CHAPTER TWO - THE SURRENDER AND AFTERMATH
Aboard the flagship, Akbar surveyed the scene. "Hail the Imperial Fleet again on the common channel. Tell them we require their immediate surrender."
This time a voice responded. "...Admiral Royter of the Imperial Navy. To whom am I speaking?"
"This is Admiral Akbar, commanding the Alliance fleet. Surrender and shut down your reactors."
"By what right does a rebel and traitor demand the surrender of his lawful Imperial government?" Asked the Admiral haughtily.
"By right of victory, Admiral. Save your men's lives, now!"
"Losses are to be expected. The fact that you propose a truce indicates you have no stomach for them."
"This is no time for games, Admiral."
"You may deliver your proposals to me in person. You, or your representative."
"Not proposals, Admiral. Requirements." Akbar was fast losing patience.
"I will negotiate face to face, or not at all."
"You're in no position to make demands!"
"Then we can resume the battle at your convenience."
The channel went dead. Akbar turned various shades of red, pink, and black with frustration and anger. There were times that human stupidity and arrogance were beyond him.
Mon Mothma, until now standing unobtrusively at the back of the bridge, offered her advice. "He's trying to save face, Admiral, at least in his own mind. He may also be unwilling to surrender to a non-human."
Luke monitored the discussion on the command net. "Admiral, this is Commander Skywalker. Let me go. I'm close by already."
"Do you know what you're doing? You could be killed out of hand."
"I'm willing to take that risk. This has to end."
Leia was also monitoring the command channel. Her voice came angrily over the com. "Luke, a hundred thousand of them aren't worth your life. If they want to fight to the death, let them."
Luke looked toward her, though the Falcon was far beyond his vision. He didn't answer. "Admiral, please advise them that one X-wing is coming over."
"I'll send you the coordinates and our terms of surrender, Commander. We're bringing the Y-wings and B-wings aboard to re-arm. That will take about half an hour. If you can't secure their surrender by then, we will launch. We cannot allow them to escape and regroup. Time is critical."
"I understand, Admiral."
The coordinates and a short list of surrender terms appeared on his display, and Luke wheeled his X-wing toward the mass of Imperial ships.
Sitting in the Falcon's upper turret, Leia had a panoramic view of the carnage. Ships of both sides were still wracked by secondary explosions, and several Alliance cruisers limped slowly away trailing sparks and gas, while the rest formed up to surround the remaining Star Destroyers. Leia re-lived the moment of watching eight billion people die before her eyes and knew that, had it been up to her, the debt of Alderran would only be paid with destruction down to the last ship and the last man. She reached out and brushed gently against Luke's mind.
"Don't go."
"We've all risked our lives, Leia."
"Not for them."
Luke felt her fear and anger before she closed herself off.
Admiral Akbar opened the channel to the Imperials again.
"Admiral, we are sending a representative over in an X-Wing to discuss terms. If you fire on it you will all be destroyed. Do you understand?"
"The ship will not be fired on. We're sending coordinates and a clearance," came the reply.
Luke sent a transmission on the fleet net. "Red Leader to Rogue Leader."
"Copy Red Leader," Wedge replied after a few moments.
"Rogue Leader, take command of the X-wings and Z-95s."
"Understood Red Leader." Wedge responded without question.
The indicated course took him toward a heavily damaged ship in the center group of Destroyers. It was still spewing atmosphere and sparks from numerous hull breaches, and several main turrets were either crazily askew or gone entirely. Luke set his deflectors to double front.
"R2, keep an eye behind us."
R2 whistled an assent. Luke cautiously eased underneath to the main docking bay and watched a quad laser there tracking him. R2 spat a bunch of text onto his display asking if he was really, really sure about this.
"Yes, R2. It's necessary."
The X-wing penetrated the bay's magnetic shield. The TIE fighter racks were empty and the bay was devoid of ships, save a Tydyrium on one side of the landing platform. A group of figures - mostly Navy officers with a few stormtroopers - stood together on the other side of the platform. A ship handler waved him in with hand-lights. Seeing no obvious threats, Luke shut his deflectors off, put his gear down, and translated sideways to land.
