In the Finalizer's captured hangar

Nothing happened for what seemed like hours. Commander knew it hadn't been, but it could feel like it, just as it could feel like seconds. Until the Wraith returned, his sense of time would elude him. Hence the chrono he kept at his wrist and which had seen him through almost all the battles and wars he had fought in.

His team still held the hangar and no attempt had been made to reclaim it. The surprise of their attack had given the mercenaries precious time to clear the hangar, take up positions and prepare to defend it against any force the First Order sent against them. Commander knew that the stormtroopers were not amateurs and neither were their officers. They would take precautions and prepare their assault with as much information as possible, and as many troops as possible. Their surveillance had probably already told them about the bombs that Commander's teams had fitted to every single entrance to the hangar. They wouldn't attack from all sides and make the mistake that almost anyone else would. And Commander was counting on it.

The only thing that he didn't know was which of the entrances the First Order would chose to attack from. It didn't matter in the long run, but it still made him nervous. Regardless of whether his plan succeeded or failed, he might lose some of his soldiers. And even after all these years, Commander still hated the idea.
One of his soldiers touched his shoulder and indicated one of the entrances. Commander didn't change his stance but did focus his attention on the rigged blast doors. How his man had known that this was the place the attack would happen, he didn't know, and he didn't presume to ask. If he was right, the brief time Commander would gain from that knowledge would be invaluable.

His instincts proved correct.

The charges his soldiers had placed on the blast doors blew, and several cries of pain were heard behind them. The debris flew both into the corridor the doors serviced and back out into the hangar. Commander shouted an order and those soldiers who had been facing other openings shifted their attention to the threat. Several crates had been collected behind which they took cover.

The first stormtroopers stepped through the flames, led by one who wore Chrome armour instead of the white one Commander was more used to seeing. He didn't need to issue an order: his soldiers opened fire on the incoming troops. All of them were expert marksmen, and each of their shots hit its target. Their weapons were effective enough that they could cause severe damage, even to First Order armour. Except the Chrome armoured trooper. The shots bounced off the plate and, although they briefly halted the stormtrooper's step, they never caused a full stop. That was unexpected, Commander thought. And it would complicate things.

But a single stormtrooper couldn't face all of them alone, he knew.

'Target the regular troops,' he ordered. He didn't need to explain his orders.

The white stormtroopers continued to poor in, met with a constant volley of fire. Either dead or injured, they went down. But the troops kept coming. And they were just as effective marksmen as Commander's soldiers. Several of them went down a lot sooner than the veteran mercenary would have thought.
Realizing he had no other choice, he deployed his first safety measure by pressing a button on his wrist com.

The snipers he had ordered to hide on the roof of the shuttle emerged, took aim and fired. Each of their shots resulted in a kill and the added firepower was proving beneficial as the stormtroopers' numbers dwindled faster.

-0-

As the new volley rained down on her troops, Captain Phasma realized what she was dealing with. She had assumed that the crew they would face was comprised of professionals; no one else would have dared stage such an attack against a First Order battlecruiser. But there was a difference between professionalism and strategy. And whoever was commanding this team was a strategist.

Phasma ordered those troopers who had already entered the hangar to lay down cover fire, both against the main force of their enemy on the ground, and their snipers. Those who hadn't yet entered the hangar were ordered to remain where they were until they received further orders. Phasma had made one mistake, she wouldn't make anymore.

As she took cover behind a crate while her remaining team exchanged fire with the invaders, she reached for one of the smoke grenades she had attached to her belt. It would provide her with a bit of time to change the game. She armed the grenade and let it fly, breaking her cover for a brief instant. It didn't take long for the smoke to burst from the grenade and cover their assailants. This would give her a few moments.

Phasma typed orders into her wrist com, some to the troopers, others to her armour's system to send the data collected on the hangar's explosive devices sent to her visor. It only took her a second to identify her targets, prime her blaster and prepare to fire.

Phasma's mistake had been to assume that the assailants expected an attack on all sides. Surveillance had revealed that they had placed bombs on all the blast doors protecting the entrance, bombs that would go off once the doors were opened. To limit her losses and end the takeover rapidly, she had decided to attack only one entrance and had therefore done exactly what they had expected.

Now, she intended to use those disused explosives to her advantage.

She rose up from behind the crate, aimed and fired at the explosives on one door. Then another, followed by another and so forth until they had all blown. As explosions rang out around them, the troops she had ordered to remain outside poured into the hangar firing through the smoke at their invaders. As Phasma had planned, they had assumed that the other entrances were being forced which meant new stormtroopers attacking them from all sides. Their shots turned to the other entrances, allowing Phasma's forces to take a stronger foothold in the hangar.

