. Shall we accompany the investigation team?"

"Negative. Return to the Tyrant, and stand by. You will be debriefed."

"Copy," Valen says, sighing as he clicks off the comms.

"So much for that. What do you think did that?"

"Dunno, Janos." The pair of fighters soar through the empty stars, once again in the safe reach of their fleet. "Could be a lot of things…" The Spear hangs in their forward view, a welcome sight after such a troubling discovery. They continue on in silence, passing quietly over the grey, wedge shaped starcruiser.

The pair of Imperial pilots jump down onto the loading catwalks inside the gigantic main hangar of their home, and meet up at the turbolift. Stepping into the skeletal framework of the lift, they survey the flight deck as they drop down towards it. It's unusually quiet in the hangar bay, but there is someone on the deck below. Valen and Janos lean forward and look over the edge of the turbolift for a better angle, and see a group of officers waiting at the bottom. The two pilots both look at each other, Janos flattening his lips and raising his brow cluelessly as they reach the flight deck.

"Lieutenant Commander Rannix," a sharp looking officer in jet black uniform announces as he steps forward. Looking over the mystery man's shoulder, Valen sees two armed guards standing back a slight ways, wearing Naval helmets not unlike Officer Owan's. Looking over the troopers' shoulders even further, he sees another pair in the hangar access doorway.

"Yes, sir," Valen responds, spying the stripe. "How can I help you?"

"I understand you have encountered an 'anomaly' on your patrol. I am here to debrief you," the man says quickly, handing Valen a tablet. "Thank you for your discovery, son. Elite Intelligence will be investigating. Fill out a report of your findings."

"Will do," Valen says, looking down at the tablet and beginning to walk around the officer. Stopping all of a sudden, as the officer makes a half step into his path, Valen looks up.

"Please," the man motions to a seat-height crate on the deck, smiling a familiarly holographic smile.

"Oh." Valen hesitates for a moment, looking at the dirty crate. Glancing back at the officer, he sees the smile has melted off in the blink of an eye once again.

"We'd like every detail as it is, fresh in your mind, Lieutenant Commander."

"Of course," Valen says, hiding his discomfort, and sitting as 'asked.' Activating the tablet, he begins to recount the events that led up to their discovery. Sirius stands uncomfortably, unsure what to do.

"Should I-"

"Please silence your officer."

"Janos," Valen whispers harshly. Startled, Sirius quickly looks over at Valen. Valen furrows his brow and shakes his head. Sirius snaps back to attention as he waits for Valen to finish. After some time, racking his brain for any details he might have forgotten, he finishes writing the report, and gets up to hand it off.

Receiving the tablet with another grinning mask pulled over his face, the anonymous Intelligence officer asks, "This is everything?" Repeating himself, and emphasizing, he asks again, "Every detail of your patrol?"

"Yessir, to the best of my knowledge. Everything I can remember."

"Good." Handing back a second identical tablet, the man folds his hands behind his back, and stands up straight. "Lieutenant Commander, Junior Lieutenant. In the interest of our Empire's internal security, the details of your patrol mission as outlined in your previous report, are now classified. This tablet holds your 'official' report. We have mirrored your writing style. Upon assessment with your squadron, you are to state no findings." He looks between the two dumbfounded pilots for a moment in silence. His face is cold, and emotionless. In his own time, the anonymous agent speaks again. "Say, 'I have no questions.'"

"I have no questions, sir."

"No questions, sir."

"False alarm, then," the man says quickly, the pleased smile reappearing across his face. "Thank you anyway for your help. I'm sure we will find the Rebel fleet soon." He looks past Valen and Sirius, nodding. Immediately, the shadowy guards march past them, and the Intelligence officer walks out of the hangar.

---

Chapter XIV: Hidden Hand

An olive uniformed officer sits at a desk in the shade of the Checkpoint gate, stormtroopers lining the crossing area. The scout walkers remain where they were last placed, baking on the edges of the street, funneling the refugees towards the gate's now narrow opening. The line sluggishly moves, the citizens and denizens inching from the blazing hot summer sun toward the shade of the gate. A pair of nobly dressed Corellians, now dirtied and bruised stand in front of the olive coated officer. "Name," he blandly says, blinking slowly.

"Uen Maras."

"Haylee Maras."

"Ident cards," he says nonchalantly once more, holding out a gloved hand.

"How many times you think he's said, 'name' and 'Ident card?'" Oppel asks quietly, the lower ranked Dragoon pilots all piled in a hot corner of the street, shaded from the sun under a scavenged sheet.

"When? Today?" Fyllus replies jokingly, but as he has all the time he can handle to consider it, begins trying to guess. "Um..."

"I don't even think he knows what the words mean anymore," Hix jumps in as the banter begins to die down. Across the way, the cards pass from one side of the officer's table to the other.

Ando and his fellow pilots watch from their shade. The officer plucks the cards from the desk, his mannerisms rehearsed over and over. Pretending to be impressed, the officer drops his brow while reading the cards. "It says here you have engineering expertise?" his smooth, Imperial voice asks in an elegant, high-born accent.

"Yes, sir," the man says, speaking clearly. "The Maras family has been contributing to the Empire's cause for 2 generations."

Writing a notation in a booklet, the officer slides the cards back to the couple. Speaking in a thin pleasantness, the officer begins, "The Empire looks forward to further contributions. Please expect to be contacted for rebuilding services, Mr. Mara. Pass." As they bow their heads in thanks and depart through the gate, a single woman walks up to the table. "Name," the officer says monotonically once more, his face melting back into one of boredom.

Neville leans in. "You guys wanna get something to drink?"

"What, alco?" Hix interjects, perking up.

"We don't have ration cards, Staleksridge keeps those."

"Stalek, rookie. Nobody calls him, 'Staleksridge,'" Hix jabs, mocking the use of their leader's full name.

"We don't call 'im 'Stalek' either, Hix," Fyllus interjects. Hix backs off, smirking in embarrassment.

"Where're they anyway?"

"Think they're talkin' 'bout reassign-"

"Solo?" the name comes up clearly in the mind numbing quiet, drawing the attention of the pilots once again. Hix puts on an excited face and reaches into his uniform's pocket. Quickly, he pulls out a notepad and a pen, watching the desk area intently. The officer's brows move up on his head only slightly as he looks up at her.

"Yessir," the woman says unsurely, looking around. "Is something wrong?"

The seated officer holds a hand out. "Ident card." He receives it, and his eyes lackadaisically drift from the card, to her face, and back again. After a moment, he leans back in his chair, holding onto the card. "Suspicious."

"What?" she asks, shocked. A pair of gigantic, white armored troopers step in and stand at her sides.

"I'm sure it's nothing," the olive uniformed officer says, looking unconcernedly down at her Ident card.

"But, sir-" the woman pleads before being led off by the troopers. The officer, ignoring her distress, tosses her card into a box on the ground, full of others.

Hix makes a hash in his notepad. "There goes another one."

"2nd one in the last hour," Oppel says, putting forth marginal enthusiasm.

"Heh. A few more o' those before the hour's up, and Raythe owes me five credits!"

Flipping the booklet closed, Hix slips it back into his pocket. Raythe leans back once again, noting bemoaningly, "Lotta Solos on Corellia."

"Well, looks like she'll have company," Neville smirks, nodding secretively towards the next in line as it moves forward quietly. A pair of black-eyed Sullustians walk up to the desk, their pinkish-purple skin evident through their tattered clothes.

"Aagh," Hix groans, leaning over and pulling his notepad out again.

Raythe leans in slowly and lets out a quick, "Ha!" in Hix's face, taking out a notepad of his own and cockily adding a hash to the page.

Taking one look at the alien denizens, the officer rolls his eyes and sighs, "Suspicious." He disregards the distressed Sullustians as they are led off, protesting in their strangely quiet, mumbly language. A trooper pulls the cards from their hands and gives them to the officer, who tosses them into the box. Rolling his eyes back up to the next people, he continues on. "Name."

"Hey Ando, Hamm's scout buddy's on base, right?" Raythe says, turning away from their daily entertainment.

"Oh, yeah, I gotta go," Ando says, jumping up from the shade and grabbing his gear.

"You gonna go get yourself beat up again?" Hix asks jokingly as Ando walks through the gate.

"Gailon says, 'practice makes better.'" Walking past a row of military speeder bikes, he raises his voice as he gets further away. "I'm gonna go get punched now, and you're gettin' punched later!" The heightening of excitement in the otherwise stone dull atmosphere raises the officer's head.

Raythe scoffs, yelling after Ando, "S'that how it goes?!" Smirking with Hix, he looks over at the olive uniformed officer, who is scowling back at the sudden shouting.

"That's how he says it goes!" Ando's voice shouts back from down the road, confounding the officer even further as Raythe and Hix laugh to each other. Meeting eyes with the frowning officer, the rowdy pilots groan sarcastically, waving him off and quieting down again.

After a moment of chuckling, the pair of low class pilots lean back in the shade once more. "'Practice makes better?'" Oppel mutters, guffawing quietly. "Must not be goin' well."

"Least he's got somethin' to do," Raythe says, watching the officer continue his work. Hix smirks at the remark and watches the daily entertainment resume once again with his driver. After a while, he lets out a deep sigh, and his idle eyes wander off.

"Block, high, pull down and trap the arm." Scout Captain Gailon says as he demonstrates in slow motion, pulling Ando's arm against his torso. The Captain, still on call, spars with Ando while still wearing his specialized scout armor. The two practice quietly in the maintenance yard, next to a row of the scout team's drab grey painted speeder bikes. "This keeps the body from twisting. Now," Gailon says, pulling a dummy knife, "strike...one," he slashes at the back of Ando's knee, "…and two." He reaches up and presses the blade of the knife against Ando's exposed throat. The unhelmeted team of scouts give a subdued hum as the final move is made expertly. As quickly as they acknowledge the strike, they go back to ignoring the lesson, and continue cleaning their weapons again. "Let go, and face your next opponent."

"What if they're still alive though?"

"Trust me, Flyboy," the Captain smirks, waving his knife in the same way he waved it at Hammand, "they're not alive at this point. Ok, try on me."

"Yessir," Ando says, tossing Gailon the blaster rifle. "Ready?-" Suddenly, Gailon rushes in as soon as he's caught it, and thrusts forward, shoving the blaster towards Ando's face lengthwise. Acting on instinct, Ando's small frame drops below the strike. Looking up from the dust, he realizes that all of a sudden, he is right where he is supposed to be, frozen in position below the swing, his arm up and grabbing at one of Gailon's sleeves. Before he can realize, though, Gailon unpauses the moment, and draws a quick elbow across Ando's brow. Ando spins away, the strike clearly pulled to spare him the injury. Not pulled that much though, as Ando hisses a little in reaction to the sting.

"No," Gailon says calmly. Ando looks back, and the Scout Captain is pointing the weapon at Ando. "All one motion, or your opponent will catch onto your plan."

"Yessir, sorry sir."

"Be sorry to yourself. Practice makes better."

"Yessir."

"Ok, ready?"

Ando rubs at his brow, winking off the pain. "Just a second, I got-" he's cut off again as Gailon lunges once more, striking out quickly and ferociously. Startled, Ando drops, grabbing at Gailon's arm and pulling it downward. Gailon wrenches sideways, trying to point the weapon at Ando, but Ando draws his dummy knife, tagging the Captain on the back of the leg. Feigning injury, the Captain drops to one knee, the knife arriving quickly at his throat. The fight pauses again, Ando standing in shock at how quickly he's put the great Scout Captain down.

Looking up from one knee, Gailon breaks the silence, and says, "I'm dead. Let me go, face your next opponent." Recovering from the shock, Ando breaks his white knuckle grip from the Captain's shoulder, and assumes fighting stance again.

Gailon springs up, rotating his arm around by the shoulder until his armor is back in order. "Not bad, kid."

"Yeah?!" Ando asks, incredibly impressed. "It's like I knew where to go so fast, I just-"

"Kept hesitating. Your movements are stilted," Gailon says straightly, Ando's elation cut short. "You move fast, but each move is separate, and you stop in between."

Ando humbles himself, and returns to being serious. "Yessir."

"It's a start though. If speed's what you got, then use it." The Captain holds for a moment, and smirks. "You certainly don't have strength."

"Yessir, thank you sir."

"Let's take a quick break."

The two walk a few paces in the parts yard, patting the dust off their uniforms. After a moment of silence, Ando speaks up. "Hey, Cap."

"What's up, Flyboy?"

"How you know Hamm?"

"...You must have asked him 'bout troopin'."

"Yeah."

"He tell ya already?"

"No."

"Well then I won't tell ya either. Here," the blonde man says as he hands off one of two cups. "Have some water." The two drink and sit, watching the base move along at slow pace in front of them. Gailon sighs, and says casually, "We grew up together though, out on Coruscant. Instead of asking about the trooper corps, ask him about that. He'll loosen up a bit."

"So…" Ando pauses, unsure if he should ask, "You don't have a last name either?"

"You figure stuff out pretty quick," the Captain smirks again, brimming with sarcasm. "My names just Gailon. Hamm calls me Rux."

"Why?"

"Would've thought he'd be straightforward about that at least. We-" Another scout runs up to him and whispers in his ear. Immediately he leans in the direction of his gear, and shouts, "Helmets!" The team snap to their duties, grabbing their compact weapons and throwing visored scout helmets on their heads. Looking back at Ando, he says quickly, catching a helmet of his own, "I got a thing. Talk to ya later, kid!" And runs to the row of bikes. In a snap and a hum, the entire team disappears off out of the yard in a cloud of dust.

Ando is left standing there, a bit perplexed, and looks down at his dummy knife. Shuffling about in the dirt, he wanders over to his much less impressive, bucket-like helmet, and scoops it up. Holding it in his hand like he used to hold his old pilot's helmet, he makes half-hearted movements, fighting an opponent in his head with his practice weapon as he heads back to the gate. Heading to the main road, Ando casually flags down a skiff and hops on the cargo pallette, facing backwards.

"Headin' to the 'Point?" Ando asks.

"Nah!" the low class engineer says, shaking his dusty head and shouting slightly over the sounds of the skiff's rickety motor.

"Close by?"

"Yeah, okay!" The skiff sets off, slowly moving down the lane as Ando hangs his legs boyishly off the back. Relaxing in the waning sun, he leans back on the cargo pallette, and watches the warm Corellian day creep away toward the horizon. Mopping the drying sweat from his brow, he looks hard to see if he can spot the early evening's first stars. After a moment of staring into the still-too-bright sky, he looks over at a few excited soldiers, hurrying off to a task unknown. The skiff continues on down the virtually empty lane, quiet once again.

Swinging his feet, Ando stares off into nothing, watching the dust swirl behind the slow-moving skiff as it's left behind in the setting sun. After a moment, he looks back up at the sky to see if he can spot stars again, and thinks about how black it can really get if he got out far enough. How clearly he could see star systems so far away from the cockpit of a TIE fighter. A glint of setting sun catches his eye, and he looks back down the lane. The glint flickers and dances, a yellowish orange flash of reflected sunlight. It quickly dies out as the object moves toward them, taking shape. Another skiff is catching up, quickly closing the distance. Ando looks behind himself, towards the driver's seat of the vehicle. The driver seems to not notice anyone coming up. Looking towards the new skiff, Ando sees it bearing down on them, and slow as it gets caught behind the sluggish vehicle. Barely audible over the racket, the goggled driver is shouting and waving an arm from his seat.

Turning over his shoulder once again, Ando shouts over the rickety engine, "Hey!" No response. The driver is blissfully ignorant of the skiff behind them. Ando pounds on one of the skiff's hollow cargo crates, sounding off like a drum blast. "Hey, hey!" After a moment, the driver turns around, startled. Turning his eyes back to the road, the driver pulls the skiff to the side, slowing to a stop. The other skiff unceremoniously begins to accelerate and pass Ando's.

"Hey move your bucket o' bolts, we gotta job to do!" the angry driver yells, speeding off down the lane.

"Yeah, yeah!" the low class engineer shouts back, waving the other skiff off. Taking the chance to turn around while they're stopped, the driver addresses Ando. "Hey, Corp'ral! Think I'ma stop here, shouldn't be out this far anyway."

Ando nods and hops off, the skiff beginning to take off immediately. Suddenly reaching back and snatching his helmet before it takes a ride back to the base with the skiff, Ando shouts unrecognizable words over the rush of the repulsors. Left alone on the quiet lane with the dust settling around him, Ando ambles off. Wandering towards the gate, he picks up rocks from the street and tosses them as he goes. Turning the corner, he heads lackadaisically down the final block before the checkpoint.

"Should just issue some bikes to pilots…" he mutters, pitching a rock towards the distant gate. As the sky begins to darken, the gate's heavy duty lights flash on, illuminating the checkpoint. Looking off towards the Point, something about the gate looks odd. The people aren't where they should be. Civilians aren't continuing their trickle into the base. Ando furrows his brow and narrows his eyes. The skiff that rushed past is parked at the end of the block. The young pilot-gunner quickens his pace, the dark sky beginning to push the sun deep under the horizon. Speeding up to a run, Ando jogs up to the gate. The speeder bikes look out of place, some are missing. Heading through, he can see the olive coated officer with Hammand and Stalek, the stormtrooper guards standing at attention by the officer's desk. They look like they're arguing.

"-let 'em go?!"

"It's not my job to supervise your farmboys, it's yours!"

"You knew I was- ...Flyboy, where've you been?!"

"Sir-Boss! I was practicing hand-to-hand with-"

"I'll take care'o' him, Boss. You deal with this laserbrain!" Hamm steps in, pushing at the officer's shoulder with a prod of his fingers, appalling the gentleman officer with the insulting physical contact. The Gunnery Sergeant stomps over to Ando and grabs him around the shoulders, leading him away from the desk. "Ando, what're ya doin'?!" he whispers harshly. "Been tryin' ta contact ya!"

"I'm sorry, Hamm. These big helmets aren't very good for-"

"Shh-sh!" Hammand shushes, throwing a hand up. Ando stops himself and watches his Gunnery Sergeant as he turns towards the dark "Point Zero." The familiar hums of speeder bikes begin to grow in the quiet summer air. The chaotic conversations quiet down as the echoing hums turn to distinct buzzes, and the crews turn their heads toward the empty streets. Looking out past the scout walkers, the team of Scout Troopers arrive quickly, slowing up to the gate.