The X-wing touched down lightly and Luke opened the canopy. He saw nearly a dozen Navy officers standing by. Most were stone-faced, but a few could not conceal their hatred. As he removed his helmet, he suddenly noticed the effects of the last hours' battle. He was soaked in sweat and his hands shook uncontrollably. Luke took a moment to center himself before climbing down. He approached the group of officers, some of whom were lightly wounded and had uniforms covered in soot and blood. Beyond them, lining the wall of the hangar, lay long rows of bodies.
"Grand Admiral Sheere is dead. I am Admiral Royter. I believe I am the senior surviving Admiral. You're the Alliance delegate? A fighter pilot?" The admiral said with some disdain.
"My name is Commander Skywalker." Luke kept his face absolutely neutral, but saw many of the officers turn white.
"Here to finish the job, are you?" Admiral Royter spat out.
"I came to end the battle, and the war."
"You'll pardon me if I don't believe that. You killed 8 milllion or our men!"
"Who had just killed 8 billion. Admiral, nothing we can say will solve the grievances of twenty years. I'm here to bring an end to this slaughter."
Royter struggled to control himself and Luke saw him glance briefly in the direction of the Stormtrooper contingent. Luke held his hand near his saber. The moment passed. "What are your terms?"
"First, you will close down your main reactors. You may keep Aux reactors up for damage control, stationkeeping, and life support. Second, you will make no attempt to flee. Any ship that does so will be destroyed without warning. Third, you will order the surrender of the Jakku defenses and begin transferring your personnel to the planet as soon as possible. Fourth, you will cooperate fully with with all Alliance directives, and the Alliance will determine the fate of your ships."
"You're putting us in position to kill us all. Why should we agree?"
"Admiral, if destruction was what we wanted, we have that already. We're discussing terms of an honorable surrender which will save lives on both sides, but especially your own."
The Admiral blustered. "The battle can go on, you know. You've been hurt just as badly as we have. We demand an armistice and withdrawal to our respective core sectors."
"Admiral, you are not in a position to make that demand. Your fleet is wrecked and the Alliance already has defacto control of this sector. This is about saving lives, not your position."
The Admiral paused to consider before asking hopefully. "What do you offer in return?"
"In return you will be allowed to receive emergency repairs and medical aid from the planet. We will also send what medical support we can spare from the fleet. Your men will be prisoners of war, and will be treated properly."
"Properly, by Rebels!" the admiral shot back before controlling himself. "And in the long run? What assurances do we have?"
"None that I can offer you, Admiral. That's for the politicians to decide. What I can promise is that your men will survive this battle."
"And if we refuse?"
"Our fighter-bombers are re-arming as we speak and the Alliance Fleet will attack in less than 30 minutes, whether I'm still here or not. I urge you not to delay, Admiral."
The admiral retreated to the group of officers, where a heated argument ensued. Luke waited patiently, but as he did his eyes repeatedly went to the long row of bodies.
"Stay here." he said to the four stormtroopers watching him closely.
"I think we'll stay here," the squad leader repeated.
Luke walked back to his X-wing, opened the cargo hatch, and dropped the survival kit. While he did, a group of helmet-less stormtroopers hustled through the blast door and added several more to the row of bodies. One man, who appeared to be a medic, walked the row tending to the occasional man.
"Dead?" Luke asked.
"Dying. These inhaled superheated turbolaser coolant," said the tech without looking up.
The young man on the stretcher wearing a gunner's uniform had facial burns, but worse, pink froth bubbling from his nose and throat as he labored to breathe. The medic moved on to the next dying man, trying to give what comfort he could with light sedatives.
Luke held out the medipak, and the medic looked up to see the characteristic orange jumpsuit of a rebel pilot.
"Bacta patches, sterilants, some sedatives. It's all I have."
The medic hesitated only a moment, then took the kit and hurried back through the blast door.
Among the Imperial officers the argument continued for several more minutes and eventually escalated to shouting. Two officers left the group and stormed out of the hangar bay. Nevertheless, a consensus was eventually reached, and Admiral Royter turned to find Luke.
"Stop. Stop! What are you doing?" The Admiral called out in Luke's direction.
Luke stood a bit too quickly and his vision dimmed.
The Admiral strode over while looking curiously at the four stormtroopers rooted to their spot.
"You can take souvenirs on your own damn time. The answer is yes. Now GET OUT BEFORE I CHANGE MY MIND!" The admirals face purpled with rage.
Neither extended their hand.
"You've made the right decision, Admiral."
The Admiral said nothing, and turned his back on Luke to look at the long rows of dead. He heard the X-wing depart.
