Happy Easter everyone! Hope you're staying safe with all the weirdness going on. I won't even try to excuse how long this took. Hopefully I'll be able to get a few more chapters out before this new Ezra Thrawn series they're talking about comes out. I always work better with a deadline!

Disclaimer ~ I own nothing but the OCs, they're trademarked!

With a jittery whisk the turbolift door opened, and captain Pelleaon was brought up short for a moment, at the incongruous sight of the short furry aliens inside. Two Murelani pushed a hovercart ladened with wires and circuits, blinking nervously and dipping their ears backward. A young naval trooper accompanied them, with no blaster in sight but a noticeable bulge under his jacket. He went ramrod straight at the sight of the captain, and offered him a crisp salute.

Returning it as casually as he could, Pelleaon almost stayed in the hall to wait for the next lift; but such uneasy was beneath the dignity of a fleet captain. With a polite greeting to the trooper (and a curt nod to the aliens, as they likely did not speak basic) he stepped in next to them.

The turbolift rose as they stood there in silence, until the two aliens launched into quiet chatter in their incomprehensible language. The trooper's eyes darted to them for a second; but then turned forward again as he stared straight ahead, obviously nervous he'd do something wrong in front of his captain. Pelleaon maintained a more relaxed stoicism. With much of his naval career spent serving in the Outer Rim, he had plenty of experience dealing with non-humans, and was not overly bothered by their presence itself. What did discomfort him was the fact that their ship and crew had been made dependent on these aliens, and were forced to allow them to intrude on the private sanctum of the star destroyer.

Not that they were roaming free through the halls. He and the other officers had tactfully but firmly kept the number of aliens on board at any one time to a minimum; ostensibly based on the risk of the dangerous repairs going on, and their lack of familiarity with the ship. And those who did were escorted every, for their own safety and convenience of course, as evidenced by the presence of the nervous trooper.

But in the end, allowing some aliens on had simply been unavoidable. With the depressing amount of battle damage recently, the Chimaera had already expended nearly it's entire supply of repair materials. Many types of replacement wiring and electrical hardware now had to be taken from their new friends; and one couldn't simply slap two completely different types of wiring together and expect it to achieve anything but bare minimum performance. The necessary jury-rigging required as much local expertise as their own, and so a number of Murelani electricians had been brought up to assist.

The turbo lift stopped at the level containing the machine shop, and after a prod from their escort the aliens departed. When the doors closed the lift was still for a moment, before lurching upward again. The stop was even more jarring when it finally arrived at the main bridge.

Pelleaon stepped out to find the command deck and crewpits mercifully free of any alien presence. With a nod to the saluting officer on watch, he proceeded into the tactical room.

It was a small meeting; only Major Ayer and Lt. Commander Sesden were present. At Sesden's shoulder stood his personal protocol droid, a non-standard model he had picked up somewhere in his dealings. He called it a "Tac-Spec Footman," a model that no one else had heard of, and it's thin limbs and smooth body were painted a dull green.

"Good morning," he nodded to them. "We'll have to be brief here; if there were any incidents of note, start with that!"

"I am receiving regular reports from our troops on escort duty," Ayer began. "And I can say that there have been no breaches of security, or overtly hostile acts by our . . . guests. None of them try to stray beyond their designated areas, or meddle with ship systems."

Pelleaon kept his face even as he nodded. "That's certainly good to hear. How is the crew dealing with it?"

"They're mostly too busy to complain; and while I can't say they're enjoying this, they've refrained from taking any frustrations out on our visitors. At least not beyond the odd private joke." The stoic majors brow twitched just a fraction. "I have made it clear any lack of courtesy will not go unnoticed, and will be dealt with severely!"

Many fleet personnel were often far too heavy-handed in dealing with civilians, especially aliens. Since Thrawn took command, such behavior had been firmly moderated onboard the Chimaera, but bad habits were often hard to fully break.

"Naturally, most all conversations are being filtered by our protocol droids," Sesden put in. "Their base programming for courtesy makes them ensure they say things in the most diplomatic way possible, even if it's not quite what the speaker meant."

"How is work proceeding on the other droids," Pelleaon asked. Every droid remaining on the ship with even a hint of protocol capabilities was being reprogrammed for translation, as quickly as the work drowned crew could manage. Since they only required two languages, they were able to include some of the more rudimentary models that would normally make poor interpreters.

"As well as could be expected sir," Sesden nodded. "We still have seven of the ten standard protocol droids the ship was issued, all of which can understand Murelani reasonably well now. The RA-7's are taking longer to program, but those we have finished have proved satisfactory." He just managed to hide a grin. "An attempt was made to refit some of the ASP droids for translation, but it is recommended we discontinue that. They had to be wiped clean of all other programming just to have the computation space, and even then their performance as translators has been . . . poor. There has been at least one near incident with hydrospanners."

"Very well, the higher functioning droids are probably all we can realistically hope for," the captain drummed his fingers on the holo-display rim. "We have carried out the admiral's orders regarding the turbo laser data package, have we not?" Thrawn had ordered the technical readouts of standard Imperial turbo lasers (more powerful than the local weaponry) be given to their alien allies. It was expected that the ever grateful Jaan-taik would soon make an oh so polite request for some serious military payback, soon after the vital repairs were underway, and the admiral had decided it would be more endearing to appear to supply it of their own free will. Some of the command staff were less sure, Pelleaon included, but none had spent as much time with the aliens as the admiral.

"Yes, one of Lomar's juniors handled that," Sesden scrutinized the captain. "Something wrong sir?"

"I have been informed that our shipments of base metals have become problematic," Pelleaon explained. "What reports have you received about it?"

Sesden turned and nodded to his droid, which was keeping his schedule and handling the vast amount of raw data required for the ship's repairs. "Local alloys have been found to have different metallurgic formulas than galactic standards. Sixty-eight percent of metals provided did not reach sufficient yield strength required by Imperial regulations for hull armor. Most of the initial shipments were returned, and Hangarmaster Xoxtin has reported further shipments have not arrived."

The Captain's eyebrows creased in worry. "Did the Murelani explain why the shipments ended?"

"Negative sir."

The three men exchanged wary looks. Now that they had gotten some of what they wanted, would the Murelani start to drive a harder bargain. Pelleaon had some experience dealing with the perplexing logic of aliens, but his impression of the Jaan-taik had been that he'd be too smart to gamble on provoking an Imperial star destroyer while it was right over his planet.

Unless he felt emboldened by their current weakness. There was no way to hide the ship's frail nature with so many repairs. Six Murelani combat cruisers had been left behind in the system; and in their current state, that might be enough to destroy the Chimaera in a fight. Particularly if the fighting began before the admiral returned.

"Commander Faro is going down planetside in a few hours," Pelleaon said. "I'll have her address Jaan-taik Kaarep personally about it. If that doesn't get results we will consider . . . other options."

Sesden and Ayer exchanged glances. "I will have my people step up on their sweeps of the ship," the Major decided. "Check for signs of sabotage."

"Good man," Pelleaon nodded. "Is there anything else?"

"I was hoping I could go planetside myself, in the next rotation," Sesden requested. "I wanted to see how they handle producing materials at the source; might be able to streamline some things. I've been working on understanding Murelani anyway, some local immersion is always the best practice."

"Isn't your droid fluent now," Pelleaon asked?

"Yes, but I've always found the personal touch gets the best results," Sesden nodded. "And anyway; there is the language, and then there is the language, if you get my meaning. I'm sure we will profit from some more direct communication."

Pelleoan drummed his fingers along the display again, vaguely wary of what the Lieutenant Commander might get up to, loose on an alien planet. Surely he'd curb his usual habits, in their current circumstances. Probably.


The city center (Faro couldn't remember the place's name) sat squarely on the hill, and dominated the surrounding slopes; a large circular building with an exterior of soft white plasters covering the durosteel. The Murelani apparently didn't see the same need for seriousness in their government as humans did, as the center's halls were decorated with colorful murals that seemed to display scenes from Murelani history, and the alien landscapes of other worlds. Instead of beating a march on solid floors, the visitors tread softly on a thin carpet. In retrospect, the colors were not all that outlandish; but to the Imperials, used to undecorated corridors of severe black and grey, it looked more like an alien hotel than a center of government.

Faro paid the decorations little mind as she strode through the halls next to the Jaan-taik, drawing curious gazes from the aliens they passed. "I'm assuming it was some kind of communications failure," she said in her most diplomatic tone; speaking slowly and enunciating her words carefully, to make sure the alien understood. "Our engineers sent the scrap metal back because it did not meet the metallurgical requirements we needed. But we have not received any more shipments?" The alien governor had been very enthusiastic in his promise to help restore the Chimaera, but promises like that were easy to make; Faro had feared the Murelani would start making excuses once it became clear how costly fixing the star destroyer would be.

The Jaan-taik nodded, hands behind his back and ears perked up. Faro was only just starting to understand Murelani body language,and was fairly certain his ears were in the politely-listening position. "Ii caan confirm thaat iis likiely thie caase," he nodded. "Ii haave reiceived severaal reiports from miy couriers thaat they were iinstructed to reiturn their own shiipments or others; aand iit waas beilieved your shiip waas reiceiving more thaan iit could process."

Faro gave the barest sigh at this. At least there was no conspiracy. But still, hours of work time lost, because of simple miscommunications. She was dearly missing Imperial space, where all the fleet's infrastructure was managed by humanoids.

"A simple misunderstanding then," She kept up her most polite smile. "Please have your people resume sending us metal shipments, our crewmen will process them in the hangar. We have enough translation droids now that it should go more smoothly."

She had actually considered bringing a droid for this conversation, but thought better of it. The Jaan-taik had made enough progress on learning basic that it might be a little insulting to imply they needed a translator to understand him; not to mention it was more respectful to speak to someone of his rank directly. But also, Faro was just a little apprehensive about bringing a droid around the general alien public. The Murelani were certainly more advanced than the average Outer Rim tribe; but they had never developed droids of their own, and command circles were full of stories about what such aliens did when first encountering one. Any droid brought outside the safety of the Chimaera might be mobbed and torn limb from limb, or carried off to the town square to be worshiped as a god.

"Ii wiill iinstruct theam iimmeidiately," they passed through the building's main door, out into the bright noonday sun. Faro resisted the urge to rub her eyes. No one had found the time to reset the Chimaera's shipboard chrono to local planetary time, and while it was noon for the Murelani it was well into her evening. Of course, exact time didn't mean so much when you were working round the clock anyway!

"Ii must see to other maatters now," Kaarep nodded respectfully, as they stopped next to a landing pad, with a shuttle from the Chimaera already inbound. "But thaank you for coming to mie diirectly wiith thiis. Iit iis iimportaant wie keep each other aappraised of thiings. Feel free to contaact mie wiith aany further probleims." With another nod, he turned back to the building.

There's one problem solved, Faro thought, already mentally turning to a dozen others. Second Lieutenant Xoxtin would likely be waiting with a list of grievances as soon as they landed on the Chimaera. They were using the main hangar as the only point in and out for shipments from the planet, as one of several subtle measures to keep visiting aliens contained, and the already disagreeable chief hangar master had been apoplectic at the addition to her workload.

As the shuttle began touching down in front of them, she walked to another Imperial, Second Lieutenant Picts, who had been planetside to check on food shipments. As soon as the ramp hissed open, a team of murelani techs that had been sent aboard the Chimaera trotted down, lugging tools and equipment with them. As they scurried past, Picts grumbled in his throat. "We shouldn't keep letting these aliens on the ship," he whispereded sideways to Faro. "I don't think we can really trust them!"

"We aren't exactly giving them shipboard liberty," the commander replied. "Trust me, we have things well in hand."

He glanced at her with concern. "But how much access have they been given to our internal systems. If they get a link in they wouldn't even have to be on ship to cause trouble."

"I doubt they have the technology to get into our systems," Faro insisted, though she'd had to quiet her own worries in that area.

"If we really do start giving them our tech, like the admiral wants, they'l-"

"Steady on lieutenant," Faro stopped him short, and almost rolled her eyes. "I don't have time for another one of your theories at the moment."

"But we're so far below standard security," he pressed on, as the first hovercarts of fruit and fish meat were loaded. "How can we keep an eye on-"

"Just focus on your own duties," she shut him up with her best end-of-the-conversation officer's tone, as she boarded the shuttle ramp. "And let our people who are qualified to handle ship security worry about conspiratorial threats."


Kaarep watched the ascending Imperial ship for several seconds, making sure it was not about to turn around and deploy angry stormtroopers, before he turned and strode back into the City Center. With a polite greeting to the workers and bureaucrats he passed, he padded quickly through the circular patterned halls, to reach his office in the center of the building.

The round room was well lit by natural light coming from the skylights above. Four potted trees, native to Talaktalm itself, stood at each corner. Two sets of shelves dominated half the walls on either side, laden not just with datapads, but old fashioned paper books and other manuscripts. A desk of polished metal and a chair of dark carved wood stood at the far end, and behind it was a large impressionist mural of the churning black rivers of Dalmakdae, his own homeworld.

Dalmakdae had been the first colony world settled by the Murelani, and Kalbalka was the most recent. And if Kaarep and his people could not equal the new dangers descending upon them, it might well be the last.

Three Murelani were already waiting inside when he arrived. "How did it go?"

The three exchanged glances, as he crossed the room to sit in his chair. The desk in front of it was folded as low to the floor as it could be, as was the costume of Murelani; so that superior and subordinates addressed each other as equals, who merely served different purposes.

"I don't like their manner," a female to his right, Poulaa said as they took seats facing him. "Many of these Imperials talk to us in a way that matches how you described their last fleet, years ago. Is it some custom of the species; because I feel we are being quietly but deliberately insulted?"

Kaarep nodded regretfully. "In my talks with the Admiral, he has been open to me about a good many . . . flaws, within their empire. Almost all of their military is huuman, and a history of wars and strife with more alien factions has made them distrustful of other species. Have they given you any serious offense?"

She ground her teeth irritably. "It is difficult to be sure, I can barely understand their monosyllabic language. But many of their crewmen obviously view us with contempt, and I believe we are made the butt of many jokes!" Her ears flattened in annoyance.

Kaarep turned to the cream furred male in the middle. "Did you get the same impression?"

The younger Murelani, Talbec, scratched at an ear nervously as he addressed the Jaan-taik. "It does feel . . . unwelcoming, on the ship. The human engineers I spoke with where, eh, short; but that may be because they were working day and night. I did not feel any direct insult." He seemed to finally realize he was scratching himself, and stilled his hand. "Our people may simply be ill at ease due to the atmosphere of the ship. Such a maze of grey, lifeless corridors; it makes everything feel hostile. Perhaps we simply don't think in same unsophisticated manner huumans do."

From his talks with Bridger and the Admiral, Kaarep had learned that huumans were not nearly so artless as Imperial ways might make them appear. Still, he had to agree that they had used the excuse of military utility to take austerity to a truly severe degree. Not that he really had time to debate the finer points of that with his staff.

Finally, he turned to the dark furred male on his left, Ghaantac, who had been silent until now.

The technician glanced sideways at the other two, not sure if they should be made aware of the special assignment he'd been given. When Kaarep nodded, he continued.