"Aww, nooo." Hammand groans and lets go of Ando, rushing off towards the bikes. The crew of the pushy skiff run out from the gate as well. Ando takes a quick look at their uniforms as they pass by the gate's spotlights in the encroaching evening. They're all wearing medical pins. Ando stops for a moment, a sinking feeling pulling at his gut, and he quickly starts looking around. No sooner does he start than do Fyllus and Oppel bump him as they rush out to the street as well. Following them, Ando pushes himself to get out into the street too, followed by Neville. Following the crowd, Ando runs up to the lead speeder bike.

"Give us some help here!" Gailon's buzzy voice shouts through the helmet's speakers, slowing his bike to a stop.

"Rux, what happened!"

A body is draped over the back of his bike, covered in temporary dressings. The bandages are soaked through with darkened blood, especially across his entire left arm. The medical team rushes up to the bike and slowly rolls him onto a repulsor cot.

"Get outta the way, get outta the way!" the lead medic instructs as they gingerly pull on the soldier's injured body. Rolled onto his back, Ando can see the his face.

"Raythe?" Hammand beckons. Ando feels himself sink again, and backs away a half step, as Hammand continues to push for a response. "Raythe, you hear me, boy?" His concern is unlike the usual hard-headed Gunnery Sergeant the Battalion are used to.

"Better see to your other kid, Hammer," Gailon says as he gets off the bike to help the medical team move the young pilot. "Not much you can do here."

Down the street, Hix has gotten off a trooper's bike and is standing alone, watching the medics take his friend away. The concern on Hammand's face begins to burn away. The Battalion rushes up to him as he tries to mumble some words.

"Hix! You better have an explanation, or I'mma beat it outta yer empty head!"

"I'm-" Hammand grabs the young gunner by his uniform at his shoulders and shakes him in anger.

"Come on, out with it, boy!" After another shake, Hammand pulls his hands away. His gloves are shining with blood. The young gunner is spattered in it.

"We were just...just gonna head out...and come back...just pick up a few."

"What're you talkin' about?"

"Raythe and I went...we went to the market district, to-"

"That's all the way by Point Zero!" Hamm shouts, trying to maintain his anger through his concern. "S'not safe out there!"

"We were just gonna get some ales and bring em back. Raythe said he knew the place. You weren't even gonna know we left...we checked the cellar." Hix's expression breaks slightly, and he pauses, as if holding his breath. "The cellar….The Rebs wired it." His knees weakening, he crouches down to the dusty road. "Raythe was halfway into the reserves, you know? 'The good stuff,' he said…then, bang. I don't-..." Hix pauses again, trying to gather himself. "I don't remember where it came from...but I woke up, and Raythe wasn't movin'." He stops again, trying to pull in a breath and hold back tears. "I called for help, but I thought he was..."

Hamm puts a broad hand on Hix's shoulder, and gently pushes on him. "Alright, Hix...alright. Fyll, Oppel, get Hix onto that skiff and take 'im to the hospital, Neville keep with them. I wanna find everyone in one place when we get done here. I'm gonna talk to Stalek about this."

"C'mon, Hix...stand up, let's get you some medical," Oppel says quietly, pulling an arm over his shoulder. The group of pilots quietly lead Hix away, with Hammand and Ando heading towards their leader.

Stalek still seems to be furiously arguing with the border officer, when the medical cot passes by. Taking notice, Stalek turns and departs from the officer to see to Raythe for a moment. Leaning over him as his hover cot is loaded onto the skiff, Stalek seems to be trying to speak with Raythe. Hix is led around behind Stalek, and sits onboard with the rest of the pilots. After a short moment, the medical skiff lifts up and hurries back off towards the base, leaving Stalek in the empty street as Hammand and Ando arrive next to the gate officer.

Turning back around, the Battalion Commander stomps back towards the gate in the dead silence. The crunch of his boots over the dirt on the ground echoes with a great weight, as if a titan of a man was thundering towards them. At an alarmingly quick pace, Stalek marches up, and swings his gauntleted fist into the border officer's face, knocking him to the ground. His soft officer's cap flopping off his head and tumbling over his shoulders, the border officer starts scrambling to his feet, outraged.

"GUARDS, SEIZE THIS DISSENTING-"

"These boys were under your supervision! I was on an authorized leave to meet with Command, and you ignored my soldiers! You didn't even notify anyone when they left the post into the Exclusion Zone!" Stalek roars in his unusually large voice, gesturing violently. The border troopers begin to move towards him, when Hammand jumps in at his Lieutenant's side.

"RIGHT! BRING THE FIGHT THEN, BOYS!" Hammand bellows, raising his fists, as hot-tempered as ever. The troopers, embarrassingly outgunning the pair of pilots, raise their blasters to this defensive action, when a microphoned voice rings out.

"Stand down, troopers." The Scout Captain and his team of visored Special Forces step forward in the gate, bristling with their compact reconnaissance weapons. Hesitating, the gate guards halt, holding their weapons at the ready and looking unsurely at each other.

"This is GROSS MISALLOCATION OF RESOURCES!" Stalek shouts, remaining uninterrupted. "Our 'mission' to get things in order over here has been deemed complete long ago, I am authorized by Command to force you to give us leave, and allow us transfer to another assignment!"

"Your boys should be tried for being away without leave!"

"That is due to your blundering oversight! If you don't give us leave, and authorization for proper medical to get my men back in the field, I'll be forced to enter the details of your negligence in my report." The gate officer's eyes widen, looking around at his guards. The guards just look back, doing nothing. Reaching over and pulling a tablet from the tabletop, Stalek shoves it towards the gate officer's soft gut. "Sign us off right now, and I can leave you in peace at your 'blue milk run' post you've clearly fought so hard for."

With a sneer of disgust, to the point of nearing a snarl, the gate officer signs on the tablet. "Get out of my sight," he grumbles, pushing the tablet back to Stalek, who snatches it out of his hand. "And take the scouts with you." At this point, Stalek has already spun and begun walking back towards the base. Ando follows Hammand as he stomps out after their leader, the Scout Captain and his team backing out close behind. The group catch up, all remaining quiet as they walk quickly away.

"Hey, Boss."

"Hm," Stalek grunts, angrily remaining tight-lipped.

"Boss, what's the plan."

"We're heading back to the hospital. Captain Gailon, you didn't have to do that."

"Hammer was about to get both'a you shot," the Scout Captain says with certainty. Ando observes Gailon's steeled expression. "We heard the whole thing, Lieutenant. We knew where to stand." Not one doubt lingers in his mind, as he and his team continue to walk alongside. The group continues to walk in silence, Ando feeling once again out of his depth amongst these high ranking field officers. He dares not speak in the tense quiet, and continues to keep his mouth shut all the way to the base.

"Thanks for the help, Scout Captain. I'll get in touch with you to discuss reassignment." Gailon nods silently, tapping the side of his helmet near the earpiece in gesture, and walks away with his Scout Team. Stalek, Hammand, and Ando all walk up the ramp into the main field hospital. The rest of the battalion are waiting in the lobby area, and stand up to greet them, but Stalek walks past them all, to the front desk.

"Whoa, what happened to him?" Oppel asks quietly.

"Yeah, Ando, spill it."

"You should have seen it! Boss walked up and slugged that gate officer in the face after you left!"

"Really?! Are we getting court martialed?"

"Sh-shh."

Stalek looks back from the desk and nods the Battalion over. The group heads to the desk, where a glossy black protocol droid stands. The frail droid stands unusually stiff, in a submissive posture not unlike any other protocol droid Ando remembers from his home, or on the Death Star.

"I'm First Lieutenant Staleksridge, Battalion Commander for the Dragoons."

"Welcome to the Imperial Medical Hospital, First Lieutenant Staleksridge, I am Y-3PT, Human/Cyborg Relations. How may I be of service?" the protocol droid greets in a subservient, electronic female voice.

"Corporal Raythe."

"Yes, sir, we have received a Corporal Bol Raythe in emergency surgery. Our medical teams are doing what they can to recover him now."

"I'd like to speak with Medical about procedures to return him to duty."

"I am afraid that will not be possible, sir. According to initial assessment by Chief Medical Officer Anej Ulek, if your pilot is to recover, he will lose the use of his left arm."

"I have pre-signed paperwork here regarding the level of medical clearances allowed."

"Oh? May I inspect these clearances please?" The droid stiffly gestures, slightly outstretching its feeble metal arms. Stalek places the tablet on the counter and the metal humanoid leans forward to look. "Level 2, I see."

"My courteous Sub-Warden greatly values his specialist forces, and is happy to compensate for any medical procedures necessary to return Corporal Raythe to field duty."

"I will relay these clearances right away. Please have a seat, First Lieutenant Staleksridge."

"Thank you." Stalek takes the tablet back and walks away from the desk, the battalion following suit.

"But Boss, I thought you punched that nerfherder out-"

"Quiet," Stalek shushes, leading the group back to the lobby area.

---

"State your business," a black coated guard demands shortly. Closing the gap with the other guard, they stand shoulder to shoulder in front of an unmarked door. Valen stands as straight as he can in his pressed uniform.

"I need to speak with Elite Captain Antilles," he responds boldly. The black coated guards carry no markings for rank. Only a patch with a small red Bloodstripe, and a blaster.

"He is not expecting you," the guard says clearly. "Move away, Lieutenant Commander."

Persisting, Valen remains still and states, "I have questions regarding details from my latest patrol."

Immediately, both guards raise their weapons, pointing them at Valen's chest. Fighting the urge to jump back, Valen stiffens his legs, braving his own bluff, refusing to move. With nothing more than a straight face, the guard insists, "I said-" The office door opens, revealing Captain Antilles sitting at his desk. The guard falls silent, but the pair remain still, their blasters trained on Valen. The young Subsquad Leader keeps frozen, standing straight.

"I have no records of any problems with that patrol, Mr. Rannix," the Elite Captain says in an almost insidiously clueless voice. Tilting his head slightly, he asks, "To what details are you referring?"

Taking the meaning of his evasive lingo, Valen responds, looking back and forth at the E-11s pointed at his chest, "Perhaps...the details of my mundane assignment could be best discussed in private?"

After a moment, Antilles straightens up in his chair, and grins slightly. "Agreed. Come in, Mr. Rannix." The black coated guards stand aside, and Valen steps into the Elite Captain's office. The door immediately hisses closed behind him, shutting out the noise of the Tyrant. Smiling his reptilian smile, the Elite Captain gestures to the chair in front of the desk. "Sit." His gloves creak and pop as he weaves his fingers together on his desk, waiting for Valen to be seated. "I do enjoy hearing the details."

"Thank you for seeing me, sir. I realize this is unorthodox."

"Yes, there is no avenue for me to be contacted from...your end, Mr. Rannix." He pauses for a moment, and continues. "But, you caught me at the right time," Antilles says in a eerily friendly fashion, though his eyes pierce through Valen as much as they ever have. Valen sits quietly for an uncomfortable amount of time, unsure when to say anything. "Speak," Antilles says shortly, as if reading the hesitance on Valen's mind. "Anything discussed in my office is strictly confidential."

Awkwardly, Valen nods at this overt permission, and begins. "My wingman and I left for patrol with a group of four TD-1 training drones. When we went out, we left them to hold an…" Valen pauses, and studies Antilles' face. Antilles' brow pops upwards towards his receding black hairline. Trying to think of what Antilles would say at this point, Valen attempts some evasive lingo. "...area of interest. Upon returning, Commander Zain inquired to me about his drones. He says they were unaccounted for on the Alphas' return to the Tyrant."

"That was-" Antilles stops, cutting himself off with a hum. Pulling a tablet out, he enters something into it. "...Commander Zain should not have said that," he says calmly, his expression ever so slightly returning to normal. From what, Valen could not have possibly read, but whatever it was, is no longer there across the Elite Captain's face. Silently, Antilles slips the tablet back in his desk. Looking back up, he redirects his attention fully to Valen, waiting again for him to speak.

"All the same, I want to know what happened to them-"

"That is classified," Antilles pushes, narrowing his eyes.

"He says they were reported destroyed," Valen continues quickly, but then immediately regrets pushing back. Sitting in silence, he holds his tongue.

Antilles stands still as a stone, his face expressionless. Valen watches again, on the verge of staring, to see if he could spot what it was he missed before. Again, Valen can't see it. The Elite Captain's face remains as unmoving as a plate of durasteel. Moving forward, his face loosens up, and he inquires quietly, "And what do you make of that, Mr. Rannix?"

"Well," Valen pauses again, unsure if he truly has permission to speak. "If true...then perhaps on an unofficial bout of recklessness, the Alphas decided to get some practice of their own with the drones."

"Yes. 'If true.'" The Elite Captain mimics calmly, his face straight and stiff. He seems to be implying something, as if responding with his own question. One Valen must answer. After a moment of silence, Antilles seems to tilt his head forward, ever so slightly raising his brows at Valen.

Furrowing his own brow, Valen picks up where he left off, realizing he was just regurgitating what he and Zain had discussed earlier. Considering what Antilles' stoic expression seems to be telling him, he deduces of his own accord. "But, if I were to guess the character of the Elite Alpha fighter squadron," he says slowly, watching for any reaction from Antilles, "I would assume that they do not engage in reckless action."

"Indeed," Antilles says quickly, his stone like face narrowing its eyes.

"So...my assumption would be that the drones were destroyed before Alpha Squadron arrived."

"And so, your...actual question would be…."

"How were the drones destroyed before the Alphas arrived?"

That chilling grin materializes once again across Antilles' face, and he draws in a deep breath, letting it out in a soft sigh, condescendingly vocal. Reaching forward, he clicks a button and activates his desk terminal, red writing scrolling down. He sits back, and waits silently as Valen looks at the scrolling text. "Please," Captain Antilles gestures.

[/SIMULATION: RE-ENGAGE]

[SENTRY MODE = TRUE (AUTH - DELTA 1)]

[FIREPOWER SET: COMBAT…]

[SAFETY PROTOCOLS - 0 (AUTH - DELTA 1)]

[STAND BY]

[/EXECUTE FORMATION: 2x]

[ADJUST .6 - .5]

[TIE L/N COORD 8-8.243]

Speaking unsurely, though the answer must be obvious, Valen states, "This looks like training drone telemetry."

"A wise deduction, Mr. Rannix. All training drones record telemetry to aid in education. What do you see?"

[ERROR_NAV]

[RECALCULATE...INCONGRUENT]

[/ALERT: OBJECT (UNKNOWN 1)]

[/ALERT: OBJECT (UNKNOWN 2)]

[/ALERT: OBJECT (UNKNOWN 3)]

[BEARING - 9-9.3]

[BEARING - 9.1]

[BEARING - 8.89]

[ENGAGE]

[TD-1 (4384909) CONTACT LOST...ANALYZING…]

[RESPONSE (4384909): N/A]

[SPEED (UNKNOWN 2) - 16000 KPH]

[(UNKNOWN 2) CLOSING]

[ALERT: DAMAGE]

[OVERHEAT...TEMP 1115]

[ACT - DISTRESS BEAC]

[ERROR...RECALv00010001110]

[EMERGENCY]

[SYS LOCK/]

Valen's brow lowers over his widening eyes. Looking up from the desk at the Elite Captain, he says, shocked, "The drones were attacked."

"Lieutenant Commander Rannix," Antilles says, pulling a tablet and typing into it. Inwardly, Valen's anxiety begins to skyrocket. His fingers trace the outline of his inhalant device through his pocket lining as he watches Captain Antilles type into the tablet. He needs the Serenum, but keeps still, afraid of what could happen, should he make any movement. The hairs on the back of Valen's neck stand on end, and he freezes, trying not to turn around to see a blaster pointed at his back. "Due to your deductions stemming from Commander Zain's… 'information,'" Antilles pauses, holding back another expression that Valen tries desperately to catch, but once again cannot, "I am now volunteering you as a witness party to this investigation." The statement comes as a surprise to Valen, and before he knows it, he is trying to pull back from an obviously dumbfounded expression as the Elite Captain types away on his device.

"Captain Antilles, sir. I don't-" Antilles calmly raises a silent hand, shushing the stunned Lieutenant Commander. Continuing uninterrupted, his eyes still lowered, the Elite Captain speaks in a subdued volume, expecting not to be spoken over.

"I am authorized to share information regarding specifically to this investigation with you. You are under implied orders...not to share it," he says sternly, raising his eyes from under his brow. Filing the tablet back into the drawer of his desk, he reaches forward and gestures back at his terminal. "This data is from one of the drones' training recorders. The only one salvageable from your patrol." Valen looks across it.

"This proves that the Rebels are out there."

"Indeed, they are. What do you make of this?" Antilles points to the area of the recording, marking 'speed.'

Shaking his head at the incredulous numbers, Valen gives an impressed hiss through his teeth. "That's faster than any X-Wing I know of."

"Faster than any ship, Mr. Rannix."

"What about missiles? Could this be a missile attack?"

"We have not recovered any wreckage that does not match the drones' parts. Based on this information, this was a fighter attack. They attacked with simple energy weapons; no trace of hardware."

"Laser cannons."

"Nothing special. This lead comes to us in the midst of widespread fear across the fleet. The pilots converse with each other about Rebel 'ghost ships,' hiding on the Edge. Needless to say, this is idle hearsay, imagined up by pilots who are bored, or trying to explain the sporadic disappearances."

"Making the pilots aware would be best-"

"That is the last thing Intelligence would want. Right now, we are allowing these rumors of 'ghost ships' to be just that. If we were to confirm that these attacks were real, you could see what the follow up question would be: 'What do we know?'"

"And, if you say, 'nothing…'"

"Fear is preferable to doubt, Mr. Rannix." Holding his expression as Valen considers the consequences of allowing pilots to doubt the wisdom of their superior ranks. "The investigation is ongoing, but the trend of disappearances is becoming more common. The Rebels are getting bold; Sloppy. These 'ghost ships' will soon reveal themselves." Antilles leans forward, and quietly clicks off the terminal screen. Sitting up in his chair, he stares at Valen. "Will that be all, Lieutenant Commander?"

"Uh...yessir."

"Thank you." Valen salutes and turns to the door, but the flat grey plate doesn't move. Suddenly trapped in the small, isolated room, Valen hears the keyholder's voice beckon to him. "Remember," Antilles warns from over Valen's shoulder. Hiding his fear, Valen turns back, trying to pull a mask of nonchalance over his face, but can't relax himself in the oppressive presence of the Elite Captain. "I have allowed you to know this confidential information. You are accountable." Antilles' stare pulls at Valen, becoming an uncomfortable glare. "Do not betray this 'trust,'" he hisses.