To the dead, he said: "The Empire has failed you."
One of the terminal cases in front of him suffered a coughing fit, rolled onto his side, and spat out a mouthful of bloody froth. The attending medic hurried to help him. The young man shook his head and, after a few moments, sat up.
A few more nearby men started coughing more strongly and tried to sit.
The medic seemed confused and checked them over quickly. Without a word he sprinted through the blast door, to return a minute later with a doctor in a bloodsoaked uniform.
"Where did you find those bacta patches, orderly?"
By now, there were several men sitting up trying to clear their lungs.
"The coolant casualties, Sir!"
The doctor stopped in his tracks. He stooped to check their vitals and asked each to take several deep breaths.
"They're not aspirating blood! Did you administer something?"
"No, Sir. The rebel pilot gave me his medkit, and I gave it to you."
"You men!" The doctor addressed the suddenly recovered crewmen. "Can you help in sickbay?"
They all nodded, though speaking was still too painful.
"Then come on, there's no time."
Admiral Royter couldn't explain what he'd just seen with his own eyes. It was something to ponder later, but not now. He summoned his staff.
"Send to fleet: Cease hostilities. Close down main reactors as able. Hold station and prepare to receive aid from the planet and delegations from the rebel fleet. Full cooperation is required. Send to Jakku: The fleet...the fleet... the fleet has surrendered." The Admiral's voice broke. "As senior Imperial commander I order you to cease hostilities. No Imperial ships may leave the system. We require immediate engineering support and medical aid. Prepare to disembark our crews with whatever transport you have."
That done, the Admiral spied the Stormtrooper squad, still in the same place. "Are you ever going to move?"
The squad leader shook his head.
On his way back, Luke had more time to survey the terrible grandeur of the scene - dozens of Cruisers and Destroyers drifting, belching flames and atmosphere. There was a nearly constant rain of debris from destroyed fighters. Five years ago he would've thought a massive space battle was a glorious spectacle. Then he saw them first-hand.
Luke resolved himself, picked out a badly damaged cruiser, and set course for it.
A line of text appeared on his droid interface - R2 asking why they weren't headed back to their home ship.
"I have something to do here."
R2 looked at the shape the cruiser was in and didn't sound convinced.
"Don't worry about me, R2."
As Luke approached the starboard hangar, he saw its magnetic seal was inoperative and the hangar was open to space. Several crewmen moved about in pressure suits making repairs. He checked the unengaged side, found the magnetic seal operational, and eased his ship into the hangar while avoiding scattered wreckage. After checking that his flight suit's face shield was operational, he climbed out of his ship.
The crew, like the Imperials, were using the huge hangar as a morgue. A steady stream of fleet troopers and crewmen, many wounded themselves, shambled in and out with blank stares. One pair carried a bloody tarp on which had been piled body parts, still steaming, which they unceremoniously dumped in a pile. Another four troopers ran past Luke with two intact, charred bodies on stretchers, which they sat down in front of him. The smell of burning human flesh vividly recalled his own family, whom he buried on Tattoine with his own hands. Luke would never forget the smell as long as he lived.
He grabbed one trooper as he passed. "Sickbay".
"Follow us." The trooper didn't even look at him.
Luke followed the stream of troopers through a series of corridors lit only by the occasional emergency lantern. Main power was down and the carnage was indescribable. The ship was dark and everywhere there was fear.
"How can I help?" He asked the first medic he met, who looked about half a second at his orange flight suit. "We're still clearing compartments. Bring me the moderately wounded. Leave the dead and dying where they are."
Luke nodded and went back to the main corridor and fell in with a trooper. They went to compartment after compartment, finding mostly bodies too fragmented or burned for their species to be recognized. When weapons designed to destroy ships hit men, that was the result. One trooper, horribly burned over his entire body, died in Luke's arms seconds after he was found. They had to step over another young man, practically a boy, torn open from chest to crotch. "Oh, mama, I'm ruined! Mama!" He repeated weakly, over and over. Luke fought the urge to vomit.
"This can never happen again," he resolved.
Luke approached one closed blast door, but the trooper warned him: "Open to vacuum, Sir. Everyone from C deck to E deck is dead."
The two of them passed a compartment lighted only by shorting wires. Luke heard weak crying from inside.
"Hey, there's someone in there."
The trooper grabbed his arm. "Pinned under wreckage. Leave her."
