Honor and Distinction: Act III (Complete)

by EPClover

Valen Rannix, newly christened Commander of Hawk Group, navigates the treacherous waters of Imperial leadership as Death Squadron continues its campaign to stab at the heart of the Rebellion. Meanwhile, Andorus Merik continues his fight with boots on the ground amongst his Scout Walker Battalionmates, and blusterous copilot, Gunnery Sergeant Hammand

Act III

Chapter I: Swing

"A TK's armor is eighteen pieces of tactical, white plastoid composite, worn over a black insulating body glove," a dark toned man with leathered skin and silvered hair shouts assertively. In front of him, a loosely grouped platoon of troopers straighten out their armor for the first time, shrieks of blaster fire echoing in the air. Wearing a set of the shining white armor himself, the seasoned soldier holds his helmet under his arm as he marches back and forth. The group stands in a practice yard as small columns of suited and unsuited soldiers run drills and march in formations. Nearby, a platoon of weathered troopers fires across an empty, dusty field at lit up targets. As the fresh, youthful soldiers make adjustments, and test the range of motion in their new white armor, empowered grins and smirks peek out from their faces.

"TK's!" the Sergeant commands. "Buckets on!" With an unabashed grin from ear to ear, the young, red haired Hammand joins the platoon and throws his helmet on as the dark skinned man continues his informative speech. As the helmet slips over the young man's head, the goggles light up comfortably in front of his eyes. The small screens reveal a clear display of the landscape in front of him once again, albeit a slightly narrower view than his uncovered sight. "This armor is your official field uniform," the voice buzzes through the environmental earpieces. "You now represent the glorious and invincible Empire! Platoon! How do you feel?"

"Strong, Sergeant!"

"How strong?"

"Invincible, Sergeant!" the platoon bark confidently.

"TK-988, step forward!"

"Yes, Sergeant!" Hammand barks, stepping out of the group and standing at attention. The old Sergeant turns suddenly in place, as if marching in a drill, stomping over to a stack of crates. The aged soldier places his helmet down, and opens a long crate. The pauldroned man pulls a pointed, black metal pole from the pile of supplies. Turning like a machine on a track, he assertively approaches Hammand, holding the stake like a weapon. Unable to hold his ground, Hammand uneasily begins to backpedal as the Sergeant advances dangerously close.

Rearing back, the silver haired soldier holds the pole low at his waist, and with massive force, lunges forward, thrusting the pointed end into Hammand's belly. With a yelp of shock turned to a sudden cough, Hammand is lifted clear off his feet by the devastating blow. Landing flat on his back, he rolls his body to one side, curling against the pain and throwing his helmet off, gasping for breath. Sputtering, he frantically checks his stomach for blood, but is surprised to only find a scrape and a divot where the makeshift spear made contact with his protective shell.

A chuckle from one of the other young soldiers is quickly cut off, as the Sergeant swivels his head towards him with a serious, hard-as-durasteel face. "Somethin' funny, TK-993?"

"No, Sergeant!"

Stunned to see his armor unpierced, Hammand does his best to regain his breath, as the pole drops to the dirt in front of him with a dull clang. Looking up, Hammand sees the old man standing tall in his shining white armor.

"You're alright, boy, gittup," the gruff man demands callously. Turning to the platoon, he announces, "A TK's hardpoints are impervious to primitive weapons, such as spears, vibroblades, and slug throwers. It does hurt like hell though." Hammand rocks up onto his hands and knees, trying to rise, when the Sergeant grasps him roughly by the rear collar of his chestplate, resting a vibroblade on the soft bodyglove covering his neck. "And you are vulnerable between the plates." Dropping Hammand back to the dirt, the Sergeant stands up straight, slipping the blade into its holster. "HAH-TEN...SHUN!" the old veteran roars out, his bizarre accent ringing into the air. The platoon stomp their feet in unison, straightening and transforming into shining white statues. Scrambling for his helmet and shooting up from the ground, Hammand forces the pain to the back of his mind as he stands up straight. Calmly, as if addressing the next thing on the agenda, the Sergeant commands, "TK-988. Surrender your helmet."

"Yesserg'nt!" Hammand does his best to shout between concealed gasps for breath. Remaining as stiff as a board, he presents his helmet in front of himself. Upon receiving it, the grey haired man immediately tosses it into the dirt, away from the group. Unholstering his E-11, he unceremoniously lets loose a blast at the piece of equipment, the impact kicking a plume of dirt into the air. As the cloud of dust begins to settle, Hammand looks on what used to be his brand new TK 'bucket.' The white helmet settles off-kilter in the soil, a smoking hole burned right through the middle of the faceplate. The soldiers stare in silence, shocked at the ruined state-of-the-art equipment.

"Platoon!" the Sergeant bellows. Snapping out of it, the young men snap back to attention, Aligning their swiveled heads. "Do you feel invincible?!"

"No, Sergeant!"

"That's right!" he growls with what Hammand would consider a smirk. "TK-988, req another helmet, quartermaster's over there," the man commands quietly, nodding nonchalantly across the field. A low, one-story building on the base sits alone on the other side of the firing range. Bright red streaks of blaster fire blink and flash across the dusty field. Hammand stares into the area, watching the bolts zip across his field of view and make deadly impact on the hill on one side.

"Can't do that, Sergeant!" the young man says quickly, remaining at attention.

"Why is that?"

"The blaster range is currently in use, Sergeant!"

"I do not care, Private! A TK follows orders without question! That is a TK's strength!" the old man lectures, resting his E-11 against his armored chest, turning towards the rest of the green recruits. "Failing to follow orders...makes a TK weak! Weak TKs make weak platoons, and weak platoons…" the 'Ol' Sarge' holds, turning towards Hammand, bowing woodenly in gesture, "will lose the Empire the war!"

"Yes, Sergeant!" the platoon shouts.

"Platoon!" The old Sarge commands. "Assist TK-988 in requisitioning a new helmet!"

"Yes, Sergeant!" the platoon soldiers repeat, collecting in Hammand's direction.

The seasoned soldier coldly points his weapon at the young man's chest. "In case you are not aware, TK-988...this one is an order," he says through narrowed eyes. "Go get another helmet."

"Yes, Sergeant!" Hammand barks quickly, snapping to his duties and preparing to run across the active firing range in front of him.

"Prepare for full charge!"

Hammand lowers slightly, as if getting ready to run a race. Suddenly, the armor feels heavy, restrictive. The platoon all gather directly behind him, lowering and hunching their heads.

"Yer gonna get it now, Hammy-Boy," a microphoned voice quietly emanates from behind.

"Lil' Rux aint here ta save ya now…."

Goggleheads; a rival group of street urchins from Coruscant, have collected in the most immediate row behind Hammand. The red haired young man drops his brow, and does his best to focus on the perilous field in front. The veteran troopers at the range continue on, completely ignoring the new soldiers lined up on the edge of the field. The blasts zip sporadically across the wide range, kicking dirt into the air where the shots hit the ground.

"Did you get shot?" Ando blurts from under the pilot's console of their beloved walker, reaching out with one hand from the floor.

Reaching out in kind, Hammand plops a dirty tool into Ando's outstretched palm. "Heh, nah," the large man huffs from behind the seats, sitting on a toolbox and leaning against the wall in the back of the cabin. "Ol' Sarge set the whole thing up, the 501st were in on it." Making his hand into the shape of a blaster, he looks down the 'sight' and shoots high. "Instructed to fire over our heads as we ran through."

"Wow, nice one-... uh, hey, other one, Hammer."

"Hammand, Flyboy," the large, red haired man grumbles, snatching the tool from Ando's hand and trading for another. "Don't go callin' me trooper names now, or we'll be boxin'."

"Yeah, Boss," Ando quips, throwing out a mock salute. Hammand quickly tosses a boot into Ando's leg, bellowing a boisterous laugh as the gunner flinches upward from the floor, banging his head into the underside of the console.

"Ow! Blast it, Hamm!"

"HWAHAHAHA, fancyboy Rux didn't teach ya that one, did he, Flyboy?! Hahahaha!" Hammand rocks back and forth on the toolchest, slapping at his knee while Ando rubs at his forehead to shake off the embarrassing bump.

"Yeah, yeah! Go on with your story then!" Ando grumbles, getting back to work under the console.

"That's it, Flyboy. We got across the field in one piece and got my helmet. Lesson learned."

"Yeah, wussat?" Ando slurs, echoing his first groundborne colleague's speech.

"The Empire's unstoppable, but the best armor we got still aint gonna stop a blaster bolt. Ol' Sarge scared the devil outta us that day. Made us Marines. Heh-heh. Shoulda seen their faces once we got runnin'. Those old Gogglehead boys kept threatenin' me the whole way." Hammand pauses for a moment, letting out a low scoff to himself, "Yeah, they were alright though…."

"Huh," Ando says as he continues work, less than amused. "Well, that was an alright story, 'til it fell flat."

"Ya made me give it away! How's I supposed to end it?!" Hammand fiddles with the tools in the box, plucking a spanner out and flipping it into the air, idly catching it again. "S'just trainin'."

"Well you oughtta have a better story than that, Hamm!"

"Yeah, I know a few…" Hammand says as he leans against the wall in the back of the cabin, smiling and looking out the armored eye of Legs into the artificial sunlight. There's not much to see outside their cabin but a bunch of equipment and maintenance bays, but Hammand stares off, as if watching a sunset. Subtly, his face changes. A slight furrow appears, and disappears all at once across his brow.

"GO, GO, GO!"

Hammand sprints through the firing range, red bolts of energy whistling over his and his platoonmates' heads. The armored feet behind him land with the low rumble of thunder, stomping hard into the dirt underneath; like a stampede of great beasts. His breath is quick and labored as he runs as fast as he can, the new armor weighing his strong body down. The hoots and shouts from the rabble of Gogglehead boys can be heard just behind him as they run as well.

"Woo! Come on, Hammy-Boy!"

"Hahaha, yer gonna die, Hammy-Boy! Move yer feet!"

Digging deep, Hammand pushes himself harder, dashing out in front of the other recruits. The stomping of feet begins to fall behind.

"That's it! Run, boy! Faster!"

His breath ringing in his ears, Hammand can hear it as if he's wearing his helmet already. The air rushes out of his mouth, washing around his face and into his ears. Beyond his breath, he can make out the voices. Not the laughing and hazing of his squadmates. The microphoned voices, tinny and dry, are... screaming. The voices are crying. They saturate the air around him as he runs through. Hammand's breath is chaotic, frantic in his ears. Breath so intense and violent, his throat wheezes forced air out of his lungs. The thundering of his platoonmates' feet is quickly drowned out by the earsplitting roar of cannon fire. The whites of Hammand's eyes gleam out from under brown and red stained skin in his helmet as it's illuminated by the violently flashing ocular screens.

An explosion rocks the ground beneath his feet, heaving dirt high into a darkened sky, and he can hear more voices explode with it. Thrown off balance, Hammand stumbles, but his feet thump back underneath his body, carrying it onward. Bits of shrapnel and rocks rattle across Hammands filthy armor as the night air flashes red and orange in thick smoke. Hunching against the fallout, he tightens his grip on a long heavy blaster, tucked against his chest. His armor glows blue in the stark blinding light of a flare overhead. The bolts of red energy don't zip harmlessly over his head anymore, as he sprints through black mud, hopping over heaps of scattered white armor.

Faster damnit.

Faster, Hammand.

FASTER.

Squeezing his eyelids shut and gritting his teeth, Hammand ignores the cries and sprints to his limit.

"Hamm."

Blinking, Hammand looks down at his gunner. A hand is outstretched from the floor. Inspecting his own hands as they hold a tool, Hammand can see his fingers curled around it, his skin pulled white over his joints. Putting the tool down and reaching into the chest, he says quickly, "Yeah. Whaddaya need? Spanner?"

"Yeah, that little annoying one."

"I know it," he groans in understanding as he digs for it, burying the memories while his face is hidden. Spying the diminutive tool, he parts the pile, only to have it slip further into the bottom of the box. "Blast ya," he mutters, grabbing up a handful of the greasy implements in his hand and piecing through them. "Got it," the large man says, pulling a miniature sized spanner from the bunch and huffing a blusterous sniff.

Hammand slaps the tool into Ando's hand, and Ando gets back to work, clinking and tinkering underneath the console. After a while of empty air in the quiet cabin, Ando starts up again. "So, you thinkin' up another story for me?" he asks as he busies himself with the task.

"Hm? Oh, nah," Hammand says, plucking the command commlink and pretending to idly inspect it. He turns it over in his hands, and after a moment, he puts the corded device back into its holder, leaning against the wall and looking away again. His jaw displaces itself oddly, as if the Gunnery Sergeant is trying to pick something from his teeth with his tongue. With a sigh, he goes back to looking out the porthole. "Just spacin' out…."

"Does that make sense?"

"Yessir."

"Good." Valen straightens up from leaning over the aptly nicknamed 'battle altar' for far too long. Grimacing and pulling his shoulders back, the newly christened Commander asks, "How're the new pilots?" placing his hands on his hips.

"They're...," Lohm pauses, taking a small breath and shaking his head at the altar, "...pretty far behind tactics like this. The others are fine."

"Train them up. I can have some Hawks cover while you do a group practice patrol; they can learn to coordinate with their senior pilots. With the new Interceptors in your hands, we need to get you up to speed."

"Will you be supervising the patrol? We could use some insight, in case I miss something."

"I need you to take the lead on this, Delta Leader," Valen says assuredly, but firmly, putting a hand on Lohm's shoulder. "You've got it," he insists, giving the young Leader a quick, gentle push.

Steadying himself, Lohm reassumes a rigid stance, and nods. "I'll take care of it, sir."

"I'll modify your schedules so you can get some more practice in, Cirres. Dismissed." Lohm clicks his heels and marches out, leaving Valen and his Second, Sirius, alone in the office.

"You think he's up to it?"

"I hope so. We need to get up to the Rebels' level or we'll go down like the Spear. With the advent of these new Rebel ships, we are sorely behind. Worse-over with this Group's career largely having Zain at the helm. You saw how they behaved."

"Yeah. Like everyone else, just with an idiot at their head."

Valen looks sideways at Janos, holding back a smirk. Crossing his arms, Valen stares off in thought. "The attacks are becoming more frequent, they think they can come and go as they please," he says, waving in gesture at the mock-fleet on the battle altar. "The Spear incident was just the beginning, and now we're the frontline against the Rebels' new weapons."

"Yeah, I know, Valen. You tell me every time." Sirius puts his hands on his hips and looks down at the carefully arranged pieces, standing in silence for a moment. "He leans on you for too much."

"Not this again, Sirius. Lohm is the right man for the job, he just needs to get used to taking the lead."

"I think he's not as confident as he made himself out to be in the Delta days. You and I both know how much better I've gotten." Valen holds in silence. It's been many times that they have had this conversation. And it's only a matter of time before the subject returns. "I could lead the Deltas, Valen," Sirius prods, ever more predictable to Valen. "If you'd just put me in charge, I could show you-"

"You're with me, Sirius," Valen interjects, lowering his brow. "I hope you know what kind of responsibility it is being my Second." Valen looks down at the pieces on the table again, inspecting them as if they could have moved out of place at any moment. "You been doing your reading?"

"Yeah…." Sirius pauses, flopping his hand out to the side, and letting it swing back against his thigh. "I read the square-one pamphlet on 'being a pilot.'"

"Alright, Hothead, I've got a lot on my plate already-"

The door to the room hisses open, revealing the tall visage of Elite Captain Antilles.

"Elite Captain!" Sirius barks, snapping to attention. Valen straightens, but, remembering his position, forces himself to remain relaxed.

"Captain Antilles."

"I hope I am not interrupting." Antilles' head swivels like a machine, looking directly at Valen's Second. "Lieutenant Sirius, prepare the First Quarter for the next launch drill."

Valen raises up slightly at this dismissal, asking, "What is it, Captain?"

The tall man waits silently, standing like a pillar for Janos to walk out into the hallway. He seems to refuse to speak, or even react until Janos has left the room completely.

The door closes and clicks shut, and Antilles begins, like a droid that had just been activated. "Intelligence is monitoring your transition to the head of the Hawks." The Elite Captain keeps eye contact as he walks across the room with his hands folded behind his back. He circles Valen's new office to stand nearby him at his shoulder. "My agents have noted dissension in your ranks. Your ex-Interceptor pilots in particular have had an observable... decline in behavior."

"Meaning?"

"Disapproval of you removing their Interceptors. Favoritism towards your Delta Squadron."

"It's not 'favoritism.' The subsquadron's job requires fighters like these," Valen retorts incredulously, as if the Captain was the offending group of pilots. "It's already miraculous that a squadron of 6 covers a group of 50 plus. They need to be everywhere at once."

"Agreed," Antilles punctuates. "But, that makes these pilots no less insubordinate. Some go so far as to voice preference for Commander Zain," he hisses with a furrowed brow, raising one side just a little. "I suggest immediate action and removal before this insubordination spreads and you lose control of your flight group."

"They're experienced with the Interceptors, what few we have left in the main squad. It would be prudent to keep them in charge of remaining supplies. If we give the ships to anyone else, those pilots would be starting their training all over again."

"Capable and obedient hands are needed for these fighter supplies. As your experienced advisor, I would suggest you and your wingman take the remaining."

"That's all the pilots with previous experience with the Interceptors. They're in line to replace any Deltas we may-..." In exasperation, Valen cuts himself off, trying not to think about losses again. Impotently pushing back, he tries in one last attempt to stall. "I need time to think about this-"

"The time to act is now," Antilles stabs slightly, jerking his chin upwards. "I urge you, as the head of the squadron, to remain vigilant. Remove these pilots and take on their ships before the problem becomes serious. These weapons belong in secure hands, we cannot afford instability."

Stuck in this corner, Valen digs in for a moment, putting his hands on his hips and sighing again as he stares down at his strategic map. The pieces sit still, organized carefully in the last place he left them.

"Men like this are dangerous," Antilles insists, breaking even a moment of silence Valen attempts to reserve for thought.

With his hands on his hips still, Valen looks up from under his brow, and begrudgingly confirms, "Ok. Do it."

"I appreciate your commitment to duty," the Elite Captain says, quickly pulling a commlink from his pocket. Looking down at it, he reassures from beneath half lidded eyes, "Transitions are trying times. I will requisition you loyal replacements." Clicking a diminutive button on the commlink, he stands for a moment, clasping his hands behind his back. After an awkward second, the door quietly opens, a striped agent poking his head in. Silently, the two pass the names between each other. Nodding, the nameless agent spins and exits the room, the door closing behind him.

"Thank you for your help, Elite Captain."

"I assure you, Commander. This is best for our Empire. Have you found our new methods useful in your plan?" Antilles asks gently, changing the subject.

"I think your experimental tactics will be just what we need to surprise them during engagements," Valen says, leaning forward on his strategy altar again, scanning back and forth with his eyes. Reaching forward, he pulls two blue pieces from flanking positions, swapping them with two black pieces at the head of the formation. "I'll be putting that foot forward when the time comes-"

"If the Fleet are willing to play along…." Antilles quips, hanging the conversation in an awkward air.

"Given my proposition quotes your thoughts on the declassified attacks, I would hope they listen to the words of their own Intelligence." Valen nonchalantly pulls a tablet with his proposal on it. Pausing for a moment as he scrolls through, Valen recites the statement, "'The Rebels are getting bold. Sloppy. Opportunity for a trap may yet present itself through their building confidence.'" Raising his head from the tablet once again, he looks the Elite Captain in the eye. "I believe those were your words, Elite Captain."

The stoney face of the terrifying man cracks slightly. His eyes narrow menacingly, and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards, and immediately relaxes back again. "I suppose I will need to watch what I say around you, Commander." Valen fights back a smirk at what he can only presume is the greatest of compliments from the Elite Intelligence officer.

"Break left, around the trees in sector 2!" Stalek's authoritative voice rings out over the comms.

"Yeah, Boss! Fyllus, cover me, we're flanking!" Hammand growls, pulling and pushing levers in opposing directions. The copilots lean hard into their bolsters as they change direction, strafing Legs around some metal tree trunks. Ando keeps his eyes glued to his shelling scope, quickly swiping sweat from his brow before snapping his hands back to the controls. Hammand raises his chin to get a better view out his porthole as he shouts to one side, "You see 'em yet, kid?!"

Ando can briefly see flashes of a pillbox in the distance, firing yellow practice ordinance through the trees at the Battalion. "I can't get a clear shot, you gotta hold'er steady!"

"I hold'er steady and we're gonna get nicked, I gotta keep movin'!"

"Blast it to hell!" Raythe's voice clips the comms out of turn, Hix moaning frustratedly in the background.

"Dragoon 3: Eliminated," a calm voice states over the comms.

"Raythe's down, Boss! Y'need us to double back with Fyll?"

"I need some covering fire, get their attention and I'll deliver the kill shot!"

"Yeah, Boss!" Hammand confirms. Leaning his head sideways, the ragged Gunnery Sergeant commands, "Ando, fire on the bunker!"

"I don't have a shot, Hamm!" Ando shouts back, looking out at a frustrating cluster of tree obstacles in the viewport. The pillbox can barely be seen through them.

"Just give 'em a couple! Do it!"

Ando jumps back into his viewfinder and fires the light blaster in the general direction of the fortification. The blasters hit across the trees nearby, none of them reaching through the thick collection of obstructions. Firing off a shot from the shell cannon, the cabin echoes a hollow poof, a dummy shell canister landing in the trees between them and the pillbox. The shell clouds the air between them with thick fluorescent smoke.

Seeing the thick signal smoke from the dummy shell further obscuring vision, Ando's eyes light up. "Oppel, follow up with a shell!" he shouts into the comms.

"I don't have a shot either, Ando, we won't hit!"

"Into the trees, Oppel! Smoke 'em out!"

"Firing!" A nearby thunk reverberates outside, and the midground fills with more smoke, completely blotting out the trees between them and the bunker. After a moment, yellow blaster bolts start piercing through, bouncing off the tree obstacles in their direction. The fortification is firing blindly. Hammand doubles back, crossing with Fyllus while the bunker can't see them. Ando does his best to keep the emplacement's attention by firing the light blaster wildly through the smoke as well, until they receive word from their leader.

"Target down, abjective accomplished."

"Yeah! Get 'em, Boss!"

"Weapons down, Battallion."

"Galley clear, grading exercise over," the calm voice echoes in the massive room, a raspy alert blaring and suddenly stopping. "All safe. Repeat, all safe."

"Copy, tower," Hammand says quickly, pulling a lever down, the hum of Legs' gyros dying down. He and Ando both flop back into their seats, letting out an enormous, exhausted sigh. Ando puts up a half hearted fist in Hammand's direction, and the large pilot collides the side of his own with it. The final test is complete, and not a moment too soon. Each environment simulated had been done so one after another. Pulling the helmet from his head, the Gunnery Sergeant plops it onto his lap and swipes the sweat from his forehead. His red hair is soaked and matted in it.

"Ah...we do it, Hamm?"

"I hope so," Hammand says with a weak, exhausted smile. "I'm beat."

"What happened, Raythe?" Stalek asks sternly, his hands on his hips, his brow no less covered in sweat than the pilot and gunner in front of him. The Battalion stand, filed in line on the deck, their walkers resting in line off to the side. Raythe shrinks slightly, trying to push back over his and Hix's elimination during the final test.

"I didn't know they'd run the tests back to back, Boss! I'm just tired, is all, I'll be ok."

"You better get that arm in gear, Raythe."

"It's not my arm, I'm just tired," Raythe insists, furrowing a worried brow. Stalek stands, stern-faced in front of him, and he insists again, quietly, "It's not my arm."

Stalek stares his pilot down for a moment with piercing hazel eyes. "Get your arm in gear. Work on your switchbacks, I don't want you getting yourself and Hix killed cuz'a that thing. That's not 'a good one.'"

"Yeah, Boss."

"You will not get me, or anyone else in my Battalion killed, we clear, Corporal Raythe?"

"I can do it, Boss."

"Get back in your seat. 10 switchbacks," the Battalion Commander orders quickly, "Hix!"

Hix stands zoned out and weary. He stays at attention, but doesn't respond.

"Hix!" Stalek repeats.

Immediately snapping out of it, the gunner shouts, "Yeah Boss!"

"You with me, Hix?!"

"Yeah, Boss-"

"Your copilot needs your assistance!"

"Yeah Boss, I got him!"

"What was my order?!"

"Uhh, 10 switchbacks, Boss!"

"Get to it!"

"Yeah, Boss!" The young gunner runs past his pilot with renewed energy, barking, "Let's go, Raythe!" Raythe pulls his sleeves back and musters the strength to run off as well, zipping up on the boarding cable while Hix jogs out in front, waving their walker out. As the gyros hum to life, and the machine begins to stomp off, Stalek addresses the rest of the team.

"Battalion," Stalek says firmly, crumpling his gauntlets in his fists and placing his hands on his hips. "General Veers deems our performance 'acceptable' for a combat outfit." The Battalion explodes a quiet sigh of relief. Ando collapses slightly, and falls sideways against his pilot, who remains sturdy. The Dragoons begin to smile and relax at the news. "Regardless of losing one during our final forest test, we will be associated with his Army, and fall under the umbrella of his command, with permission from the Marines."

"Yeah, Boss!"

"Dismissed. See to your walkers."

The group starts to break up, and Hammand approaches Stalek. The two leaders watch Hix as he runs back and forth, stopping to exhaustedly catch his breath as Raythe quickly changes direction in their walker. Raising tired arms, Hix signals, waving back the other direction.

"Should we let 'em know?"

"Nah, it's better this way," Stalek says, casually backhanding Hammand in the chest. Walking off with the rest of the group, he commands, "Keep the kids focused."

"Ship in distress…-ip in distress," a weak voice crackles in static, quiet amongst the black, starlit sky. Small, and infinitely alone, a star destroyer hangs in the starscape, half of its engines dark. "This… Imperial Star Des-...r Tyrant, calling for aid. ...reactor malfunction…." The lone voice fizzles, dropping in and out of fragile comms in the deep, brackish void. Repeating the message over, the voice continues on, "Ship...distress, ship in distr..ss…"

The message repeats over itself, disappearing into the ether, like a whisper in an empty field. After a moment, a thunderous thump reverberates in the darkness, followed by another. Like echoes in the endless emptiness, a series of other thumps cascade unseen in the distance behind the Tyrant.

"Ship in distress, ship in distress," the message repeats clearly over the speakers in the bridge command room. Captain Lennox, tense and alert, leans on the railing by the observation windows, his hands placed wide. Glaring out into the stars, he scans the skies, ignoring the repetitive droning of his own recorded voice.

"Skipper," a crewman alerts from his console in the lower stations. The Captain swivels his head, and the crewman puts his hand up in silent signal, two fingers up. The stern man assertively and broadly nods, and lets go of the handrailing. Turning and pointing to his representative, he silently gives a command. Seated at a station, the young Petty Officer spins back to a console and clicks a button.

"Commander Rannix," Officer Owan alerts calmly.

"Copy," Valen's microphoned voice says dryly from underneath a black, scowling skull. Putting a gauntleted hand up in signal, he swings it around, and brings it downward in a chopping gesture. Suddenly, his small, utilitarian room swivels in place, the whines of the mechanized racks turning his and his squadrons' fighters in place. With a slight jerk, the fighter stops rotating sideways. "Hawks, spin up." Reaching forward, Valen flips up some switches, and his screens bring up rising energy displays, his ship beginning to wail to life. The sounds of similar cries begin to cascade together, generating a chorus of banshee screams outside Valen's pod. With a judder, the pod begins to tilt slowly forward. Looking out his cockpit window, the hangar bay scaffolding drifts upward in his view, yielding to sparkling stars in the black lake below. As the pod steadily tilts, Valen begins to feel anxious, his body dropping forward and hanging against his harness. There's something about it that feels wrong. Is the harness too tight? Too loose? Nervously, Valen brings a hand up to judge the state of his harness lock before bringing it back to his controls again. Locking into place, the cockpit stops completely with a sudden jerk. Valen stares into the dark pit of stars now in front of him, his hands in position on his steering yolk.

How many? Is it too much for them? Are the Hawks ready?

Am I ready?

Quickly prodding the button on his life support unit, Valen slows his shallowed breathing, and concentrates on the task at hand, forgetting the questions. Breathing deeply, he takes in his medication and focuses. Pushing his footpedals, Valen tests the range of motion on his new Interceptor's thrusters to keep himself busy, and orders, "Load thrusters." Steadily increasing power, he pushes forward on a broad slider. The small room begins to vibrate harshly as the pilot Commander loads the fighter's engines against the mooring hooks. The wails crescendo into deafening shrieks as the grid of fighters begin to pull at their moorings. The deck crews all turn away and run for cover in the periphery of the cockpit windows, holding onto their caps and gear as if there is a terrible windstorm outside. In a raised voice to hear himself over his engines, Valen beckons, "Crane, stand by. Commsat."

"Strike formation," a buzzy voice responds over the ionic roars. Pushing on one side of his helmet to get the earpiece closer to his ear, Valen can hear the operator continue the brief. "1 Mon Calamari Battlecruiser, 1 Nebulon B Frigate, 20 fighters, that is two-zero fighters. Bearing: point-seven. Range: 30 km.

"Roger, Commsat. Hawks. Delta," Valen addresses the fighter pilots around him. Raising his hand, he clenches it into a fist, ordering, "Emergency launch."

A shrill electronic whistle pierces the cockpit rumbles. A blistering cavalcade of clanking machinery rings out as the hooks suddenly release the straining Imperial fighters. Valen's latches open, unleashing his new Interceptor into the stars under the power of its mighty ion engines. Valen lets out a surprised, strained grunt as his seat back rushes forward to meet him. Plunging into the lake in front of him at breakneck speed, he corkscrews the nimble fighter and pulls up, flying along the underbelly of the mighty Tyrant. Heading past the stern of the capital ship, Valen looks up to see its dark engines bursting into life once again, the sudden ignition rumbling the small fighter in the engine wash. The entirety of Hawk and Delta fighter squadrons pour out of the hangar bay of their home, streaking the stars like a cloud.

"Delta Squadron, on your 4, Commander."

"Copy, Delta Leader," Valen nearly hesitates to say, the phrase still seeming foreign to him. He shakes the thought and forces his gaze out the front window. A bulbous, gargantuan battlecruiser looms in the stars behind the Hawks' beloved home, a spindle-hulled frigate in escort. Only having seen the famed Mon Calamari battlecruisers in reference footage, Valen is astounded to be facing down something of comparable size to a Star Destroyer. "Hawk Group," Valen says, spying the enemy fighter formations coming around from behind the large battleships, "conceal Delta, shield position."

"Roger, Ace," Sirius' voice affirms for the group as they push further between the enemy and their cruiser as it slowly comes about. "Just like we trained."

"Keep it tight, and we'll bag that big blistered sucker out there."

"Yessir," Lohm echoes.

Shifting his focus, Valen can see a cloud opposite them as it obstructs their path. The shapes in the cloud change, revealing the infamous X silhouette that strikes fear into the hearts of Imperial fighter pilots. Even Valen can't shake a hint of trepidation at the familiar visage. It has been a long time since he has taken on this many. Not since Yavin.

The thoughts begin to weigh on him as he considers his options, beginning to count the enemy fighters over and over. Analyzing and reanalyzing each fluctuation in their formations as they get close, Valen catches himself in the loop.

Now's not the time to think, Valen! Act! Keep the pilots alive!

Shaking his head violently to break his tunnel vision, Valen roars out, "FOR THE EMPIRE!"

"LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR!" the pilots shout back as Valen pushes his throttle forward and charges out of the group. The entirety of Hawk group, the Tyrant's full fighter compliment, rush out into the fray to follow. The X-Wings send blinding red bolts piercing into the formations, Valen turning his ship over and diving, rolling and coming back up again. Returning the volley, his quick Interceptor strobes green fire in return, flashing an X-Wing's shields as it passes through the group. The whistles and rushes of the enemy fighters' engines whoosh by as Valen weaves violently through, each flash causing him to nervously look back. How many? How many so far?

The Imperial fighter group explodes outward, a loose cloud as the quad winged enemy ships twist through, searching in vain through the chaos for targets. Regrouping, the Hawks swoop past the enemy ships, into the broad side of the Rebel Frigate. This time, Valen knows what to do.

"Delta!"

"Copy! Delta squadron, push!"

Valen watches a tight grouping of six fork winged Interceptors tear past his starboard side, firing precise shots into the frigate's shield generator and sensor array. The frail array splinters under the surprising strike, weakened. "Hawks, follow up on that sensor array!"

Delta Squadron pulls up and over the enemy frigate, the Hawks pushing in behind with a blaze of burning green light, shredding the array out into space. As he pulls up, Valen can see the antennae and radar dishes scattering into the stars.

"Nice job, Delta!" Valen looks up out of his dorsal viewport, banking hard as the fighter comes about. "Hawks, keep pulling around, watch those turbolasers. To the Tyrant!"

"What about that cruiser?"

"We have their attention, re-engage those fighters!" Valen reaches to the top of his steering yolk and adjusts his cannons' focus point, clicking a small wheel on the input. "Delta, dive back in the formation. We're going to deliver you into those snubs."

Catching up, the Imperial TIEs harrass and chase after the trailing X-Wings, breaking off and pursuing any that split. After a moment, the Rebel snubs break off their attack run and turn on the TIEs.

"Got one! I got one!"

"I saw it, Unshyll, great shot!"

"On my tail, I've got one here!"

"Valen," Sirius chimes in, "I have one broken off here."

"Right. Hawks 5-9, take him out."

"Let me have it, I have a good position."

"Stay on my wing, Sirius, we're pushing into the leaders. Delta?"

"With you, Flight Leader," Lohm's voice jumps in, alert.

"Fighter leaders, point oh-five-nine, engage," Valen orders clearly, looking up out his upper cockpit window.

"We're on it," the new Delta Leader says, his squadron of blue ships surging forward once again, latching onto the enemy fighters.

"You're on your own now, just keep out of the lane, and cover where you can. Engage at will."

"Roger, Valen."

"Can we fight now, Valen?"

"Hang on, Sirius, stay with me."

The frigate and cruiser charge in, taking advantage of the empty space below the dogfighting groups and getting around them. By now, the fully awoken Tyrant is charging back, firing its powerful green turbolasers into the front of the enemy frigate, its shields weakened from Hawk and Delta's precision attack. Pushing up to support, the giant, bulbous enemy cruiser crowds close alongside the frigate, trying to get a good axis of fire, when suddenly, the Caliber flashes out of hyperspace on the Rebels' broadside. Clapping and blasting the enemy cruiser's broad shields, the Caliber forces the cruiser to turn away, criss crossing with the frigate. A cloud bursts forth out of the hangar bay of the accompanying cruiser. It's the Beta bomber wing, escorted by Tau Squadron.

"Tau, shield position. Primary targets dead ahead." Among the chaos, the enemy fighters that can break away start heading down after the TIE Bombers.

"Valen?" Sirius asks, unsure.

"Intercept those fighters, Sirius."

"Finally!" the aptly nicknamed 'Hothead' shouts over the comms, diving after the nearest X-Wing. "This one's mine, Valen, cover me!"

"I'm on your wing, Sirius, let's keep these guys away from our bombers."

"Now you're talking! Com'ere, you sneak attacking Rebs!" Valen's wingman exclaims excitedly, barrel rolling over the top of his prey and drilling green bolts into its fuselage. Shredded to bits, the main body of the fighter bursts into flames and begins to twirl, exploding into the stars. Sirius does a showboating loop in his newly acquired TIE Interceptor, hooting in victory and excitement.

"Watch it, Sirius! Two in your blindspot!" Lohm's ever-responsible voice interjects.

"Valen, jump on 'em! I'll give them the slip!"

"I've got you, Sirius, pull to point two seven, I'm cutting across!"

Valen rolls his ship to port and yanks up on the stick. Surprisingly, the responsive new Interceptor snaps upward and ends up in position earlier than he thought. Valen looks around at an empty starfield, startled to find nothing. A second later, Sirius's ship blasts across his path, two X-Wings in chase.

"Uh, Valen?! Where are you?!"

"I'm on it, Sirius!" Valen shouts, banking hard and craning his neck upward to try and track his wingman. "Break back to port, I don't think they see me!"

Sirius' ship zips back around, changing directions rapidly. "Well, they see me! Hurry up!"

Valen lines up his sights on an aggressive angle, nearly passing Sirius in the opposite direction. Casting green bolts of laser fire, Valen shatters the upper turbine of the leading X-Wing as they pass in chase. A few tiny bits of the fighter scatter into space in front, clattering over his solar panel. Coming around, Valen looks for Sirius and his pursuers.

"Don't tell me you got 'em both! Where are they, I can't see them!"

"I can't see them either, but I think I got one pretty bad-BLAST IT-" Valen interrupts himself, swearing and barrel rolling out of the way of some lethal fire from the other X-Wing. His heart up in his throat, Valen's breath becomes quick and shallow as he emerges from the evasive maneuver. The stars swirl and spin disorientingly around his viewports as the nimble fighter stabilizes.

"We've got 'em, Hawk Leader!" Lohm shouts out, his squad tearing through and chasing off the last X-Wing.

"What about that other one?!"

"He's down sir, you got him!"

A flash of blue bursts out of the dark sky, and Valen turns his attention towards the source. Below them, a volley of proton torpedoes rocket into the thin, spindle-like spar of the Rebel Frigate, fire exploding out the other side. Another wave of bombers rushes in, dumping a second payload of proton cocooned ordinance on the crumpling spar. The thin stalk of a hull crackles and shatters, no longer able to hold the strain of the devastating bombardment. Glowing hot durasteel rips apart, twisting and rending the structure holding the two major sections together. The front of the hull begins to roll and pivot to its port side, while the rear continues to thrust forward, out of control. The Hawks cheer as the once mighty frigate folds into two pieces around its weak point, the once bright blue thrusters starting to flicker out.

The blister-hulled Rebel Battlecruiser thunders alongside the Tyrant, desperately fighting to slip by. Unleashing a barrage from its turbolaser batteries, it fires broadside, fighting toe-to-toe with Captain Lennox's mighty ship. The firepower exchanged is devastating, the bursts of explosions on the opponents' shields reverberating through Valen's body.

"They're bugging out!" one of the Hawks shouts, his voice fizzling hard in the comms.

"Woo! Take th-t!" Another Hawk shouts out. Oddly, his voice fizzes as well. Valen's eyes widen, and he looks across his sensor screens. His stomach sinks as he finds himself gasping at the readouts. His comms range is beginning to shrink, losing contact with the fighters on the edges of the engagement altogether. Just as the new Commander begins to utter an alert, a tumultuous series of red-orange explosions trail across the stern of the Caliber, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Th-t's the Calib-!"

"Caliber is under att-k!"

"Anyone see where-" the voice cuts out entirely. A stream of red laser fire cuts deep into the formations of Taus down below amongst the bomber groups.

"It's the GHOST SH-" another voice explodes into static. The dots of fire create sporadic explosions through the stars. Swiveling his head around, Valen strains to see what's going on before something is right on top of him. A blur rockets by his canopy, nearly colliding with him. Barely able to track the thing, Valen wrenches his neck to try and spot it. A flash of red as it passes by, and one of the Hawks disappears. Valen sees the engine flares. Two massive, yellow engines blaze by, and are almost immediately out of sight, darting off towards the Tyrant.

"Rebel Interceptor, 9 o'clock!" The words chill Valen as he yells them out. They're fighting them. Openly.

"I can't see it!"

"To me! Deltas, on me! They're headed for the Tyrant!" Valen shouts, trying to hide his own anxiety. These are the ones. The mysterious threat lurking over the Edge. The ghosts that have made so many of their fellow pilots disappear without a trace, never coming home. Daxxis never returning. Julos' "treason." His heart pounding in his ears, Valen's fear burns into a rage. He yanks the control stick to one side, loading his Interceptor's ion engines to maximum. "I'm going after them!" he growls, chasing the shape of the yellow engine flares.

"I'm on you Valen- whoa, how'd you get all the way out there?!" Janos' fighter banks hard to come around and follow. "Valen, slow down!"

Delta Squadron roll to one side and join in chase, falling behind as well. "Hawk Leader, you're too far out of formation, I can't cover you!"

"Tyrant," Valen alerts, "enemy interceptors at one point one two, closing fast!"

"Copy, shields forward. Intensify the forward batteries."

Firing off two pairs of red missiles, the yellow flares dart off toward the Rebel Cruiser, which has gotten surprisingly farther away than Valen thought. The rockets blast into the bridge tower, the shields holding off the brunt of the damage. In a flash, Valen banks after the lights, but after coming out of the turn, he can't see anything. Furiously swiveling his head about his portholes, he yells for help.

"Tyrant, where are they?! I've lost 'em!"

"No signal, their cross section is too small to detect with all this activity. Our shields are holding, take Hawk group up in front of that cruiser, the Caliber is falling behind. The enemy will hit hyperspace before we come about unless you can stall them, Commander."

"I copy. Hawk Group, get ahead and block that Squid Cruiser. Delta Squadron, to me, we'll catch up!" Blasting off towards the cloud of fighters and bombers, Valen and Delta Squadron chase down the looming, blistered starship. However, just as they set off, a pair of X-Wings dives at Valen, cutting him and the Deltas off from the main group. Burning hot laser fire showers around the new Flight Commander's interceptor.

"I'm coming back, Valen, hold on!"

"Sirius, lead Hawk Group across the target's bow with the Taus until I get back."

"I can cover you!-"

"We're separated! You're in charge for now, Sirius, keep our pilots alive!"

"Uh, Roger, Hawk Leader!" Sirius' voice responds, hesitant, his small fork winged fighter continuing away to the head of the Hawks.

"Hawk Leader, watch your six!" Lohm exclaims, "there're two right above you!"

"Valen, you alright?!"

"Don't stop, Sirius!" Valen growls, leading the X-Wings into a blinding spin and banking away. The pair of wingmen are becoming further and further separated.

"We have him covered Janos!" Lohm reassures, leading his Deltas after Valen and the X-Wings. "Go take care of Hawk Group!" Valen evades red blasts as he rolls to one side, but then green energy overshoots Valen's Interceptor, dangerously close.

"Lohm, what the hell are you doing?!"

"Break right, Commander!" Jerking the stick to one side, Valen ignores the offense and rolls the responsive fighter to one side, swirling the stars in his cockpit window. Immediately, a bright red flare tears by his portside and bends into the black sky.

"We got him, sir! We got him!" Lohm's voice confirms. As Valen banks around, he sees flaming bits from one of the trailing X-Wings scattering away from them. Outmatched, the last ship opens some distance and blinks off into hyperspace before the Deltas can collapse onto it.

Seeing the rocket vanish off into the stars, Valens lungs explode in a relieved sigh, and he utters a quick, "Thanks."

"Valen! The Ghost Ships are engaging with Tau and Hawk!"

"Delta, to me! Let's get back into this fight!" Valen and Delta Squadron streak off towards the fight once again. Looking ahead, he can see the formations, several bright engine flares diving in, and blasting away from the group. "Janos, you alright out there?"

"We're not doing good, Valen!" Janos' lone voice exclaims. "Those fast buggers keep making passes at the bombers, we can't hold a run without some more Interceptors!"

"Hold on, Janos, we're almost there!"

"Commander, power surge from the enemy cruiser."

"Take it down, target the engines!"

A growing rumble fills the cockpit of Valen's fighter, and in a crack of thunder, the entire vessel vanishes into the vacuum of space. In a short moment, the accompanying fighter ships separate, and disappear into the stars as well, leaving the Imperial fighting groups alone once again.

"Record their exit path," Lennox's alert voice says over the comms. "Send the data to Intelligence, we'll comb the systems in that direction."

With the action dissipating so quickly, Valen is left searching the stars in a fervor for any other threats, regardless of the cheers of his pilots over the comms. Steadying his sight ahead of him, he stares out at the empty starfield where the battlecruiser once was.

"Blast it…." Valen mutters, jolting frustratedly in his harness. "Hawks, group on me, make a perimeter around the wrecked frigate."

"Belay that, Hawk Group," a voice rings out on the combat channel. "Tau and the Caliber have this taken care of. We'll run escorts with the Engineers." Looking out his cockpit window, Valen sees Tau Squadron has already split from Hawk and is heading for the flotsam of the Rebel Frigate.

"What? They can't do that, right Valen?!"

Valen just stares for a moment, as Tau Squadron circles the prize, claiming it. Under his helmet, Valen remains silent, his expression unchanged, though the tingle of the hairs on the back of his neck say otherwise.

"Losses?" Captain Lennox inquires, sitting at his desk and removing his officer's gloves. Valen stands rigidly, at attention, opposite his Skipper.

"15% to Hawk, none to Delta."

"Well done, Commander," Lennox emphasizes, carefully placing his gloves alongside his desk terminal. Standing from his desk, he places his hands behind his back. "Your plan seems to have worked well."

"I'm sorry, sir. I was hoping this engagement would grab us the larger target."

"The Tyrant is grateful for the success," Captain Lennox says, his hands remaining clasped stiffly behind his back. "You're owed more credit than you receive."

"Indeed," Antilles says dryly, standing at Valen's side of the room.

"Unfortunately, my 'esteemed colleague' on the Caliber, Captain Dekkyrd, is already spouting his involvement in this engagement like it was his plan." The Skipper leans forward on his desk, clicking on the terminal in the surface. "Owan even spotted…" he pauses as he reads down the log, "...the Phalanx and the Obedience piggybacking on the comms while we risked all. They've jumped after the cruiser's exit path in chase."

"Futile, as ever, when rushing for glory," Antilles adds once again, narrowing his eyes. "By now, the cruiser has likely jumped several times, sparing no resource to zig zag across the galaxy's arm." The stern Elite Captain pauses, but his expression does not change. "Throw us off their trail...lengthen our hunt," he says seriously, almost to himself.

"To what end?" Valen asks, chiming in to see if he can find out what is on Antilles' mind.

"Indeed," Antilles affirms, seamlessly returning to the present moment. "That is the question, Commander."

The three officers wait a moment, eyes shifting from one to the other. After not too long, Lennox pushes Antilles to just say what he means. "Any ideas, Terrus?"

"The Tyrant is fortunate to have EI onboard. Our agents have been poring over the data since the engagement began."

"Their days are numbered. The Fleet will catch them."