"Yes, sir, Elite Captain," Valen says formally. The Captain's unreadable face nods stoically, and the door opens, letting the roar of the ship's engines wash back into the room. Bowing his head slightly, Valen slips through the doorway between the armed guards, who remain still as he departs. Escaping the soundless cell, Valen marches quickly out into the hallway. Continuing on in no direction in particular, Valen keeps walking through the hallways, hoping to elude the anxiety. All around him, he can feel eyes watching him. Elites could be anywhere. Valen's vision darts about as he spies each crewman's Imperial insignia, bloodstripes seeming to permeate the entire populace of the Tyrant. Looking over his shoulder, Valen ducks into the empty cafeteria, and sits down on a bench.

Sitting in silence, he leans forward, hanging his head down and practicing some calming breaths. Reaching into his pocket with shaking hands, he produces his inhaler of Serenum, and brings it to his mouth.

"Commander?"

Valen jumps in his seat, sharply straightening up as he twists towards the door. Sirius is standing in the cafeteria entrance, his brow knitted in concern. "Oh. Hey Janos," Valen says quietly, feigning calmness. Putting the device back to his mouth, he depresses the button and breathes deeply, before quickly throwing it back in his pocket. A slight embarrassment bites at the back of Valen's mind; a subtle shame. "What's up?"

"Nothing. I was just walking through, hanging out with Jorlessen." Sirius walks in, making himself comfortable at the opposite bench. "Zain able to find those TD-1s? Were you able to ask Intelligence?"

"Uh, no," Valen says, wiping his palms on his pants nervously, waiting impatiently for the calming effects of the drug to leech the lingering anxiety. "No I wasn't able to find anything out." Sirius studies Valen's expressions, unconvinced. Valen stays still, waiting for Sirius to say something. After a moment, he wipes some leftover perspiration from his nose. "Antilles wouldn't talk to me."

"Doesn't seem like he didn't talk to you. You alright, sir?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Janos."

"Ok," Sirius mumbles, raising a sarcastic brow.

Raising his hackles, Valen pushes back, feeling put on the spot. "Look, his guards put a pair of blasters in my face and turned me away, nobody speaks to Intelligence unless they're asked," he argues shortly, his eyes continuing to wander towards the cafeteria entrance. Every other pair of eyes passing by seems to be peering into the cafeteria, or is it just his imagination? "Forget the drones, alright, Sirius?"

"Yes, sir," Sirius returns dutifully, backing off from his leader. He sits at the opposite bench for a moment, tapping his fingers on the silvery table. "Alphas probably wrecked them."

Looking away and at the floor, Valen mumbles, "Yeah. Yeah, probably."

---

The pair of newly christened pilots pull their respective speeder bikes out of the dark garage and out into the open street, goading each other as they go.

"That thing even run? You haven't even tried the ignition yet!"

"You just worry about yourself, Val!" Ando jabs back, excitedly. "I wouldn't want you to get hurt on my bike!"

"Alright, alright, line up. First down the road to the docks wins."

"Start up your bike, Val, what'reya waiting for?"

"I'm waiting to see if you can get yours going."

Ando smirks, and cockily hops on the old speeder. The repulsors wobble slightly, and Ando looks down, quickly putting his feet out towards the ground and checking the controls. Glancing back at Valen's expression, it's clear Valen is not impressed. Egged on by his friend's smug look, Ando reaches down and primes the ignition. A loud snap, followed by a growing hum fills the empty streets, echoing off the estate's walls. Hiding his own surprise, Ando returns with an entertained, smug grin of his own, acting as if this is what he expected all along. Boyishly, he revs the bike and raises its stance on its repulsors until his head sits above Valen's. The bike responds in kind, its vintage engine rolling and spinning as it sings up and down in pitch. Ando lets go of the throttle, and the pitch drops back down, beginning to bog slightly. Ando reacts quickly, popping the throttle again and holding it until the bike can idle on its own. Looking back at his best friend's face, he notices a single raised eyebrow on it.

"You sure you don't wanna test drive that old relic before you race it?"

"I didn't fight my way to 'Admiral' to be talked to like that, Flight Officer!" Ando bluffs. "Start yours up and let's race!"

Valen throws up a sarcastic salute, and clicks on the modern bike. In a more subtle snap, the speeder hums to life, lifting up to Ando's level without issue. Valen pops the throttle a few times, and the hum zips up to a whistle, and back down, returning to idle flawlessly. Ando attempts a scoff, shrugging off the modern bike and convincing himself of his vintage speeder's superiority. He hunkers down over the handlebars and pulls down the lever on the side of the grip, releasing the traction resistor from the repulsor systems. Suddenly, however, the idle of the bike wanders off, the chassis beginning to vibrate underneath the young pilot. The vibrations escalate to worrying shakes, bucking the handlebars around in Ando's hands. Looking around nervously at his controls, Ando tries to figure out why the bike is misbehaving.

"Ando. Ando!"

A violent clunk emanates from below.

Ando's eyes open quickly to the rattle of his helmet as it bounces off the floor. Shifting quickly in his seat, he leans down and picks it up before it makes any more noise. Scrutinizing the helmet for marks, he gingerly runs his ungloved fingers over the surface, feeling for scratches or marks. After some checking, he looks up and sees the quiet, calm bustling of the field hospital lobby, the silent passing by of medical staff in the back halls. The gloss black protocol droid remains at her post, absently staring into space. The cool, crisp air of the atmospheric systems is pushing out the oppressively warm dawn air from outside. It reminds him of spaceflight, aboard the Phalanx. Aboard the Death Star. Back home, outside Kuat.

The Dragoon pilots all snooze in the chairs of the waiting area, the Corellian sun barely lightening the sky outside as it prepares to rise once again. Ando's eyes wander about his Battalion and notice, there is one not sleeping. Hix, returned from his checkup, sits silently amongst the sleeping walker pilots. He must not have said a single word to wake the Battalion since his discharge. Changed into a new uniform, he seems as good as new, apart from a small bandage on his right cheek, and an even smaller one on his ear. Tensely, the young gunner leans forward on his knees, holding his helmet in his hands as he stares into it. His breaths seems shallow, and anxious. Ando raises up and leans slightly towards Hix, getting ready to speak, when Hix raises up suddenly himself, looking towards the front desk. Turning his attention, Ando sees Hammand and Stalek arriving at the front desk from deeper inside the hospital. They stop, and begin to speak quietly with the glossy droid. Straining to hear, Ando can't make out a word. He tries to read their lips and gestures, watching the subservient protocol droid nod and bow its head over and over. After a moment, Stalek looks over towards the battalion with Hammand, the droid following as her lit up ocular lenses look into the lobby with them. Stalek raises his chin slightly, and makes a silent 'come here' gesture with his ungloved hand. Hix immediately springs up, heading quietly across to the ranking officers.

"Hey." Ando reaches out, slapping Oppel next to him, and then reaching to the opposite side to whack Fyllus awake. "Guys. Guys, get up," Ando whispers harshly as he stands up urgently. The two groan and start waking, grabbing their heavy gloves and helmets. "Come on! Fyll, get Neville up! Hey, Neville!" Stopping on his way across the lobby, he looks back at Neville's seat. Neville remains heavily asleep, his helmet pulled down over his eyes.

Noticing Neville's stillness, Fyllus reaches over and shoves the rookie gunner out of his seat. Waking with a start halfway to the ground, Neville's limbs spring outward in all directions, kicking the chair into the lobby as he falls clumsily to the floor. Fyllus and Oppel begin to laugh, drawing the attention of the protocol droid while Neville gets up, annoyed.

"Soldiers, please," the droid begs pitifully. Her impotent voice falls on deaf ears, nearly inaudible amongst the clatter of the chair, and the cackling of the pilots. "Silence is most beneficial to recovery." Ignoring the ultra polite droid's suggestions, the rabble scramble across the lobby and stand at attention in front of Staleksridge and Hammand. After replacing the chair, Neville jogs up last, and stands at attention.

"Alright Dragoons. Listen up. I gotta settle this paperwork and get us off this rock. We'll need to be gone before the Sub Warden finds out what we used his medical approval for." The Battalion all chuckle nervously under their breath as the protocol droid turns its head to try and listen. "Raythe's alright, he'll be joining us soon. His last one was not a good one, he's not allowed to die yet." Stalek stares at Hix for a moment, pressing his lips together. "Everybody in my Battalion will earn their death. Hamm's gonna take you to the recovery ward to see 'im-"

"Sir, I'd recommend not-"

"I want everyone to stay quiet," Stalek continues on, bulldozing over the droid's unassertive interjections, "and respect the bolt-head's request." Looking over, he nods silently at Hammand, and walks towards the exit.

"Come on," Hammand says, heading back into the hospital, the Battalion following close behind. The group file up and head through the hallways of the hospital, back to the recovery ward that Hammand and Ando are familiar with. Moving out into a large room with rows of cots, the Battalion weave through the aisles, around the medical 2-1B droids and hospital officers. The recovery ward is a lot less full of people since the fighting died down. The pilots all chatter quietly to one another as they look out at each of the patients, until they get close.

"Hey, Raythe!"

"Shut it!" Hamm whispers hoarsely, stopping and whirling back at the group. "What'd Boss tell you about keepin' your traps closed?!"

"Hey guys!" a voice shouts back from across the recovery ward, causing Hammand to roll his eyes. He just turns around and continues back on the way to Raythe. As they walk up, Raythe sits up in his cot, propped up by some pillows. He's got bandages across his forehead, just around a bruised left eye, and more plastered to his chest. The skin around his left eye is shining, as if covered in salve.

Huh. I know that treatment. Expensive stuff...probably not as expensive as-

"Raythe, buddy! You made it, and in one piece!"

"What's Point Zero like?!"

"Yeah, tell us how you got there!"

Raythe just chuckles it off, shrugging sluggishly. Inspecting his injuries further, Ando can see the most glaring change to the young pilot's body. He's bandaged in bacta dressings from his torso, up over his left shoulder and down to the middle of his upper arm, but the rest of the arm coming out from the bandages has a dark, metallic sheen to it. It stays rested at his side, draped over the covers of his bed; a brand new mechanical arm and hand.

"Nice gear, droideka!"

"Whoa, can you crush someone's head with that?"

"Droideka, that's funny," Raythe laughs lazily, still seeming to be under the effects of some waning pain medication. Leaning to one side in an effort to pull it off the covers, he slowly raises his new arm and wiggles its silvery fingers. "Nah, I don't think I can do much else with it." The visible mechanical bits and bobs tick over and back again as his new fingers move, the servos whirring and clicking subtly. The Battalion stare in wonder, marveling and smiling at the robotic arm's impressively fine movements. It really does not move like a clunky droid's arm. Aside from the quiet whizzes and ticks, its movement is positively human, as if his arm were there all along, puppeting the metal contraption like a glove. "Hey, Hix," Raythe says casually towards his gunner. Hix has been deathly quiet; The only one who has not joined in the usual banter. The Battalion go silent and part slightly to let Hix through.

He takes a deep breath, speaking in a sigh. "Hey, Raythe," Hix says, bucking up and trying to get involved. He moves forward to look at the arm. "Does it hurt?"

"Nah, well...maybe a little, heh."

"Sorry about the, uh…I didn't think..." Hix begins to go quiet again, fumbling his words.

"Hix, it's alright," Raythe grins sleepily, raising his mechanical hand up and extending it towards his gunner. Hix hesitates, looking at the metallic limb, but then reaches out, and clasps hands with his pilot. "Boss saw to it. I'm good as new."

"I think I owe you an ale at least."

Raythe smirks, looking half asleep, "You might owe me two, Hix."

"Yeah, maybe I'll go and find some."

"Yeah, go check Point Zero. My buddy says there's lots there," Raythe jabs, grinning and lightening the situation. The group begins to laugh around Hix, and he does his best to roll with it, throwing the jab back at his pilot.

"Haha, you never know! I might have better luck than you!" The Battalion groan and goad the shaken gunner, jostling him until all are laughing together again. Stepping in with a sneering face, Hammand has had enough.

"Alright, yeah yeah, the kid's alive. Line up! It's Oh Five Hundred, and we're taking inventory!" The Battalion droop and grumble as Hammand forgets the whole 'be quiet' part, and starts shoving them toward the exit, shouting the whole time. "The walkers were shipped overnight back to the maintenance yard. Everyone out, time for some tests!" Hammand looks back at Raythe as he pushes the Battalion out. "Raythe, you get some rest, Hix'll take care of everything, won't ya, Hix?!" he shouts, slapping Hix on the back.

"Yes, Gunnery Sergeant!"

"Good boy, Hix!"

"Aw, what'd they do to my gear?!" Fyllus yells out, harnessed into his cable and hanging on the side of his freshly delivered walker. Oppel is barely visible inside, testing the porthole shutters. The entire battalion are sitting in the hot sun of the maintenance yard once again. The tinny tones of a down home band disperse into the air from the speakers of Staleksridge's Command Walker while Neville tries to get a heavy metallic cable back into order.

"Looks like they kinked my reel of spare boarding cable," Neville adds over the contrastingly joyous band music.

"Look at this auxiliary access panel!" Fyllus yells, his voice cracking as he wedges his gloved fingers between the plates. Planting his feet against the side of his giant machine, he strains and yanks on the twisted panel. "That gate officer and his goons… completely… BENT IT!" The small door snaps open, hanging off its hinges, and Fyllus pulls a hydrospanner from his pocket, waving it in exacerbation. "Oh! It's not like I NEED to get in and make adjustments to the light blaster or anything!" Fyllus gets to work, the tool giving a mechanical whine as the hinges loosen. Removing the panel, he throws it down off the walker, into the dry maintenance yard dust. "Who needs to aim while I'm SAVING YOU AND YOUR WHITE ARMORED GUNDARKS?!" The furious walker pilot continues to shout and bellyache as Ando kneels over his mounted turret, the weapon only turning a fraction of its full range of motion. The bracket holding it onto the roof of Legs has also been bent and warped in transit from the gate. Hammand stands halfway out of the hatch, exchanging silent grimaces with Ando while Fyllus' tantrum echoes through the hot, dusty maintenance yard.

"She's buggered, Hamm," Ando says quietly, referring to the oddly canted weapon as he crouches over it.

"She'll mend."

"S'gonna take a while. I don't even know what part to order."

Hammand looks down at the bent mount, sneering as he tries to rotate the weapon. "She's custom, she'll be…" Defying him, the turret swivels a few degrees and jolts to a stop, stuck in place. Hunching over, he jiggles it back and forth and tries to spy what is interfering with what.

"Ours is actually fine!"

"SHUT UP, HIX!" Fyllus shouts angrily.

"What'd you do to piss the 'good Warden' off?! It looks like they tied ours up with a bow! No damages!"

"I SAID SHUTCHER MOUTH, HIX, OR I'LL…."

Losing patience with the griping, Hammand grumbles out a sigh, rolling his eyes once again and roars, drowning out the arguing pilots. "IT'S ALL BUSTED! EVERYONE MAKE A CHECKLIST!" The giant man huffs himself out of the hatch and wraps his arms around the barrel of the mounted repeater. Growling and wrenching the weapon upward, he forces the bracket back to its functional position. Ando jumps out of the way as Hammand stands up and rears back, raising his enormous black boot. Giving the weapon a kick, the hulking Gunnery Sergeant watches it spin a full, albeit squeaky, 360 degrees. "IF I HEAR YOU AGAIN, IT BETTER BE TO ORDER A PART!" Spotting Stalek approaching, he scoops up his boarding cable, sticking his foot into the stirrup and lowering himself toward the ground. Ando leans in and checks the turret mount for any more binding, squeaking the weapon back and forth, until Hammand's voice echoes off the ground below. "Repaint that bracket, Flyboy!"

Startled out of his concentration, Ando shouts, "Yeah, Hamm!" with dutiful enthusiasm. Halting his inspection of the now-working turret, he dives into the cockpit. Dropping into the oven-like cabin, Ando pulls open a panel, grabbing a dirty can of paint, mostly covered in black grease and the drab grey color that should be inside it. Unbearably hot, Ando unbuckles his bucket helmet and sets it on his seat, wiping fresh sweat from his forehead. Reaching up to a lever, he throws the armored portholes open, trying to vent some of the heat. "Can't wait to be stationed somewhere cooler," the young pilot-gunner mutters to himself, leaning up to the windows to get close to the breeze. He watches his pilot and the Battalion Commander converse, unheard, down on the dusty maintenance yard. After a moment of straining to listen, Ando forgets it and takes the can of paint back outside, standing halfway out of the hatch.

Once outside, Fyllus' grumbling is still audible, but more subdued as he gripes to his gunner inside the cockpit of their walker. Setting to work, Ando aims the can's nozzle toward the bracket with the chipped paint and tries to depress the button on the top, but to no avail. Confused, he inspects the nozzle. The top of the can is so caked with old paint the button can't be pressed. Degloving his hands and working his fingernails into the paint, Ando tries to pry some out, pulling small chips at a time. Getting enough paint clear, he aims again, depressing the button successfully, but the paint does not come out.

"Ugh," Ando grumbles, shaking the can and giving it a few bangs on the armored roof of the cockpit, stray bits of crumbly paint sprinkling off of it. "Come on!" Testing the button again, Ando jumps back as a jet of grey paint erupts into the air and across the barrel of the mounted repeater. Left standing there as the grey paint slowly drifts through the air like a cloud on the wind, Ando sits, straight faced, trying not to let the frustrating accident bother him. He gets back to work quickly to roll it off, leaning in and giving the bracket a few sprays, and roughly planting the can back onto the roof plating when he finishes. Looking back up at the barrel, Ando heaves an exasperated sigh and produces a rag, attempting to scrub the unintentional fresh paint off the weapon. It doesn't take long before the boarding cable hanging over the side begins to zip and buzz as it retracts.

"Attention, Battalion!" Hammand's booming voice echoes over the maintenance yard, his broad frame heaving itself up onto the roof of the walker above Ando. The working stops, and all the pilots straighten up on their walkers. Stalek stands opposite on his own walker, awaiting the Battalion's attention. Hammand kneels down to the hatch at Ando's shoulder. "Ando, get up here, yer gonna wanna hear this."

---

"So, his beat up, old speeder bike falls out of the air like a stone! The thing dropped nose-first into the ground and bent the front stabilizers. Ando comes crashing down with it, holding as tight to the bike as he can." The squadron sit back together and chuckle at Valen's story. Listening to the yarns, they laugh by their trays of Navy food in the Tyrant's mess hall.

"Ando?"