Luke shook loose and crawled over and around fallen equipment and structural members. He found a young crewman, pinned from her chest down between the deck and a fallen structural member, suffocating. He put one hand on the beam and one over her eyes. The durasteel beam shook, but was wedged in by the explosion in the next compartment.
"Do or do not."
Luke applied more, and more, and more. The beam itself buckled, and the ceiling and walls warped and expanded with the groan of bending metal. It was enough. The crewman cried in pain and passed out, but she was free. Luke worked her loose of the wreckage, picked her up as carefully as possible, and carried her over his shoulder out of the compartment.
"Wreckage must've shifted, trooper."
Luke hurried her back to the aid station, where he approached a medic frantically working on a young woman whose shattered thighbone protruded from the mangled stump of her leg by several inches. She kept fighting the medics, saying "OOH! Show me!" While flailing her now-missing leg.
The medic took one look at the crewman in his arms and said "Routine. Cafeteria down that hall."
Luke was briefly transfixed with horror. "Where are the dying?" He finally asked.
"Expectant cases in the the hall behind us, if there's room. Bring them to me first."
Luke nodded, then carried the young woman a short distance to the cafeteria where those without critical wounds waited.
Luke entered the hall of the dying. He had to step over bodies just to walk. Many were already dead, some unconscious, some silent, some wept, and some moaned in agony. No one attended them - there was no one to spare. In ordinary times, many would have survived, but the scale of the carnage was so great that most would die instead. Who lives and who dies? Luke wasn't a medic; he had to trust his eyes and his feelings.
"I can't save you all, but I'll save all I can." He promised them quietly.
He knelt, and laid his hands on the first crewman he felt he could help.
At the far end of the dark hall, a shimmering blue form materialized. Anakin stepped out of the darkness as a young man. He paused a moment, looked at Luke across the hall, and walked toward him, stepping through the dead and dying. As he passed, one man raised his head and stretched out a bloody hand. Anakin paused to regard the man with pity, before stopping next to Luke. He looked down at Luke sadly.
"All this is my fault."
"I forgive you; you know that father."
"She hasn't." Anakin looked around the hall. "And all of them never had a choice."
"That's why I have to save as many lives as I can."
"I understand, but throwing away your own isn't the answer."
"Yoda taught me a Jedi should let go of his mortal attachments."
"Have you?" Anakin asked.
Luke had to be truthful. "No. But is my life any more important than theirs?" He gestured around them.
"Is that really what this is about?"
Luke didn't answer. Others would live, and he would atone for his father.
"You're more like me than you know." Anakin's ghost disappeared.
Leia nodded off in the top turret. She dreamed that Luke was receding from her. He was saying something, but getting farther and farther away, fainter and fainter. She lunged after him, and woke.
Confused, she looked out of the turret to see things much as they had been. She'd been asleep minutes. Maybe seconds. Had she even been asleep? She didn't know.
"Luke!" She picked up her Comlink and pinged his. No answer. "Threepio, see if you can find R2. I can't raise Luke."
Threepio came back to her shortly to respond that "R2 is with Master Luke's ship, but hasn't seen Master Luke in some time. They're on the Resiliance."
"Not on Home One?"
"No, milady."
"Han, find the Resiliance."
Dozens of shuttles crisscrossed the battlespace looking for survivors of the fighter battle. There were generally more Alliance survivors than Imperial; nevertheless many pilots were rescued on both sides, and would live to see their homes again instead of dying a cold and lonely death in the void.
Commander Rodel stood up in the hatch of his slowly spinning TIE bomber cockpit. He looked at the Rebel shuttle twenty meters distant, with its door open and a crewman standing there in a pressure suit, waving him over. The shuttle door stood in stark contrast, a bright rectangle of light in the void. Half an hour ago he'd done his best to kill as many rebels as possible. Now they were his only hope. He'd survived the battle, seen it all from start to finish, and seen dozens of friends die horribly. He should feel guilty for surviving, but right now all he felt was relief. Then he thought - would he be killed just for sport, like he'd already seen? Tortured? Used as a political pawn? He hesitated, but ultimately the only thing that mattered was that he might see his children again. He used his legs to launch himself across the gap to the shuttle.
The few surviving TIEs milled about in the outer system until, spurred by their lack of hyperdrives and limited life support, they were forced to surrender and come aboard a Cruiser, or die. Most chose surrender.