"We have had little trouble adapting our own tech to Imperial standards, it's a time consuming process, but a fairly straightforward one. I expect the technicians on both sides will actually learn how to re-adapt each other's hardware quicker than they will overcome the language barrier. When both sides learn to make repairs independently, our rate of progress will increase."

"The Iimperials said it could be months before the ship is fully repaired." Kaarep asked. "What is your own estimation?"

The tech ran one hand through the fur of his head, ears twitching in thought. "I think so, but frankly I could only guess. We've never handled a repair so big! And while the process for adapting the tech is simple, there are slight changes that will have to be made every time we move from one ships system to another, as the repairs progress. So it will all have to be learned again, maybe a dozen times."

Kaarep nodded. "And did they conduct any weapons tests while you were there?"

"Yes," the tech replied. "After we replaced several burned out conduits on one of the main laser batteries, they ran a full diagnostic, which included a test firing. As you instructed, I managed to plug into one of the monitors and get direct readings of the weapons."

"And what were the results?" The Jaan-taik tried to remain casual.

Poking at his keyboard for one last check, Ghaantac nodded. "The energy output and stability readings of the schematics they gave us, and their own lasers, match closely; with only a two percent difference, which is marginal under the circumstances. The laser cannon designs they have given us are indeed as powerful as their own."

Kaarep allowed his shoulders to slump just slightly with relief. So the Admiral had proven to be as good as his word. So far. "Thank you my friend. And you are sure you were unobserved?"

"With the repairs and jury-rigging underway, it was easy to hide my own sensores out of anyone's sight, and I doubt it will appear in their systems as more than a data spike."

The Jaan-taik nodded. "Thank you. I know you are all working round the clock in this crisis, and I want you to know I appreciate it." The corners of his mouth stood up in an attempt at a wry smile. "If you don't mind me adding more to it, I have called in our magistrates and my officers from around the planet for a general meeting tomorrow morning, which I would like you all to attend. It is past time we do something about the pathetic defenses available to this planet!"

As they left he remained seated, eyes closed and ears still in deep thought.

The Vahetey were coming. He didn't know when, or how, but he knew it wouldn't be long before their dark warships appeared over his world. Everything must be done to make ready! His people knew how to fight, though they had lived in peace for a generation. Their new friends had already provided them with one powerful weapon; and if he had anything to say about it, more would follow soon. He truly hoped some kind of more genuine alliance could be made with the Iimperials; but if not, he was not above a little lying and theft, if it would save his people.

In either case, Kalbalka will not be able to hold alone. All the worlds of the Murelani must be awakened to this danger, and as many allies as they could find. When the rescue fleet returned (he refused to consider if it would return) he would have much more to discuss with the Admiral, and Ezra. Then he would be going on a little journey. It had been too long since he last called upon her Serenity the Jaan-Maia.


The small ships pulled into a tight turn as they ran from the enemy, fighting the power of momentum as they climbed up and to the left while trying not to lose speed. Even so, the brief reorientation allowed the pursuing fleet to close the distance. The larger enemy cruisers only got in one round of fire as they shot past, unable to check their own headlong rush. But the smaller round ships were far more nimble, and managed to latch on to their prey's tail and rake them with repeated rounds of fire.

Thrawn leaned back in his chair, and reoriented the small holosimulator for another test. It was a sophisticated Imperial tactical simulator, unbolted from it's spot in his quarters on the Chimaera, and brought over before their departure. With no time to run proper fleet drills, this was the best he could do to familiarize himself with the capabilities of the small flotilla he commanded. Best, but not ideal.

This was the most diverse force he'd commanded since leaving the Chiss Ascendancy; made up chiefly of two different alien species with their own ship designs, theories of war, and combat procedures. And he could only passably speak the language of one of them.

The "fleet" constituted almost fifty ships, a formidable force on paper. But almost half of these were civilian cargo ships, lightly armed and armored, with little consideration for speed, some as small as Bridger's Ghost. Their sole purpose was to evacuate the refugees, and would be butchered if taken anywhere near the enemy. To further weaken his position, the plan called for the already haphazard flotilla to split into two groups; a "pursuit force" to draw the enemy away, and a smaller "protection force" to cover the landings.

The warships were a decidedly mixed bag

Kaarep had explained that Kalbalka had "six guardians and eight cruisers," assigned to defend the planet. And in describing this, the Jaan-taik exposed a fundamental difference between standard galactic military practices, and those of this region of space.

The development of hyperdrive capabilities out here had been based around the use of kyber crystals; a history that would undoubtedly prove a fascinating study at some later time, but it gave local vessels an unusual list of advantages and weaknesses. Unlike most craft, they were not dependent on finite consumable fuels. Simple fusion generators produced a small supply of power, which was then transferred through the crystal and multiplied many times over to produce the huge amount of energy needed to power a hyperdrive. Ships of this type were not hampered by fuel limits, and if well maintained, could fly almost indefinitely.

However, because kyber crystals were relatively rarely occurring, any system or group of systems was limited in the number of hyperdrive capable ships it could produce. And so two distinct classes of ship had emerged. "Cruisers," which were capable of interstellar travel, and "guardians," that were not hyperdrive capable, and restricted to protecting the system's they were produced in. Kyber crystals were rare enough that most worlds, such as those of the Murelani, had already exhausted their own supply, and even with the jealously guarded crystals often lasting long enough to be used for one craft after another for several centuries, they were depended on trading with a few places rich in kyber, such as Karissa.

So his task force had only eight Murelani craft that could be considered true warships. Conveniently they were all the same kind, the Laansii class, which at two hundred and ten meters held its own as a respectable pickett ship by Imperial standards. As near as translations could tell him, the name signified a corvette. It was one of these ships, the Haagtia, that he had chosen to make his flagship, as he had a better chance of communicating with it's Murelani crew.

Naturally, the entire Fulkoom fleet that had escaped the previous battle at Eicheila had been cruisers, with the doomed "guardian" ships having covered the retreat. The Fulkoom craft were a more confusing mix; they named their classes of ships after birds of prey on their native world, with the comparison to those animals supposed to reflect the ship's general capabilities and function. Of course, non-Fulkoom had little idea what the name's conveyed.

His largest cruisers were a pair of Fulkoom craft more than three hundred meters long; roughly the size of a Pelta-class frigate of the Old Republic. They referred to them as the Geilio class, which Thrawn learned was a kind of comparatively slow but powerfully built eagle. They were going to be the center of the protection force, where guns and armor would be more needed than in a breakneck chase.

Further down the line of power were four medium sized cruisers known as the Briangie, at a respectable one hundred seventy five meters. The remaining eight light cruisers came in two types nearly identical except for age; both named for small, falcon like birds. Twenty two warships in all. The Seventh Fleet, properly led, could have brushed this force aside with ease. Now, it was all the Admiral could raise against a vicious enemy fleet, that had already mauled a larger force.

Thrawn keyed up the holo-display again, programming another test. The enemy would have to be drawn away from the extraction zone, for at least two standard hours, more than likely longer. The key would be to lead the Vahetey without ever truly engaging. They would almost certainly begin pursuit when the first force appeared; but was their single mindedness really so strong that they wouldn't turn on the weaker target of the protection force. If it proved too tempting, he may be forced to engage more aggressively.

The images of ships in front of him sprang into action on his orders. They moved and counter moved like a well choreographed dance. Since there were no pre-prepared simulations for a Vahetey fleet Thrawn controlled that too; it was a chess game the Admiral was playing with himself. If he was to be victorious, the real battle would have to follow such lines. He would have to learn to anticipate his enemies' moves as if he were ordering it himself, and use his fleet to control theirs.

Another tactic proved more successful; this time the maneuverability of the smaller Vahetey ships was accounted for, and they were lured away from their heavier companions and savaged mercilessly. He still couldn't be precisely sure about the accuracy of these simulations; they had no technical readouts of any Vahetey ships, but had had to extrapolate their capabilities based on how they'd performed in combat thus far. For the Admiral, the data gathering aspect of this next battle would be far more important than the actual rescue mission.

If there was to be a battle. They may arrive in the Eicheila system to discover it's survivors already butchered by the Vahetey, or the invading fleet unwilling to move from the planet. If he judged the odds of destruction too great, Thrawn would refuse to give battle, no matter the sacrifice. Even if the enemy could be beaten today, serious enough losses could doom them tomorrow.

Should the enemy stand their ground, retreat would have to be ordered. Should they take the bait, but turn again to attack the rescue fleet when it arrived . . .

It would be up to him to prevent that.


As Ezra deflected one forward stab after another, his opponent shifted his grip on the guard staff and swung it bat-like, attempting to strike the jedi's shoulder while his own staff was lowered. With casual ease Ezra lightly stepped back and blocked the blow, then stepped forward and drove his staff down toward the murelani's grip. In an instant he twisted his staff over the other and pressed down with all his strength, forcing his opponent to let go.

"Nice speed," Ezra instructed the alien in broken Murelani. "But you can't be too confident. Even if you have an opening, never assume an attack will work until it actually does."

The panting Murelani picked up the staff, and saluted him before limping off to the side lines. The jedi was traveling on the largest civilian cargo ship, along with most of the volunteers of what could generously be called their "ground forces." The cavernous cargo hold held a number of smaller landing craft, which would disperse their troops in a wide perimeter around the retrieval zone if necessary.

The ship had been privately owned and operated, but Kaarep had issued a call for volunteer ships to join the rescue effort; with promises to arrange compensation later (assuming they survived). When not enough volunteers came forward, he seized a few. Ezra had assumed at first that he'd be traveling on the same ship as Thrawn; only to find out that the Admiral had gotten on one of the combat cruisers. It made perfect sense in hindsight, since Ezra was planning to go planetside and the Imperial wasn't; but they hadn't even jumped to hyperspace before the jedi began to wonder if Thrawn had intentionally arranged to keep them apart. It would be dangerous to stay close to the Admiral, but Ezra couldn't help but feel he was even more dangerous when out of sight. And out of Force-choking range.

In the meantime, someone had thrown open the doors of a large storage room connected to the hangar, and covered the floor with mats for the "troops" to practice hand to hand fighting on. A crowd of aliens lined the walls as a few went out on the mat at a time, mostly under the guidance of the few experienced fighters with them. Based on their plan, Ezra was given to understand that if they got close enough to any Vahetey to fight face to face, it would mean things were already going wrong. And based on his own experience with plans, he considered that almost inevitable.

His next opponent was a Fulkoom, who almost immediately went on the attack; leaping forward to get close to the taller human and negate his longer reach. Ezra blocked a few furious blows before catching the other staff with his, and stepping forward to jab his free wrist into the bird-like aliens neck. When it stumbled back and blinked in confusion, he made a show of tapping the inside of his wrist. "You don't want to forget the Vahetey have, I think I heard them called "dew claws," that retract out of their arms. You want to be very careful about getting in close, trust me!"

The Fulkoom blinked uncomprehendingly, only nodding when one of the spectators repeated the lesson in it's own language. Ezra stepped off the mat for a moment to stretch his tiring arms, when a thud and a familiar curse in basic grabbed his attention.

Eight full squads of stormtroopers had been sent with the taskforce, seventy two soldiers altogether; in a move Ezra was sure Thrawn had calculated to show his own value and importance as an ally. They had initially kept to themselves, maintaining a haughty politeness when forced to interact with anyone else. But now a few had decided to join the fun, shedding their armor and rolling up the sleeves of the black bodysuits underneath. One sweating trooper only a few years older than Ezra reached down to help the squadmate he'd just knocked to the floor back up again.

"You were too predictable 39," A red haired woman stood over both of them with arms crossed, watching with the critical gaze of an NCO. "And a real fight won't have instructors giving you points for proper form. You need to respond to the opening's your opponent presents, with enough force for a finishing blow!"

With a nod to their instructor, the two trooper's assumed a fighting stance and went back at it, all three feigning indifference to all the aliens watching. A little curious in spite of himself, and missing talking to someone who could fully understand him, Ezra sidled over, resting the training staff on his shoulders.

The woman noticed him first. She only gave him a brief glance,then did a small double take as she realized who he was. Her straight posture loosened, her knees bending just so and arms going to her sides; the instinctive prep of a fighter.

The two grappling troopers didn't notice, locked face to face as they were; until one managed to hook a heel behind the foot of the other, and with a well timed push sent him reeling. The trooper almost plowed into the crowd of aliens, but Ezra reached an arm out and caught him.

"Thank yo-" The young dark skinned trooper almost jumped when he realized who had grabbed him, tripping backward as if he'd found a snake in his path. "You! You're him," the man's hand went to the side, reaching for a blaster that wasn't there. "You're the jedi!"

"That's what the wanted posters say," he lowered his staff to the ground, palms resting on one end, ready to bring it back up if necessary. "Names Ezra Bridger."

"We all know who you are," the trooper replied. "You're the reason we're stuck out here!"

The other trooper had moved up next to his friend, but was looking a lot less sure about getting into an argument with a jedi.

"Well it was this, or watch my planet get blown away," Ezra met their gazes easily. "Who are you?"

"I'm TB421," the young trooper replied, looking down his nose at Ezra.

"Nice," the jedi countered. "What is that; Core, Mid Rim?"

"My name is Able Grafman," the trooper continued. "I was born on Brentaal. But I'm a stormtrooper now." He inched closer, face to face with Ezra. "Do you know what it means to join the Corp; it means your old life is over, and your squad is your new family."

"Is that so?"

"And we look after each other like a family," he crossed his arms. "If someone kills one of our own, we never forget it."

"Yah," the humor was gone from Ezra's tone, and his gaze unfocused just a little. "You never really forget something like that."

The sparring had stopped in their little corner of the room. The aliens shifted nervously and traded worried looks; none of them knew why their human allies acted like they wanted to fight each other.

"Stand down soldier," the instructor was talking to TB421, but her attention was on Ezra; her posture tense and her eyes watching his hands, ready incase he struck. "We have our orders, we're all supposed to get along for this mission."

She discreetly stepped between Ezra and the trooper, her gaze becoming guarded interested, as if the jedi were a species she'd heard about but never seen. "I am sergeant TB683. I've always wondered, do they use designation codes in the Rebellion?"

"Not the same kind you have in the Empire," Ezra shrugged, keeping a casual demeanor. "But you could call me RC547 if it helps."

This brought at least a little surprise. "You were a stormtrooper," the blond trooper 39 asked?

"A cadet," Ezra shrugged. "For about two weeks, as part of an intel grab."

Grafman, or TB421 or whatever he wanted to be called, snorted with derision. "Are we supposed to be impressed, that a spy could last two weeks at basic training?" He gestured between them. "Or did you just wave your hand and pass every test."

"Everything but the literacy test," Ezra countered. "That one really stumped me."

"Funny," the sergeant deadpanned. "So I understand you're going planetside with us?"

"That's the plan, unless his highness the Admiral decides to change it." Ezra tried to look casual, as he studied the Imperials. The two younger troopers were clear enough to read; one angry, the other nervous. The sergeant was harder, and he sensed her mind was more guarded. Hopefully not devising way to put a blaster bolt in his back at a time when it could be excused as "the confusion of battle."

"You fought these aliens, the Vahetey, already; didn't you?" 39 asked. "What's fighting them like?"

"Like trying not to get killed every second," Ezra shrugged. "I've never seen anything like them before."