The captain turned her blaster to the mercenaries, who had become visible again through the dispersing smoke of her grenade. She managed to take two down before they ducked for cover, defended only by the fire of their snipers on the top of the shuttle.

The hangar wouldn't be theirs for long.

-0-

'That wasn't part of the plan, Commander,' one of the soldiers yelled over the sound of blasterfire.

'No, it wasn't,' he answered. As they both ducked for cover behind the crates.

Five of his men had been killed in this unexpected exchange. Before Commander has even known what was happening, the explosives had detonated and the stormtroopers had opened fire. His team had reacted as professionals did: instinctively. They had believed that the First Order had sent other squads to attack the other entrances, catching them in a crossfire. And they had paid the price.

Whoever was commanding the stormtroopers was a talented tactician, who had turned the tide of the battle against Commander and his soldiers.

Had it not been for the snipers, the operation would be over. But sufficient caution remained among the stormtroopers not to rush into the confrontation. That gave Commander enough time to asset the situation. Not everything was lost. The First Order had advanced, seizing their advantage. Commander would have done the same in their place. But he had planned for such a contingency, knowing something might happen to upset his plans.

'OK, soldiers,' he shouted. 'Grenades, prepare to throw on my command. And ready the stunners.'

Their right hands tapped the side of their helmets twice to show they had acknowledged the order. Commander reached for one of his grenades and primed it.

'THROW,' he ordered. Several grenades flew at the same time, hitting the durasteel floor of the hangar where the stormtroopers were standing. Some saw what had been thrown and attempted to move away while others remained oblivious to the threat. The explosions caused damage in their ranks, but not enough to convince them that they could not advance. Commander smiled to himself; it was exactly that attitude that he had wanted to inspire in them.

Both the snipers and the soldiers exchanged fire with the stormtroopers, costing another life to Commander's team and many more to the First Order. And the troopers kept coming.

'Now, Commander?'

'No. Draw them in further, we need them to be as close to us as possible.'

It was risky, but necessary. He needed the effect to be brutal on the morale of the troopers. So, he and his soldiers kept firing, taking one more loss. But eventually, Commander judged that the stormtroopers were close enough.

'STUNNERS, NOW,' he ordered.

Several of his soldiers pressed a button on their wrist coms and small droids, similar to the one that had disabled the bridge, sprung up from their backs and headed for the stormtroopers. The effect was blinding, as bursts of electricity emanated from their appendages and fried several troopers where they stood. The intensity of the blasterfire coming their way lowered as the droids became the focus of the First Order's troops.

'FIRE,' Commander ordered. And his soldiers obeyed, taking several stormtroopers down and forcing those that remained back.

A relative lull came over the hangar as the fighting winded down. Several troopers still engaged the droids and a few even tried to shoot for the soldiers, but most of them had withdrawn, either by command or by instinct. But the result was the same and Commander was satisfied with his brief victory.

However, as he took cover once again behind the crates, he wondered how much longer he could hold this position. He had surprised the First Order twice, despite an ingenious tactic on their part to reclaim momentum. He doubted he could surprise them again.

Once more, Commander resisted the impulse to look at his chrono.

-0-

'We can't use that hangar,' FN-2187 said as they turned a corner, saw the mass of stormtroopers before them and heard the distant sounds of fighting.

He had hoped to go to one of the smaller hangars, one where security was lower than the larger ones. But that plan wasn't going to work. Now, the larger hangar was probably their best option, as most of the First Order's efforts would be focused on this smaller one. It still didn't make FN-2187 feel any better about going there.

'Then what do we do?' The pilot asked him.

'Follow me, quickly.'

However, as they turned to leave, they became aware of footsteps behind them.

'Hide,' FN-2187 said.

'Why? Aren't these disguises supposed to do that for us?'

'Yes, but if we're seen turning from a combat situation, we'll become immediate suspects. Hiding is our best option.'

Luckily, the pilot didn't complain.

Opening the door nearest them, they hid inside the room, sealing the door behind them. An uneasy silence settled at first, before the pilot spoke.

'How do we know when it's possible to move again? We can't stay here for long.'

'Our armours are linked to the First Order's battle network. If an engagement is happening in the hangar, we'll be able to follow any squad's movements and know when it'll be possible to move.'

