Chapter 11

Captain Dek, callsign TK-1349, aimed his E-11 blaster rifle at the steel door hidden away in the corner of the now-patronless cantina. The Twi-lek waitress, before scurrying away, had pointed the closet out as the hiding place of the two fugitives. The troopers in his squad took up positions behind overturned tables, counters, and anything else that could be used as cover.

Dek didn't like hunting down these smugglers. They barely ever put up a fight, and when they did, there weren't enough of them to make a show of it. The captain missed the War. Thousands of clone troopers battling equal numbers of battle droids, a skirmish by Clone War standards, was where Dek had felt the most alive. Now, the newly formed Stormtrooper Corps was filling up with conscripts from systems all across the Empire. Millions of non-Clones. They weren't real soldiers, and Dek hated them. Each one thought they were something special, unique. They thought they mattered.

Once you put on that armor, no one gives a damn who you are, was Dek's response.

Most of the Clone units were being disbanded, but TK-1349 had requested that he and his troops stay active. His unit's actions during the Clone War, numerous missions behind enemy lines, as well as conducting a stalwart defense of the Senate building during the Separatist attack on Coruscant, had impressed the high command enough to grant his request. But, instead of fighting titanic battles like the good old days, Dek was stuck hunting down one or two criminals a week. He had tried to find more exciting assignments for his men, and he dreamed that one day an order would come to hunt down one of the last remaining Jedi. No order came. At least, not yet. If they were able to eliminate their targets today, apparently personal enemies of the naval commander orbiting above, he had been promised a promotion, and more importantly, a chance to join one of the elite Jedi-hunter units. Captain Dek relished the thought.

He had taken five of his best men with him on this mission, but he was sure anyone in his unit could handle this. These smugglers were clearly inexperienced; they made no effort to hide their tracks leading to Mos Eisley. The tip from the Twi-lek had made their job easier, but they would have found them soon enough.

Now it was showtime.

Dynamite, BN-553, cautiously moved up to the steel door hiding the smugglers. With the confidence of a veteran, he placed the thermal breaching charge as silent as possible on the door. The charge was similar to the thermal detonators used in combat, but designed to put the same explosive power into a much smaller radius. On Dek's command the door would be blown clean off its hinges; it might even crush the smugglers behind it. After placing the charge, Dynamite moved to Dek's position and handed over the trigger device. Dek glanced over at Deadeye, YT-7866, his unit's best shot. Like many missions before, the instant the explosion went off, Deadeye would fire his shots, no more than needed, and it would all be over. Some of his fellow soldiers thought it a bit silly that their nicknames all started with "D." Dek disagreed, it fit perfect with their team name: Death Squad.

The other three troopers, each just as deadly as the last, were there in the event something went wrong. But, on missions like these, they were mostly the audience. Still, it gave the captain some reassurance when they were alongside him. Dek looked at Dynamite and Deadeye, counting down from five with his fingers. On one he pressed the trigger.

A fiery blaze erupted around the door. For a second, just a second, it began its trajectory into the small room, bringing the ball of fire with it. But then, most peculiarly, it seemed to stop and then reverse itself. Although the force of the explosion should have blown it in, the door now flung itself in the opposite direction, into the cantina. Deadeye, unable to react to the door's ignorance of physics, found himself square in its path. Obliterating the table he was taking cover behind, the door crushed him against the cantina wall, killing him instantly.

Dust and smoke now filled the cantina, but the hole that they had created was there, whether they could see it or not. All five survivors opened fire, sending streams of red lasers into the closet. Dek was certain that if they didn't hit their target directly, a ricochet would. Suddenly, it felt like someone picked him up, and before he could break free he was thrown across the room, knocking over a group of chairs. As he lifted his head, he tried to make sense of the figures cloaked in the smoke and dust. Blaster shots were bouncing around the cantina now, but as Dek watched, the shots lessened and lessened. Feeling around the floor, Dek felt the grip of his rifle. He stood up, and brought the blaster to his shoulder.

The air was beginning to clear, and Dek saw five broken bodies in white armor. His heart rate increased. Captain Dek, veteran and decorated hero the Clone Wars was not going to die like this.

When the voice spoke, it was familiar, and it enraged TK-1349, but he couldn't put a face to it.

"Soldier," it said, "put down your weapon."

TK-1349 said nothing, and searched for the source of the voice.

"There's no way out of this."

There was a large pillar in the center of the cantina. He could just make out a part of someone standing behind it. Dek aimed his rifle and fired.

As he pulled the trigger, a snap-hiss that he had heard so many times years ago echoed around the cantina. A blue-white light reflected off the armor of the dead Stormtroopers. Dek's red laser shot arced across the room, striking the lightsaber blade, and was sent straight back into the soldier's chest.

Right before impact, Dek recognized his killer's face. General Kenobi had been his commander.

General Kenobi had been his friend.