"Andorus, dummy," Lohm jabs at Jorlessen. Even the Corellian brothers guffaw, beginning to forget the early tensions with the squad weeks ago.

"He was embarrassed, of course. He hopped off, yelling that, 'it's not funny,' while I just kept laughing at him. Probably for the best, if that antique had taken off, racing his prized project one last time would have landed him in the hospital before we got into the war."

"Would it have been fast if it worked?"

"Of course, the Mark I's are very fast, less safety restrictions. The two of us always did like tinkering with vehicles, but his never worked right. The repulsor grid fried itself over the feedback, and when it started smoking, I just watched him shout and kick the old thing, trying to put the fire out."

"Kicking it?!"

"Ando's a great guy, my best friend, but a bit impulsive. Not a trait unlike some of my pilots." Everyone all of a sudden begins to groan sarcastically, elbowing and jostling Janos. "I was laughing so hysterically I thought I might fall off my bike."

"So did you serve with him when you graduated?"

"Feels like not so long anymore. We started off posted separately, but then ended up stationed on the Death Star. After that, we were shipped out with the Phalanx for that experimental 'vetting.'"

"Where's he now?"

"Janos," Lohm warns harshly.

Swiveling innocently from his bench, Janos asks, "What? I was just-"

"Shut up, he might have been-"

"What? 'Shot down?'" Valen completes the sentence, and pauses. Smirking in thought, he answers, "Close…. It seems like he was always close to being shot down. But, as far as I know, he's still very much alive. He was transferred to the Marines, last I heard." Valen stops himself before saying too much about his involvement, and their near-meeting on Corellia. "What about you, Lohm? Any friends in the military?"

"Yeah, my-" The floor moves beneath their feet suddenly, accompanied by the cries of the ship-wide klaxon. Howling its great voice through the corridors, the Tyrant begins changing direction rapidly. Very rapidly. The pilots look around alarmedly, and steady themselves against the lateral pull as they rise from their benches. Plates slowly slide off the tables and clatter to the floor, the benches groaning as they shift slightly along the plating of the cafeteria.

"Hold those trays down!" Lohm says quickly, the squadron stopping the rest of their foodstuffs from spilling onto the floor. Immediately, the voice of Officer Owan echoes through the hallways, the pull of the rapid turn beginning to normalize, and die down.

"Battlestations. All hands to battlestations..."

Valen looks to his subsquadron, and they stare back at him, unnerved over the reckless maneuver. Steeling himself after these months of near-nothing patrols, he commands, "Helmets! Main hangar, Delta! Let's go, let's go!" The pilots scoop up their glossy black helmets and hop over their benches, briskly jogging out of the hangar. "Cycle your suit systems, be ready to scramble with the Hawks."

Running out into the hallways, they criss cross with engineers and gunners in their bizarre clamshell helmets. "Good luck, Delta!" one of the crewmen yells, waving from his gunnery team.

Taking a turn into the hangar access hallway, the shouts of the brown coated officers can be heard reverberating off the walls as the Deltas mix into the stream of Hawk Squadron pilots. Spying Commander Zain pulling his gloves onto his hands amongst his men, Valen splits from his squadron to catch up with him.

"Thamus."

"Valen," Zain greets, looking over the tops of his pilots' heads as they proceed down the corridor. The men at the front are gathering around Farenn. Likely the Interceptor boys.

"What's going on?"

"Full scramble, the Spear dropped long range communications. Tyrant's on an emergency reroute to the Edge."

"An attack?"

"How should I know?" Zain responds coldly. The bitterness on his voice is palpable lately. "Those drone-scrapping Intelligence boys don't tell me anything anymore! They've run off to the hangar ahead of us to go steal the glory again," Zain grumbles, throwing his hand away from himself as he gestures towards the hangar sector of the ship. Picking up his pace to get to the head of his squadron, Zain hurries off, leaving Valen slowing down to wait for his.

"What is it, Commander?" Lohm speaks up first, eager for the exciting information.

"This could be the real deal, Deltas. The Tyrant's responding to a dropout of communication from the Spear. If something's pulling the Tyrant out of formation, you can be sure it's not a drill." The squadron doesn't hesitate to discuss amongst themselves as they follow the current towards the hangar bay.

"Scuttled?"

"No way anything could take out a cruiser like the Spear! They put the Spear out there becauseMykos is one of the Fleet's toughest Skippers."

"Could be a malfunction," Jorlessen says.

"Let's hope," Lohm mutters soberingly.

"The Alphas are launching ahead of us," Valen reminds the squadron. "They don't scramble the Elites for nothing."

"Good!" Janos blurts bravely. "I hope the Rebs have finally showed their faces. Haven't fired my cannons in forever."

"Ghost ships?" Morrus asks.

Feld immediately follows up with his brother's point. "It's gotta be them. Communications go fuzzy any time the ghost ships show up! Thakus from the Caliber says he heard from-"

"Who? Do they have proof?" Sirius cuts Feld off. "There's nothing to prove that."

"What if it's the Fleet? The Rebel Fleet might be making their move!"

"Keep your heads in it, Delta. We don't know much right now, it's just a dropout. But we do know that it's not 'nothing,' so stay alert."

"I'm just ready to burn down some Rebs, sir. Been itching for a real fight!" To be honest, Valen feels the same way. Even when he tells himself he'd rather not put anyone at risk, if the Tyrant could participate in a real engagement, it would help them get out of this rut. Stuck out on hopeless patrols for months on end isn't good for any real fighter pilot.

The river of black suited pilots flows out into the hangar bay, as the TIEs rumble in on the racks above their heads. Zain and his personal shuttle pilot head up the ramp to the Sycadia, the crowds of pilots piling into the nearest turbolifts up to the catwalks. Those who have no space run up the stairs. Suddenly, Zain's voice buzzes through into everyone's helmets.

"Hawk Pilots, prepare to scramble. Fighters out first, and the Sycadia will follow after a sit-rep."

"You heard the Commander, Hawks! Emergency drop as ready!" Farenn's courageous voice rings through the comms. "I will lead us out."

"Copy, Farenn," Valen adds in dutifully. "Delta is right behind." He can't help but feel confidence in Farenn's courage and leadership; he really is a natural, rallying the fighter group from the front. Over these months and since Corellia, Valen's feelings of respect for the unsung Hawk Leader have grown.

The Deltas and their leader board the last turbolift and begin their ascent to the launching racks. They look out the skeletal framework of the lift as TIEs begin to sporadically scream to life, and buzzy voices of the pilots begin to sound off.

"Hawk 2, ready and standing by."

"Hawk 14, standing by."

"Hawk 7, standing by."

The numbers list off one by one as the Deltas disembark from their lift and run across the catwalks to the TIEs, the stamping of their feet rattling the bare metal walkways. Climbing up to the top of his fighter, Valen takes a quick look across the hull for his old carving from Corellia. Disappointed he hasn't seen it once more, he wonders if he'll ever run into the same fighter hull again. Dropping into the small ship, Valen pulls the hatch closed and locks it, seating himself quickly and flipping on the systems. As the nav array warms up, and more pilots sound off over the comms, he latches himself in, spinning up his TIE fighter's ion engines.

"Delta Leader, standing by," he joins in, sounding off himself.

"Roger Delta, you are in queue for emergency launch in 30 seconds," the crane operator's voice notifies clearly.

"For Honor and Distinction, for our Emperor!" Farenn shouts patriotically as his fighter drops out of sight from the front of the group, beginning the cascade.

"GLORY TO THE EMPIRE!" Hawk squadron echoes emphatically. Each TIE on the grid begins to release and fall in succession, and then the crane operator's voice buzzes back into Valen's helmet.

"Delta Leader, combat launch in 3, 2, 1…" Immediately, Valen's body is lifted in its seat, the scaffolding of the hangar bay raising up out of view, and yielding to the sea of stars. TIEs launching around him power up and scream by, joining the cloud of fighters emanating from the Tyrant's hangar bay. Powering up the engines, Valen pushes the throttle up to match speed. The Spear is up ahead, short-range communications beginning to come in through on the all-call distress channels.

"-additional fires on decks 12, 13, 17-... -vigational control…"

The Spear's communications are dropping in and out worryingly. Are they being jammed? Magnifying his view, Valen sees the wedge-shaped ship up ahead. In the sea of black, the great cruiser is rolling slightly to one side, several of its engines dark. As it slowly tilts its topside towards the approaching fighter squadrons, Valen can see massive damage to the bridge tower. There is a blackened trail of burnt plating streaking up the back of the tower, charred structure sheared and torn from the surface. The main communication truss, and the bridge deflector shield generator are destroyed, their twisted wreckage streaming off the tower into space.

"Delta Leader, we are on your six," Lohm's voice buzzes in Valen's ear, and he realizes he may have been staring at the morbid spectacle for longer than he thought.

"What happened here?!"

"The Spear... I've never seen a cruiser so badly damaged before."

"Where're her Omegas?"

Valen inspects the area around the burning ship, and there are no fighters to speak of. Whatever fighting happened here has come and gone. The Alphas circle quietly above the stranded battleship, keeping their distance. Scanning, Valen zooms in on a cloud below the ship. Taking his squadron down below the Hawks, they approach around the Spear from underneath for a closer look, though Valen knows at once what it must be. As they pass under the distressed cruiser, Valen listens to his hushed squadron, as a dim orange glow begins to fill his cockpit.

Morrus' voice comes in on the comms. "Is that?..."

"Those are TIEs," Lohm says plainly, in shock. "Looks like Omega."

"Look. Up at 11 o'clock; the main hangar." Valen leans back and looks out of his dorsal viewport. Between the reinforced splits in the window, he can see the main hangar. It's engulfed in flames; inoperable.

"You think that's all of them?" Sirius asks quietly, worried.

"No way...all of Omega?" Jorlessen says incredulously, but then goes quiet for a moment. "...no way."

"What could do this?"

Valen gets a beep from his command terminal, and starts scrolling down the objective lists. Trying to remain detached from the fighter wreckage above them, he focuses on only the writing, and remarks objectively, "Squid cruisers definitely have the firepower. A little Reb frigate wouldn't stand a chance toe to toe with the Spear."

"Do you think they're out there right now?"

"Let's just keep our cool, Deltas. Watch Hawk, we're supporting their perimeter maneuvers." Valen looks back up above them into the clouds of wreckage, backlit by the burning hangar. Amongst the twisted hulls and shattered solar plates, his eyes fall on the silhouettes of bodies, and he drops his eyes back to his command terminal. Valen's eyes want to close and shut out the images for just a moment, but he resists, staring at his instruments. Forcing himself to breath, he inhales and exhales tensely. The images of the wreckage and bodies in space fade, but then recur again, reappearing in his mind just as it seems they've gone.

After a moment, he realizes he's just been looking down at his console and not reading anything. Tapping the button on his life support, Valen circulates some medication into his breather tubes and continues trying to breathe calmly. After a few quiet breaths, the images fade for a final time, and he parlays some orders. "The Spear needs aid, I have new orders here to alternate with the Hawks. We're escorting emergency crews to help with the fires. They'll be using the secondary launch hangar and emergency docking ports."

"Delta Leader," Zain's voice rings out, and Valen checks his sensors, looking out the cockpit window to see the Lambda class shuttle off in the distance, heading in with some engineering tugs. Far in the distance, another cruiser is approaching.

"Hawk Lead. I read you, Commander. We're standing by for escort." Valen glares up at the disabled cruiser as sections of her lights flicker worryingly.

What could do this?...

"It's the ghost ships, I'm telling you!" one of the Hawk pilots argues with another on the observation deck of the Tyrant. The deck is abuzz with half the squad as they talk about this hit and run attack. Valen looks back out the window at the wounded Spear. The engines are powered down, and the lights of several decks are dark, though all the fires have been extinguished. "They're invisible, and they're everywhere. Nobody's seen them and lived."

"Don't be stupid, the ghost ships aren't real! It's just a story the Corellians made up to cover the desertion."

"It's true. The Corellians are all disappearing over the Edge and their friends make up stories of 'ghost ships' to cover their tracks. Cowards."

"They don't want him saying anything," one of them says quietly, "but I have a buddy on the Caliber, he-...um…." Valen turns as he hears the pilot go silent. Looking into the crowd, he spies the group of boys quickly looking away. After a moment, he turns back to the window, watching as the miniscule specks of engineering ships surround the damaged areas of the battlecruiser. Two other Star Destroyers sit in a perimeter further in the distance. Together, the formation waits as the Spear is brought back to operational condition.

"Hear that, Valen?"

"No."

"I bet his friend saw something too," Sirius says, determinedly glaring at the pilots. After a moment of contemplation, he blurts, "I'm gonna see what he knows."

"He didn't say anything like that, forget it."

"What's gotten into you, Valen? Don't you want to know what hit the Spear so hard?"

"I'm trying not to get swept up in all this. People are saying 'it's undefeatable ghostly ships,' 'the Rebel Fleet,' 'Corellian deserters.'"

"What do you think it was?"

"Based off of real evidence? Or just faffing about and scaring the other pilots?" Valen says in a lecturing tone, loud enough to catch the Hawks' attention, but Valen's instructional moment is cut short as his commlink goes off.

"Lieutenant Commander Rannix," the young voice rings out through the commlink speaker, tinny and dry.

"Excuse me," Valen says, holding a hand up as he pulls the device from his pocket. "Rannix here."

"Report to the bridge."

"On my way." Valen quickly nods and marches off the observation deck as the rumors continue, unchanged.

Valen arrives at the bridge, and Owan is waiting outside the turbolift.

"Rannix."

"Owan."

"This way, sir, to the Skipper's office."

Valen is escorted to a room on the side of the bridge, and the door is opened, revealing the commanding officers of the ship. Lennox is sitting behind his desk with his hands placed wide across the surface. Captain Mykos of the Spear sits opposite him, with Commander Zain and the Elite Captain sitting to one side.

"Lieutenant Commander Rannix, come in. Thank you, Adolas," Captain Lennox greets. Officer Owan clicks his heels and steps outside, closing the door behind him. "Pull up a chair, we've had a breakthrough."

"Yessir," Valen says quickly, grabbing a chair and sitting at one end of the desk. As he settles, the Skipper nods to the Captain opposite him. Valen looks across to see Mykos slightly shaken, as he should be after such an ordeal.

"My ship was hit by surprise. Rebel fighters struck out of nowhere from the Spear's stern. I know the sounds of concussion missiles when I hear them. We lost our shields first, and then the fighters showed up on sensors. I commanded an emergency communication, but our array got knocked out before we could send a distress call. We scrambled my Omegas. Honor to them for paying such a price...Omega was getting shot down as quickly as they could take off, and then..." Mykos holds, awaiting Captain Lennox. The Skipper switches on a terminal in his desk, with several snapshots of the engagement.

"As you can see here from the hangar bay feed," Mykos says, pointing at the image as it begins to play. The soundless footage shows the lower edge of the main hangar, flashes of turbolasers zipping by in the starfield below. After a moment, the shape of a TIE's solar panel comes into frame and stops. Fighter ships on the staging rack. The fighters drop downward into the stars, and begin to accelerate to attack speed when they're overtaken by a stream of rapidly firing laser bolts. The fighters make it just off frame, but Valen can tell they didn't make it far. Just a moment after, a small shape zips by in the lower corner of the feed, blindingly fast. Captain Lennox pauses the image, and backs it up again. The blurry image of a tiny ship sits in the chaotic starfield. It's barely visible, but it's definitely not a missile, and far too fast for an X-Wing. Mykos continues, "the attacking fighters were accompanied by a model of ship that is not on our records." Valen stares down at this tiny, arrowhead shaped blur.

Antilles steps in, "Judging by our analysis of the footage, this one was moving at over 16000 kph."

"No ship can go that fast." Captain Mykos states, unable to believe the analysis.

"None of our ships, maybe," Zain says. "What say you, Captain Antilles?"

"Indeed…," Antilles agrees quickly to Zain's unusual display, but says nothing more.

"Does Commander Vyk know any more about the engagement?"

"Unfortunately, Omega's Commander Vyk was killed when the hangar was struck. We don't have any more useful footage from the hangar cameras. The feed on either end of the strike on the bay is too badly damaged."

"The attack was a quick hit and run, Omega's launch was quickly cut off to prevent a defense." Antilles' eyes shift to each of the officers in the room. "I will remind each of you to keep the details broad to your crews until we know more of this new fighter. This was officially, 'a surprise attack by many known enemy fighters.' No such information is known about any unidentified Rebel ships. Their clear intent was to cripple the Spear and slow down the fleet, which means we're getting close. Captain," Antilles motions back to the Tyrant's Skipper.

Standing straight, Lennox informs, "The Emperor has recently been adding a prong to his pursuit of the Rebellion. We have been spreading the reach of his search for the insurrectionists with deep space probes. The Rebels are afraid," he notes with assertion, "and are seemingly being forced to strike us. Elite Captain Antilles and I both believe that, while not ruling out the Corellian deserters, the mysterious disappearances of patrols can be attributed to Rebel fighters seeking to intercept our outgoing probes. We are dealing with a newer, more capable fighter, and our probing has forced them to accelerate their attacks."

"Skipper, sir. If this fighter is faster and more maneuverable than ours, is there a possibility we will be seeing a bolstering of our squadrons with some TIE Interceptors?"

"The Tyrant already carries a disproportionate amount of Interceptors to the fleet. We are as equipped as we can be for and Edge Patrol Star Destroyer. I would expect to make do with what we have for now."

"And if my pilots, all in TIE/LN's, come across these new things?"

"Follow protocol. If you catch them early enough, you should be able to evade until you are back in range of the fleet."

"And then die sounding the alarm."

"Sometimes, all we can show for a fight is that we did our duty, Mr. Rannix," the Skipper warns, "Thank you, that will be quite enough of your reputed independence."

"With respect, sir. With the advent of this mysterious fighter, this protocol is stretching the limits of our patrols. If we can't make it back to the fleet, we're not of much use out there. Perhaps, we could patrol closer within-"

"There will be no modification to the range of our patrols; The orders come from Admiral Ozzel. We must respect our leadership," he says with a nearly concealed hesitance. Valen's eyes slightly dart across the room, and the rest of the commanding officers are all looking at each other as well.

"Yes, Skipper," Zain interjects, speaking for Valen. "We shall double our vigilance. You can expect Delta do execute its orders well, sir," he says with a sideways glance at his Lieutenant Commander. In response, Valen returns to a more rigid, at-attention stance. "And you can count on Hawk Group to achieve glory for you against this new fighter. We look forward to the opportunity."