Antilles hums a tight lipped acknowledgement, and turns to Valen. "This plan involved a contingency for such a chase, did it not?"

"Yes, Elite Captain, only as a contingency though; over a shorter distance. There's no way to track these Rebels through lightspeed." Valen pauses slightly. "The plan relied on knowing their destination. If we're just chasing them across the star systems, the trap remains open, no way to close it."

"Perhaps we, too, must join the chase for now, then," Lennox states.

"That...is not an accurate approach, Xamuel. We need something that will hold their attention, draw them out."

"Skipper. Sir. Allow me to present my pursuit plan to the Fleet again. Once we find them, we can use the strategy to catch them before they escape again. We can outfit new fighter pilots from our reserves on the fly. My engagement gave us this lead, they have to listen."

"Without a key element, no Captain will take you up on your stratagem. We don't know where they're headed."

Antilles makes an odd motion. A telegraphing Valen could say was even obvious for the normally stoic Elite Captain. His brow furrows, and his chin lifts. The Captain's chest slightly puffs out, taking in breath, but suddenly pauses, and slowly returns to its normal state. When Valen's eyes return to observe Antilles' face, the expression has disappeared, as it so oft does.

"What is it, Terrus?" the Tyrant's Skipper inquires curiously, straightening up from his desk. "We don't know where they are headed, do we?"

Antilles' eyes look sideways at the Skipper, another expression as if shouting out in the quiet room. "Based on our data regarding Rebel activity, my agents may be able to predict certain destinations."

Turning immediately to his Pilot Commander, the Skipper asks, "Can you formulate a plan with this lead, Valen?"

"Depending on the system, it could be possible."

"Construct your strategy, Commander. We may seize Distinction for this hunt yet."

"Yes, Skipper."

Valen does an about-face, and heads off the bridge towards the turbolift, hearing his Captain command, "Helm, lightspeed."

Chapter II: Chase

A grunt and a shout accompany Ando's body as it flops to the ground, rolling with momentum into a sterile, grey wall. The young walker pilot comes to a sudden stop with an, "Oof!" his dummy knife bouncing and rattling away on the shining black floor. Turning to his back, he looks quickly up at Scout Captain Gailon as the blonde haired man calmly reaches down and plucks the dummy weapon from the drab grey floor. Standing above him, the affectionately nicknamed "Rux" opens his hand to Ando. Reaching up in return, Ando clasps hands with him, but is suddenly met with an iron grip. In a high, swinging motion, Rux chops downward at Ando's wrist with the dull blade.

With a yelp of pain, Ando tries to yank his hand away, but is suddenly torn from the floor instead. Thrown like a ragdoll, he tries to plant his feet, off balance. Immediately, the stunned Ando finds his arm wrapped over Rux's shoulder, his feet lifting off the ground. The common area whirls upside down in his vision. Before he knows it, the small ex-fighter pilot slams onto the floor with his back, his heels whacking down slightly after. A grunt escapes his mouth as he has no time to breathe before the dummy knife comes slamming down onto his chest in a stabbing motion. With no more breath to give to the pain of the attacks, Ando just groans at his limit, tensing and curling sideways. Coughing onto the floor, he does his best to gather himself again. The approving hums and slight claps from the Longeye Scout Team signal an end to the fight. Passing gunnery crews and engineers who had stopped to watch all turn to each other, talking about what they would have done differently.

"So, what happened, Flyboy?" the light, friendly voice of Captain Gailon says from above Ando once again.

"Blasted...cheapshot, that's what…" Ando says bitterly as he gets up, restoring some of his breath and rubbing at the bruise forming on his chest.

"You were still alive, kid. Fight wasn't over. What do I say?"

"Yeah. 'Fight's not over 'til it's over,'" Ando quotes as Gailon says it in unison, "I got it. Still a cheapshot."

"Damn right it was. When was the last time you got a fair fight outuva Rebel?" Gailon rolls through his words, his lower level Coruscant accent shining through. "You fight close quarters, you gotta drop the 'honor' thing."

"Yeah, Cap."

Rux opens his hand once again to Ando. Ando hesitates, looking distrustfully at the outstretched hand.

"It's alright kid. Fight's over," he says with a smirk. Assured of his sincerity, Ando clasps hands with the Scout Captain again, this time helped to his feet. As he stands, Gailon slaps the dummy weapon into Ando's free hand, his smirk growing into a smug smile. "Yer definitely dead now."

Ando just scoffs, wincing off a little soreness, and looks at their audience. Some are putting their hands up to their earpieces and the sides of their helmets. Quickly, several of them depart from the group, running to the exit of the common area. After a slight moment, Ando spots shining black clamshell helmets being put on.

"Gunnery crews're off again," Ando says quietly, watching the crowds move away.

"Yeah, probably another phantom fly through."

"If they're really out there, those Rebs must have a deathwish, running through the middle of the Fleet like this."

"Those Navy guns can never hit anything."

"Dunno why they can't hit an X-Wing, even at full tilt," Ando grumbles frustratedly. "Biggest guns in the Fleet are right here on the Executor. Fighter patrols'll probably have better luck."

"I don't think so. I haven't heard anything about them finding anyone."

"Don't they have Elites aboard? EI?"

"Yeah, probably the most in the Fleet. But Elites don't go on patrol."

"You think they're scared?"

"Scared?" Gailon asks incredulously. "Elites aint scared of anything, scareda what?"

Ando keeps his voice down, and whispers, "Pilots say there're ghosts out here in deep space."

"Uh huh," Gailon shrugs, unconvinced. "The 'ghosts' that make 'em leave their posts and join the Rebels?"

"Ghost ships, Gailon. Unbelievably fast. You can't even see them. They're like streaks of light, they say."

"So...like a laser. Sure someone's not takin' some potshots at them? S'what I'd do," the Captain says, boyishly positioning his arms like he's aiming his trusty sniper rifle up at some invisible target. Gailon and Hammand's similarities seem uncanny sometimes.

"The fighter pilots don't like doing their patrols out here. Ask any of 'em."

"Haven't you, back in your Navy days?"

"I went into the Marines before Death Squadron ever went on this tour. The pilots say the ghosts wait at the Edge. Swooping in, killing our patrollers while they're out there alone."

"Right."

"COME ON BOYS, HOP-TO! YOU'LL GET 'EM THIS TIME!" A bellow explodes into the common area, along with some heavy-handed applauding. Hammand cheers sarcastically and berates the gunners as they pass him in the doorway. Most times, however, the two Coruscantian orphans are completely unalike. Walking in, the large man points over his shoulder with a stout thumb. "Gunners're runnin' off again."

"Yeah, we saw," Gailon confirms again, tired of the conversation.

Surveying the scene and lighting up as he notices how bruised and tired Ando is, Hammand blurts, "You two sparrin'?! Gimme some practice!"

"Just finished up. Flyboy got a beating."

"Looks like. Heard the cheering from out in the hall. They only cheer when they're watching your flashy blade work."

"I'm learning plenty, Hamm, thanks," Ando grumbles, rubbing his aching wrist.

"Yeah. He knows exactly what 'too slow' and 'hesitating' is, for sure."

Hammand bursts out in a massive guffaw, slapping his hand down on Ando's shoulder, shaking his head and guiding the young gunner out of the way. "Come on, Rux. Let's do a round!"

"You sure, Hammer? I'm all warmed up-" Gailon deceptively rushes at Hammand, slamming into him and playfully trying to pick him up around the midsection. The effort is an utter waste, it's clear it would never happen in a million years. Hammand laughs at the non-serious play fighting, and yanks Gailon up by the belt, nearly tossing him in the air and setting him back down. The two old friends laugh and throw some fake punches before dropping their arms over each others' shoulders.

"Heh-heh! Hey!" Hammand interrupts himself, patting Rux across the chest with a slap of his broad palm to grab his attention. "Let's get a drink, you two have been so serious since the tests. We made it, Longeye aced it…." Throwing the other arm over Ando's shoulder, the Gunnery Sergeant insists, "I'll gather up the Battalion and we can grab one before sleep." The trio, led with Hammand's arms around their shoulders, head out of the common area, the large man's lower class laugh bouncing off the walls.

"Coruscant?"

"That's right," Valen says disappointedly, but not in the same way as Ando's disappointment is.

"So, after all this, we're not even being stationed together?"

"It's a big opportunity for you Ando," Valen encourages, forcing a smile and trying to look enthusiastic. "You should value it. I talked to Dad; asked him to put in a request and a sizeable 'donation' so I can be transferred eventually."

"Heh, you always know how to pull the strings, Val. You're command material, for sure…."

"I'm sure this new space station will have so much excitement for us."

"I know, I know, but…" Ando pauses, trying to figure out the words, "I dunno, Val, it's just…I thought we were gonna watch each others' backs…." Ando pauses a moment, and after some silence, begins to say, "You be careful-"

Valen cuts him off with a laugh, "It's an outpost in the middle of the Core, Ando! The Rebs have never reached that far in before, never will!" Leaning back, Valen grins at the absurdity of Ando's concern. "I'll be doing so much, but probably not fighting; More like cargo and diplomat escorts, 'Imperial presence' parades on the surface, politics... the list of 'glory' goes on. Don't worry about me, Ando. At a post like that," Valen stops, smirking, "I'm pretty sure I can only die of boredom."

Finally caught by his quips, Ando laughs a hesitant laugh along with his childhood friend, and Valen gives him an encouraging slap on the arm.

"Hey, where you're at?" Valen lets out an impressed sigh in gesture, foregoing whatever he was about to say. "Don't end the war before I get there."

A dull thud rocks Ando from his sleep, opening his eyes. Rising slowly from his bunk, he lifts his head to the sounds. Hammand is fast asleep, snoring as usual on the bunk next to his. After a moment, Ando's ears attune to more thuds, and the sounds of muffled yelling.

"Raythe!"

"Hix?" Ando asks under his breath, still trying to bring himself out of the fog.

"Help! Someone help me!"

That was DEFINITELY Hix!

Suddenly, startled by the familiar shouting, Ando rushes upward from his bunk, lunging for the door. Hammand lazily wakes as Ando barrels outside. Running out into the hallway, Ando scrambles next door, hearing Hix's desperate screams for help.

"Hix?! Hix, you alright?!" Ando yells to the door, over the muffled screaming. After no response, he taps at the door panel, though he lacks the clearance to unlock it. Denied entry, he bangs on the hard metal surface. Hammand thunders out of the doorway, his face looking startled.

"S'goin' on, Flyboy?"

"There's something wrong with Raythe," Ando says quickly, tapping the access panel in vain again. Banging quickly on the door once more, the gunner shouts against the durasteel plating, "Hix, open the door! It's Ando, lemme in!"

"Move!" Hammand butts in, whacking against the door with his giant fist. The door resounds loudly in response like a great, metal drum. "Hix, open up NOW-"

The door whooshes open, Hix's frantic voice spilling out into the hallway. Surprisingly, it's Raythe at the door, his face wide-eyed and frightened. The screaming is still emanating from the back of the room.

"Help me, somebody!"

The sight sinks into Ando as he watches over Raythe's shoulder, rocked through his core. Hix hunches on his knees in the back of the dark room, his bunk overturned, the sheets strewn across the floor. In a panic, the young gunner digs and digs through the bedding. Hammand stomps into the room, trying to get ahold of young Hix.

"Hix, what're ya doin'?!" His hand lands on Hix's shoulder, only to have it aggressively thrown off, the young gunner refusing to give up digging through his sheets.

"Git off me! He's in here, we have to SAVE HIM-"

"Keep yer voice down, what're you talkin'-"

"HELP!" Hix continues to shout, ignoring his Sergeant. Unsure, Hammand looks back at Raythe.

"I dunno what to do, Hamm. S'like he can't hear me," Raythe says, worried, folding his metal arm with the other against his chest. Immediately, Stalek runs in, closing the door behind him and scrambling for the boy's foot locker. Throwing the lid open, he rifles through Hix's effects and pulls a small device from one of the uniforms' pockets. Wedging between Hammand and Hix, he kneels down and holds the gunner around the shoulder, putting the device in front of Hix's face.

"I gotcha kid, hang on now!" He says firmly to grab Hix's attention. "It's right here," the Lieutenant's voice insists more quietly, trying to keep a calming volume. Hix's shaking hands envelope the device and plunge it toward his face. A small hiss can be heard in the now quiet room as he inhales deeply. "Breathe, kid. Breathe. It's ok."

After a moment of silence, Hix's hoarse voice explodes in exhalation, breathing in and out in heavy gasps, and the device clatters to the floor plating. Hix falls backward from his crouch and sits unevenly in the quiet quarters, Stalek moving forward to catch him. The young man's white knuckled grip grasps across Stalek's shoulder, crushing the fabric between the fingers. The erratic breathing falls into the sounds of whimpers and cries, as the young Marine holds tight to the sleeve. Ando stands by with the rest of the Battalion in the small room, unable to speak. The atmosphere is uncomfortable, and it seems each of the pilots and gunners stand paralyzed, refusing to look at one another. Even Hammand, listening to the subdued sobbing of the young gunner, stands with his hands on his hips, looking at the floor. A look of almost parental worry pulls down at his face.

"Where's he?" Hix's lower class voice slurs, quieting down, the calming effects of whatever was in the device taking hold. "We gotta save 'im…. Please, Boss…. we gotta go back..."

Calmly, Stalek repeats, "It's ok, kid. We got him. He's fine now… He's ok, you did good."

Hix just stays, his sobbing fading to shaking sighs as he tries to breathe. "I wanna go home, Boss…"

"It's ok. We're all ok…" Stalek says, rocking him back and forth. "Hamm," Stalek says softly, receiving a quick look up from him.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Go on outside, take Ando with ya."

"Yeah, Boss."

"Yessir," Ando echoes nervously. Wanting to do what they can to help, Ando and Hammand quickly vacate the room, stepping out into the hallway. Immediately, Ando bumps into Neville, who was waiting just outside the door.

"Raythe ok?" the newest member asks, the latest on the scene, Fyllus and Oppel close behind. Awkwardly, Hammand and Ando share an uneasy glance.

"Yeah, Nev. Yeah, Raythe's ok," Ando says quietly. It's not untrue.

"What happened?"

"Too much ale," Hammand stops the conversation quickly. "Go on back to your bunk, Stalek's got it under control…."

"Yeah, Hammand," Neville says, turning and heading back to quarters with the other two.

"Good boy." Hammand watches as the Battalion members depart, standing guard at the door. With a long story averted, the pair of walker pilots turn and head for their quarters. Ando opens the door and walks in quickly, but over his shoulder, Hammand grumbles something under his breath.

"I, think, uh… yeah, I dunno," Hammand mumbles, almost incoherently.

"Hamm?" Ando turns around, and Hammand is still out in the hallway, his hands back on his hips, looking at the floor. He seems hesitant to even walk into the bunk area again. In an odd way, his feet slightly shuffle in place, as if pacing underneath his own body.

"Yeah, I, uh…" he trails off, puzzlingly dipping in and out of audibility. "...Think I'm gonna go for a walk, Flyboy…" from under his brow, Ando sees the Gunnery Sergeant look up at him; a stark, sad look in his eyes he has never seen before. The large man continues to mumble as his broad feet carry him out of the frame of the door, and down the hallway. Ando stands at the door for a moment, Hammand's blank, distant face lingering in his mind, alongside the echoes of Hix's night terrors. He's never seen the Gunnery Sergeant look so shaken. After some time, he closes the door to the room, and goes to lay back down in his bunk. Laying awkwardly, his head up against the wall with his hands folded over his stomach, Ando sits with his eyes wide open. Restlessly, he takes a deep breath, and releases it in a quiet sigh, his brow refusing to unknit itself, his eyes refusing to rest.

After a moment, he quickly rises and sits sideways on the bunk, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his fingers together. Ando's eyes stare into the distance, downward, as if staring through the floor into an unseen pit. His breath is shallow, tensely keeping air inside his lungs, as if to save precious oxygen.

Quietly, Ando thinks to himself of Sarron. Looking out his cockpit at his best friend giving his all to fight, chasing after a lone X-Wing; being the hero he always knew he would be. The adversaries twist and spiral in the stars above the bomber formations, circling around until the Rebel fighter begins to dive towards Ando and his group. The call coming in to do his part, he pulls up out of the formations with his wingman to intercept the enemy. A chance to become a hero, to stand with his best friend.

Recalling the blinding flash of orange as his wingman disappears in front of him, Ando can remember what he felt. A sudden change, a sudden doubt. He may fail, never able to prove himself again. Lost forever; no honor, nor distinction, as promised. As the twirling, flaming pieces rattle sharply over the hull of his brittle ship, he soon finds himself facing down the terrifying sight of an X shaped silhouette alone, the continuing stream of red laser fire piercing the black vacuum around him. A shot burns into the starboard solar panel, the impact violently jerking his seat, the bang splitting his eardrums. The sudden crash rattles up through him, and he can feel the fear; the panic. It's not a fear like any he thought he should have; no longer about whether he may be a hero or not. The fear is visceral, indescribable; a sinking, torturous dread, pulling at his skin. Reaching into his heart, as if to rip it out. Out of control, Ando yanks the stick to one side, screaming for his life.

Suddenly turning his head to one side in reflection, he faces his footlocker. Recognizing, and blinking away the regretful old memories, Ando reaches steadily for his walker helmet. Grabbing up a rag in his other hand and centering himself in his seat, he closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. In through the nose, and out the mouth. Slowly opening his eyes again in the quiet room, he looks down at the helmet, sitting perfectly centered in his lap. Slowly, and serenely, he turns it to face him, and methodically begins to clean it in the empty room.

"To whom it may concern,

It is my belief as an accomplished starship Captain, Commander Rannix does not bear the wisdom, nor experience to present this plan to the Fleet. Conversely, my own strategy-..."

"To whom it may concern,

Commander Rannix is far too new to the Fleet to understand-..."

"To whom it may concern,

Valen Rannix is an honorable and promising young fighter Commander, but lacks the experience to execute such a naive strategy with success. The plan to destroy this Rebel cruiser should be mine-..."

Valen frustratedly drops his hand onto his desk, exhaling forcefully. Glaring at the innumerable responses to his stratagem pitch, they have all shot it down, one at a time.

"Bunch of corrupt, glory hunting…"

"As I suspected, Commander," Captain Antilles says, throwing a subdued hand up in gentle gesture. "Quoting my hunches had once secured you the cooperation of Captain Dekkyrd, but no more." Clasping his hands behind his back, Antilles straightens once again, standing opposite the young Commander at his desk. "Citing your inexperience is all the Captains must do to keep you out of their way. You may have begun this chase, but they want the credit for ending it. The glory."

"Glory is not what I want, Captain. I want to win the war. All we're doing is letting the Rebels lead us on this blind chase. Every day they harass us, I lose patrols, and my pilots lose morale. Every fighter we hear about disappearing over the Edge is devastating for my men. I want to destroy the Rebels quickly."

"As do we all, Commander," the tall man says calmly, raising his brow high over his lidded eyes, and sliding Valen's tablet off the desk.

"We'll not catch anything with these pitches," Valen grumbles with a sneer, picking up another tablet and waving it slightly. "Captain Infernus says, 'Chase them until they tire, and mercilessly destroy them?' Really?" Valen looks incredulously at Antilles, dismissively tossing his tablet to the surface of the desk. "This is more a vapid political promise than an actual strategy. I thought these officers went to a special academy for this, what are they looking for, an applause? These men are idiots, presenting stone-headed, idealistic fleet-versus-fleet plans."

"Hm." The striped Captain hums in Valen's office, ignoring the subdued tantrum and carefully reading down the Pilot Commander's strategy pitch. Silently, he paces back and forth, his inward thinking slowly gathering Valen's attention. The tall man spins towards Valen in the office, still reading over the tablet. "Give me this plan. I will present it as my own," he says, looking up from under his razor-like browline. Valen, surprised, hesitates.

He wants to take this plan for himself?

Continuing as if reading Valen's trepidation, Antilles assures him. "Glory," the Elite Captain begins, "is irrelevant to me, I serve my Emperor only. Your colleagues do not respect you, your relative rank and experience are a weakness. They will respect me." The man drops his hands behind his back once again, holding the tablet behind himself. "If what you truly seek is an end to this war, we must do what it takes to take a superior strategy to the top."

"You'll trust your reputation to my plan?"

"I abhor internal politics," Antilles says with a sneer uncharacteristically obvious, "but...it is a landscape one must learn if one is to gain power in our Emperor's Navy." Returning to his normal, stoic self, he straightens up, folding the tablet between his gloved hands. "I believe this strategy is sound." Spinning to the door, and opening it, Antilles says casually. "Glory to the Emperor, Commander. Long live the Empire."

"Long live the Empire, Elite Captain," Valen responds to the odd, reversed phrase, saluting the tall man as he exits the office. Excited that his plan may make it to the top, he sits back down at his desk, and puts the tablet full of negative responses into a drawer. Leaning off center in his chair, Valen furrows his brow and supports his head with a knuckle at his lips. After a small moment, a nervous smile peaks out from behind his hand. Anxious, he clicks a few buttons on his desk terminal, and a voice responds.

"Commander Rannix."

"Adolas, it's been a long time."

"It has been, sir. Would you like some time at the range?"

"If you're not busy."

"Of course, Commander, I'm finished with my paperwork for now. I will reserve the standard range."

As Valen approaches the firing range, he can see Adolas waiting outside, with his hands behind his back. Turning his helmeted head, the young officer smiles and extends a hand to shake. Clasping hands, they immediately move along.

"Commander. This way, sir." Valen and Owan walk past the front desk, the officer behind the desk giving a nod to the familiar Commander as he passes. As they enter the firing hall, Owan unholsters his weapon. "I've cleaned it and readjusted the scope just recently, so it shouldn't take long to get sighted."

"What goes into sighting the weapon?" Valen asks, engaged and attentive. "Adjusting the scope?"

"Usually it's that basic, but there are fine tuning things to take care of," Adolas says, bringing the weapon up to eye level and peering down the side of it. "As an armed officer, I have keep the weapon 'ceremony presentable' at all times, so I routinely disassemble it." Turning it upright in his hands, he aims it downrange, immediately lowering it again and turning a small dial on it. "I'm also supposed to keep my practice up, but in the position I'm in, there hasn't been much need," Owan says casually, readying the weapon and aiming it again. "You have been helping me out with that, Commander. I'm sure my aim is keeping well now." Owan fires a shot downrange, nailing the target dead-center. The target changes color and gives a bleep. Valen can't help but be impressed, his brow shooting upwards. "Hey, first shot!" the representative officer exclaims, rightfully impressed with himself.

"Very nice, Adolas!"

"Thank you, Commander," the young officer says formally, regardless of how informal Valen has been with him in the past. Dutifully, Owan lowers the weapon and turns, presenting it to Valen. "She's ready to fire, if you are."

"Were you shooting at the head or the body?"

"The body, of course!"

Valen chuckles at the jab, as Owan laughs with him. Taking the blaster and aiming it, he says, "I wanted to talk to you about my stratagem, have you read it?"

"I've seen the presentation, sir. I dispatched it to the other Skippers myself."

"And how did you find it?"

"I'm no field officer, but the strategy looks clean. Captain Lennox certainly had faith that it could get some attention. The other Captains' pitches, however…. How do I put it."

"There is no other way to put it," Valen says plainly, perhaps even undiplomatically, the harsh stream of rejections still fresh in his mind. "Their strategies are not good."

"They do have the tools to overpower this cruiser easily, as they suggest, but they'll not get these cowards to fight. If the Rebels keep running, it's only a matter of time before we lose them, I'm afraid."

"Agreed."

"Your plan is pretty ambitious, distributing the Fleet into a different formation. To be fair, this is more a suggestion I would expect only someone of an Admiral's reputation to get through." In the silence following the remark, Owan looks for something polite to say. "The Tyrant is very proud of her Commander, and the success he's brought her already. I'm sorry you've encountered such resistance."

"Actually, I think Captain Antilles is taking this plan to the forefront."

"Oh?" the young officer seems to blurt, surprised. "You've asked him to help?" There is something on the question, and Valen can't help but think it's not simple curiosity.

"I've given him the strategy to submit on my behalf, yes."

"And do you-... I'm sorry, Commander. It's not my place to ask such questions."

"What is it?"

"Nothing, sir. The Elite Captain always has a plan in mind," Owan says, retreating back into his ever-diplomatic role. "I'm sure he will be quite capable of convincing the other Skippers."

"I think contracting his help will get this plan to the top," Valen says, hoping to ease his anxiety, but perhaps is more trying to convince himself. Turning back from Owan, he gives pause to think about what the young officer has been saying. The young Corellian probably doesn't have the most solid relationship with Antilles, nor with his increased investigative powers regarding the Corellians aboard. Taking aim, Valen fires down the range, and hits the target low. Furrowing his brow and re-aiming the weapon, he fires again, sending a shot whistling into the target's midsection.

"Well done, Commander!"

"Thanks, looks like the practice has paid off," Valen says with a smile on his face, letting the smalltalk change what seemed like was turning into an uncomfortable subject.

"If I may, sir," the young man says as he reaches up to a panel alongside Valen. Popping it open, he turns a dial. "Are you ready for a more extended range?" The lit target vanishes into the floor, reappearing further away. "We can utilize the scope a bit more."

"Yeah, that sounds challenging." Valen re-squares his feet, paying special attention now to his technique. Raising the weapon slowly, he brings the scope up to eye level, and fires.

Valen walks down the hallway, his head held high after the much needed distraction from his duties. As he passes through to his office quarters, heels click, and a group of four pilots stand at attention. Formally, they salute as Valen arrives at his door. Ignoring their greeting, Valen looks down at his hands as he removes his gloves, reluctantly returning to his duties as the Flight Commander.

"At ease." On command, the group of pilots change stance. Looking up only slightly at the very orderly display, Valen looks back down, feigning disinterest. "How can I help you, officers?"

"We would like to assure you of our abilities, Commander."

Valen stands silently, looking up under raised brows. "You are Hawks; I am assured." Switching his focus with his eyes only as they dart across the faces, he asks, "What do I need of further assurance from you?"

"You are familiar with our experience and skills, Commander. Given the appropriate tools, we will catch you a Rebel Interceptor."

"Ah." Valen straightens up, understanding where the conversation is going. "This is a request." Opening his office door, he motions with his hand, "come in," leading the pilots inside.

Walking around his desk, he sits down as the group of pilots lines up in front of him. Seeing them standing at attention once again, Valen can see the sharpened discipline they intend to prove.

"At ease, pilots," Valen says again, the pilots snapping from attention to an "at ease" stance. Staying silent for a moment, Valen looks them up and down, recognizing two of them from his first patrol duty nearly a year ago. "Officer Dellus. Officer Lennan."

"Yessir," Dellus' wingman, Lennan begins quickly. "This is Flight Officer Oslo and Junior Lieutenant Ghen. We have been Hawks since you were at the head of our illustrious Delta Subsquadron."

"I am aware," Valen dismisses the flattery, as a superior officer should in such situations. "We have flown together before."

"And we are grateful you have come into command of our fighter group. As such, you are aware of our experience flying for you."

"I am." Valen scans across the faces in his office with his eyes once again. Cutting to the chase, he asks, knowing the question on their minds, "Would this be a formal request now?"

As if given permission to ask, Lennan begins, "Sir. Commander. We would like to officially request to be put on the list for TIE Interceptors."

"The new fighter is far different from the TIE/LN, and in short supply since Zain's… departure. I have apportioned all remaining Interceptor supplies to Delta Squadron and few others." Valen sits for a moment, letting his refusal sink in, watching for how they may react. "The remaining pool for Hawk use is quite shallow."

"We will research all that is available to us."

"That would be the requirement, yes," Valen says with an upper officer-like sarcasm. Pausing for a moment, Valen decides to push. "To put this on the table, Officer Lennan, Officer Oslo," he warns, looking at the pilots in question, "your origin puts you at a disadvantage for priority fighters."

"I am aware, Commander," Oslo replies in a barely noticeable, but defeated tone. Still, he lifts his chin up, and steels himself.

"He's loyal sir," Dellus covers quickly for his wingman, "Over many patrols-"

"You are Corellians-"

"I'm an Imperial," Officer Lennan says in defiance, practically cutting Valen off. Hesitating slightly, he follows up with a respectful, "sir."

Valen's chin lifts at the courageous, if frustrated, spirit of this pilot. Leaning back and dropping his brow, he holds back a smile. "...So you are," the Commander says in an even tone. Inwardly, Valen can't help but be stirred by the resilience of Flight Officer Lennan. Many Corellians, it seems, have this familiar headstrong attitude. Perhaps the independence makes these people the great and famous spacers they are. It reminds him of Officer Owan, if he had become a pilot. The fiery defiance is just like his own pair of Corellians from the Delta days, Morrus and Feld. Valen was able to ensure they received Interceptors along with the rest of his Deltas. His eyes stare into each pilot alternately, hiding his pride from them. "You and your wingmen will do your research," he drills. "You will book extra hours for simulator training. You will show me that your skill and aptitude is far superior to those of your non-Corellian colleagues."

"We will, Commander."

Valen keeps his eye contact with them both, judging their discipline as they remain completely still. "I will consider your candidacy for the TIE Interceptor, officers."

"Yessir, thank you Commander."

"You won't be let down."

"Dismissed," Valen says with a straight face, concealing his pleasure in giving the pilots hope and drive during these times.

The pilots spin in place and march out of the office, Valen finally letting his inspired smirk show through. Shaking his head, he opens up his desk terminal, tapping their names into it. In the silence, he hears footsteps, the door having been left open to his office. Looking up, the young Commander sees his wingman's head, popped into the doorway.

"This a bad time, Valen?"

"Nah, Janos, come in," Valen welcomes casually, waving him in. "Have a seat."

"What's up with the stiffs?"

"Nothing, I just gave them an 'officer talk.' More Interceptor hopefuls."

"We don't have any more."

"I know that, Janos."

"Two of 'em're Corellian anyway-"

"That…" Valen begins sternly, but holds himself back, "makes no difference, Janos," he warns. "We've talked about it."

"Come on, Valen. Even if you wanted to, you'd have Antilles breathing down your neck about handing off prio tech to the Navy's least trustworthy species-"

"Race, Janos. They're human," Valen lectures, Sirius having clearly fallen back into his old ways since their last 'debate.' "And they're an extremely spaceworthy people. Why do you think the Rebs sunk their claws into Coronet?"

"Right, sorry," Janos says, backtracking. The two stand idly, almost boyishly. Sirius sits on the bunk, slouching against the wall with his hands in his pockets, Valen with his arms crossed, leaning sideways in his office chair; the pair looking so unlike the vision of a Commander and his Second in Command. Changing the subject, Janos blurts, "Hey, you want to get some food?"

"Sorry Janos, I've got some things to take care of."

"Strategy stuff?"

"Paperwork." Valen taps his console and brings up some documents, sighing slightly. Janos leans back as Valen begins to tap away at his work.

"I miss patrol."

Smirking, Valen looks up from his screen. "The Delta days?"

"Yeah."

Hinting a grin, Valen's eyes fall back down to the screen, and the grin begins to fade. "...Yeah." Valen stares regretfully into his screen, preparing for the next workload. "...yeah, me too."

Chapter III: Crackdown

"We've been at this for weeks, Valen."

"It takes patience, we've had contacts."

"If you can call sporadic, anomalous signals 'contacts.' I'm happy to be learning more than I ever thought I could about my radar," Sirius states sarcastically, "but we seem to be losing just as many pilots as we were before. We're not exactly 'taking the fight to them' as Antilles would have us believe."

"They don't want to fight us straight. We need to trust the EI's data, and let them try to predict the Rebels' path."

"That's sure gotten us far."

"Watch it, Hothead."

"If the plan was gonna work it'd have done so by now. The Fleet is enormous, too big to change direction as quickly as one or two of their ships can. I think we've lost them, there's no way to track anything through lightspeed, I don't care how smart the Intelligence guys think they are. All the Rebs do is pop in and pop out, and we're back to square one again." Valen sighs a heavy grumble. Disheartened, he admits to himself the effectiveness of his secret plan is surprisingly poor, though certain elements of it had been adjusted since leaving his hands for Antilles'. "I hear the pilots talking," Sirius continues after a sigh, their ships continuing on alongside their Lord's great flagship Executor, "they don't think this is a good strategy. Nobody wants to go out here anymore, even if the patrols are internal. The ghost ships can reach right in and pick off our pilots, even where we are right now. Every time we get a signal, it's like we're pursuing it into the next trap, like they know our movements. Even the Skipper doesn't like it when you and I go out. Pilots have found wreckage in the patrol lanes right in the middle of the fleet."

"Yeah, I know…." Valen trails off. The pair soar alongside the layered trenches on the edge of the Executor in silence for a moment. Staring out his window at the sparkling lights of the Fleet Dreadnought, Valen sits in his cockpit, unable to say anything, ashamed of "Antilles' failing plan."

"Ok...we're at the last marker...wanna head back in?"

Frustrated as he mulls over the underwhelming success of the strategy, Valen hesitates, making a last scan out his window with his high tech Pilot Helmet, and poring over his instruments. Desperately, Valen scans and scans, hoping to uncover anything, spot a ship coming out of hyperspace, should he wait just a moment more.

"...Valen."

"Yeah, ok," Valen responds, dejectedly, almost with an aggressive frustration in his voice. "Let's get back."

The pair of pilots peel off and head across the fleet, passing by the cruisers along the way.

"Hawk 1 and Hawk 2 passing checkpoint 4."

"Copy, Hawk 1, we see you. Welcome back, Commander Rannix."

"Thank you."

"You're popular with the new sister ship."

"New?"

"Since the Spear went to drydock, she's next in line on the Edge. You just seem popular with them."

"I did a tour on the Phalanx."

"Oh right, wasn't that Ozzel's old ship? When you were in that 'proving tour' program?"

'Ugh," Valen grumbles, "don't remind me. At least the new Skipper's got a head on his shoulders. Read some of his maneuvers during the bombardments on Yavin IV. He used to be a TIE Commander too. Bomber squads. I bet he and Commander Ferros get along famously."

"Ah, see, Valen? Play your cards right and you might be running the show. Get your own ship."

"You too, Janos. Don't forget."

"Yessir. What's his name?"

"Captain Jedrik."

"Yes, Commander Rannix," a new voice pops over the intercom, "I've heard of your exploits as well from Commander Ferros and his Betas. The Phalanx is proud."

"Uh," Valen stutters, caught off guard by the ship's Captain speaking directly to them, "thank you, sir."

"Give my regards to Captain Lennox. Safe flight, son."

"Yessir," Valen affirms quickly, the pair flying off and away from the Phalanx. After a short time, Valen can hear Janos' snickering over the comms.

"Shut up, Janos."

"What? I'm just filled with such pride!" Janos says sarcastically, holding back his laughs. "Don't worry, I'll remind you to let the Skipper know, 'Jedrik says hi.'"

Valen heads down the hallway, carrying his helmet casually, like a bucket of water. Holding back a smirk as Janos continues to berate him for Captain Jedrik's flattering comments, he approaches his quarters, with a pair of pilots standing next to the door. As the Commander and Second come closer, the pilots snap their heels together and stand at attention. Falling back from his grins, he straightens to appear more officer-like.

"I'll take my leave, Commander," Sirius says formally, heading further down the hallway as Valen nods.

Standing at the pair of familiar pilots, he asks, "May I inquire the occasion?"

"Sir, we are here to see-"

"You are on the list. We don't have any new ones yet, son. After we lost Nilas, you are behind Oslo and Ghen."

"Oslo and Ghen didn't make it back from patrol today, Commander."

A wave of hot anger rushes up Valen's back.

Another pair….

Valen stews for a moment, wanting to lash out at the durasteel wall in frustration, but holds it inside. Holding his face as calmly as possible, he reaches out and opens his quarters.

"In my office," the Commander says, leading the pair of wingmen inside. Circling his desk and flicking on his terminal, he commands, "Close the door please." The pilots come in, Dellus following Lennan in and closing the door behind them. Snapping to attention, they stand like stone.

Valen scrolls through his roster tensely.

[Jr. Lt. Ghen: MIA]

[Flt. Off. Oslo: MIA]

The anger boils across Valen's shoulders, his gauntleted hands beginning to clench on the desk surface.

"I see," Valen says quietly, feigning calmness once again. Daring not to act out in front of his men, he looks up from his console. "At ease." The pilots fall to a new stance, and Valen sternly commands, "Speak."

"Sir, the four of us had studied together in all of our off hours. We sat in the simulators for Interceptor combat during half our sleep shifts. If you check the logs, you can see we had racked up enough hours to surpass those of even Delta Squadron."

Checking through his terminal, Valen looks through the logs. Indeed, the hard working pilots Oslo, Ghen, Dellus, and Lennan all top the charts for time in the Interceptor training simulators. Scrolling through academic logs, the group of pilots hold marks comparable to Delta Squadron. They are all, by far, most qualified to receive Interceptors. The constant reminder, Oslo and Ghen's records are each dimmed, and hashed with a callous line.

"We have proven that even my Corellian wingman and I are worthy of the premiere fighter craft. We have gone above-"

"Speak...freely," Valen demands, forcing his voice to remain calm.

Waiting for a moment, Dellus summons the strength to say what is on his mind. "We're afraid, sir." Holding a moment, as if he should be told he is a coward, he pauses again. Valen raises his head, his brow reaching upward.

"We can't fight this enemy. An enemy we can't even keep up with, one we can't even see before they're on top of us. Each TIE Reg pilot goes out on patrol, even with countless hours of training…. We will never be able to survive an attack from these Ghost Ships. There's nothing we can do. Without being in the seat of an Interceptor, if they choose to attack us, we will never survive. We die when they say so, and it makes us afraid. We need the better fighters, sir. Are there no more coming in?"

Checking his request forms, he reads through a row of responses:

[REQUEST: DENIED]

[REQUEST: DENIED]

[REQUEST: DENIED]

"Oslo and Ghen had higher scores than us. I hesitate to admit that they were better pilots. If they had the Interceptors, they would still be here…. Sir."

"And if you were engaged, you would not survive?"

"To speak frankly, without a superior fighter, no. We do not believe we have a chance, sir. Nobody in a TIE LN thinks so."

Sitting there, thinking over his options, Valen runs through the responses to his requests again.

[REQUEST: DENIED]

[REQUEST: DENIED]

[REQUEST: DENIED]

"...Sir?-"

Valen's balled up fist raises a few inches, and suddenly crashes down on his desk with an alarming bang. Startled, the two pilots stiffen, afraid to speak. The drum-like sound of Valen's knuckles on the desk reverberates and bounces around the room, yielding to silence once again. Breathing in, and forcing a heavy sigh through his nose, Valen sits in silence a moment longer. Furiously flipping through his roster again, he starts editing the list, pulling the names "Oslo" and "Ghen" and putting in a [REPLACEMENT REQUESTED] bracket for each of their spaces. As he continues clicking through the terminal, Valen finally selects the pilots' names and highlights their starship assignments.

"You did WHAT?!"

"Take it easy, Hothead."

"We're wingmen; partners!" Sirius paces in the office, furious. "You didn't even ask me!"

"I made my decision, Lieutenant. The boys are more than qualified."

"And we're not?" Sirius pushes back, leaning forward on Valen's desk incredulously. "Blast it, Valen, we know we could die any time we're out there in the old crates!"

"And so do they. They're afraid there's nothing they can do in an LN against these Ghosts."

"That's on them!" Sirius shouts back angrily. Throwing his arms out to the sides and flopping them down against his hips exasperatedly, he moans, "Hell, Valen, one'a the guys' a Corellian! You just gave a premier fighter to a Corellian!"

"Where they come from does not impact how qualified they are, Janos, that's not the issue!" Valen points away, towards where the pilot's garrison is, "My pilots are afraid to fly! Do you know what that means?!" Standing up from his seat and circling his desk to Sirius, he looks his wingman in the eye, jabbing his finger off towards the imaginary horizon. "If this goes on, the enemy is winning. It's on the Hawks' leader to show their pilots that he, AND HIS SECOND," Valen emphasizes sternly, grasping his hand onto Sirius' shoulder and shaking it, "are NOT AFRAID! We are NOT afraid of these sneak attacking Rebel cowards! If we need to put our lives on the line to show them that, I consider it necessary leadership. Get out of my office and consider why you, as the potential leader of these men, should come to the same decision as I have."

Janos looks down at his rumpled uniform and tugs on his sleeve to straighten it. Looking Valen in the eye with serious anger on his face, he warns, "Mark my words Valen. You gave our Navy's most valuable fighter to a turncoat. I guarantee you, he'll be the next one MIA." Turning to stand at the door, the furious Lieutenant looks back. "And if we get attacked while we're out, he'll be the one pulling the trigger."

Sirius departs down the hall, leaving the door to the office open. Valen, waiting a moment, crosses his office and closes the secure door, folding his arms and slowly pacing back inside.

Chapter IV: Break

Shining black boots land with heavy footfalls as Valen marches his way down the corridor. His blood rushing in his ears, the Fighter Commander glares out from under his furrowed brow, ignoring crewmen as they practically leap out of his way. Turning the corner, he stomps up towards the door with two black coated guards posted outside, the pair swiveling their heads towards the impulsive approach.

Halting Valen with their words, one demands, "State your business."

"Out of my way, I need to speak with Captain Antilles," Valen dismisses, making a foolhardy intention movement to wedge through the guards. One guard tenses slightly, gripping his weapon firmly, the other swinging an arm up and placing his hand against Valen's shoulder.

"The Captain is not expecting you, Commander."

"Well he'd better be, after what he pulled."

The door behind the guards clicks, unlocking, the usual light above turning green. As if a machine being activated, the guard suddenly and calmly states, "Captain Antilles will see you," and stands to one side, but does not open the door. Glaring at the frustrating sentinel, Valen moves past him, and taps on the door access.

The door hisses open. Antilles sits, working at his desk with his head down.

"Yes, what is it?" he asks calmly.

"You know damn well what it is, Antilles," Valen says, walking into the office, the door closing suddenly behind him. "Two pilots, Dellus and Lennan."

"Mm," Antilles hums in recognition. "Yes, they are off the roster. You and your wingman may now reacquire the apportioned Interceptor supplies."

"Where've you taken them, Terrus?! I want them back NOW!"

"Thank you, you'll not speak until you can demonstrate an officer's dignity."

"'Dignity?!' You locked me in my quarters and pulled the two from their bunks as they slept! The entire garrison could hear them being dragged down the hallway!"

"Indeed."

Fuming, Valen tries to calm himself so he can be taken more seriously. "Terrus, I've got enough on my plate with the Hawks already being afraid of going on patrol with these 'ghost ships' about. Now they are terrified of being taken from their beds by their own people."

"Those who jeopardize the security of our Emperor's forces are no 'people' of mine," Antilles hisses. Valen glares at the Elite Captain, who merely looks back from his desk, his gloved hands folded calmly. "My intelligence acted on tips from a loyal and trustworthy source. Acting quickly was paramount."

"What tips?"

"Tips that the Corellian boy and his wingman were spies; cohorts."

"Preposterous."

"Is it? The very reason it seems all our movements have fallen short of success, risking my reputation as the 'official' founder of this plan. Your plan. It all points to sabotage. There has been a leak. The Corellian, whom you appointed a premiere fighter craft, is a spy."

"And you snatched my boys up because someone said so? Any of these accusations confirmed?"

"They will be. Immediate action in such situations is more important."

"Than what? Proof?"

"Mm," Antilles hums again, resuming his work. "Now you see that this raid is justified. Your Interceptor supplies are now available. Thank you."

"Terrus."

"'Captain Antilles,'" the Captain stonewalls, his face turning cold. As if reminded to be human again, he quietly says, "please," with no less serious of a face on.

"Captain Antilles, you have been a close advisor to me since my command began, and I am very grateful for your support, and mentorship, during the transition. But when it comes to men under my command, I'd appreciate if you would ask my permission before making these movements again."

The man, tall in his seat, widens his eyes, staring intensely, unblinking at Valen. In a bone-chilling tone, the stone-like man responds, "We watch all… very closely, Commander Rannix. You perceive my assistance to be coming from below." The calmness and volume of his voice begins to sink through Valen's skin, a poisonous dread spreading through his veins. "To operate as I must, I seek no permission from you. Should anyone," the cold man emphasizes, "be brought to my attention as a security threat, their place within the fleet is at my convenience."

The two officers glare at each other, the hairs on the back of Valen's neck standing on end at Antilles' chilling statement. The familiar look of a Krayt Dragon circling its prey simmers under the surface of the Elite Officer's stoic face.

"Captain Antilles," a voice on a commlink breaks the silence.

"Yes," the stone face says, unwavering, its terrifying eye contact not breaking for a moment with Valen's.

"We have something."

Rising suddenly, the Elite Captain snaps off all his desk screens, scooping up his commlink. Standing straight and tugging downward on the front of his jet black tunic, he says, "We may continue this conversation at a later date, if you please, Commander Rannix," and circles his desk. Stopping at Valen's side, he says directly at him, "Order a replacement for your men. They won't be coming back." Leaving without concern of Valen's presence, he disappears out the doorway. Outside, the two helmeted sentinels stare into the office.

Staring back outside, Valen glares at the guards. Holding for a moment, Valen realizes he's frozen inside Antilles' quarters. Pushing back against the sight of the armed men, and his own fear, Valen defiantly blurts, "What."

Nodding to one side and motioning slightly with his rifle, the guard commands in his familiar, unfriendly tone, "Get out. Sir."

Valen furrows his brow at this provocative show of disrespect, and gets ready to shout the guard down, when he hears, "Commander Rannix," out in the air, the voice tinny and small.

Valen blinks again, and looks downward at the source of the sound. Pulling his commlink from his pocket, he speaks into it, walking outside past the guards. "Rannix here."

"You're needed on the bridge, urgent."

Arriving on the bridge, Valen can see across the command walkway, the Skipper and Captain Antilles speaking excitedly. The bridge crew seem to be buzzing, prepping the propulsion systems and confirming formations.

"Commander," the young Officer Owan greets from beside the turbolift door as Valen enters the bridge, saluting formally.

"Adolas," Valen says, reaching out a hand. Adolas reaches out in kind to meet the friendly gesture and shakes hands with the Pilot Commander.

"This way, sir," the Captain's Representative motions, leading the way to the Skipper. Arriving at his side, he introduces, "Skipper, Commander Rannix."