"Real helpful," 421 snorted. "Any actual advice you can give us, since we're all on the same side here."

"Don't let them get within arms reach of you," Ezra responded with all seriousness. "Their dew claws will cut you open like a knife."

The Imperials were silent for a minute, as it set in that he wasn't kidding. "We'll keep that in mind," the sergeant said.

"Speaking of which, I'd better get back to teaching these rookies something," Ezra picked his staff up and crouched in a mock fighting stance. "Unless one of you wants to learn a thing or two?"

"I'd be up for giving it a try," TB421 suggested, with a smile that wasn't friendly. "If you think you can get through a fight without your magic powers."

"As a matter of fact, we were leaving anyway." The Sergeant cut in. She used that officers-tone you didn't argue with, as she handed her staff back to a Fulkoom. "We have three hours before we make planet-fall, and we have to prepare for a battle when we get there. I suggest you do the same; or whatever jedi do before a fight"

TB421 got one more glare in as they left. "We'll look for you on the battlefield, jedi."

As thinly veiled threats went, Ezra thought that was one of the less imaginative ones he'd heard.


The taskforce dropped out of hyperspace on the farthest edges of the Eicheila system, hopefully well out of sensor range. Thrawn was operating on the informed assumption that most if not all Vahetey operational technology was derived from Imperial tech; so he had a good idea of what their capabilities should be.

If he was wrong, this mistaken assumption could easily lead him to disaster.

As soon as the the stars halted outside the cockpit, Thrawn ordered the com station to "send message." Programmed on a secret Fulkoom frequency, which the enemy should not be able to detect, their prepared message would instruct any survivors who could to respond, and to begin gathering where they could for evacuation.

The com station immediately lit up with replies. The survivors had been broadcasting on the same frequency for the past two weeks, in the desperate hope that someone could answer. The crewmen were sorting through the signals when the first actual response to their transmission arrived. Several thousand refugees had managed to hide out on the Rise for some time. But now the Vahetey had finally found them, and fought their way up the towering slopes to take the plateau. Now the few remaining survivors were slowly being surrounded in the cliffs and hills; and relief would have to come immediately or not at all.

"Coumiin iin," reported a Murelani officer at the sensor controls.

Captain Eynami, a Fulkoom who was the most senior officer to have survived the previous battle for this system, stood at the Admiral's side. He gave him an almost imperceptible sideways look, to which Thrawn replied with the smallest of nods, and ordered the reading to be fed into the holo display. An image of the system spread to life, immediately zooming in on the planet itself.

In a standard Imperial fleet, all the most senior captains and ground forces officers would be present via hologram; but local capabilities in that area were limited enough that Thrawn had to settle for sending his own image to each ship. Across the fleet viewers gathered round their own displays, listening intently to the admirals orders.

The holo display revealed conditions in the system to be just as the Admiral had expected; indeed, as good as he could have ever hoped. Some forty Vahetey craft orbited Eynami, the sixth planet in the system, concentrated in a southern quadrant corresponding to the position of the Rise. Of them, thirty were identifiable as warships, with another ten the large ground-forces transports they'd seen before. Based on their estimates at the end of the last battle, the Vahetey had shuffled out some of their warships, either sending them home for repairs or transporting them to other offensives, and brought in more troops to finish pacification.

Communications, power, and life readings indicated a large ground force was present, but scattered across the planet. With a larger force, all professionally trained soldiers, and with airborne mobility, the Chiss might have been able to eliminate the invaders piece by piece. But he didn't have any of those with this motley flotilla. And even if they could win the day, they had no intelligence about what other assets the enemy had in neighboring systems, ready to swoop back in and crush the world again. The planet would have to be abandoned; but some well aimed cunning might still save the survivors

All this Thrawn observed in a moment, standing stock still with arms behind his back, red eyes fixed on the display. He began speaking with no preamble.

"The general operation will proceed as planned," he spoke in broken but understandable Murelani, practiced during days in hyperspace. "The pursuit force will draw the Vahetey warships away, and the retrieval force will land to evacuate as many survivors as they can." He paused a moment after each statement, to allow it to be translated to the viewers, and whispered an instruction to captain Eynami, to adjust the unfamiliar controls.

"Our diversionary target will be the fifth planet in the system," He went on as the display was adjusted accordingly, zooming in on a yellow brown gas giant. "Our target will be this sector in the northern hemisphere, and we will be using the position to our advantage." He indicated to one of the planets several moons, orbiting uncommonly close to it. "It puts this space body partially between us and the enemy. We will still be exposed enough to immediately show on their sensors; but with the moon cutting in on the most straightforward route, the Vahetey, assuming they remain true to form, will not be able to jump directly onto us. The moon's gravity well will bring them out of hyperspace short of us, and the engagement will commence with enough distance between us that only long range weapons will be able to bear. That will be ideal; considering their greater short range firepower, and our marginally more powerful shields."

There was a quiet chatter around the bridge, likely being imitated on every ship. Thrawn paused a moment to let them talk, before continuing "Additionally, this will allow the retrieval force to achieve a greater level of surprise. Rather than jump directly over the Rise, it will come out of hyperspace farther east." More chattering, with a bit more surprise this time. "It will put the mass of the planet between themselves and the repositioned enemy fleet, preventing them from getting a clear picture of our disposition and intentions. Based on their past behavior, once the Vahetey begin pursuit of our initial force, it is likely they will not turn back regardless, but we must give ourselves every advantage. Should they turn back, the planet will again prevent them from jumping directly at the retrieval force, and their wide approach arc will give it time to retreat if necessary."

"If any Vahetey warships are left over the Rise, positioning our retrieval fleet farther out will also draw them away from the landing zone, opening a path for our landing craft to move in unopposed. Hopefully the Vahetey instinct not to disengage from the first enemy spotted, after being split up between our two fleets, will give the landing craft a clear path to the retrieval zone. A sizable detachment of fighters is being left with the retrieval force to provide air cover for the landings, and eliminate ground targets."

The talk was more exciting now, and from what he could see the crew around were growing more optimistic about their chances. Optimism was good, but so was realism. "It must be understood however, that we have no chance in a direct engagement." Perhaps he would if he knew the enemy better, or had a more well trained and disciplined fleet at his back, but reality was all that mattered now. "If the Vahetey fleet does not move from its position over the Rise, no rescue can be attempted. If eight or more enemy warships are left behind, it will be more than the retrieval force can handle, and we will retreat. If the main Vahetey fleet turns back to strike at the retrieval force, we will retreat. Whatever the survivors planetside might suffer at the hands of the Vahetey, we will be of no use to them sacrificing more lives and ships in a battle we cannot win. Are there any questions."

There were none. The bridge was silent now, his harsh statements of fact taking the air out of their enthusiasm. Thrawn eyed the com button, waiting to see if it would light up with questions. It didn't.

"The operation will commence immediately."


The planet designated Eicheila V dwarfed every other orbiting body in the system; a gas giant with individual storm clouds that covered more area than most inhabited planets. It's largest moon was a ball of silicate rocks and methane ice, its surface marbled by shades of dark greys and light blues.

But Thrawn had no time to admire the artwork of nature, as the second jump took them out almost between the two bodies. "Assume defensive formation," he ordered, transmitting precise orders to his ships. "All fighters remain prepped and ready for launch." A defensive fighter screen could potentially save his fleet; but since none of the local fighters were hyperdrive capable, he couldn't deploy them until he was sure no further hyperdrive maneuvers would be needed.

His seventeen ships were arranged in a close together crescent shape, with its concave side facing Eicheila, and the enemy. There was little else that could be done to prepare until Thrawn saw how the enemy acted, and the dangerous operation became a surreal waiting game.

The Vahetey fleet could just barely be seen from their position, sitting in orbit almost around the curve of the planet. It hung still and silent, with nothing but the soft glow of sublight engines and strings of com chatter to indicate it was an active fleet. Seconds went by, then minutes. Crewmen looked up from their consoles, giving their alien commander questioning looks. Captain Eynami shifted on his feet, clearly wanting to speak. Thrawn merely continued to watch the enemy. Reaction would have to be immediate, if destruction was to be avoided.

Suddenly, the Vahetey fleet began moving, like a nest of sleeping insects kicked into wakefulness. The ships mingled about in clumsy, confused order, as they began reorienting themselves to face the newly appeared enemy. It began to take shape into something resembling a formation; the heavier cruisers falling in line behind each other, with the nimbal spherical gunships screening on either side. Thrawn felt some cautious satisfaction in the fact that every warship they had seemed to be taking the bait, leaving only the transports to guard the planet, no doubt intending to wipe out his fleet with overwhelming force.

So much the better, Thrawn mused. Bring them all.

Were they? Yes, there was a subtle division among the enemy formation, the front half angling away, on a trajectory that would take it past the moon. They would split into two forces, one jumping in front of his force, and one behind it, to trap them between the planet and the moon. "All craft, prepare for evasive maneuvers." A lesser commander would have begun maneuvering immediately, but to move too soon would give the enemy time to realize his own plan.

The Vahetey ships fired their thrusters, roaring out of the Eicheila's gravity well and into jump positions. Once they'd cleared it's invisible grip they began to slow, preparing for jump. Now. "All craft, full about turn and advance at full speed along a fortyfive degree down angle. Maintain relative formation."

His fleet gave a bit better show in it's maneuvers, each ship orienting itself to face the opposite direction and dive at a smooth downward angle. The Haagtia had just completed its own turn, when sensors indicated the Vahetey had jumped. The bridge groaned as their course curved into a steep downward angle, thrusters firing at their limit. A moment later the two Vahetey fleets appeared; one now a distance behind them, the other in front and above on their left side. That fleet was already starting to deploy fighters and charge forward, only now realizing that their prey was passing beneath them.

"All ships, level out and continue at full speed, assume the indicated formation," Thrawn reoriented his force into something like a conventional line of fire, with his most powerful cruisers leading and the lighter ones bringing up the rear. Not the desired formation when your enemies were chasing you, but he had an idea for that.

Robbed of their slaughter, the Vahetey forces began losing their cohesion as they scrambled to give chase; the first flotilla too far behind, the other already charging in the wrong direction. The fleet began to resemble a flock of extremely ungraceful birds, shifting in unison, but with no real coordination. As expected, those smaller spherical ships performed best, nimbly twisting to target their enemy while the larger cruisers still made hard turns.

"Maintain speed," the Admiral ordered. "Make three degree turns every two thousand meters; starboard, into the planetary gravity well." In this maneuver, the planet's gravity would catch hold of his fleet, adding speed and momentum to their turn and slingshotting them farther from their pursuers. This was a fairly standard maneuver for smaller freighters, or squadrons of fighters. It was somewhat unorthodox for a cruiser fleet; but then full fleet engagements rarely took the form of breakneck chases.

The crew around him hurried to comply, and there was a new mood around the bridge. They were finally face to face with the enemy, and were not on the verge of destruction. Their nervousness was now tempered with excitement; as they waited to see if this alien commander would produce another miracle. Thrawn kept these morale factors at the back of his mind, as he focused on the fleet movements. They were now rapidly curving around the great mass of the gas giant; soon Eicheila would be out of sight, and the retrieval force would go in. The Vahetey's attention would have to be held until they could get in and out; and it would be his responsibility to come up with an appropriately diverting display.


The relief force came out of hyperspace as close to Eicheila as they could; with clear open skies between it and the Rise. Nest mother Adeiri stood at the bridge of the lead cruizer, feathery arms crossed, as the ship began immediately reorienting itself to face the remaining enemy. After the horrors of their last assault, the ten Vahetey ships hung over the planet like a black cloud, threatening further death and destruction on it's people. But the Fulkoom leader had fought ship to ship before, and her experienced eye confirmed that they were only mass transport ships, lightly armed and armored. Now was their best chance. "All shuttles and fighters, launch! Transports, begin descent."

From cargo holds and docking bays, a swarm of small vehicles broke out of the fleet and began streaking down onto the planet as fast as their thrusters could bear. As planned, the relief force settled into place with the armed cruisers between the enemy and the civilian freighters; just in case the Vahetey showed particularly suicidal dedication. The smallest freighters began descending through the atmosphere, closing the distance with the retrieval zone to shorten the flights.

"Fighters, incoming," a Fulkoom crewman shouted from his seat. In the distance, the tiny specks were spilling out of the Vahetey transports, and speeding to the attack. "Reaffirm orders to our fighters," the Nestmother instructed. "Their first duty is to protect the shuttles and refugees. Make sure all gunners are prepped for anti-fighter protection." She nodded to another crewman. "Do a thorough scan sweep of the hemisphere. The Vahetey may have established groundside fighter bases to better support their invasion."

She returned to the window, watching the line of shuttles race down toward the planet, as the Vahetey fighters began slowly moving in to pounce on them. Around her, the Fulkoom spacers jumped to their tasks with frantic urgency. Though few would speak of it, there was a quiet fear; of going back into battle with an enemy that had already defeated them once. But they knew what was at stake with this mission, and that fear did not override their duty. Not yet.

Personally, Adeiri was not afraid to face the Vahetey. What drove her was the fear that they had arrived too late, and after failing to defend her people, she would now fail to rescue them. Death would be preferable.


As the sentinel class shuttle descended through the atmosphere to the drop zone, the interior rocked and creaked, and momentum pushed the stormtroopers against the confines of their harnesses. Squad TB went over the last preparations for battle as they waited to be deployed, as much a comforting ritual as it was a necessity; testing coms and priming weapons for the fourth or fifth time. Sergeant Porter was the only one out of her seat, one hand clutching the overhead bar as she walked steadily up and down the row of her troops, a freshly polished stylized pauldron of the Chimaera's stormtrooper detachment gleaming on her shoulder.

"We'll be one of the reserves, waiting for the signal to go in when we're needed. We might be sitting comfortably for a few minutes, but if we get the order then we go fast, and we go hard. We'll probably be outnumbered, so we have to hurt the enemy bad to push him back. It won't be for very long, just long enough for the shuttles to get in and out."

"And it'll be the aliens who give the signal, the Murelani," Grafman couldn't help bringing up a point that irritated him. "I don't mind helping these people, but are we really taking orders from them?!"

"We're here under the Admiral's orders," the Sergeant responded. "And he instructed us to wait for their word. This is not the first time we've dealt with an unusual chain of command, but the Corps has never tolerated anything other than supreme discipline, and we will not change that policy today." Her tone broke no argument. While most of Squad TB were recent transfers from other units, Porter had been serving under Thrawn for the better part of five years; brought up from a private. Her faith in him was absolute.

Having vented his frustration, Grafman knew better than to press the issue. He saved a quiet grumble for Jace Mor, sitting in the harness next to him. "This is a screwed put operation," he growled as he primed his E-11 for the umpteenth time. "We got no intel and no support. I know the risks of this job, this isn't the first suicide mission we've gone on for the Empire; but I can't get over the fact it's not the Empire we're fighting for here."

"We're here on the Admiral's orders," the blond trooper countered, as a bit of turbulence rocked the shuttle. They didn't seem to be taking any ground-fire. Yet. "And we're putting ourselves at risk to save some lives. Isn't that what the Stormtrooper Corp is about?"

Grafman shook his head. "I've got nothing against aliens; but these aren't our people. How does this benefit the Empire?"

