Author's Note: Still don't own Star Wars…

Knight

"All right, boys," Vice Admiral Harris addressed the company of 144 soldiers arrayed before him, "we have a little reconnaissance mission for you in the Unknown Regions. You know what that means, right?" The soldiers laughed, nudging each other and winking. They'd been on "reconnaissance" missions before—and it always meant they got to kick some Imperial butt.

Only one squad at the back of the hall slightly separated from the rest of the company remained silent. Their leader was a tall, slender young man who stood with a predatorial grace at the head of his men. His raven hair was precisely three millimeters long and accentuated his angular face and piercing blue eyes that sparkled with deadly intelligence. Sgt. Jonathan Knight frowned. While he admired the Vice Admiral's bravery, he did not approve of Harris' almost obsessive need to fight or his casual disregard of the rules.

"Now," Harris continued, "you're going to investigate the outrageous claim that an Imperial prison has somehow slipped past the notice of our esteemed New Republic…"

Jonathan glanced at his men, standing still and silent behind him, and suppressed a proud smirk. They had all been offered promotions and leadership positions of their own at one time or another, but each had refused, choosing to stay under his command. They were one of the few elite squads left in the Republic, skilled in infiltration and guerilla tactics. The other soldiers called them "The Knights" and enjoyed poking fun at the squad with good-natured puns (one of the worst ones was "What's a knight without a Force?"). Jonathan didn't mind as long as they stayed out his and his men's way.

"…Of course, if you do locate the so-called prison, you're commanding officers will take the proper course of action…as proper as I am…"

One of his men—Marcus—snorted. Jonathan had to agree. He doubted Harris would tell the rest of the company about the girl this whole operation was supposedly to rescue. The Vice Admiral had summoned him early this morning to discuss the delicate operation.

"Sgt. Knight, you have heard the news the salvage freighter brought in I presume?"

"Yes, sir."

"I won't ask you how you obtained the information, but I bet I still know something you don't."

Jonathan had doubted that—he had planted a bug in Lt. Cracknar's office ages ago (the Mon Cal would never find it and Jonathan didn't like surprises) and had been informed of the whole story the salvage captain had told the bigheaded communications officer. "Yes, sir."

Harris had laughed. "Well, there's supposedly a girl incarcerated in that prison who called for help. Those Imps are slacking off, and I want your men to rescue her and any other prisoners you find before those bastards have a chance to execute them."

"Yes, sir."

"And you won't have anyone to report to—you need to move ahead of the main company. Hopefully, we'll get you a different entrance point entirely. The rest of the troops will provide a nice distraction."

"Yes, sir."

Jonathan pulled himself back to the present. The troops were loading onto the Nebulon-B frigate Blind Justice. He turned to his men. "Let's go."

Number 314 awoke to the sound of stormtroopers running down the corridor, but she didn't open her eyes. She felt the cold metal beneath her naked, broken body vibrate with every footfall. Something was happening—somewhere in the facility, alarms were going off.

A glimmer of hope clutched at her heart, forcing her to draw in a shuddering breath. A tear slipped past her closed eyelids. How can I still hope? She had hoped last time too, hoped someone had finally come to save her.

She'd been in the examination room, crumpled by the computers that lined one entire wall when the report crackled over the intercom: an unidentified ship had just pulled out of hyperspace near the base. They'd at first thought it was an Imperial supply ship, but the signature was wrong. Number 314 had known then, known that she had to contact that ship—she dragged herself closer to the computers. There had to be some sort of communication device there, some way to call for help. The Doctor had laughed somewhere behind her, but she ignored him. Then something hit her shoulder and fell to the floor: it was his personal comlink.

"Go ahead," he sneered, amused that she was still fighting, "call for help."

She seized the device with trembling hands. "Please help me," she rasped, the comlink a breath away from her cracked lips, "Help."

"Dr. Rave, the TIEs have been deployed."

Number 314 barely heard the voices that floated through the exam room; her hands squeezed the comlink painfully. "Please…please…"

The Doctor said something. A stormtrooper replied.

Her heart hammered behind her broken ribs.

"Sir, the ship has fled back into hyperspace."

The sob she'd been holding back broke past her lips then. She could feel the Doctor's smirking eyes on her back. He strode across the room and knelt down beside her. She didn't look at him—she wouldn't let him see her cry…not again, never again.

His lips hovered beside her ear. "I thought you were broken, my beautiful one." He had beaten her then, beaten her into blissful oblivion.

Now, she lay quietly on the floor of her cell, feeling her body die. A smile tugged at her lips. I'm going home…home…Earth.

The space battle was short. Most of the TIEs had just given up or been destroyed without much of a fight. The Hammer Stroke turned to the Imperial base.

Inside her hull, hunkered down in a captured Lamba shuttle, Sgt. Knight and his men listened to the reports flying across the com.

"Another seven TIEs have surrendered."

"Any idea yet why?"

"As far as I can tell, they're just done—tired, demoralized. Beats me why…"

"I want them all interrogated as soon…"

"…approaching the base…"

The shuttle's engines shuttered to life, and Jonathan could feel the ship leave the Hammer Stroke's hanger. He signaled his men to prepare to board.

"Sgt. Knight?" The pilot's voice floated from the cockpit.

"Yes?"

"We're going to drop you at the break in the outside arm."

"Wait," Jonathan replied, summoning the image of the base to his mind. The prisoners were most likely kept in the outer blocks, but if the girl they were after was important, she would be in the center near the leadership. That's where they would need head. "How close can you get us to the center block?"

"There's a small docking bay on one of the arms connected to the center, but there are sure to be more stormtroopers…"

"Take us there."

"Acknowledged."

Stormtroopers would only be a small problem, and he doubted there would be many. They would be moving to defend the point where the frigate would unload her troops. He surveyed his men. Their faces were set into emotionless masks—they were ready. Marcus, a heavily muscled man with shaggy brown hair, looked up at him.

"Any idea what's in there, sir?" he asked.

Jonathan shook his head. "We'll know soon."

Beloda, a Klatoonian with fierce eyes and a permanent scowl, whispered, "Someone who needs a knight."