"Thank you, Adolas," Lennox says, turning suddenly, the Elite Captain standing hawkishly at his shoulder. "Commander, we have had a revelation."

"How? What is it?"

"My Intelligence has been routinely sending probes out into deep space," Antilles says past the Skipper's shoulder, "combing the galaxy for the Rebellion. A remote planet, a prime hiding place, has been found buzzing with signals and power readings."

"Enough power to run a massive military stronghold."

"More than enough," Antilles interjects, "This is the new seat of the Rebellion, we are sure of it."

"The fleet is consolidating to come about as we speak," Lennox finishes.

Continuing, Antilles says, "Lord Vader has commanded a strike, we are to eradicate the Rebel threat as efficiently as possible."

"You mean Admiral Ozzel."

Captain Antilles' eyelids drop halfway, his snake-like green eyes looking sideways at Captain Lennox. Probably the most expressive face Valen's ever seen from the Elite Captain, it shouts, "You know better."

Pulling one corner of his mouth flat in shared expression and glancing sideways back at Antilles, he continues, "We are to form up at the leading edge of the attack formation. The fleet will bombard the planet, our frontline will intercept any escaping forces, and your Hawks will take up the vanguard for airstrikes."

"What of Alpha?" Valen asks, finally able to respond to this wave of information. "The frontline could use the firepower, and the experienced pilots from the department that found the base."

"We have our assignments," Antilles interjects. "My squadron is staging in the hangar bay."

"Elite Captain Antilles will not be supporting the Tyrant at the frontline. They have an objective to complete aboard the Executor."

"In the center of the fleet? What for?"

"Yes. The glory of the vanguard is all yours today, Mr. Rannix," Antilles answers without answering.

"Oh, good," Valen retorts sarcastically, returning a half lidded stare.

"Gather-"

"Skipper, word of an attack on the rear of the fleet," a crewman notifies from the navigation trench below their walkway.

"Forces?" Lennox responds urgently.

"Rebel cruisers, multiple. There's been a strike on the Authority. The rear guard will have a hard time repelling without support."

"It's the Fleet. They finally show their faces," Antilles remarks, arching an intrigued brow.

Turning to the comms officer, Lennox commands, "Hail the Executor for orders," and begins to walk to his ready position at the front of the bridge.

"Yes, Skipper."

"There's no need," Antilles interjects quietly, watching the ship's Captain head down the walkway. The Elite's normally stoic, serious face begins to return.

"I need a response immediately," Lennox orders with urgency, ignoring Antilles. "Adolas, prepare to order battlestations."

"Orders from Ozzel: Strict lightspeed coordinates. We are to prioritize the jump."

"Vader knows. The Rebels see we've found them. Their spies are listening to us." Clasping his hands behind his back and raising his chin in what Valen can presume is telegraphed pride, he states, "They are risking their fleet to distract us. The Rebel base is far more vulnerable than an active battle group, we would do well to ignore their ploy."

With his head dropped in a grim fashion, Captain Lennox looks out the windows for a moment, hesitant. The powerful man, one Valen has come to respect over time as a Captain that seems to care for real honor, stands with his hands wide on the railing. Keeping the same lowered brow, the Skipper assertively commands, "Prepare for lightspeed."

"Aye, Captain," Officer Owan affirms, clicking a button and repeating into it, "Prepare for lightspeed." Immediately, a klaxon sounds off, howling across the bulkheads of the bridge.

"My Alphas will take their leave," Captain Antilles states quickly, dismissing himself and walking towards the turbolift. "Take care of my staff, Xamuel."

"Commander, prepare your Hawks. The Tyrant will take on its duties as an Edge destroyer once again."

"Yes, Skipper."

As Valen leaves the bridge behind the Elite Captain, he overhears the Skipper order, "Keep us updated on that engagement."

"Dragoon Battallion," Lieutenant Stalek addresses as the group collects around him, gloves greased up to the elbows. The Battalion Commander drops down from a skiff carrying a long supply crate. "We are inbound to a Rebel held planet. This is the big one, boys."

The pilots and gunners look excitedly at each other, bumping one another and grinning nervous grins. "Finally," says Oppel under his breath, immediately getting a subdued whack on the back from Hammand.

Standing up straight, the giant man asks, "So, what're we doin' Boss?"

"General Veers briefs that this will not be an easy one. Ozzel intends an all out orbital assault. A bombardment will soften the enemy stronghold and Blizzard Force will make a drop directly above, 'causing chaos for the defending forces.' We will be landing in combat," the Battalion Commander says in a straightforward, military tone.

"Sounds easier said than done," Ando says quietly.

"Usual Navy plan," Hammand responds. "No offence, Flyboy."

"We've done hot drops before, Hamm," Stalek cuts off the banter. "Orders is orders."

"Yeah, Boss!"

"From the EI probe's data, we'll-"

"Elites?" Raythe says to Hix in a whisper.

"Yeah, like those nerfherders Hammand laid out."

"Not so tough."

"-be coming in with Bellof's Hunter Battalion and controlling the southeast entrance. From the surveillance, there's some sort of barracks nearby. We will support, and close up this fight."

"What about air support?"

"This planet is a very cold one, I've been assured that not much in the way of atmo flyers can get off the ground anyway. This means bad news for them, we'll have starfighters dipping in for strikes with our drops."

"That cold?!"

"Yeah, Flyboy. That cold."

"What about us, Boss? Aint we gonna freeze to death?"

"I am glad you asked, Fyl," the Battalion Commander replies plainly and sarcastically. "We are being outfitted in Blizzard Force's cold weather field uniform," he says as he lifts the lid from the crate, revealing white armor, sorted on top of thick, folded cloth. The Battalion, thrilled, all rush the crate and start pulling pieces out.

"Hah! Troopers?! We gonna be TK's now?!" Neville exclaims, holding up a bizarre white helmet, the ocular lenses immediately recognizable, though a strange flap of cloth hangs over the lower half of the faceplate.

Oppel snatches it out of Neville's grasp and throws it over his head, steadying it with one hand and reaching out with the other. After a moment, he gets his bearings and finds Hammand in his view. His muffled voice chuckles forth from under the collar of the unpowered helmet. "Bring back memories, Hamm?" he jokes, amused with the armor piece.

Hammand just glances nonchalantly for a moment, and then turns to Stalek. "Legs' drives are gonna get mighty stiff in that kinda cold, Boss. I think we should install drive heaters and regrease the joints for cold weather."

"This's a rush job, no time to install hardware. If we're makin' a hot drop, we should be keeping those drives blazing until the fight's done anyway, should be fine. Our advantage as ground forces is we aint gonna fall outta the sky if we freeze up."

"Yeah, Boss."

The two leaders look to their Battalion as the group boyishly wrap themselves in quilted layers of fabric and clip themselves into armored pieces. Chuckling and giggling, the boys start putting on their helmets, and Stalek interrupts.

"Dragoons!" The Battalion at once snap to attention. "Helmets off!" Reaching up in fair unison, the helmets are pulled from messy heads of hair. "You won't need the helmets to prep for landing, stow 'em!"

"Yeah, Boss!"

Hammand joins in, taking on his Second in Command role. "Right! Let's get these walkers in the crate! Dropship hangar, move! Move!"

Immediately, the Battalion bark a, "Yeah Hamm!" running to gather the rest of the uniform pieces and heading off to the walkers from Hammand and Staleksridge.

"Good boys!" As the Battalion depart, the two leaders glance sideways at each other, and then down at the crate. Almost boyishly themselves, they approach and reach elbow deep into the crate of armor.

As they spend a moment, rifling through and collecting the pieces, Stalek asks quietly, "Nervous?"

"No, Boss," Hammand says quickly, pulling a folded uniform from the crate and letting the cloth unwind in his hands. "Just can't remember how to get all the Snowboys' armor on, is all." Hammand raises the helmet in one hand. He hangs in the moment for just a second, looking quietly into the familiar black lenses. Breaking away from the helmet's quiet stare, he ticks his eyes up at his Commander. "I'm gonna see to the boys," the large man says, carrying the equipment and heading off in the direction of the walkers.

"I am so ready to see some action again!"

"I'm just ready to feel some real land under my feet."

"Yeah, I doubt it. S'gonna be snow!"

"Yeah! You guys ever seen snow?!"

The Battalion all look at each other, sporadically giving shrugs and shaking their heads.

"How 'bout you, Flyboy? You ready to take on the Rebs again?"

"Definitely!" Ando bluffs, masking any hesitance with enthusiasm. To be honest with himself, the excitement over the snow and ice of the new planet is genuine. He and Valen had never seen it before, growing up on a climate controlled space station together. "Can't wait to get down there and make 'em pay for Corellia."

"Blasted right! Hix and I're gonna riddle them Rebs, right Hix?!"

Everyone looks at Hix, and clownishly, he's still got the bizarre snowtrooper helmet on. Hix nods his helmeted head enthusiastically, putting a hand up to align the helmet's eyes with his own as he reaches for a landing strap and pulls it tight. His voice however mumbles inaudibly from underneath the white mask. The Battalion burst out laughing, watching the hindered and clumsy display.

"Hix, we can't hear ya!"

Stopping what he's doing, Hix reaches quickly up under the flap of cloth covering his face. A hiss of static and a chirp emanates from his armored head, and a tinny, sharp voice rattles out. "I said, 'lick my boot,' Raythe!"

In another explosion of laughter, the Battalion all start jostling Raythe over the light-hearted insult, and set to hazing Hix. "Ya sound like a droid, Hix!" Scrambling like a rabble of children, the Battalion all start scooping up their helmets and activating their mic comms.

"My name is XC-201," Raythe says, moving his mechanical limb in a stiff and wooden gesture, "how may I serve you?"

"Haha! Wait, wait a minute lemme try," Fyllus says, snapping to attention and saluting. "TK Hammand, reporting for duty!"

The Battalion, completely lost in their laughter don't notice Hammand approaching, donned in full battle armor. As they begin to see him coming though, the laughter begins to die down. Leaning in, Oppel tries to warn his copilot.

"Shut it, Fyl!"

"Oh like you thought of it first! Oh right, it's 'Hammer!'" Re-snapping to attention, he attempts the joke again. "TK Hammer, reporting for duty!"

Nobody laughs, as Hammand's enormous form stands behind Fyllus, stern-faced.

Pulling the bucket from his head, Fyllus' own face emerges, sheepishly asking, "No? I thought it was funn-"

"Gotta malfunction, Fyl?"

Startled, Fyllus hops to one side and stands at attention, fully revealing Hammand. The gleaming white armor fits the Gunnery Sergeant like a glove, making his massive appearance look even more formidable. Truly what a genuine Stormtrooper should look like. He stands, holding his cloth-lined helmet under his massive arm like a prize from a hunt.

"No, Sarge! Armor's strong, Sarge!"

Hammand stands quietly, observing the row of pilots with a stern face. As his eyes scan from pilot to pilot, he makes eye contact with Ando through his ocular lenses, and Ando can see a small furrow appear, and disappear across his face. Taking a deep breath, he asks, "So. You all feel invincible?"

Valen stares out into the night sky, laughing with Ando on the side of their private road. Ando's prized project speeder bike smolders on the ground in front of them, irreparable. As the laughter dies down, the two best friends continue staring into the stars, elbows slung over their knees in a nearly twin-like fashion. After a moment, the absence of laughter and excitement becomes palpable, yielding to thoughts of the reality; the two friends are going to war.

"I think we're gonna do fine," Valen breaks the silence, trying to bury the thoughts. Mask his anxious feelings.

"'Course we will, Val," Ando blurts in response. Valen looks over, and sees his friend staring up at the stars with as much joy and excitement as when they were laughing. Valen wishes with all his heart he could face this new change with such courage.

But the thoughts won't cease flying through his mind, over and over. All he knows has ever been this station, with his family, their staff of droids, and his friends. They'll not be coming home "until the war is done," as the recruitment officers say. Once enlisted, the Empire is "home."

Until they win.

Valen stares out into the stars as they are stretched to infinity out in front of him, the heavens outside the ready room window a blistering streak of white and blue suns. Like the Tyrant is piercing through light itself. Leaning a gauntleted hand on a hand railing, he holds his prepped space helmet in the other, reminded again of his friend by the way it is held; upside down, like a bucket of water. Inwardly, he hopes Ando is still fighting to stay alive somewhere, the same Ando who looked to the stars and didn't shy away.

"Battlestations. All crew to stations. Arrival in 10-..."

Valen turns from his window, and sees Janos, standing at his shoulder, staring at the stars. The closest thing to a best friend he has now, him and Adolas. A fierceness in his eyes, an excitement. Behind him, Hawk and Delta stand, all in pilot's suits. Ready for the fight in ways that Valen can no longer naturally muster. Constantly, he calculates how many men are involved in each tactic. Hundreds of fighting patterns run through his head for different scenarios; who needs to be protected, who is best suited for each moment, how to keep as many alive as he can for this immense fight. Environmental hazards. Surprise attacks. Mustn't underestimate a desperate opponent, that's how people die. Steeling himself for the ordeal ahead, he commands, "Hawks, to the hangar bay ready room."

"Delta, stand by for takeoff," Cirres Lohm, Subsquadron Leader orders in echo. An excellent pilot, the relatively green subsquadron leader has come so far, a stalwart man to have in charge of Delta. The pilots snap upward, and begin leaving the room, when the Tyrant's floor pulls at their feet. Steadying himself on the railing, Valen looks back to the darkening sky, the stars settling back to dim points of light. A white planet grows in the window, slamming to a halt outside. Like a pristine ancient Coruscant pearl.

"There it is," Sirius says, his eyes wide, like a hunting hound with a cornered quarry. His shoulders are squared, tense with the clear signs of hunter's anxiety, a common trait amongst TIE pilots. The two pilots stare off towards the target planet for a moment. Janos departs from Valen's shoulder, heading to the exit. "We should get to the hangar."

"What are we doing here?" Valen says out loud, looking at the celestial pearl with a furrowed brow. The scenarios in Valen's head start over again, rushing through.

"Killing Rebs, Valen. Let's-" The bulkheads echo and rattle, the reverberations from the heavy turbolasers jarring the pilots' feet and ankles. Suddenly, the room flashes green. Sirius watches out the window with his mouth agape as a stream of heavy green ordinance streaks the starlit sky. "Whoa," Valen's partner says quietly, looking wide-eyed as the bright lights soar to their destination. As they meet the planet, red and orange flashes burst open, clapping against the surface. But suddenly, growing from the impacts, a gentle ring of light. A ripple opens outward, fading. The next impact comes, and another quiet ripple opens, as if from a stone thrown into a fountain. The bombardment continues, and the ripples gently continue their response, travelling outward around the curved surface of the white planet. Suddenly, the blasts and echoes go silent. The quiet rushes through the hallways, the contrast in sound alarming as the entire fleet halts firing.

"What is that?" Sirius asks in the ensuing silence.

"Hang on," Valen dismisses, pulling his commlink from his pocket. Raising it to his mouth, he prepares to speak when a voice buzzes forward from the speaker.

"Hawk Group and Delta stand by."

"Copy, what's going on, Adolas?"

"Some sort of bombardment shield. Stand by, Commander."

"Will do, hold my squadron at the flight deck." Valen says, putting the commlink back in his pocket. A voice comes from the back of the room.

"I've heard about those in defensive engineering," Janos says quietly, walking back to the window. "I never thought the Rebs could afford that stuff."

"Maybe. But they can steal anything. The power signal on that planet should have been proof enough they have those capabilities and more. That oaf Ozzel brought us in way too close."

"Certainly didn't have it when Commander Jedrik trashed them at Yavin," Janos continues on. Having a hard time letting it go, the frustration with this new defense is visible across his face. "Blast it, I was ready to get out there and fight."

"Yeah, me too," Valen responds, putting on a brave face. Perhaps not brave enough. Looking back, he sees Sirius furrow a brow.

Taking in a quick breath, Valen says, "What."

Janos looks like he's about to say something, when he's interrupted by the commlink once again.

"Commander Rannix, to the bridge."

"On my way. Sirius, with me."

"Skipper," Valen greets, arriving with Sirius in tow.

"Commander," the Captain returns, motioning a broad hand at a strategy altar. The planet sits on a flat screen, spread out across the table, icons representing the Fleet sitting in orbit. "The Rebels have powered up a planetary shield, making a massive area over the planet impenetrable," he informs, motioning at a blue arc covering what looks like a third of the planet's surface. "The bombardment is withheld."

"So, the Hawks are grounded?"

"For now, an aerial invasion is impossible."

"This has Ozzel written all over it, what an idiotic move."

"Easy, Commander."

"We should have come out of hyperspace outside the system," Valen persists bitterly, placing his open hand far away from the planet, "we could have avoided this if we'd bombarded from further out and targeted the vital points."

"I share your sentiment. Nonetheless, we must adapt."

"Fine. If the shield is impenetrable, they can't come out either."

"Not without clear telegraphing, no. Admiral Piett has ordered a blockade of the planet to intercept any escaping forces. Lord Vader has accepted an alternate pitch from General Veers for ground assault, insertion from the eastern hemisphere. The Imperial Army will conquer the base, and flush the Rebels out towards us."

"'Admiral Piett?'"

"Ozzel has been relieved," Lennox says seriously, looking up from the altar with his eyes only. Lowering his eyes back to the matter at hand, pointing a finger down at the bluish arc. "The Rebels cannot escape through the shield without dropping it first," he says, the point where his finger touches the table blinking a break in the blue arc, "that's where we intervene."

"The eastern hemisphere," Valen says in deep thought considering the Army's approach. "That's a long way to fly those dropships in the night."

"Yes," Lennox says disappointedly, crossing his arms and pulling down on his always-serious face. "Our element of surprise is completely lost, much the opposite of Ozzel's...strategy..."

"So the Army is taking over this operation then. Ozzel's made our Navy look like morons. I'll return the Hawks to the stand-by rooms."

"The capital ships should have any transports handled without issue. My concern is the Rebel Fleet may be right behind us," the Captain says, motioning around the rear of Death Squadron. A broad, red arc appears, flashing a 'danger zone' behind the Fleet icons. "When we jumped for Hoth, the Rebel Fleet attacked at the rear to try and stop us. If they were aware where we headed, we should be prepared for a counterattack."

"I don't think they'll be arriving, at least in a full scale attack," Valen says, furrowing his brow and walking around the altar. Kneeling down in an un-gentlemanly way, he glares across the strategic map, as if trying to see a different angle. "We know the Rebels always hide their base of operations and their fleet far away from one another, so that if one is to fall, they can still rely on the other. It's happened for the entire war." In a near-nervous state of thought, Valen folds one arm and stares out the window, resting his chin in his hand in deep thought, poring over strategies. He glares for a moment at the white planet; quiet, stubborn, and impervious. "They are cornered by a superior force here. Strategically, they've lost already….." Suddenly, Valen takes in some breath, and continues, turning back and clasping his hands behind his back again. "The evacuation of the Rebel base needs a destination. I believe the Rebel Fleet has gone into hiding at a rendezvous point. If the fleet were to arrive here to fight us, where do the evacuating forces run that we wouldn't chase them to? It would be suicide, the Rebellion would be finished."

"You believe they would not come to the aid of their base?"

"It would be just what we want, to have the entire Rebellion in one place, in one direct fight with our major battlegroups. Ozzel put us in this position by not respecting our enemy as a force that will make the hard decisions in battle, just as we would. If we were to put ourselves in their position, we could consider that this is not what we would do; the risk would be far too great." Sighing a moment, processing the information, Valen places his hands on his hips. "No, I think they intend to scatter, untraceable. They want to regroup, cutting their losses at the Rebel base."

"Ah, I see…." Lennox says, looking down at the map in a way Valen has never seen before. His features have softened as he thinks over the points. As he stares at the altar, Valen turns to see Sirius staring back at him with a furrowed brow once again. Lennox raises his head and stands up straight once again. "That is very observant. You are becoming an astute Commander, indeed."

"Thank you, Skipper."

"I will pass on this observation to High Command and support with my agreement. We will concentrate on the battle in front of us. Stand by, the Hawks will assist in engaging the escapees. We must be ready for any surprises we have not prepared for."

"Yessir."

Chapter V: Landfall

"Blizzard Force, disembarking. Reserve Escort Battalions, taking off."

"Roger, access is clear. Good luck."

The pilots and crane crew buzz on with casual departure conversation while the cabin around Ando and Hammand rumbles, their seats wandering slightly underneath them. The pair sit quietly inside Legs' cockpit, in a drop container hanging once again precariously underneath a massive dropship. Subtly, nervously, Ando adjusts his white helmet, trying to get a better view out the visor. It seems no matter what he does, he can't get the border of the goggles out of his vision. If one side is settled properly, the other is off center.

"Ugh. Y'know, somewhere along the line between the fighter helmets and these snowtrooper helmets, they really botched the visor," Ando remarks, the cabin beginning to shake as the landing craft breaches the Rebel planet's atmosphere. "I could see everything in a series II TIE helmet; can't see a thing in this one."

"I can see fine."

"Hmph. Maybe it's made for a big head." Ando snickers at his own jab, preparing for a punch in the arm. After a moment, he looks over to see Hammand sitting forward, staring out the porthole opening at nothing. Glancing out his own, Ando can only see the inside of the massive mechanical wall, same as before.

What's he looking at?

Checking back at his pilot, he studies his posture. Seeing him sit forward, leaning toward the opening with a tunnel vision-like intensity. The quiet stare inside the rumbling container reminds Ando of watching the sandtroopers waiting for action inside the AT-AT on Zelliros. His copilot looks enormous, layered in plasteel battle armor and sub-zero survival cloth; invincible. Looking down, however, Ando sees Hammand's hands clenched tight around the control levers. The heavy glove looks crushed, on the verge of tearing even its extremely durable material.

"Hey, Hammer."

"Yeah," Hammand says quickly, his head ticking to the side, but then returning to stare out the porthole. He doesn't even react to the old trooper nickname.

"We're not doin' a hot drop anymore, it's OK-"

"All drops are hot, Flyboy," Hammand's buzzy voice interjects shortly, his hands clenching tighter around the levers..

"Yeah, sorry Hamm," Ando says, stepping back from his pilot. Outside, the rushing, tearing fire has quieted, replaced with the sounds of whipping wind, whistling over the bulkheads.

"Y'know I don't like drops, wanna leave it be?"

"One of these times you're gonna have'ta tell me why."

"Maybe."

"Yeah?" Ando asks, unable to hold back his incessant interest.

"We make it through this one, I'll consider it."

"Yeah, you better. I know where you sit."

This time, the clenched hand loosens from the control levers and collides with Ando's arm as expected. "You're really annoying with these questions, ya know that, Flyboy?" Inside his helmet, Ando grins, knowing he got Hammand's mind off the drop for a little bit. A quick judder from the turbulence outside startles them, and Hammand looks up at the ceiling of their cabin, like the roof is about to come off. Digging at his copilot to keep his attention, Ando keeps up the smalltalk.

"I barely felt that one."

"I hit you in the shoulder plate, Flyboy. If I wanted ya to feel it I'd have punched ya here," he says, letting loose a block of a fist lower on Ando's shoulder, deadening his arm. Ando just responds with a chuckle, flinching back and rubbing his soreness away.

"Heh, well...Fyll definitely felt it. I don't think he expected you to nail him that hard."

"He's lucky I didn't do the Ol' Sarge's 'blaster test.' You boys needed to learn about what this armor can and can't take 'fore you get yerself shot." Grabbing up the comm unit, Hammand depresses the button and asks, "Hey, Fyll, how's your chest?"

"Thanks for asking, Hammer, my chest feels like you threw a cargo crate at me, how you think it is?"

"Lighten up boy, you live cuz'a the armor. Doesn't mean it aint gonna hurt," he says, putting on his usual tough guy voice for the Battalion, "and if you get hit in the head, you're probably still gonna be out cold."

"I think he was out cold for a sec." Oppel pauses for a moment. "Hey, this stuff's stupid hot. Was the old standard armor like this?"

"It's pretty warm, but not like this. This's got more layers."

"Hey, what's that?" Ando interjects with pressing matters, something catching his eye. Staring out the porthole toward the inside wall of their dark container, the seals to the main drop hatch can be seen, slightly white, a thin frost gathering in the seams.

"Been watchin' that. It's been creepin' in since we broke atmo," Hammand says as he leans from one edge of his porthole to the other, trying to get a better view. Hopping on the comms, he addresses, "Heya, pilot. We see a bit of condensation on the seals in here, that cause for alarm?"

"Copy, Dragoon, it's worse outside. Stand by."

The pair of pilots look at each other from under their goggles, trying to comprehend how cold it must be outside the container.

"Roger, pilot, what's our location? ETA?"

"Stand by, Dragoon."

The pair look at each other again. After a moment, Ando shrugs at Hammand, and Hammand gets back on the comms.

"Heya Stalek, I'm gettin' nothin' from the pilots. You got any info on this frost or our ETA and location, or're they gonna plop us down on this Reb base and say, 'surprise!'?"

"We're comin' in night-side of the planet, and the weather isn't too good outside. I think it's gonna get colder from here on out. Let the pilots concentrate, they're runnin' us pretty close to the ground in a snowstorm. Apparently it's pretty common for this planet." After a moment, the Battalion Commander gets back. "Keep an eye on the door hydros, OK? I'm seein' other panels gettin' icy from here."

"Yeah, Boss," Hammand returns. Ando looks out the porthole at their side, and the frost seems to be sprouting up on new surfaces, growing like weeds from the hatch seals. The grease-covered hydraulics for the wall mechanics seem to be resisting the frost slightly as it slowly spreads around them. Ando swears he can see the ice move along the bulkheads. "They coulda told me," Hammand continues, a slight bitterness on his voice. "How long we got?"

"Plan's a raid at dawn, looks like it'll be a clearer day of fightin'. Few hours."

"They got some time to man battlestations, this aint been muchuva surprise attack."

"Sometimes things don't work out like the Navy plans. Stand by."

"Yeah, Boss," Hammand affirms. Turning to Ando, he mutters, "More like 'most times,' eh, Flyboy?"

"Usually," Ando agrees, pushing away some latent Navy pride. His pilot is right. The Navy plans usually have a grand scheme, and it all goes out the window fighting these guerillas. The two copilots sit for a moment, the wind whistling by in big, sudden gusts, howling over the bulkheads and pushing the men from side to side in their seats. "Never escorted AT-ATs before."

"The big four leggers? Heh, well we're all in the same boat on that one. The Dragoons're used to operating as a self-contained unit. We usually aint tied to a column of big boys like the Army."

"Escort missions are stupid," Raythe interjects, an annoyed tone in his voice. "We're cavalry, we're meant to be charging waist deep into these Rebs, not babysitting the Crawlers."

"Stow that, Raythe," Stalek comes in with authority, "Veers' philosophy is 'every unit is a frontline unit.' Rest assured, we'll be 'waist deep,' don't you worry."

"Yeah Boss. 'Reserve Escort' just sounds like a backseat position to me."

"Veers thoroughly tests everyone under Blizzard Force for a reason. Trust the General to know what we're good for. Now, shut up about it."

"Yeah Boss," Raythe acquiesces, the muffled sounds of Hix giggling in the background.

After a short moment of quiet, listening to the howling wind outside, Ando peers back out his porthole. To his surprise, as he leans towards the armored window, his vision gets obscured slightly. Pulling back a moment, he tries to refocus his eyes, and sees his own breath as it puffs out from under his helmet's sub-zero facecloth. Surprised slightly, he takes note of it, and looks back out the window. Surprised further, Ando's eyes widen inside his helmet to see the frost has quickly spread out, covering the back of the entire door, crystals formed on all surfaces he can see inside their container. Focusing for the important parts, he looks on with a slight alarm at the hydraulic pistons on the boarding hatch.

"Uhh, Hamm?" Ando says, reaching over and pushing on his copilot's arm.

"What's up-oh, blast it," Hammand says quickly. Hopping on the comms, he alerts, "Heya, pilot-" and is quickly cut off as the drone of the engines droops. The cabin shakes and tilts to one side as the engine sounds continue to lower. "Whoa, WHOA!!" Hammand shouts forth from his gut, his hands snapping back and gripping onto his seat framing. But, just as soon as the engines die out, they are immediately revved up above normal. Slowly the craft catches itself, and levels out of its lean. The landing craft continues onward for a moment, while Ando and Hammand just look at each other in shock.

Trying to break the silence, but unable to change the subject, Ando just says, "That was weird."

Getting back on the comms, furious, Hammand shouts, "WERE WE JUST FALLING?!"

"Stand by, Dragoon."

"YOU BETTER TELL ME NOW, PILOT!"

"Stand down, Hamm," Stalek orders calmly. "Just wait a moment." The Battalion wait in silence as the engine sounds around them seem to wheeze and struggle. The turbulence seems to slowly get greater as the engines strain more and more. Suddenly, the pilots hop back on the comms.

"Stand by, Dragoon, we're test firing your landing boosters." Immediately the sounds of the fuel pumps inside the container begin to whine, spinning up. The cabin shudders as the whirr of the turbines begins, but nothing further is happening. Suddenly, a quick jerk to the container as a thruster barks to life, and at once dies again.

"That doesn't sound good," Hix's worried voice chimes in, absolutely not helping the situation. The thrusters cut out, and begin the startup process again. The turbines spin up, the fuel pumps whirring to life, and the thrusters burst, this time a few times over. A sound outside, like a shattering window. The sharp sounds of breaking glass crackle around the container, and suddenly the vehicle bucks upward before the thrusters cut out. A moment, and then the landing craft begins to decelerate, Ando feeling himself lean forward against his harness. After some silence, the pilot returns on the comms.

"Boosters are free, I gotta drop you down here."

"Wait, what?" Suddenly, another sound of shattering glass, and the pilots lift up in their harnesses. "AAAAH!" Hammand exclaims, his massive arms swinging wildly for something to grip onto. The container drops in freefall for several terrifying seconds as the turbines spin up and burst to life, and then the pilots quickly slam back into their seats, pressed into their cushions. Almost immediately the container crashes down, wrenching to one side, cracking Ando's teeth together so hard he swears he should be spitting out the chips. The Battalion rattle around their seats, shoved forward against their harnesses, then suddenly to one side as the container rolls oddly. The sounds of metal crushing and scraping on rock accompany bone shaking tremors, and the container finally grinds to a halt.

After a few seconds of frightened silence, Oppel's nervous laughter comes in over the comms, Fyllus starting to laugh along with him.

"WOO! Heh, let's go again!" Raythe joins in.

"I don't feel good," Hix says quietly.

"Heh, whatsamatter, Hix, didn't like the ride?!"

"Alright, shut it, boys," Stalek barks, silencing the laughter, "we're launching!"

"Yeah, Boss! SHUTCHER TRAPS AND SPIN UP YER GYROS, BOYS!" Hammand roars, his intensity strangely overly aggressive. Ando quickly powers up his weapons while Hammand roughly slaps the controls on the driver's side. Ando notices his pilot's odd behavior; every once in a while his hands slip on the switches. But after a quick moment, the walkers inside the container hum to life, their systems powering on. Their folded legs prime, loading the weight and giving a sudden jolt, frost and bits of ice trickling off of them.

"3, 2, 1, launch!"

Silence. The hatch doesn't make a sound. Nothing but the steady hum of the walkers' gyros in the quiet container.

"Ah, blast it," Stalek chimes in. "Hydros must be frozen solid. Stand the walkers by, Dragoons, we'll need to hop out and manually get us outta here."

"AND WHEN I DO, I'M GONNA FIND THAT PILOT AND SKIN 'IM!" Hammand bellows, scrambling through his harness, and hopping up. He quickly throws the cockpit hatch open and grabs for the ladder out. "GONNA JUST DROP US LIKE A BOMB, DIDN'T EVEN SLOW DOWN. CARGO PILOT, PIECE'A ARMY AIR SUPPORT GARBAGE! CAN'T WE EVER HAVE A NORMAL DROP?!" The large, angry man is off and over the top of Legs' head by the time Ando gets up. Hurrying after his copilot, Ando gets halfway out of the hatch and sees him drop down, running to an emergency tool hatch and pulling out a long durasteel breaker bar. "WHEN WE CATCH UP WITH HIM, I'M GONNA KNOCK 'IS-..." Hammand's rage peters out as he begins to slow, the breaker bar in-hand. The man wilts, dropping the bar to one side and pulling his helmet off in the cold container. Worried, Ando rushes after him. Leaning forward on his hands, the red haired warrior begins to retch. Catching up to his copilot as he throws up on the frozen deck, Ando begins to approach him, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. Defensively, Hammand looks back, Ando halting his hand short of contact.

"I'm fine!" he insists quietly, so nobody can hear. Frosted, hot breath billows out of his mouth like clouds in the icy container. Leaning away from Ando's hand to reach for the bar again, he gets up quickly and puts his helmet down at a side panel. "Let's get outta here so I can cave that pilot's head in!" Stomping over to the hydraulics, he swings at the frozen glazing, exploding bits of ice off the mechanical parts with brute force. Behind them, Ando looks back at Fyllus and Oppel swinging tools on the opposite side of the container. Up on the head of his walker, Stalek crouches below the low ceiling before hopping down to the deck.

"FYLL, OPPEL, GET RID OF THE ICE ON THE PORTSIDE FRONT! WE ONLY NEED ONE WALL TO OPEN!" Stalek shouts, waving an arm over his head, jogging to the opposite side and brushing frost off a control panel.

"Yeah, Boss!" the pair exclaim in unison as they leave their wall and head to the hydraulics neighboring Hammand.

"HIX! RAYTHE!" Stalek pauses. Ando looks around for the pair, and Raythe is tending to Hix, who is also throwing up over the side of their walker. A thud rumbles the floor plating beneath Ando's feet, shaking small clumps of frost from the low ceilings. "GET HIX UP AND OVER TO THE EMERGENCY PANELS."

"Yeah, Boss!" Raythe says as he pats Hix on the back, gripping him under the arm. "C'mon, Hix, let's get outta this box."

"MERIK, NEVILLE, GET SHOVELLING!"

"Yeah, Boss!" Ando barks, given a position in the task. More thuds, making tremors in the floor and shaking the container. Neville runs to a tool panel, Ando catching up close behind. Neville turns and tosses Ando a shovel, and the pair head over, scooping the broken ice chunks clear from the giant door.

Raythe arrives at the emergency panel with Hix, shouting, "In position, Boss!"

"Pick up a shovel and help, Raythe, let's make this quick. Hear that?!" Stalek asks the Battalion while pointing up at the walls. The container rumbles and shakes with the thuds outside. "That's Blizzard Force, goin' to war without us! You want the Army leavin' us behind?!"

"No, Boss!"

"Good boys! Crush that ice and get it clear!" The Battalion all break up the ice from the moving parts and push the chunks away from the door, and Stalek yells out, "Ready, Hix?!"

"Yeah, Boss!"

Stalek and Hix, at opposite ends, count down, "THREE, TWO, ONE, FIRE IN THE HOLE!" and turn a switch simultaneously. A series of small, but deafening explosions go off, tearing the ice out of the door seams, and bouncing bits of it around the container. The anchor points for the hydraulics on the door creak and settle off center, the sounds of metal scraping together echoing inside the frigid vessel. Throwing a big lever on his panel, Stalek watches as the hydraulics yank their now-blasted anchors out from the container wall. The ceiling of the container cracks open, sluggishly raising up just high enough for the walkers to stand. Slowly, the wall falls outward like a felled tree, slamming to the snowy ground outside.

Blistering wind and snow start whipping into the container, Ando reflexively reaching up to keep his helmet on his head. Hammand turns his back to the freezing gusts and runs for where his helmet was set down.

"HOLY HELL THAT'S COLD!" the giant Gunnery Sergeant howls, hunching his shoulders around his neck and snatching his helmet off its spot. Taking his other hand and ruffling the snow out of his red hair, he quickly throws the bucket helmet on, straightening out the heavy duty face cloth.

"WE'RE BACK IN BUSINESS, DRAGOONS!" Stalek roars. "MOUNT UP, WE'RE DEPLOYING ASAP!"

"Woo! Let's do this, boys!" Raythe shouts with enthusiasm, hopping onto his walker with Hix in tow.

"C'mon, Flyboy, let's get out there," Hammand's gruff voice says from under his helmet as he passes by Ando. Ando turns to the gaping hole in their drop container and stares out into the black, roaring winds outside.

"Into that?" Ando asks in disbelief, turning away from what looks like certain frozen death and following his copilot.

"Yeah, Flyboy," Hammand says plainly. "Into that."

"Dragoons check in for deployment."

"Dragoon 3, we're in."

"Dragoon 4, ready."

Dropping into their seats, Hamm gets on the comms. "Dragoon 2 ready, we're all warmed up here."

"Copy, Dragoons, keep those motor drives hot. Half height, deploy."

Hammand throws forward a lever, and their cabin lifts off right to the ceiling. So close, in fact, Ando's sure they're going to bump their walker's head on it, but they stop just short. In a low, half crouched stance under the barely raised ceiling, the walkers file out into the howling night winds. As Ando's eyes struggle to adjust to the darkened Hoth sky, his helmet all of a sudden switches over to a different display. A dim, ghostly pale blue brightens in front of his eyes, and he can at least see the ramp in front of them more clearly. Using his newly enhanced vision, he peers around the porthole. Though he can hear the massive thuds of a nearby armored transport, he can't see anything from there. After getting a gust of wind, and a face full of snow, Ando quickly unbuckles, and begins to get up, moving to the back of the cabin. The blizzarding winds whistle as they tear past Legs' eye holes, throwing snow and frost inside. Now outside with Stalek ahead of them, Hammand raises their walker to full stance, and without hesitation, flips down the armor plating in front of the eyes to halfway open.

"That's better. You're gonna be alright, Legs," he says calmly, patting the bulkheads. "Hey, Flyboy, get this frost off the console and close your side, will ya?"

Ando reaches over to Hammand's side and swipes off the snow while his copilot drives. Getting back to his side, Ando sweeps the snow off his own console and off the seat of his chair. Reaching forward over the back of his seat, he splits his porthole lever handle, and pulls one side down, shuttering his own armored plate completely. After a moment, a voice buzzes on the comms.

"Hey, Dragoon, bear left, you're way out of position."

"Copy, bearing left," Stalek's voice responds on the comms. "Navigational vis is pretty poor down here, and the frost is getting into our cabins already."

"Roger, we can see you from up here. Rendezvous with Scout Battalion Seeker, they have some field supplies for the frost. Rendezvous at zero-two-zero."

"Oh, so they brought heaters, then? Didn't see fit to tell us, did they?"

"Quiet, Fyll. We copy, zero-two-zero. Dragoons, on me."

"Boss, I can barely see you."

"Stay behind us, Raythe," Hammand orders. "Oppel, get behind Raythe so he doesn't wander under Blizzard 4's foot, will ya?"

"Yeah, Hamm. Hold my hand, Raythe, we're going this way," Oppel's voice says in a sarcastically doting fashion, Fyllus cackling in the background.

"Get blasted, Oppel, you know you can't see hardly more'n we can!"

"Hey Flyboy, I need some sideways visibility, get up top and tell me how close we are to that big boy."

"Yeah, Hamm," Ando affirms, reaching up and unlocking the hatch. Pushing up, the hatch feels nearly twice as heavy, the gusts of wind pushing back down on it. Straining to get it open, Ando raises it halfway, until, as if the wind changed its mind, the hatch whips open on its own. The piece of heavy armor yanks free of Ando's hands and swings back, slamming open at it's limit. A torrent of wind and snow rushes around the now-exposed cabin. Hammand flinches down from the gusts, looking back briefly to see if everything's okay. Propping himself up and out of the hatch, Ando orients himself, shielding his ocular lenses from the flurries of snow and looking around the walker. A massive mechanical footpad comes crashing down a few hundred meters away to the right, and Ando zeroes in on it as the cloud of snow blows away, disappearing into the night's torrents. Raising his view skyward, he can only make out the long, armored leg attached to the foot, the body disappearing up into the flurries of snow and fog above them. A ghostly reddish glow illuminates the dark skies above, the AT-AT's cockpit window light.

"I said, 'what's it lookin' like, Flyboy?!'"

Ando looks downwards, realizing suddenly his pilot has been trying to talk to him over the whistling wind, his voice now shouting out of the earpieces. Ando drops down for a moment so the two can hear each other better again. "Well, vis is no better out here," Ando says, leaning back and half-sitting on his step, "but we've straightened out a bit. Not too close to Blizzard 4. 'Bout 200 meters."

"Good. Now get back up there and stand watch, Flyboy. Someone's gotta make sure we don't get stepped on out in this pitch."

"I can hardly see anything."

"More'n I can see, get goin'."

Throwing a sarcastic salute at Hammand's back, Ando climbs back out the hatch. Turning behind him, the flipped open hatch door has started scooping snow out of the raging winds like a giant spoon. Reaching his arm through the powder, Ando sloppily sweeps it off the hatch. Looking over the hatch and behind their Legs, he can see Raythe and Hix's walker, followed closely by Fyllus and Oppel's, whose is nearly disappearing into the snow, just as the AT-AT's body is disappearing in the occluded sky above them.

"Ok, so from here, zero-two-zero is the Battalion to the left and in front," Stalek's faint voice runs over in Ando's earpiece. "Keep your heading Hamm, I'm going with Neville to get the supplies."

"Come back quick, Boss. Ando's fillin' this thing with snow!"

"Get a shovel then, Hammer!" Stalek snaps. Ando leans on the hatch, smirking as he listens to his Battalion leaders bicker. Slowly, Stalek's walker speeds up and veers off out of formation, disappearing into the flurries.

In the dark, whipping flurries, the Battalions march onward through the night. The black skies pour snow sideways, caking the walkers in frost.

"Hey, Flyboy."

"Yeah, we're still good, Hamm," Ando says, leaning miserably on one elbow, using his arm to keep the snow from piling up and obscuring his vision. "Blizzard 4's good and clear. Can I get outta this stuff? My arms're gettin' tired from sweeping all this off Legs' head."

"Sure, come on down and scoop this snow outta here you keep letting in."

"Oh, get blasted, Hamm."

"You think I'm joking? It looks like a damn meat freezer in here!"

Ando rolls his eyes and drops down into the cabin, pulling a shovel from the supply hatch in the floor. Slowly, he flings scoop after scoop of snow out the hatch just barely faster than the snow can come in. "Okay," Ando says, getting his pilot's attention and gesturing at the passably snow free floors in sarcastic fashion. "Good?"

"Good boy."

Hurrying out, he grabs for the hatch and pulls, but it won't budge. The Battalion are still walking into the blizzarding winds, the shrieking gusts refusing to let the hatch down.

"Hey-...h-hey Hamm!"

"Yeah, what's up?"

"This damn hatch won't budge!"

"Yeah, yeah. Scrawny Flyboy..." Hammand mutters. "Get down here and take the controls, I got it."

Ando drops back down, happy to be sitting back in his seat and not out in the elements. The state of the art cold weather gear is impressively effective, but not exactly cozy. Reaching forward, Ando grabs his shutter lever and pushes forward on it. It's not budging either.

"Hurry up, kid, you're lettin' more snow in."

"I'm trying! The porthole's frozen shut!"

"Give it a whack then!"

Ando throws a palm into the lever to try and loosen it, yielding only a bruised palm for the effort. "Blast it!" he shouts in frustration, shaking the pain out of his hand. "C'mon, Legs, work with me here!" Leaning back in his seat, he brings his legs awkwardly up above the control panel and kicks at the porthole plate to try and break the thing loose. "It's too damn cold! Everything's blasted frozen out here!"

Soon enough, Raythe's goofy giggling can be heard over the comms. "What's the matter, Flyboy, ya gotta cold porthole?" the Battalion pilot goads.

"Shaddap, Raythe, or I'm takin' that arm and beatin' ya over the head with-"

"Dragoons, I've got just the remedy," Stalek's voice chimes in calmly. "About a quarter click out, got a few point heaters on loan from Seeker Battalion. I'm coming in from your left, make some room, boys."

"Just in time, Boss, we're turning into a block of ice over here!"

"Yeah our main hatch is frozen open and the right side porthole's frozen shut!"

"How's it look with the other guys?"

"Seeker are keeping it together, but they got crew hopping out and thawing the drives and moving parts every couple'a minutes. We're gonna take shifts overclocking the drives, keep them from freezing up. Two at a time, Raythe and Fyll, you're up first. Overdrive your gyros and run your walkers up ahead, then slow down, and wait for us. Then we go next with Hammand."

"Yeah Boss." The two rear walkers sidle out of line and begin to pick up speed, running ahead into the torrential weather.

"Hamm, I'm on your direct left, send the Flyboy out to pick up the point heater."

"Yeah, Boss. Get out there, kid. Let's get unfrozen before more parts get stuck."

Ando stares for a second, not really wanting to go back out into the storm, much less all the way to the outside of the cabin. After a moment, he hops up and goes to the back hatch, clearing snow off his step before climbing up. Grabbing a short safety cable, he clips one end onto his waist, and holds the other in his hand. Back out in the harsh winds, he looks to their left and sees Stalek's walker trudging alongside them. Neville is sitting halfway out their hatch as well, holding the supplies.

"Alright, hold'er steady, Hamm!" Stalek orders. "Hop on over, Flyboy!"

"Yeah, Boss!" Ando shouts, clipping a cable, connecting his waist to a railing on the outside edge of the cabin. Climbing out and moving to the side of Legs' head, he sets himself up. "Keep it straight, Hamm, I'm on the left side now!"

"Holding steady, kid, you're all clear!"

Ando hangs tight against his safety cable, holding the clip that keeps it secured to his waist. A deathly gap of black night and whipping snow sits between Ando and Stalek's walker. Ando hesitates, holding his cable life-line. As the two scout walkers continue forward, all Ando can see is the undulating upper leg of the opposite walker in the night, and Neville's faint form above it, waving the part they need. "It's too far, I can't make that! Just throw it!"

"There's too much wind, you will make it!" Stalek encourages.

"We can't stop and do this?!"

"Keeping the parts moving's the only thing stopping us all from freezing solid, jump it!"