"I shall expect no less from my pilots, and their Commanders, Thamus," the Captain says in a stern tone, and turns to the Spear's Skipper opposite him. "Brix, I imagine you are needed back on your ship, so I'll not take any more of your time. That will be all, gentlemen, thank you."

Valen salutes, heading out of the room, with Zain following behind. As the commanding officers spread out, Valen and Zain are left walking back to the pilots' quarters alone. The pair walk in an awkward silence, their boots clomping on the durasteel corridor plates.

After a while of walking in the quiet hallways, Zain says, rather impotently, "I'll see what can be done about those additional Interceptors, son."

"Yessir," Valen dismisses the Commander's clear lie quickly, walking off towards his office. He knows an empty promise from Zain when he hears one. Clearly, speaking his mind won't net him any results for his squadron and their vulnerable standard fighters.

Closing his office door behind himself, Valen roughly punches the door locks, sealing the office. Striding across the small room, he sits at his desk, muttering to himself frustratedly.

"Blasted LNs...obsolete things...against whatever these are…." Valen grumbles, opening his desk drawer and pulling out Zain's tablet. "Must be something," he says under his breath, activating the high security tablet and scrolling down.

Incident: Spear

Compilation log - Debrief

Presiding permissions: RESTRICTED - Alpha

Cpt. [ELITE] Terrus Antilles

Poring over the information, Valen scans through the debrief, reading to himself.

Struck from blind spot at the aft of the bridge...concussion barrage...comms, defense cut off...Spear loses lateral control-I know all this already…

Continuing to scroll, he gets to the clip of footage from the hangar and plays through it. Backing it up, and playing it back a few times, he watches the blur zip by in the bottom corner of the screen, furrowing his brow. Trying to get a better look, he clicks off the lights in the office and leans into the tablet, examining the soundless footage as closely as he can.

"Phew...fast. Too fast…," Valen whispers under his breath. After some time, he continues through the datafiles, and spots a cache of logs, labeled [IRREL.]. Narrowing his eyes, Valen opens the cache, and a few files come up. Opening another security camera, Valen watches some video of the Spear's bridge, with Captain Mykos at the center, standing proudly. The crew are slowly moving about, taking care of business as usual on the empty Edge, and the Skipper is speaking with his Representative. In the silent footage, all of a sudden one of the crewmen waves from his console, grabbing the Captain's attention, and in a great flash, the video cuts for a moment. As the camera refocuses, sparks are flying from the consoles, and the Captain is on the floor, a number of crewmen holding the bulkheads to steady themselves. The Representative is running from the Captain's side to the back of the bridge; the comms station. No less than a second later, the camera judders violently, and a shower of sparks explodes out of the console, throwing the Representative backwards. The camera footage fizzes and jitters as it records the events unfolding on the bridge of the Spear. Crewmen run up and surround the Captain's Representative as he lies motionless on the floor of the bridge. Captain Mykos has risen to one knee, and is now shouting orders unheard. The crewmen scramble about their consoles, trying to continue the stream of information to their Skipper. Holding his officer's cap on with one hand, Mykos furiously points with the other out the bridge viewports.

After a while of watching the bridge crew recover from the surprise, Valen fast forwards through more comparatively uneventful, quiet footage until it seems that the battle is over, and all is calming on the bridge. Clicking off the footage, he scans about the rest of these "irrelevant" files. Scrolling down, Valen furrows his brow at a file called "HNGR - AUD." Highlighting the strange description, Valen gives it a click, and the tablet erupts with chilling audio; comms chatter. Staticky voices hiss and pop, buzzing the diminutive speakers on the Elite tablet, no footage to accompany it. In the background, he can hear unfiltered sounds of live laser fire and ion engines. In the background of the audio, the shaking and groaning of the bulkheads can be heard in chorus with tumultuous explosions. Valen raises his eyes into the dark room, and quietly listens.

"Is anyone else picking up these readings?!"

"We're being jammed. Pick up visual scanning, they're-"

"3 marks, 0.28!"

"X's, I see them. Bank right, we'll come in at-"

"Behind us! Look out-"

The audio file explodes in static for a moment, hissing and whining in feedback.

"What was that, I don't see it!"

"Omega 5 and 6 are down, Omega 8, 10, and 14, regroup on me!"

"I saw something! It's way too fast, I can't-"

"Keep your eyes open, we don't know how many there are! Commander, I don't know what's going on out here, what's your ETA?!"

"Stay calm, Lieutenant Commander, the next wave are on the rack now. I need you to tell me what's happening."

"Sir, there's something out here with us! We can't keep up!"

"Keep an eye on it, help is on the way! Omega 20-28, prepare to drop!"

"Squadron away! Second wave, combat speed-"

"On our six, ON OUR-"

The static bursts into feedback once again, so loud that Valen has to cover the tablet's speakers with one hand until the cacophonous noise quiets down.

"Drass and Mal are gone, I can't see Dule or Anyd!...Something just passed us, 3 o'clock, low!"

"Enemy bombers on approach! 3 marks at 2.24!"

"Sellus, I need you to take out those bombers before they get here."

"Yessir. Omegas, on me. Anyone see those things?"

"I see one, here they come!"

"Another, below!"

"I can't target it, it's too fast! Omega 2-" The audio cracks and shatters, the feedback letting out an electronic scream, and suddenly dying down to a subtle static.

"Omega…. Omega!" The comms fizzle quietly. "Sellus, do you read?! We're almost there, I need those bombers taken out! Sellus!" The comms just hiss, no response. The Commander yells out, "EVERYONE OUT-" and the comms go silent.

Valen keeps listening in the dark, as the audio file continues. The comms hiss, but nothing on them. The file keeps running for a while, the fuzzy crackle of the comms keeps going, and unceremoniously ends. In the pitch black of his quarters, with nothing more to arm himself with against the new terror hiding over the Edge, Valen leans back in his bunk, and lets out a defeated sigh. Uncomfortable leaning back, he pulls his body forward again, leaning on his knees. Quietly, the inhalant device hisses in the dark office, followed by slow, controlled breaths.

---

Ando sits forward on his durasteel bench seat, with his harness casually unstrapped. Rolling his feet around, he works the fresh Corellian dirt to the bottom of his boots. The Dragoons are all leaning back and laughing, chatting amongst each other excitedly. The silhouette of their Commander sits black against the streams of white and blue light as he stands over the pilots' shoulders at the head of the shuttle. The bright hyperspace luminescence bleeds in through the rectangular cockpit window and into the personnel area of the shuttlecraft. Gunnery Sergeant Hammand is in the back, bellowing large, deep guffaws as he jokes with Gailon and his scouts. Watching from across the cabin, Ando sees his copilot motioning his moves and regaling the scouts once again with his and Ando's actions on Corellia. He slaps a large hand over his neck, and Ando all of a sudden begins to feel uncomfortable, reminded at once of their grizzly close call with the Corellian Rebels. After a moment, the Battalion Commander turns and walks into the passenger hold, keeping a casual grip on the handholds above his head. Moving through the cabin, he checks up on each of the pilots. Moving to Raythe, Ando sees him nodding across the pilot's body. The young man looks to one side, nodding and holding up his drab grey limb, now repainted with the beloved grey hard-coating that adorns their walkers. Smirking, he rolls his shoulder as if to assure the Commander that any pain can be easily shaken off. Stalek moves casually down the line, dropping a calm hand on Hix's shoulder, causing the distracted gunner to look up. The two exchange a glance, like a father with his son. Patting his shoulder a few times, the Commander moves past, slowly walking up to Ando.

"Flyboy. You good?"

"Yeah, Boss."

Stalek nods and drops a nonchalant hand on Ando's shoulder as well, continuing on through. "Good. Not long now."

Passing by, the Dragoon leader exchanges nods with his rookie gunner, Neville, and goes to the group of scouts and Hammand. Hamm and Gailon stand up as Staleksridge quietly addresses the group.

Idly looking down at his marred up helmet, Ando feels the compulsion of his pilot's training pulling at him. Meditating and meticulously cleaning his equipment would provide him something to calm himself with as they soar through hyperspace to their newest, exciting assignment. Setting the dirty thing on the seat next to him, he picks up his gloves from his knee. Turning them over in his hand, he can see they're rather smeared with grease from all the repairs the Battalion had needed to make after the haphazard "delivery" of their walkers. A grey smudge streaks all the way up to the edge of one of the gauntlets. Pulling the corner of his mouth flat, he pushes at the smudge with his thumb, attempting to scrub it off, but to no avail. It seems the grey mark is just being spread around to his hand as well. Leaning forward and flopping the gloves back over his knee, he checks them again. The smudge goes right up to the edge of the gauntlets. Making the connection, Ando checks his sleeve. Awkwardly twisting and curling his hand up towards his shoulder, he inspects his arm. The grey blotch of grease continues along his sleeve all the way up to his elbow. Shocked, he checks his knee where he was leaning, and sure enough, the grease smudge has spread across his leg. Annoyed with the filth, Ando drops his arm exasperatedly onto his lap, rolling his eyes and sighing a raspberry through his lips. Nothing to do about that right now.

The roaring laughter of Hammand catches Ando's attention again, and he looks over to see Stalek departing the group, his audience of higher ranking soldiers casually saluting him as he goes. Making eye contact with the crowd at the back of the cabin, Ando gets waved over by his hand-to-hand trainer, Scout Captain Gailon. Quickly chucking his embarrassingly filth-ridden gloves into his helmet, Ando stands up and makes his way over, passing Stalek.

"Hey, Flyboy! We were just talkin' bout-"

"For the fifth time-"

"Well, it's a helluva story, aint it?! Bet you wish you'd spotted the Flyboy first."

"Ando, ask him 'bout Coruscant," Gailon says quickly, smirking and ignoring Hammand's remark.

"Huh?" Ando blurts, surprised that the Scout Captain has opted to put Hammand on the spot. "What? Did you see any action there?"

"Oh, erm… well yeah! Heh, lots of action!" Hammand grins heartily, seemingly hesitant, and then peters off.

"You wanna warm up with some normal stuff, Hamm, or should we just skip to the Trooper Corps-"

"Yeah, well!" Hammand blurts, raising his voice enough to talk over the Scout Captain. "I's hardly hidin' it, wasn't I?!-"

"When we met, hungry old Hamm here tried to bully me out of my food."

"Alright, now that's not true!" Hammand grumbles, shouting over his own embarrassment with bravado. "I didn't 'try,' I just up and took it!"

"We got in a bit of a row, nothing like nowadays. We were just kids." Raising a cocky hand, Gailon drops it onto Hammand's shoulder. "After I broke his nose, we became fast friends."

Hammand lunges at Gailon suddenly, raising a great block of a fist towards him for revealing such a thing. Gailon lets out a faux yelp, leaning back and throwing a hand up as if to block. The Gunnery Sergeant slowly lowers his hand, and begins to grin. "Yeah…" Hammand looks around awkwardly, trying to figure out a way to posture next, but the truth is apparent across his face. After a moment, Ando can see him acquiesce, and begin talking straight. "There aren't a lot of options growing up in the lower levels of Coruscant. Rux and I stuck together after that. It wasn't that hard making it to the upper levels, but there was nothing for us up there. We needed off the planet if we didn't want to be sent back down below."

"We got caught. A lot," Gailon says with a half humor. "Made it up to the Sun Levels a few times, mostly without a plan beyond watching the clone ships come and go, or just looking at the sky. Hammer said we should join the military, like a daft idiot-"

"How's I supposed to know they don't take recruits?!"

"They're clones, ya pleb! Can't join a clone army if yer not a clone!" Gailon playfully shoves at Hammand. It seems with some time interacting casually, the smooth Scout Captain's low class upbringing starts to shine. "We went time and again, Hamm mostly jabberin' how we'd be on one of those ships one day. But, sure 'nough, one time when we came up, we saw the ships and the troopers were different. Different faces."

"Not clones," Hammand adds, stating the obvious.

"And they were recruiting like crazy, taking any human that wanted to join!"

"Saw our ticket off the planet. Out of the lower levels."

"We enlisted in whatever they'd take us for. We weren't the only ones that came from the lower levels once the Empire started recruiting. Lotta people wanted off the planet."

"Did you train together?"

The shuttle judders and everyone leans slightly to one side, resettling. Hammand grasps hard at a handhold for just a moment, before suddenly letting go. They've dropped out of lightspeed. Ando looks down at Hammand's hand and notices it's shaking slightly.

If Hamm used to want to get onto a ship at any cost, why does he seem so jumpy in them?

"Hey! We're here, Flyboy!" he bellows, stiffening his hand and gesturing out the window to get any attention off of him. The Battalion of young pilots and gunners all get up and begin to crowd over to the cockpit to look outside. Swept up in the flow of soldiers as they shuffle down the cramped aisle, Ando joins them in trying to peer out the window. And what a sight it is.

"Would ya look at that thing! She's a beaut!"

A gigantic, speartip-shaped ship sits above them. Eclipsing the light of a nearby star, it's immense visage is mostly clear due to the myriad of shining lights in the windows. An enormous flagship.

"What is it, Flyboy?"

"That's a Dreadnaught Class; a Super Star Destroyer."

"I've never seen a Dreadnaught before!"

"Hell, I've never even read about one! Look at that Star Destroyer over there, it's tiny! How big is this thing?!" Oppel shouts, his low class voice cracking in excitement.

"She's the biggest ship in the Fleet, Oppel."

The crowd of rowdy pilots stand on their toes to get a better view as they peer out the cockpit glass. The great hull of the massive Dreadnaught Executor hangs like an illuminated, celestial body above them. The triangular shape of its great hangar bay, larger than many planetside shipyards, looms ever closer, enveloping the entire cockpit glass as the shuttle rises up into it.

"You ever serve on one of these, Flyboy?" Hammand asks quietly, even he unable to be hide his astonishment at such a marvellous naval vessel.

"Never. But I did spend some time on DS-1 before the Phalan-"

"ALRIGHT, DRAGOONS!" Stalek roars. "Back to your seats and clip in! Hamm, get 'em set."

Raising up with a start, Hammand pretends he wasn't just staring out the window with the rest of the boys. "RIGHT, YOU 'EARD THE BOSS! CLIP IN!" He claws into the crowd, grabbing Ando and Neville by the shoulders and wrenching them backwards. Snapping to it, the rest of the Battalion rush to their seats, the clicking sounds of locking harnesses permeating the soft rumble of the shuttle's engines.

"We have inspection with the General in ONE HOUR, boys!" Stalek shouts over the clanking of cranes as the Battalion march their way down the shuttle's ramp, the scouts gathering their equipment inside the personnel area. "Get yer walkers situated and get cleaned up! I'll not have…" Stalek trails off as he spies a lone officer standing at the bottom of the ramp. An older gentleman, clean shaven, stands proudly in an impeccable, cool grey tunic, his hands casually folded behind his back. His chin sits at what Ando can only presume is a genteel angle; one that must have been practiced for a lifetime. His chest bears a horizontal plate covered in a multitude of blue and red ranking blocks. "Attention, Battalion! Bottom of the ramp, now!" Stalek hustles, seeming to recognize the man.

Shoving Ando and the Battalion down the ramp, Hammand shouts, "Move, move!" Ando runs down the ramp with the men and forms a line next to his gunner.

"General Veers, sir!" Stalek barks out as he snaps to attention at the end of the line. Surprisingly, the General seems to be far early for inspection.

"First Lieutenant," the man greets nonchalantly. Closer up, the mature officer's hair peeks out from under his cap, slightly silvered with age. Calmly, almost pleasantly, he swivels his head to look at one of the Dragoons' walkers as they are conveyed out of the shuttle's cargo container by great, bluish grey cranes. Quietly, and serenely, the gentleman walks up the line towards Ando, inspecting as he goes. Virtually ignoring Ando himself, the General looks up with his eyes only, and takes slight pause at Hammand's contrasting size. After a moment, he pivots back, his shining black boots tapping diminutively on the plating of the great Executor's hangar bay deck. The man doesn't stomp, nor does he seem to waste an ounce of energy where it is not needed. "First Lieutenant Staleksridge, you come highly recommended by Sub-Warden Jurroth." Stopping once again, he calmly states, "I find this odd, as he has said nothing other than the fact that 'he recommends you.'"

Uncomfortable, Stalek begins to take in breath, as if to defend himself, but goes silent as the great General resumes what was apparently an interrupted thought.

"Though the good Warden hardly recommends anyone out from under his command. I suppose it just slipped his mind."

"Yes, General. Must have."

"Hm, yes," the good General hums, a subtle sarcasm singing out in the quiet conversation. Taking a quick breath, General Veers speaks with utmost confidence, "I have limited need for an additional Battalion amongst my formations, I find mechanized Marine forces redundant."

"We are battle experienced," Stalek says, shocked, as if slapped across the face by the remark. "The Marine Dragoons are specialists-"

"As are many in this line of work, especially in my Army," the man retorts, leaving Stalek scrambling for something to say.

"The Dragoons will not disappoint, we Marines are frontline forc-"

"I do not wish for a Battalion 'not to disappoint me,' I wish for them to impress me," he says matter-of-factly. The gentleman's wisdom seems to provide him an easy dismissal to any of Staleksridge's broad claims. "What specific commendations can you provide for me that I might review?"

"We fought amongst the walker assault on Zelliros."

"A paltry battle led by an imbecile, I'm familiar with General Ollis' work," he dismisses quickly, "I hear he nearly lost an AT-AT against Trandoshan footsoldiers."

Stammering slightly, Stalek blurts, "Corporal Merik repelled boarders."

"Hm?"

"Uh, Corporal Merik, sir; our covering gunner on Dragoon 2." Stalek turns and nods down the line. "He was assigned mechanical duties on board Armor 1 during the assault, and repelled boarders when the walker was disabled."

Raising his eyebrows, the grey gentleman turns his lifted chin towards Ando. Amongst the smallest in the group, Ando feels smaller still, stood next to his giant, red haired pilot. He straightens up, trying to puff out his chest and look powerful. Swivelling back to the Commander, the General tilts his head in gesture, almost sarcastically, towards Ando. "This man? The small one with the heavy grease mark up to his elbow fought off Trandoshan insurrectionists?" he asks, as if making a statement with clarity.

"That's…" Stalek pauses as he understands the slightly insulting subtext, "...the one, sir." In the face of such a man, it seems the great Battalion Commander is wilting.

The silvery officer stands quietly, the wheels silently turning behind his gentlemanly mask. After a slight pause, he gives a, "Hm," in a surprisingly higher tone.