One Alliance Cruiser was designated to receive the surrendering Imperial fighters, and a string of TIEs in varying condition came in to land. The hangar crew of the Reliant watched as a TIE-interceptor eased through the magnetic seal. This one had blue and white rays covering its forward solar wings, emanating from its four laser cannons. Imperial ships almost never had adornment of any kind - it was against policy - but some of the most capable pilots were given leeway for propaganda purposes.
The Interceptor eased forward into a clear deck space, floating on its repulsors. A section of the lower cockpit ball pivoted open forming a narrow ladder to within a couple feet of the deck, and the pilot climbed down. She removed her helmet and tucked it under one arm, revealing a pretty blond woman in her mid twenties. She ignored the two troopers covering her with blasters, as she patted the cockpit ball one last time.
A crew chief addressed her. "Your sidearm, ma'am."
She drew it from its holster and held it out, butt-first.
Both of them instinctively ducked at the report of a blaster shot in the hangar, which flew at least 10 feet over the Interceptor and hit the far hangar wall in a shower of sparks.
There was a commotion among a group of Alliance pilots waiting to sortie. One burly pilot had another pilot hanging on each arm, while at least two more tried to bear him down to the ground, While they watched, the pilot was buried under at least six pilots and hangar crew and disarmed.
"Bastards, she has to die! She has to die! Let me go!" He screamed.
Turning back to the TIE pilot, the crew chief saw the EC-17 pointed at him.
"Your sidearm, now!"
She thought briefly of adding one last rebel to her score, but after a tense moment, she handed it over. The pilot stood up straight, raised her chin, and stared ahead. Two hours ago, everything was much as it had been in her ordered world. She'd always expected to die eventually, but not as a prisoner at the whim of people who obviously would dearly love to take revenge. She tried her best to ignore the ongoing struggle just ten yards away.
By now, many more crewmen had noticed the commotion, and the blue-striped Interceptor, and drifted over. Some looked curious, but naked hatred was plain on many faces. It wasn't much of an exaggeration to say that every pilot and maintenance man in the hangar knew someone she'd killed.
Her mouth curled in disgust for these rebels, but her eyes betrayed her fear.
"Control, we need more security down here right now." The crew chief shouted into his comlink.
"Why didn't I go out fighting, or just end it like Howl?" She thought. For the first time in her life, the future was terrifyingly uncertain.
Home One's lead medic responded patiently to the Princess who wouldn't leave him alone.
"I won't waste bacta, Ma'am; there's not a mark on him. Now if you don't mind?" Without another word the medic returned to more urgent work.
Leia wasn't happy, but the medic was probably right. She pulled a chair next to Luke's sickbay bed and held his hand.
"Luke! Why?"
She was still there hours later, asleep in her chair, when Han and Chewie came by. He looked at the two of them, and turned out the lights so she could rest easier.
She slept, and dreamed again. In the distance a black, hooded figure approached her slowly. Between stood Luke, also in black.
"Stay." She pleaded.
Luke looked over his shoulder at her, with those blue eyes and easy smile. The figure approached out of the gloom. Vader! She shrank back in terror. The apparition of Vader reached up to his mask, and pulled it forward and off. A young man with dark, wavy hair looked at her. Anakin? Luke turned back to face Vader and ignited his lightsaber. The cool glow from the blade cast a shadow of Vader that seemed to have a life of its own.
"Mama?" A little girl's voice woke her.
The room was as dark as her dream, lit only by the cool glow of instrument panels on the wall. She raised her head in brief confusion to find Luke watching her.
"Hey, brother!" She said gently.
"Thanks, Leia." He looked very tired, but smiled.
"The medics tell me you almost died."
Luke shrugged.
"Luke, I know you take this...this religion seriously, but you're too important to lose. Why did you do it, Luke? Tell me." Leia sat on the bed and brushed the hair off his forehead.
Luke met her eyes again. "I killed a dozen men today. I felt it was important to save as many, if I could."
"The medics on Resiliance told me that half a dozen crewmen made miraculous recoveries. You?"
Luke nodded. "About as many on the Imperial flagship too."
"WHAT?" Leia shot up instantly. "You saved STORMTROOPERS when you could've saved our men?" Leia yelled in disbelief.
"I think they were gunners," said Luke after a short pause.
"This isn't funny! Don't ever do that again!" she shouted.
"Is the truce holding?"