"Come on, Ando," Neville assures from his side, leaning forward from his hatch. "I'll getcha!" His gloved hand reaches forward out of the torrents of snow, close enough for his fingers to be visible. Mustering the courage, Ando unclips the line from his waist and stows it on the railing. Lining himself up, he leaps as hard as he can from his walker to their neighbor, reaching out for Neville's outstretched hand. Overcompensated for the distance, Ando's jump takes him right past Neville's hand, and the surface of Stalek's walker hits him in the chest as he lands against it. Neville wraps his forearm around Ando's shoulders and grabs at the back of his chestplate, securing him against the side of the walker. "Ha! See?! I gotcha, Flyboy!"

"Thanks, Nev," Ando says with relief, looking behind them at how quickly the snowy surface below them disappears into the night as they continue marching toward the Rebel base. A dull thud clunks against his chest.

"Alright man, take this!" Neville encourages casually. Ando clenches the point heater against himself, and looks over his shoulder back at Legs. Neville holds Ando at the shoulders, turning him and squaring him back up towards Legs again. "Now, jump on back!"

"...Yeah?" Ando asks, hesitating again, leaning back against the walker.

"Yeah!" Neville shouts quickly, shoving Ando forward, forcing him to leap, or be lost.

"YOU SONUVA-" Ando lands back against Legs' side with an "Oof!" and latches on tight, holding a grip with one hand, and clutching the heater with the other. He's made it once again. "I'm gonna let that one slide, Nev!" he says, grabbing for the safety cable and clipping it back onto his waist.

"Stop complainin', Flyboy and get thawin'!" Hammand growls from inside their walker.

Ando, without replying, clambers up over the top of their walker's head to the point where his porthole is. The thing is covered in a sheet of ice, as is a great portion of the front of the walker. "I HATE THIS SNOW!" he shouts in frustration, facing the point heater at the sheet and turning it on. The tool glows red in the night, illuminating the front of the walker. Slowly the glow increases, and then flashes bright, a sudden wave of heat strobing through Ando's armor. The sheet of ice crackles like glass, but stays in one piece. "It's not breaking up!"

"Ya gotta whack it!" Neville suggests, still watching from his hatch.

Ando scrambles over to the hatch, lying prone and hanging upside down inside with half his body, reaching for a tool on the wall in the cabin. Looking forward at his pilot, who looks back at the odd sight of the upside down gunner, Ando says, "Just a second," and pops back out with a small hammer. Crawling back to the sheet of cracked ice on the porthole, he rears up and throws the hammer head down onto it, shattering the ice off the side. "Heyo! Got it! Hey Hamm, reach over and try to open it!" Subtly, the porthole plate budges, bits of ice continuing to crackle in the seams. After a moment, it stops budging, and then the armor pings sharply, accompanied by a frustrated grunt. The plate suddenly jolts outward, Hammand clearly punching or kicking it from inside. It sits ajar for a moment, and then the plate opens completely, as it should.

"Watch it, Hamm, you're drifting outta formation."

"Yeah, yeah! Just a second," the large man grumbles over the comms. Suddenly Legs veers back in line with the rest, Stalek's walker back in front of them. "Get in here n' drive, Flyboy! I gotta close that hatch!"

"Hang on, Hammer, the main blaster's frozen over, I gotta stay out here."

"Well I guess you're livin' out there, if you're callin' me 'Hammer!'"

"Aw, c'mon, Hamm. Just jokin'," Ando snickers, aware of what he said. Climbing down and hanging off the front from his safety cable, he points the heater at the sheets of ice in the workings of the main chin blaster. The tool slowly glows red and flashes, cracking the ice once again.

"Yeah, whatever," Hammand grumbles again. Ando looks out as they pass two black shapes in the night. It's Fyllus and Raythe's walkers, walking slowly so the Battalion can overtake them. Suddenly, Stalek's walker ahead of them begins to pick up speed, disappearing into the storm. "Hold on, Flyboy, we're takin' Legs for a run."

"Huh?" Ando is cut off as Legs lurches forward, setting off at a bumpy, full charge speed. Grasping tightly against the armored plating, Ando shouts and slaps against the cabin, while Hammand laughs over the comms.

"HAHAHA, GET CRACKIN' ON THAT ICE, FLYBOY, SO YOU CAN GET IN HERE!"

"When I get done, I'm crackin' YOU with this hammer, Hammer!" Ando shouts bitterly, whacking and clearing the ice from the chin blaster as quickly as he can. Clumsily clambering over the top, Ando drops down into the cabin. Immediately, he slips on the icy hatch step, and falls onto his backside. Hammand looks back at him, and Ando pretends he was sitting there the whole time, awkwardly brushing snow off his shoulders.

Looking forward again, Hammand asks, "Gonna close that hatch after ya?"

"Wind's still pretty strong, Hamm, I can't."

"Alright," Hammand mumbles, slowing the walker down. "We're done anyway, falling back."

"Belay that, Hamm. We're getting a signal, relayed through the Tyreus crew."

"Ooh," Hammand growls excitedly. "I'm gonna drill that pilot good."

"That's gonna have to wait. They say Longeye's gone ahead and done some recon on an outer perimeter force. On the way back, Longeye's speeder bikes froze, they're stranded."

"Why doesn't that pilot just pick 'em up then?"

"The Tyreus' engines are frozen too, they're grounded until the weather clears up. We should be passing them in a few minutes."

"Don't care if they're stuck frozen forever, if I'm honest," Hammand mutters, still bitter over the sloppy drop.

"How do the Rebs even operate out here?"

"Desperate folks, Hix. We got 'em on the ropes out on this ice ball. Orders for us are to push ahead of the assault groups and give Longeye a pickup with Seeker. We are to go and clear out this perimeter force so everyone can move through smoothly. First fight, boys."

"At night?"

"What about Bellof's Hunters?"

"They're hangin' back with the big boys. We're near dawn, but the blizzard's slowed down the assault force. We're a little late to the Rebs' front doorstep. Group up, Dragoons, let's move." The comms fizzle and pop for a moment.

"Dragoon Battalion, this is Seeker, on your six about a half click back. You getting any comms from your scout lander?"

"Hang on, Neville's boosting the signal." The Battalion march on silently in the waning darkness, the winds continuing to whip through their formations. After a moment, Stalek runs a communication on the battle network. "Tyreus, this is Dragoon 1, do you copy?"

"Uhh, copy, Dragoon, we read you."

"We're coming up on your beacon, about to pass by. What's Longeye's position?"

"Longeye's holed up in a cave just west of here, last we heard they were up on ridge A27, along the route."

"'Last you heard?'"

"Comms have gone silent, that usually means the scouts have made contact. Be careful out there, Marines."

"Copy, Tyreus. Double march, Dragoons." The Battalion begin to speed up, further marching ahead of the formations. "You get that back there, Seeker?"

"We copy, Dragoon, we'll bring up the rear."

The group of walkers trudge on through the snow, the blackened sky beginning to brighten to the dim grey of dawn. Slowly, they pass a wide clearing with the landing craft down on the surface. The bulky ship sits dead in the snow, covered halfway already.

"Hey Flyboy, test gunner functions. We fire off a shell and it explodes in a block of ice, the battle's gonna be over real quick."

"You're not gonna make me shoot these guys, are you?" Ando jests, but gets no response from Hammand. "I got it, Hamm," he says, checking the chin blaster for movement. "Chin's looking good, light blaster and the shell cannon pivots are functioning."

"Hop out and check the barrels, Flyboy, I don't like this cold."

"Me neither, why don't you do it?"

"Cuz we aint tradin' spots like me and Weiss."

"I've been in and outta this mess all night! Why don't you do it?!"

"I'm drivin', kid! Now get out! I aint goin' into a fight with plugged guns!" The two pilots glare at each other for a moment, tension high, and Ando gets up begrudgingly, heading to the step. "Yeah, get out n' do whatcher told!" Hammand jabs sourly.

Ando climbs out, angrily clipping his safety line on again, and checks the light blaster and the guns on the chin, brushing off fresh frost and scooping snow out of the inner workings. After a moment of thinking about it during the task, Ando doesn't really mind a small break away from his blusterous pilot. They've been running in this miserable cold all night, locked in the cockpit with one another. Though of course he'd rather be inside, Ando begins to calm, making his way over to the shell cannon as he completes his task. Sure enough, however, the shell cannon's wide barrel has a plug of ice over it, a slanted icicle dangling from its tip.

"Heya Hamm, I got a plug of ice on this thing," Ando says as composed as he can, trying to glaze over the fact that Hammand was correct for enforcing diligence, no matter how miserable a job it is to check. Had they fired a shell, it could have devastated Legs' systems, or worse. "Gimme a second, I'll take care of it."

"Yeah, get on it, Flyboy," Hammand's voice says shortly from inside.

Ando sets to work and charges up the point heater, crackling the ice like a ruined piece of fine porcelain, and whacking the plug off the cannon. Climbing back over the top of the cabin, he drops in, grabbing the shovel and scooping the snow out without being asked. After a tense, awkward moment of silence, Ando finishes up, and starts putting the shovel away.

"Hey Flyboy. Come on over here and take the controls," Hammand says quietly, a bit of apologetic calm on his voice. "I'll get the hatch."

Complying, Ando heads to his seat and transfers drive controls to his side. Watching out his porthole as Stalek's walker stomps in front of them, he keeps their walker steady and in formation. Hammand slowly gets up from his seat, passing between them in a low crouch, dropping a cement-like hand on Ando's shoulder and heading to the back of the cabin. Quietly, Ando hears Hammand grunt over the comms and strain as the ice cracks and the hinges moan. Slowly, the large man pulls the hatch shut, and it finally slams down, completely closed. The incessant, howling wind gets shut out as soon as it closes. Immediately, he twists the lock on the hatch with a creak, and sighs a sigh of relief.

"Ah, that's better," Hammand says calmly, returning to his seat. "How's the turret on top?"

"She's a block of ice, Hamm, non-functional. I don't think I can use her in this weather anyway."

"Yeah."

The two sit in a continued silence, the walkers marching on into the rising Hothian dawn. After a moment, Ando takes in a deep breath, hesitating again. But then, after mustering a little humility, he tries to say something.

"Hey Hamm-"

"S'alright, kid," Hammand cuts him off quickly. "Get focused," the large pilot says, nodding forward out his porthole.

"Yeah, Hamm."

Hammand stares ahead, his voice buzzing on the radio. "Stalek."

"I see it, Hammer. Spread out, Dragoon."

Ando squints under his helmet out at the grey flurries. Nothing but dense clouds of swirling snow and wind. But then, a miniscule flash of red, followed by a flurry of others. Then nothing. The Battalion march on into the brightening clouds of snow. Then another few flashes. Then more, these ones more apparent.

"Seeker, we have eyes on an engagement, point-two-two-five, keep eyes out for the white armor. Looks like Longeye are making contact." As Dragoon march on, the fight becomes more visible, a small group of troopers are fighting another from ridge to ridge. Every once in a while, silhouettes of heads pop up out of cover and take potshots from one side to the other. "We have targets up to the right, opposite ridge A27. Longeye, do you read, this is Dragoon and Seeker, we are coming to you from the East."

"Good to hear your voice, Stalek, the perimeter outpost is just past that ridge." Gailon interrupts himself on his own comms, "Hey! Don't let 'em get any closer, hold 'em back there!" Getting back to Stalek, he recomposes himself. "We could use a little muscle to chase these guys off."

"Copy that, covering fire incoming from the East. Hix, put some shots on that ridge, we're following up."

"Yeah, Boss." Bright flashes of red blaster fire strobe into the ridges, throwing sparks and shattered ice into the air.

"Keep it going, Hix. Longeye, come on down to us, we're covering. Oppel, fire on Hix's target, keep to the light blasters for now. Everyone else keep eyes out for additional forces."

Quickly, the squadron of scouts runs down the ridgeline, staying in a half crouch as they push through the snow towards the Battalion. "Thanks, looks like they're buggin' out back over the ridge. Probably rallying at the outpost, it's just over the top."

"Hop on, Cap, we're circling the ridge from the south side. We're here to raze that base, anything we should know?"

"'Base?' Hardly, Lieutenant," Gailon responds over the comms, his troopers running across the open snow towards the Battalion. Hopping on, Gailon scoffs, "More like a tall hut, you should be able to raze that thing no problem. My guys don't have the firepower for it."

"Armaments?"

"We spotted a P-Tower up in front, on the northern facing side, and a DF9 built somewhere into the ridge above. Didn't get good coordinates on it before we were caught though."

"That's trouble."

"Don't worry about it, Hix. Gailon, can your men get rid of it if we support?"

"At this point, they definitely know we're coming. I don't think we can sneak in for any demolitions, if that's what you're thinkin'."

A fizzy sigh crackles on the comms, "That was what I was thinkin'," Stalek grumbles in thought. "OK. We're not in a great spot, right inside their range when we come around the bend. We got numbers and cover from this storm, though. What's the northside look like?"

"Rocky, but traversible."

"For walkers? Or you guys?"

"Walkers."

"Ok, Hamm. You're down south with Fyll. I'm bringin' up the north end with Raythe, we're gonna give these Rebs the squeeze. Seeker'll come in and reinforce north."

"Yeah Boss."

"You turn that corner and light up the first tower you see, then back up. I don't want you steppin' in range of the other tower when we don't know where it is. You get a good spot and drop off the Longeyes wherever they tell ya. Clear?"

"Yeah, Boss."

"Move out."

The Dragoons split up, the Longeye scouts latched onto the backs of the southern team with their rifles. Tasked with taking out a turret, Ando primes the shell into the cannon breach, yanking down on the handle and loading it into the cannon. Stomping along in the whipping winds and snow, they move around the rocks on their right. Brushing more snow off his consoles, Ando strains to keep his eyesight adjusted to see as well as Hammand can through this fog.

"See anything Hamm?"

"Nothin'. Hey Longeye, you out there?"

"Right on your back, Hammer," Gailon says calmly.

"What you got, we can barely see anything in this storm."

"Right side, 500 meters out, 20 meters up, our target."

"I can't see 'em."

"Point oh-two."

Ando pulls down his cannon scope in front of his eyes, looking for the target. Zooming in, he can barely see the vertical line of a wall jutting out from up the ridge. "Hamm, I think I can see the outpost, but I don't see any towers. I see a wall, facing west. Looks like a small building."

"Flyboy, you're looking too high," Hammand corrects, "scope down, check left about point one."

Adjusting his scope downward along the shape of the distant wall, he sees an outcropping of rocks, and a small, round shape poking up around them.

"Hey, I can see it. Looks like the P-Tower."

"Anti-vehicle. That'll be good to get rid of first."

"I don't have a clear shot," Ando begins to whisper, as if the tower crew could hear them. "Move us further left."

"I don't want to risk them getting a shot first."

"Move us left, Hamm, they're not looking this way, they must be covering that north pass. I can shoot first."

Hammand complies, strafing the walker to the left, exposing more of the turret's shape. Slowly more of the weapon takes form around the rocks, a vertical dish, with a cannon barrel protruding from its middle.

"That's good, Hamm."

"Raythe, cover fire after our shot. Hold tight, Longeye, we're going loud! Do it, Flyboy!"

"Shell cannon firing!" Ando shouts out, a metallic crack echoing through their cabin, jolting the walker's head with the recoil. Immediately, the weapon emplacement shatters in the grey morning snow, the hot, glowing fragments scattering into the high winds. The flash from the explosion illuminates the building, several Rebel soldiers running for cover alongside its walls. "Hit! That's a hit, back us up, Hammand!" Ando yells, looking up at the outpost. In the fading light of the explosion, he can make out a vertical shape hidden between the structure and the ridge. A broad cylindrical tower, about as tall as one of their walkers, topped with a stout, armored turret. "Oh, sh-... That's the DF9!" Ando says quickly, his eyes wide with surprise. Quickly noting the numbers on his rangefinder, Ando shouts out, "Up on the ridge, one point eight seven!" Hammand throws the levers backwards and the walker begins to reverse towards cover. Flashes in the fog on the left create a blinding red glare. As Hammand backs up, Ando can see Raythe and Hix's walker stand its ground and shoot covering fire up into the ridge area. They're not backing up towards cover.

"Raythe, get back!" The weapon emplacement, illuminated by the fires, can be seen swiveling its turret towards the pair of walkers.

"She's not changin' gear, Boss, she's freezin' up!"

"We can't leave 'em there!"

"I know, kid!" Hammand slams the levers forward again, but the heavy machine takes time to slow down. The turret stops swiveling. Suddenly, flashes of sparks. A light blaster, coming from the other side of the outpost.

"Don't look at them, look at me!" Stalek's voice shouts bravely over the comms as the light blaster shots bounce off the armored tower from the opposite side, its heavy plating shrugging off the light weapon. Slowly the turret swivels back towards the source of the firing. "We got their attention, let's give 'em somethin' to look at!" A startlingly sudden blast blows the back out of it, shattering the body of the tower and sending flaming pieces down from the ridge towards Ando's walker. Barely visible shapes of white clad soldiers rush down the ridgeline in the flurries, and start opening fire at Legs as she begins to pick up speed towards the outpost.

"You alright Raythe?"

"Yeah, our reverse gear's frozen up, we can only walk forward."

Raythe's walker finally begins moving, catching up with them. Suddenly, Ando jerks forward in his seat, spotting something below them. They've nearly stepped over a squad of soldiers hiding in the rocky snow.

"Hammand, break left!" Trusting his gunner, Hammand shoves the input levers and Legs strafes to the left, Ando swiveling the cabin to face to the right. "Troops on our right side, close!" Ando shouts, once again caught off guard by the low visibility.

"Take 'em out!"

"Too close, I don't gotta shot!" If it wasn't frozen solid, he'd jump out and gun them down from his trusty mounted repeater, but instead can only watch them running after the walker, too close to hit with any of his weapons. One of the enemies in the back is holding a large tube over their shoulder. "Rockets!" Ando warns, "Rocket trooper, right side!"

"We got 'em, Flyboy!" Gailon's voice says quickly, the thuds and bonks of footholds shifting over plating heard outside the cabin. Red flashes strobe outside the windows, reflecting in the torrents as one of the Rebel pursuers falls in the snow. The small group of enemies stops and takes up a firing position in the powder as they fall behind, the rocket trooper kneeling down and taking aim. Suddenly another blast from over the top of Ando's porthole shoots down on the group, and the heavy weapon wielding Rebel falls motionless into the snow. The distance opens between them and the walker as the squad of Rebel footsoldiers begins to fall behind. Quickly, one of the other Rebels scoops up the rocket, but Ando's zeroed in on them at the further distance, and riddles the squadron with a burst from Legs' light blaster. Suddenly, the entire squadron lies still, their bodies immediately starting to be lost under the heavy snow.

"Yeah, got 'em! We're good, Hamm, let's push on that ridge!"

"Raythe, put some fire down range, 15 meters high!"

From the other side, Stalek's walker trudges down the high side of the pass, firing blasts from its chin cannon at the outpost's walls. As his faint walker becomes more clear in the blizzard, Ando can see Fyllus close behind, with the entirety of Seeker Battalion bringing up the rear. They exchange withering fire with the sparse collection of Rebels, holed up in the ridges above them. Quickly overwhelming the small outpost, Ando aims to shatter their cover, and loads another shell, aiming at the base of the wall at a corner.

"Shell going out, follow up on my target, Hix! Hold on back there, Gailon! Shell cannon firing!" Ando squeezes the trigger. Another bone jarring jolt in the cabin as the cannon fires a blast into the corner, blasting rock and plating out of the base of the building. Immediately, Hix follows up with another shot into the same spot. The second blast digs deep, clawing a much bigger piece of the structure out from under the tower, and a large section of the wall above collapses onto the crater. Suddenly, sporadic blasts come out from the hole, Rebel soldiers popping out from inside.

"Move in, Dragoon, let's finish this," Stalek commands, the large group of walkers converging on the building and firing blasts into the hole. The hopelessly overpowered outpost withers and wilts, the soldiers disappearing back into the rubble, their return blasts slowly dying out.

"Cover us, Flyboy," Gailon's serious voice says into Ando's ear. Ando can hear on the cabin the sounds of Longeye's footfalls again, and then sees them run up the snowy ground in front of them, aiming their weapons in at the hole in the structure. The Battalions hold their fire as the scout team swiftly makes their way inside, a few final blasts exchanged, lighting up the inside of the walls. The silence of the gunfight inside is relatively peaceful, and distant, as Ando sits and waits for the scout team to clean up.

"Check left! They're gettin' away!"

Ando swivels the cabin off to the left and aims his weapons. Running from the ridgeline, a small group of Rebel soldiers take off riding bizarre, two legged wildlife. Ando takes aim at their fading silhouettes, but they're gone in the storm before he can fire. "Ah, blast it!"

"No shots."

"Yeah, no shots here either."

"Think they're goin' to tell their buddies?"

"Doesn't matter, we're headed that way anyway. Let's button up this outpost and wait for the assault groups."

"Hey, Blizzard 4, we're cleaning up at the target, what's your ETA?"

"Five minutes, we're catching up."

"Roger. Hear that, Longeye?"

"We hear and see everything, Stalek."

"Heh," Stalek chuckles, "I bet you do."

"We're all clear in here. Not much to check."

"Copy, Longeye. Dragoon, stand guard here and sit tight. Five minutes 'til Blizzard catch up."

"Yeah, Boss."

"Hey, weather's startin' to to calm down," Oppel notes, idly.

"Aint a moment too soon, thought all our fights'd be in this stuff."

"Wouldn't that be somethin'?"

"Oh, it'd be 'somethin'' alright."

"Yeah, what happened to your legs, Raythe?"

"She froze up, got too cold I think. Hix is hopping out to give the drive system a flash."

The Battalions chuckle at the banter between each other, standing in the waning snowstorm. Ando peeks out his porthole, watching Hix shove open their top hatch, dumping snow off the head of their walker. Awkwardly, Hix clasps his safety line onto the railing and crawls over the back with his point heater in-hand.

"Heya, Flyboy," Hammand's voice snaps Ando out of his idle stare. "Hop on out and see if you can unfreeze your mounted weapon. Can't be a scrubber if ya can't scrub."

"Yeah, Hamm," Ando says, unclipping himself and hopping out of his seat. "That last one with the rocket squad was a little too close. Keep an eye out."

"Yeah yeah, don't keep the hatch open too long."

Reaching up and twisting on the hatch wheel, Ando is met with the familiar frozen resistance, typical of this harsh weather. Immediately reaching down, he picks up the point heater from the floor and points it at the hatch seals. In a warm glow and a flash, the ice crackles. Immediately, Ando reaches up and twists again, met with the crunch of ice, but still no movement.

"We all good?" Hammand asks.

"Yeah," Ando reassures his copilot confidently, putting down the heater and reaching up at the hatch again with his hands more free. Wrenching the wheel with force, he crunches the ice in the mechanics twice more, and then, squaring up his feet, rams his armored shoulders into the hatch door, jarring it loose. Bits of crystaline white particles shower down, dusting the floor once again as the hatch opens. Straightening his off kilter helmet, the fresh snow beginning to fall on it through the newly opened hatch, Ando continues, "See?" Without waiting for a response, though Hammand does give a wave-off, Ando grabs the point heater again and takes it out into the calming storm above.

In just a few minutes, it seems the winds have died down, the snowfall lightening. Sweeping an arm over the top of their walker, Ando swipes the snow off the surface, digging out the mounted repeater. Brushing away bits of loose snow, he gets down to the frozen ice encasing the weapon. Pointing the tool at the hinges, he begins again, shattering the ice and breaking off chunks. The thuds in the distance grow closer as the pilot turns the weapon to the side and begins to thaw the other parts of it. To one side of him, the massive feet of the AT-AT walkers come crashing down, making their way through the pass. Looking up, Ando is having an easier time making out the shape of the lumbering vehicle's body in the clearing skies. The snow is thinning, the clouds becoming bright with the light of the Hothian sun behind them.

"Hey! Hey Hamm!" Ando yells, slapping a palm onto the armor like a drum. "They're here, let's go!" The walkers quickly pick up, beginning to march off with their formations once again.

"Longeye, get the last of your souvenirs and let's go, or your ride's leavin' without ya!" Stalek and Fyllus' walkers pick up the scouts as they pop out from inside the outpost building, and the assault force heads off. With the winds beginning to become gentle, and the snowfall becoming more sparse, Ando decides to stay above, leaning forward on his mounted weapon as Legs trudges onward. The formations spread out, walking alongside each other rather than inline, and Ando and Scout Captain Gailon give a wave of acknowledgement from opposite walkers. The Captain and his fireteam member hang off the back of Stalek's walker, with their feet on the hip chassis, their compact reconnaissance weapons slung on shoulder straps.

Just as Ando begins to relax, however, the assault force comes to the opening of the pass, and the remaining fog begins to clear. A massive field of open snow sits ahead of them, and at the opposite ranges, man-made features dot the ridgelines.

"We got structures ahead," Gailon says over the comms. Looking over at the Scout Captain, Ando can see him leaned around the side of Stalek's walker, pointing ahead with his arm. "That looks like it."

Without magnification built into the helmet like his TIE pilot gear, Ando reaches underneath the cabin's ceiling, and pulls some Electrobinoculars from their tie-down. Peering awkwardly through, he can spy the chilling sight.

The Rebel Stronghold, on the other side of an empty snowfield. Trenches dug into the hillside as far as he can see. More turret towers like the ones at the outpost than he can count. A deadly fortress, bristling with defenses. It looks like they could no more conquer such a thing than could they level the ridges it sits in. Suddenly, deep inside, he feels pulled towards a destination he doesn't want to be, as the formations march on, ever closer to the Rebel Bastion.

Chapter VI: Impact

"Commander Rannix."

"Rannix here," Valen says, shuffling nervously through the footlocker in his quarters. Quickly, he pulls uniforms from the orderly pile in the box, and tosses them haphazardly on the floor.

"Blizzard Force reports to have arrived at the target. Stand by with your pilots."

"Copy, I'm headed to the hangar now." Sifting through his belongings more quickly, Valen finally grabs what he's looking for, pulling a black device from another uniform's pocket. Pulling a mirroring one from his life support on his chest piece, he tosses it on the floor with a clatter. Holding the new device to his ear, he shakes it, and takes a puff. Clicking it into his suit's life support unit, he scoops up his helmet and heads out, shutting the door behind him.

Marching quickly, Valen swaps channels. "Janos."

"Yeah, Valen. You find it?"

"Prep the Hawks, I'm on my way to the hangar."

"Yessir, on our way." Valen's quickened pace takes a slight wobble as the floor plates shift ever so slightly underneath his boots. Looking to his left out the hallway windows, he can see the horizon of the white planet creeping slowly from one side to the other. The smooth, everpresent rumble of the great Tyrant's engines growl to life, pushing the great cruiser forward towards the planet. Suddenly, Valen's commlink barks.

"Commander, double time, sensors show enemy ships leaving the planet's surface. We are moving to intercept."

"Blast, I'm going now!" Valen says, picking up to a run down the corridors.

"All crews to battlestations. All crews to battlestations," a voice notifies down the hallways. A klaxon begins to sound the red alert, and Valen transitions to a sprint. Running through the hallways Valen passes teams of crewmen, picking up their own pace.

Running past each other, Valen can hear some crewmen wishing, "Good luck, Commander." But suddenly, the all-call speakers blast out an alarm.

"BRACE, BRACE, BRACE!"

Looking up at the ceiling, toward the source of the sudden alarm, Valen is startled. Something hot stabs up through Valen's leg, spearing his spine. the hallway flashes blue around the corners of his eyes. The back of his neck seizes and Valen can feel a burning grip across the back of his skull, plunging needles through his head. Valen's fingers dig deep into the padding of his helmet, twisting tight around the rim. As if turned to stone, Valen's leg freezes, tripping him forward as if he'd just stumbled over a shipping crate. Struggling to catch himself, his other foot lands in front, but crumples underneath his weight, a repeated stabbing pain rushing up through his other leg. Losing control, the floor plates rush towards the pilot commander as a scream of agony tears out of his throat, his eyelids slamming shut. The hot needles stab deeper still, piercing through into the back of Valen's eyes, and his vision goes white.

"Hey, how many emplacements you see, Seeker 4?"

"Maybe 50 towers on the southern ridges, I don't think we can see 'em all from here."

"Yeah, I'd say more than that, our count is at least 65 plus from our end. Some up on the peaks, others by trenches-"

"Count and ID DF9s and-"

"Prime heavy blasters and keep in formation, 60 seconds until engagement range."

The comms chatter goes on and on in Ando's earpiece as he looks out onto the distant enemy fortress in the white snow. The assault force stomps out into the snow plains, the sky opening up into a clear day.

"Hey Hamm."

"This mission specific?" Hammand responds quickly.

"Well…" Ando pauses, unbuckling his monoculars from the cabin ceiling. Pulling them up to his eyes, he surveys the vast wastes before the assault groups. "There's not much cover for us in between here and there."

"We let the heavies do their job at range, and we got our cover. Eyes front, hands on a weapon."

"Yeah, Hamm," Ando affirms, putting the monoculars down on the top of Legs' head.

"Stand by, Escort Battalions. Blizzard Force is going hot."

"Buckle down up there, Ando!" Hammand shouts out.

Steccato pairs of heavy blasts burst forth from the formation of giant walkers, the piercing whistles cutting right through Ando's armor. Unable to stop himself, the gunner flinches downward. Wincing up at Blizzard 4, he can see the enormous heavy cannons recoiling underneath the AT-AT's chin, the snow shaking from its framework. Turning his head towards the base, the trenches erupt, fiery explosions throwing equipment and snow high into the air.

"Woo! Lookit that firepower!"

"Crush them Rebs, Blizzard!"

"Nothin's survivin' that!"

The Dragoons cheer over the comms as they slowly march on the Rebel Base, the battle formations pummelling the bastion from outside its defenses' range. Smiling an empowered smile, Ando gets on his monoculars again from behind his turret, getting a closer look at the damage being dealt to the base. Exposed supply crates scatter into the sky as white garbed Rebel soldiers can be barely seen, their heads running from side to side in the trenches like so many insects. In a smokey flash, one of the big DF9 turrets takes a heavy cannon blast, its armor shattering to pieces and dumping the turret off the top of the resulting heap. Ando grits his teeth, rooting a quiet hurrah for Blizzard Force's aim, when he's interrupted.

"Hey, Dragoon. We're relaying word from the southern scouts that there is a contingent of enemy speeders exiting the southeastern hangar."

"What?!" Ando nearly drops his monoculars in shock. Looking down below, he can see Hammand grab up the command comm.

"Boss, that's impossible, right?"

"Better drop us off here, Stalek. We're gonna head north behind the formations and see where we can get into some cover."

"We'll hold up here," Stalek says, the Battalion halting for just a moment. Ando scrambles to secure the monoculars back under the cabin's ceiling as Stalek notifies the assault force. "Blizzard Force, be advised: Enemy air support approaching from the northwest, dead ahead. Keep your eyes up."

"Copy, Dragoon."

"Good luck, Scout Captain."

"See you there, Dragoons!" Gailon shouts enthusiastically, his squad running across the snow field to the flanks. Watching the scout troopers disappear off into the snow, Ando turns back to the lines of trenches in front of them as the Battalion begins to march forward once again. The immediate sky above the trenches is speckled with black dots, flying low towards the assault group. The dots take form, like thin, flying trapezoids as they close the distance at great speed.

"Tighten up the lines, boys, this is our job!" Pushing back against his fear, Ando unlocks the pivots on the top turret and flips the safeties off. Gritting his teeth in his helmet, he tilts upward at the encroaching enemy fighters. The Battalions join together, moving forward and lining up at the head of the assault force. Tucking behind his weapon, he aims down its iron sights, picking out targets. The air begins to echo with the growing buzz of the enemy fighters' engines.

"Here they come, Battalions!"

"Open fire!"

The Battalions open fire from their light blasters into the enemy formations. Pops of smoke and fire erupt in the formations, several speeders sporadically falling out of the sky, shattering to bits in the snowy fields far away. Ando's eyes widen as the return fire comes in from the airborne resistance, the air filled with the growing buzz of their engines. Hammand sidesteps Legs slightly, maintaining a serpentine motion on their walker to make them harder to hit. Sterling white snow, fresh from last night's storm, spits up into the air around them as Ando opens fire from his mounted repeater. Suddenly, the battle network explodes into a flurry of callouts and numbers.

"-Eight oh eight, 4 speeders moving north towards-"

"They're splitting into groups of-"

"Point nine, raising altitude to one-point-"

"Keep 'em offa Blizzard 3, they're way too close!"

In a blur, Ando finds himself swirling around backwards in his hatch as the enemy fighters buzz straight over the Scout Battalion formations. They couldn't have passed over his walker more than 20 meters higher. Re-aiming, he starts his stream of fire over again, trying to take them down as they soar away. Suddenly, a burning hot beam of fire zips over his head, hot enough against his skin to make Ando scream out. As he jerks down and to one side, the blaster shot impacts into the ground with a pop, exploding snow up into the air.

A lone speeder buzzes over his head from behind, forcing him to flinch downward once again, letting go of his repeater this time. Nose-heavy, the barrel of the weapon clatters down against the top of the walker. Recovering, Ando wonders what he can even do with the mounted weapon against this airborne enemy, when Hammand's voice, full of thunder and fury growls from below.

"FLYBOY, GET BACK IN HERE'R THEY'RE GONNA TAKE YOUR HEAD OFF!" Immediately agreeing, Ando locks the weapon back down and drops into the cabin, throwing the hatch closed behind him.

As Ando rushes back into his seat, Hammand bellows at him, "What're you doin out there?!"

"I thought I could get my aim better when they got behind us-"

"Get on the light blaster, forget the ones right over our heads! Aim for the ones looping around, they're back out in range!"

Ando grabs for his controls and looks out his porthole for a target while Hammand gets on the comms.

"Boss, we're in a bad way here, fighting air support like this! They said it was too cold for anything to get off the ground!"

"Navy's wrong again, make it work, Hammer! And keep an eye on the trenches in front of us, we're almost in range of those DF9's!"

Valen gasps for breath, a stabbing, spasming pain shooting through him as the world springs forth once more. Something smooth, cold as stone is pushing on his cheek, compressing his chest. Valen struggles under the weight of the pain, and forces a thought.

...Down….

I-...

I'm down.

He pulls a choked, sudden breath in, and tries to call out, but can only utter forth an animal-like groan as he rolls onto his back. Leaning over onto one elbow, Valen strains to sit up, but a twinge slices up his spine, flopping him to the floor once more. He can feel his brow lifting, prying his eyelids open, but for some reason, the effort is enormous to try and orient his vision. Laboriously rolling sideways, Valen throws an arm to the floor, his plastoid helmet clacking against the plating. Wedging his elbow under his side, he leverages himself up, willing his vision back under his eyelids. Looking out from under a dazed and disoriented brow, the stunned Flight Commander can see flashes in the dark. The stark bluish white light strobes across the shapes of bodies on the floor plates, and Valen's hearing starts to flood back into his waking mind. The hissing of gasses, and ticking of arcing electricity as it snaps from bulkhead to bulkhead. Blinking hard and bowing his head, Valen tries to shake the sharp, stabbing fog out of his mind.

Wake up, Valen! Wake up!

Valen shoves forward against the floor and brings his head higher. Taking notice of his senses again, he can feel his diaphragm jolting spastically, his gasps strange and turbulent. He drops back down to lean on both elbows, his body barely strong enough to lift itself. Squeezing his eyelids shut again, he shouts into the floor, trying desperately to utter a word.

"H-..." he hoarsely lets out a sigh. Taking a deep breath into his shaking chest, he forces his diaphragm under control as best as he can. "H-...elp! H-help me!" Valen manages to desperately shout into the dark. After a quiet moment, the black, flashing hallway hauntingly echoes his words.

"Help me!"

"Help!"

"Any-...anyone!"

Looking back up from under his brow, he can see silhouettes in the flashing light, rolling, twisting on the floor.

Someone's alive! Get up, Valen! Get your legs under you!

Straining hard, Valen pulls one knee underneath himself, and then the other. Now up, he rolls and sits back on his feet, his helmet dragging across the floor. Looking out the windows on the side of the hallway, Valen can make out a pearlescent, bluish-white marble, enormous in the heavens. The Hothian horizon turns in the windows, rolling in the stars. Slowly, it moves down the hallway, until it disappears out of view.

Suddenly, something whacks Valen in the chest, rattling off his life support. In his daze, he looks down to see the shining scowl of his gloss black helmet looking up at him. Valen and the helmet stare at each other for a moment, until Valen extends his arm out in front of himself, holding the helmet at arm's length. Pausing, he attempts to let go, but his fingers won't open. Pulling the piece of equipment back in, Valen reaches in with another balled up fist, and wedges the knuckles of one hand under the fingers of the other. Prying them loose of the helmet, it drops to the floor, tethered by its life support hoses. Pulling open the fingers of his other hand, he shakes his arms, attempting to loosen his joints, and reaches to try and pull his serenum inhaler from its port. His hands shake tensely, Valen's fingers having a hard time grasping for the device, fumbling and slipping off it. In the dark, the voices continue to beckon.

"Help!"

"Is anyone there?!"

Come on, Valen!

Is it real? Am I hallucinating again?

Get up! Save them!

Reaching back down for his helmet, Valen holds it up clumsily between both tense, shaking hands, and slips it over his head. The goggles light up in front of his eyes, fizzing to life after a little glitchy static. Punching in at his chest for a few awkward tries, he activates the hiss of the medication through his breathers. Valen leans forward on his knees, inhaling deeply through his life support and trying to steady his breath; trying not to let his posture crumple down further, lest he not be able to rise again. Holding the medication in his lungs, he waits for a moment, and exhales. His squinting eyes begin to open, and he looks down at his hands, as they begin to untwist from their claw-like shapes and relax. Taking in some more deep breaths, Valen's diaphragm begins to slow its shaking. The medicine is working.

"He's not moving!" the hallway calls out from the darkness once again.

Or is it? Shaking his head, Valen reaches up and tries to knock some sense into himself, slapping against his helmet.

"Agh!" Valen grunts, nearly doubling over. The sensation shocks him painfully. A storm of tingling needles pierce through his head in response. Untensing, Valen reminds himself to keep breathing, taking in the dose and relaxing his body. But then, again, the hallway calls out.

"Somebody help!"

Valen's head perks back up, his eyes widening. He's sure he heard the voices clearly this time.

There really is someone out there!

Get yourself together, save these men!

Buckling down, Valen braces against his arms. "Help-...is on the...way!" he shouts hoarsely through his microphone. The tinny voice echoes meekly amongst the hissing mists, and crackling ionic energy. On shaking legs, he stands himself up, and wilts to one side, catching himself on the window railing. Looking back out the window, the blue-white horizon starts to peak back through.

The Tyrant must be tumbling end over end. Is power completely out?

Shaking his head again, he pushes himself off the railing and gets his footing steady. "Help is on the way!" Valen shouts out into the dark hallway with more conviction. Before letting go of his hand railing, however, he scans the darkness. "Where are you?!" he yells out, searching the bodies across the floor. In the flashing lights, an arm raises from the deck. Setting off from his wall, Valen stumbles over to a black coated gunner, and his grey suited engineer, laying on the floor.

"Com-mander! Is-...Kelek...alright?"

Valen reaches down to help the gunner up, but can't clasp hands with him. The gunner's fingers are crushed together from the ionic fallout, much like his own were a few moments ago. Grabbing the man from his forearm and elbow, Valen sits him up. Looking down at the engineer on the floor however, it's not looking good. The crewman has a fatal looking burn mark up his arm and down his side, and he looks to be completely still. The gunnery officer seems to still be having a hard time sitting up, and his fingers won't unseize. Valen reaches up and pulls the gunner's heavy clamshell helmet off. Unclipping the Serenum device from his own life support, he puts it in front of the gunner's face.

"Take some, it will help."

"Kel...Kel-ek-..." the man says in a daze, his eyes rolling up into their lids every once in a while.

"Make a seal." Valen holds the inhaler to the man's mouth and depresses the button for him. Looking over at the engineer, it looks grim. Not a sign of life. "What's your name?" Valen asks the survivor, trying to keep the man's attention diverted.

"Dyne."

"Dyne, I need you to help me," Valen urges, locking the inhalant device back into its port. "You and I are the only ones up on this deck. Let's get your helmet back on and get these men some help."

"O-...Okay-"

"Can you stand?" Valen asks, slipping the gunner's helmet back on his shoulders.

"Yeah...I think so…." The gunner strains, and Valen gives him a firm pull upwards, getting his feet under him. The man is still unsteady, so Valen slings the gunner's arm over his shoulder for support.

"Hello?! Anyone out there?!"

A groan echoes from the floor plating in the dark corridor. Valen squints to try and see anyone raising their arm, but can't find anyone. In the flashes of shorted wiring and arcing electricity, he spots movement. A body rolls to one side.

"We're coming!" Dyne shouts out, starting forward with Valen. The pair make their way down the corridor to the next crewman.

Another engineer in plain uniform, a bad looking burn up his leg. This one seems to be gasping for breath, his convulsions violent. Valen takes out his Serenum and tries to steady the engineer's head, but he keeps turning, jolting suddenly. After a few frustrating tries, Valen backs off.

"I can't give it to him like this. Dyne, hold his head steady," Valen says as Dyne takes over, holding the engineer in his arms. Standing up, Valen looks across the nearby walls.

"Where're you going?"

"I'll be right back, he needs something to stop the convulsions and steady his breathing," Valen assures, heading to one side of the hallway. Feeling his way across the bulkheads, he can feel an emergency handhold, meant for keeping steady during quick lightspeed jumps. Skimming his fingertips along the wall nearby, he finds a console. Valen taps on it, to no avail. There's no power anywhere. "Blast it," Valen says under his breath. Prying the panel open on the side, he reaches in for a small lever, and yanks outwards on it. Another panel mechanically snaps open, a survival mask flopping out. Grabbing it up, Valen runs back to Dyne and the downed crewman. Dropping to one knee, Valen scrambles to affix the Serenum to the port on the emergency life support mask, and presses it against the convulsing engineer's face. His eyes roll and his head jolts and twists away, out of control.

"Hold him steady, Dyne!" Valen insists sternly, wrestling as he tries to keep the mask on the man's face.

"Sorry sir!" Dyne says, buckling down and nearly putting the engineer in a headlock to steady him. Valen pushes the mask against his face, and depresses the inhaler button. The man's sudden thrashes continue on, his breaths unsteady and sporadic as the medication is slow to take in. However, after a moment, the seizing begins to calm, his head movements becoming less violent.

"Crewman. Crewman! Look at me!" Valen shouts, trying to get the man's attention. Shucking his flight helmet, he gets his face right in front of the engineer's, grabbing the man's head by the chin to try and force some eye contact. The engineer's brows lift, his eyes straining to focus. "Open your eyes," Valen commands, the man's eyes rolling down from under their eyelids, "there you go." Drifting back out, the crewman's eyes start to roll upwards again. Seeing the engineer start to fade again, Valen shakes him by his chin. "Hey, HEY! Keep them open!" he demands forcefully, jogging the man's attention with a quick few slaps on the side of the face. Wincing hard, the engineer's eyes squeeze shut and open again. "Look at me, right here," Valen urges, pointing to his own eyes, holding the man's chin up so he can focus more easily. Slowly, the engineer's eyes begin to come back down, his lids slowing their fluttering. "There you go…. There you go!" Valen speaks obnoxiously clearly, smiling, and keeping eye contact as the crewman begins to return. "Keep looking at me."

The man's eyes begin to focus, his limbs calming further. Sluggishly, a delirious hand comes up, reaching for the mask. Dyne reaches up and holds his hand, keeping him from getting in the way.

"You have a mask on, stay calm. Keep breathing, you're getting medicine."

Nervously, the crewman gives a shaky nod. Finally, a response. Doing his best, he takes a deep breath, and exhales.

"That's it. Keep breathing, you're doing great. Dyne."

"Yessir."

"I've got him. Grab an emergency kit for his leg."

"M-my leg?" the man shudders, bringing his head up. Valen immediately stops him, holding his forehead back.

"Just keep breathing. Keep your head down, one more breath, okay? Dyne, I've got him."

The injured man continues breathing deeply as Dyne heads out into the dark, Valen holding his head. Slowly, Valen pulls the survival mask from his face. He's looking much better. The shaking has stopped, and he is as lucid as he can be, considering the circumstances.

"Is my leg okay, Commander?"

"You're gonna be fine, what's your name, crewman?"

"Myzel."

"Myzel, your leg's fine, nothing a little bacta can't take care of. Our buddy Dyne is coming back with some first aid and he's gonna patch you up."

Dyne clumsily flops down next to the pair, an emergency kit in his hand. "I got it."

"Thanks Dyne, open it. There should be a burn kit in one of these things."

"Right," the gunner says, looking through the box.

"They teach you how to do a burn?"

"Uhh, yeah," he affirms, looking up at Valen. "Yeah, I think I know."

"Good. I'm gonna find us a way outta here." Throwing his helmet on, Valen looks around in the dark. Flipping to low-light mode on his visor, the hallway turns a pale blue, which is easier to see, but the sporadic snaps of arcing electricity and exploding sparks blow out the visor in a blinding white. Opting to keep the visor in normal light mode, Valen flips through his comm frequencies. "Emergency, emergency…. Emergency, emergency. This is Hawk Commander with survivors on deck 29, forward hallway B. Does anyone read me? Officer Owan? Sirius? This is Commander Rannix, I have injured on deck 29, forward hallway B." Nothing. The comms fizzle and pop, and there is a nasty whine of feedback. Whether in his own helmet or from the comms relay, something is broken.

Shaking his head, Valen stands over the two crewmen, and looks down the darkened hallway. "We gotta see if we can find a deck with power." Looking out the windows again as the icy planet of Hoth slowly drifts from one end of the hallway to the other, Valen moves to the railing. Checking down the hull, he sees dark windows all along the outside of the Tyrant. As he scans the distance though, he can see windows with lights flashing. "Well," Valen says, staring outside, measuring the distance, "something's better than nothing. Hey Dyne, how's that leg?"

"We're all patched up here, Commander, but I don't know how fast he can move."

"Myzel, be straight with me. Can you walk on that leg?"

"I think so," the injured man says, unsure. Valen stares at Myzel, unconvinced with the answer. Lowering his brow, and summoning an honest answer, he assures, "With some help, definitely."

"Okay, deck 27, further forward on the ship, looks like they have intermittent power. We're probably too close to the impact zone, we need to head out to the edges before we can find anyone that can help us."