"And we eliminated a battalion of Rebel tanks in the dead forests of Kuellas."

"Did you?" the gentleman asks, as if it were a statement. Every interest he seems to give has an air of sarcasm, disingenuousness.

"Medium and ray shielded heavies, General. Didn't lose one."

The General pauses, allowing Stalek's uncharacteristically nervous energy to die down. At an angle that would feel silly for most humble men, the General raises his chin further, peering over Stalek's shoulder. "And your scouts?"

"Not mine, General. The scouts are with Captain Gailon."

"General Veers, sir. Squadron Longeye, reporting for duty. We also served on Corellia during the engagements on Coronet." The General's stoic face and blank expression conveys yet again that he is interested in very little from them. Even the great Scout Captain seems to be unsure why their experience is unable to move Veers. "We all have additional combat experience," even he begins to blurt, as if something else needed to be said.

Showing neither impression nor disappointment, Veers commands, "First Lieutenant, you will sharpen your Marines for frontline maneuvers in all terrains; shoreline, shale, soft sand, forest, and snow. I will keep your Battalion in reserve while I review your battle history."

"Yessir, General, thank you."

"Scout Captain, to the barracks please. Dragoons, oversee the offload and storage of your vehicles and equipment." Silently, the Scout Squadron marches off the deck with their gear, the lone General heading off as well.

"You heard the General, hop-to!" Stalek roars, turning an explosion of energy towards the Battalion. Immediately, the group jumps to life, scattering towards the offloading walkers. "I want these things offloaded and in maintenance docks in an hour! The last crew finished does pushups 'til they pass out!" Hustling and bustling, the Battalion jump up onto the walkways, climbing up onto their walkers. After the General leaves, the pilots slow a bit, beginning to relax again.

"Hey, Boss," Hammand asks. After a moment, the pilots all stop what they're doing and look down from their posts. "Y'alright?"

"Yeah, Hamm, I just... Heh, well I feel like I just went a few rounds of boxing with you."

"Heh," the large man echoes. "Looked like. So, uhh...what was that all about?"

"I think he wanted to send us back up the ramp and off to Corellia again."

"Hmpf. Well, what's so important about being under this guy's command? Probably loads of Generals aboard this thing we could talk to."

"None of them are General Veers. Ever heard of him?"

"Um...no."

"Blizzard Force?"

"Should I have?"

Stalek kind of turns over to Ando, talking over Hammand's shoulder. "Flyboy. When you were in Academy, who'd you look up to? Who'd you read about?"

"Among the pilots? Black Squadron was the best of the best. Naval Elite."

"He's 'Black Squadron.' THE walker pilot's General," Stalek says, expecting all in the rag-tag Battalion to know. "You fight for Veers, you get in on the kinds of fights that make history." After a slight moment, he realizes the pilots have stopped their work to listen. Shouting over another shoulder, he addresses the idle pilots, who hurry back to work. "Now tell me that aint romantic!"

"Very romantic, Boss!" Raythe shouts dutifully from his walker as he grasps a loading strap with his metal arm. Unlocking the clamps, he lets the strap explode off the walker with a snap.

---

"It could be both, you know," Sirius' voice crackles through the comms as twin TIE Fighters soar, insignificant amongst a backdrop of empty stars.

Valen sits, suited, in the red lit cockpit of his own fighter weighing Sirius' point. "I think…" Valen pauses, trying to form his words, but then backtracks, "yeah, true, I wouldn't discount it. What about the new boys though?"

"They're different."

"How do you mean?"

"Well...I dunno...they're our Corellians, y'know? Different."

Clicking about across his sensors, slowly switching frequencies to sweep the area on, Valen takes a deep breath, subtly shaking his helmeted head. "I don't understand how you can get swept up in all this, Sirius. Distrusting these people, yet deciding that our Corellians are different…."

"Should I not trust our pilots too?"

"No, you should always trust your pilots," Valen stutters, finding it harder to explain in detail than he thought, "It's just unfair to think this about the rest of them, just because..."

"So why can't I distrust other Corellians then?"

"You or I have just as much of a chance of being spies, Sirius. I don't know why you put this all on the Corellians," Valen raises his voice slightly, holding in his frustration.

"I dunno, probably has something to do with Corellia being the most central planet to the Imperial Core that's had a Rebel uprising," Sirius says. Though Valen inwardly admits his wingman is correct, he hates how he's putting it. "And the Rebel Fleet didn't just show up, that was all planned. All by them."

"Sirius listen to me. There are more Imperial Loyalists among them than not."

"Ok."

"They have more of a reason to hate the Corellian Rebels than us."

"Sure, some-"

"And they have more need to prove their loyalty than we do, just because of where they come from. You have a better chance of finding a spy by looking elsewhere."

"You're really sweet on the Corellians, Valen. There's nothing I can say!"

"I just want to be fair. Anyone could be a spy, you know."

"Even you?"

"Alright, Hothead," Valen pushes back, annoyed, "we gonna have a problem?"

"Just trying to be fair!"

"If that's how you want to do it, fine."

"I'm just jokin', Commander."

"Alright." Valen gives his final remark to just end the conversation.

The wingmen fly through the stars in silence. Each quietly minding their own instruments, checking the skies. It's a silence that seems, to Valen, quieter and more deathly than if he were floating outside the ships alone between these distant specks of light.

After a long, silent patrol, Sirius' voice crackles through the comms. "Valen."

"Yeah, what's up?" Valen asks, expecting perhaps an apology, but more likely another excuse Sirius can give against trusting Corellians.

"You just see that? I've had a signal." Valen perks up, and jumps forward in his seat, as his wingman continues. "Came in, just cut out."

"More debris?" Valen says quickly, checking his instruments for the familiar faint signals, and darting his eyes upwards to look out the window. "Is it fading in and out?"

"No, sir. It cut," Sirius' voice says, assuredly. "Someone out there is actively trying to stay out of our range."

Scanning across his panels, Valen swaps around to different sensor frequencies, clicking the knobs and toggles on his control surfaces and re-checking the screens. Trying to hide what can only be described as boyish excitement mixed with the usual hunter's anxiety, he pokes around at his sensors, hoping to catch onto this new signal. "...I don't see it. Keep an eye on it. What's the frequency?"

"031.009, but it just…" Sirius pauses for a moment before continuing again. "Nope, there it is again." Sirius' voice goes quiet, and Valen waits in the silence for an update, attuning his fighter's limited sensors to the correct setting. "There. Another one, distinct and separate. See it?" Valen dials in a fine tuning knob, as a fuzzy cloud begins to appear on his radar. After a moment, the blurred cloud barely begins to focus, and separates.

"I see them. They're moving. That's ships, multiple. Off our starboard side," Valen says calmly, but nervously leans forward to see if he can spot anything around his ship's broad solar panels. "My signal's intermittent. Closing?"

"Holding. They're just flying alongside us I think. My signal's not good either."

"Boost the power to your sensors a bit. Let's get a good look at these guys."

"Boost power? From what?"

"Weapons."

"What for?" Janos questions, shocked.

"Just do it, Sirius, we want to know what we're dealing with while it's still far away."

"Think it's the ghost ships?"

"Boost the sensors, Sirius," Valen orders sternly, keeping tight lipped. "Let me know."

"Yessir…." After a subtle pause, he begins again, "Those are Rebel sigs alright. X's. Two of 'em." Valen hesitates for a bit, keeping silent as he stares at his radar screen. "We should get outta here, Valen."

"Hang on."

"What for?" Sirius blurts, surprised once again. "Protocol, Valen. We can't be heroes, you said-"

"Just...wait," Valen says with finality, trying to keep them both calm, though his heart is beginning to pound in his ears at the thought of their perilous guests. "They're out there for a reason. What do you think they're doing?"

"Hit and run, right? Typical Reb tactics. Probably how they usually-"

"They'd be closing. They're just hanging, right off there. If they still wanted to be off sensors, they'd be backing away."

"You think they want us to see them?"

"I'm not sure. It could be bait. An ambitious pair of TIE pilots would want to engage one or two X's if they thought they were alone. But, X-Wing squads are usually fives at the smallest. Any other signals around?"

"Nothing. But they can hide a lot if they're just off the edge of our sensors. We should just cut to port, turn up the engines to full power and bug out."

"There's something else going on here, and we need to think, Janos. If we vector off from this speed…." Valen trails off.

"We're faster than X's," Janos states plainly, unaware of the danger only Valen can surmise they are in.

"Keep your heading, and I need you to keep that signal up." Valen thinks back at the footage of the blisteringly fast, arrowhead shaped visage from the Spear incident. The screams from the comms audio files. Valen thinks inwardly over the sound of his thundering heartbeat, weighing how much or little he might need his Serenum right now. His hand loosens off his control yolk ever so slightly, as he considers quickly prodding his inhalant device to keep himself calm. "We can't show our cards yet."

"I need my weapons if you're getting us into a fight, Valen."

"We need the eyes more. Keep heading, raise speed 10%, and tell me what they're doing." Leading the way, Valen slowly pushes his throttle forward, heading out in front of Janos. Slowly, Janos speeds up as well.

"Enemy is matching speed."

"Good. Up another 10." Repeating the adjustment, the pair of fighters subtly and slowly accelerate.

"They're keeping with us."

"Okay. I don't think they know what we're doing."

"I don't know what we're doing. You should work for Intelligence."

"Can the chatter, Sirius," Valen reprimands firmly. Leaning forward in his seat and trying to look around his broad solar panel by instinct, he orders, "Plus 20%, increase steadily until we're at full throttle. We'll start running at full speed, that'll give us the edge off the bat."

"Valen. I'd feel more comfortable if I could have my weapons."

"I've got you covered. You're my weapon, keep watching them."

"Great, thanks. You're the hero, and I'm running the radio," Sirius mutters frustratedly. Valen ignores the remark, and stays silent for the pertinent information. As they reach combat speed, his voice returns, "They're topping out on speed, falling behind now…."

"Pull to port, now. Full power."

"Roger, on you. Pulling to port." The pair of TIE fighters bank at full speed, turning towards the direction of the great fleet. After a short moment, Sirius chimes back in. "They're turning in at us, still far out of weapons range. ETA to sensor safezone: 2 minutes."

Valen snaps a pair of switches and checks the sensor grid. A red circle surrounding the blip of Valen's own fighter expands to a larger diameter. "I'm pulling power from weapons for comms, sounding the alarm as far as it'll reach."

"Oh great. No weapons," Valen's wingman grumbles anxiously. "We should turn on this scum and blast 'em while we have the speed advantage."

"There's something up, Sirius. Adjust your judgement."

"Ok," Sirius' voice sighs, trying to calm down. This isn't the first time Valen's had to remind him. "You think it's a trap?"

"When's it not with the Rebs? Hey, I can't see them anymore, where are they?"

"Distance is opening, the X's are falling behind." Calming himself as he watches the sensors, Janos assures Valen, "Falling back, falling back." Sitting in anticipation, Valen considers using his Serenum again. "Signal's fading. Ok, we're losing them, they're off my sensors."

"Ok, that's good. Let's just get back and let the Fleet know."

"My sensors are going a little funny, you think I overloaded them?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe I should reduce power. You know, these little ships aren't really made for…." As Sirius chatters in the background about the capabilities of the TIEs, suddenly, Valen's small sensor screen droops, blinking for just a split second. Giving it his attention, he watches it, and it blinks subtly again.

"Oh, hang on," Valen interrupts Janos' rant. "Mine are hitting a little interference, too. My comms range just blipped. It's fine now."

"Think they're trying to jam us. It should pass the further off they get."

"Ok, let me know." Valen slowly leans back in his seat, beginning to grin proudly in the privacy of his glossy black helmet. "Glad I had you read up on sensor variations, Janos, nice job."

"Thank you, sir. It's a boring read but-…" Valen listens as Janos pauses for a moment. Subtly, the sensor screens inside Valen's cockpit begin to fizz. Raising up slowly, Valen pulls his hands away from his controls to make sure he's not accidentally bumped something, when Janos' voice returns. "Sir, I have some signals…." He pauses again. "Whoa. Uhh, they're closing…. They're closing fast, Valen! 3 signals on our six!"

Jerking forward in his seat, Valen tries to adjust his instruments to make sense of the readings. "ETA?"

"I...I dunno, they're increasing speed."

"Can we make it to signal range?"

"It's not looking good, Valen!"

Valen tries in vain to dial in his displays against this override, but to no avail. The closer the signals get, the more his instruments fizzle, the data breaking and popping intermittently. Checking his sensor grid, he can see the edge of the Fleet's communication range peeking in. The red circle of Valen's own comms range begins to shrink as the mysterious signals close in. "I'm losing signal on them. My comms range is dropping from this interference. Keep going, keep going!" Valen can't help but begin to speak with urgency in his voice, but immediately catches himself, and tries to slow down. "What's our ETA?"

"30 seconds!"

"Make that 45, my comms are holding below average. I gotta drop this comms boost. Reroute power off your radar, we can't use the range anymore. Boost power to engines!"

"Sir, they're gonna catch us before we hit Signal! We need weapons! We need to fight!"

"Not if we get the speed! Pour everything into those ion engines, reroute everything!"

"They're still closing, what are they?!"

"Almost there, we're almost there!"

"You keep going, Valen! I'll cover-"

"SHUT UP, SIRIUS! You stay on my wing!" Glaring at the screen, Valen watches the communications radius of the fighters overlap with the Tyrant's. With the signal still weak, but rising in strength, Valen shouts out into his communicator, "Tyrant, alert! This is Delta 1 and 2, repeat: alert!"

"Delta, repeat, you're breaking up. You need to slow down, and repeat."

"Enemy signals, closing fast on our six! Alert, alert!"

"Copy, Delta. All crews, red alert."

With the message delivered, Valen prepares to reroute power back to his weapons. Flipping the power routing back, Valen swivels his head around, looking over his shoulder to see if he can spot the enemy. Looking back at the radar, however, he sees the menacing blips turn away before entering signal range of the cruiser. Backing off, they soon disappear out of Valen's fizzling radar. Banking to the side, he and Janos fly along the inside edge of the Tyrant's signal range. "Looks like they're disengaging," Valen says calmly, regaining his composure. After a slight moment without the mysterious blips nearby, the fighter's sensors all begin to return to normal. "They're backing off now, Tyrant."

"Copy, Delta. Tyrant, standing down to yellow alert. Intelligence is being notified, report to Captain Antilles on the bridge immediately."

"Rannix! What's going on? They just halted an emergency scramble," Zain asks urgently as Valen jumps down out of his fighter. The readied pilots all stand on the flight deck below, murmuring to each other. Valen stays tight-lipped, bypassing the turbolift as it seems the car is down on the deck.

"Ghost ships, Commander!" Sirius blurts out excitedly before receiving a glare from Valen. The pilots all begin to look at each other uneasily down on the deck as the Deltas and the Hawk Commander march across the catwalk. "Uhh," Sirius backtracks, "enemy signatures on the Edge."

"Is that what it was, Valen? Was it something new? Did you see anything? Anything we might have heard about?" Valen hurries down the stairwell to the flight deck, with Zain following close behind. "If that's what they were, the Hawks need to be ready!"

Trying to keep his pace, Valen quickly notes, "They backed out when we made it back in range of the Tyrant."

"Are they coming back?!" one of the pilots asks from the deck. It's clear that this conversation can be heard very clearly. Valen looks back to see that Zain is staring intently for any information.

"I can't talk right now, Thamus, we have to let Antilles and the Skipper know-"

"Antilles is not your Commander, Rannix!" Zain shouts sternly all of a sudden. If any of the Hawks weren't looking before, they are now. The subsquadron leader continues to the flight deck, heading towards the exit through the Hawk pilots. Amongst the crowd, Valen can spy the Alpha flying officers sitting on a crate in the back. Looking over with a sneer, Zain mutters under his breath to Valen, "They were here just before we came down for the scramble. They know something. It's as I said, Valen, they're waiting to steal the glory from us." Valen takes a very slight pause, merely slowing for a moment to consider Zain's point, but presses on. Zain, keeping after Valen, pushes harder, "Tell me now, after all I've done for you, Lieutenant Commander." Rushing out in front, Zain stops in front of Valen, finally able to stop him at the exit to the hangar bay. "You owe me, Valen," he whispers intensely.

Staring down his Commander, Valen hesitates for a moment, considering what lists of favors the man may be keeping, when he sees Yudoran put his hand to his helmet and stand up quickly. Immediately, the other four Elites hop up, and they begin to head towards the racks. The ship-wide klaxon begins to howl once again, alerting everyone on the flight deck, and a thump reverberates through the deck plating echoing through the hangar bay. The pilots perk up, their heads swiveling quickly, and then another thump judders the floor underneath them.

"What was that?"

"Red alert. All crews to battle stations. Repeat-"

"We're under attack!"

"It's the fleet!"

"The ghost ships are here!"

Swiveling his head towards the Alphas as they leave, and turning back, Zain's face washes over cold and unfriendly once again as he glares at Valen. With his face stone cold and serious, he says ominously to Valen, "I suppose we'll just have to see for ourselves then." The Commander swings back towards the flight deck. After a moment, it's clear to Valen where he's headed, and he goes to follow. Zain stomps out in front, shouting across the deck, "Hey! Stay where you are, we're going out first!" Pointing at Farenn, he shouts, "Hawks, prep for flight!" The Alphas ignore his blustering and continue towards the turbolift, and Zain quickens his pace towards them, Valen rushing after him.

"Thamus, you shouldn't-"

"You and your Deltas stay here, Lieutenant Commander, that's an order! My Hawks will take care of this without you!" Bewildered, the Hawk pilots are unsure how to react to their Commander's outbursts. Some make half hearted motions to follow, but after a moment, they stand frozen with the rest, scattered about the flight deck as Zain marches after the Elites, Valen and Sirius following close behind.

"Valen, what's going on-"

"Not now, Janos-"

"Crane! Get those Alpha ships off my rack!" Commander Zain howls, sweeping his arm in wild gesture. "I'm the Commander of the Tyrant's fighter groups!" After a moment, it's clear the Alphas' fork-winged Interceptors aren't in a hurry to move off the staging rack. Catching up to the Alphas, he shouts over their shoulders and into Yudoran's ear, "Hold it right there! I'll be damned if you lot run off to steal MY GLORY AGAIN!" He begins to panic, seeing that the Elite pilots open the door to the lift. A bang wobbles the cranes overhead, shaking the flight deck beneath their feet. "STOP!" he yells over the explosions frantically, grabbing Yudoran around the elbow and yanking back on him as he stands at the turbolift. Whirling back, Yudoran and the rest of the pilots face Commander Zain. Yudoran stiffens, clenching his fists and becoming immovable as Zain refuses to let go.