"The Admiral thinks it does; always trust your officers, that's what they taught us," Mor looked away from his squadmate. "I've been on worse missions on an officer's orders."

Grafman gave him a skeptical look. "Name a mission worse than this!"

"Freemen Heights."

Grafman was confused. "We were only up against civilians at Freemen Heights?"

Mor wouldn't meet his gaze. "Yep."

His squadmate didn't really have an argument.


Ezra rocked in his harness, as the shuttle sped over the Rise. He sat in the backseat of the cockpit, next to Captain Saakic, trying to get a glimpse of what was going on. The landscape sped by underneath them, the green plains and wet marshes of the high plateau stretching out for kilometers in every direction. Then they were suddenly over the cliffs and canyons the Fulkoom refugees had hidden in, and he caught a glimpse of the crowds of dirty, bedraggled survivors already streaming out onto wide cliffs and open valley's, emerging to be rescued.

He turned to the captain. "Any response from the Vahetey yet?"

Saakic shook his head, never taking his eyes from the small holoprojector on the wall, which he was using to monitor the entire operation. "No moves."

Ezra sighed and leaned back in his chair, resisting the urge to drum his fingers on the arm. They were one of several reserve shuttles; that would basically fly in a giant circle around the landing zone until a Vahetey force large enough to threaten to break through the perimeter of ground-forces showed up. Then they and their "heavy" squad would drop in to close up the opening. It made sense; this was the best way they could get wherever they needed to be quickly, and take the enemy by surprise. Still, it meant they would be flying safe up in the air while everyone on the ground was in the line of fire, and Ezra didn't quite have the patience for that.

He had to stop himself from asking if anything had happened in the two minutes since he last asked.

By some miracle, after they had crushed the few real defenses on the planet, it had taken days for the Vahetey to realize how many colonists had escaped, and longer still to realize where they were hiding. Even luckier, the invaders had not brought enough heavy air transports, and so their first attacks on the Rise had been on foot. The ragged defenders had thrown off the first two assaults, as the enemy tried to force their way up through bloody determination. Finally, their greater numbers won, as a battalion managed to slip up the cliffs between the defended positions; and once they'd cleared a way up the rest poured through, surrounding the defenders that couldn't flee fast enough, and cutting them to pieces.

But still the terrain worked against them, and their victorious charge ground down to a slow crawl. So much of the plateau was wide and open; but the thin air made the kilometers stretch on, and caused their boots to sink deeper, into marsh and mud. The Fulkoom, less affected by the high altitude thanks to their avian ancestry, managed to stay one step ahead of their pursuers, as they fled farther toward the cliffs rising out of the center of the plateau; sometimes even turning back to cut down a squad of attackers that got too far forward.

But further reinforcements added to their numbers, and the Vahetey slowly surrounded the survivors, and began to herd them in. Confident their prey was not going anywhere, the Vahetey army camped out on the high plain, resting in anticipation of the final attack.

From the shuttle cockpit, Ezra could see some of the aftermath of this. Spread out all around, the faint dark smudges of Vahetey camps could be seen, as well as the battlefields still littered with corpses. He even made out the bigger specks of burned out enemy vehicles, which particularly brave (and now, probably very dead) defenders had found ways to sabotage. Farther off, the sleek shapes of fighters cut through the skies, as the rescue fleet's pilots ran a desperate interference, keeping the enemy far from the shuttles.

"We'aare lucky," Saakic growled as he studied his display. "Thie enemy waas not ready!"

The shuttle pilots wasted no time, and had already begun landing where they could, carefully picking spots where the ground was open, and the survivors were concentrated. The most heavily armed shuttles were dropping off troops, forming a loose defensive ring around the whole area. They didn't have nearly enough men to form a solid line; so Saakic ordered squads in to stand guard where the enemy was closest or the terrain made for a better approach, while the reserves kept flying around in case he was wrong.

Ezra took a deep breath and tried to center himself in the Force. Training and experience had given him a good gift for battle focus, and clearing his mind of everything but the laser bolt coming at him.. He hadn't gotten to the point of being able to keep that mindset while waiting for battle though.

Below them, he caught sight of a cargo ship a little bigger than the Ghost settling carefully into the shelter of a small ravine. Desperate Fulkoom were scrambling down the hills on every side, their birdlike movements oddly more graceful than a humans, in spite of their panic.

Suddenly, Saakic barked out something too fast for Ezra to catch, and the pilot veered their shuttle in a sharp northward turn that threw him against the seat harness. "Are we going in?"

The captain nodded, and rose unsteadily to exit the cockpit. After fighting his way out of the harness, Ezra followed. A dozen Murelani waited for them in the main hold; they wore the suits of the Jaan-taik's guard, but with more extensive grey armor, and bulkier helmets, with faces covered and no open slits for ears. Their force-pikes had been replaced with shorter batons, for close reach fighting, and heavy blaster rifles. There was something a little too polished about their armor, as if it hadn't been used much until now, but the way they carried themselves was intimidating enough.

Saakic barked out a quick series of orders, and they scrambled to prepare for combat. The last member of their squad rose from his seat also. The droid K6-HI walked hunched under the low ceiling of the shuttle, as it approached Ezra and the captain. Thrawn had offered it to Saakic with the explanation that it would be the best personal guard for him; as he was the overall ground-forces leader. Another perfectly reasonable suggestion that Ezra was pretty sure had a double motive, probably his death.

Saakic brought up a holo-display, that zeroed in on the north face of the small mountain range. A pair of pulsing blue dots represented two landed shuttles; one having landed on the top of a long sloping hill, the other nestled behind it. Three red icons were approaching them up the other side of the hill. "Heavey taanks," the Murelani explained. "Shuttles caannot riise."

"We will be too late to save the first one anyway," the KX droid commented bluntly, it's voice as flat and emotionless as ever. "The terrain is clear enough that it will already be taking fire."

Ezra shot the indifferent droid a glare. "Careful, don't go getting sentimental on us!"

"Wie must get them out," Saakic's forceful tone ended the argument before it could start. "Iif thie reimaining shuttle caanot taake off, wie might buy thie surviivors tiime to escaape through thie hiills to aanother."

Ezra didn't like their chances of making it in time on foot. "The shuttle might be able to run for it if we draw their fire. What are the shields like on this thing."

The Murelani shook his head. "Not strong einough."

"That would be an illogical plan regardless," K6 butted in. "Rather than distract the tanks, it would be more efficient to eliminate them."

Ezra opened his mouth . . . and closed it again. "Actually, that's not the worst idea!"


As the pursuit fleet rounded Eicheila V, and the Admiral spied his target. Another moon, orbiting the planet; farther from it than the last, some six hundred kilometers from its atmosphere. As good as he was going to get. "All ships, prepare to break turning orbit," the crew shot him curious glances. They had been waiting for some change in their course, but didn't know what had finally prompted it. "The fleet will cease turning radius and proceed at full speed along a direct course on my mark." The chiss quickly ran through the mental calculations again. "Now."

The helmsman took just a second's hesitation to react, and with a slight lurch the ship fell out of it's wide turn. A louder groan of metal and roar of engines followed, as they now flew against the planet's gravity rather than with it. But the moment of resistance passed, and they shot towards their target like the ancient projectiles such maneuvers were named after.

As he had hoped, the Vahetey had also been surprised by it. Their formation had already become disorganized, as the smaller and faster ships had inched forward to try and catch their prey. Now that this next maneuver had taken them off guard their response made them even more confused, and they kept turning behind his own fleet, fighting momentum as they tried to make rapid course corrections. Again, those unique round craft displayed their unlikely agility, getting themselves reoriented first to continue the pursuit.

Out of the corner of his eye Thrawn spotted something wrong on the display. As they fled the enemy, some of his ships were starting to move out of their designated positions, disrupting the formation. "Captain Eynami, ensure all ships maintain formation as instructed!" Thrawn prevented himself from saying something more scathing. It had been made clear that the old Fulkoom was his second in command, and that was one of several things a good subordinate should have handled without prompting, which the admiral had instead been forced to take the valuable time to spell out. Some discomfort on the captain's part about the strange position he was in would have been understandable, but he was clearly not dealing with it as well as the stakes demanded.

But he put that aside as he focused back on the enemy. It should be obvious now that he was headed for the moon, and the Vahetey would have few choices to respond; a dead chase was the only real option. Under different circumstances it might have been possible for the enemy to split his numerically superior force, and have a squadron fly clear enough of the planet and moon's gravity to make a micro jump,and try to get ahead of their prey. In this case the distances involved weren't great enough, and the mass of gravity too large, and his own fleet would reach the moon before they could get far enough to jump. That didn't mean the enemy might not try it though; if their commander was inexperienced, or simply impulsive.

"Adjust course fifteen degrees to the right, prepare for a ninety degree turn left as we draw parallel to the moon," he instructed. The looks started to change from nervous curiosity to bafflement. This course would put some distance between them and the moon before swinging back toward it, a move that would give the enemy plenty of time to spot their intentions and move to intercept.

"Admiral," Captain Eynami finally spoke. "The Vahetey will see we are making for the moon, and if we follow it's orbit they could easily trap us-"

"By splitting their fleet into two portions, yes," Thrawn finished for him. "That would be the simplest maneuver; and in keeping with our experience in previous engagements. Which is why I feel reasonably confident they will do so. My counter maneuvers are based on that assumption."


The Vahetey warrior, a Fourth-claw, leading the attack, stood boldly on the armored top of his assault tank, watching the carnage with something like glee.

The three hover tanks advanced up the hill, each with their large topside gun spitting fire at the ship lieing a its crest. The burning shuttle was already doomed, flames spreading across its side as the passengers poured out, scrambling to flee over the hill. As the Fourth-claw watched, one of the frail bird aliens leapt from the wreck with a struggling infant in her arms, making it several yards before being knocked off her feet as what was left of the shuttle blew up.

The Fourth-claw made an inspiring sight for his troops, standing tall and proud on his vehicle, heedless of the pathetic fire of the remaining enemy on the hill. The smaller laser guns closer to the bottom of the tank churned out laser bolts, raking the charred grass with fire as they searched for the irritating survivors. They would finish them, or the warriors jogging to keep pace on either side would.

A dull roar of engines popped up over the mayhem, and the Vahetey's gaze swept north to spot a single ship approaching. A small shuttle, it looked lightly armed and armoured. Nothing his tanks couldn't handle. Firmly gripping the side of his vehicle he remained standing, defiant of the threat.

It seemed the ship was going to be stupid enough to try and rescue the survivors of the hill, when it swerved in the air, dodging shots from the eager tanks as it rolled to the side and dove to the ground. The suicidal move took the attackers completely by surprise, and they had no time to adjust to the closer target as it straiffed them from above. Troops on the ground dove for cover, but the thick armor of the tanks shrugged the laserfire off with contempt. The Fourth-claw howled in rage at the shuttle as it sped by, and shouted an order into his com for the tanks not to be distracted. They would deal with the ship after they slaughtered the survivors in front of them!

SNAP-THUUUUUM

An arch of orange light removed his head from his shoulders


As the Vahetey's body tumbled off the side, Ezra crouched down and plunged his lightsaber into the tank's armored roof. Using the Force to anchor himself onto the rocking vehicle he pushed it deep and began to cut a rough circle; the thick armor melting slowly under the orange laser-blade.

"You did not have that weapon when you escaped the Chimaera," K6 stated matter-of-factly. If he was nervous that his former enemy was much more well armed than he expected, his expressionless face and analytical tone gave no hint.

"Picked it up at the market," Ezra replied with a grin, as he finished his cut and willed the piece of metal to drop through the hole.

He leapt through the very next instant, deflecting a blaster-bolt back at an attacker before his feet even touched down. He leapt to the side and came almost face to face with another Vahetey, cleaving it's blaster in two and slicing it across the chest with a double swing. The tip of his blade seared the ceiling and wall as he did; they were in a cramped cockpit, finishing off the drivers. K6 dropped through the hole a moment later, as the remaining crewman swiveled his chair around and leapt to attack. Acting on instinct, the Vahetey stuck out with its palm, driving that wicked dew-claw right into the droid's chest. There was a sickening crack, as the bone-like claw snapped against the droid's armored skin, and the KX glanced down almost contemptuously before bringing a metal fist down like a club on the agonized thing's head.

A blaster bolt came down to scorch the droid's shoulder, from the turret gunner's seat mounted above and behind the drivers. The Vahetey there only got one shot off before an invisible hand drugged him from his seat and sent him crashing into the viewport.

Ezra sensed several more soldiers in the armored compartment at the tank's rear, and slashed the door controls to keep them out. "You take the wheel," he ordered. "I'm on the gun!"

"My analytical programming would be bett-"

"Just take the wheel," the jedi commanded as he scrambled into the gunner's seat. As the tank lurched forward again, he peered out the narrow slit of the viewport, immediately setting his sights on the tank rolling along obliviously to their right. He experimentally prodded at the controls. "Whoa," the turret skittered the opposite way, and after a few attempts to right it he decided to just let it keep going, swinging it around till it found his target.

The tanks were halfway up the hill, the Vahetey troops racing ahead to engage the beleaguered defenders. They were just starting to give way, when a hail of fire cut through the attackers front ranks. Saakic had swung his shuttle back around, and approached low from the opposite side of the hill. He wasted no time landing and deploying, and now his fresh troops began to throw the enemy back a moment. As he calmly and patiently took shot after shot at the enemy, he judged that his troops could hold the ridge against the enemy troops alone. They would be murdered by the tanks though, but he was gambling that the "jedi" Bridger could work magic as he had before. His faith was rewarded when the centermost tank fired off it's heavy cannon; right into the side of one of its comrades.

Ezra pulled back on the trigger, and the heavy laser next to him recoiled from shot after shot. One broke open the other tank's treads and sent it's gears plowing into the dirt, and three more hit it's armored side until he finally punched through. Two more shots and the thing blew up into a smoking wreck.

"Got him!" Ezra called out with glee.

"Increase your speed," the KX droid called from below. Behind it, the locked cabin door was beginning to buckle under a barrage of laser blasts from the troops stuck inside, trying to force their way to the hijackers. "Your gunnery efficiency is well below standard requirements." It's sensors went off, and the droid swiveled around to fire at the hole they'd cut through, hitting a Vahetey trooper who had managed to climb the side of the moving tank just as he leveled his own blaster-rifle.

"Thanks for the support," Ezra called down, swinging the turret back around to find his next target. At the controls, K6 had powered up the lower laser guns and was mowing down the Vahetey troops scattered in front of them. The remaining tank had finally realized that something was wrong, and was swinging to it's cannon to bear on their tank. Ezra was a couple seconds faster, and he pulled up the trigger. "So long!"

At that moment a muffled bang shook the tank, and Ezra was nearly thrown from his seat. The entire left side of the vehicle lost power, treds screeching to a halt as the right side kept going, spinning the tank in a tight circle as it scattered mud and grass into the air. A sound of screeching metal, and the tank came to a stop as the drivers cabin went dark.

"Karabast!" Ezra rubbed a bruise on his side as he untangled himself and dropped unsteadily to the floor. "What, what hit us?"

"Most likely internal sabotage, from our passengers," K6 replied, rising from his seat. "The vehicle is completely powerless."

Ezra peered out the window. The other tank seemed to have already decided they were no threat, and was turning back to the defenders on the hill. "We have to take that thing out!"