"Yessir," the pair affirm in unison. Dyne hikes Myzel off the floor and slings the engineer's arm over his shoulder. Myzel responds, giving a painful hiss through his teeth as he puts weight on the burned leg.

"The turbolift to deck 27 is that way," Dyne advises.

"Power's out, the lift's probably out too. We need the emergency accessway."

"Yessir, I know it," Dyne says, leading the way with Myzel. "It's in forward hallway A, just around the corner."

The trio move slowly down the hallway, and turn the corner. Reaching out in the dark, Valen can feel a wall. Giving it a wrap with his gauntleted knuckles, Valen can't even hear a resonance from the metal.

"That's an emergency airlock. They must've gone off when we got hit," Dyne says quickly. "I bet they think everyone in here's dead."

"Well, we're going through it. Hold Myzel up, there's gotta be an," he trails off, feeling along the side of the bulkheads for something, "access…panel-ah!" Valen pushes his fingers into a plate, and it pops out, the panel mechanically hinging open against the wall with a clang.

Myzel peps up, and says, "Reach for a bundle of blue wires. There should be a harness in there."

Reaching in, Valen looks at the contact points, feeling around. "I got it," he says, pulling a wiring harness from the panel area.

"Pull one end open, and plug it into the port inside the panel."

"You sure that won't ruin something?"

"Like what, lock it more?" Myzel jests with a scoff, his engineering background clear. Looking back, a bit embarrassed that this is not his area of expertise, Valen just shrugs from under his TIE helmet. "It's a safety door, not security," the engineer assures. "It will disengage the locking bolts."

Yanking the harness plug apart, he pushes it into a socket inside the panel, and something inside the door makes a massive clunk.

Surprised, Valen rocks back from the source of the sound. Turning around, he encourages, "Nice one, Myzel." Going to the door, he puts his fingers against a handhold and pulls to one side. The heavy piece of durasteel creaks, but will not budge. Standing there with his hands still on the grips, he turns his head and says over his shoulder, "Um...this door is really heavy."

"I got it, Commander," Dyne says quickly, and gingerly leans Myzel against a wall. Hurrying over, he takes position, pulling on the door with Valen. Straining against the weight of the door, Valen's eyes widen as it creaks loudly, and begins to give way. With a simultaneous attempt, Dyne and Valen yank on the door, opening it wide enough to get through.

"Yes!" Dyne exclaims enthusiastically.

"Go get Myzel," Valen commands, keeping focused. They are still in a lot of danger.

"Yessir!" Dyne hops over to sling Myzel's arm over him once again, saying, "Let's get outta here."

Peering through the opening, Valen hops back on the broken comms. "I dunno if you can hear me, I'm moving to the fore of the ship with survivors, we're pushing through to hallway A now."

"The accessway to deck 27 is right next to the door, on the other side."

The group moves through to hallway A, keeping an eye out for hazards. Wires hang from the ceiling in the next corridor, a fire burning from somewhere in the floor down the way. The group turn to one side, looking at another door. The door says:

ACCS - 25 - 30

Looking to his engineer, Valen waits for his advice.

"Same as last time. Find an emergency access panel."

Hopping to it, Valen goes to the door and feels around each side for a plate. Pushing his fingers in one side, the plate pops open. Pulling on the electronics, Valen brings a loom of wires out, and presents them so Myzel can see.

"Ah, right. Okay, this is a trickier one. This one has security on it."

"So it'll-"

"It'll 'lock more,' yessir." The engineer grimaces, trying to lean to one side and take more weight off his injured leg. "Okay, you need to yank the, uh, third wire. The big, thick one. Yank that and the fifth on the input side, and cross them, you're gonna short the system and fry the security locks before they can engage. Then we just tap the opener," Myzel says, as if it's a piece of cake.

Setting to action, Valen grips the thick wire and yanks it from its port. Counting his way down the line to the other wire, he mumbles, "Okay-"

"Careful, Commander. If there's been power enough to disengage the locks on that airlock, this one is gonna spark a LOT."

"Oh, um...okay."

"Sir," Dyne bucks up, "let me. My gunnery apron's rated for this stuff." Before Valen can object, the gunner is helping Myzel off his shoulder so he can lean on a wall further away.

"You sure?"

"Yes, sir," Dyne assures, patting on a thick apron of dampening material sewn into the chest of his uniform and holding out his other hand. Valen passes off the wiring harness and steps back to where the engineer is leaning. Dyne settles into position and surveys the work. "Myzel, the Commander's already pulled the thick one."

"The third?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, cross it with the fifth on the input end."

"Which end?"

"Input. It's, uh...the other harness on the opposite side."

"Oh, um," Dyne fumbles a bit, the fine work being done unseen over his shoulder from where Valen and Myzel are standing. "Oh yeah. I got it here." His shoulder jolts suddenly from the force of him yanking the wire from it's connector.

"Okay, Dyne. Hold that thick wire by the insulation and wind the thin one around it."

"Yeah." Dyne's shoulders square up on the panel, and squirm slightly as he begins to twist the wires together. The panel area begins to glow orange in the dark, silhouetting the gunner's head and shoulders as he hurries to finish winding the wires. Soon, a shower of sparks begins to spout from the area. The normal panel used to open the door begins to sporadically light up under the fountain of bright sparks, flashing its readouts wildly.

"Okay, Dyne, hit the opener!"

Immediately, the gunner reaches over and taps the door release, and the short circuited panel of wires gives out. A massive blast of sparks shoots out from the panel, spraying Dyne's upper body in the white hot particles. The door opener goes dark once again, and the door suddenly jumps halfway open. An echo of bangs and thuds cascade from the shaft behind the door.

"Ha!" Dyne shouts in success, spinning around while patting down his smoking chestpiece, "got it! Let's go!" The emergency panel behind him smolders, a tiny fire burning the wires' insulated coverings. Valen's always heard the Naval gunners are crazy people. He's beginning to agree.

"Great job, Dyne, a blast like that could have fried my life support equipment," Valen congratulates, heading for the door while Dyne comes to get Myzel. Heading up to the smaller, single person sized door, Valen puts up his hands and is able to pull it open on his own. Leaning in and looking down the accessway however, he realizes an issue. "Hey Myzel. Looks like our short circuit opened the airlocks for the deck accesses, but...how you think you'd do climbing a ladder?"

"Uhh-"

"Oh," Valen cuts the unsure engineer off, mid thought. Looking down the access shaft, a cloud of thick fog seems to be blanketing the floor below. "Um, hey we've got a problem here. There's a thick gas in the air down on deck 28."

"There's a turbolaser emplacement on a nearby deck, that's turbolaser coolant. Coolant gas is heavy stuff. If the airlock to 27 is open, do you think we could displace it down there? Let it sink?"

"It is open, but it doesn't look like it's sinking very fast."

"Help!" another voice says from down the hole.

"Is someone there?"

"We gotta breach! Gas's gettin' in!"

"Masks! Get me a mask!"

Quickly looking back to Myzel, Valen alerts, "There's someone alive on the lower deck, shut the seals, quick!"

"The controls are fried, there's no closing them now, Commander!"

"Can I get them out?" Valen says, jerking suddenly to a ready position at the door.

"That stuff is deadly. If they climb the ladder through that blanket of coolant they'll be dead by the time they came through, sir. I dunno what we can do."

"Can you hear me down there?!"

"Who's the idiot that broke the seals up there, you're gonna get us all killed!"

"Is the gas coming in fast?!"

"We have a little time to say goodbye, if that's what you mean!"

"Grab some emergency masks and move to the far end of the hallway!"

"Commander, can you see sparks down there? Any sign of emergency power in the grid?"

Valen climbs halfway down the ladder and his foot wobbles slightly on the rungs. "Whoa," Valen says, pulling his foot back to the ladder. Ignoring the familiar feeling, he peeks below the ceiling. The entire hallway is filled with thick, bluish grey smoke. In the smoke, the billowing fumes give off small strobing blinks, like lightning crackling in a poisonous stormcloud. "Feels like the gravity on the deck's been knocked out, but I do see some flashes. Can we hook up the grav again?"

"No, we can't do that. The zero gravity is keeping the coolant from sinking to the lower deck as fast. Hook up the gravity, and that heavy stuff will drop into the lower deck like a waterfall."

"Probably why those guys downstairs aren't dead yet," Dyne adds.

"Any ideas, Myzel? Dyne?"

"Ok, Commander. You're the only one with a full body suit and life support. On the far end of the hallway is the ventilation control. It is for every deck."

"How're we gonna run ventilation? That's not exactly a per-floor system, is it?"

"No, but the emergency reactors run the core ventilation as a priority for life support. Probably still running, but when these decks threw their airlocks shut, they also cut themselves off from the ventilation. We just need to open the hallway to it and it'll pull the coolant from the deck into the filters."

"So, I'm just opening a hatch?"

"You're reconnecting the deck to ventilation, it's sealed off in case of a hull breach."

"Ok, how do I do that?"

"I dunno, you gotta get to the access panel and tell me what you see."

"Um, ok. Do you have a comm device?"

"Uhh," Myzel hesitates, "that's usually built into my desk terminal."

"Here," Dyne says, pulling off his clamshell helmet, "wear this, run a direct with the Commander."

"Yeah, okay," Myzel says, getting help from Dyne to get the bulky gunner's helmet over his head while holding himself upright. "Channel 3.48."

"Check, check."

"I hear you, sir," Myzel's buzzes in Valen's ear, "Better hurry down."

"Okay."

"Hold on, down there!" Dyne's voice shouts down the tube. "We're sending someone to vent the gas!"

Valen climbs down into the strange gravity once again, the thick blue-brown clouds enveloping his entire body. Picking a spot on the corridor walls, the Pilot Commander pushes off the ladder, reaching out with his hands. The hallway tumbles slightly in his view as his body turns over in flight. Valen's outstretched fingers wrap around a lightspeed handhold, and he tucks his body to the wall. Looking up from his position, the view is disorienting, like he's climbing a turbolift shaft filled with noxious fumes.

"Everything okay down there, Commander?"

"Oh, great as can be, Myzel," Valen quips, looking for his next handhold. Carefully pulling himself along the wall, he continues, "Ya know, I didn't sign up for emergency hazmat or engineering."

"Hah," Myzel chuckles in Valen's ears, but gets back to business. "Keep in touch with me anytime you need help, sir. I'm on the line."

Valen moves along the wall, heading towards a broad shadow on the bulkheads. "Yeah, I'm on the way," he assures, looking down to grab another handhold, and looking back in his path as the shadow comes closer. "I've got something up here…. Ask Dyne if everyone's okay below me."

"Hey, how you holding up down there?!"

From handhold to handhold, Valen carefully crawls up the corridor, until the shadow begins to take form. "I see, uh-...". Valen pauses. White armor.

"What do you see, Commander?"

Valen just stares silently. A trooper's body floats lifelessly against Valen's wall, a gruesome obstacle the Pilot Commander faces down. His heart begins to pound in his ears, his breath shallowing. Looking for a way around the body without disturbing it, Valen looks up from the bulkhead. The gas is thick, and he can't see more than a few inches in front of his own facemask. But, sparks igniting on the opposite wall silhouette ghostly forms of more bodies floating in the poisonous haze. Squeezing his eyelids shut from the surreal visage, Valen tries to shut the images out, turning back, burying his visor in the wall. Safe in the dark, Valen can only hear and feel his heartbeat thumping against the sides of his head. His breath starts to quake, the image of the morbid sight refusing to be suppressed.

"Commander?"

Blinking himself awake again, Valen inhales through his nose, realizing he's been holding his breath. "Yeah, Myzel, what's up?"

"Something wrong? What do you see?"

"It's nothing, still on the way," Valen lies.

"Yessir. The guys on the lower deck say the gas is nearly halfway up the hallway, you gotta hurry."

"I'm on it," Valen affirms. Taking a deep breath, he forces it out, and slowly reaches up to grab the trooper's body by the chestplate. Slowly, and gently, Valen pushes the body upward into the clouds of poison gas, where it disappears, joining the other ghastly shadows. Continuing his journey up the wall, the opposite end of the hallway comes into view, within reach.

"Myzel, you there?"

"Yeah, Commander."

"I have the airlock panel here."

"Don't open that one, we don't wanna flood another deck."

"Oh."

"Feel your way to the side of the hallway on the left. There's another panel, small one."

Crawling his way from one wall of the hallway to the other, Valen comes to a grouping of panels, outlined in bright colored warning stripes. "Uh," Valen says, unsure, "there're three panels here."

"Oh...um…," Myzel says, pausing for an inordinate amount of time.

"Myzel, I need you to guide me quickly. The men downstairs are counting on us."

"Yessir. Are they labeled at all?"

"No."

"Open the first one, and tell me what you see."

Prying the panel open, Valen looks inside. "There's just a breaker here, like a lever."

"Ah! It's partitioned, I knew it! They never updated that deck, I was telling-"

"Quickly, Myzel."

"Oh, yeah. Yessir. Okay, open the adjacent one, that's yours. It should have indicator lights for power."

Pulling the other, a slew of sparks flies out with it, shocking Valen's hand and showering his facemask. Startled, Valen lets out a yelp, shaking the numbness out of his arm. Thinking back to Dyne being showered in burning sparks, Valen checks his life support unit for damage, lest he be left to suffocate in the cloud of deadly gas.

"Sir? Everything alright?"

"Yeah, blast it, I'm fine, I'm fine. Um," Valen says, recovering from the initial shock and looking into the small hatch, "I don't think this one's working. The wires were melted to the panel hatch, I think I shorted them by pulling it open."

"Indicators?"

Valen spies closely at the ports where the wires connect, tiny bulbs next to each port. "They're all dark, no power."

A frustrated sigh comes through from the other side. "I don't know if we can do anything."

"Blast it!" Valen pounds on the bulkhead nearby. "I won't accept that, Myzel! There's gotta be a manual release!"

"There's no manual release, sir."

"Can we just blast it open?" Valen grasps, brashly looking around for any weapons. "I can find a blaster somewhere..."

"The safety doors are magnetically sealed, blasters won't do anything."

"Better think of something soon or they'll be holding their breath down there!"

"If I was down there I could maybe do something...sir, I dunno if we can save them-"

"I'm what you've got, Myzel. Shock me all you want, we're saving those men!" Valen looks around at his wall, two hatches open and a slew of burnt wires hanging out of one. "What about a reroute? We have rerouting systems built into our fighters."

"It'd be a more, um, manual reroute, but if you're okay with it…."

"Time's wastin' son," Valen says, echoing his old mentor once again. "How do I do it?"

"Open the far panel. If there's no power though," Myzel pauses, "then I'm sorry, Commander, that's all I got."

Wedging his fingers under the far panel, Valen carefully pulls back on the hatch door, popping it loose. Pulling gently, the door is opened, some melted wires coming out with it, stuck to the small hatch by the insulation. Peering through the half open panel, Valen can see tiny, blinking lights inside. "I've got something. A row of three indicator lights."

"Color?"

"Two green, one red."

"Grab a green one, and carefully-" as Valen pulls on the wires, a spark jolts out from the panel, followed by a small, dancing flame.

"COME ON!" Valen shouts frustratedly, exasperatedly resting his forehead against his outstretched arms.

"What's wrong, sir?"

Peering into the hole, Valen tries to recompose, but can't help having hopelessness on his voice. "Just shorted it. There's only one green one left now."

"Is the wire stuck to anything?"

"No, I don't see anything."

"That's our power wire now. Pull it to its end."

"Okay, now what?"

"Disconnect it from its harness."

"Pull the harness?"

"No, no, don't do that or you'll short it for good. You need to pull the wire out alone."

"Well how do I do that?"

"You gotta reach in, and hold the harness plug so it doesn't come out."

"And?"

"And yank really hard on that wire."

Valen stares at the one green light inside the dark compartment for a moment, hesitating. In the silence, Myzel's voice comes in. "I'd usually have tools that make this stuff clean but you gotta hack it." He can't mess this up, or this is as far as they go. Valen holds the wire taught from its port, gripping tightly. "Sir?" Myzel beckons.

Valen pushes down on the harness and yanks on the wire with a sudden jerk. A tiny spark spurts from the connector, causing Valen to jump back. Looking down at his hand in shock, the Pilot Commander stares at the single wire, frayed metallic threads hanging out. Ticking to the panel, he looks inside. The light is still green. Exploding a sigh out, Valen calls back to Myzel. "Indicator's good, the wire's still on the power."

Giving a relieved sigh in kind, Myzel continues walking Valen through the procedure. "Great. Now, take that feed and replace auxilliary input with it, and make sure no contact is crossed with any shorted ports."

"Speak basic, son. I don't wanna mess this up."

"Yank the dead wire on the second panel harness, and put the other wire in its place. Don't let it touch anything else."

Valen yanks the fried line out with a dull thunk. No sparks this time. Taking the other wire in his gauntleted hands, he threads the exposed metal into the port, and snaps the connector shut.

"What do you see, Commander? Indicator?"

"I've got a new green one."

"Yes! You've got power to the breaker. Go to that first hatch and throw the lever to reconnect to the ventilation system."

Reaching up quickly, Valen throws the lever, met with a hiss. Suddenly, Valen can hear the steady hum of the core life support systems. The thick, cloud-like gasses begin to visibly get pulled away into the vents. Sighing and dropping his head, Valen shouts down the cloud filled hallway, "Stand by down there, we've got power to the ventilation, we're clearing the decks."

Quickly pulling himself towards the end of the corridor with the access shaft, Valen tries to concentrate ahead, and ignore the bodies continuing to float incorporeally in the zero gravity. As he reaches the other side, the thick gasses are all but completely cleared, the remaining clouds being drawn from the deck below as well. Pulling himself upright against the ladder, Valen climbs up above to retrieve his survivors.

"Deck's clear. We should be able to get you two decks down with no grav on this one."

"Yessir, Commander Rannix."

Myzel is set down, sitting on the deck with his legs hanging down the accessway. Valen takes his weight, slinging the engineer's arm over his shoulders. Slowly, he and Dyne lower the injured crewman through the shaft. The passage seems easy, effortless as they lightly pass the deck with no gravity. With the broken deck behind them, Dyne and Valen begin to cling to the rungs of the ladder, anticipating as Myzel's weight becomes apparent. Gingerly lowering to the deck below, the group regain their footing. Dyne takes the engineer's weight once again while Valen gets out from under Myzel's arm, looking down the hallway at a mirroring group. Two soldiers, clad in white trooper armor, and an injured man in officer's clothing, laying on the floor.

Making their way down the hallway, Valen can see the officer stifling coughs, while the soldiers see to him. The troopers' faces are covered in emergency survival masks, their helmets left behind somewhere. The olive coated man has shucked his mask and holds his officer's cap over his mouth, stifling heavy coughs.

"Almost there," Valen remarks as they arrive, acknowledging the new group, but also inspecting the airlock door at which they stand. It has several charred marks from the troopers trying to blast through. "Myzel, could you have Dyne work your magic on these wires? Get us through this door?"

"Yeah," Myzel affirms, directing Dyne to the nearby emergency panel.

"Thank you, Pilot," the officer says hoarsely. "Though you may have blundered opening that accessway, your quick thinking saved our lives."

"The name is Rannix."

"Commander? Oh,-... I'm sorry, Commander."

"'Pilot' is fine." Valen pauses as a spurt of sparks flashes behind the officer. Looking over the man's shoulder to see, Valen only spies Dyne continuing on, twisting wires together as Myzel supervises. "Who do you have with you?"

"I'm Captain Neels; Army. These two are my security, Brul and Stegges."

"Good to meet you Captain Neels. Brul, Stegges." The two troopers nod in opposite order from the way Valen greeted them. "This is Dyne and Myzel, gunnery and engineering; Navy." The massive airlock door thunks behind the group, the locks released. "Are you alright to move forward?"

"Yes-...don't worry about me," Neels insists between quieter coughs.

"Brul, Stegges. Are you injured?"

"No, Commander," Brul responds quickly, taking Valen's meaning and going to the door. Stegges follows suit, and the large troopers make short work of opening the airlock by hand. Peering closely into the corridor for hazards, Valen scans the area. The hall is long, and dark, turning the corner in the distance. The damage is lighter on this deck, but the power is still out. "Less bodies on this deck," Valen observes. "Looks like we're getting away from the impact zone." Checking one more time for dangers, the Pilot Commander looks over his shoulder and waves everyone forward.

As the group moves through to the next hallway, Captain Neels coughs lightly once again. Guilt on his mind for opening the accessway, Valen asks, "Are you alright, Captain Neels?"

"Yes, of course," the Army Captain shrugs it off.

"We were on the deck above when the power started going rotten," Stegges speaks for his Captain. "We're often passing through there, we knew the dangers of the turbolasers nearby, and with the power on the fritz, it was only a matter of time before the coolant pipes broke from the unregulated pressures."

"My crew and I ran for the emergency access when the pipes ruptured. There were more in our team, but-..." Neels pauses for a moment to cough hard into his cap. The activity of moving through the long hallway seems to be aggravating his cough. Hoarsely, he reflects, "The entire deck flooded so fast. The airlock shut right behind us." Valen reflects on the ghostly forms in the gas on deck 28.

After a pause, Stegges adds, "The Captain was exposed to some of it before we could get him off the deck."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Captain."

"Those Rebels knew what they were doing when-"

"Command-...-nix. Comm-...-ou read?" a tinny, staticky voice fizzes in Valen's ear, interrupting the conversation.

Turning his head away for a moment, Valen immediately replies, finally able to communicate with someone outside. "Hello? Is someone there?"

"Co-...annix. Commander Rannix…."

"Adolas? Is that you?"

"Commander-... I hear you. This is Acting Captain Owan on the bridge," the familiar voice responds, growing in clarity. "We've been trying to contact you, we were getting audio from your comms, one-way feed."

"Good to hear your voice, Adolas! I'm getting comms from the bridge!" Valen says excitedly, leading the group faster down the long corridor. "Where's my flightgroup? Where's Sirius?"

"They're fine, the standby room isn't in an impact zone. Your Second is with them."

"Ok. We have survivors here."

"We know, we could hear you long before we could respond. We're still getting priority systems online. We have rescue crews close to your deck. The engineers are one hallway out, they're overriding the airlocks from their end. Proceed to the end of the hallway and sit tight."

"Thank you Adolas-" Valen is cut off by violent hacking. Stopping and looking back, he can see Lieutenant Neels falling behind and dropping to one knee, his face turning red from all the heavy coughing. Stegges falls back and kneels with him, supporting him from one side. Myzel and Dyne both lean against each other, looking exhausted. Assessing the situation, Valen says to Adolas, worried, "We're slowing down pretty bad here."

"Medics are in the teams. Injuries?"

"I went down from the initial impact, and we've got a few others from the same deck. One's got some bad ion burns, and we've got an Army Captain here with some-" Valen stops again to hear Neels wheezing and struggling to take in breath. "Neels?" The officer pulls away from the trooper to put both hands on the floor, coughing uncontrollably on his hands and knees. Trying to recompose himself, he covers his mouth with his officer's cap once again. His hands are quaking. "Rescue crews better get here fast, one survivor's inhaled some sort of poisonous gas and he's getting worse."

"Copy, Commander. Rescue crews are on the way, meet them at the airlock to forward hallway C on your deck."

"Yessir," Valen says automatically, remembering Adolas' standing rank. Turning to the exhausted group, Valen encourages, "We're almost outta this mess, we're pushing to the end of the corridor and the rescue teams will meet us there."

"Yes! We're almost there!" Dyne says enthusiastically, trying to buck up Myzel as he supports him. Brul and Stegges stand by as Neels finishes coughing and looks up from the floor. His face is red and sweating from the exertion. Valen looks down at the injured Captain, trying to hide any signs of worry for the group.

"On your feet, Captain. Let's get you out of here."

Neels looks up from the floor, and steels himself, stifling a final cough, and giving out a hand for his security to help him up from. Firmly grasped by Brul, he's pulled upward, further steadied when Stegges catches him from the other arm once he's upright. Held between the two troopers, the officer's thin shoulders shrug as he hangs from their mighty grip. Picked up off the floor, the man's face suddenly goes from red to pale, the sheen of sweat on his face apparent. The officer's cap drops from his limp hand to the floor plating. Valen looks down at the cap for only a moment as it flops to the floor. The fabric is soaked in blood. Turning his gaze back up, Valen is startlingly face to face with Neels, suddenly looking like a visage of death. The Army Captain's eyes begin to roll back, his neck bending under the weight of his head. Shuddering, Neels' knees begin to buckle, and he droops between his guards.

"Sir!" Brul shouts out, his Captain's head starting to fall forward.

"Hang onto him, Brul! Set him down! Gently, gently," Valen insists, the troopers leaning their officer backwards on his heels and lowering him to the floor. As he's laid horizontally, Neels' eyes begin to focus again.

"Captain. Captain, stay awake. Keep those eyes open."

"Wh-...what…?"

"You passed out, Captain, Brul and Stegges are here. We have to get you to the end of this hallway. Medic teams-"

"I'm-I'll stay here," the Army Captain says deliriously, a hint of blood lining his lips. Each breath he interrupts himself with to take in makes a laborious, wheezing sound. "Send the... teams to pick me up...here."

"Can't do that, Captain. Every second counts."

"Can't...I can't walk…" he begins to drift away, his eyes rolling up under his lids, "s-send the...teams…."

"Brul," Valen ignores the officer, assuming command of his soldiers, "get his arms. I'll get his legs. Stegges, help Dyne with Myzel."

"Yessir!" the soldiers bark. Stegges gets underneath Myzel, all but lifting him from the floor single-handedly. Valen reaches down and wraps his arms around the officer's knees, rising with Brul to keep his feet elevated and preserve what's left of his consciousness.

"Let's move!" Valen shouts out under his scowling helmet, the group heading as quickly as they can down the long, dark hallway.

Broad beams shoot out from the distant trenches, impacting with heavy pings on the thick armor of the AT-AT's above. Some whizz past the legs of the massive machines, kicking enormous plumes of white powder into the air behind.

"We need more firepower on the left side of Blizzard 4."

"Copy! Dragoon, tighten up on 4's left, they're getting between us too easy!" Stalek's voice shouts over the hiss of static and tumultuous blaster fire. "Can we get Bellof's Hunters over here or somethin' to support?!"

"Negative, they've got their hands full on the right. You're on your own, Dragoon."

The air is saturated with the deafening buzz of the Rebel speeders zipping overhead. Sporadic blasts from the airborne enemy whip in and ping off of Leg's heavy front plate.

"Blast it!" Hammand growls, gritting his teeth at the latest deafening impact. Each time the blasts hit the plate it feels like Legs' armor will give out. "Boss, we're just backing up tighter and tighter against Blizzard 4, but aint much we can do when they can fly right over us!"

"We gotta make it work, keep defense up on the sides, the heavies're cutting an opening in front! Hold fast for the order to charge!"

"Hey, we got an issue here," a voice says quickly on the Command Comms.

"Blizzard 2, status."

"Getting a bind warning on the legs, acting sluggish. Might be the cold from the storm causing buildup." The voice fades while one crewman talks to another. "Get a mechanic on those drives and free it up."

"Copy, slow to the rear line and keep an eye on it. Escort Battalions, can we get eyes on Blizzard 2 from out-"

"-got a leg freezing up here," Blizzard 2 suddenly alerts urgently, alarms sounding off in the background.

"Blizzard 2, say again-"

"Shut it down! Hold it- Brace! BRAA-" The panicked communications cut with a blast of static. The ground shakes up through Ando's seat, startling the pair of walker pilots.

"The hell was that?!" Hammand shouts out, shocked.

Ando leans forward in his seat, wedging his helmet against the porthole to look down the assault lines. A huge cloud of snow settles in the distance, accompanying a bizarre sight. The giant, four legged heavy vehicle has fallen forward, its command pod half buried in the snow. "Blizzard 2's gone over!"

Relaying the information, Hammand speaks into the command comms, "Blizzard 2 is down."

"They're making another pass, enemy speeders inbound to the crash site!"

"Surrounding escorts, defensive lines close on Blizzard 2's position ASAP," the radio chatter continues. "Blizzard Force is maintaining advance. Blizzard 2, do you copy?"

"Strider Battalion in shield position, enemy is closing distance, 3 speeders, bearing 2, 2, 5. Open fire!"

"Blizzard 2, do you copy? You have enemy speeders inbound, imminent."

"Inbound? Everyone out!" Blizzard 2's pilots respond, their voices faint and interrupted with static. "How far?!"

"0.7 clicks, closing fast."

"The rear fuel tank's ruptured, leaking heavily into the cabin, we're drowning in fuel here! You gotta buy us some time!"

"Enemy speeder down, still 2 more! Hurry up, Blizzard 2!"

"Unlock the hatch!"

"They just passed over us, about-face! Get outta there!"

"All hands, evac-"

An ear splitting crack tears the air wide open, followed by the roar of blazing fire. The atmosphere suddenly rumbles and shudders, rattling the cabin around Ando and Hammand. Leaning forward again, Ando looks on in horror at a massive column of black smoke and fire where the wounded heavy walker once laid. Pieces of the great vehicle scatter high into the air and splash into the snow around the pillar of smoke.

"Blizzard 2, respond…. Check the other frequencies. Can anyone confirm Blizzard 2's-"

"Confirmed, enemy forces are withdrawing from the site," Lieutenant Bellof responds. "Blizzard 2 is KIA."

"Copy. Field medic teams to Blizzard 2's crash site. Analyze that attack, I need information."

"2 reported something binding up her legs before she went down."

"We've observed the speeders making consistent passes at our legs."

"Roger. Blizzard 3, close the gap for 2's position and meet us. Assault force, contract into Javelin formation, two columns. We won't give them any room to fly between us. Blizzard 4 and 5, move to coordinates…."

"Hey Boss, when they gonna let us go?!" Oppel interjects on the internal comms. "Our armor's gonna be shot fulla holes before we get to the base! We can charge those trench positions twice as fast as the heavies!"

"Oppel's right, we're sittin' ducks out here!" Phyllus agrees. "They told us they wouldn't have air support, that aint fair, where's our air support?! We're spinnin' our heads in circles stopping those Rebs from puttin holes in our back plates!"

"Blizzard 1 has visual on Objective Alpha. Cavalry units Dragoon, Hunter, and Strider, prepare to charge the forward trench lines and secure LZ's."

"Ya happy, Oppel?! Shut your flapper and get in formation!" Stalek commands shortly before responding to the commands with more composure. "Copy, Blizzard 1. Dragoon Battalion moving into position." Strafing to the right, Legs joins the Battalion, meeting with the other group of scout walkers. "Bellof, Staleksridge here. Dragoon's on your left."

"Copy, Staleksridge. We may need you to hold us up a little, we've been getting battered on the right flank."

"We have ya, Bellof, let's keep it tight and we'll flush these Reb footsoldiers out of their foxholes. Dragoons, let's show the Army what the Imperial Marines do best!"

"Yeah, Boss!"

"Full charge!"

Hammand throws the levers, and Legs' servo hums growl awake, the cabin lurching forward. The steps land with heavy thuds, carrying Ando and Hammand's walker across the flat snow plains with the scout battalions in long, deep strides. Pulling down his targeting rangefinder, Ando peers across the snow plains to tall towers, topped in deadly heavy blaster cannons.

"DF9's dead ahead, fire at will!" Stalek commands, the incoming fire from the towers becoming more intense. Oppel fires a shot in, narrowly missing a turret. Snow and fire erupts out of the ground where the shell impacts. Following up, Hix fires another shell, the ordnance scooping a chunk out of a trench and covering the area in burning equipment.

A mortar lands a few hundred meters out in front of Legs as she charges forward, a cloud of swirling snow carrying in through her eyes. Ando spins to one side, priming a shell, and hops into his rangefinder. Another mortar blast hits the ground in front of them, spraying blinding snow and dirt into the cabin, Ando throwing himself back in his seat, checking his suit for shrapnel as rocks rattle around behind the seats. Reaching forward, the young gunner grasps the handle on the rangefinder, leaning in and pulling it to his face again as the whole ice planet seems to avalanche around them.

"Got a target yet, Flyboy?!" Hammand asks impatiently.

"Yeah, hundreds!" Ando jabs back to shut his pilot up while he sorts targets.

"WELL, BLAST 'EM!"

Peering through the falling snow in the targeter, he fires a shell at a raised hill, blasting rock out from underneath a P-Tower. The terrain collapses, the portable turret sliding down the embankment before falling on its side. In a flash of red, Stalek's walker takes a shot before firing, glancing the beam off of her thick front plate, the walker rocking back slightly and staggering her footing.

"You alright, Boss?"

"Blizzard 4, Marine cavalry forces on point requesting heavy fire support!" Stalek's voice calls out on the battle network, ignoring Hammand over the din of mortar explosions and heavy blaster fire, "Calling out priority targets for charge at 1, 2, 1 point 5!"

"1-2-1.5, roger," the calm voice of the Blizzard 4 gunner repeats.

"2 point 2-1! 2 point-" Stalek's voice gets drowned out as the supporting heavy assault vehicles begin unleashing targeted long range fire over the Battalions' heads. Blinding red flashes soar overhead and blast the targeted towers to pieces in the distance while Stalek continues the calls. "4, 2, 4 point 4!"

"Roger 4-2-4.4, firing."

Another tall emplacement gets obliterated by the heavy fire, a charred swathe cut in the bristling trench defenses. "Scout Battalions, cut them deep! Breach that line!"

Hammand barks into the comm, "YEAH BOSS! Dragoons, follow my lead, we're crossing the trench!"

Spotty fire comes rattling in from small arms in the fortress defenses. Goggled Rebel soldiers ricochet blasts off Leg's armored plating as the Battalions charge in, no longer slowed by the barrage of turret and mortar fire. Overtaking Stalek's walker, Hammand charges Legs forward at the head of the forces, stepping over the frontmost trench and into the thick of the Rebel defenses. Stomping to the next line, Hammand stands Legs' tall frame over the secondary trench.

"Let 'em have it, Flyboy!"

Looking out the porthole down the long trench, Ando sees about 20 or so white and beige clad soldiers looking up from their cover, shocked at the Battalion's sudden arrival. Ando engages the light blaster and draws a stripe up the fortifications, scattering the Rebel footsoldiers out of their cover in a spray of snow and sparks. Some try to make it over the side, but are cut down, sliding back into the trench. Pivoting the cabin to the left, Ando swaps to the chin cannon and blasts a deserted P-Tower, shattering the turret's pieces across the embankment. Hammand steps their walker out from over the trench, and begins to walk a deep circle, chasing the Rebels out from within the perimeter, the Battalions following and clearing the area.

"Get up top, we've got enemy soldiers close on all sides!"

"Yeah Hamm!" Ando shouts, unclipping his seat harness and scrambling to the back of the cabin again. Throwing the top hatch open, he reaches for his mounted repeater, unlocking it from its pivots while in safety, then rising out into the chaos. Swiveling his head with the weapon, Ando spins in the hatch picking out targets. Spotting a crew trying to compact their mounted weapon and escape, the young gunner points the repeater towards them and fires a burst. One soldier tries to stand, falling onto his back, another collapsing, curled around the long blaster. The last soldier scrambles for cover, disappearing into a carved tunnel at the back of their foxhole. "See that, Hamm?! They're escaping underground!"

Behind them, Fyllus and Oppel's walker straddles the front trench, drawing a line up the position as well, soldiers scrambling over the top and running for cover. Swinging his repeater at the scattering soldiers, Ando opens with another burst, catching a few in the open and dropping them into the snow.

"Blizzard 1, LZ is being cleared, stand by!" Ando hears Stalek call out as his walker comes in at the back of the formations, the cavalry battalions quickly overwhelming the remaining footsoldiers. Soon the trenches are relatively quiet, the resident soldiers either killed or having escaped. "We can see soldiers retreating into tunnels nearby, Dragoon 2 to confirm."

"Confirmed, sending coordinates."

"Roger, Cavalry. All troops will de-embark for ground assault." The walkers continue their relentless charge towards the Rebel fortress. "Blizzard 1 is proceeding at the head of the formation with the first column."

"Enemy airborne units on an attack vector to Blizzard 5. Cavalry Battalions, be advised, the vector takes them past your position."

"Roger, we've nearly cleared this LZ. Blasters to the skies, boys, incoming from 10 to 2! Three targets!"

"Yeah Boss!" The Dragoons shout out, digging in and swiveling their heads. Ando locks up the top turret and drops back down below, locking the hatch behind himself. Hopping into his seat, he dives into his trusty rangefinder.

"I see 'em!" Ando shouts out. Arming the light blaster, he zooms in on a trio of angular speeders crossing the horizon in the distance in front of them. Lining up the shot first, Ando begins a stream of steady fire, the rest of the battalions following suit. The speeders seem to desperately continue on their line, through the screen of blaster fire. Leading the targets more and more, Ando brings his stream of fire in line with the rear speeder, while watching the blaster's temperature gauge. Tracing its position, Ando spots his shots impacting with spits and pops across the underside of the engine. In a puff of smoke and fire, it begins to fall out of the sky, breaking apart. "I got one!"

"Keep the fire up, kid, there's still more!"

Ando, realizing he'd let go of the trigger to watch the streak of fire and smoke crash down into the snow, snaps out of it, retargeting a new speeder. "Yeah, Hamm!" Ando shouts out, resuming his stream of fire.

The speeders begin to pull up into the sky, trying to evade the ground fire and hold the run, but one of the battalions' shots clips one under the belly. Not long after, Stalek exclaims, "Woo, we got a smoker, she's goin' down! That's a great shot, Hunter!"

The low class battalion hoots and hollers at their victory, savoring the thwarted strafing run. The final speeder aborts, and the other starts to fall off of its line, smoke and fire billowing out of its engines. The enemy vehicle loses speed and plummets, plowing deep into the snow and kicking it into the sky. Silently, the heap smolders and burns where it lays out in the white plains in front of the rear AT-AT column. Clenching his fingers around the firing controls in a silent hurrah, Ando grits his teeth, uttering a, "Yeah!" under his breath.

"Blizzard 1, LZ is clear, Cavalry Battalions are holding the perimeter."

"Roger Battalions, 30 seconds to drop."

"Hold the line, boys, reinforcements are here!" Standing their ground, facing outward from their designated landing zone, Ando watches vigilantly in the relative quiet. Glaring from cover to cover, he checks for any rocket troopers hoping to be clever. The enormous stomps of Blizzard 1's footpads quake the earth as she slowly makes her way up past the first trench line.

The massive walkers of the forward column file in along the trenches across the landing zones. Ando peeks out of his gunner's porthole to see the massive sidewall hatch of the General's transport opening outward above them, the armored plate swinging down to hang off the side. Immediately, the white armored silhouettes of rows and rows of snowtroopers leap from the compartment, quickly lowering on safety lines to the snow below. Kneeling and taking aim from their positions in the snow, the first row covers the next as they land. The next wave hits the ground and taps the first on their shoulders. The first wave gets up and pushes outward while the second kneels and takes the covering position, waiting for the third. Like a beautifully crafted machine, the soldiers of Blizzard Force drop flawlessly, and move toward the entrances to the tunnels.

"LZ 1 is fortified, drop complete."

"LZ 2 fortified, preparing for entry to the interior fortifications."

"LZ 3, landing complete, area fortified."

"LZ 4 fortified."

"Blizzard Force forward assault wave advancing toward main target. Cavalry Battalions, push forward."

"You heard 'em, Dragoons!" Stalek bellows, riding the momentum of the successful push, "Battalion, advance!"

"Yeah, Boss!" Hammand barks back, turning Legs towards the advance. "Keep your eyes up, Flyboy, there're still some speeders in the air."

"I'm watchin' Hammer!" Ando shouts, his blood so boiling with excitement and triumph, he all but ignores his copilot's fist landing against his arm.

Chapter VII: Recovery

"Hey!" Brul shouts, his sweating dirty face illuminated by the now powered lights of sickbay, "Be careful with him!" He and Stegges stick loyally on the heels of the medical teams as they carry the unconscious Captain Neels deep into the trauma area. Dyne and Myzel shuffle their way down to the burn ward, leaning against each other the whole way. The group weave in and out of throngs of moaning crewmen, not a spot to walk straight for more than a meter, and soon disappear entirely into the crowd. This hospital wing of the Tyrant is overloaded. So many are wounded, the less-so are sitting on the floor beneath the cots. Some nurse their wounds while they wait for attention, others stare into space. Another pair of medics work to hold a Naval trooper's head back as he seizes uncontrollably on a medical station bed. The man's tunic is shredded and burned, his eyes rolling back in his head. The sight is painfully familiar to the Pilot Commander.

Valen stands, staring blankly at the gruesome display, being inspected by a medical officer. His helmet's been shucked, hanging uncharacteristically from its breather tubes, and a tiny light is shining into his eyes from the side.

"Come on now, Commander," a calm voice says. "Easier if you concentrate on the light."

"Oh," Valen acknowledges quietly, turning to face a medical Lieutenant. The medic's brow is swollen and cut, dried blood just barely stained through a temporary bandage.

"Like my handy work, sir?" the officer asks from behind the light.

"Huh?"

"The patchup," he says, pointing to his bandage. "Yeah...not my best work, but it does the job. No bacta left on the whole deck. Not for me or my little papercut, anyway," he says, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Oh," Valen echoes again. "Yeah," he says, looking away again. In the bustle of moving bodies, he focuses again. The Naval trooper on the bed is still. The medics are no longer holding his head back.

"Right here, sir," the light beckons once again after a short moment.

"Yeah." Valen looks back into the light as it darts back and forth from eye to eye.

"You did good, Commander."

"Yeah," Valen responds blankly.

"Getting those men out of deck 28," the voice says from behind the light. "Turn your hands, palms up for me, sir."

"Yessir." Valen cooperates and turns his palms up, and leaves them there. After noticing the silence, Valen focuses on the medic in front of him. The medical officer is not watching his hands. He's looking the Pilot Commander in the eyes, inspecting his face. Wheels turning.

With a serious face on, the medical officer can't help but narrow his eyes. "...Where's your head at, sir-"

"Valen," a young voice springs out of the wash of moans and yells and distant sirens. Valen looks to one side, toward the exit. A young man in black tunic, holding his helmet down at his side, like a bucket of water, strides in through the door.

"...Ando?"

"You made it!" The black haired young man shouts out, grabbing Valen's hand and clasping it. As he comes into focus, the youthful face is that of Adolas Owan, holding his broad brimmed helmet under his arm. "Great to see you alright, Valen."

A wash of confusion mixed with relief hits Valen to see the young officer. Any familiar face, really. Realizing where they are however, Valen snaps to attention. "Skipper."

Catching on to his surroundings, Adolas snaps to his duties as well. "Commander Rannix," he says clearly, trying not to look at the eyes watching the Tyrant's Acting Captain. The less injured in sickbay turn their heads up to see.

"Rannix," Valen can hear some of the crewmen whisper.

Turning to the medical officer, Adolas asks, "We need to get him caught up." Swiveling his head back, he asks quickly, "Are you ready for duty, Commander?"

"Yes, I need to get to the Hawks."

"Your flight group is unharmed. Some minor injuries, but they're all combat ready. We just don't have full power up in the hangar."

"You don't?" Valen asks, confused. "The hangar should be among the first priorities in battle."

"Come with me, Valen."

"Yessir," Valen obliges, setting off with Adolas.

"Skipper," the medical officer beckons as they depart. "I need to see him later."

"I'll get him back down here at the earliest convenience."

The two walk out into the corridor, led by Adolas. The hallway is lit only by backup lighting.

"What's going on?" Valen and Adolas turn to one side and call a turbolift. Standing quietly, Adolas clearly does not want to alarm anyone. The door opens flawlessly, and the pair walk inside the fully lit turbolift, Valen holding a furrowed brow over this strange distribution of power.

"The EI staff suggest an array of possible designs," Adolas informs, "but it's definitely a surface based ion weapon the Rebels hit us with."

"Casualties?"

"Unknown so far, but you're aware of the damage ion weapons can do."

"Yessir. Where's Lennox."

"The bridge was within an impact zone…. A number of the bridge staff need replacing. Lennox is in surgery, his hip was badly injured. As Representative, I am appointed to command in his stead."

"His hip?"

"Bionic; lots of tissue damage around the parts, but he'll pull through."

"So, what's the situation?"

"As the head of the blockade, we went in for an intercept on a flight of Rebels before they covered themselves with that weapon. The attack caused heavy damage in the impact zones, and neutralized power on the entire ship. The Tyrant's intercept course took us into a degrading orbit around the planet. The fleet has pulled back to a safe distance, there's nothing they can do against this thing in combination with that shield, it's all on Veers and the Army."

"'Degrading?'"

"Without adjustment, the Tyrant's orbit will not sustain. There is a danger of a second volley, but with most ion cannons of that magnitude, EI analysis says it will need time to charge before firing again."

"How much?"

"EI says 20 minutes or so."

"It's already been that long."

"And then some." The doors open to the bridge. The lights are completely out, but a few integral screens remain on in the ops trenches, still manned. Another puzzling display. Control over the ship should take priority over all other systems.

"We should get the systems up, propulsion first."

Adolas walks across the raised walkway to the windows, looking out at the icy planet. "Before being taken to surgery," Adolas says, meeting another bridge crewman, who has him sign something before running to the turbolift. Standing straight, the young officer continues as if he was naturally in charge of the Tyrant, "Xamuel instructed me not to bring the main systems back online."

"We need to get clear of this weapon," Valen urges, the flashes of arcing ionization fresh in his mind, walking up to Adolas and speaking quietly. "They could hit us again."

"I thought so as well before speaking with our Captain. We're still in range of the Rebels' weapon, Valen." Motioning out the windows as the Tyrant slowly tumbles, facing the bridge out to the stars, Adolas continues, "With the fleet backed out of range, we are the only starborne target; the only potential threat to their escaping ships. They are aiming at us, no one else. Xamuel assures me if we power on and give off a heavy signal, they will fire another volley. If we are hit again, we will not make repairs and escape the planet's gravity in time. The Tyrant will crash into the surface of Hoth."

"Isn't it worth a try? With every moment we hesitate, we fall closer to the planet." Valen paces slightly, trying to think up a plan. Spinning back, he says quickly, "Get the hangar online, I will organize an assault on the weapon."

"Captain Lennox has tasked me with a plan to execute, Valen. The Rebels are watching us to attempt an escape, but with the charge time of the weapon, they won't risk firing it needlessly and creating a 20 minute opening in their defense. Lennox's plan is to use the Tyrant's momentum to carry her to the other side of the planet before the orbit degrades to inescapable levels. We power her up, and we can get her to a tactical position without presenting a target."