"Let them go, Thamus! You're gonna get someone-"

"NO! I'll not stand by and be made a fool of! You will listen to me, Lieutenant! YOUR CAPTAIN ISN'T HERE-"

"ENOUGH!" a roar emanates from behind Valen, enough so that he flinches back. He knows that gravelly voice, but has never heard it like this. Pivoting back towards the door, Valen sees a flight-suited Elite Captain Antilles and his pair of black coated guards quickly stomping through the hangar access. Immediately, the entire floor of Hawk pilots snap to attention amid the thunderous pounding outside, the Elite Captain and his guards parting the crowd as they march quickly through. "BLASTERS!" he growls over the bulkhead-shaking impacts. The two blank-faced sentinels raise their weapons like machines, continuing to march towards the lift. Valen puts his arm out to his side and steps backward out of the way, keeping Sirius behind him.

Wheeling around, Zain quickly releases Yudoran's arm and, with a stunned face, throws his gloved hands up in surrender.

"Put your hands down, you coward," Antilles hisses as he arrives in front of the Commander, disgusted. Wrinkling his face into a sneer, he looks the Commander up and down. "You disgrace of an officer, have some dignity," he lectures, Zain speechlessly looking down to put his wrinkled uniform back into order. "STAND AT ATTENTION!" The Captain's sudden bark causes the already flustered Commander to flinch once more, and he snaps to attention, his uniform remaining out of place.

Pulling back from his sneer, the Elite Captain addresses his pilots in between the thuds and booms. "Alphas. Ready your ships," he says quietly. The Alpha pilots all turn away and close the turbolift door, taking it up to the catwalks. "Hawks!" Antilles roars again, keeping laser-like eye contact with Zain. Pausing for a moment as the lift begins to return back to the flight deck, he shouts, "Stay put!" Sorting out his helmet and recomposing himself, the Elite Captain cycles the life support unit on his chest. Calmly lowering his eyes, he nonchalantly turns his helmet upside down while the lift door opens behind Zain.

"If he moves," Antilles pauses, putting the glossy black bucket over his head. Turning the red striped scowl towards the disgraced officer, his microphoned voice coldly commands, "shoot him."

The doors to the turbolift open behind Zain, and Antilles marches past him, stepping inside. The doors close behind him, and as the turbolift raises from the deck, the stone-faced guards remain, their E-11s trained on the Hawk Commander. Daring not to test the order, Zain remains at full attention, his face frozen in terror.

The six blue TIE Interceptors scream to life in the racks above them, their howls tearing the relative stillness apart as their engines power up. The ion engines spin up to launch power, and strangely keep raising in pitch, the noise level becoming extremely piercing, much higher than normal. Valen and the other pilots on the deck can't help but throw their hands up to shield their ears at the cacophonous noise. Though his face twists in anguish, Zain stays in place, the unflinching guards keeping their weapons locked onto him as if they have no ears at all. Valen looks up to the staging area towards the source of the earsplitting noise to see an odd sight. In a fashion unlike Valen's ever seen in the hangar bay, the fighters' forked solar panels start to tip downwards on the rack, the fighters all pivoting straight downward into the flashing lake of stars. Shrieking louder and louder, their engines' screams peak, the wash of their exhaust causing a hurricane-like wind inside the hangar bay. Suddenly, the rack's hooks unlatch, and in the blink of an eye, the six blue terrors dive out of sight into the flashes below. The unbearable noise at once vanishes with their violent departure.

Valen's ears left ringing in the relative silence, he can feel the absence of the powered up fighters in the calming air, the ozone of ionized exhaust filling the hangar. He lowers his hands from his ears and runs to the edge of the black lake, peering into the strobing starfield. Soon, Sirius runs up behind him to look as well. The Hawk pilots all drop from their attention one by one, though they stay where they are. Looking up around the hangar as the lights flicker slightly, they swivel their heads about their ship, unsure whether to take cover or run for their ships. The thuds have quieted down slightly after the Alphas took off, making the battle seem strangely distant. Sporadic impacts hit the ship, but they feel muted; far away. The Alphas must be taking the pressure off.

Staring down to see what can be seen, Valen tries to filter the distracting flashes of green turbolaser fire from his attention. The bright lights dance around the starfield, leaving spots in the young pilot leader's eyes, but still he persists, hoping to glean something from this opportunity. Suddenly, two blurs scream past, close to the hangar. Valen and Sirius' heads pivot to track them, but Valen recognizes the cries of ion engines. Alphas. Valen knows that employing a close flyby like that is meant to drive a wedge between the cruiser and enemy ships. Still no sign of the enemy though, the arrowhead shape from the classified feed of the Spear incident proving to be elusive, even in this open firefight.

But then, far away, he sees a few flashes. Green light, streaming out of seemingly nothing. Looking closely, Valen can just make it out. An Alpha has something in his sights. A tiny spot out in front weaves about.

"That's it! There, see?!" Valen excitedly grasps at Janos' shoulder and points down at the near invisible speck. Behind them, some of the Hawks walk up to the edge to perhaps see for themselves as well. Out of nowhere, a sudden stream of red, and a surprising flash of orange causes Valen and Sirius to jolt back. Furrowing his brow, Valen tries to see what happened. Another speck has crossed paths, but where is the Alpha? There; a stream of green sweeps in from the side, pursuing one of the ships. Two streams now; wingmen.

With one of the specks vanishing beyond their vision, Valen tracks the other of the tiny spots, which has puzzlingly stopped moving across the starfield. Narrowing his eyes, Valen tries to make sense of it. It's twirling in space, lines of turbolaser fire criss crossing around it, increasing in size. Inhaling sharply and jumping backwards, Valen gets an eyeful of the mysterious ship as it corkscrews towards the hangar opening, unleashing a barrage of bright red light.

"CLEAR THE HANGAR-" Valen shouts, swinging his arm back and clotheslining his wingman as he quickly springs backward. The hangar bay flashes orange, as if a brilliant and dazzling sun had ignited just below. The deck hammers upward into the bottom of Valen's feet, buckling his unbalanced stance and throwing him back on his butt next to Sirius. The lights flicker out suddenly, darkening the cavernous room. A pair of cranes tilt and bang against each other from the impact, but as Valen rises up, and the orange glow dies out. It looks like the Tyrant's shields have held. No fires, no shouts for help. After a moment, the hangar bay's lights flick back on, and the sounds of turbolaser fire are all that can be heard. No more impacts, distant or otherwise. Looking around at the pilots, Valen sees they've all scattered away from the black lake, but none further away have lost their balance as much as he and Sirius right at the edge. The turbolaser fire dies down, and eventually, all is quiet once again. The fight is over. Slowly, the pilots all begin to straighten up, looking amongst each other, seeing if everyone is alright. Quietly, they become a little more relaxed, when a voice echoes over the hangar bay.

"All personnel, clear bay access 2. E-01 to your ships. Medical teams stand by, Priority One."

Bay doors open from the side of the hangar, and a pair of engineering tugs push slowly out, their mild engines hissing a rush of exhaust as they begin to warm up. A team of goggled Flying Engineers runs across the glossy black floor.

"Clear the way, clear the way!" one of them shouts as their clumsy sounding boots carry them through the Hawk pilots. Disconcerted, the young pilots all do their best to get out of the way as the engineers jump into their tugs and take off, their ships sinking into the brackish, now calm lake. Standing once again in silence, the pilots begin to converse.

"Did we get one?"

"Did they get one of the Alphas?"

"No way, nobody can kill an Alpha! I bet they shredded one of those Reb ships!"

"If anyone could, it's them!"

"What if they couldn't?"

The pilots wait quietly, staring across the deck at the opening in the floor. Valen throws his helmet on, alternating frequencies to see if he can listen in on anything. Nothing; no useful communications. All he can hear are damage reports from the Tyrant's decks. Luckily, it doesn't sound like anything major. If this was the ghost ships, why hadn't the Tyrant suffered similar damage to the Spear? After a moment, Valen sees Lohm approaching from the throngs of alert pilots.

"Hear anything, sir?"

Pulling the bucket back off, Valen just shakes his head as his Deltas begin to collect around him. A chorus of ion engines begins to fill the hangar, and the crowd of Hawks look up to the racks. Four blue ships rise slowly up, and hook onto the launch racks, their pilots popping out of the hatches and jumping onto the catwalks. Expecting them to head straight for the turbolift to the deck, Valen is surprised to see them remain up in the staging area. Leaning over the handrails, they look intently down into the black lake from the catwalk.

"Where's the rest of them?" Sirius whispers to Valen. Valen just looks up at the racks, trying to see who's missing. He can see Yudoran, and three others, but Captain Antilles isn't up there.

"Maybe they're guarding a Rebel wreck?" Morrus asks, Feld nodding in agreement.

Lohm optimistically adds, "If it's one of those ghost ships, that could be just what we need." Inwardly, Valen agrees wholeheartedly with his Second. The pilots wait quietly, keeping out of the way of the hangar docking entrance.

A low hiss fills the bay, and with a rush of engine wash, a laden engineering tug rises up in the hangar opening. Gloved hands point upward amongst gasps and hushed whispers from the group of pilots. The whispers grow to murmurs, and then drop again to near nothing. In the tug's tractor beam, a twisted heap of durasteel. A scorched, forked solar panel is among the recognizable shapes. It's painted blue; an Alpha Interceptor. Inspecting the wreck as it's gingerly grasped by the hangar bay's cranes, Valen can see the port spar has been twisted and cut through, the pod burned open on the side facing the grave damage. A piece of the plating has been collapsed inwards around the edge of the cockpit window. The engineering tug departs and heads to its side of the flight deck, where a number of Hawks rush over for any answers from the pilot. Up above them, as the cranes bring the damaged ship's pod within reach of the catwalks, the other Alphas crowd towards the area, met by medical personnel, who clamber onboard. In the quiet, waiting to see if everything is alright, another howl slowly begins to echo in the hangar. Across the way, the final blue Interceptor locks itself onto the rack, its engines powering down.

Valen's attention is caught once again as a light shuffling can be seen emerging from the cockpit pod. After a moment, the medics gently pull a black suited body from the wreck, placing him onto a hover cot. On the other side of the catwalks, Valen can see the last pilot emerge from his identical blue Interceptor. The pilot watches from afar, behind a mask adorned with two vertical red stripes.

Antilles.

The cot and the other pilots silently exit the hangar bay through an emergency door on the upper level, and Captain Antilles jumps down from his fighter, his boots rattling the floor as he enters the skeletal turbolift. Slowly, he descends to the deck, the grated door opening to the Commander and the Alpha soldiers, right where he left them. The fearsomely blank helmet remains on his head.

Stepping out, the Elite Captain's voice simply says, "Bring him," before continuing to walk off the deck. The guards move towards Zain, shoving at him with the barrels of their blasters. Meekly putting his hands up again, he looks back and forth at each of the firearms. One of the guards gestures, rolling his weapon to one side. Complying, the shamed Commander walks through the parting crowd of pilots, his worried face keeping low while he's escorted by the guards. Quietly, the pilots whisper to each other over the undignified spectacle, staring as he's led through.

Valen watches after the guards and the Commander as they march off the deck. Crossing through the hangar accessway, the door quickly closes behind them, leaving the hangar bay awkwardly quiet. Behind Valen, the Interceptor wreck is placed on a conveyor and taken out of the hangar, as the second tug arrives, towing the missing forked solar panel. Staring at the doorway behind which their Commander has disappeared, Valen hangs in a haze, wondering where he is being taken, when he's bumped slightly from the side.

"Hey. Mind if I get some of that?" Janos asks. Valen looks over to see his wingman's eyes are wide and fixed on the door as well, his hand outstretched slightly towards his Flight Leader. Snapping out of it, Valen looks down at his own hand, which is somehow now holding his inhalant device. In a bit of shock over the whole situation, Valen absently hands the device over his shoulder to his wingman, who takes a puff and hands it right back. Valen, unsure if he's already had some, continues staring at the closed door, putting the device to his mouth, and depressing the button.

---

Chapter XV: Celebrant

"Alright, from the top," Stalek's voice buzzes over the comms, "we run two firing lines from this end to the other, I'll give the commands, and you all need to hit your positions. Crossing point is at bridge: A-3."

"I don't see what these fancy practice platforms do to sim the real thing, Boss," Raythe gripes sorely. "If they want us to get some experience on jungle terrain, they should drop us off on a jungle planet."

"Maybe if you show you can handle these sim platforms, we'll be able to experience the real thing. You better get that arm movin', no more mistakes like your first run. That snapped leg piston cost us a lotta time."

"Ooo," Fyllus goads, Oppel's cackling filling in the background.

"Shut it, Fyl."

"You all shut it, you want to be stuck up on this dreadnaught forever, or do ya wanna get back in the war? Reset. Back to the other end."

"Well at least the facilities are substantial. I've never been in a sim room this big before."

"Seriously, this ship is a monster!"

The walkers carefully trudge their way around metal obstructions and over artificially raised platforms, making the long walk back through a veritable obstacle course for the walkers. Slowly and delicately, Hammand comes around a metallic cylinder meant to look like an overturned tree, and pivots Legs to the right.

Leaning sideways in his seat as he awaits yet another reset, Ando casually beckons, "Hey, Hamm."

"What's up, Flyboy?" the large, red haired pilot asks, looking out his porthole.

"Tell me about trooping."

Glancing back nervously, Hammand tries to look occupied, narrowing his eyes as he looks back out the window. "Kinda busy, aint we?"

"We're not in a rush, you can take us back to Alpha with your eyes closed."

"It's not as easy as ya think, kid."

"C'mon, I know you. You just don't really like to talk about the Trooper Corps, do you?"

"Ehh," he hesitates. "Aint much to talk about. I mean, it was fine, I guess. Did alright."

"How do they train troopers?" Ando asks quickly, incessantly curious.

"Well, probably trained in everything they don't train flyboys in, Flyboy," Hammand says cockily. "Shootin' blasters, walkin' on yer feet, fightin' with yer hands…." Ando stares at Hammand with a deadpan look, dissatisfied with the broad and boasting descriptions. Hammand smirks, letting the jab sink in a bit, and then continues with a real answer as if he were getting around to it the whole time. "Rux and I were the best a'course. Started out sparring partners. And when we'd get paired up to fight the other boys, man was it a beating! There was one buncha filthy goggleheads we remembered, put in our platoon. You know them?" Ando just shakes his head, lackadaisically smushing his cheek onto his palm as they rock back and forth in the cabin. "Rival gang. More like 'just another buncha dirty homeless kids;' enlisted at the same time. Hated us since the lower levels… Heh heh... they came 'round though…." Hammand trails off, smirking and slowly shaking his head out the armored porthole, as if they were something to be pitied. "Rux, he always liked the fancy light stuff, knifework too, when he got into recon. I stuck with the honest stuff."

"Boxing."

"Right. That's for real Imperial heroes." Ando just begins to roll his eyes at yet another bit of the usual bravado from his pilot. "Had a good Clone Sergeant beat it into me, he was old, but...real good. Hated it when I'd call the other guys by name."

"Ah, that old boot camp thing. We had to keep to our numbers during early Academy too."

"Heh, yeah. They keep to it in the Trooper Corps, try to force numbers throughout the branch, even outta training. Ol' Sarge said, 'TK's get no names.' I'd keep tellin' him, 'My name's Hammand,' if I wanted him teachin' me a new fightin' move each day. Man, it hurt, but the beatin' was worth it. Think he knew. Old man was like that…."

"Did he have a name?"

"TK-0119 or some real low number. Our sorry outfit all just called him Ol' Sarge 'cause it made him mad."

"Oh. See any action together?"

"Me and Rux? Hell, loads of action, haha!" Hammand finally roars without hesitation. Somehow, Ando feels, too little hesitation. "Not much rest for Marine Stormtroopers, we go from knockin' on one door to the next. I remember takin' to the frontline pretty good, loved the heavy blaster. You know the one."

"I know it," Ando says with a slightly frustrated smirk, remembering the unwieldy weapon from Zelliros. "Those things are as big as I am."

"Took on a Rebel fortress with one, real good weapon. Shame one can't fit in the cockpit, or I'd have it strapped to the wall," he boasts, throwing a thumb back over his shoulder to where the E-11 sits. Tipping his chin up into the air like General Veers in the hangar, he proudly says, "Yep, they said I was real good stock for frontline work."

"How'd you end up transfered then?"

"To the Dragoons?" Hammand asks as if he forgot, casually throwing a lever to one side and turning their beloved Legs a different direction.

"Yeah, if you were so good with your boots on the ground…."

"Well, easier than you think. My unit was Marines, too, like the Dragoons. We were on the tail end of an operation, and the FOB was pretty scarce on staff that day. This little guy with a funny walker helmet walked up to me in the yard n' asked, 'i gotta gunner dead, wanna get outta the muck and behind a big gun?'" Hammand turns the corners of his mouth down and shrugs, tilting his head as if he were considering it right now. "Said, 'sure.' I didn't even realize he was a First Lieutenant, and I don't think he cared if I knew. Didn't call him, 'sir,' or nothin', and he never once told me to. Next thing I knew, he was takin' me to meet Legs here, and my copilot."

"Sergeant Weiss."

"Yeah." Hammand pauses, patting the side of the console roughly. Immediately, Legs seems to buck, as if she misstepped, causing Hammand to jerk his free hand back to the controls. Playing it off and speaking quickly, Hammand moves on, "Turns out I loved Legs' legs more'n her guns, haha. After a while, Weiss and I would take turns every mission on the gunnery and pilot work, till his last one."

"I'm sorry, Hamm."

"Hey, his last one was a good one. Died like a Dragoon should." Hammand pulls back on his levers, turning Legs around and stopping her in position. "All you can ask for."

"It's confusing in space. Hard to know out in a dogfight…if someone's last one was good," Ando pauses in thought as he remembers the grid fighting at Sarron. "Sometimes you don't even know if they were lost until after." Trying to shake it off and keep the conversation moving, he blurts impulsively, "How many drops did you do when you were a trooper?"

"Lots," Hammand says with a bit of a chuckle, but then stops mid-thought, his smile frozen for a moment, and beginning to droop. After a slight moment, he seems to snap out of whatever he was thinking, and grins. "But less with the Dragoons, which aint bad. That sound good, all yer questions asked?"