Quickly, FN-2187 showed the pilot how to patch into the battle network and soon they had all the information they needed on the engagement happening in the hangar.

-0-

Kylo Ren and his party had moved as fast as possible and had now reached the corridor leading to the hangar their shuttle was waiting in. But, as they had expected, the corridor was packed with stormtroopers.

Ren stopped as he took them in. His lightsaber remained in his hand, unlit.

A few moments passed during which nothing happened. Then one of the stormtroopers, who had been reaching into a munitions box, noticed them. He immediately signalled the remaining troops about the intruders. Suddenly, half of a whole battalion had their weapons trained on Kylo Ren's dark figure.

And yet, he still didn't move.

The mercenaries behind him hid their nervousness by preparing their weapons. They waited for Ren to provide them with instructions, as he had before. And the things they had just seen him do in the detention level had convinced them that he didn't need their help. Their only mission was to secure Lor San Tekka, who remained between them, hands bound and still as docile as a tauntaun. But even they felt worried as they saw the number of stormtroopers facing them.

But Kylo Ren still didn't move. Whatever he seemed to be waiting for hadn't happened yet. If he was waiting for something.

There was no warning from the troopers. Unlike the squad that had confronted them in the cells, these didn't bother ordering them to surrender. After a brief analysis of the situation, they opened fire.

That was when Ren reacted.

As the first shot was fired, he raised his right hand with such speed that neither of the mercenaries were sure whether they had seen him move or not.

The blaster bolts froze in mid-air, all of them. It took a moment for the mercenaries to register what was happening: several dozen bolts of pure energy remained still in the air between them and the stormtroopers. Faint sizzles coming from each of them filled the silence with an eerie tremor reminiscent of the call before a storm. The bolts were still struggling, trying to reach their targets. But they didn't move an inch.

Neither the mercenaries nor the stormtroopers could look away from the unnatural sight.

The first to move was Kylo Ren.

He pushed his hand, palm outward, towards the stunned troopers. And the bolts obeyed his silent command, spraying the waiting stormtroopers with the fire they had directed at their enemy. Those who remained faltered, looking at the… sorcery that had just happened before them. None of them had been equipped or even prepared to fight against such things. Nevertheless, they were soldiers of the First Order and they would not run from an enemy.

They aimed their blasters at Ren again, but another sharp hand gesture changed that. The blasters turned, pulling the troopers with them, and the shots hit the white armour of their comrades. Few of the shots cost any of the troopers their lives but they were thrown to the ground, each with a gaping hole in their armour and a fresh injury.

Then, Ren started to move, his lightsaber activating and his pacing quickening to speeds no human could reach. The troopers fired at the blur he had become, but the lucky few that reached him were deflected by the blade. The red blade hit every which way and eliminated all stormtrooper standing in its path. Ren continued to move the remaining length of the corridor to the hangar door, sparing none.

-0-

'Impossible,' the pilot said, as they watched the feed provided by the battle network.

FN-2187 was feeling the same way. He knew that what he had seen had really happened: had he not seen it with his own eyes, he would probably have told himself that it hadn't really happened, that there had to be another explanation. But feeds didn't lie and the one they had just seen had been clear. FN-2187 wasn't sure how he had done it, but he had. A single man had taken out an entire battalion of stormtroopers. Alone.

And he had done it all using some sort of power.

First Order instructors provided mandatory information for all troopers on the wide range of psychic and paranormal abilities in the galaxy. Some species had a natural ability for certain abilities, while isolated cases in unlikely species were possible. Certain drugs were even rumoured to develop such abilities, such as limited telepathy, for a brief time. The First Order disapproved of such abilities and any person displaying these traits was to be considered dangerous.

But what he had seen had been so much more than anything they had described. He had never seen or even heard of anything like this.

But they couldn't afford to think about it for too long. The onslaught they had just witnessed had given them an opportunity. If all the stormtroopers were dead or busy dealing with such a clear and present danger, they wouldn't be focusing on anything else. FN-2187 didn't like it, too many things could still go wrong, but they had a shot at reaching the main hangar. It was their last chance.

'We need to go,' he said.

But the pilot, for some reason, had gone completely still.

'Did you hear me?' FN-2187 said and, when the pilot still didn't react, he shook him out of his reverie.

The mask still hid his face but, having been raised among masks all his life, FN-2187 knew that something had shaken him. His body language told him that. He thought he knew what it was, because it had shaken him to. What they had witnessed at the entrance of the hangar had been harrowing to see. But they didn't have time to waste processing.