"What about fighter attacks?"

"We are in a recovery maneuver, Commander. We have no alternative. I can't prioritize getting the Hawks into the stars, it's too much of a risk to the current plan."

"So, where do I come in then?"

"I need you to see to your pilots, and get your fighters in order at Storage. The engineers have their hands full. Checking the entire flight of TIEs all at once with the Tyrant crippled like this is an impossible task. Your pilots know the TIE/LN and IN inside and out. Gather your squadrons to assist the engineers so your fighters can be flight ready ASAP."

"Yessir."

"Trust our Captain, Valen."

"Yes, Skipper," Valen says, a newfound respect for the young officer's handling of the situation. Adolas reaches out to clasp hands, and Valen reaches out in kind. "I trust you."

"Target, maximum firepower!" General Veers' voice crackles quietly over the comms, like a shout in the distance; a whisper in a glittering black sea of stars. Stark, grey diamonds dot the starscape, the entirety of Death Squadron silently waiting. In the infinite, a small grouping of specks slowly grow larger, the roar and shriek of ion engines shredding the quiet void to pieces as they pass. Two gleaming white, tri-winged shuttles, escorted by four blue, forked TIE Interceptors rush through the stars, departing the standing fleet. The formations tear off toward the distant white planet of Hoth.

Dragoon cheer out loud over the comms as the General himself notifies, "Target Alpha is destroyed, objective completed. The shield is down, gentlemen."

"Alright boys, we're almost through this, keep it tight."

"Yeah, Boss! Final push!"

Suddenly, a crack in the distance, followed by a thud up through the floor plates of their walkers.

"Blizzard 5, Upper Deck Officer reports we have Blizzard 6 down in the snow behind us. Fall looks unrecoverable," one of the AT-AT drivers notifies.

"Copy Blizzard 5. Blizzard 6, respond," the comms chatter quiets amongst the streams of information. "Forward Battalion Dragoon, fall back and secure the crash site. Blizzard force, continue final assault on the Rebel stronghold."

"Roger, Blizzard 1. Dragoon, about face, double time!"

"Yeah Boss!" Ando joins the Battalion in response, watching out the portholes as Hammand brings them about.

"Dragoon 2, coming about to your right side, Blizzard 3."

"Copy."

Peering outside, Ando can see a massive footpad come down into the snow. Looking upward, his view is obscured by the porthole flap before he can see the entirety of Blizzard 3 above them.

"Keep eyes up. We still got a few speeders out there."

"Yeah Boss, I see a group of 3 on the left, just passed Blizzard 2….. Make that 2 of them, one's spinning in."

"Copy, Hix, keep an eye on them, I don't want them making a pass at our back plates."

"Yeah, Boss."

Getting around Blizzard 5's legs, Ando looks past at a column of smoke.

"Hey, Hamm," Ando says, quickly jabbing at Hammands shoulder. Nodding out the window, and hopping into his rangefinder, he continues, "About half a click, dead ahead."

"Heya Boss, we got a pillar of smoke. Visual on the crash site, half a click ahead."

"I see it, Hamm." As they get closer, leaving the forward lines behind, the blaster fire quiets down. "Spread out. Raythe and Fyllus, get out to the left, Hamm and I are right. Watch for rocket teams."

"Yeah, we're behind that forward trench still, dunno if there are any more of those tunnels out here. We're pushing ahead, Stalek, cover us."

"Copy, Hamm. We're right behind you. Watch the wind, this smoke's everywhere."

"Get up on that turret, Flyboy. Keep an eye out for scouts."

"Yeah, Hamm," Ando says quietly, unclipping his harness and climbing up his step to unlock the hatch. Throwing the wheel lock to one side, he crunches some fresh frost, and unlocks the hatch. Slowly, he pushes the hatch open, peering over the top of their walker's head. The wreckage smolders on its side, a hard fall from that height. The command module is completely destroyed, choking black smoke pouring out of the accessway; the great heavy machine has been beheaded. The pair pass through a thick wall of smoke and begin moving around Blizzard 6's upturned footpads. The fire roars all alone out in the snowy dunes, the battle moving further and further away. As they circle the wreck, Ando calls out, "Check there. Up under the belly, we got some hard carbon scoring. Rocket might've hit there. Or boarded."

"See any threats from your position, Flyboy?"

Ando swivels from his hatch. "No tunnels or anything." Ando leans forward, peeking over the edges of Legs' head. "No trenches. I don't see any crews trying to take the site. Might be a quick hit and run." Racking his brain, he's looking out at virtually no cover, no escape tunnels. "I don't get how they hit it, this looks like no-man's land out here."

"Blizzard 6, does anyone copy. This is Dragoon Battalion. We have secured a perimeter, looking for survivors," Stalek's voice rings over comms. The heap burns quietly. No returns of any kind, even static. "Rearguard medical teams are 5 minutes out. I say again, Blizzard 6, is anyone-"

"Rebel!" Ando interrupts, swinging his repeater towards a high snow dune. Suddenly, his hunter's anxiety sends a wave of tingling heat up the back of his head. An orange suited Rebel is scrambling to the top of the dune, away from the scene. "Rebel pilot, on foot, 9 o'clock!" he calls out again, aiming down his weapon's sights as the Rebel looks back at them over his shoulder from the slope. Firing a quick burst from his trusty repeater, Ando's met with a flash of blue, his shots scattering into the sky. "Blast you!" Ando shouts out, befuddled, but unable to feel anything but anger and frustration. Aiming down sights, he fires another burst at the enemy, who seems to flash blue again. One of the shots comes zipping back, sparking off Legs' front plate and making him flinch down behind his weapon.

"What the hell are you doing, Flyboy?!" Hammand yells from below.

"No effect!" Ando shouts, looking back over the walker's head, confused. The distant Rebel is climbing further up the hill. "He's gettin' away!"

"Switching to gunnery controls! Medium blaster!" The cabin begins to rotate underneath Ando.

"Nine o'clock! Range 500! Elevation 20!" Ando shouts out, pressing his helmet against his head and pointing his entire arm toward the Rebel pilot alongside his repeater barrel.

Legs' head slowly swivels toward the pilot as he runs to the crest of the hill, and locks into place with mechanical efficiency. "Firing!" In a shrill double burst, Hammand fires from their medium cannon. Another flash of blue, and a blast comes careening back at Legs, hitting her under the chin with a jarring crash, and the sounds of snapping metal. "Hey!" Hammand shouts out in shock from below. Legs recoils, rocking back on her heels, but does not step backwards. The sudden motion throws Ando's turret around, the barrel coming down onto the armor plating with a clunk as he reaches for a handhold. Rocking forward again, Legs shudders, suddenly emanating rickety clanks and creaks. "FLYBOY!" Hammand's voice calls out alarmingly from inside the cabin.

Ando drops down off his step to see what's going on, only to see Hammand scrambling to unbuckle his harness, being showered in white sparks from a control panel. A small fire has broken out below his feet while he attempts to stamp it out in a panic.

"Douse it! Quick, my harness's stuck!"

"I got it, I got it!" Ando yells as he unclips a flame retardant bottle from the bulkhead on his side. Pointing it down at the growing blaze, he fills the cabin with retardant vapors, smothering the flames. Reaching forward quickly, Hammand throws a switch, cutting power, and the stream of sparks cuts out. All is quiet.

Slowly, Legs begins to lower, shuddering and pinging all the way. The command pod sags slightly between the walker's hips, coming to a rest in a drooped stance. Ando stays still, the tense moment passing.

"You alrigh-"

Hammand reaches in at his chest, grabbing his harness buckle, and with all his might, twists and wrenches at it until it unclips. Whirling out of his seat, he shoves past Ando, infuriated, ripping the E-11 off the inside wall. "BLASTED REBEL WOMPRAT!" the giant man roars as he disappears, swearing his way in a rage out of the hatch, before Ando can say another word.

Shouting after him, all Ando can do is yell, "Hammand!" running out the hatch after his pilot.

"Flyboy, what's going on? I hear blasters," Stalek's voice rings in Ando's ears. "We're making an approach in the smoke, no visual."

"Engaging! Legs is down!" Ando's interrupted as he gets outside, hearing the zipping of a boarding cable. Looking over the top of the walker's head, he can see Hammand tearing hot-headedly up the snow dune on foot.

"Hey Flyboy!"

"Yeah Boss!"

"I said, 'is anyone wounded?!'"

"No sir! Uh...Hammand's pursuing on foot!"

"Aw blast it! Doubletime, Battalion! We're coming! Get after him before he gets himself shot again!"

"Yessir!" Ando yells, scrambling over the top, reeling out a boarding cable, and zipping down to the snow. Dropping down to the ground, the gunner is shocked at how sturdy the icy ground is. Setting off after his pilot, Ando sprints away from Legs and up the hill. "Hammand, wait!" he shouts, but Hammand crests the hill before Ando's halfway up. "Hammand!" Ando yells again, climbing to the top. Reaching the crest, he sees Hammand standing just on the other side, weapon up. Ando drops prone behind the ridge of the dune, quieting down.

The mighty man stays where he stands, aiming down his sights. Hammand remains, sweeping across the area with his E-11, scanning back and forth. The pair sit in silence for a moment, and before Ando can utter another word, Hammand turns suddenly, marching past Ando. "Blast it," the giant mutters frustratedly, dropping a stone-like hand on Ando's backpack.

Scrambling to his feet, Ando jumps up to follow his copilot once again as he returns back down the snowy hill. "Where'd he go, Hamm?"

Grunting, "Lost the bastard," Hammand continues down the hill, the Battalion beginning to congregate at the bottom. The pair hurry down to see Stalek, leaning over his walker's antennaed head.

"The hell happened, Sergeant?" Stalek asks firmly from above.

"Dunno, the Reb's got some sort of ray shield. Shot came right back at us," Hammand grumbles, trudging past towards their walker. "Hit Legs with her own medium."

"I'll notify Blizzard 1. You combat ready?"

"Lemme see to Legs," Hammand says, stopping for a moment and gesturing away. Continuing on his way immediately, Hammand makes his way underneath the two legged vehicle. "She's in a bad way, something functional went down."

"Assess quickly, I don't like the Army leaving us behind."

"Yeah, Boss," the giant Gunnery Sergeant says grimly, grabbing at his boarding cable. "Five."

"Five, Hamm. Fyll, close the perimeter around Legs. Raythe, with me, back to the other side. Medics and rescue are here. Quick perimeter and we're breaking ASAP."

"Yeah, Boss!"

Finally catching up, Ando reels his way up his own cable, stopping where Hammand is. Hammand is hanging from the cable, elbow deep in a scar underneath Legs' chin. Muttering, he pulls bundles of scorched wire, covered in steaming grease and coolant. Hanging from his cable next to his copilot, Ando watches quietly. Reaching in, Hammand struggles, and comes back out, his hand covered up to the elbow in black grease. Looking down at the spilled fluids, Hammand sighs exasperatedly, gently putting his hand on Legs' front plate, and leaning his helmeted forehead against her.

"Not looking good, is it?"

Hammand sighs again, lifting his head. Dragging his hand off Legs's plate, he leaves a black streak of oil and coolant. "...We gotta come back for her. She needs parts to get under her own power again."

"Yeah, Hamm," Ando says quietly. Swapping frequencies, he says, "Heya, Boss," mimicking his copilot, "Legs got cut deep. We can't get her outta here without parts."

"Copy, Flyboy. Looks like medics have a light job at the site anyway, we'll let them take care of casualties. Hop on Fyllus' walker, we need to get back to the front and continue the charge."

"Yeah, Boss. Hey Hamm, we-"

"Yeah. Let's get to it," Hammand says quickly, hiking up to the top of Legs's head. Catching up, Ando reels to the top to see Hammand unlocking the turret from its mounting bracket. Setting it down, he pulls the box with the power cells off the top surface, connected by a belt feeder conduit.

Clambering over the top, Ando kneels next to Hammand as he silently works. "Hamm, let me help."

"Yeah, get inside and pull both satchels, and the extra power cell for the repeater."

"Yeah, Hamm," Ando says, climbing down the hatch past Hammand.

"Empty 'em too. And a strap, need a strap."

"Yeah, Hamm," Ando says, emptying the satchels onto the floor. Some Corellian medical supplies come rolling out, and Ando takes a short moment to notice them. Quickly though, he hands the satchels up to Hammand. "Satchels."

Hammand throws the spare power cell into one and clips it around his hip. Then, he tosses the other satchel over his shoulder, slipping the connected cell into it. "Strap, Flyboy. Hurry it up."

Pulling a tie-down off the wall, Ando hands it up through the hatch to his copilot. "Strap."

"Yeah, thanks," the large man says quietly, clipping it to two points on the repeater, and slinging it over his back. "Let's go." Hammand reels down off the cabin to the snow. Ando quietly just reels down to keep up with his pilot. Walking alongside Hammand as they approach Fyllus' walker, Ando looks back at Legs.

"She gonna be alright?"

"She'll be fine, Flyboy." As they get up to their Battalion-mates' walker, Oppel can be seen tossing boarding cables over the side to them. Catching one outright and throwing an armored foot into the stirrup, Hammand begins to reel upward. "Let's get on with this, we got a job to do."

"Yeah, Hamm." Ando follows his pilot up and they set their foot on the new walker's hip module. Oppel leans over the side, watching them as they clip a lifeline to the rear railing.

"Dragoons, form up," Stalek's cool voice chimes in.

Oppel reaches down, tugging on each lifeline before pulling the boarding cables back inside. "You guys good?"

"Take us to the front, we're holdin' on."

"Yeah, Hamm. Fyllus, let's move!"

"Hamm, you and Flyboy just stay down," Stalek says calmly. "Dragoons, double time to the front!"

The Battalion of three set off across the snow fields, stomping as the wind whips across Ando's and Hammand's helmets. The column of four legged machines are visible ahead, towering over the horizon. Their blasts come down from up high, crashing onto the surface below. The remaining speeders buzz in and out, making strafing runs on the armored forces. As the Battalion cross the planes, the distant rumbles of battle begin to get louder.

"There's our forward position, up on Blizzard 1's left."

"Yeah, Boss," the Battalion respond. The stomps of the two legged walkers continue on, beginning to be overtaken by the everpresent thuds of the AT-ATs, and distant blasts from their cannons. Among the piercing twangs the atmosphere buzzes with the growing sounds of the rebel speeders' engines.

"Hey we got a breakout here."

"Yeah I see them. Eyes up."

"3 speeders are through the front and closing in."

"They must've spotted us," Stalek grumbles. "Close up formations, we still gotta move forward to Blizzard Force. Let's show 'em they picked the wrong targets!"

"Yeah, Boss!"

"Blizzard Force, this is Dragoon Battalion, moving forward from the rear. Be advised, breakout. Repeat: breakout. 3 enemy airborne units coming off Blizzard 3's right, closing on our position, we are pushing forward to rejoin."

"Copy, continuing advance, formations open to receive you. General Veers reserves you a lane of fire if you can get to our left side. Best of luck on approach."

"Copy, Blizzard 1, on our way. Dragoons, light blasters up, they're on high approach! Hix, you see 'em?!"

"Yeah, Boss! In range!"

"Open fire on 'em then! Oppel, screen Hix's target!"

"Yeah, Boss!"

Stalek's walker turns its head to the right, firing its light blaster upwards, the three angular Rebel speeders dropping to the deck, lining up behind each other.

"Covering line, keep that fire up, boys!" Stalek shouts over the constant blasting, moving to the head of the line, keeping Fyllus and Oppel's walker at the back. The speeders' engine buzz begins to fill the air, overpowering the distant thuds of the Imperial front line as they approach closer. Suddenly, red flashes erupt from the forward speeder as they begin to open fire. The fields spit snow into the air, the strafing line rushing over the walker's heads. The lead speeder pulls up, the second speeder firing a line up the walkers' positions before pulling up itself, followed by the next.

Shots spark and ping off Fyllus and Oppel's walker, Hammand ducking down behind its armored plating. The speeders rush overhead close enough to reach out and touch, and Ando curls up under Hammand, trying to make himself as small as possible. Holding tight to the walker's E-11 compact rifle, Ando grasps the safety cable with his other hand, and attempts to take aim at them as they pass. Suddenly, Hammand's giant hand slams downward over the top of the weapon, pointing it into the snow behind the walker.

"Holster that thing, Flyboy, ya don't want 'em to know we're here!" Ando, unable to fight back against the Battalion's airborne assailants, frustratedly pulls the E-11 away from Hammand's grasp. Impotently keeping it in-hand, the young gunner holds the lifeline with the other hand. Going back to holding his own line with both hands, Hammand shouts into the comms, "Keep their fire off ya, Fyl, or you're gonna be getting us off the outer plating with a mop!"

"Whaddaya want me to do, Hamm, ask 'em not to shoot at me?!"

"Just don't let 'em get behind ya, they're comin' 'round for the back plate!" Hammand growls, pointing out at the speeders as if the Battalion can see.

"I know, I know!" Fyllus shouts back over the comms, the walker suddenly swivelling its head around while the hitchhikers hold on for dear life. Turning completely around, Fyllus' walker backpedals at half speed, facing down the Rebel speeders as they come about.

"That's it, good boy! Keep that front plate towards them!"

"This thing aint invincible, Hamm, we take too many hits and one'll punch through! Boss, I'm in reverse, slow down!"

"Copy, Fyl. Half speed, half speed! Raythe, about-face with Fyl, I'll keep us directed to our target point! Keep the formation tight, we can't lettem get between us!"

"Here they come again! Behind, 2.28, comin' in high this time!" Raythe's voice shouts over the combined din of speeder engines and blaster fire.

"Shell firi-" Oppel's voice is drowned out as he fires off ahead of his call, the recoil cracking the walker's plating into Ando's shoulder and throwing him backwards off his foothold. Careening off the back plate, Ando's safety cable snaps tight at its limit, catching him before he's lost overboard.

"Hammaaaand!" Ando shouts out, nearly dropping his blaster as he swings underneath the walker's chassis, dangerously twirling out of control between its scissoring metal legs.

Hammand, nearly losing his own footing, is hanging onto his hold by one hand. Looking down, he shouts out, "Flyboy!" crouching down and reaching out as he leans against his safety cable. "Grab on!"

Ando reaches out in kind, swiping past Hammands hand, unable to stop himself from swinging. Reaching down and clipping the blaster against his belt, he grabs the cable and looks back up to see Hammand whirling in his vision. Holding tight to the cable, Ando takes a more controlled swing, reaching out for his pilot. Clasping hands with Hammand's, he tucks against the new handhold to stop spinning, and with a grunt, his partner begins to wrench him upwards.

"WOO YEAH! Hey, Hix! Ya see tha-"

"GIVE US A LITTLE WARNING NEXT TIME, OPPEL! YA THREW THE FLYBOY OVERBOARD!" Hammand roars, heaving Ando back up onto his handhold. Not a moment passes when a blazing speeder blasts overhead, turning over and exploding into fiery pieces in the snow behind them. A calamitous racket piled onto the already oppressive din.

"That's a speeder down! Hold on back there!"

"Did ya hear me, Oppel?! I said, 'Call out yer blasted-'" Hammand's voice is drowned out as another shell fires off, slamming the walker's plating into the hitchhiking pilots and nearly throwing them overboard again. After another deafening series of ear splitting bangs and rattles, accompanied by showers of sparks and clouds of snow, the other two speeders in the trio buzz low overhead, passing again.

"Blast it, my light's knocked out!" Hix's high pitch voice alerts over the comms. "We're not gonna last more'n a few more passes from these guys!"

Turning backwards, Hammand looks away from their exposed cover at Raythe's damaged walker, its light blaster blackened and bent from the barrage of fire. Looking to the sky, Hammand sees the last of the speeders, the main line of AT-ATs surprisingly closer to being reached than expected. Pulling up into the sky, the speeders begin to loop back, avoiding any reach from the AT-ATs' blasters.

"They're comin' back! Heavies can't even touch 'em!"

"About face, shoulder to shoulder, we gotta spread out their fire! Prepare for full charge under 'em, we can't afford another pass!"

"Yeah Boss!" the Battalion respond, whirling their walkers around to face forward again.

"Hold on!" The pair of copilots tethered to the back of Fyllus' walker hunker down, taking shelter behind her thick, armored plating as the buzz of the approaching snowspeeders grows in the air once again.

"Full charge!"

The walker's gyro spins up, whirring its deafening roar in overdrive, and the metal beast lurches forward. The strides widen and the wind rushes by, carrying snow and ash from the burning fortress up ahead as the Dragoons line up, side by side. The great strides make for an intensely bumpy ride, as Ando and Hammand grip tight against their cover, the blasters from the speeders echoing through the air. Steccatto cascades of thuds and spatters tear a line into the charging battalion, showering them in sparks, snow, and shattered rock. The earsplitting drumming of the shots hitting the armored plating are followed by a sudden stumble from Fyllus' walker.

"WHOA-HEY-..." a voice screams out, sputtering through static and feedback. "-it! We're hit!"

Following the deafening stream of red blaster bolts cutting into the snow, the pair of speeders rushes overhead, gliding out into the sky and looping around for another pass, the mists of snow dissipating. In the relative silence of the passed strafing run, Ando can feel the walker biasing its steps on one leg more than the other.

"Status, Dragoons."

"My right leg's got some damage. Right hip armor plating is compromised, that last pass cut through."

"Hey, Boss, Hix says he can see light outside, and it aint comin' through the porthole, we gotta hurry!"

"Blizzard 1, Dragoon Battalion on your left, 200 meters! Incoming, ETA 30 seconds, we have hostile speeders comin' 'round! We're shot fulla holes here, need some cover!"

"Roger Dragoon Battalion, proceed on course to our left and pass to the vanguard. Coordinates on hostile airborne targets?"

"Coming around, 1.2 high! 1.3 high!" Stalek's voice pauses a moment, as the speeders begin to turn in once again. "Dropping altitude, 1.2! 1.1!"

"Copy, we are tracking, keep your heading, hold fire. Blizzard 3, track primary target."

"1.0!"

"I have a visual. Securing a lock."

"0.9, in range!"

"Do not return fire, Dragoon."

"I have a lock on primary target," Blizzard 3 comments calmly, the buzz of the engines growing in the air again. In the distance the speeders begin to flash red, a cascade of snow splashing up in front of the Battalion.

"0.8, speeders are opening fire!"

"Blizzard 3, engage."

"Firing." Blizzard 3 suddenly lets loose with a barrage of light blaster, riddling the rear snowspeeder and tearing it apart. Flaming bits shower down onto the smoking trenches, splashing into the snow. The lead speeder begins to bank up towards the General's AT-AT, which then stops and backsteps with one foot, turning to its left and blasting down on the rebel aircraft with its heavy blaster cannons. Immediately, the speeder whirls out of control, spinning and corkscrewing off. The sparking, burning speeder rolls into a nearby rocky outcropping, exploding on impact.

"YEAH, GENERAL!"

"Targets down, proceed along our left, Dragoon Battalion. Keep to the left of Trench 107-N."

"Yes, General. Forward, Battalion to rendezvous with Hunter. You OK back there Hammand? Flyboy alive?"

"Yeah, Flyboy made it," Hammand says, looking over at Ando. Ando is still gripped tightly to his safety cable, his blaster rifle hanging off its clip on his belt. "...Just."

"I like it better inside the box, Boss," Ando gripes, relaxing his grip a bit more and uncurling from his tense posture.

"You sure, Flyboy?" Hix's voice rings through the comms, forcing a joke. "We're blaster magnets, we got snow comin' in through this hole now!"

"Well, not that box, Hix."

"Alright, focus up, we're pushing to the front line here. Everyone take note of damage, tighten up, Hunter needs our help."

"Hey! Hey, you there!" a voice calls out, interrupting the Battalion Commander. Hammand and Ando swivel their heads around, looking for the source of the communication. "Troopers! Yeah, you! Up there!"

Spotting a white armored hand waving broadly from a deep trench line with his excellent eyesight, Ando states, "Boss, TK's. Left side, about 100 meters."

Stalek halts his walker, the Battalion holding as well. "Dragoon Battalion, First Lieutenant Staleksridge. TK's, you alright?"

"Sappers with the 405th, First Sergeant Rolano. We got ordinance and need hands for a delivery."

"So deliver it," Hammand says coldly, sounding uncomfortable. "We're on route to the frontline up here."

"We took some losses in the tunnels, we need TK's to help us to our objective."

"Sorry, we're drivers; TD's," Hammand says, waving his hand at them. "We can't help you-"

"You look enough like troopers to me, now get down, we need this done."

"Boss?"

"Those 'troopers' are my Second and his gunner. Gunnery Sergeant, and Corporal," Stalek states, correcting the trooper's assumptions. After a brief pause, Stalek puts aside his personal thoughts and asks, "This objective high priority?"

"Unless you wanna get strafed by more speeders the rest of the fight… yessir, high priority for everyone. There's an atmo hangar putting these things in the air. We're razing it to cut off the speeder defense."

"Hammand, what do you think? With your background-"

"I think we should help close this battle, Boss. We aint helpin' the Dragoons bein' strapped to the outside of Fyllus' armor." Hammand unclips his safety cable and reels out the boarding stirrup. "We'll assist," he says with a begrudging grumble to his voice, zipping himself down towards the icy ground and kneeling. Ando fumbles a bit with his cable, and reels himself down as well. Unholstering his E-11, the young gunner does his best to look the part of a TK as he kneels next to his pilot.

"Be safe, Hammand. Flyboy." Stalek's walker picks up and begins to move off with the formations, Fyllus and Raythe following close behind.

"We'll see you at the base, Boss." As the walkers begin to depart, Hammand crouch-walks along the snowy surface towards the trench where the sappers wait, Ando in tow. Arriving to the trench, Hammand hops down, Ando putting his feet forward and sliding down the side, landing in the middle of several large snowtroopers wearing heavy cloth backpacks.

"First Sergeant Rolano, this is my team."

"Gunnery Sergeant Hammand. My gunner, Corporal Merik. What's the situation?"

"A couple of our guys took hits on the way underground while they were clearing. The frontlines should be a ways ahead by now, making it clearer for us, but can't go forward unless we got a pair of hands carrying some of the supplies, and some extra firepower. Come with us."

The group file down the trench to an opening in the side that looks no more like a door than a hole in the hard packed snow, lined with durasteel reinforcements. Inside is an upturned table with scorch marks in it, a number of dead rebel soldiers behind it. A pair of snowtroopers lay motionless on the floor near the door as well, their heavy backpacks stripped off their bodies and leaned on the wall. One bag looks nearly empty.

"Forward scouts tell us there's a hangar with atmo flyer traffic in and out. They're watching it now, it's removed from the direction of the main assault, so it's lightly defended. We're taking demo to collapse that hangar's entrance." Motioning at the backpacks, Rolano continues, "We split the supplies from one pack amongst the rest of us, but there's a whole other one we can't carry and fight with at the same time. You," he says, pointing at Hammand, "Gunny. Grab up a pack. Tiny can cover us." Ando straightens, checking his blaster's safety and standing at attention before he suddenly hears his copilot.

"No," Hammand refuses outright. "Corporal's got the supplies." The giant slips the strap around his shoulder, rotating Legs' mounted weapon to a ready position low at his hip, and checks his power supply inside the satchel. "I'm on the blaster." Nonchalantly completing his check, Hammand's head returns straight to face Sergeant Rolano. Suddenly, it seems quiet, minus the rumbles of artillery and stomping machines overhead. The four soldiers, each near-equally as large and formidable as Hammand, stare at him and Ando. Hammand stares back at the sappers, and flips on the switch to the power cell, a snap and a hum responding in the silence. The two groups stare each other down from opposite sides of the room. Nodding over at the wall, Hammand commands, "Flyboy, get the pack."

"Yeah, Hamm." Ando runs over and kneels down next to the gear, laying his E-11 down. Shucking his own pack and picking up the new one, Ando notices it does not immediately lift; it's as if the heavy thing is bolted to the floor. Trying not to look back, Ando can feel the eyes of the demolitionists on him. On a second attempt, the small framed gunner braces, and heaves it up, working his body underneath the large bag, and getting the straps over his shoulders. Reaching behind himself, he feels for the waist belt, and brings it around, securing it at his front. Kneeling down, he grabs up the E-11 again, and putting forth enough effort to not make it look especially difficult, pushes himself up off the ground again. "Oof!-ready," Ando says, unable to stand straight up, lest he topple backwards from the weight.

The First Sergeant stares for a moment, then turns and stands squarely in front of Hammand, quietly glaring at him through his helmet's visor. Even a man Rolano's size looks up ever so slightly to meet Hammand's eyes. "...You do as I say, Gunny."

"They put a hole in my Legs, Sarge." Hammand remains still, as if an ivory statue. Looking slightly down at the First Sergeant, he coldly demands, "Point me at them. I'll do whatever you want then."

"Out the door, to the right."

"Yes, Sergeant," Hammand affirms, quickly hustling to the door and leaning on the jamb.

"Tiny, stack up."

"Huh?"

"Get behind Gunny," Rolano nods condescendingly, motioning at Hammand. "When I tap your helmet, you tap Gunny, then follow him wherever he goes. Shoot anything you see without white plate armor."

"Y-yeah, Boss-er, Sergeant." Ando jogs over to Hammand's spot, and nearly stumbles, leaning more roughly against the wall than he intended.

"Stack up, Sappers," Rolano orders, lining up behind Ando, the other three soldiers behind him. Ando tries to lean around and see Hammand's face, but can see nothing but the mountain of impenetrable white plastoid plating and thermal cloth staring directly ahead, like the sandtroopers on Zelliros. The pilot is made of stone.

Suddenly a palm slaps twice against the back of Ando's helmet, jarring him. Turning back, he sees the First Sergeant staring back at him with the same plastoid face. A hand roughly reaches up and grabs Ando around the faceplate, forcibly turning his head forward again, and this time, the palm slams into the back of his helmet, twice more. Understanding suddenly, Ando reaches forward and slaps his palm against Hammand's shoulder as well. Immediately, Hammand's enormous body turns through the door, the First Sergeant nearly stampeding over Ando as he moves in kind, pushing the young gunner forward. One by one, the group vanish out the door.

Chapter VIII: Hangar

Shuddering, rattling bulkheads in the dark. Rushing, roaring wind. Dim lights. White-clad soldiers in snow gear sitting silently, strapped to their seats. A lone trooper stands in the center aisle, grabbing a handhold and looking forward over a pair of pilots, out the canopy. The black goggles, under white armor and thermal cloth, glare quietly outside. Fire and cloud vapor rush upward from below, blue skies in the distance. Not far off, another shuttle, with triple wings, blazes through the atmosphere, two blue, fork-tipped Interceptors in escort behind it. Suddenly the fire begins to dissipate, turning purely to cloud vapor as the ships descend at unbelievable speeds.

"Distance to drop point," the gravelly voice buzzes out of the helmet.

"One-five-seven, point eight-eight," the navigator responds.

The trooper reaches to one side and clicks a button, lighting the cabin behind himself a blood red, a prolonged electronic bleep moaning from inside. The illuminated soldiers behind straighten, bringing their compact weapons to their chests. As the hatch behind the pilots closes, the leading soldier turns, keeping handholds above his head as he moves back from the cockpit.

"Thirty seconds," a calm voice says through the comms.

Two soldiers silently unclip themselves from the front seats, lining up in front of the leader, weapons drawn. The cabin rumbles and pitches, the ship decelerating, the soldiers inside leaning slightly from side to side. The trademark whines of heavy servos emanate through the walls as the shuttle's trademark wings fold into landing position. In moments, the cabin judders, and all is quiet, but for the distant rumbles of blaster fire. Landing gear down. The floor plates are stable and unmoving. The rest of the soldiers immediately unsnap their harnesses and rise behind the leader, E-11s up.

Suddenly, an electronic, high pitched whistle, and the floor at the front splits open, a landing ramp lowering. The two soldiers in front march to the forward-most point, ducking down and pointing their weapons out into the Hothian noon as blinding white light bleeds in. The Imperial insignia on their shoulders bears a single, blood red stripe. The landing ramp drops down to the snow covered ground, and the front soldiers move to the bottom, kneeling with rifles up, scanning the horizon.

"Clear, Captain."

The lead trooper silently makes his way down the ramp, the small column of soldiers filing in, two by two behind him. Standing at the bottom of the ramp, he surveys the battlefield in front of them. A horizon of smoking, smoldering rebel trenches and ridgelines, A wide row of AT-AT's trudging forward, off in the distance. In the air above the lead trooper's head, the four escorting TIE Interceptors circle the landing area in formation. Directly in front of him, a scorched and scarred trenchway, with a wide opening into underground icey tunnels. Slowly swiveling his head to the right, he can see the second Lambda Class Shuttle with its ramp down facing his group. A broad figure, cloaked in shining black armor assertively marches down the ramp, leading a column of soldiers of its own. The grimacing, fierce, skull-like visage of Lord Vader approaches quickly. The leader faces forward again at the gaping hole in the ice, coldly braces his E-11 against his shoulder, and puts a hand up, flicking his fingers forward in signal. The entire group move quietly forward to the opening, meeting Vader's soldiers there, and marching in, the two columns side by side.

"Teams inserted," the Captain says coldly into the comms.

"Aye, Captain," a voice returns, the crying of ion engines screaming in the background static.

The group march alongside each other towards a split in the hallway. A junction waits quietly ahead. Keeping his gaze ahead, the faceless Captain casually asks, "Shall we hunt?"

Voicelessly, Vader's sneering mask turns to one side, and slowly nods once. The two groups diverge, splitting down either path.

Valen and his pilots stand at the accessway to the main hangar. The hallway immediately outside is lined with crates of supplies and materials, the area absolutely bustling with crewmen trafficking the items back and forth. Spotting an engineer pointing some other crewmen through, who carry a crate into the hangar, Valen approaches.

"Chief Engineer Belussian?"

The engineer wordlessly acknowledges Valen, pointing him inside towards a man standing at the base of a crane before gesturing to the next group.

"Hawks, with me," the Pilot Commander says, the entirety of the flight group following him out onto the hangar deck.

"Chief Engineer Belussian?" Valen addresses the greasy engineer, holding a number of tools and boxes. The tired looking man stares back blankly, and turns his head towards a hole in the bulkhead, a voice emanating out of it.

"Busy right now, can't talk," a pair of legs, garbed in rough, thick pants say. The legs dangle embarrassingly from a hatchway in the bulkhead, piles of wires pulled out and draped alongside. The boots and pants of the legs are black with oil and grease. "Deckard, take this," the voice demands, a tool flung just barely out of the opening, bouncing off the hatch and clattering to the floor. Alongside the legs, the assisting engineer stands by with two arms folded, a pair of toolboxes hanging from his elbows, and several choice tools at the ready in his hands.

Kneeling down to retrieve the tool and throw it in one of the boxes, the assistant beckons, "Crane?"

"Blast it all, Deckard, I'm trying to keep count on these wires! Make that womprat go away! Oh, useless-...I'll just-...Hey, if you don't mind, my teams and I are extremely busy. If you haven't noticed, my hangar's been fried and nothing works anymore," the voice rants on. "So, just write a ticket for...whatever it is you want from me, and I'll get back to-..." The legs stop moving as the voice interrupts itself. Suddenly, a body squirms backwards out of the hatchway, a grease-smeared face revealing itself out of the hole as the engineer stands up. "Commander Rannix," the face smiles with gleaming white teeth, foregoing looking embarrassed, or even saluting. Immediately reaching out and grabbing Valens hand, he greases Valens glove as he shakes it without permission. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asks casually, only caring to wipe off his own hand after the surprise handshake.

"Uh, yes," Valen returns the pleasantry, looking down at his now-grease-caked glove. Sirius snickers over Valen's shoulder as he looks in vain for something to wipe his glove on. Awkwardly, Valen just clasps his hands behind his back, carrying on. "Acting Captain Owan has assigned me to assist you."

"No offense, you'll get in the way, Commander."

"We're quite capable-"

"Excuse me," he interrupts, reaching through Sirius to grab a large wire clamp, and turns to grab a tool from his assistant. "I got a list of tasks as long as I'm tall right now, the Chief Propulsion Engineer is borrowing half my teams, and a bunch of us are in sickbay with ion burns and nerve damage." Reaching down to address the draping of cables hanging out of the hatchway, he clips a burned section out of a piece of wire, and clamps the remaining back together. "Valen, I don't want 'help' from a buncha flight officers, I want things to go efficiently," he says, reaching through Sirius to put the tool back again, "and that only happens if you leave it to me and my hangar engineers."

"It's 'Commander Rannix'….do I know you?"

"I know you very well," Belussian says, not even a hint of surprise on his face, "I've launched every flight the Hawks have ever been on. You call me by my nickname; 'Crane.' I should be asking how you act like you know me." The greasy man snarfs a laugh, pleased with his own joke before snapping back to his busy work. "But seriously, very busy. Can you order that impressive crowd off my deck? We need the floorspace," he asks, waving a hand at the column of pilots.

"Ah, yes," Valen acquiesces. Turning, he commands to the column of pilots standing apart, "Hawks, stand by outside the hangar." The flight group turn and make their way off the floor, the area immediately getting taken up by crewmen carrying supply crates. Turning back to the engineering officer as he continues to busy himself, Valen changes gears, Sirius remaining silent. "You and your specialists must be extremely qualified for the complex tasks at hand," Valen says gently, leaning in from out of the way as Crane continues his work.

"Thank you, we are," Crane mutters, halfway back into the hatch. "There's just a great… shortage…," he grunts, reaching back with an open palm, his assistant filling it with the tool he needs. Clipping more burnt wire, Crane turns halfway, flipping the tool back into the toolchest hanging from his assistant. "...of qualified people for these jobs." Turning the other way, he tosses more burnt wire onto the deck, next to messy piles of it.

"There must be many of those tasks presently."

"Yeah, tell me about it," he replies casually, as if simple smalltalk. "Hey, Deckard, that's a lotta 20 radius, you counting this stuff?"

"Such a busy crew must not have time for everything. Stretched as thin as you are, I imagine some manpower would be just what you could use right now." Valen rocks up on his toes, as if trying to reach the Chief Engineer with his voice. "Free up your hands from menial, low priority things. Make things more efficient, yes?"

"I suppose some more hands wouldn't be bad."

"My men would be happy to help you in an area we may be qualified for, and can take up the least of your valuable space. In storage, perhaps. I imagine it's a mountain of a task to assess the TIE Fighters' space worthiness. Low priority for you at this point as well, no?"

"Huh," the engineer ponders for a moment, reaching for a switch on the crane and flipping it, putting his hands on his hips. His hands flop off his hips again as the crane gives no response. Any fleeting glimmer of hope that was just on his face melts away to a furrowed brow as he flips the switch back, nervously scratching under his jaw with his greased glove and layering on more black streaks. Valen can almost feel Sirius' smirk at his shoulder. Suddenly, the Chief Engineer turns back to his assistant, like he forgot he was there. "Deckard?! Go order me another spool of 20 radius already, you saw me clip all this!"

The assistant engineer drops the toolboxes and hustles off.

After a short moment, Crane's frustrated face returns to normal, his greased arms crossing as he thinks a moment. "I've just thought of an assignment for you, Commander. I need you to check on your fighter craft, I don't have time."

"That's a great idea, anything we can do to help," Valen says pleasantly. "To keep us from making errors, could we be loaned some spare engineers as supervisors and liaisons?"

"I don't have a lot to spare, Commander. But I'll assign a team to take care of you while you are in storage."

"Much appreciated, Chief Engineer Crane," Valen says with an unabashed smile, reaching out and grabbing up Crane's hand, sharing more grease from it in a returned handshake. Shocked, the Chief Engineer looks down at his dirty hand, and checks opposite him at Valen's matching glove. Crane grabs a rag from a bulkhead and begins to wipe off his hands with it, grabbing another and smirking as he watches Valen casually begin to swipe his glove on his pant leg. With a friendly grin, Crane tosses the rag to Valen.

A squadron of Rebel soldiers hurriedly run down the hallway, their goggled faces stern and focused. As they head down the corridor, all is quiet, save for the distant rumbles and reverberations of the battle at ground level shaking light sprinkles of snow from the frosty ceilings.

In an adjacent hallway, a stack of crates sits piled high, a plasteel skull ducked behind it. Hammand's hulking form stands at a half crouch, the long repeater's weight distributed across the strap on his shoulders, held low. The tip of its barrel leans up, just cresting the top edge of the crate, Hammand ready to loose a hail of blaster fire down the hallway at a moment's notice. Just behind him, around the corner, Ando watches quietly.

After a moment of silence, Hammand's gruff voice says quietly, "Hold," as he begins to rise, moving ahead to the next corner of the hallway. Leaning around the edge of the icy wall, he peeks both directions in the distance, and his armored hand comes up in signal. "Clear."

"Clear," Ando repeats, the Sappers crouched behind him, weighed down with their heavy packs.

"Gunny, hold there," Sergeant Rolano says. Tapping on Ando's helmet, he commands, "Tiny, move up."

"Yes, Sergeant." Ando strains under the weight of the backpack to raise from his crouch, and hustles down the hallway with heavy, clumsy footsteps. Once again, nearly falling against the wall, he meets up behind Hammand, the Sappers tucked in closely behind. Hammand continues peering around the corners, sweeping from one end of the hallway to the other, the underground lights flickering every once in a while, in tune with the rumbles in the distance.

"Where to now, Sergeant?" Hammand asks.

"To the left, there should be an opening to the surface."

"I see it."

"Move to the opening and hold."

"Yes Sergeant." Hammand's enormous form lifts up and stomps around the corner, Ando watching after him. Hammand jogs down the hallway, ducking into a recessed area in the wall. Without any visual, Ando only hears him say, "Clear," quietly through the comms.

"Move up, Tiny," Rolano grumbles with another tap on Ando's helmet.

Ando pushes forward to the recessed area, and sees a decent sized cutout in the wall, about the size of a large closet. Hammand is looking straight up at the ceiling, white Hothian daylight bleeding down onto his plasteel armor as he aims his weapon towards the hole. A ladder leads up the wall to the surface. Quickly, the Sappers bring up the rear, collecting in the cutout, the area quickly becoming cramped.

"Tiny, watch the hole above," says Rolano, his helmet looking up at the skylight, then around at their surroundings. "Gunny, hold the hallway."

Ando and Hammand switch positions, Ando aiming his compact E-11 straight up, looking at blinding white sky. Luckily the trooper helmet displays have tinted, light-balancing lenses or Ando would be dazzled by the brilliant, contrasting light.

"Sappers, take a knee. Standby." Rolano commands, dropping to one knee in the group. "Longeye. SAP-4 in position, level -1."

"SAP-4, copy," an icy voice whispers. It's Scout Captain Gailon. "Exit's clear."

"Tiny, drop the pack. Get up the ladder."

"Uh-"

"Drop it," Rolano commands, forcefully grabbing Ando's pack at yet another hesitation, and 'helping' it off him. "You're too small and too heavy to get up this thing," the Army Sergeant explains gruffly, Ando scrambling to keep up with him, unbuckling the waist strap before the bag is ripped off his back. The pack is roughly set down at Rolano's feet as he reaches out again, pushing Ando into position at the base of the ladder. "Get up there, don't hold me up again. Gunny, get in position behind Tiny, you're up next. We've got your back, cover him topside so we can pass him the pack. On my command, Tiny."

"Yeah, Sergeant," Ando complies, putting a foot and a hand on the ladder rungs.

"Move."

Ando blitzes up the ladder, peeking out the top. Swiveling his head, he surveys the area. They're at the base of a cliffside, nearby some trenches. "Sergeant," Ando alerts.

"Yeah?"

"Not a lotta cover. Some trenches nearby."

"Move fast, Tiny, you need your pack. Let Gunny up to cover you. Longeye says they're not lookin'."

"Yeah, Sergeant," Ando affirms, hiking himself up onto the surface above and immediately going prone in the snow. Nervously, he reaches a hand out over the opening, and waves Hammand up, quickly retracting his hand so he can aim his weapon from his belly in the snow. After a few sounds of clumsy bonks of plasteel armor hitting the rungs of the ladder, Hammand's form makes its way over the top, the repeater slung over his back to free his hands. Laying prone alongside Ando, Hammand reaches back into the hole, and pulls up the heavy pack, sliding it onto the snowy surface.

"Check that trench, Flyboy," Hammand whispers, reaching back and readying his repeater.

"Yeah, Hamm." Ando crawls prone away from the hole to a nearby trench and checks inside. Three Rebel soldiers, each with blaster holes in their chests, lay still at the bottom of the trench. Sliding his body down the side, Ando drops down. "Clear, Hamm."

"Alright, take this." Hammand slides halfway over, pushing the heavy pack through the snow, and Ando climbs up and drags it into the trench with him. The Sappers all emerge from the hole as Hammand covers, and they make their way to the trench, dropping down with Ando while he buckles the heavy pack around his waist again.

"SAP-4, at Trench 425, alongside target area," Rolano grumbles into the comms. Quickly, he takes a step up and peeks over the top towards the cliffside. "500 meters."

"You're just off the left side of the opening. Move North 50, there's your approach. Some cover along the way."

"Copy. Gunny."

At Rolano's direction, Hammand hustles down the way, leading Ando and the team. Stopping at a pile of boxes, and a ridge in the wall, Hammand leans low into it, using the cover to watch down the trench.

"We're at the closest point to the target," Rolano says, grabbing some monoculars off his hip. Taking a foothold and stepping up so he can covertly see over the top, he relays down, "We'll need to engage from here. Gunny. Tiny."

Taking a look up at the Sapper Sergeant, Ando sees Hammand lower his weapon and climb up, his position taken by one of the other Sappers. Joining, Ando climbs up as well.

Handing off the monoculars to Hammand, Rolano explains, "They're not expecting a fight from this direction, we're way off axis from Blizzard's charge."

"Yeah, but when we start, they're gonna start back, Rolano. I see maybe 6 sentries, who knows how many crew are inside. Gotta repeater emplacement at the entrance. That'll tear the squad to bits."

"That's where we come in, we'll be fighting our way in right behind you. See the cover at 100 meters?"

"I see it, yeah. Can approach like that, stop again at the rocks. Rux, you read me?"

"Yeah, Hammer."

"It's a pretty open fight."