"Correct," K6 agreed. "Our best chance will be to force our way aboard, we must reach it without delay."

Muffled blaster fire erupted behind them, and in a shower of sparks the cabin door collapsed, hitting the floor with a bang. A squad of Vahetey poured through, blaster barrels first.

"Departure will be delayed."


The pursuit force had completed its wide turn, and came into close orbit around the second moon. Thrawn focused on his displays, and the enemy fleet moving on them. It had again split into two forces; one maintaining the chase, the other striking out wide for the far side of the moon. It was a similar tactic to what the two assault ships had used battling the Chimaera on Karissa, capturing the prey between them. A basic instinct for pack hunters, he mused. A possible clue to their ancestry?

He watched the displays closely, eyeing the farther enemy fleet rather than the one on his tail. To slip out his timing would have to come when they'd passed far enough around the moon for the second fleet to lose sight of him.

"All ships" he announced. "Gunners charge weapons, and prepare to fire on designated targets." The crewmen leapt to respond, almost startled. They were well into this engagement, but most of the crewmen hadn't noticed that no shots had actually been fired yet.

"Are we to try and fight past the second force?" Captain Eynami asked, in heavily accented Murelani.

"No, this will be another series of evasive maneuvers," The admiral replied. "We will swerve closer to the moon, and use the drag of it's gravity to cut our headlong speed and dive. The greater danger is that the enemy ships behind us will close the distance and fire on our rear most ships."

The old Fulkoom looked back and forth from him to the display, uncomprehending. "Sir, why are our weakest ships positioned farthest rearward then?"

"A diversionary tactic, which we shall now correct." fiddling with the unfamiliar console, Thrawn managed to highlight the light cruisers rearward. "Designated ships, execute a twenty five degree rise upward, then level out and maintain distance."

The craft obeyed, the rearward half of the fleet rising higher than the other while keeping it's relative position. The Vahetey pursuing them instinctively raised their own fleet's trajectory in response. The rearmost ships of the second enemy force must have spotted the move, as they began to rise also. After all, it was a natural instinct of most sentient creatures to try and gain the high ground on their opponents; even though there was no relevant difference between up and down in the three dimensional theater of space.

Technology always advances faster than mentality adapts.

Then the final enemy ship disappeared around the curve of the moon, and the two fleets were out of sight of each other. Now came the real test of his pilot's skills.

"All ships, prepare to execute the following maneuver on my mark," He began relaying orders to the pilots. "Make note of your ships position, it will have to be executed precisely."

The two sections of the pursuit force acted at once. The forward section cut it's speed, fighting momentum as they plunged in a downward curve, dipping a hundred and eighty degrees to speed back the way they came. The second section applied a burst of speed before executing the same maneuver, punishing their controls to swing themselves on a wider arc; causing them to rise "above" the other section, from their perspective.

Now they were hurtling toward the enemy that had been chasing them, with both fleets inverted to present their undersides to each other. And Thrawn's force, previously oriented with its weaker ships facing the enemy, now had it's more heavily armed and armored cruisers shielding them.

"All gunners target the leading spherical attack ships," the Chiss ordered, shaking his crew into action. That kind of maneuver was disorienting to most beings, but they had no time to waste. "Fire as targets bare!"

His lead cruisers were already passing underneath the enemy formation, and nearly missed their chance to fire. At the last moment a hail of red laser fire erupted from the cruisers to smash the enemy vanguard, as it was just beginning to react to their maneuver. Those spherical cruisers were being targeted deliberately; their impressive speed and maneuverability made them the most dangerous for taking advantage of this short distance. And in such a short exchange of fire it would be better to zero in on a few targets, to give them the best chance of inflicting serious damage.

For perhaps four seconds they delivered a hot barrage into the confused enemy; whose own slow and undirected fire did superficial damage to his own heavier cruisers. The Haagtia did rock under a few lucky hits, and alarms sounded across the bridge, but at that moment a far more serious danger caught the admiral's eye.

One of the lighter cruisers in his force had misjudged it's course; and either too much speed or too little maneuvering had caused it to slip shoot farther "up" in a wider arc than the others. And now it was falling behind, as it tried to re-aim itself after the fleet speeding away.

It took an instant for Thrawn to conclude that they wouldn't make it, not with the Vahetey fleet already curving around to chase him. It had a shorter direct distance to his force, and would be able to intercept the lone cruiser before it could reach.

Captain Eynami was at the controls, plotting orders. "All ships, prepare to turn, he called. "We must reach that ship bef-"

"Belay that," Thrawn snapped, taking the comm. "All ships maintain course and speed. Cruiser; do not, I repeat, do not try to link back up with the fleet! Change course and make your own escape into hyperspace. Make for the relief force if you are not followed, or attempt to make your own way back to Kalbalka!"

"Admiral," the Fulkoom captain looked like he was starting to lose patients. "With respect, I don't think they will be able to make it to hyperspace before the Vahetey pounce on them."

No they won't. "That is possible Captain, but if we turn back now the enemy would have every chance to intercept us, and we would be forced to commit to a full engagement we can not win."

"That is only half the enemy fleet," the Captain pressed, disbelievingly. "We will have localized numerical superiority, we can strike them no-"

"Our less well trained ships will never manage to eliminate them, before the other half of that fleet emerges from behind the moon." The admiral insisted. Normally he would have simply silenced a subordinate at such a crucial juncture; but his authority in this situation was flimsy enough that it could be dangerous to try and push the native officers too far. "And if any portion of our fleet escapes, it will be only a few cruisers."

"We can not lea-"

"Our mission in this system is to rescue survivors, not sacrifice more ships to do small damage to the enemy. We have no hope of retaking this system, and so we will have to prepare for the next battle at Kalbalka, or perhaps even your Fulkoom homeworlds. We still do not know the Vahetey's strength, and until we do, we must conserve our own forces carefully."

"Conserve by simply allowing one of our ships and it's crew to be lost?"

"Yes," Thrawn turned back to the display. "In any case, it is already too late."

The crew of the lone cruiser had not responded well to their sudden peril. By the time they reacted to the order to make their own escape, the Vahetey were already closing in on them. The enemy had had three of their round cruisers knocked out of action by the single round of fire (likely having not kept their shields up against an apparently retreating enemy) and had several others damaged enough to lag behind. Still, they were beginning to reach the ship, and had finally released their fighter compliments. At least four squadrons raced ahead to swarm the cruiser like insects, hoping to get credit for the kill. The harrassed ship had no time to make even a small jump; and it's attempts to dodge in every direction only allowed the enemy cruisers to close the distance. By the time the crew panicked, and tried to swing back toward their retreating comrades, the enemy had blocked their path.

There was no need to watch the inevitable results, and Thrawn cast his eyes back over the display for his next maneuver.


Whichever alien was actually in charge finally gave the signal, and squad TB touched down. They came down the ramp with blasters raised and sights searching for the enemy, immediately fanning out to find cover.

Their shuttle and another had landed on a wooded ridge, deploying four of the stormtrooper squads accompanying the taskforce. The hills rose sharpley on either side behind them, split by a wide ravine sloping downward toward a dry riverbed. Here was the largest concentration of refugees, pushing frantically to reach transports that only had room to land a few at a time. If the enemy wanted to inflict maximum casualties, this was the place to strike.

One attack had already been made. In a wide horseshoe up the outward side of the ridge the forest ground was scattered with still corpses and the scorch marks of stray blaster bolts. The bodies were mostly Vahetey, in their dark, armored suits. A thin line of defenders was hunkered down behind whatever shelter they could find. Fresh and ready troops from the taskforce stood beside thin, desperate survivors from the invasion, armed with a motley assortment of whatever they could get their hands on. A few of the locals appeared to even be wielding old fashioned slugthrowers, probably meant for game hunting rather than combat.

Whatever the case, the professionals had arrived.

"Take up defensive positions," a captain in Imperial Army black directed the squads to spread across the ridge. "Squad TB you have the far right, hold the end firm!"

"Fan out," the Sergeant called over their coms. "I want us spaced out twenty yards, find some cover with a good field of fire and keep your helmets down!"

Grafman crouched on one knee behind a wide tree trunk, and found a Murelani that looked a little too grey to be running around on a battlefield kneeling down beside him. He paid it no mind, scanning the area instead. The slope was scattered with trees and brush, which grew thicker farther down. The com was silent for a moment, as the squads jockeyed into position, There was nothing but the tramp of feet and the quiet crackle of a few small flames lit by blaster bolts.

"We have incoming," one of the shuttle pilots announced over the coms. "Sensors pick up multiple life forms advancing up the hill. Possibly a hundred or more."

"All squads hold positions," the captain called. Prepare for suppressing fire as soon as the enemy shows themselves."

"No itchy trigger fingers!" Sergeant Porter ordered hastily. "We have friendlies scattered all over this backwater mountain, I don't want any shots fired until targets have been confirmed as hostiles!"

Now it was almost totally quiet, except for the aliens chattering to each other. The trees seemed unnaturally still, without even a breeze shaking them.

"Captain, I have eyes on target," a trooper in the middle a hundred yards to Grafman's left peered over the rock he was crouching behind.

"Can you confirm hostiles?"

"Yes sir, hostile and ugly as hell, crawling through that red bush." He stood a little taller, raising his E-11. "Got em in my sights!"

"Keep covered 27," the sergeant snapped.

"They haven't spotted me serg-"

A blaster bolt was fired from the bushes, seeming unnaturally loud in the tense silence, and struck the trooper at a weak spot in his armor just below the neck. He collapsed with a heavy thud.

The brush suddenly exploded in a wave of armored alien warriors, howling and screeching like demons as they showered the line of defenders with fire. Grafman was stunned by the sudden closeness of the onslaught, he hadn't spotted a single alien yet, and assumed their main body was still deeper in the brush. He was so shocked he didn't even pull his trigger until he realized the line around him was firing.

A dozen enemy troops went down in the first volley. But it did nothing to slow them down, even as the front ranks of Vahetey began leapfrogging from cover to cover they seemed possessed by a suicidal frenzy, those behind almost pushing their comrades forward to close with the enemy. For all it's rushed fury their blaster fire was deadly accurate, cries of pain and despair could be heard here and there under the noise of their attack, and Grafman couldn't help but flinch back as blaster bolts struck his tree mere inches away, even though he knew from training and experience his armor would protect him from the heat and shrapnel.

Training took over, and he lined up target after another into his sights, instinctively adjusting for the light recoil of his E-11. It was difficult to tell how many of his shots hit their mark; and he swore he saw warriors take hits that blasted their armor, but still keep coming. Still, the ranks of the enemy were thinning, and he was just beginning to think they had bled themselves dry against the defenders fire, when he realized how close they suddenly were. Three vahetey appeared from nowhere to fill his vision, and in the time it took him to drop two with rapid shots the third closed the distance and stuck out with a wickedly sharp claw at his neck!


"Lead them up," Nestmother Adeiri instructed into the coms.

In the atmosphere below, a trio of Fulkoom fighters pulled hard on their thruttles, to bring their craft into a screaming charge upward into space. Twice as many Vahetey fighters followed, biting at their tails as they rose from the surface. They pursued with seemingly no thought to anything but their prey, and so were unprepared with the Fulkoom fighters suddenly broke off in three different directions, and the cruisers they'd been heading toward lit up with anti-fightercraft fire. Four hostile craft disappeared in rapid succession; and surprisingly, two managed to survive. The upper gun turrets took them out as they raced past.

As their fighters guarded the convoy of refugee shuttles, speeding to and from the freighters, they had learned two important facts. The first was that Vahetey fighter pilots displayed all the same single mindedness for battle that their ground-troops did. The second, was that the Vahetey pilots were better than their own.

Almost all the available fighters of the task force had been left with the relief ships, and Adeiri knew they were skilled and determined. Yet in combat with their better trained and more experienced opponents, they were being cut to pieces. Nearly all the Murelani pilots had perished, their avian allies faring better thanks to the agility and spatial awareness gifted to them by their ancestry. Most had adapted the tactic of working together with the larger ships; and even then they were only managing to destroy as many enemy craft as their own.

"We have more hostiles incoming, Nestmother," One of the crewmen announced. "At least a squadron, from a planetside base on the far hemisphere." She looked at her console again. "And the Vahetey transports are moving , they appear to be approaching the retrieval zone.

A general exclamation of dismay was heard across the bridge, and the Nestmother was staring hard out the viewport, where the scene played out. The ungainly wedge shaped ships were descending awkwardly through the atmosphere, like large herbivores trying to play predator. Still, their laser guns could be formidable against ground defenses. And their fighter screen was all but gone, there was nothing to throw back the second wave.

The only thing left was the cruisers under her command.

The Nestmother's beak clacked in frustration, as she weighed the risks. It had been a clear point of their plan, the retrieval force should not descend too deep into the atmosphere. It would kill their chances of making a quick escape into hyperspace, if it were necessary. And while the warships chasing the Admiral Thrawn showed no sign of turning back, they knew so little about the Vahetey mentality that it was possible they might at any time. The "Imperial" admiral had definitely been against such a gamble; and for all of his grandstanding, he did seem to be a far more seasoned warrior than any of her own officers. He had gone so far as to suggest that the refugees should be abandoned, if such a danger presented itself.

But those were not his people!

"All ships, begin descent into the atmosphere," she ordered. "The freighters will move to encircle the retrieval zone. The cruisers will move in to intercept the enemy transports. Fighters will redirect toward protecting the refugee ships." She double checked her instruments, and confirmed the trajectory of the incoming fighters. "Get me the commanders of the three Flietcea cruisers, I have an idea to deal with the enemy!"


Coughing from smoke and dirty with soot Ezra somersaulted out of the wrecked vehicle and hit the ground, not pausing for a moment as he took off across the field, racing to catch up to the final tank. He glanced back to make sure the KX was behind him, it's robotic limbs like pistons as it moved unnaturally fast for a human, managing to keep pace with the jedi.

As the Vahetey charged the hill, he had half hoped he might make it unnoticed. What really surprised him was how far he actually got before one finally took a shot at him. Without breaking stride he ignited his lightsaber, ricocheting a bolt back at one of his attackers. K6 opened up with it's E-11 blaster, targeting enemies with precision as blaster bolts glanced off it's armored body. Ezra simply deflected most of the bolts sent his way, not taking time to deal with the troops around him; the tank was the real threat.

Saakic and his squad had already pulled back behind the slope of the hill, where their shuttle and the one they had come to rescue, both packed tight with refugees, were preparing to take off; gambling their chances of evading the tank's fire from the air were good enough to at least try.

Calling on the force, Ezra leapt the last ten feet to close the distance, landing on the back of the moving vehicle. A pair of Vahetey were riding it. Naturally, they immediately attacked. Ezra barely got his blade up in time, his inadequate footing sending him stumbling almost off the vehicle. He managed to steady himself long enough to hit one with a deflected bolt square to the chest, causing the other to lung forward, claws extended. He took of it's claws with one swing, and it's head with another. It wasn't enough to stop the corps' momentum, and it toppled right into him.

"Oh gross!" The drivers must have realized they had an uninvited passenger, because at that moment the tank bucked, turning sharply to the side as it tried to shake him off. Ezra finally lost his footing, hitting his shoulder painfully as he rolled down the slanted side of the tank. He held onto his lightsaber for dear life, his free hand scrambling desperately, and he managed to find a grip and stop himself from getting pulled under the treds.