'We need to go, now,' he repeated urgently.

'I just…' the pilot hesitantly started.

'Yes, I did too. But we can't afford to think about it now. We need to reach the main hangar as fast as possible.'

For a moment, FN-2187 thought that the pilot had been so traumatized by what he had seen that he wouldn't be able to bring him out of his haze. A knot of fear contracted his stomach ever more tightly; if that was possible.

'You're right,' the pilot said. His voice still sounded strained from whatever shock he had just experienced, but the resolve FN-2187 had seen in his eyes when he had broken him out of the detention level had returned. Relief flooded over the defecting stormtrooper, who had feared that his plan to escape had just been ruined by whatever lethargy had come over his new companion.

'Will the main hangar have accessible TIEs?' he asked.

'Of course.'

'And won't it be crawling with stormtroopers because of the alert?'

'No, after such an attack, forces will be redeployed from the strongest locations of the battlecruiser to retake the compromised hangar. The larger hangars are more heavily fortified than the smaller ones. So, its forces will most likely head here.

'So, this should be easy.'

'Yes. Easy…'

-0-

Phasma had not expected such resistance from the invaders, or such coordination. Not only had they held the hangar against her attempt to reclaim it, but they had also thrown her troopers back. Twice. She had never expected that anyone could stand up to the First Order like that. But what she had least expected was how the battle eventually ended. She had never expected their defeat to come from behind.

When she first registered the battle taking place in the corridor accessing the hangar, where the rest of her battalion was waiting, her first thought was that the battlecruiser had been attacked by another force and that the one sent to the hangar had been a distraction.

But by the time she had connected into a different feed of the battle network to see what was happening, her surprise grew even more.

Most of the troops she had kept in reserve, should they be needed, had been decimated by a black-clad figure in a mask… who was wielding a lightsaber. It was uncommon to see such weapons these days, especially not in action. Phasma had never come face to face with such a weapon. And neither had most of her troops.
By the time she had assessed the threat, Phasma's troops had been whittled down and only a dozen remained with her in the hangar.

'Secure the entrance," she ordered. The stormtroopers obeyed instantly, their confusion at such a change in command not appearing for even a second. Still firing to provide cover for themselves just as they beat their retreat, they headed back for the entrance. Phasma was the last to leave.

But before any of them could reach the entrance, the black figure appeared, his blade still ignited in his hand.

The first few troopers didn't see him and paid for it with their lives. The blade made short work of them, just as it would make short work of the rest.

Phasma sent an alert through her wrist comm, requesting more troops be sent to the hangar, before turning her blaster to deal with this new threat. She had always been a good shot and she knew that she wouldn't miss her target, not at this distance and not with him occupied by the few stormtroopers who remained and who desperately tried to stop him. She knew they wouldn't but that she would.

After aiming carefully, Phasma fired… and registered the figure turning to her the instant she pulled the trigger. The bolt met the red blade and changed course, returning to where it had come from. It entered the barrel of Phasma's blaster, destroying it. The small explosion the blaster made as it was destroyed forced her back a step, although her armour protected her from any actual damage. Yet, she suddenly found herself flying as a wave of air stronger than she had ever felt threw her back. Phasma landed hard on her back and even her armour wasn't enough to absorb the shock. Pain coursed through her, and she muffled a cry. One of both pain and rage.

She pulled herself back up to see that none of her troops remained. The snipers and the other shooters had stopped firing as the last of their enemies went down and were beginning to retreat into their shuttle. The black figure had deactivated his blade and was heading straight for the ramp, followed by two mercenaries holding onto Lor San Tekka.

So Hux had been right: this had been about Tekka.

Phasma hadn't been sure when he had ordered her to send troops to the detention level, but the evidence was before her now. This had never been about bringing down the Finalizer or about striking out against the First Order. It had all been about Tekka.

What this crew wanted with the Explorer, she didn't know. Neither did she particularly care; they were organized and dangerous, that was what mattered. They needed to be destroyed.

Reaching for her handheld blaster, still tied to her belt, Phasma primed it into tracking mode. Just as the ramp began to rise and she started to hear the engines powering up to take the shuttle away, she aimed and fired. The tracker latched itself onto the shuttle with ease. Thanks to that, the First Order would be able to track this dangerous enemy to their destination.

The ramp closed, the shuttle rose and turned before firing its engines and speeding out of the ship, leaving Phasma alone among the bodies of mercenaries and stormtroopers, in the wreck that the once pristine hangar had been.