"Gotta clear shot at that emplacement, on your charge." Gailon's steely whisper halts for a moment. "Take cover. Speeders incoming."

The team duck down, staying low in the trench. "How many?" Rolano interjects.

"Two."

"Copy. Alright, team. Get ready." The air buzzes with the engines of incoming speeders. The team crane their heads up from their huddle, scanning the blue and white skies. Ando's breath begins to quicken, hearing the growing sounds of the approaching engines, clenching his hands ever tighter on his blaster rifle. "We'll make our move once they've landed for fuel."

The sound grows as the speeders begin to slow, getting closer. The air fills with nothing but the harsh, bumbling sound of the Rebel craft, like they could land on top of the trench at any moment. Anxiously, Ando's hunter anxiety makes him constantly scan the sky and clouds above them. His eyes dart from point to point, scanning over and over as the buzzing speeders pass unseen, getting slightly quieter, and then begin to spin down.

"On your mark, Longeye," Rolano says quietly, lining up behind Ando, putting a hand on his shoulder and raising his weapon with the other. Ando lines up behind Hammand, who leans against the wall, one foot up on a foothold. The group stand in the silence, waiting in line for the word. Ando can hear the Sappers and Hammand exercising their breathing, like he is surrounded by a pack of great beasts with cavernous lungs.

"Go now."

"CHARGE!"

Hammand lurches upward on his step, disappearing over the top, Ando struggling under the weight of the pack to keep pace as Rolano pushes him up from behind. Ando climbs over the top to see Hammand running at a heavy pace ahead of them, the repeater flashing wildly and singing Legs' steccato song. With heavy footfalls underneath him, Ando leans forward, trying to catch up with Hammand as he heads towards a knocked over stack of supply crates; some of their only cover between the trench and the cavernous opening in the cliffside. Ando scans the opening; the two speeders are landed just inside it and haven't taxied clear. Across the way, the cloth uniformed Rebels wave their arms, pointing and shouting in the direction of the charging soldiers as the surfaces nearby spit sparks into the air.

"Open fire, Tiny!" a voice growls from behind him, and a sharp blast of red zips over Ando's shoulder towards the hangar, followed by several more. Following suit, Ando grits his teeth in his helmet and shouts out to mask his fear, firing his weapon towards the Rebel soldiers while they scramble for cover of their own. In the distance, the Rebel on the repeater swivels from his mound of snow. In a sudden bright flash, a bolt of light cracks through the air from the distance, and strikes him in the chest. The soldier flops backwards and hangs over the ridge of the nest, lifeless.

Hammand arrives at the boxes ahead of the group, ducking behind them as the Rebels return fire. Snow and sparks spray into the air around him as he looks back, waving Ando to his position. The blaster bolts begin to fly over Ando's head and around his shoulders, and he leans further down, getting below the boxes' level, stumbling into cover.

"You good, kid?"

"Yeah!" Ando shouts out, straightening up with his blood surging and boiling with adrenaline. The Sappers pile in, taking cover behind the boxes as well.

"Next push, Gunny!"

"Yeah, Sergeant!" Hammand roars as he fearlessly stands up, circling the boxes with the giant weapon at his hip. Walking out to the side, Hammand lets loose with a shower of blaster fire, pinning the Rebels down into their cover. "Go, go, go!"

"Cover us from here, Tiny!" Rolano yells out over the deafening repeater fire. The Sappers exit the cover the other direction, firing their E-11s in kind. Clenching his teeth, Ando pushes his boots into the snow and rises up, spinning and laying his rifle on top of the boxes. Hammand is just out in front on the right, slowly walking diagonally further away, spraying the hangar area, the Rebel crew inside running for cover. The Sappers run diagonally left towards a low area where the snow gives way to a slightly raised, rocky surface. Rebel soldiers begin to pop out, taking potshots at Hammand, and Ando fires back, skipping bolts off their cover.

"Don't cover me, Flyboy!" Hammand reprimands, "Take care of Rolano!"

Swapping sides, Ando picks targets that are shooting to the left, towards the Sappers, and opens fire. The Rebels flinch downwards, turning their attention to Ando and firing back, Rolano and the Sappers making it to the low rocks and dropping prone. Ando ducks back behind the boxes, and hits the ground, crawling from one end to the other. Propping himself up on one knee, he leans around the side of his cover and begins firing again.

"Gunny! GUNNY!" Rolano's voice growls over the blaster fire. Ando looks over to see him laying prone with his squad, waving a hand. Chopping his hand towards the hangar entrance, the Sergeant yells out, "Fire those speeders!"

Wordlessly, Hammand sweeps his weapon towards the landed speeders and focuses on them with a stream of bolts. Bits and pieces spark and flake off the back as the vehicles get struck by the hail of repeater fire. The sparks begin to ignite, and in a rush of fire, the right side speeder sets alight. Flames climb into the air, choking black smoke beginning to fill the hangar and obscure the Rebels in their cover as Hammand adjusts his aim to set the second speeder on fire. Two Rebels begin to rush outwards in a counter charge, Ando taking aim and firing at them until the barrel of his weapon begins to smoke. One Rebel collapses into the snow, the other continuing closer, taking aim with his weapon.

"Hammand!"

Another bolt blasts in out of nowhere, cutting straight through the second Rebels' chest, and he falls forward as he runs, as if he simply tripped in the snow. Tumbling to a stop, the soldier lies still.

"Grenade volley! Cover us, Tiny!"

"Hang on!" Ando shouts out, bleeding the heat out of his rifle with a hiss. Leaning back around the cover, he opens fire again, "Covering!"

The Sappers sit up on one knee, and wind up, heaving a round of grenades into the smoke like a unified machine. Immediately, they stand up, rushing forward at a half crouch. "PUSH FORWA-" Rolano shouts out as the grenades explode in the black smoke, drowning out his voice.

Hammand stops firing to jog forward to a new position, Ando turning around the boxes to run up to the rocky area.

"AGH!" a voice shouts out into the comms.

Thumping into the rocky area, Ando drops on his belly, the full weight of the heavy pack crashing down on top of him with a thud. Recovering and tucking his weapon against his shoulder, he prepares to open fire into the smoke once more, checking for the Sappers, and he spots them. They've ducked down, and are holding their ground from out in the open, no cover around them. Looking around, Ando spies why they have stopped. Between Ando and the group, one is down in the snow. The soldier isn't moving.

"Keep going, Sergeant!" Ando shouts, blindfiring into the smoke.

"We need that pack, Tiny!"

"Keep moving, I'll get it!" one soldier says, heading back towards the body, but he immediately gets struck in the back of the leg by a blaster bolt. Yelling out and dropping to one knee under the weight of his pack, the soldier struggles, but can't get up again. Reaching back, Rolano grabs him up to support him under his shoulder while the others let out their covering fire. Grunting audibly, he lifts both himself and his heavy pack, as well as the other soldier with his, helping him stand.

"WE NEED MORE COVER FIRE, MARINES!" Rolano roars, running to one side of the smoking hangar, diverting their direct charge.

"No shots, the visibility is too poor," Gailon's voice says through the comms.

"Get to cover quick!" Hammand yells, sweeping his weapon across the floor of the hangar entrance. "Power cell's runnin' low! Flyboy!"

Raising from his spot, Ando runs to catch up with the Army Demolitionists, firing his weapon from his shoulder. As the Sappers drop to one side of the entrance, a Rebel soldier appears out of the smoke on their flank. Running to intercept, Ando catches him off guard, hitting him with a burst of blaster fire up the torso. Falling to the snow, the Rebel rolls to one side and crawls a moment, then stops moving. Catching up and dropping to one knee in front of the group, Ando takes aim, looking for any other threats.

"Keep us covered, I gotta get his pack off! Corp'ral Missell, help Tiny!"

"I'm swappin' cells!" Hammand yells, going prone and reaching for his belt.

In the distance, a body moves in the smoke, dropping into the repeater nest. A Rebel soldier grabs the mounted weapon and swings it at the group.

"Rolano, I need a grenade!"

"Last one, Corp'ral!" Rolano shouts, taking it out of the wounded soldier's pack and tossing it to him. The soldier immediately cracks the cylindrical weapon against his thigh, priming it, and heaves it over his head, landing it nearby the nest. The Rebel ducks down, and the area bursts in a thud, smoke and snow flying into the air. As the falling snow dissipates, the Rebel's head pops back up, and he grabs at the repeater again, pointing it at the group.

"TAKE COVER!" Rolano yells out over the comms as the weapon sprays the Sappers' location. Ando and the team scramble, dropping to their bellies and rolling to the nearest cover, but as suddenly as it began, the fire stops. Popping out of cover and aiming at the nest, Ando is shocked to see Hammand standing over it, a second Rebel body crumpled inside. Holding his weapon steady, Hammand quickly kneels and reaches for a grenade on the Rebel's body, and primes it against his thigh. Dropping the grenade back into the nest, Hammand runs away and tucks down onto his knees, curling against the ground as the blast obliterates the nest entirely, throwing more smoke and snow into the air.

"Missell, start runnin' the satchels!"

"Yeah, Sarge!" the remaining soldier affirms, tucking his weapon into his shoulder and moving out into the smoke.

"Right behind you! Huul, you stay put and guard that pack with your life."

"Yeah, Sarge!"

"Tiny!" Rolano shouts, picking Ando up by his shoulder strap and dragging him to his feet. "With me!" The two crouch run across the entrance and towards Hammand. "Gunny, through the smoke, we're comin' in!"

Hammand immediately turns to one side and runs into the smoke, Rolano leading Ando in behind him. Before Ando knows it, they're following his giant pilot directly into the burning hangar, the choking thick smoke washing over Hammand's broad shoulders. It flashes and strobes, like the day has darkened to night, a storm of dazzling red lightning crackling through pitch black clouds. Crossing the threshold, the trio pass the black silhouette of the speeders, backlit by the blazing glow of their flames, roaring as the fire consumes the vehicles. Coming out the other side, they can see into the hangar. The space is dark, illuminated in the reddish orange glow of the fire, a thick haze of smoke clouding the air.

Immediately as they exit the cover of the smoke, blaster bolts shoot down from above, Hammand ducking down slightly and searching for the targets. Rolano slams a palm against Hammand's helmet, and points around his shoulder up at Rebels on the catwalks over the stored speeders. Adjusting his aim, Hammand begins to spray bolts in the Rebels' direction, causing them to take off running for cover.

Pointing away towards one end of the hangar, Rolano shouts to Ando, "Unload the bag around the base of that column, I'll meet you!"

"Yeah, Sarge!"

"Go!" he growls, giving Ando a push in the right direction.

"Yeah, Sarge!" Ando yells again nervously as he runs for a rack with another speeder parked in it. Moving to one side of it, he rushes to the base of the column next to it. Dropping to a crouch, Ando shucks the heavy pack and opens it. The bag is filled with layers of wide, rectangular yellow boxes, and smaller silver devices. Checking around for any soldiers, Ando reaches in and starts to pull them out as he hops back on his commlink. "Uh, Sergeant Rolano?"

"Unload the yellow ones and set them around the column! I'll be there to arm 'em!"

"Copy!" Ando scrambles and pulls the stacks of boxes out, lining the base of the column with them. Before he finishes, Rolano comes running up, his bulky pack gone from his back.

"Friendly, on your right, Tiny! Gimme the detonators!"

"Oh, the silver things? In the bag!"

"Get my back," Rolano growls, scooping the detonators out of the bags and addressing the charges. "Gonna arm these things!"

Ando ducks behind the speeder, looking across the way at the catwalks on the other side of the hangar. A pair of Rebel soldiers clatter across the metal walkways above, firing bolts down on Rolano and Ando. Ando tucks into his cover, popping out and returning fire.

"Planted, Sarge!" Missell says over the comms.

"Sergeant!" Hammand interjects gruffly. "You almost done?!"

"I'm trying not to 'plan B' here, Gunny!"

Ando jumps in, pointing an arm up at the catwalks, "We're under fire from across the hangar! Up high!"

"Missell, that's on your side! Get up there and flank 'em!"

"Yeah, Sarge!"

"Covering fire, Tiny!"

Ando spins and fires up at the Rebels' positions, holding the trigger and alternating across the Rebels' cover every few seconds.

"Lay on it! Smoke that E-11, kid!"

Ando keeps firing, the barrel starting to glow, until a series of blaster bolts come in off the side of the Rebel soldiers. One Rebel falls dead out of his cover, the other spinning to engage Corporal Missell on the catwalk, backing away. On the back foot, the second Rebel gets pierced by a burst of fire from the Corporal.

"Nice shots, Corp'ral! Get back to Huul and plant his charges!" Ando ducks back down, his weapon glowing hot as Rolano continues giving orders. Releasing the heat sink, the rifle hisses and smokes, as Ando suddenly gets a cement hand landing on his shoulder. "We're all done here, Tiny. Let's get Pol's bag."

Getting up, the two run behind the stored speeders towards the entrance. Ando watches Rolano out in front as he leads the way through the smoky room, when a blast just barely misses Ando's head, sparking off a crane next to him. Ando's boot slips on the icy floor as he jerks backwards, trying to stop suddenly. Falling flat on his back, the young gunner's weapon flips out of his hand, lost in the thick smoke. Looking up from the ground, he spots an orange suited Rebel pilot clambering over the top of a parked speeder right next to him, armed with a blaster pistol. Scrambling to his feet, Ando yells out, "Sergeaaaant!" as he rushes at the pilot, slamming into the enemy's knees with his armored body. Slipping off the speeder, the pilot falls on top of Ando's shoulders, and the two go tumbling to the floor.

Rolling in a mess of limbs and torsos, Ando struggles to his feet to get his bearings when the pilot is upon him again, wrapping an arm around his neck. Suddenly, everything is black, muffled. Trapped and blind in his helmet, the goggles sitting offset from his eyes, Ando panics. He yells out for anyone to hear, certain the killing blow is inches away. Swinging wildly at his attacker, he tries to wrench himself upright when he feels the back of his head begin to slip out of the enemy's grip. Forcibly ducking down, Ando slips free of his own helmet, rocking backward on his heels. The air outside is hot, choking; the smoke smothering and burning his lungs. Ando backpedals into the crane, reaching to his belt for his vibroblade as the orange suited figure rushes at him, slamming him into the durasteel frame, and the pair go falling to the floor once again. Feeling his vibroblade firmly in his hand and unsheathed as he hits the ground, Ando growls and slashes across the Rebel's chest, forcing him away. The Rebel struggles on the icy floor, scrambling to roll away when, grunting through clenched teeth, Ando lunges on top of him, throwing the blade down into the pilot's heart with all his weight. Pulling the blade out quickly, Ando stabs down again with a furious shout, and stops, noticing the Rebel pilot is already still. Wide eyed in the smoke, Ando freezes a moment, staring at the dead young man.

Hearing a step, Ando jerks back, rolling to one side, clenching his blade at the ready and baring his teeth. A freezing sweat crystalizes his black hair, sticking it to his forehead. The giant Sergeant Rolano stands there, facing the young gunner with his weapon up. "C'mon, Tiny."

Standing up quickly, Ando looks across the floor nervously. "Uh...I lost my blaster," he says shakily, covering his mouth from the smoke, wiping the blade off on his white uniform and sheathing it on his belt.

The Sergeant kneels down, searching for a moment, before he rises again. "Here, let's go!" Rolano growls, shoving the E-11 at Ando's chest and moving him along, leading the way once again. Scooping up his helmet as they leave the body behind, Ando fumbles trying to hold the weapon at the same time, and throws it over his head. Taking a breath of air through the helmet's filters, Ando coughs out a lungful of stinging soot as they head towards the exit, sticking tight to Rolano as they make it to one side of the hangar opening.

"Hey, Tiny." Rolano kneels at the edge of the hangar, Ando catching up and kneeling with him. "I'm covering you, go retrieve Pol's bag."

"Reinforcements comin' down the hallway!" Hammand's voice rings out on the comms. "Ya done yet?!"

"Hold 'em back! Get to it, Tiny!" Rolano shouts, pushing Ando out into the open. "Double time! Missell, get it done!"

"Yeah Sarge!" Ando yells aloud with Missell, Ando running out to Pol's body. The ice packed snow crunches under Ando's feet as he sprints swiftly to the soldier's body, and drops to his knees. Reaching over the giant's torso, he unbuckles the waist strap and pulls the pack off Pol's shoulders. Wrenching the straps onto his own shoulders, Ando's exhausted legs push down into the ground, lifting him up under the heavy weight once again. "Got it, on my way!"

Thumping back to Rolano's position as the Sergeant waves him over, he drops heavily against the cliff wall, shucking the pack quickly. Blaster bolts zip out of the obscured entrance to the hangar, skipping off the edges as Rebel reinforcements push out from further inside the base.

"I can't hold 'em for long!"

Throwing the top compartment open, Ando pulls the heavy yellow boxes out and hands them off to Rolano, who sets them around the base of the hangar opening and up the wall.

"They're takin' ground on me, gettin' out this hall, Rolano!" Hammand roars from inside, the sounds of blaster fire intensifying. "Gettin' outta hand real fast here!"

"Missell!"

"Armed!"

"Grab Huul and get back to the trench! Gunny, hold 'em off, this is it!" Rolano blitzes through the process, clipping the silvery devices onto the boxes. Getting up and slapping Ando on the shoulder as he passes by, he yells, "Let's go! Sappers, fall back! Gunny, you're last out!"

"Right behind you, Rolano!"

Running out to the icy field, Rolano leads Ando to Missell, who's carrying the massive Huul over his shoulders. Passing the crates, Ando looks back to see Hammand thundering out of the smokey hangar entrance behind them, blaster bolts flying wildly into the snow around him.

"Rolano!" Ando shouts, slowing and looking over his shoulder at the trailing pilot.

"Keep going, Tiny!" the Sergeant yells, the group continuing on ahead.

Ando turns back at the boxes and raises his rifle. "Come on, Hammand!" he shouts out, taking aim at a Rebel who runs out of the smoke. Firing several shots at him, Ando pushes the enemy soldier away to cover. But after scaring him off, 3 more come out, kneeling in formation and firing red bolts of energy at Ando's position. Ando immediately ducks down, spinning and popping back out one side of the boxes. Hammand spins back to return some cover fire for Ando, but suddenly several more Rebel soldiers are emerging from the smoke, taking up a position and firing at the group. Blasts zip in from the unseen distance outside, piercing two of them through the chests. Longeye are engaging once again, but even more Rebel soldiers take the place of those that just fell. Thinking better of it, Hammand doubles down on running for the boxes. Landing with a thud, Ando's gigantic pilot tumbles into cover, the growing blaster fire overwhelming their position. Scrambling against the boxes next to the young gunner, Hammand curls himself smaller than Ando thought possible to avoid the fire.

"Get outta there, Marines!" Rolano yells over the comms.

"Blow it! Blow the charges!" Hammand roars, raising his weapon to fire back, but hesitating to get out of cover into the withering fire.

"Stay down! FIRE IN THE HOLE!"

Hammand reaches out and tackles Ando, and an earth shattering blast immediately envelops them, throwing some of the crates over their heads and showering them in snow and ice. A roar surrounds the pair, like the entire planet is crashing down on top of them. Ando can't see anything out from under his pilot, thick white fog and falling ice showering their cover. Enormous thuds land all around as Hammand lets out an, "OOF!" his heavy armored body crushing down on top of Ando.

The thuds quiet down, and all Ando can hear is Hammand breathing hard through his helmet, and the quiet stirrings of rolling ice chunks. After a tense moment, Hammand grumbles. "Y'alright, kid?"

"Yeah, Hamm."

Hammand quietly moves to reach away for something, and comes back. Grabbing the blade off Ando's belt holster, he mumbles, "Get that weapon ready."

Ando grips his E-11 tightly to his chest. "Ready."

Maneuvering his arm between them, Hammand cuts the strap tying the repeater around his shoulders. "Rolano?"

"Gunny? Clear, target destroyed."

Grunting, Hammand rocks back, lifting up, chunks of ice falling off his back. Ando gets up afterwards, looking back through the clearing haze and raising his weapon. As the white fog settles, the snowy field in front of them is covered in a hill of ice, a massive section of the cliffside collapsed into itself. There's no sign of the platoon of Rebel soldiers that were pursuing them. Hammand's body is half tethered to their walker's repeater by its energy cell conduit, which remains buried in the ice. Tugging on the cut shoulder straps, the large man quickly excavates the weapon, and gathers it up. Wasting no time, he leads Ando back to the trench from the avalanche. Jumping down into the trench with his gunner, they are greeted with the familiar heavy-as-stone back slaps to which Ando is so accustomed from armored soldiers.

"Nicely done," Rolano congratulates between huffs and puffs. "Thanks for the assist."

"Yeah," Hammand says quickly, still out of breath, like the rest of them. Immediately, the giant man kneels to check the functionality of the repeater, but Ando imagines he is concealing how exhausted he must be. Missell is crouched, tending to Huul's injured leg as he clenches a fist in triumph with the group.

"Clean shots, Longeye," Rolano continues on the comms. "Relay to command; objective accomplished. SAP-4 primary target is destroyed."

"Copy, SAP-4, will relay to command; target destroyed."

"Any word on Blizzard's secondary target? We can resupply. We have 1 fatality, 1 wounded, non-ambulatory. Dragoon Battalion have loaned us two pilots that assisted."

"Stand by, SAP-4."

"Copy, Longeye. Standing by." Rolano turns back to Hammand and Ando. "Tiny's better with a blaster and a blade than I thought, Gunny. And taking cover from that blast behind a couple'a boxes?" The Army First Sergeant laughs through his microphone as Hammand passes the vibroblade back to Ando. "You Marines are crazy."

"Yeah," Hammand says, standing up and looking back over the top of the trench. "I didn't think we were that close. Those satchels make a big hole. Almost a Plan B either way."

"Yeah, good thing-"

"Frontlines are currently engaging secondary target," the Scout Captain interjects over the comms. "Veers responds: 'Medical and rear guard troopers are on the way. SAP-4's involvement is not necessary. If clear, hold at your position and await relief.'"

"Copy, holding here. Missell, how's that field dressing?"

"Bleeding's good, Huul'll make it till the Docs get here," Missell says from his crouch.

"Secondary target?" Hammand asks, straightening as he re-ties his tattered shoulder strap.

"Some planetary battery emplacement, don't worry about it."

Wordlessly, Hammand nods his helmeted head and turns away, heading to a stack of crates, where he knocks one on it's side to comfortably sit on. Walking up next to him, Ando sits down beside his pilot.

"Hey Hamm," Ando asks quietly.

"Hm?"

"What's a 'Plan B?'"

"Trooper term."

Stuttering in thought, Ando turns his head away and they both stare into the trench's opposite wall.

"Huh."

Chapter IX: Cloak

"Navigation, position," Adolas stands over the bridge walkway, surrounded by the limited bridge crew, operating in dim emergency lighting. The distant white sun from the Hoth System creeps across the inside of the darkened bridge.

"Orbit degrading, within 0.6 of unrecoverable threshold."

"Status on that planetary emplacement."

"Planetary emplacement is still active, currently being engaged by ground forces."

"Reactor, update."

"Reactor still stable. Standing by, power dampeners are up and ready to be opened straight to engines."

"Copy, Reactor. Engineering, this is Acting Captain Owan."

"Aye, Captain."

"Status on our engines."

"We're almost ready for spark, I'd prefer to test fire the mains first."

"You are to withhold unnecessary power fluctuation from those engines. Bypass non-simulated test procedures, prepare to receive full power from the reactor on my mark."

"Aye, Captain."

"Navigation, range on the planetary emplacement."

"Tyrant is passing through outer range perimeter. We will be around the planet's horizon in 2 minutes, 18 seconds."

"Engineering, stand by on those engines."

"Captain, 0.5 of unrecoverable state."

"Keep me apprised within 0.3. Engineering, status."

"Test modes are bypassed. Ready to fire the mains."

"We are in line to reach 0.4 by the time we exit the battery's range. Stand by, Tyrant is approaching the exit range of the planetary battery."

"All stations, stand by. Navigation, within hundredths, please."

"0.46…. 0.45…. 0.44…. 0.43…. Tyrant is now out of range of the planetary battery…."

"Reactor, disengage dampeners."

"Aye, Captain."

"Engineering, ignite engines."

"Aye, Captain."

"0.42…."

A steady rumble rolls to life through the floor plates beneath Adolas' feet. A barely audible series of ticks creeps across a bulkhead unseen as the Tyrant wakes her legs from their slumber. "Engines ignited. Power stable."

"Helm, 23 degrees to starboard, and bring us to escape velocity."

"0.41."

"Aye, Captain, rolling 23 degrees to starboard."

"0.40…."

"...Increasing thrust to launch power."

More ticks. The bulkheads settle back as the Tyrant's large engines push hard against Hoth's gravity, the distant rumble humming louder.

"0.39…. And slowing…. Holding at 0.39…. 0.40…. 0.42…. 0.44, climbing…. 0.47…. Tyrant has reached escape velocity. Tyrant's trajectory is stabilizing."

"Well done, stations," Adolas congratulates briefly, a sigh of relief and triumph emanating from the limited bridge crew. Setting back to work, the Acting Captain commands, "Helm, take us into a tactical orbit and stand by with comms, I want to know when that emplacement is wiped off the face of the planet before we come back into position. Tyrant, stand down from red alert, all systems are now cleared to re-engage, starting with shields and weapon positions, then hangar facilities. Engineering, notify me when you get those secondary engines online, I want the Tyrant ready for fine maneuvers and pursuit speed ASAP."

Pacing up to the windows on the portside of the bridge, Adolas observes the horizon of the ghostly white planet from the railing. Glaring for a moment at the seat of the Rebel bastion that nearly took every soul aboard the Tyrant, the young man fixes his posture, reminding himself of his position. Leaning forward, Adolas reaches to the railing, and looks down at his gloved, shaking hands. Closing his hands slightly and opening them again, he sees them begin to quake almost immediately. Reaching out again, Adolas leans hard on the railing, clenching his hands around it as he continues to look out the window. Taking a deep breath, he forces out a sharp exhalation, loosening his shoulders again.

"They're launching in five, with or without us!"

Papers scatter onto the icy floor. Feet shuffle quickly. A tan jacketed Rebel officer gathers documents, quickly stacking them under his arms as the everpresent thuds of Imperial machines thunder the walls and shake ice from the ceilings.

The commanding soldier stands near the closed security door. "Let's go, let's go!"

"Grab the records!" the officer directs, pointing over to a central console.

"Forget it, we have no time, Lieutenant!" the commanding soldier rejects. Taking a step to the console and motioning at it, he orders, "Destroy them! Wipe the recor-"

Without warning, the door in the command room opens with a whoosh. The soldier guards whirl, raising their weapons at the opening. The room full of Rebels freezes in place, staring at the door, nothing but an empty hallway outside. The diminutive officer, clutching bundles of papers, breathes shallowly, staring wide-eyed at the opening.

Quietly, something clatters inside, landing in the most open part of the floor. A small, white painted cylinder bounces and rolls to a stop.

"GRENADE!"

In a sudden flash, the item blasts open in a blinding white light, and a clap of sound so sharp it would perforate eardrums. A blur of white uniforms pours in, smoothly and deftly entering the room, followed immediately by quick, short bursts of blaster fire.

Disoriented by the blast, the Rebels howl and shout out in chaos as they attempt to raise their weapons and fight back, but to no avail. It's as if the room is already surrounded, flooded with white armor splitting and moving along the walls.

Stepping back, the nearest Rebel soldier shouts, "Get behind me, sir!" reaching out and pushing the slender, tan jacketed officer backwards with his armfuls of papers. As quickly as he says so, a white armored figure slips in beside him, firing a single shot. The Rebel soldier crumples to the floor, killed instantly. Rushing up in front of the slender officer, the white armored soldier raises a black E-11 at him.

"Hands!"

Scrambling to do as he's told, the officer drops the papers and raises his hands.

"Down on the ground, now! On your knees!" the microphoned voice demands violently.

Keeping his hands up, the officer drops to one knee, and unsteadily puts the other to the floor. The soldier keeps his rifle trained on the Rebel officer as additional hands check his quilted jacket for weapons. The room, now devoid of any other Rebel life, resumes bustling with Imperial bodies, rushing through the active consoles and checking the dead with callous, single red flashes and twangs of blaster fire.

"Captain," one trooper beckons, raising an armored hand. "Command unit."

A lone white suited soldier stands up from the group of hunched over troopers and steps over the bodies of the Rebels, approaching the console. Silently, he inspects the surfaces, but touches nothing. The Rebel soldier watches the quiet stormtrooper as he puts his face down close to the surface, the black goggles inspecting the console in great detail.

"Hmmm," the gruff voice says calmly through the microphone, the helmet still low and close to the console surfaces. "I'll speak to him now."

"On your feet!" one soldier growls, lunging forward and grabbing the tan suited Rebel officer by his tunic. Ripped to his feet, he's brought over to meet the "Captain." Standing no more than 3 feet from the Imperial leader, the Rebel officer remains tight lipped, trying to keep a strong face. Straightening, the tall, thin soldier turns to face the captive Rebel, and clasps his hands behind his back.

"Hello," the microphoned voice begins, strangely calm, and casual. "Please. I want to access the records. I imagine clearances are in order…." The leader pauses, leaning around to spy the patch on the officer's shoulder, and straightening again. The empty black goggles stare through the Rebel as the deep, gravelly voice continues, "Lieutenant."

"I-I...don't have command clearance-"

"I want personnel records. I imagine that is an access level befitting of… your rank. Now," the tall soldier says, moving to one side and motioning at the command station, "if you please."

Roughly shoved into place by the other soldiers, the officer slowly settles in front of the station. Looking to one side, the lone officer only sees the barrel of an E-11 pointed at him. Taking a deep breath, he looks back across the keyboard, and several large buttons for activations. The white armored soldiers surround him at his shoulders, bristling with their compact weapons. His brow furrowing, his fingers rubbing themselves nervously, the officer stretches out his reach towards a nondescript button to begin, and in a flash of red, the man crumples forward over the console, caught behind the collar before landing. Pulled backwards, his lifeless, smoking body flops down to the icy floor.

"There it is," the tall soldier says, almost happily. "Clever. The emergency datawipe was labeled at Yavin. Tech, access the records. 30 seconds."

"Yes, Captain," another soldier says as he searches the body. Pulling an access card from the officer's pocket, he settles in front of the console, avoiding the button. Retrieving a gadget from his utility belt, the soldier clips it against the card with a firm press, and slips it into a port on the console, beginning to type. Before long, he quickly says, "Accessed," and steps aside as the Captain moves in.

Opening the scrolling text in basic, the Captain checks through the columns. Typing in a line, the text scrolls at blinding speed, and lands at a matching name.

Gen. Crix Madine [ON SITE - Sector 12 Storage]

"He's still here. Team, move to Sector 12 and report back. Contain Storage, nobody in or out, I will be there shortly. Tech, pull these records and get me high level access, I need inventory. Two guards will hold the hallway."

Three soldiers voicelessly nod and change positions, two standing by the door as the rest of the team depart, the third grabbing some plugs and attaching them to the card, which is jutting out of the port. Suddenly the screen scrambles, throwing up displays upon displays, cycling through data. Reaching forward, Captain Antilles types his way through it, turning a knob and flipping the digital pages until he stops. Schematics flip up of an arrowhead shaped starship. In a silent gasp, the Captain's microphoned voice says, "There you are…."

"That's the one?"

"Yes, copy this, and anything else, high priority," Antilles orders, scrolling through more before the Tech agent takes over. "I need this data for analysis immediately."

"Skipper. Blizzard Force reports planetary emplacement is neutralized."

Among the triumphant applause of the bridge crew, Adolas feels a stirring of courage in his young heart. The raging battle on the surface below is passing its tipping point. "Right, the yoke's been pulled off. Take us back into blockade position, prepare the main batteries for precision bombardments. Get me Commander Rannix on the comms."

"Aye, Captain."

"Rannix here."

"Commander, the Tyrant is returning to position above the Rebel base, what is the status of your flight groups?"

"Hawk regulars are mostly checked out," the Commander's voice affirms dutifully, "we're putting in requests with the engineers for a few damages, but the Interceptor pilots are having a hard time getting replacement parts brought out of storage for the specialized fighters."

"I want Hawk Group ready for strikes planetside and interception patrols."

"Aye, Captain. Where's Death Squadron?"

"The Fleet is departing to pursue Rebel VIP's with Admiral Piett."

"That's off strategy. Shouldn't we be taking on the Rebel Base first?"

"Our sister ship is still in outer orbit. Captain Jedrik and his Zetas are intercepting straggling transports, says it's well under control."

"Aye, Captain. The Hawks will be ready."

"Make it happen, Commander, we are closing on bombardment range. Comms, get me a line to General Veers," Adolas commands without missing a beat.

"Aye Captain."

Moving to the back of the bridge, Adolas approaches a console with a wide screen illuminating above it. Adolas straightens, adjusting his neck in his collar and tugging down on the waist of his tunic as the screen reads: [HAILING]. After a brief moment, the visage of the famous armored General appears, the camera slightly lower than his chest. His formidable grey field armor encases an imposing figure, seemingly looking down upon the stand-in Captain.

"Veers here," the silvered man says from occupied, focused eyes, looking away from the screen, his body rocking back and forth. The active battlefield seems just beyond. He stops his busy tasks for a moment and takes a second look down, a subtle double take. "Where is Captain Lennox?"

"Um," Adolas stutters at the demanding inquiry, "this is Captain's Representative Adolas Owan, I am Acting Captain of the Tyrant. We are orbiting the planet and will be in range for orbital strikes momentarily."

"No need, the Army have this handled. We are rounding up the last of them, the rest are scattering to the stars. The stragglers are the Navy's to collect, if you will excuse me, 'Acting Captain,'" he says, reaching for a switch and cutting communications.

Adolas stands straight with his brow furrowed, glaring at the blank screen. A thin sheen of sweat mists his forehead, and he masks wiping it off by pretending to straighten his cap before turning back to his bridge. Quietly, he crosses the walkway towards the front windows, the bridge crew looking to him in silence.

"Captain," a voice beckons from the trench, garnering Adolas' attention once more. "Contact. We have a Lambda Class Imperial shuttle breaking atmosphere."

"Bearing?"

"1.21, heading out into the open."

"Where are they going? Helm, 23 degrees to starboard, 30% speed. Comms, hail them."

"Aye, Captain, hailing." After a short pause, "This is the Star Destroyer Tyrant. Imperial Shuttle, state your callsign, clearance, and destination."

"This is Shuttle Perfidium, inbound to Executor with priority prisoners. Uploading clearances now."

After a slight pause, the Comms Officer replies to Adolas, "Clearances check out. The Perfidium is Elite Intelligence." Looking back at his console, the officer returns again. "Shall we let them go?"

"They should know…" Adolas pauses in thought. Stepping forward, he commands with a nod. The crewman in the trench flips a switch and nods back. Speaking up with an authoritative voice, Adolas announces, "This is Captain Owan of the Tyrant. The Executor is not in position to receive you, we have Intelligence staff onboard. If you have priority prisoners, the Tyrant will take them aboard for secure holding."

The comms pause, silent. Adolas stands, looking out the window at the diminutive speck, leaving the planet's surface below them. Fidgeting anxiously, Adolas rubs his gloved fingers against his palm, wondering what the Elite will say to this challenge. Suddenly, the comms return.

"Star Destroyer Tyrant. We are on rendezvous heading to 3-20. We will dock for prisoner transfer."

Sighing inwardly in relief, Adolas responds, "Copy, Perfidium, dock in the secondary hangar bay. Tyrant out. Comms." Adolas nods towards the officer.

"Communications ended, Captain."

"Prep the secondary hangar bay."

"Elite Sub Lieutenant Fennik has contacted the bridge. He insists Elite staff escort and guard the prisoner."

"Agreed. I want supplemental non-Elite security holding the secondary hangar bay. I will receive the prisoner, and give them to EI. Have Crane convey the shuttle to the main bay for fueling and maintenance," Adolas commands as he heads to the rear of the bridge. As he enters the turbolift, he commands, "Lieutenant Commander Byshoph, hold the bridge, continue my orders."

"Aye, Captain," the voice of the crewman returns as the turbolift door closes.

Marching toward the secondary hangar bay, Adolas tries to keep his excitement level down from involving himself in the Elite Intelligence's duties. Walking through the hallways, he takes mental notes, making checklists of the corridors and systems that have still yet to receive attention. A power outage here, a locked door there.

As he enters the secondary hangar bay, he can see the tall, elegant shuttle touching down on the deck, its bright white wings folded up above the cockpit. His security detail lines the hangar bay, holding the accessway, and standing below the landing ramp, next to two black jacketed Elite guards as they await the landing. Moving through and standing at their head, he does his best to ignore the sentinels, and face front.

With a hiss of hydraulic pressure, the Perfidium opens its maw, extending its tongue as eight white clad snowtroopers march down the ramp, a tan jacketed man nestled closely in the middle of the group. The officer wears a thick collared quilted jacket, his blonde hair parted sideways and pulled over the top of his head, longer than would be allowed in the Imperial forces. His coat's insignia bears a symmetrical cluster of 5 red dots, framed inside a square patch. The column of soldiers comes to a stop, the shackled man with them. Looking straight across at Adolas with piercing blue eyes from beneath a face shrouded in a blonde beard, the man appears unafraid. Slowly, he looks away, up at the cranes, out at the doors, over at the guards.

Trying not to look wide eyed, Adolas suppresses his quickly escalating anger, pushing it as far down as it will allow him, and puts on a formal voice.

"General Crix Madine," Adolas addresses, as straight as he can. The name sinks through his skin, soaking him in hate he struggles to hold back. "On behalf of Captain Xamuel Lennox, I welcome you to the Imperial Star Destroyer Tyrant: Your new prison."

The man continues to look idly about, as if taking a walk around the hangar bay, unbound. He looks over, watching giant bay doors open in the wall of the secondary hangar, revealing a long maintenance corridor to the main hangar. In his own time, his eyes return to acknowledge Adolas' presence, icy, and venomous. Not unlike those of the Elite Captain Antilles himself.

"Secondary hangar, hm? Keeping up appearances for your Elite, masking some repairs to your ship?" the blonde man asks casually. Adolas remains tight lipped, lest he reveal weakness to the foe standing before him. "Ion cannons…" the man pauses looking up at the high ceilings of the secondary hangar, making an insidious shake of his head, as if pitying the young officer, "devastating weapons for capital ships…." The man's eyes remain cold, unfeeling.

Adolas straightens, uneasy. Yanking down on the front of his tunic, he continues. "You will be processed, and charged for treason against our illustrious Empire."

"How many systems is this ship running on? Engines and weapons? Or is the command of this ship just a little… inexperienced?"

"I have experienced plenty," the young officer snaps quietly. "Do you have any idea what you have done to my Corellian people? What we are still going through because of you?"

"Our people," the voice interjects. The cold, lidded eyes stay as they are, while a smirk peeks out from under the man's beard. "All in the name of freedom, boy."

Adolas nods to the Elite guards. "Lead them to cell block A," the Acting Captain commands quickly. The black coated guards lead the column of troopers and their prisoner out of the hangar, taking Madine away before Adolas acts on his anger. As the group leaves, Adolas remains, standing stiffly, clenching his gloved fists. Deck officers arrive, signalling with lit batons, and the shuttle begins to be slowly conveyed along the deck into the cavernous maintenance corridor. Spinning in place, Adolas exits the hangar as well, out the personnel accessway, the security detail holding until the Captain is off the deck.

Adolas marches, exercising his breathing as he goes, a meditation technique Commander Rannix taught him. However, the crackles of ionic fallout snap and hiss, fresh in his mind.

"You're in charge, Adolas!"

A switch is pulled on the wall console, followed by the wail of the shipwide klaxon. "All crews to battlestations. All crews to battlestations," Adolas alerts dutifully into a microphone his voice echoing above from the all-call speakers.

"On course to intercept, sir," one of the bridge crew informs from their trench.

"Prepare tractor beams and the light forward batteries," Captain Lennox commands, standing above his crew trench with his hands folded behind his back, staring forward at the white planet. "Confirm we have the pilots in position for deployment. I want our Hawks and Deltas first through the atmosphere for strikes when that shield comes down."

"Aye, Captain," Adolas affirms, sorting his duties and preparing to check on the Hawks' Flight Commander while the crewmen continue on.

"We have visual on incoming targets now, bearing 1.05-"

"Sir, power surge from the planet's surface!"

"Brace!" Lennox shouts out, steadying his stance as a volley of bright white energy quickly rushes up from the planet.

Hurriedly swapping the comms to alert, Adolas warns suddenly, "BRACE BRACE BRACE!" A thud rumbles up through the floor, followed by a shrill ripping sound crawling across the outside of the ship. Adolas' console blinks out, the lights beginning to flash violently. Spinning to look out the windows, he sees Lennox stiffening as a white hot blast flies in, impacting just below the bridge windows. The ship's Captain collapses as arcs of electricity reach out from the walls and up through the floor, wrapping around his legs. The air suddenly reeks of ionization; burnt oxygen. The lights to the bridge blink out, and the console behind Adolas bursts open, showering his back in sparks.

The world rushes back to the forefront of Adolas' mind, and he finds himself standing among the bulkheads of a hallway under repair. The crewman and engineers all remain oblivious, busy with their tasks, until a voice shouts out.

"CAPTAIN ON DECK!"

The crewmen all shoot up from their welders, and snap to attention. Adolas, snapped out of his memory, does his best to act present.

"Uh, as you were," Adolas says quietly, straightening and tugging downward at the waist of his tunic as the senior officer approaches him.

The crews return to their tasks, and the officer states, "Sir, the corridor will be up to snuff in a matter of minutes. However, it is still rather hazardous as it stands. We had bad fires on these decks, the power is still unstable. Where've you come from, sir?"

"Secondary Hangar."

"I'd recommend heading toward the prison block and taking the turbolift at junction 2-K to deck 22 if you want a maintenance free route to the bridge."

"I understand, uh…."

"Chief Engineer Randolf."

"Chief Engineer Randolf, I'll head to the bridge via an alternate route."

"Thank you, Captain."

Adolas turns back, and rounds the corner to a neighboring hallway. It has been an exhausting first day as the ship's captain. No amount of formal training or sheltered academy education could prepare an officer for problem solving and strategy like this. For a short moment, Adolas takes some time to slow his pace.

"Hey, where's that hydrospanner?" a lower class engineer asks, surrounded by pilots cleaning up in the maintenance storage bay. The drab grey pods and shining black solar panels of tightly packed TIE fighters crowd the walls and railings in the dim light.

One pilot chimes in, holding his gloves in his hand and heading out with a group. "I think Vilius has it."

"Well, I need it back, where is he?"

The departing pilots point to the officer in question, who turns around to the engineer, shrugging.

"I don't have it," the pilot deflects, frustrating the engineer.

"I need it back, sir."

"I told you, Engineer, I don't have it. It's probably-"

"We need it accounted for, Vilius," Valen interjects as he wipes his hands off on a greasy rag, taking control of the situation. Another engineer stands by and takes a tablet from Valen as he closes out yet another fighter, cleared for spaceflight.

"Yes, sir," the pilot sheepishly retreats.

"Yes, Commander," the engineer replies, thanking the assistance.

"What's your name, son?" Valen asks.

"Engineering Petty Officer Doran."

"Vilius. Accompany Officer Doran to inspect the fighters on your checklist and find the tool."

"Sir, with all due respect, it's probably on a shelf somewhere."

"Our hangar teams are meticulous and precise, as should be the ones taking care of us and our fighter craft. They are to be respected as if they are our flying colleagues." Valen leads Sirius out a small maintenance hall exit, opening the door and nodding his Second through. "I'm grabbing some food. Report to me when you've found the hydrospanner, Flight Officer Vilius."

"Yes, sir," the officer says, the rest of the Hawks dispersing out the other exits.

Valen and Sirius head out of the bay through a dimly lit maintenance corridor. The hallway is narrow and unpopulated, the ceilings lowered by arrays of utility pipes.

"I'm hungry too," Sirius says as they move through the hallway, closing the door behind them. It doesn't take long for the Second to end the quiet walk, asking, "Ever the diplomat, eh, Valen?"

"You know you could be the one that bridges these gaps with our neighboring departments," Valen pauses, slightly bowing his head underneath a low pipe, "as my Second."

"I dunno if I'd make the same decision you made," Sirius admits, following Valen under the pipe, the pair continuing on.

"Let me guess," Valen smirks. "Iron fist. Commander Sirius, 'the Serious.'"

"The engineers should respect us. They're not qualified fighter pilots, we are. If he wants to go hunting a hydrospanner in the privacy of his own maintenance bay, he can do it on his own, while we get ready to fight."

"You think we take precedence?"

"I think we don't demand enough respect for the pilots keeping the Tyrant safe. We don't need to compromise on things like that."

"Our respect for our neighboring departments will drive their respect for us, I sorted the man under my command." Pointing at his wingman and tilting his head, Valen lectures, "If a hydrospanner gets whipped through an ion engine on the rack during testing, that looks bad for everyone."

"Yeah, I guess," Sirius acquiesces, changing the subject. "You think Captain Lennox will be up and ready soon?"

"He'll be fine, Janos."

"Saw that Corellian officer taking on a prisoner at the secondary hangar, that was pretty-"

"He's the Acting Captain of the Tyrant-"

"-yeah, 'Acting Captain Paperwork.' Your firing range buddy, something-something Owan."

"Adolas." Valen's shoulders tense, sensing his Second may be poking at him intentionally. "He's a smart young man, just a little green on field work. And our direct superior at this point." His frustration spills over just a bit, as he shortly asks, "Can we not bring up his lineage, please? I don't want to argue with you again."

"He's a Corellian clerk, Valen, what do you want me to say? Since Julos killed Daxxis, I don't think I could ever trust myself to a greenhorn Corellian like-"

"I think you need to take a look at why we keep having these discussions, Janos."

"You have your way of thinking, and I have mine. I have to stay vigilant."

"That…" Valen pauses, looking Sirius in the eye and stopping, "...sounds like Captain Antilles to me, not you."

Stopping in kind, Sirius turns to face Valen, his voice beginning to raise in volume. "We need to keep them under control, or they will betray us again. Why do you invite another embarrassment by continuing to give high risk assets to these people rather than real Imperials?!"