Leia calmed down a little. "Yes, so far."
"Good." Luke closed his eyes.
The door opened and the room flooded with light from the hall, casting a shadow on the wall over the two of them.
"How's he doing?" Said Han from the doorway.
Leia stood up and turned the lights on. "Crazy, I think." She muttered as she left the room and closed the door.
Han leaned against the wall in the corridor. "Anyone ever tell you how cute you are when you blow your stack?"
"Who asked you?!"
"Nobody. But it's his life, honey. If it's that important to him, it's not our business to interfere." Han said calmly. "Besides, what's one stormtrooper more or less?"
Leia looked even angrier, and stomped off down the corridor.
The Battle of Jakku was a bloodbath on a scale not seen since the early days of the Republic, five thousand years ago. A third of all Alliance personnel were dead or wounded, and over half of all Imperial personnel. The Alliance' celebration of final victory was tempered by its high cost, and the Imperials finally had to reconsider the policies that brought the Empire, and so many of their friends, to their end.
The TIE fighter squadrons had suffered over 80% losses, and the TIE bomber squadrons had been virtually annihilated in their run against the the Rebel Cruiser line. The Imperial Navy had always relied on overwhelming numbers of TIEs to establish fighter dominance, but with the odds closer to even, the TIEs were fighting a battle they were never designed for. Those who survived were extraordinarily judicious, lucky, or good.
Of 39 Star Destroyers, 14 had been destroyed - 9 of those with all hands. Another 3 had escaped the fleet battle, and it was believed that one or two incomplete ships had escaped the destruction of the Ring. The remaining 22 Destroyers, all badly damaged, surrendered.
There were also a handful of Destroyers not present at the battle, and believed to be putting down rebellions in critical systems. Therefore Alliance Intelligence evaluated that about 10 operational ISDs were unaccounted for - an unfortunate, but manageable number.
Losses in the regular Alliance fighter squadrons were serious, but acceptable given the scale of the victory. Losses in the Z-95 and D-7 units were extremely heavy, but even their rudimentary shields were a qualitative advantage over the TIEs. The surviving Z-95 and D-7 pilots would return home as heroes beyond their provincial origins. Given one task - fleet defense at any cost - they more than justified Princess Leia's faith in them.
The Alliance Cruiser force was heavily damaged, but still a force. Out of 46 Alliance cruisers, 33 survived the battle. Six had exploded under fire taking their entire crews with them. Seven more survived long enough for their crews to abandon ship before out-of-control fires breached their reactors. All the rest were damaged to one extent or another, a few beyond repair.
The Alliance fleet loaded their critically wounded onto several damaged Cruisers, to seek aid in friendly systems. The wider galaxy found out about the crushing victory when these cruisers appeared in various nearby systems.
The Imperials had no such luxury. Their shipboard medical facilities were totally overwhelmed, their planet-side facilities were partly wrecked by the destruction of the Ring, and hundreds more succumbed to their wounds every day.
Over the next few days, the dire medical situation nearly resulted in a resumption of hostilities, as the Imperials accused the Rebels of withholding medical supplies in order to add to the death toll.
In reality the Alliance had no medical supplies to spare, and hadn't arranged for them ahead of time for fear of compromising their attack. They had mere days to arrange supplies for 250,000 prisoners and another 50,000 wounded. Fortunately, the crushing victory made them the de facto power in the Galaxy, which enabled Alliance Command to contract with both the Trade Federation and the Hutt Syndicate for supplies - at exorbitant cost, of course!
The first shipment to arrive with Bacta several days after the battle (via the Hutts) was largely directed to Jakku, where it saved thousands of lives and almost certainly prevented another shooting war. This gesture was hotly debated within the Alliance, and was almost entirely due to Admiral Akbar and Mon Mothma's combined efforts. There were many other members who saw humane treatment as optional for a defeated enemy that had coldly murdered billions and intended to murder billions more.
The Alliance insisted on immediate and full compliance with the terms of surrender.
Their first requirement was to move all surviving Destroyers into close orbit around Jakku. This put them deep inside the planet's gravity well and prevented any from jumping out without warning.