"Yeah, Hamm, let's do this."

Leaning forward quickly, Hammand grabs up the command comm, stating, "Legs, in position, Boss-"

"Ready on my mark."

"Watch that left leg, Hamm."

"Don't tell me how to do my job, Flyboy, I aint swappin' spots with ya!" He guffaws, and Ando laughs with him, until both of their laughter dies down to silence, and their grinning faces become serious, focused on the training.

On Stalek's, "Mark," Hammand slams his levers forward.

---

The hallways are abuzz with engineers, busily marching to and fro. Teams of those clumsy sounding boots and familiar dirty goggles rush past as Valen quietly walks down the Command Halls. The lower class men all speak quickly, their lists of tasks seemingly endless as they pass by, going over the repairs to each other. But Valen looks ahead, marching through the hall amidst the turbulent tides of personnel. Slowing, he approaches the Skipper's office door. A pair of the fierce, stone-faced Intelligence guards stand watch outside, and turn towards him, scanning him with their eyes. Hesitating on his approach, Valen is all of a sudden reassured to see the young Adolas Owan standing outside with them. Taking a few steps out to greet him, Adolas breaks the tension between Valen and the ever-vigilant guards.

"Valen."

"Adolas."

"This way, please," the young Petty Officer beckons, parting the guards without hesitation to access the door panel. Placing his security code cylinder into the port, he clicks a code into the keypad, and the door hisses open. With a serious face on, Adolas leads Valen into the office.

Owan closes the door behind them, and Valen sees the purpose of this meeting. Commander Zain stands to the side with his head down, looking at the floor plating. His hands are shackled together in broad grey cuffs, a pair of black coated Naval security officers at his shoulders. Antilles stands rigidly at Captain Lennox's side, the Skipper sitting at his desk, with a gravely serious face on. Valen is led to stand opposite Zain, and snaps to attention.

"Skipper."

"Mr. Rannix, thank you for being present." the Skipper greets solemnly. "Commander Zain. What happened on the flight deck during our most current encounter with Rebel forces is inexcusable, and I am deeply troubled to hear of this. I have conferred with Elite Captain Antilles, and defer to him for the official charges."

"Thamus Zain. You have been observed by Intelligence. You are charged with syphoning inordinate proportions of assets for personal gain, releasing of, and modification to classified information to various non-clearanced sources, and obstruction of Elite Intelligence operations, causing the risk and loss of Elite assets. Your charge of insubordination in this respect we deem interpretable as inciting mutiny. Due to these charges, your display of incompetence for command duties is found an endangerment to your pilots, and to the ship. How do you plea?"

Lunging forward to the Skipper's desk, Zain begins to shout, "I don't know what you're talking about! Xamuel, I would never-" Zain is cut off as a guard elbows him in the gut and pulls him back into place. Left sputtering and coughing by the violent reprimand, Zain quiets down, returning to his slouched stance.

"I hear these charges, and can attest to witnessing several of these violations firsthand. You leave me no choice. As the Leading Captain of this ship, though it does not please me to give this judgement, I deem you, Commander Thamus Zain, unfit for command. You are hereby relieved of your position as Commander of Hawk Group."

"Xamuel, sir, you can't take away my command!"

"My hands are tied by more than this judgement, Thamus. I'm sorry."

"What-...," he stops himself. Subduing his energy, he asks, soberingly, "What are you going to do?"

Taking a deep breath, Lennox speaks firmly, trying to distance himself, "For the extent of your crimes regarding the misuse of secure information, I hereby turn you over to Elite Captain Antilles and Imperial Intelligence for sentencing."

"Your betrayal to Imperial Intelligence leads you into my custody, Commander Zain," Antilles says with a hesitance so absent he nearly cuts off the Skipper's sentence. "You will be brought before my Lord Commander, Lord Vader-"

"No! No, you can't-"

"Where you will be further judged-"

"He'll kill me! You can't do this! Valen, please-"

"For your grievous, and traitorous crimes against our Emperor," Antilles speaks over Zain, unphased by his pleas. The Elite Captain's stabbing green eyes narrow into an expression devoid of mercy as he orders, "Take him away."

"No, PLEASE!" Zain pleads, his knees buckling as the guards begin to pull him to the door. Lifting him by the arms, they open the door, pulling him out of the office. "Valen! Don't let these EI spies take me!" The door closes, shutting out his screams for help, and leaving the office in deathly silence.

Turning to the Skipper and placing his hand on his desk, Antilles urges, "You made the right decision, Xamuel. His absence is for the good of your ship." Lennox, grim, and stern, slowly glances over at Antilles' hand, and the Elite Captain slowly pulls his hand away. Turning back to Valen, he recomposes himself.

"Valen Rannix," Lennox says solemnly, ignoring the Antilles. "Terrus tells me that your performance report from Yavin was among the documents forged by Commander Zain to discredit your accomplishments, he's declassified your new report to me. It seems his list of victims knows few limits. I am sorry to hear that Thamus would stoop to such a level." Captain Lennox looks Valen in the eye, furrowing his already sobered brow. "With the loss of their Commander, the Hawks must now look to his replacement."

"Vanatus Farenn, Hawk's Second," Valen says quickly, giving the obvious answer. "I have confidence in him to fill the position and lead the Hawks. He's a-"

"Impossible," Antilles cuts Valen off. "He is implicated in Zain's crimes."

"Sir, Elite Captain, with all due respect. He is an asset, experienced with Interceptors, and-"

"Yes, a brilliant leader, a natural. I acquiesce to your claims, but due to the nature of the Commander's removal, who appointed him as Second, he will not be Hawk's leader."

"So, what? You're arresting him? He's a good man, a worthy pilot!" Valen begins to raise his voice, taken aback by how they're so willing to cast such a great pilot aside. "An accessory to Zain at most, but-"

"The decision is made, Rannix," Lennox orders, folding his gloved hands together. "You are a natural leader, too."

"Sir?"

"You will be Hawk's new Squadron Leader."

Widening his eyes, Valen searches for the words, but can't find them. It's as if his heart has leapt into the air, but suddenly, it falls down a well. "I… I don't know what to say, Captain. What about Delta?"

"You will need to tie up that loose end yourself," Captain Lennox states plainly, ever the vigilant Skipper. "Hawk Group is in desperate need of a leader, Rannix, and the Tyrant will not survive without an organized fighter group. I have confidence you will do a fine job."

"Farenn is more experienced with the large numbers, I still think he's the best choice, sir."

Antilles steps in. "He cannot stay here." Folding his hands behind his back, he straightens up. "In the interest of security, we must uproot him from any 'illegitimate contacts' he may have. He will prove himself amongst another flight group whilst we monitor him closely."

"You are our best choice, son." The Skipper stands from his desk, and Valen stiffens, standing at attention. "Valen Rannix. I hereby promote you to the rank of Commander, and place you in command of Hawk Group."

Unable to say anything else, Valen follows his duty, and gives a, "Yes, sir."

"Adolas, notify the squadrons to assemble in the hangar bay and take over duties on the bridge. I will present Rannix to the Hawks." Owan quietly pulls his commlink from his pocket, and walks out of the room into the hallway. Lennox, turning back to Valen, orders, "Don a dress uniform and meet me there. Congratulations, Commander Rannix, you're dismissed."

Steeling himself once more, Valen utters a, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," and exits the office. On his way out the door, he turns back, to see Antilles' dagger-like eyes watching him as the door closes.

Opening the door to his quarters, Valen immediately shucks his chest armor and places it next to his bunk, the helmet carefully on the bed sheets. Kneeling, Valen digs into his footlocker, wedging his fingers underneath his spare uniforms and pulling out a nondescript black case from the very bottom. Standing up, he gently places the case on his desk, unlatching and opening it to reveal a meticulously folded dress uniform, the last ranking pin on it being that of a junior flight officer. Thinking about the last time he wore it springs forth memories of his and Ando's last "race" together before being shipped off to different posts. Hopping out of his jumpsuit, Valen throws his dress trousers on, transferring his inhalant device to his new pocket. Inspecting the immaculate crease running up his leg, Valen smirks, and pulls his Flying Officer's dress coat from the case, throwing it around his shoulders. Wearing this uniform again pushes memories to the forefront of how hard he and Ando laughed together as new graduates, without a care in the galaxy.

Valen plucks his officer's cap from it's neat, separated cubby in the case, and holds it in one hand as he circles his desk, and sits down. Fidgeting nervously while he looks down at it, he pushes the small metal device around in his pocket through the lining of his trousers. Suddenly, the office door unlatches, whooshing open out of nowhere once again. Standing outside is Elite Captain Antilles, calmly placing his black code cylinder back in his bespoke breast pocket once again. Dropping the cap on the desk in front of himself, Valen snaps upward to attention.

"Captain Antilles!" Valen greets quickly, and formally.

"Yes, at ease. May I come in?" the tall man asks casually, walking into Valen's quarters all the same. Behind him, the door closes once again, and Valen can feel the presence of the deadly guards outside. "I wanted to come and congratulate you on your new position. To do so during our last meeting would have been...inappropriate."

"Thank you, Elite Captain. How can I help you?" Valen says, cutting to the chase. Conversations with the high ranking Elite have become more friendly as of late, though no less awkward.

"Sit," Antilles requests, though it seems more of an order. Complying, Valen does his best to appear relaxed, and sits down behind his desk as Antilles idly looks the quarters up and down. Coming back to Valen, as if just on a long walk around the tiny office, he reassures, "It is unfortunate that Zain's trespasses affect so much. We in Intelligence are taking steps to reverse the damage his meddling has caused."

"Yes, Captain. Will your pilot recover?"

"No, he was dead before we made it back to the Tyrant," Antilles says suddenly, almost matter of factly.

Remembering the vision of the pilot's body being pulled from the wreckage in the hangar bay, he realizes how naive he must have been to hope that the pilot would pull through. Surely, Valen's recovered from pretty grave circumstances, but the damage to the Alpha's ship was extreme. To hear Captain Antilles say such a thing stirs something in him. A sorrow maybe, or a pity; Valen's not sure. Perhaps even a glimmer of camaraderie between them for the loss of a pilot. "I'm sorry," Valen utters, as genuinely as he can. "I hope you will find a suitable replacement soon."

"Elite Pilots are extremely difficult to replace. Black Squadron is all but dissolved as of the Battle of Yavin," Antilles says stoically, running his gloved hand along the desk and inspecting it, as if for dust. Valen had never given as much thought to how rare an Elite pilot can be. He'd assumed one of Vader's private squadrons must have been replenished after Yavin. "The damage is done, Alpha will remain a squadron of five for now. If you have any other information on your former Commander regarding his violations, please do let me know."

"Yes, sir," Valen says, hopefully hurrying along this conversation.

"Do you have anything you can think of?"

Caught off guard, Valen hesitates. His mind wanders off, but comes back in an instant, aware all of a sudden how long he must have taken to answer the question. "No, sir. Nothing comes to mind."

Smiling subtly, the Elite Captain says, "That is good to know." Moving on, he politely lifts his angular brow and lowers his eyes. "I wanted to give you my confidences in your ability to lead the Hawks. Should you need any assistance, I offer my experience as an advisor to you, while taking steps to oversee a smooth transition."

"Thank you, sir. I'll do my best to make the Tyrant proud."

"I'm sure you will," he says, turning. "I'll take my leave."

"Yessir."

"Oh. One last thing," he says, spinning back at the door, as if he'd just forgotten. Casually, the black uniformed man asks, "Would you mind opening your desk drawer for me please?"

Valen feels his brow involuntarily raise, the blood rushing to his head, his heart jumping into his throat. Panicking, he asks innocently, "What for?" immediately regretting his decision, as Antilles' subtly friendly demeanor goes cold in an instant. The room at once feels chilled, as if the air were pulled from it. As if someone had turned the lights out around Valen. Nothing left but the freezing vacuum of space. The two officers stand in silence, Valen contemplating the Serenum in his pocket. He should have had some as soon as he got into his quarters.

Quietly approaching the desk once more, Antilles stops, and stands like a pillar in front of Valen. Piercing through him with his deathly green eyes, he commands with a face as if stone, "Open the drawer, Mr. Rannix." Isolated, trapped in his own office, it is as if Valen were being ordered at the point of a vibroblade. As if with a simple twist, he could be snuffed out with not one person on the Tyrant being made aware. Hesitantly complying, Valen turns to one side, and leans down, gently placing his hand on the drawer handle. Looking back up, nothing but Antilles' freezing glare looks back at him from above, waiting. Pulling the drawer open, Valen exposes the classified tablet, the guilt and fear rushing through his veins and around his body.

Standing in stillness for a moment, the Elite Captain quietly orders, "Remove the tablet from the drawer, and put it on the desk in front of you." Doing exactly as he's told, and making sure not to make any sudden movements, Valen pulls the tablet from its hiding place, and slowly extends it forward across the desk. Like a snapping trap, Antilles' hand plunges forward, suddenly clapping the tablet down onto the desktop. Startled as the tablet escapes his grasp, Valen can't help but flinch his hand away slightly, lest his fingers be removed by some deadly, unseen weapon. Antilles' gloved hand freezes in place on top of the device, the tips of his fingers spread over its surface like a spider. Looking up and expecting an expression of rage and anger, he only sees the stoic, stone-like face looking back down at him. Slowly dragging the tablet back towards himself, Antilles pulls it from the edge of the desk, and inspects it, as if Valen were no longer in the room. Awkwardly, Valen remains still, doing as little as he can to provoke the venomous man's ire while he waits for him to finish investigating. In the very back of his whirling thoughts, Valen regrets not requesting a personal sidearm, but quickly pushes the thought down, considering how moronic such an action would be at this point. He wouldn't make it out the door. However, after a moment, the Elite Captain calmly states while still looking down at the tablet, "I will expect continued cooperation between you and I."

Terrified, Valen assures, "You'll have it, sir."

Without a response, the blackened pillar slowly turns, and opens the door, folding the tablet into his hands behind his back. With his back to Valen, the Elite Captain says clearly, "Congratulations, Commander." Exiting, he turns his head and nods to his guards, the door closing and locking once again behind him.

Flopping back in his seat, Valen throws his head back and closes his eyes, inhaling free air once again. Trying to get ahold of himself, he takes a moment to feel the lights of his quarters glowing red through his eyelids, breathing calmly. Opening his eyes again, he looks forward at his dress cap on the desk, and reaches for it, but hesitates. Nervously looking for something to do to get his mind off of the close call, Valen turns his eyes to his TIE armor, sitting across the office.

Maybe there's some time to... no, I have to be down in the hangar bay.

Reaching into his pocket, Valen pulls his Serenum inhaler and pops it into his mouth, depressing the button. Breathing deeply, he crushes his eyelids closed, trying to slow how fast he exhales, forcing the breath between his lips. Breathing deeply in once again, his furrowed brow and pressed eyelids relax, and open once again. His eyes fall back to the dress officer's cap in front of him, and he picks it up, holding it in both hands as he stands from the desk and makes his way to the door. Running his thumb over its blank surface, he reaches out to his footlocker and pulls his Lieutenant Commander's pin from his on-duty cap. Fixing the old pin to the ceremonial accessory, he looks down at the item with a bit of melancholy. He's no longer the Lieutenant Commander of Delta; a small, tight-knit group of pilots he could rely on with his life.

Carefully, he opens the door to his office, pretending not to look for any Elite guards that may be waiting on the other side. Nothing. The hallway outside is empty. Walking out into the corridor, he continues to lose himself, looking down at the rank pin on his cap.

50. 50 plus pilots.

Valen contemplates the number as he rounds the corner to the Hangar Access door. Convincing himself he's been here before when given command of his first supporting subsquadron, he tries to shrug off the feeling. But his thoughts return, refusing to be suppressed.

How can I keep so many alive? How could one man possibly….One man...responsible for every-...

Valen's brow begins to furrow once again, as he stares down at the diminutive silver pin, affixed to the fragile cloth cap. All of a sudden, he sees a pair of shining black boots on the floor beyond the folded cap. His feet have carried him down the hall while he remained in deep thought. Looking up, Valen sees his wingman, Janos Sirius, dressed in his finest uniform. Trying to snap himself out of his daze, Valen sees the rest of his Delta Subquadron standing in front of the closed, mighty Hangar Access door. Lohm, Morrus, Feld, Jorlessen, they all salute in greeting, subtly proud smiles on their faces. In the persisting haze, Valen does his best to respond, saluting back.

"Hey Valen," Janos says.

"Janos," Valen responds quietly, the squadron collecting around him. Lohm walks up with a subdued smile on his face, and reaches out for Valen's hand.

Giving him a quick handshake, and a hand on the arm to jostle him out of his trance, he asks, "Ready, Commander?"

"Commander."

Looking back and forth at each of his pilots, Valen steels himself. Putting the dress cap over his head and tugging forward on the bill, he receives more grins at the sight of his Lieutenant Commander's pin. The grins are proud, but melancholy. Observing his men, whom he has trained personally, their stance mirroring his, he nods stiffly. Without a word, the rest of the squad line up behind him, while Lohm heads to the wall. His Second reaches out, and clicks the door access. The mighty double doors slide slowly open, revealing Hawk Squadron as they stand at attention, facing inward at an aisle between them. Columns of gleaming badges and rank pins, ceremonial medals glinting in the stark light of the Tyrant's mammoth hangar bay. With the group split down the middle into a clear opening, Valen can see the ship's Captain, Xamuel Lennox at the other end, standing with his hands folded behind his back. Walking into the hangar bay, each row of pilots Valen passes throws their hands forward in salute. Seeing them all in person, the number of pilots is even more than he pictured. The aisle feels endless, as do the numbers of pitch black Naval uniforms. Each step he takes, he hears boot heels click together, and sees hands thrust forward into the air. Turning his head slightly over his shoulder as passes the front row of pilots, he can feel his Delta Squadron turn away, no longer walking behind him. Reaching the Skipper alone, Valen executes his Naval Academy trained about-face, and turns as flawlessly as he can to face Hawk Group. Every pilot he sees, under his command. A sea of eyes on him, behind each pair, a thinking, eager person, hoping for Valen's capabilities to keep them alive.

Looking out on all the young pilots, young men, with his own eyes, Valen shakes the great weight that unnerves him to his core. The paralyzing fear of failure he meets head-on with stubborn determination. And with a forceful rejection, he banishes it.

This is it.

I'm not afraid. I'll do whatever it takes. These men rely on me now, and I'll keep them alive…. Whatever I can, Folund.

I'm not afraid…. I can't be.