"They are real Imperials, Janos!" Valen exclaims, annoyed that he has to remind him yet again. "For someone that doesn't respect authority, you sure seem to expect that if you're Commander, people bow to yours. The disrespect you have for the Corellian pilots, albeit behind closed doors between us, is unbecoming of someone that could lead them one day!"

"I guarantee you they'll do what I order them to do! I would do something about them, not stand idly by while they roam free to do whatever they-"

"They're not going anywhere! If you had the experiences I've had, you'd know just how many-"

"When I'm in command, I wouldn't be the same commander you are!"

"'If,' Janos! If!" Valen yells, stabbing his finger at Janos. The Second in Command stands, brow furrowed, jaw jutted forwards and ready to fight, but no words return fire. Freezing in place, a feeling of shock and regret begins to wash over the Pilot Commander, as he drops his pointing hand, realizing what he's just admitted to himself. Slowly, the fresh anger begins to drain from Valen's face. "You are a talented pilot, Janos. Brilliant." Valen's brow begins to furrow with disappointment. "But I don't think you are ready for command of anyone. If I can't get through to you, you may never-"

Valen is cut off, as the lights suddenly go out in the corridor, surrounding the pair in darkness.

"What's going on?" Sirius, looking up in the dark with his Commander.

"I don't know," Valen says quietly, the hairs on his neck standing on end at another loss of power.

"We get hit again?" Sirius asks quietly. The Commander checks the lamps above the hallway for any flickering or strange behavior. Out of Valen's sight, however, the eyes of Janos glare at the back of his head.

"I still hear the life support. This is just the lights." Valen pulls his commlink from his pocket and speaks into it. "Bridge, this is Commander Rannix." Waiting, there's no response. Trying again, Valen beckons, "Bridge. Commander Rannix here, respond."

"Make that the comms, too."

"Something's wrong."

The ceilings of the corridor above Adolas' head are pitch black, the hum of the engines echoing off the walls, life support breathing filtered oxygen through the vents. Pulling a commlink from his pocket, he speaks into it.

"Bridge. This is Owan."

Nothing returns. Adolas looks down at his commlink, checking its function. The diminutive device fizzes in his hand quietly as he checks the channels. He lifts it towards his mouth again.

"Chief Engineer Randolf, this is Acting Captain Owan." Nothing again. "Randolf, have we lost power for deck 23A?" Adolas asks into the device, turning back and facing the direction of the maintenance. The commlink continues to fizz quietly. Furrowing his brow, he turns back the way he was headed down the hallway, and comes upon a turbolift door. In the dark, a sign for the area says '2-K.' The access panel is still lit, glowing in the darkness. Reaching out, Adolas taps the call button, and watches the readout above the door.

28A….

27B….

27A….

Suddenly departing the turbolift, Adolas quickens his pace.

"Prison Block A, this is Acting Captain Owan. If you can hear me, I need you to check a priority prisoner."

Nothing returns. Adolas' quick steps take to the air as he begins to jog down the stark, empty corridor in the dark, passing signs for Prison Block A. The doors he passes have indicators above them, their access panels illuminated as if nothing is wrong.

Is it just the lights?

The hallway is quiet, as it should be in a prison block. Adolas' shining boots lightly drum on the solid floor plates, as he heads towards a T intersection, but suddenly, the ghostly, mute flicker of a flashlight crosses the far wall, and disappears. Adolas heads towards the source, returning his pace to that of a dignified Captain. He tugs firmly down on the front of his tunic so as to look respectable for the Elites standing guard at General Madine's cell. Just as he is about to turn left, however, something catches his eye in the hallway to the right. Adolas gasps and jerks backwards, planting his back against the wall as the flashlight returns, shining on his corner as he hides in the shadow.

Impeccably shined black boots sit on the floor in the hallway to the right, sole up. The form of a body lays face down on the floor. Barely sheltered by the edge of the corridor, Adolas freezes, holding his breath. The ghostly white ray of light silently flicks down to the floor, illuminating the black jacket of an Elite Sentinel, his uniform tattered around a hole burned in his back. The light holds for a moment, then flicks back up, reflecting off the wall opposite Adolas'. Suddenly, another light joins it, others shining on varying different spots across the corridor walls.

The spotlights begin to creep into the wall of Adolas' hallway. Heavy duty boots slowly clomp unseen on the floor plates, getting closer. Looking around, the Captain's Representative sees the lights bleed onto a large red button planted in the opposite wall; The prison block alert. It seems unreachable, in plain sight of the menacing spotlights.

Adolas nervously unclips and wrenches his sidearm from its holster, holding it close in front of his chest, the barrel pointed to the ceiling. His heart pounding in his ears, a cold sweat collects across Adolas' forehead.

I'm not ready for this!

His face twists and he looks away, considering running back the other direction and escaping this encroaching peril. Squeezing his eyes shut, Adolas pushes away the thoughts. He opens them again, and his sight falls back to the prison alert. The spotlights dance across it as they creep ever closer. Adolas holds his terrified breath, and tries to employ Valen's breathing technique. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

Honor and Distinction, Honor and Distinction, Honor and Distinction….

Adolas' breath hardly steadies, the exhalation shivering out of his mouth as he tries to stifle it to silence. One last, deep breath, and he holds it. The lights are almost upon him.

Now.

Reaching out, Adolas lunges across the lights for the button.

The Tyrant wails like a great beast, emergency lighting flashing red in the maintenance hallways. Valen and Sirius immediately whirl, looking at each other. Without a word, the pair set off down the maintenance hall at an alarmed pace.

The pair run for the end of the maintenance corridor, a utility door with a windowed port capping the end. As they reach it, Valen slaps the access button, and it springs open to the sounds of shouting. A group of five Naval Troopers run past, wearing broad brimmed black helmets.

"Cut 'em off, cut 'em off! This way!"

Valen begins to step out into the hallway, and suddenly, sparks spray off the walls where the Naval Troopers ran, causing him to stay back. One Trooper staggers backwards, falling against the wall, another dropping in place, killed instantly. The other three run ahead to the next corner, ducking behind it for cover while firing back.

Sirius pushes on Valen, trying to get a good look out of the narrow utility door.

"Hell, is that a firefight?!" Sirius yells, nervously excited. "We gotta help!"

"We don't have anything to help with, Sirius!-"

Valen's cut off as he looks back. The squad of troopers are shouting back in their direction.

"Stay down, Bathus! Stay down!"

One of the troopers shot down in the opening volley is trying to get up, pulling his body prone out of the hallway, his blaster still in hand.

"C'mon, Val, where's your backbone?!" Sirius yells, the anxiety overwhelming him. "We gotta get in there!"

"Uh-OK, come with me!" Valen stutters as he crouches down, hurrying towards the hallway intersection with the downed trooper. Sirius sticks close, right behind the Commander. Running up, Valen shouts, "Friendly!"

The squadron leader growls, waving his hand, "Get 'im outta here! Get 'im outta here!"

Reaching down, Valen grasps the wounded man by the top of his tunic, and looks over his shoulder to the left.

White armored soldiers are pushing forward from the end of the hallway, far more Naval Troopers in the fight down the corridor than Valen originally thought. The firefight encroaches with every black uniformed Imperial falling dead in the hallway. The faceless assailants pushing closer are wearing Snowtrooper armor.

Trying not to let himself be mesmerized by the terror of the firefight, Valen yanks on the wounded man's tunic, pulling him out of the hallway, Sirius grasping a handful of the man's uniform as he comes into reach. Pulling the man back to the utility door, Valen lets go as Sirius drags him through the door into the maintenance corridor.

"P-...prison…," the wounded man stammers deliriously. A charred hole sits, burned into the left side of his torso.

"Prison?" Sirius repeats.

"He needs first aid, Sirius, get to a trauma box and bring it back here!" Valen barks, keeping focused as the blaster fire gets louder behind them.

"I'm going, Val, get his blaster!" Sirius shouts, running down the hall. Valen reaches down and pulls on the weapon, the Naval Trooper weakly letting go, but grabbing at his other hand, holding as tightly as he can. The trooper grimaces in pain, and groans, trying to twist away from the hole in his side. The pilot commander looks down at the hand, and squeezes in kind until the wave of pain has passed.

"You're gonna be alright," Valen assures, tucking the compact rifle to his chest. "My wingman Sirius's got you." Letting go, and putting his hand on the man's shoulder, Valen quickly crouch walks over to the utilitarian hatchway, the fight blazing on outside.

"I got it, I got it!" Sirius shouts, his boots clattering against the grated utility floors as he begins to run back. Valen peeks out of the doorway with the weighty rifle across his hip, staying low. Looking to one side, he sees another of the Naval Trooper squad fall as the leader shouts out to hold the line.

"Valen?!" Sirius yells out as he continues to run closer.

"Stay in here and take care of him, Sirius, that's an order!" Valen yells, hopping outside and tapping the door panel to shut it. Valen turns back to help, the Naval troopers beginning to fall back out of the corridor as they cover each other against the withering blaster fire. Valen runs up to the corner of the hallway, the squad leader firing as his remaining security team cross and pass Valen. The last of his team pulled back, the squad leader picks up from his cover and tries to cross the hallway toward the Pilot Commander, but is cut down, falling just within reach. Valen kneels in to grab the squad leader, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees the blur of white armor, alarmingly close. Spinning back, Valen sees Sirius standing in the now-open doorway to the maintenance corridor, preparing to defy orders once again.

With no time left, Valen aims his rifle back at the utility door, and fires a burst as Sirius flinches back, covering his head and shouting out, "Commander!" The access panel explodes in a shower of sparks, and the utility door slams shut in front of Valen's Second.

In a sudden flash of white, Valen can feel his body go limp, and hear his limbs hit the metallic floor plating. A dull darkness fogs his mind, crushing in his head, the world washing black around him, filling his ears like a vast ocean, silencing the world. The deep emptiness pulls at him as he strains to open his eyes and draw light in. In the relative quiet, Valen's dazed eyes roll open to see the floor has come up to meet him again. His officer's cap, knocked from his head, lays on the plating in front of him, and a tan-sleeved hand reaches down, lifting it. The darkness begins to swallow Valen's vision, dragging him away from the blurry floorplates in front of him. Valen hears a calm voice echo, "'Commander….'" as the world goes dark around him.

Chapter X: Dagger

The world echoes strangely, a muted and dissonant noise. Valen can feel hands pulling on his officer's tunic. Something is holding him. Trying to wake his mind and observe, Valen feels a familiar catch, a memory from a long time ago; his boots bumping over subtle seams in the floorplates. Pushing a thought, Valen remembers the feeling of being dragged years ago aboard the Phalanx. Struggling to make his body move, Valen can't find the strength. His boots touch another seam, but he can't tell which direction his boots are. The echoes wash and roar, white noise mixed with sharp spikes, as if his mind was a leg that had fallen asleep. The roar sharpens, and the noise begins to define, the echoing shouting of voices, the wash opening up from half submerged in murky water, into out in an open field. The darkness enveloping his vision turns bright as Valen's eyes begin to pull open, and a flash reddens his eyelids. A dull pain fades into his consciousness, and an arm reaches up on its own, Valen can feel the fingers on his brow. In a daze, Valen pulls his eyes open, and they blur as they draw in the sharp white lights from the ceiling. More flashes zip overhead, brilliant and crimson. The floor steadies underneath his body, orienting his back flat against it, and the details of the ceiling begin to flow back.

The main hangar…. How'd I get here?

Rolling to one side, Valen cranes his neck and looks up, along the floor. A body, cloaked in white plasteel and cloth, scorched in blaster marks, lays dead just above him. Looking past, he can see the shapes of white figures, flashing red, running away into a dark pit. The maw of a shuttle tilts disorientingly in his vision.

Lifting his head from the floor, Valen weakly looks the opposite direction. More white armored figures, rushing towards him. A bolt of sudden fear electrifies his blood, and Valen shoots up on his elbows, throwing a hand forward to protect himself as the troopers descend upon him. Gloved hands grasp his tunic, gathering the material right at the front of his jacket, and yank violently at him, spinning and dragging him along the floor as he grasps powerlessly at the plasteel plated arms, his face grimacing in terror and shock. As swiftly as he was snatched up, the dragging stops, Valen's head propped against a box. The discernible flow and hum of a T-4a shuttle's engines begins to rise in pitch, filling the hangar bay above the twangs of blaster fire.

"Get him outta here!" A microphoned voice shouts out, more blasts sparking off the walls. Valen is surrounded by white armor. Troopers stand all around, above him, taking aim over the hangar bay's large cargo crates.

"Commander, can you walk?!" one yells into Valen's face as he kneels down.

"Huh? Uh," Valen stammers, rolling forward and sitting up. "Y-yeah."

"Keep yer head down, and hold onto me!" the voice shouts out, another hand grabbing a fistful of Valen's tunic and lifting him from the floor. Slinging Valen's arm over his plasteel armor, the trooper crouches down and runs him towards the hangar exit, the Pilot Commander doing his best to hold his feet underneath himself and keep up. Turning back as he's practically carried towards the accessway, Valen can see the tri-winged shuttle beginning to lift off, slowly rotating as the white armored Marines shout out and fire their weapons at its shielded cockpit. Suddenly the ship opens up and blasts its forward weapons inside the hangar, showering the troopers in sparks and tossing crates over their heads. Massive red beams flash overhead, impacting on the wall in gouts of fire and sparks as Valen and the stormtrooper narrowly make it safely outside and around the corner. The trooper begins to slowly let Valen down to sit, but Valen stops himself against the wall, insisting on standing.

"Thanks, trooper…."

"Are you alright sir?"

"I'll be fine, I-"

"Commander Rannix," a tiny voice beckons, quiet amongst the din. It's Valen's personal commlink. Scrambling for the device, Valen responds.

"R-Rannix here!"

"This is Acting Captain Byshoph. Deploy the Hawks to pursue stolen shuttle Perfidium, the Tyrant's weapon systems have been sabotaged. Comms are back online, we are requesting assistance from the Phalanx in pursuit."

"The hangar is unsafe, there's a firefight going on!"

"General Madine is on that ship, we need them recaptured or destroyed before they escape the planet's gravity well."

"Yes, sir!" Valen says, swapping channels and pacing habitually. "Hawk Group, this is Commander Rannix. All able pilots to the hangar bay. Repeat: All able pilots to the hangar bay, emergency scramble." Swapping channels again, Valen mobilizes. "Crane, do you copy?"

"Crane here."

"Are you operational?"

"Yes, Commander. The walls will need patching, but my racks are tougher than that firefight-"

"I need emergency deployment for the Hawks immediately."

"Your Interceptors are not cleared to fly, we don't know if they're spaceworthy, sir."

"I need as many TIE/LNs as you can give me, then."

"I can do that, sir."

"Thank you, Crane, soon as you can," Valen says, tossing the commlink back in his pocket. Turning to his rescuer, Valen returns immediately to his duties, "Trooper, I need a suit."

"Right away, Commander. Come with me!" the soldier beckons, jogging ahead as Valen keeps up behind him. They run down the hallway to an auxiliary flight ready-room, where the trooper stops at the door.

"Thank you, trooper, this is it."

"Yes, Commander, give 'em hell," the Marine encourages, opening the door for the Pilot Commander. "Do you need a medic?"

"Huh?"

"Your head, sir."

Valen reaches up, met with a stinging sensation. His hair feels wet, but he figured it was with sweat from the battle. Wincing at the pain, Valen pulls his hand away to see his fingertips red with blood.

What…. I don't...was I hit when I was...with-...

Suddenly, his eyes popping open, he whirls around to the Trooper behind him as he enters the room. "Uh, Lieutenant Commander Sirius!"

"Who?"

"I need you to find my wingman, he's in a hangar maintenance corridor with wounded!"

"Y-yessir, but your wound, sir-"

"Nevermind my wound!" Valen snaps, rushed, "I need my wingman in a fighter!"

"Yessir, I'll find him, sir!" the Marine affirms, taking off at a run, Valen turning back to the ready room and finding a grated locker with suit supplies inside. The emergency flight suit hangs from a hook, and is marked with a yellow band around the left upper arm and the rim of one boot, as well as yellow markings around the back of the helmet's collar. Pulling his Serenum inhaler out of his pocket, he slaps it onto a countertop and throws the locker open.

Whipping the cloth undersuit off the hook, he throws his boots off and hastily pulls it up over his shoulders. Spinning around to grab a plated pilot's vest, he slips his feet back into his boots and grabs for a helmet to clip into his life support. The Tyrant's klaxon howling in his ears, he brings the helmet over his head and, wincing, slowly pulls it over his wound. Suddenly the world is muffled and black, the helmet unpowered. Reaching down by feel, Valen flips the switches on the life support, opening the breather tubes and flicking on the helmet's visor. The world rushes back into his ears through the helmet's environmental comms as he speaks into them.

"Crane, this is Commander Rannix, comms check, 1, 2. Comms check, 1, 2."

"I hear you, Commander, why are you checking with me?"

"This suit's a loaner," Valen says hurriedly, yanking a pair of flight gauntlets over his hands, and reaching onto a countertop, "I just want everything working." Flipping his Serenum inhaler over, he presses it into the port on the suit's life support, and it clicks in, hissing out a dose of medication.

His heartbeat pounding on the sore welt on his head, Valen takes a deep breath as Crane responds, "Yessir, I hear you loud and clear," barely audible amongst the wash of intense urgency rushing through his mind.

Valen breathes out, leaning forward on his knees, closing his eyes as a slow drop of blood wanders forward to his brow. Taking another breath in, the tense, vibrating atmosphere begins to fade, Valen's quaking excitement yielding to clarity. His heart continues to drum in his head, but the feeling is no longer oppressive, the pain beginning to fade to the point it can be pushed away. Quiet in his helmet, Valen focuses on the peace, like the emptiness of space. Exhaling gently, Valen slowly opens his eyes. In the serene moment of silence, hears Crane's voice clearly in his head.

"I have the first row on the rack, Commander."

Immediately snapping upwards, Valen marches out the door to the main floor of the hangar bay. Making his way across, the Commander can see the aftermath of the firefight laid across the flight deck. White armored soldiers are tending to the wounded and killed, Valen able to recognize the spot he was pulled from. Black scorch marks pock the walls and supply crates around the teams of stormtroopers and medical personnel, hangar crew directing arriving pilots to the crane lifts. Noticing the pilots looking his way, Valen picks up to a run, waving his pilots to him.

"Let's go, let's go, let's go!" the Commander shouts, his pilots running to catch up. Running up the skeletal stairways as the pilots fill the turbolift to capacity, overflowing to the stairs behind him, Valen orders on the comms, "Hawk Group! Spin up your fighters, we're intercepting the stolen shuttle Perfidium."

"Yes, sir!" the pilots' voices ring out in unison.

Running for the closest fighter, Valen dives into the cockpit, starting up the ion engines as he sees his pilots running down the walkway to the next available TIEs. Hangar bay operations and Crane's confirmations buzz in his ear.

"Rail deck. Power on."

"Roger, power on."

"I have wave 2 on standby, railway 1."

"Drop point clear, I need railway 1 clear for wave 2."

"Roger, Railway 1 is clear."

"Standing by for fighter checks."

The ship's engines ignite with a monstrous caw, and their trademark shriek rises to deafening pitch, Valen checking his foot pedals for thruster adjustments. The pod trembles with the power of the restrained fighter's engines as it wails to be released from the crane moorings.

"Hawk Leader, ready for launch," Valen chimes into the hangar frequency, having flipped the last switch and gotten a green light from his weapons systems.

"Hawk 42, ready."

"Hawk 20, ready."

"Hawk 12, ready for launch."

The Hawks begin buzzing in, one by one, as the available TIEs become ready to drop out of the hangar bay.

"Roger, ready to drop wave 1 on your mark, Hawk Leader."

Raising his hand quickly, but hesitating a moment, Valen thinks about if the armored Marine has found his wingman. Returning from the quick pause, Valen clenches his fist and pulls downward in gesture, the hooks releasing the fighter to the stars. The hangar bay rising out of his vision, Valen's fighter falls into the brackish lake once more. The bright white surface of the frozen planet casts diffuse light against Valen's solar panels, blurry shadows passing by as Valen raises the engines' power and turns the fighter craft to the stars. The triangular shape of the stolen shuttle is barely visible in the distance, but can't hold a candle to the velocity of even the basic TIE/LN. Zeroed in, Valen pushes his throttle sticks forward to pursuit speed, and the shuttle's distance readout begins to shrink rapidly. In his radar, he can see a handful of Hawk Group's first launch, about eight fighters alongside his own.

"Hawk Leader to Tyrant, Hawk Leader to Tyrant. Hawk Group is in pursuit of stolen shuttle Perfidium, time to weapons range: 45 seconds."

"Copy, Hawk Leader," a deep, commanding voice responds over comms. "Engage at will with intent to destroy, we will sort out the paperwork with Antilles later."

"Captain Lennox?"

"I have resumed command of the Tyrant under these emergency conditions. We have comms up, the Phalanx and her fighter contingent are on the way to intercept inside the edge of the gravity well."

"Copy," Valen responds, a welling of confidence returning to him to have the ship's Captain backing the Hawks up, "is the Tyrant combat ready?"

"Our weapons systems will be up shortly, we are coming about to pursue. Launching more Hawks behind you."

"Copy, Captain Lennox, welcome back. Hear that, Hawks? Skipper's back on deck!" Valen stirs and raises his voice. "For the Tyrant!"

"For the Tyrant!" the pilots respond over comms, chasing down the thieves' shuttle as Crane hops on the line.

"Wave 2 launched, Hawk Leader."

"How many?"

"Six more Hawks in the stars."

"And three Deltas, Commander."

"Cirres, good to have Deltas in our sky."

"Yessir."

"Commander, hyperspace signature ahead."

The stars suddenly fill with an abrupt presence. A hulking, blistered ship appears, blotting the starfield out. A Mon Calamari star cruiser has dropped out of hyperspace far inside the gravity well in front of them.

"Battleship, dead ahead."

"Do we evade?"

"Negative, pursue that shuttle."

Small shapes appear out of the flanks of the bulbous monster, opening up their wings and charging head-on towards the TIEs.

"Snubs, Commander, I count six. X-Wings."

"We can reach the range of that shuttle before they meet us, don't let 'em scare you. Hawk Leader to Tyrant."

"Go ahead."

"Things are getting worse out here by the second. We may not even break the Perfidium's shields before those X-Wings cross with us. Range to cruiser coming up," Valen pauses to check his readings, doing calculations on the fly, "just after intercept."

"Check 1.99, Commander." Valen clocks his radar, a strong signal pinging on the screen, reading [PHALANX]. "The Phalanx is almost in engagement range. That squid cruiser will need to contend with Captain Jedrik and his Zetas. I need you to wedge between the shuttle and their hangar bay, you can buy us some time to gain the advantage."

"Aye, Captain. Wave 1, we have our orders. We will determine the engagement with those snubs. Let's make a mess between the shuttle and her flagship. Wave 2, engage as soon as you're caught up, we'll need the reinforcements. Delta."

"Copy."

"You cut that shuttle to ribbons for us. 'On sight.'"

"Yessir. There're only three of us though."

"Make those Interceptor cannons work for you, Cirres. You've got this."

"Aye, Commander."

"Sir, they're coming about! The squid's turning their back to the Phalanx!"

"They must be attempting to dock at speed, don't be fooled, their firepower is greater across the rear quarters. Keep eyes open on those snubs, we're about to be in range."

"Here they come!"

The TIEs spread out as trained, keeping the enemy fighters' fire from focusing into their group. Red cannon blasts zip between the Hawks as they dance around them. Cutting through, the X-Wing fighters cross the Hawks, who keep on their line, well in range of the Perfidium.

"Hold your speed, watch the rear turret!" Valen calls out, cutting up across the rear of the shuttle, then crossing in front of it in an attempt to slow them down. The Hawks follow suit, weaving paths with each other and firing shots across the shuttle's shielded bow. The shuttle holds its course, continuing to be unshaken by the attempts, the X-Wings diving in to try and flush the Hawks out of the shuttle's way. Valen speeds up ahead as the Hawks keep the fighters busy, opening his distance in front of the shuttle. Coming just into range of the capital ship's turbolasers, Valen comes about as the Rebel cruiser attempts to open fire on him. Charging head on at the shuttle, Valen begins to pound on its forward shields with his fighter's cannons, a second Hawk joining him on his attack line. Suddenly, the shuttle begins to bank to port, falling off its line, away from Valen's aggressive approach.

"We've diverted their path, keep between the Perfidium and the battleship!"

"Second wave is in range, engaging."

"So's that squid cruiser, watch those turbolasers!" Valen begins to shout over the sounds of heavy ordinance streaming across his flight path.

"Phalanx is coming in with fire support," the comms alert, Captain Jedrik on the line. "Keep the lane clear on that Squid's starboard side," the comms continue as orange flashes backlight the cruiser's blistered silhouette.

"The Perfidium is slipping alongside the cruiser for cover from the Phalanx. Keep this mess between them and that ship!"

"Delta is in range of the Perfidium."

"Hawk Leader, break to port!"

Valen yanks the fighter to one side, rolling out of the way and checking the rear porthole. A Rebel fighter is banking hard, pursuing him. The stars and the X shape of the enemy ship whirl in the rear viewport. All the while, more info pours in through the comms.

"New wave, X-Wings!"

"What's the count?"

"Another squadron, fives!"

"Where the hell is Zeta?!"

"Rebel cruiser is gaining spee-...that shuttle away from them."

"I've got comms and nav-...cting up…."

"Me too-...eep on the watch….nterceptors!"

"Visual! A-Wings! I have-... at 2.3-..."

"Say again, we do not cop-..."

"A-Wi-...2.38! I say ag-...four signals at 2-..."

Valen barrel rolls to the right and decelerates, the X-Wing hooking wide around him. Spiraling around, his fighter tightens the turn and accelerates, getting onto the enemy's tail. Firing into its portside wings, the Pilot Commander shears enough off the fighter to send it into an uncontrolled spin. With no time to watch it tumble, Valen's cockpit strobes with the flashes of a stream of passing laserfire.

"Commander!-" a voice shouts out, cutting out as a bright orange flash illuminates Valen's cockpit from behind. Through his hull, he can hear a high pitched whistle whip by, but can't catch where it is.

"Hawk 42 is down! Hawk, Delta, I need visual on these interceptors!"

"I can't-...eep up with-...!"

"We're being chased off at-..."

"Undernea-...tail, Hawk Leader!"

Valen, against his instinct to pull up and away, shoves the steering yolk forward, decelerating again. Suddenly, without any firing, the high pitched howl of the interceptor engines slip past him, ripping a chill up Valen's spine. An orange flare crosses over the top of Valen's cockpit as he whips his head upward to track it. It's no use, he's moving too slowly, and it's banked away again.

"Blast it, where are you?!"

"Delta is under att-ck… can't keep this up-..."

"Lohm, keep on that shuttle!"

"Command-... say again….cannot-..."

"I say again, keep on that shuttle, Delta! Hawk to Tyrant, Hawk to Tyrant, We're losing control of the situation here!"

"Hawk L-...this is Tyra-... say agai-..."

The interference is getting wildly worse, Valen's comms signals shrinking to near nothing. Checking his nav readouts, the fighter is struggling to identify the cruisers on the radar, flipping the Tyrant and Phalanx's positions periodically. Suddenly, the trademark wash of Imperial shuttle engines roars underneath, vibrating Valen's cockpit floor. Shocked, he checks the radar again. The fuzzy readout shows the Perfidium on course alongside the cruiser, but then blips to one side of the engagement suddenly, with nothing between it and the Rebel flagship.

"Delta!"

"Cop-...we've been trying-...alert you! Perf-... slipping away!..."

"Pursue that shuttle, Hawks!"

"Aye-...-wk Leader, where is th-" The comms cut out on another Hawk as a bright orange fireball lights up the black sky. Checking his readings, Valen's forces are not doing well, and he can't tell if the Phalanx is near enough to launch reinforcements yet. Looking through the interference, Valen brings the fighter around to find the Perfidium, but it does not show in front of him. Checking again, he sees the signal is in a different spot once more, and disappears next to the cruiser's signature. In a startling blast of static, communications explode back into clarity.

"Hawk Group, Hawk Group. Be advised: Perfidium has escaped to Rebel cruiser. Phalanx is launching Beta Group, Hawk and Zeta will cover. We need to disable their hyperdrive before they escape the gravity well."

"Where are the rest of my Hawks?!" Valen asks urgently into the comms. Swiveling his head around frantically, the Pilot Commander blinks hard to press the blood out of his eye. The X-Wings swirl and whip around, near and far in the dizzying starscape, intertwined with the yellow streaks of the Rebel Interceptors' blazing engines and Valen's regular TIE/LN's.

"We had a malfunction on the rack. Wave 3 of the Hawks is launching now, Commander. It will take time for them to get to you during pursuit."

"I need Zeta's Interceptors to fight with these Rebel Ghosts! We don't have the speed-" Valen's cut off by another explosion, followed by the swirling wreckage of another TIE blazing past. "I've lost sight of 23 and 22. 42, 12, and 18 are down, we're getting cut to pieces out here!"

"Stand by, Commander, I have word of combat capabilities," Captain Lennox states before a brief pause. Quickly, he returns, "Open distance between you and the cruiser, Tyrant will open fire through lane 8.252. Clear the lane, rendezvous with Wave 3."

"Finally! Hawks, Delta, regroup on me and break away from those Rebel Interceptors!"

"We're with you, Hawk Leader!" Lohm's voice barks clearly through the comms. Valen leads the way out, tearing away from the cruiser with his flight group and subsquadron. The enemy fighters give chase, but break away as enormous streaks of green turbolaser fire cut in, blocking their advance.

"Zeta is covering Beta Group, Subsquadron Xi is pushing ahead along with Zeta's apportioned Interceptors to engage with the Rebel Scramblers."

"Hawk and Delta are regrouping, Captain. What is the plan?"

"Beta should reach the cruiser in time for a bombing run on its hyperdrive, Tyrant and Phalanx are bombarding the cruiser's shields to weaken them. It seems they entered the fight with partially operational shields."

"We can fight."

"Assist Xi's fighters, we will overwhelm those fast ships and give the TIE Interceptors an opening. Once Beta disables that hyperdrive, the battle is far from over with those Rebel Interceptors in the skies."

"Aye, Captain."

"Hawk Leader, this is Hawk 44, we have visual on you."

"Copy, we are coming about, 75% throttle. Wave 3, meet up on uploaded trajectory."

"Aye, Commander."

"Captain, where's wave 4?"

"Wave 3 is wave 4, Commander. The entirety of the Tyrant's operational fighter contingent has launched."

Staring down into his controls as the rag-tag flight of TIE Fighters group up, Valen considers the severely limited firepower. "Copy, Captain," he says dutifully, pushing forward on his throttle. "We'll make it work. Hawks, Delta, throttle up over the top. We're going to pinch the Rebel fighter force between us and Xi's Interceptors."

Valen and his Flight Group tear ahead, climbing above the lane of green fire as it streaks towards the fleeing battleship. To one side, their sister ship can be seen, her bombardment halted as the flights of bombers descend into the lane for their bombing run. Ahead, Valen can see the grouping of nearly 15 X-Wing fighters' engines, bolting towards the charging Xi Squadron.

"Tyrant, Tyrant. Relay, we have 15 X-Wing fighters, and no visual on Rebel Interceptors flying in their formations. Repeat: No visual on Rebel Interceptors in formation with sighted X-Wing defense forces."

The comms go silent, overwhelmed by turbulent static.

"Tyrant, respond."

"Haw-..." The static continues, oppressively disrupting communications.

"This jamming is getting worse. Hawk Group, are you in range of my comms? Check in."

"Cop-... Repeat, you're a little fuzz- but we copy, Commander."

"We read y-... Commander."

"Stay close and tighten up formations, we're getting jammed out of everything but our closest ranges. Check nav, I want heads on swivels, alert if you see anything that looks like a Rebel Interceptor, we don't need them cutting more of us down."

"Aye, Commander-..." the voices echo through the severe static. Valen checks his heading, frustratedly giving a small rap against his instruments. The heading flips backwards and forwards, the three flagship signals swapping places repeatedly as the screen fizzles and blips. Even the star map, showing the system's sun and the planet of Hoth is of no use, its orientation swirling round and round, unable to right itself.

"Eyes up, Hawks and Delta. There's a lot of energy going into making sure we're as blind as possible out here. Pick up your visual scanning, we're almost on these X's."

"There, sir!-...-right yellow engine fl-res! Ahead, above Xi's Interceptors! 2 point 2!"

"Blast it, they're already flanked! Xi Squadron, Xi Squadron, visual on incoming Rebel Interceptors! High, check 2.2! Repeat: Check 2.2, high!"

No response. The engine flares begin to descend over the top of the incoming Imperial Subsquadron.

"I don't have a response, I'm boosting comms from weapons," Valen says desperately, unable to reach the imperiled TIE Interceptor group. "Xi Squadron, Zeta Interceptors, I say again, danger close! 2.2, high!" Still no response.

The Interceptors dive on the group, cutting a swathe through them with a stream of red laserfire. Streaks of orange cross the sky as multiple TIE Interceptors are hit, the rest pulling away to re-engage. Moving fast, Valen orders, "Reroute comms to engines, reduce effective comms power down to 0.25, Hawks, we need to get in there before the X-Wings can assist. Overclock your ion engines, short burn of 10% over maximum power, on my mark."

"10% up, aye, Commander!"

"10%…-anding by!" The fighter pilots respond.

"Mark," Valen commands, releasing power, the fighter's ion wails screaming above normal pitch, shaking his cockpit violently. The ion engines' wails create a high-pitched whine over the ruckus as they burn with the extreme heat. As the X-Wings' engine flares get closer, half of them break away, diving down towards the bomber squadrons.

"Commander, enemy targets are breaking away, closing on Zeta and the bombers."

"I see them, Hawk 23, the Zetas can cover against that. Keep an eye on engine temps. In range in 10, ready your targets." After a pause as the bulkheads rattle, and the ion engines' screams threatening to melt the thrusters, Valen commands, "Burn off and engage, burn off and engage," and relieves his engines of the volatile power, targeting the rear-most Rebel fighters. Firing over their bow with the squadron, the Hawks immediately cause the attacking X-Wings to roll off their line, and bank towards them. "That's done it, Hawks! Engage at will!"

"Copy, Hawk Leader. Deltas, with me, split off at-"

"Hawk 35 and 38, pushing underneath-"

"47 breaking to starboard with 48 and-."

"Hawk 20, with me up the center," Valen calls out in the chatter, checking the markings on the Rebel fighters' wings. Zooming in with his helmet's visor, he can spot the X-wing with lead markings. "Hawk Leader, cutting their center line and heading for their leader, uploading marks. 20, confirm."

"Copy, Commander, I see him."

"Commander, power spike from the Rebel cruiser!"

Valen looks below, and the Betas are in range, firing volleys of heavy torpedoes and dumping payloads of devastating proton bombs. The heavy weapons light up the starfield, casting sharp contrasting shadows across the enemy cruiser's hull. The brilliant fire seems to engulf the entirety of the stern of the ship.

"Get 'em, Betas!"

"They're thrashing 'em!"

"Did they punch through?"

Their payloads spent, the bombers below begin to come about as the X-Wings pursue, the fire dissipating across the stern of the Rebel Cruiser. The hull is scarred, parts cut open and burned by the devastating barrage. Of the multitude of engines, three are no longer lit.

"That did it!"

"Are we out of the gravity well? I can't see any planets around anymore."

"If they were gonna jump, they'd have done it by now!"

Suddenly, the X-Wings begin to break off, scattering away. Even the ones chasing down the Beta Bombers peel off, now pursued by the Phalanx's Zeta Group.

"We got these Rebs on the ropes now! Stay on them!"

"Glad to have you, Hawk, thank you for the assist!" a voice blares through the comms, crystal clear. It's as if someone had unplugged Valen's ears, letting the entire battlefield speak.

"Uh, roger, is this Xi Squadron?"

"Affirmative Hawk Leader, what's left of us," the voice says clearly, the Interceptors regrouping as the bright yellow engine flares break off and scatter to the stars. "Let's chase these snubs away and let the sisters cut that cruiser to bits!"

Pinched between the two Star Destroyers, the Rebel cruiser's remaining engines brighten with additional power, accelerating the prey further into the black stars. Without a hyperdrive, there is no hope of escape for them. Watching from his bridge, Captain Jedrik clenches his gloved hands over the railing, making a subdued grunt in triumph. Standing straight again and relieved his battered Zetas have recovered, the Captain Commands as he marches across his bridge walkway, "We've got a window through this interference, I need Zeta to push those fighters to one side and vacate the lane, get me all the information you can before we lose comms again."

"Aye, Captain. Zeta Squadron, pursue to-"

"Forward batteries, target the Rebel Cruiser's engines. On my marks, fire at will, let's try to close this up. Can I get status on the Tyrant's turbolasers, I need concentrated fire from Lennox on those engines."

"Aye Captain, forward batteries, make ready for barrage-"

"Put me through to Engineering, I need to know what has been affecting our nav-"

"Hyperspace signatures, stern!" an alarmed crewman interjects from his trench.

Immediately diverting his attention, the Skipper turns. "Bias shields, 25% aft. How many?"

"Aye, Captain, initiating bias, 25%-"

"Signal's dropping again, looks like 3 ships!"

"More Interceptors?"

"Negative, unknown spacecraft!"

"Torpedo signatures!" Another crewman sounds the alarm from his position. "Proton torpedoes away," he alerts as clearly as he can, "range 2 kilometers, bearing 0.5, directly behind us!"

"Proton Torpedoes?!"

"Yessir, torpedoes, uhh, 5, 10, unable to get accurate readings! Multiple, more launching! Large volley of torpedoes bearing 0.5, range, 1.7 kilometers! Right in our Dead Zone!"

Jedrik marches down from his pathway to the crewman with an aft facing radar screen to look for himself. "Bias shields to 50% stern, full ahead starboard, break off our line and deploy countermeasures from starboard batteries!"

"Aye, full ahead starboard, deploying-"

"Notify Tyrant that Phalanx is breaking pursuit, torpedoes inbound." The radar shows a staticky cloud of signals headed towards the Phalanx from three ships, marked as [UNKNOWN].

"Countermeasures ineffective, Captain! Torpedoes homing and remaining in the Dead Zone! Bearing remains 0.5, range 1.1 kilometers and closing!"

"Ion barrage, incoming!"

"Ion cannons?! We're well out of range of the system!"

"Source of fire is stern, 0.5! Impacts!" the officer warns, a sharp crackling sound echoing through the bulkheads, like claws scraping across the aft shields.

"Shield biasing disrupted, Captain!" another crewman dives in.

"Shield status."

"Bias is locked up at 35% aft, Captain, we won't get any more before the torpedo barrage."

"Torpedo range 0.2 kilometers, impact imminent!"

"Sound collision!" Jedrik calls out as the emergency klaxon blares out. "All hands, brace for impact!" the Captain and bridge crew grabbing handholds and hunkering down.

The comms officer's voice alerts over the Phalanx's intercom, echoing across the bridge's walls, "Brace, brace, brace!"

A stark shadow flashes across Valen's control panels, blue and orange, a sudden rumble tossing him in his seat. Compensating, Valen checks his viewports, aft, dorsal, and forward. The fleeing Rebel fighters suddenly escape to hyperspace, one after another. In another blast of clarity, Zeta Leader's voice comes in.

"Contact! Phalanx is under attack!"

"Copy, Zeta Lead, coming about!"

Banking his fighter around, Valen centers the sister ship in his view, the sight pulling his gut through the floor

The Phalanx drifts oddly, her back end sweeping out of line with her front, listing the Star Destroyer to her port side as she slowly slides off axis. In the relative quiet, he can hear the engines struggling to ignite, a series of deep, steccato pulses resonating through Valen's cockpit. Zooming in with his visor, Valen spots the attacking ships pulling away in the distance. The ships are flat and asymmetrical, their engine flares dim. Before he can get a good look, they disappear into hyperspace.

"Commander!" Lohm alerts. "Energy spike from the Rebel Cruiser!"

Quickly looking out his aft porthole, Valen sees the cruiser's engines, each one ignited once again.

What-

The telltale whine of hyperdrives begin to grow in pitch as the flares brighten to the brilliance of a blue star, and suddenly, the cruiser vanishes into the blackness of space.

"That's impossible, we knocked out that drive!" Frantically checking his readouts, Valen tries to make sense of the nav computer. There is nothing but a loose cloud of fighters, and the two Imperial battleships. Scraping for answers, he hails their home ship. "Hawk Leader to Tyrant, status."

"We read you, Hawk Leader." Captain Lennox's subdued voice drops out in static for a moment. "Zero Contact. We lost him." Lennox pauses again, before returning with more of the uncharacteristically defeated tone in his voice. "Tyrant is coming about. Hawks and Delta, return to Tyrant for battle-ready maintenance, be advised: tugs are exiting for emergency assistance. Hawk Leader, I need you aboard for a debrief, priority."

"Yes, Skipper. Hawk Group, return to the Tyrant, refuel and repair in shifts of 10. Delta."

"I read y-...wk Leader."

"Keep perimeter watch, high alert. I'll return as soon as able. You are in Command of the Hawks while I'm aboard, Lohm."

"Y-yessir, copy Hawk Lead-..."

"Hangar, Hawk Leader on approach, bring me in."

"Welcome back, Commander. I have a very angry Lieutenant Janos Sirius detained here I need to talk to you about. He was trying to take off in an Interceptor. "

Valen's shoulders tighten as he pushes a strained sigh out of his mouth. Composing himself, the Pilot Commander replies shortly, "I copy, Crane. I'll deal with Lieutenant Sirius in due time. I need to speak with the Captain immediately."

"Aye, Commander." Looking up into the hangar bay of his home, Valen listens to Crane as he guides him in, a fresh team of engineering tugs passing in the opposite direction. "Continue on approach to rack, grid position 01-4."

As the Tyrant comes about, Valen's fighter lines up with it. Valen looks ahead to the wounded Phalanx, reminded of the chilling sight at the Edge when they came upon the Spear. The Phalanx's engines are completely cut, and she drifts at a near dead halt as they approach. The battered and bloodied Zeta and Xi Squadrons guard the crippled ship ahead, debris and burning gaseous material belching from her underside and lighting it aglow amidst scorched torpedo scars. The sight becomes slowly obscured, the Tyrant's main hangar structure lowering over Valen's view as his fighter slowly raises, docking to the moorings above with a rumbling series of clunks. Shutting down his engines, Valen takes a moment in his seat, listening to the relative quiet.

Feeling his eyes begin to close, Valen stirs himself and unbuckles his harness.

"Commander," Captain Lennox greets in his quarters. The man sits in a repulsor chair, slowly hovering out from behind his desk as Valen enters the office. A black and silver cane is laid in a holster on the side of the seat.

"Skipper," Valen salutes, putting a hand up. The wounded Skipper salutes in kind from his chair.

"I will get straight to it," the Captain speaks plainly. "The Phalanx has critical damage to her main reactor. Captain Jedrik has temporarily shut down her main engines, hyperdrive is severely damaged."

"Can she be mended?"

"Mm," Lennox hums, "she is in sore need of drydock repairs." The Captain turns his chair to a small observatory window, the wounded sister ship nearby outside. "The Tyrant can still fight. If we protect the Phalanx, she will make it home. Our only problem is...we don't know where home is."

Lennox turns his chair, circling his desk and powering on a private battle altar. The display shows the two star cruisers in formation, a highlighted sphere encircling them.

"I've consulted with the Elite Staff on board. We are nowhere near any natural anomalies that would cause this interference. We are in some sort of manmade jamming envelope. Long range comms from within are completely dissipated. Short range interference is…extreme." Lennox changes display to a live feed of the navigations array, much like the display inside Valen's fighter cockpit. The signals for the two sister ships alongside each other have distance measurements wildly fluctuating, blips for patrolling squadrons disappearing and reappearing in different places, pointing different directions. "Navigation is useless. We can't tell which way we are going, or which way we've been heading."

"So, how do we get out?"

"EI staff aboard express interest in finding what we can about the source, for weapons research. The more we know about this envelope's limitations, the greater our chances of neutralising it, and getting word out for aid."

"The Tyrant is under full fighting power," Valen protests, the near triumphant battle still fresh in his mind.

"We've underestimated our opponent from the moment we pursued him on the surface. He counted on us addressing the threat directly in front…. Pursuit shield bias is standard practice with Imperial ship captains. The counterattack on our sister ship was quick, and planned. Those ships were waiting in position for a lightspeed strike on the Phalanx's stern. A heavy torpedo barrage in conjunction with ion weapons to stall her shields' agility. The torpedoes went directly up a lane we ship captains quietly know is a weak point for defense; Captain Jedrik states countermeasures could not be deployed effectively." Lennox pauses, staring at the tattered sister ships and fighter squadrons on the altar. Looking across the holographic images, his eyes meet with Valen's. "Our enemy knows our secrets; our weaknesses. Our tactics."

"We need to assess our readiness to defend ourselves and our sister ship," Valen says, acquiescing and distancing himself from his hunter's anxiety. The opening skirmish is over. "We need to understand the terrain of this battlefield, take stock of our abilities. I will work up defensive fighter strategies, and we will need exploratory missions to the end of this envelope."

"Agreed. Sub Lieutenant Fennik is to speak with you at his office immediately regarding expeditions."

"Aye, Captain. Is there anything else?"

Lennox pauses. His eyes remain still, looking towards Valen, but beyond him, as if to the starfield behind.

"Valen…," Lennox says suddenly, pausing again. The use of his name seems informal; personal. The Captain's brow knits ever so slightly, and turns upward in the center for just a moment. Flicking off the battle altar, the Skipper opens a drawer in his desk, reaching into it. His hands hold still as he grabs something, hesitating to remove it. Pulling it from the drawer, the Captain holds it in his lap a moment, then picks it up with both hands.

With a gentle clunk, a black piece of fabric is placed on the desk, something folded within. The white circular symbol of the Imperial Forces is embroidered across the cloth; a ceremonial flag.

Holding two corners, Captain Lennox opens the fabric and lays it out, removing his hands and sitting straight. A chill reaches up Valen's spine, and pulls at his core with the freezing grip of space.

…No.

Sitting alone on the backdrop of the stark Imperial banner, a long blaster pistol with a polished muzzle, cared for to immaculate ceremony condition.