With a metal bang the KX was standing next to him. "I have examined the vehicle for quicker points of entry," it announced.

"Great, did you find one?"

As soon as he said that a small hatch opened in the side of the tank between them. A Vahetey with a blaster pistol leaned halfway out, but wasn't able to fire before Ezra's blade cut him through the middle. The upper part tumbled to the ground and the legs fell back into the tank, as Ezra slashed his sword in to stab at another attacker. As the hatch tried to slide back down the KX caught it in one metal hand, it's inhuman strength holding it in place.

The jedi wasted no time as he leapt through, carefully maneuvering his blade in the cramp space to assume a ready stance. To his surprise there were no troops waiting in the hold of this tank, and he was at the cockpit door before the KX had managed to negotiate it's bulk inside. When the door held fast he plunged his lightsaber into it. Rather than take the time to cut a hole, he sliced down the middle of the two sections, and then with a tug of the force pushed one of them open.

"Aagh," Ezra nimbly stepped back as a flurry of blaster bolts erupted out of the opening, a few managing to glance off the armored KX. A Vahetey came through claw first, one arm extended to strike. Ezra pulled a trick he'd learned from the mandalorians, and grabbed the alien by it's wrists, using its own momentum to swing it into the opposite wall. He left it for the droid, charging into the cockpit and sent a few blaster bolts firing back at a rifle armed alien. He didn't even make sure he'd finished it, but reached the driver's seat in two long strides and sliced his head off before he could react. As the tank lurched to a halt a precise shot from K6 (Ezra had vaguely heard the fleshy crunch when it took out the alien he left behind) dropped the Vahetey with the rifle, and Ezra spun and threw his saber into the chest of the gunner operating the turret above them.

"Efficient," the droid nodded in something like approval. "I suggest we leave this one intact for our own use."

"Yah, good plan," Ezra sat down against the console for a moment, fumbling for his comlink. "We've got the tanks, you're good to lift off," he informed Saakic. He exhaled a relieved breath, as K6 casually pushed the headless corps from the driver's seat and took its place. As he began turning the small anti-troop blasters against the enemy, Ezra spied the two remaining shuttles lift off and race away like uncaged birds.

With mechanical precision the droid began taking apart the remaining Vahetey troops now on the crest of the ridge. Saakic's bloodied warriors took heart, and their intense fire began pushing the enemy back toward the vengeful tank. The final blow came when a small squad of reinforcements finally arrived, armed locals packed into a small speeder-like craft on heavily treaded wheels, escorted by several swoop bikes. These new troops came along the ridge and hit the Vahetey flank, leaving them in a murderous three sided crossfire.

At this point, any other sentient being would have realized their hopeless situation, and perhaps tried to surrender, or flee. The Vahetey fought. Not only did they try to engage enemies on all sides, but even as their ranks shrunk they tried to close the distance, as madness or some base instinct drove them to get within claw-reach of their enemies. Ezra was forced to haul himself to his feet, and take out two warriors that somehow evaded the KX's fire and tried to break into the tank. The locals pouring from their vehicles were sent stumbling back at the enemy's ferocity, only to be saved when Saakic pushed his troops up the hill. The last moments of the fight were no less ferocious than any other point, and when the last Vahetey fell, the sudden silence was almost unnerving.

Ezra's steps were heavy as he trudged up the ridge to where the others were regrouping. The thin air on the Rise was starting to affect him, if he didn't make the effort to call on energy from the Force to boost himself.

The defenders were gathering together on the ridge, tired, dirty, and dazed. The armor of the Murelani didn't have that new shiney look anymore, and with the adrenaline of battle over they shuffled and panted with exhaustion, or just collapsed where they stood; the thinner air affecting them worse. The Fulkoom seemed to be immune to it, probably from their birdlike anatomy.

Though the ridge was now quiet, except for the smoldering vehicle wrecks, Ezra felt a cold shiver run up his spine. He picked up his pace, jogging to where Saakic was arguing with one of the Fulkoom. "What's the situation?"

The Murelani captain shook his head as he gestured skyward. A number of transports could be seen lumbering through the air, crammed with refugees being carried to the waiting ships, now much closer. "They aattack south of here. Everyone who caan bie sparred must bie sent; but wie caan caall on no shiips riight now."

Sensing a creeping feeling of urgency, Ezra's eyes fell on a fast looking speeder bike. They might not all be able to get there in time, but maybe one could. "Where exactly?"


"Admiral," captain Eynami informed him tersely. "We have received a signal from the protection fleet. The enemy is assaulting the retrieval zone on all sides. Their ships are descending further into the atmosphere to support our troops." He seemed to be preparing himself to defend his matriarchs actions, to the Admiral.

For a moment the Chiss said nothing. He'd had misgivings about leaving the Nestmother Adeiri in command of the protection fleet. The Fulkoom matriarch had clearly taken the loss of the planet as a personal failure; a frame of mind that often led beings into rash actions. Now it may very well have been that she'd jumped at the temptation to inflict some small retribution on the enemy; possibly putting the entire operation in jeopardy.

But there would be no use trying to countermand it now. He was too far away to have practical control of the events over Eicheila; and though technically the commander of this ad hoc force, he didn't have the power to override the Nestmother if she truly disobeyed anyway. And, perhaps the situation in the retrieval zone justified it.

"Send an acknowledgement back to the Nestmother, tell her we will continue our maneuvers as planned." He cast his eye towards the enemy ships. Now was the most critical time; when the Vahetey could trap the refugee fleet against the planet if they chose to turn back. He would have to maintain their attention.

That did not appear as if it would be difficult. By now the fleet was coming back into orbit around Eicheila V, and were about to be trapped between the two enemy flotillas.

After finishing off the cruiser, and a number of escape pods it launched, the Vahetey had steered into a dead chase towards the pursuit force. It was shortly after that that the second fleet, having evidently been informed of their enemies' maneuvers, re-emerged from the same side of the moon that they had disappeared behind. Either as a coordinated plan or on their own initiative, that section of the fleet had opted to climb, rising out of the heavier gravity well between the planet and the moon, until they were able to execute a microjump. They shot themselves past the retreating fleet and reappeared ahead of them over Eicheila V.

The tension around the bridge was palpable, as they waited to see how their alien commander would avoid the obvious danger. Thrawn's red eyes scrutinized the displays, pondering which of several options the enemy would be the least likely to anticipate.

"Shall we prepare laser cannons," Captain Eynami asked almost sarcastically?

"Yes, prep weapons and shields, but maintain full power to engines," The fleet in front of them was descending to a parallel level relative to them and their pursuers. Still, that habit of imposing two dimensional tactics on the three dimensional theater of space. "We shall attempt to maneuver free of our pursuers, but gunners are to fire upon any targets that bear." The enemy forward was arranging his fleet in a circle formation, with its face toward the prey; so that when the expected maneuver came they could send at least a few of their ships to pursue, no matter what direction it took.

"Navigation," Thrawn turned to the crewman. "On my mark, you will begin to plot a microjump toward the first moon of this planet. I can't give you the starting point yet other then this general region, but do what you can to prepare."

He activated his coms. "All ships, begin descending at a forty five degree angle three quarters power."

As one unit, like a school of aquatic fish, his fleet dove as if to escape its pursuers. Both enemy fleets reacted instantly, diving on interception trajectories. The forward squadron advanced at full speed to close the greater distance, while the rear one checked it's speed to to match them, and keep the curving arch as small as possible.

"If we are to shake our pursuers, should we not maintain full speed?" Captain Eynami asked.

"I believe we have demonstrated that a full blown chase will at best be a stalemate," Thrawn countered. "To shake pursuit we will need to disorient the enemy." On the display, the farther enemy force was diving quicker than them, rapidly approaching an intercept. "All ships, accelerate to full speed, but prepare to cut to three quarters again!"

His ships leapt forward on a faster dive, exactly as one would expect if they were attempting to get past before the enemy in front of them blocked their path. Their pursuers followed suit, their engines firing as they achieved full speed, building momentum. Now. "Break to three quarters speed. All ships rise fifteen degrees upward and execute a starboard roll."

Punishing their thrusters again, his ships suddenly cut their speed and rose clear of their previous trajectory. The pursuers, who had just committed to full speed, were caught by surprise and could not respond. As they shot past, Thrawn's ships were steering around in a wide turn toward open space. This was a maneuver better suited to starfighters than large cruisers; and Thrawn doubted most species could have pulled it off so well without practice. And some of his Murelani ships did struggle to keep position; while the Fulkoom, likely as a gift of their avian ancestry, were able to maneuver beautifully.

They weren't free yet however, the other enemy flotilla was responding to their movements as best it could. As their comrades tried to kill their speed, the squadron that had been moving to block their path reacted efficiently, began gradually checking their dive until they leveled out, and then began to rise, again aiming to get ahead of him. Without ever cutting their speed, they would be able to intercept his force before it cleared the planet's gravity well. "All ships, rise into an eighty degree upward trajectory."

Again the enemy responded, arching up more steeply on a similar course to follow them. Thrawn mentally judged the distance, and concluded a bit more room would be necessary. "Navigation, begin calculating a jump from three kilometers along our current trajectory," and then into the coms. "All ships, without cutting speed, descend in a thirtyfive degree arch, then curve at a similar angle back onto current heading."

His ships obeyed, diving precisely as instructed. Behind them, the enemy responded to their maneuver. Anticipating another hard turn they cut their speed, as they prepared to intercept the prey when it came back toward them.

Only for their prey to continue it's curve until it had drawn level with its original course again, without losing speed, and sped away with a greater distance between them and their pursuers.

At this point they passed the invisible boundary of the planet's gravity-well. On the bridge, navigation gave an affirmative bark, indicating it had prepared the microjump calculations. Satisfied that the enemy still trapped by the planet's gravity could not stop them in time, the admiral waited patiently for them to reach the designated optimal position, before giving the affirmation. "All craft, execute the designated jump on our mark.

As one, the fleet turned on a course for the first moon, now below their current position,and in a blur of pseudo-motion, left the enemy behind for the third time in this engagement.


With a frenzied cry, Grafman hurled himself right, shooting his left arm out to grab the alien assaulting him by the neck. But it was fast, and struck like lightning, the wicked claw on it's shorter arms grazing a line across his armor. By bizarre luck, it managed to get under the seam between his chest and abdomen plates; and even as he put the muzzle of his E-11 to the aliens chest and pulled the trigger, a searing pain ran through his middle.

He collapsed into the dirt, as the battle continued to rage around him. He breathed deep gulps of air, as his fingers groped for his lost blaster. An explosion burst somewhere down the slope, and he dimly recognized the heavy laser's of a Sentinel shuttle. Another Vahetey appeared above him suddenly, planting one foot on his chest, and reaching down with a long claw towards his exposed neck.

The stormtrooper just had time to realize this was the end; when a Murelani appeared, swinging it's rifle clublike, and knocked the alien back off of him. There was a crack as the rifle butt came down on the things helmet, and before the Vahetey could respond the alien ran it through with a sharp blade affixed to the end of it's rifle barrel. Two more attackers pounced on the Murelani, but were both cut down by close range fire. "GRAF," Mor was suddenly at his side gently pushing him back down as he tried to rise. "Don't move Graf, we're going to get you out of here!"

He reached down to remove his helmet, and Grafman gasped desperately for cold air. "L-look-," was all he had time to say, before another attacker lunged at both of them, and another blaster blot cut it down.

"Keep that helmet on him," the sergeant ordered as she knelt beside him. "In this high altitude the thin air will have him blacking out on the spot!" Reaching back she popped the small thermal detonator out of it's clip on the small of her back, flicked the primer on short-fuse, and hurled it into the wave of attackers

As the explosion detonated, spraying dirt, debris and chard limbs next to them; the sergeant went to work on Grafman. With the speed of long practice she found the clips underneath the seams of his chest and abdomen plates, and tore them away. A blaster bolt whizzed by her head, and Mor provided cover fire as she peeled back the wet black material of his bodysuit. The wound was a long nasty cut cross his middle, bleeding out freely. Ideally the cut should be cleaned first to prevent infection; but now there was no time, all that mattered was stopping the bleeding long enough to get him off the battlefield.

Sergeant Porter pulled bacta strips out of her utility belt,firmly pressing them along his would, till the micro-adhesives sealed tight. "Brentaal trooper," She spoke as she worked, notting the weaker movements of his chest. "Give me standard Imperial data, now!"

Grafman coughed inside his helmet, his mind flailing to fight off lightheadedness. "B-brentaal. Fourth planet in the Brentaal System, in the Core worlds, Bormea S-sector. Two moons, standard gravity, twentyt-t-three hours in a day, three hundred and forty two days in a year." Standard field medicine procedure, give the wounded an easy train of thought to concentrate on to ease the nerves and fight catatonia.

It was not enough to block out the sound of battle however. All around them the line of defenders was starting to buckle, the weight of the Vahetey numbers pushing them back up the hill. Refugees still packed the ravine beyond, as every shuttle that could be sent was flying in to load up as many passengers as it could. Some order was being established to get young and old onboard first, while the remaining able bodied scrambled about for anything that could be used as a weapon, in case the defenders broke.

The Vahetey push came hardest at the center of the line. A moment's weakness allowed a fresh enemy squad to break in behind a clump of Murelani who hadn't fallen back with the others, and proceeded to slaughter them. It cost them dearly, in no small part because the hot blooded Vahetey were determined to fight claw-to-hand when they got to close range; but it was over in a bloody frenzy, and suddenly the enemy was getting through. Sergeant Porter heard an animalistic cry from behind, and her pistol was clear of it's holster before she'd even turned to look. Two shots dropped a Vahetey, as she scooped up her E-11 to lay down cover fire, and aliens and stormtroopers scrambled to fill the gap. "Get him out 39!"

Mor was panting for breath, the firefight in the thin air starting to affect him; but resisting the urge to remove his helmet, which would just make it worse. Clipping his E-11 to one hip he bent down and grabbed his comrade underneath the shoulders, letting his feet drag in the dirt as he pulled him to safety. Moving him was bad for the wound, but not as bad as another claw hit would be. "G-go on." Grafman pleaded. "m finished . . get squad out."

"No chance,"Mor tried to put bravado into his words. "Remember I huh said I owed you, after that girl on Lothal? I'm gonna huh pay it back, I swear!"

He had to shout the last bit, as a roaring wind swept over the battlefield. One of the alien cruisers had descended low into the atmosphere, the ship that seemed small in space now looming large overhead. It's laser guns roared as it hurled shots down the slope, at targets out of sight. The enemy was too close and mixed with the defenders for it to hit the front ranks of their attack, but if they leveled their reinforcements with enough fire to at least slow the assault, they could provide vital relief.

Mor pushed himself another hundred feet, dragging his companion back behind an outcropping of rock as he collapsed to his knees next to him. Grafman was unconscious now, but the bleeding had stopped, and his chest still rose and fell weakly. "We're clear Graf, ugh just wait, wait for extraction." Their troop shuttles had been drafted into the refugee convoy, and were technically supposed to give noncombatants a priority; but he'd be damned if they weren't going to make room for a wounded stormtrooper.