Their second requirement was to move all ISD crews to the planet except for small caretaker crews. Unfortunately, the destruction of the Ring also wreaked havoc on Imperial surface installations, which resulted in Jakku itself being of little help. There were precious few supplies left on the planet, and no facilities to house the crews. It was also immediately clear that there were not enough shuttles and transports to land the crews, so instead the Alliance required the Imperials to evacuate en masse via escape pod. The Imperials refused, believing that the Alliance would destroy them on the way down, but a compromise was reached where the wounded would be taken off by shuttle and the rest of the crew by escape pod, one Destroyer at a time. The rest of the Imperials would watch to ensure they reached the ground safely, then the next ship would evacuate, and so on.
Their third requirement was to surrender all Imperial personnel required by the Alliance for trial. Teams of fleet troopers led by Alliance intelligence officers visited every Destroyer and arrested numerous high-ranking personnel. Other teams did the same on the planet's surface. At the end of seven days, the evacuation concluded and only caretaker crews remained. The Alliance began turn turn its full attention toward immediate war crimes trials.
Onboard Admiral Akbar's flagship, things had settled into something of a routine until the morning of the eighth day after the battle.
"Sir, we're picking up movement in the Imperial Fleet."
"There're still in the planet's gravity well, correct?" Asked Akbar.
"Yes sir, they're not moving to break orbit."
Another minute and the velocity vectors of the surviving Destroyers were clear.
"Admiral, it looks like they're deorbiting!"
"They're scuttling! General alert! All ships prepare boarding parties, and get me Admiral Royter immediately!"
Admiral Krane quickly brought his Cruiser division down into the planet's gravity well, laying alongside a division of Destroyers. Several escape pods jettisoned from the descending ISDs.
"Destroy them."
No one on the bridge questioned the order, or even disagreed with it. The division's quad-laser batteries opened up. Several pods were hit and torn completely apart, along with their occupants. Others were holed, exposing the crew to vacuum and ultimate incineration from re-entry.
"Do we have boarding parties aboard yet?"
"Docking now, Admiral."
The boarders arrived too late on most ships to prevent the Imperial caretaker crews from taking to their escape pods. Most crews weren't fired on in their pods, but a few were. Admiral Royter and his staff made it to the surface alive, where they were promptly arrested by the Alliance.
On a few Destroyers the Imperial caretaker crews were slower getting the job done, which gave the boarding parties a chance to save the ships. On one Destroyer, the alliance troopers ran into the Imperials just leaving their bridge. The lead trooper, a grizzled veteran, leveled his pistol.
"Get back to the bridge and fix this."
The young captain tried to push past him. "We're going to the escape pods, and I recommend you return to your shuttle."
The trooper stepped back, shot him in the head, and turned to the next officer.
The young female Lieutenant trembled with fear and hatred.
"Scum!"
The trooper shot her in the head and turned to the next man. "Fix this, or none of you gets off alive."
The rest of the terrified Imperial crew retuned to the bridge and did their best to reverse actions intended to be irreversible. Eight minutes later they ran out of time.
They descended through the upper atmosphere and the Destroyer started to wallow as aerodynamic drag took effect. The senior trooper looked through the bridge windows to see plasma streams around the nose, and the fast-approaching desert landscape below.
"We'll never get off if we wait any longer," he thought.
The trooper addressed his boarding party with resignation. "Back to the shuttle, all of you."
He waited for the rest of the troopers to leave the bridge, then shot the remaining dozen Imperial navy crewmen before following his team to the shuttle.
In its last act of either heroism or malice, the Imperial Navy managed to de-orbit the majority of its remaining Destroyers, to crash-land in unoccupied regions of the planet below. The Alliance saved three Destroyers through the prompt actions of their boarding parties, and in two cases Alliance cruisers were able to combine their tractor beams and drag a Destroyer back into orbit. On Jakku, the Imperial Navy celebrated a last, ironic victory. Two hundred thousand planet-bound Imperials watched the spectacular, fiery end of their fleet, and cheered in defiance.
Admiral Royter stood rigidly at attention in front of the Alliance High Council.
"Admiral, you accepted the terms of surrender, did you not?" Asked Mon Mothma.
"I did."
"And did those terms not state that you will follow all Alliance directives, and that the Alliance would decide the fate of your ships?"
"The Fleet does not belong to you, it belongs to the Empire. If the Empire ceases to exist, the Fleet ceases to exist."
"Do you take personal responsibility for the scuttling of the Imperial Fleet?"
"I do."
"And are your subordinates also prepared to suffer the consequences of their actions?"
"Surrender or not, I command the Imperial Navy. I issued an order which my subordinates were obligated to obey. As such you cannot punish them for it."
