Calhoun had to admit it, the ATST was, though bumpy, one of the most entertaining vehicles he'd ever piloted in his nearly 15 years of piloting in the Imperial forces. The weapons controls were easy enough to figure out; the front blaster cannons controlled by a large switch on the driver's side and activated by a trigger on the driver's side and activated by the trigger over the main directional stick. The driver's side, on the left, housed controls for the heavy side rocket launchers and power lasers. Stomping defiantly through the forest, the pilot smiled to see the Rebels flee terrified before his powerful onslaught of advanced weaponry; sending the little bear creatures flying with explosive blasts from the front cannons, and even once taking down a Rebel group of three soldiers with a single well aimed rocket.

"Not so sure of your attack now, are you Rebel scum!" He laughed as a group of three Rebels dropped their weapons and fled off through the thick trees. He saw a huge trip wire set up before him in the trees ahead, and eased back on the controls, taking careful aim with front cannons and slicing the powerful tree open at its roots; severing the trap line and sending two of the hidden bear things scampering off through the underbrush.

"How'd I ever get along without one of these?" He chuckled to himself, charging through a Rebel barricade at full, jaunty speed. Suddenly, the earth shook and a mighty roar thundered throughout the forest, causing the ATST's thin legs to wobble dangerously as Rex swiveled the controls to fix back in the direction of the now nearby base. "Oh, shit …" He mumbled, his jaw dropping in amazement. The area of forest where the base had been was now only an ever growing ball of flame against the afternoon sky.

The Rebels had destroyed the base, and probably the remaining Imperial forces and units stationed there had not been given enough warning to evacuate. The enemy and its new Endor allies would soon mop up even the most determined of the resistance; Rex thought, part of him panicking, and who would stand to fight; facing almost certain defeat and death, when surrender was so much easier? He halted the machine, the powerful strides of the walker coming to a shaky stop. He had to get out of this thing, before the Rebels regrouped and cornered him. There were only two missiles left, and the blaster charges were probably close to overheating from all the use he'd put them through shredding enemy lines and barricades. He wasn't going to surrender, he knew, never; but neither would he choose to die, no; he had something else in mind …

"You capture that thing, soldier?" A voice called out from the edge of the clearing. Rex turned, the Rebel uniform he'd just put on just a bit too tight for him. The group of Rebels at the clearing stared at him with looks of disbelief and awe written on their faces. He found his voice.

"Uh, yeah, yeah I did." He said, thinking fast of a way he could possibly have intimidated the ATST drivers into submission. "Piece of cake, really; I uh, just hid there behind that tree and took a lucky shot into the right eye opening, where the drivers sit." He explained, trying to affect the air of an expert marksman. The Rebel crowd blinked in surprise as several tiny bears waddled into view and began jumping up and down, shrieking and holding their ancient spears and bows aloft in excitement.

"Hell of a shot, trooper!" Apparently the Rebel leader exclaimed, "Say, what unit are you from, anyways?" Rex thought fast, then decided, what the hell? And called out his own Imperial unit number.

"779th, private." He said, now trying to sound important once he'd glimpsed the soldier's rank; he was only a private! "What unit are you all from?"

"779th?" The soldier asked with a frown, "Where the hell did you guys come from?" Damn! He was suspicious …

"The command sent us in to save you guys' sorry butts when we got news of how the Empire had you on the run!" The Imperial in disguise replied shortly; his dad had always told him if you acted with confidence the other guys would usually ignore even some of the most obvious lies you could tell them.

"I thought they only sent us down in the Imperial shuttle we high jacked …" the Rebel said thoughtfully, but the voice had lost its tone of suspicion.

"After the, uh, the fighting broke out up in space, the Rebels decided you needed more reinforcements, so they released us ground troops in small shuttles of our own." Rex replied quickly, not losing a beat. "Many of us got shot down in the descent, but some of us got here, alright."

"Well, sounds great!" The Rebel private consented, and many of the faces behind him began to smile, as well. "The more the merrier! Come on, we'll send some people out to mop this machine up and get you back to your unit at our rendezvous."

"Yeah," Calhoun grinned, "Let's get going!"

The Rebel base was in a state of disorganized disarray, the jungle clad troops running all about carrying blasters, radios, medical supplies or some combination of all three. Moments after he got there, about a half hour later, the whole bunch of them threw up their hands in cheering, and an air of great excitement took over, people and the strange little Endorians, which, Rex had since learned, were named 'Ewoks', began dancing and pointing up to the sky with cries of joy and jubilation. Someone handed him a cigar and patted him on the back in a comradely way. Just as he was shrugging off the unexplained excitement of the crowd around him, and thanking the dead Rebel whose uniform he now wore for hiding a lighter in one of his pockets, he chanced to look up into the sky at a point where several of the enemies around him were jumping around pointing and yelling about.

"Oh, no …" He whispered in shock, the unlit cigar falling from his lax lips and the lighter blowing out as yet another Rebel thumped him happily on the back and cried out, right in his ear;

"We did it, man! We did it again! Those damned Imperials are finished! Once and for all, the Rebellion has won!"

He pulled himself away from the celebration; so many enemies, and so many terrible thoughts about all of the people he'd known who had been on the Death Star when it must have blown … first Jak had died, and now? Millions … The Rebel had been right; the Imperials were finished, now; the collective might of the entire allied Imperial commanders, along with Darth Vader and the Emperor himself had been in that thing, and now that thing had ceased to be. His knees buckled, and he sprinted for the nearest tent he could find near the treeline of the Rebel encampment. Crouching, gasping behind the tent, he retched and vomited for the second time that day. Weakly, he pulled himself to his feet and pulled the tent flaps open and shut behind him, finding himself in a long, close-sided area measuring a couple of yards across and full of moaning and coughing Rebels; no doubt the injured. Grabbing a roll of bandages from a nearby table, the Imperial quickly wrapped his head in bandages and, wiping his hand over the forehead of one of the unconscious enemies next to him, spread fresh blood over his bandages. He then wrapped his bloody hand up in the bandages, as well, and toppled over into an empty bunk near the back of the tent. He was asleep and snoring in no time, the full day of being shot down, wrecking a speeder bike, and barely escaping becoming a Rebel prisoner had tired him beyond all caring for the incredible and galaxy-changing events taking place around him; the world seemed in a haze, the Rebel victory a mere bad dream to be slept off, and the deaths of all those he'd known or been affiliated with only a far away illusion. He slept, and no man else in the tent deserved to sleep more.