A large explosion shook the ground behind them; and then another, much closer one. Mor was ready to curse the idiot gunners in the shuttle above; until a shot flew past himfrom the wrong direction to pulverize a pair of fulkoom a hundred yards away. Snatching up his E-11, he peered over the rock, and saw the lumbering bulk of an armored vehicle break through the last row of underbrush, leveling it's heavy cannon right at the defenders.


Ezra pushed down the throttle of his speeder bike as far as it would go, screaming through the gullies of the mountain range as he raced desperately against time. The Force guided his path, allowing him to react with superhuman speed as he threaded through trees and hills to reach his destination.

It was difficult to maintain any straight course in this rugged landscape, but he never lost his sight of his target. Ezra had pinpointed the largest sense of fear he could find when the call for help came through; a hundred or more despairing minds so close together they formed something like a single beacon in the Force. And it was also the sight where minds were being snuffed out the fastest.

There was little rhyme or reason left to the battle; troops would be fighting to the death at one spot, while safe and orderly evacuations took place a couple hundred meters away. The jedi took a route through the middle of the cliffs, skirting around landing ships, and swerving to avoid huddles of refugees scrambling in his path. On either side he could sense the smaller engagements still going on, but forced himself to ignore them; he could only be one place at a time, and that should be where the need was greatest.

A small fighter passed by overhead, its engines roaring and a black cloud of smoke following it like a tail, before it disappeared over another hill and crashed into the cliffside. Ezra didn't even have time to recognize whether it was friend or foe. After nearly taking his right steering flap off against a tree, and bouncing off a rock formation; he pulled up on the engines, and concentrated to force his mind out again, trying to find a more direct route.

What he sensed made him push the speed down again.


The sky over the retrieval zone had become a hive of chaos and activity. With the enemy pressing hard on the ground, the shuttle pilots abandoned what little coordination there was to land at the first group of refugees they could spot. Shuttles crammed with sentients like livestock forced them out onto the first ships they reached, with bedraggled civilians spilling into the halls of the military cruisers; and pilots detaching before the airlocks where even properly closed to dive down for another pick up. By now few fighters remained; the coordinated efforts of the defenders fighters and cruisers had cut down their adversaries; but had lost so many of their own craft that they barely had any left either.

And to one side, Adeiri's two Geilio cruisers stood guarding the retrieval zonet. Hovering in the sky like giant insects, the two cruisers faced off against the ten Vahetey transport ships that had been left over the planet, which were finally joining the fight. Lightly armed and armored, they had been the only enemy force not to engage the rescuers, simply sitting in the upper atmosphere as they sent out squadrons of fighters. But whatever bloodthirsty impulse motivated them could not stay idle as the new fleet descended into a vulnerable position in the atmosphere, and it became clear their prey on the ground was escaping.

"Concentrate on enemy two, target propulsion systems," Adeiri ordered as her ship's cannons spat laserfire at the Vahetey. The enemy ships came on clumsily, in a strung out line with little support for each other. Her two cruisers responded by targeting one at a time, acting with coordination to bring them down. The two most powerful ships in the task force, their combined fire outmatched three enemy transport at once. On the other hand, their already low speed and maneuverability was hampered even further in the atmosphere of a planet, and their evasive maneuvers to disrupt the enemies fire were slow enough that they might have been almost comical to watch.

"Full reverse, bring us up in a fifty degree ascent, and continue to target propulsion!" Her ships slowly backed away, as the enemy drew nearer. The first ship in line faltered, as its shields failed under the attack, and laser blasts began to disintegrate it's main engines. The loss of engines was bad enough in space, but then a crippled ship might still be able to keep up the fire as it drifted in place. Now, as the enemies rear section erupted into flames, fed to larger size by the planet's oxygen, the massive force of gravity they were in the clutches of quickly pulled the transport down to it's doom.

A cheer erupted among the Fulkoom crew, wild and powerful with the thrill of vengeance. But it was muted by the barrage of laser blasts that struck their own shields. The enemy was finally learning, and the lead transports slowed to let their comrades come in for support.

"Continue ascent," she ordered. "Give me a rapid spray of the first four enemy ships; I want to see their shields buckle under our cannons!"

Her crewmen dutifully responded, and their arch of fire widened. It looked impressive enough, as the semi transparent color of the enemy shields flared. But by spreading out their fire they did less damage to any one ship, and the emboldened enemy ponderously rose up to meet them.

"Flietcea's one, two, and three," the Nestmother ordered into her com. "Go!"

From the edge of the retrieval zone, three cruisers had been waiting patiently, shouting off any shuttles that tried to dock with them. Now their engines fired with a roar, and fighting gravity to build speed they shot forward like unleashed hunting beasts. Swatting down a few remaining enemy fighters, they screamed through the open air underneath the fighting ships, poncing on the enemy like sea predators attacking from below. While the Vahetey's fire was concentrated on the two heavy cruisers; and their shields were rerouted to protect forward and up, the enemy below them faced almost no resistance as it blew apart their rear engines.

Their weakened shields gave, and the next cheer on the Geilio's bridge was a rousing howl, as one after another the four enemy began to plummet to the earth. "Well done Flietcea's," Adeiri called, her beak clacking in satisfaction. "Reverse course and attack the enemy at will. All ships, press the attack; I want them slaughtered before they have a chance to reorganize!"

Slaughter was very nearly what happened. Her combined cruisers circled the remaining enemy like hawks as they wrought bloody vengeance. The other Geilio cruiser swung in low to press it's attack, descending on one transport with a barrage of deadly fire. A large upper section of the ship was blown away, as flames leapt across it's hull and debris and shrapnel rained through the atmosphere.

It's engine sputtered and faded . . . then roared back to life. Somehow, the ship was still solid enough to force itself up, rising to meet the enemy that had gotten far too close.

"Pull up," Adeiri shouted desperately into her com. "Pull up and evade, Now!"

But it as too late. With a deafening crash the Vahetey ship rammed into the underside of the cruisers; cracking the hull open with enough force that for an instant it kept lifting the other ship higher. Then as they hung in the air the attackers engines died in a final blow out, and the ship began to sink, pulling it's victim down with it. Slowly at first, then with increasing speed, the two ships plummeted down toward the planet surface.

Anger and despair fed the high pitched cries around the Geilio's bridge now, as the avian beings cursed the enemy that had taken yet another friend from them. Only the Nestmother was silent, grounding her beak to keep her anger contained. "All ships," she spoke evenly. "Keep distance with the enemy." She glared at the remaining enemy transports, which had carried the horde of invaders to her word. "Maintain fire."


With two more stormtroopers and a Murelani behind her, Sergeant Porter joined Mor behind his rock. "We're pulling back," she ordered, panting as her lungs burned with exertion. They'd inflicted horrendous casualties on the Vahetey, and the battle had actually seemed to be turning in their favor, until the enemy armor had arrived. They could have held off the remaining ground troops, but they had no chance against the tanks.

"Did the aliens give that order, or the Captain?" Mor asked He hadn't heard anything on the coms.

The Sergeant pointed across the ridge at the captain, crumpled over with a blaster hit still sizzling on his stomach. "I'm making this call!"

"We're going over the ridge, and down into the ravine," she pointed to the gap between the two hills. "The cruiser can take out the tanks once all the friendlies are out." Not very likely, considering the enemy would stay right on their heels, but it was all they had.

"I'll get Graf," Mor spoke up, his voice full of defiance. "We won't leave him here!" That was what regulations dictated, if safe extraction was unlikely, wounded were to be abandoned to save the functioning soldiers. Even without such coldblooded regulations, the sergeant had been in enough battles to know they had a much better chance leaving the man to his fate. But then, once they came out from behind this rock they probably weren't gonna make it more than fifty yards anyway. "Very well."

With a deep breath, the trooper bent down to sling his comrade over both shoulders. Not ideal, for his wound, but it was better than leaving him there. "Go," the sergeant instructed, and her small rear guard took off after broken remnants of defenders.

They made it twenty yards. Laser bolts had nipped at their heels, and Porter turned as she ran to fire back, when a heavy shot hit the earth just paces in front of them. The sergeant was lifted off her feet, and thrown to the ground. The side of her helmet made contact with a rock, and her head was lost in a dull ringing.

As she blinked through her disjointed visor, her vision focused on the Murelani who'd landed next to her. A Vahetey stood over it, and the alien kneeled down to slowly slice it's long craw across the victims throat. In some abstract part of her brain, she thought about how the Vahetey could have ended it quickly with the blaster in it's other hand; and that there was something very ritualistic about it taking the time to kill with its claws. An ancient tradition perhaps?

She was grabbed, roughly turned to her side, and her helmet was yanked off. A Vahetey stood over her, removing it's helmet, to leer at her with it's hideous, alien face. The blood began pounding in her ears. She scrambled for the vibroblade at her side, but the alien planted one booted foot on her wrist. It raised an arm, the wicked claw already coated in someone's blood, and with a feral grin it took a slow lick of the dark liquid. Porter had spent the last ten years of her life staring death in the face through the sights of her blaster; but that sight finally froze her blood cold, helpless as the alien casually reached down and-

She hadn't noticed the loud engine whine replacing the dull ringing in her ears, until it was suddenly right on top of them. A blinding orange light cut the alien in two, and the cloud of dirt in its wake sent her gasping for air.

Ezra had been so focused on getting to the sight as quickly as possible, that he actually wasn't prepared to slow down when he suddenly reached it. Taking out a Vahetey as he sped by he banked the bike hard to the left, missing a tree by inches as he tried to stop. It was too sudden, and he leapt off the bike as it began rolling out of control. Somersaulting through the air he landed in a crouch, as the bike crashed into a Vahetey squad.

He brought his saber up just in time to deflect a bolt right back at an attacker. Another alien leveled it's blaster at one of the downed stormtroopers, and with a flick of his hand Ezra sent it flying into a tree.

A tingle of premonition sent him lunging to the side, as a shot from a heavy laser cannon scorched the ground where he'd been standing. More tanks! Deflecting blaster bolts from either side he charged toward the vehicle, jumping onto a rock to give himself a boost to make the last leap. Landing on the side of it, he held on with one hand as he leaned low, putting all his strength into a quick slice through one of the lower anti-personnel guns; before shuffling down the side to begin cutting into the hatch.

Sergeant Porter staggered to her knees, and another trooper appeared at her side, her shouts barely audible to the sergeant's damaged hearing. "The enemies flanked us on the left," she reported as she handed the NCO her discarded E-11. "We're about to be hit from two sides!"

The sergeant cursed inwardly, as she scooped up her helmet, snapping it back on to take a good whiff of it' supplemental oxygen.. Her troops were staggering back to their feet, as another squad of stormtroopers came climbing over the ridge toward them, trading running fire with the Vahetey. Another shuttle rose into the air behind them, speeding off to get it's cargo out of danger. "We keep falling back," her hearing had improved enough that she could make out her own voice. "The jedi will have to find a way to keep the tank busy while we-"

The tank, which was less than one hundred yards away, but had stopped firing, suddenly lurched along its path. It turned sharply, veering from one side to the other, snapping its other anti-personnel gun off on a rock; before it turned in a sharp right circle, and crashed into a thick tree trunk. A spurt of flames erupted from it's back end section, and the jedi came leaping out of the hole he'd cut in.

Porter only had a moment to be surprised, as the second trooper squad reached them. "Eighty five percent of refugees have been evacuated," the lead trooper reported. Dull thuds echoed through the air, as the cruiser overhead kept pounding the enemies rear ranks. "And all available reinforcements are being sent to our location. We had a little action west of here, but were ready to fight. We can make it if we just hold them off for a few more minutes!"

"Alright, new plan," Porter pointed along the ridgeline, where the Vahetey troops were moving past them to engage the other end of the line of defenders. "We hit their flank before they hit ours. Stay on this side of the slope to avoid friendly fire, I'll signal the others to bring their own line forward when we've fully engaged."

"Good idea," the jedi Bridger was suddenly there next to them, thrumming orange blade held casually at his side. His sweating and dirty face was helmetless, but he didn't seem to be having much trouble with the thinner oxygen. "I can take care of the tanks, just keep me covered!"

The sergeant couldn't help but take a step back. She'd never seen a lightsaber before, outside of historical recordings and holo-thrillers, and it had a much more physical presence than she'd ever imagined. She had a bad feeling it would cut through her armor like nerf-butter. "Just stay out of our blastersites rebel."

"Sure thing," the younger man grinned. "And you're welcome by the way!"

The sergeant ordered them to move before any more barbs could be exchanged. They hopped their way along the slope, dodging from cover to cover as they took careful aim at their targets. Individual Vahetey returned fire, but the mass of troops did little to respond. There was a potentially disastrous flaw in this plan; if more enemy troops simply came up the right side of the hill, then her force would be the one hit from both sides. But the enemy was making no attempt to exploit it, just funneling everything he had into a weak spot on their left. Did he only have enough troops to attack from one direction? Or was this an example of that instinctive single-mindedness she'd heard the species was prone too?

Their advance halted a couple hundred feet from the Vahetey flank, and at last the enemy seemed to take serious notice. Porter slapped on her helmet com and shouted into it, calling for the line of defenders at the revine to begin moving up. Hopefully there were enough stormtrooper officers there to get their own men and the natives moving; if support didn't come soon, her small force could be flattened in a matter of minutes.

A tank in the enemy line was just starting to turn it's guns as it drew parallel with them, when an orange light erupted by its side. The sergeant hadn't noticed the jedi Bridger was no longer with them, sending blaster bolts ricocheting back at the enemy; and neither had the Vahetey. Now that he had skulked close enough he activated his lightsaber and cut down to troops riding on the side of the tank, before slicing his saber into its rear wheels. The locked up treads dug into the dirt, and the vehicle began to turn violently in a circle, sending Vahetey troops scrambling to avoid it.

The next tank in line was training it's guns on them, and the Sergeant dove and rolled to a thicker tree, bracing for the fire. Instead its heavy laser bolt sped off into the air above. Any thoughts of how the gunner could have missed so widely were banished when she finally noticed the sentinel shuttle roaring in over the hill, it's own guns firing in response. Cruising lower than regulations permitted, the Imperial pilot took precise shots at the enemy armor, reducing it to a wreck and damaging another, before a lucky shot blew apart one of his stabilizing fins. Trailing smoke, the pilot punished his engines to bring the shuttle into a tight turn. It passed overhead so close she felt like she could almost reach up and touch it, before coming to a sudden landing that toppled several trees and had it's landing struts digging in the earth. As it lurched to a halt the troop doors burst open; to disgorge a bloodied collection of Murelani and Fulkoom fighters. Porter recognized their commander (Sack, or something like that), with the Chimaera's KX droid by his side, laying down a murderous barrage of precise fire.

They hadn't noticed on the ground, but sometime during the last half hour air overhead had come alive with ships. Small groups of fighters danced erratically overhead, and she counted half a dozen cruisers low in the air above them. Apparently there had been some change in plans, but at least the evacuation seemed to be going faster.

The commotion to their left began to intensify, and the enemy advance finally faltered; then ground to a halt as their own troops appeared coming over the ridge. The whole line of defenders was pressing forward now, taking the fight to the enemy, and the Vahetey lashed back with renewed desperation.