"I assure you we can, Admiral," replied Mon Mothma coldly.
Admiral Royter looked chagrined. "Each of my officers understood the potential consequences." He decided it was best to omit the fact that each of them had wholeheartedly agreed with his order as well. "However...I ask you to show mercy to those who were only following my orders. I'm prepared to suffer the consequences myself." It horrified him to debase himself in front of his enemies, but he owed that much to his officers.
"Mercy? You're asking for mercy, now?" Princess Leia saw Mon Mothma's reaction in the corner of her eye and caught herself before going further. She knew that her personal investment was clouding her judgment.
"The Tribunal will take your statements into account, Admiral," Mothma said to Royter. "Remove him."
Two troopers escorted the Admiral from the chamber to allow the Alliance Council to discuss the situation. Mon Mothma opened the discussion.
"To the best of our knowledge, is Admiral Royter guilty of any war crimes outside of the scuttling?"
"Not that we're aware of, Prime Minister," answered General Cracken of Alliance Intelligence. "He had a fairly uneventful career until now."
"Admiral, how do you consider his actions?"
Akbar shifted uncomfortably, but replied with his characteristic frankness. "He agreed to the terms and then broke them. However, had I been in his place I may well have done the same thing. I don't envy his position."
Several council members looked displeased at Akbar's stance, but said nothing.
"There is another factor," stated General Cracken. "Our Intelligence says that he's already seen as a hero amongst the Imperials, for making the best of a bad situation and preserving the honor of the Imperial Navy."
"HONOR?" Admiral Krane interjected, slamming his palm on the table. "He broke the terms of surrender!"
"The problem" replied Mon Mothma, "is a political one. "Even without a fleet, the Empire still has considerable power across the galaxy. We hold prisoner a man whom we can agree is not a war criminal, and who now has political credibility within the defeated Empire. I suggest we use that to our advantage."
"I want a vote, here and now." Admiral Krane stated coldly.
"Admiral Krane, Royter's fate is for the tribunal to judge when it is convened." replied Mothma calmly.
"You know damn well the tribunal will do what we tell them. I demand a secret vote. Now."
"Very well, Admiral," Mothma said reluctantly.
General Cracken produced a sabaac deck from somewhere, and after going through them, tossed a pair of cards to each member. He pointed to the middle of the table.
"Flasks for life, sabers for..."
Each member took up their cards, and after a short delay (or no delay at all) tossed one of them to the middle of the table.
Cracken took up the pile and handed it to Mon Mothma, who sorted them and laid them face-up in front of her. "Seven to five for life."
A muttered word and a livid face were Krane's only responses.
Cracken collected the cards and pocketed them again.
Mon Mothma looked satisfied. "And after the transition, a comfortable and apolitical retirement to his homeworld."
"If he agrees to cooperate fully." Leia cautioned.
"And as long his retirement STAYS apolitical. If not it will be a short retirement." Cracken looked out at the council from underneath his eyebrows.
"Of course," Mon Mothma continued. "One last order of business. The Imperials contend that we illegally executed a number of Imperial personnel in their escape pods. What have we to say to that?" She looked in Krane's direction.
"Well, you know, these things happen," replied Admiral Krane with complete aplomb.
The meeting concluded and each member went his separate way. Admiral Krane grabbed General Cracken by arm.
I thought I could count on your vote, Airen. What's wrong with you?"
General Craken shook loose. "I'm a pragmatist, Dean. I thought you knew that."
Although the scuttling of the Imperial Navy cast a shadow over the victory celebrations, it also solved a serious political problem for the Alliance. Several important systems within the Alliance wanted reparations, and had already begun to argue over the spoils of victory, namely the surviving Star Destroyers. The mass scuttling made that argument moot, and the Alliance could successfully argue that they needed the handful of remaining Destroyers to replenish their own fleet. For all intents and purposes the Alliance was now the New Republic, and the New Republic needed a Navy to police the Galaxy. There was also the very real likelihood of continued conflict with die-hard remnants of the Imperial Navy. Since the Alliance had only about 30 operational cruisers against potentially 10 ISDs, it was necessary to repair and incorporate the remaining 5 Destroyers into the fleet as soon as possible. Two weeks after the battle, the captured Destroyers with Alliance prize crews aboard jumped to a remote, secret location to keep them safe until the New Republic could repair and crew them.
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