They gave no thought to surrender or retreat, but continued to attack even when they were on the defensive. Porter managed to shoot down two Vahetey right before they pounced on her, with just a few feet to go before those razor claws were in reach. "All units, stop advancing," she ordered over the Imperial coms. "Find good cover and keep them down with suppressing fire." No need for them to go charging out toward an enemy who would come to them anyway.

"Mayday!" A frantic call came over the coms a second later. "We got too far forward, and an enemy squad flanked us. We need back up!" Porter glanced around the tree she'd been hiding behind, trying to spy where the stormtroopers in distress were, and where she might be able to take troops out of their already thin line to save their asses. "Repeat, mayday!" The call went out again. "We have troopers down, we need hel-"

The com was suddenly drowned out by a static hum, and a sound like a laser slash that ended in a howl of pain. Recognizing the sound, the sergeant looked again and spotted the orange flash of Bridger's lightsaber through the trees, slicing through Vahetey troops as a pair of stormtroopers dragged their fallen comrade clear.

"Sergeant," the KX appeared at her side, standing tall as the other defenders were crouching behind cover. "The last of the refugees have been evacuated from the revines beyond, and we're picking up the stragglers all over this mountain. We have received permission to pull out." A blaster bolt came flying through the trees at the droid, who paid no heed as it glanced off it's armored shoulder. "The first shuttles should arrive momentarily."

About damn time. "Corporal Greer," she called down the line, that well practiced "officer voice" grabbing attention even on the battlefield. "We're pulling out; see that the wounded are assembled so they can be extracted first!"

The trooper leapt to comply; running as fast as possible when he was also hunched low to be a minimal target.

"If that will be all sergeant, an enemy squad is gaining ground on our left. I shall resume suppressing fire." The droid raised an E-11 in each hand, stalked off through the battle.

Amid the sprays of dirt and toppling trees farther behind the enemy, where the cruiser seemed to be leveling the whole landscape to slow their assault, a tank managed to somehow make it through. It came up almost on the flank of the defenders, firing down a corner of their line.

"We need to take out that bandit," Porter called into her com. "Does anyone have detonators left?"

"My squadmate and I do," a trooper responded. "But we can't get to it, the antipersonel cannons are pinning us-HEY!"

An orange blur shot across the battleground, dodging laser bolts and making it to the top of the tank in a single leap. Bridger held a detonator in each hand, which he'd swiped from their spots on the back of both trooper's armor; and juggled them into one as he took his lightsaber out to slash the top hatches open. He thummed them on and tossed one into the forward compartment, then the back. His hurried leap off the vehicle was less graceful than would have been expected of a jedi, but he still hit the ground running as flames erupted from it's hatches and viewport.

Mor suddenly appeared at the sergeant's side. "The wounded are away sergeant," he reported. "Grafman went with them; he was still out, but breathing and not bleeding."

"Good," she grabbed his arm and pulled him down a little farther, as blaster bolts whizzed by. "Let's hope that's how the rest of use get off this godforsaken planet."

"TB squad, this is Sentinel 49, over," a call came over the coms as if it had heard her. "I'm coming in for a pickup, get your next wave ready."

"Negative 49," Porter countermanded him as she hunkered behind a tree. "We're going to get too thin on the ground here if we keep pulling out one squad at a time. I want to hold off further extraction until enough shuttles arrive to get us all out at once; or the last ones to leave are going to get massacred!"

"Copy that Sergeant," the pilot didn't sound too sure. "It's your neck, but I'm not gonna tell a stormtrooper how to do her job."

For a moment, Porter hesitated. But no, it was the right call. The best chance for the remaining troops to survive was to hold their numbers. They could wait long enough for more shuttles; the weight of the Vahetey attacks was starting to thin, and her troops now had some heavy gun support from above, and the boost of some fresh troops.

And, odd as it was, Bridger. The jedi spun and leapt around the battlefield like a feral lothcat, cutting down the enemy everywhere they started to gain strength. The sergeant had worried this mission would go south, in some way that involved her having to put a blaster-bolt in the jedi. Now, she had to be careful not to do it by accident, as he jumped in right among the enemy, sword blazing.

Laser blasts erupted amid the trees beyond, as the rate of the cruiser's fire seemed to intensify. The winds that had been nipping at them seemed to suddenly grow into a roar, as the trees shook and a cloud of dirt whipped up, buffeting the protection of the stormtrooper's helmets.

"Sergeant," she was able to hear Mor through the sophistication of their helmet coms, and his pointing drew her attention to the source of the wind. The cruiser overhead head was coming in for a landing, right on top of the ridge where the two lines of defenders met. Branches blew away and then snapped as it lowered itself between the largest gap in the trees it could find. Then thinner sections of trunk began to give way, and whole trees came crashing down, as the solid hull of the ship forced them apart. They watched a tree pull its roots out of the dirt as it toppled, it's shaking canopy crashing down just a couple paces from crushing a poor Fulkoom.

There was no flat space big enough that the cruiser could have settled on it's landing struts; instead it's repulsors continued to fire, as it wobbled uneasily just above the ground. Like some kind of massive dish, balancing on a broken and uneven table.

For a moment the fighting died down, as even the Vahetey were taken off guard by this latest oddity. Then two large boarding ramps opened on it;s side, lightly armed Murelani crew emerging from both to start firing at the enemy.

This hadn't been anyone's plan, but the language barrier didn't make it hard to get the meaning. "All units, fall back," Porter shouted into her com! "Fall back to the ship; quickest time while maintaining suppressing fire!"

It became a scramble. With no order, and no coordination, stormtroopers and their alien allies ran for safety. The Vahetey gave out something like a roar of dismay, as their prey began to escape. But something seemed to have finally sapped their endless energy. Maybe the thin air was finally catching up with them, maybe it was the demoralization of a much costlier battle than they had been promised, now ending in defeat. Whatever it was, they suddenly seemed content to hold their ground and fire on their retreating foe.

Porter reached a boarding ramp, extended as low as it could and still floating some four feet off the ground on the slope of the hill. She and her troops continued to fire, as a stream of defenders scrambled aboard the ship, many needing to be boosted by their comrades. One of the last to arrive was the KX, stalking backward as it lay down suppressing fire. "Nearly all combatants have been evacuated. I have compiled a report of troops who broke regulations, and retrieved wounded at the risk of further casualties."

The sergeant took a moment to roll her eyes. ISB programming. "We can worry about court martials when everyone is ou-AH," with one hand the droid grabbed the back of her armor, and hoisted her with inhuman strength up onto the ramp. Wrapping one arm around the ramp strut she snapped shots back at the enemy creeping toward them, and searching for any sign of stragglers.

"Gang way!" The jedi came flying through the air in an impossible leap, landing on the ramp with one arm holding an injured Fulkoom riding on his back. His lightsaber missed her face by centimeters as he spun on the uneven surface, deflecting laser bolts back the way they came. "We're good," He panted. "That's all the survivors!"

He deactivated his lightsaber as they scrambled up the ramp, and shouted something in Murelani she couldn't understand. The ramp behind them rose with a whisssk, and they came to a halt in a hallway filled with beings. With a roar the engines kicked on, and the ship shook and jolted up, rising through the atmosphere. "We're off," a helmetless trooper shouted, and there was a ragged cheer in three different languages, all in complete agreement.

Porter steadied herself against the wall, suddenly aware that she was so tired that she might topple on her feet. The passageway was a picture of exhausted chaos; beings sank to the floor to sit against the wall; while those lightly injured hobbled carefully through the throng, supported by their comrades. Stormtroopers took off their helmets, many began shedding their armor, ignoring regulations as the adrenaline of battle drained out of them.

With a deep breath, the Sergeant pushed herself back up straight, and began steadily marching down the corridor. "Troopers," that officer voice got their attention. "You have ten minutes, then get off your asses and start to get organized." She looked over the different faces, from several different units completely mixed up. "Round up all the members of your own squad first, and take stock of everything you need. I expect the highest ranking survivor in each to report to me directly within the hour. I'll see about getting us some food and arranging decent bunks in the meantime."

As politely as she could, Porter forced her way through the crowd, her leadened feet threatening to trip her up. A Murelani passing around a canteen of water offered it to her, and with just a moment of hesitation she accepted it and took a long swig. "Thank yo-," An older looking Fulkoom suddenly came up and hugged her, wrapping both arms around her armored chest. Well drilled response training almost compelled her to slap it away; instead she stood there with arms raised awkwardly, as another one joined it. They kept saying something over and over, in a low squawk. A trooper sitting neck to her, with an almost equally affectionate Fulkoom toweling blood off of his face, actually let out a chuckle. The Sergeant silenced him with an appropriately lethal look; and, with a sigh, began prying the aliens off.


"Thie fleet iis aaway!" the ecstatic com officer announced. A cheer arose from the bridge of the Haagtia, the Murelani making a sound like a high pitched bark, and the Fulkoom crying in a warbling chirp. Admiral Thrawn maintained his composure, but let himself indulge in a moment of relief and satisfaction. Only a moment however.

"Captain, take us out of the system," he instructed Eynami. "make a hyperspace jump far enough into open space to be beyond sensore range, from there we should have the time to calculate a proper course for Kalbalka before the Vahetey can find us."

Their pursuers were still behind them. Having jumped back to the first moon, Thrawn had ordered his ships to maneuver between it and the planet as they continued to race away. With the band of high gravity between the two bodies directly between them, the Vahetey were not able to jump straight in forward or behind them, but came out at the moon to keep following them. By now, the pursuit force was clearing the planet's gravity-well, and would escape long before the enemy could reach them.

All things considered, the admiral was satisfied with the operation. There had been losses; which had been both significant and completely avoidable. But considering it was carried out by a largely inexperienced, multispecies force, with little training and preparation, allround performance had actually been exceptionally good. The raw materials of a competent military force were definitely here, and the crewmen who came out of this would be able to take the lead for the newer recruits that would undoubtedly be raised in the coming months.

The ground forces would have taken its own casualties, no doubt, but the lessons learned would be valuable. And among such gregarious species as the Murelani and Fulkoom, the moral victory of rescuing the survivors would be a badly needed boost; more important than the actual material benefit the beings rescued could add to the cause.

And once again, the immense value of the Imperials to this desperate alliance had been explicitly demonstrated.

The admiral pondered his next step, as well as the two or three after that, as the stars in front of him streamed into lines, and the ship escaped into hyperspace.


Mor came to his feet as Sergeant Porter entered the medical bay, looking hollow eyed in his disheveled black body sleeve. "At ease soldier," she replied quietly, surveying the cramped room. It looked like a converted storage compartment, filled with mismatched beds that had been dragged in. Beings were laid out on them, either waiting for treatment or recovering from it. Purple suited aliens moved among them, doing what they could to keep them comfortable. At the other end of the room, a pair of doors opened to bring a stretcher through; beyond it could be heard the sounds of a frantic medical operation going on.

Four stormtroopers were lying among the aliens all appearing to be asleep, under the influence of alien drugs. Porter carefully made her way between the beds, glancing nervously at the KX walking behind her, the towering droid looking a bit like a gundark tiptoeing through a naboo-china shop.

Grafman lay stretched out and resting, his armor stripped off and his bodysuit cut open from the waist up. Some sort of fabric sleeve was wrapped around his chest, covering the wound. "How is 421?"

"He's, um he's resting." Mor shrugged. "I can't understand anything the medics are saying, and I don't want to get in the way-"

"If I may," K6 nodded, then turned and snapped at a passing Murelani medic. He issued a series of unintelligible garble in the alien language, shouting at the being as if it were a failing subordinate. The poor alien looked like a nerf caught in headlights, as it began furiously typing on it's datapad and stuttered a response.

"She says his condition is stabilized. "The droid translated. "He suffered a serious laceration, and severe blood loss, but no deeper injuries. His condition initially deteriorated when his alien biology had a negative reaction to the anesthesia, but they reduced the dosing and stabilized him."

"I don't suppose that bacta is a thing in this corner of the galaxy," Porter inquired?

K6 quickly translated the question. "No, it is not known to them." The droid answered. "They are now requesting we leave the room, as they have to make room for more patients."

"Come along them, trooper," the Sergeant ordered. "You look like you could use a meal, and the aliens are throwing one together."

They carefully shuffled out of the room, shuffling their way through the crowded halls. "I didn't know you'd been reprogrammed to understand the natives already," Porter found herself saying to the KX conversationally. Having small talk with an ISB droid was normally something she would never have considered; but this particular unit seemed to have quite a few quirks in it's programming, which was oddly a little endearing.

"That software was actually still being developed when we departed Kalbalka," the droid answered as it's long legs stepped clear over an alien sleeping in the hall. "I haven't had any upgrades yet. But as a security droid I am designed with an eidetic memory bank, and basic decoding programs; it allows me to deduce local languages through observation."

The sergeant was almost impressed. "I didn't know KXs were so sophisticated?"

"Most units aren't," it agreed. "There was an upgrade for language assimilation produced after manufacturing, but many ISB personnel do not make it a priority to keep droids up to date." It's mechanical voice sounded almost contemptful. "I was well aware of my former handlers' shortcomings however, and conducted regular upgrades of my own."

Porter raised an eyebrow. She'd never seen a droid show so much initiative in complying with regulations before.

As they approached the mess hall, a pair of familiar figures emerged. The jedi Bridger, munching on a piece of fruit, and the Murelani captain Saakic. "All I'm saying is, on a lot of missions a smaller hyperdrive capable ship could be worth the shards of crystal it would tak-" the jedi cut off when he spotted the approaching Imperials.

"Sergeant," the Murelani captain greeted. "Haave your troops seittled iin well?"

"Yes," Porter replied. "The quarters we were given will do fine, thank you. Have the meals been prepared."

The alien nodded. "Thie meals wiill be smaall; iit waas not plaanned thaat wie would eivacuate so maany on thiis cruiser, aand wie must raation untiil wie reach Kalbalka."

"Stormtroopers are no strangers to hardship," She replied. "You won't hear us complain."

"Probably do you some good," Bridger smiled. "That standard issue armor gets pretty tight, I know from experience."

The sergeant decided to ignore that. "I'll go get my people then. And I wanted to talk to you, captain, about the refresher facilities on this ship. Frankly, they're a little on the small side for human use . . ." The little group began heading back down the hall. Ezra trailed behind, then turned a corner to find a spare bunk.

But trooper Mor stepped back and grabbed his shoulder, bringing him up short. "Wait, jedi." Ezra slapped the hand off and turned to look the trooper straight in the eye, squaring his shoulders and fixing him with his best lothwolf glare. He'd thought they'd all be too worn out from the fight to cause trouble, but if one of them had finally snapped . .

But instead the young man looked away, rubbing the back of his neck as he searched for words. "Listen jedi . . . I . . . thank you," he mumbled quietly. "If you hadn't . . . a lot of my squad mates wouldn't have made it off that planet without you."

Ezra scrutinized the stormtrooper for a moment, trying to find some sign of deceit. Finally he mumbled out a "Don't mention it," and turned to walk down the hall.

Surprisingly, one of the biggest problems I had trying to write a serious battle, was to keep it from being kinda repetitive. Please tell me how you think I did; I tried to keep it clear what was going on where. The space tactics were kind of influenced by other scifi series I've read, and might not quite fit Star Wars style space battles. Probably should have given this another round of spit and polish too, but I was impatient to get it out.