1st Lieutenant Durlock Acibor
Victor Squad

Iota Company

6th Battalion

2nd Division

Corellian Defense Corps

Imperial Army

24 R.G.C.
1100 Hours Imperial Centre Time

The last two sentences of the Imperial Officer's Battle Manual state: "A broad survey is an essential foundation for any theory of war, and it is equally necessary for the ordinary soldier who seeks to develop his own outlook and judgment. Otherwise his knowledge of war will be like an inverted pyramid balanced precariously on a slender apex." And that exact quotation is the reason I left the service when I did, that's why I'm both Lieutenant Acibor and Doctor Acibor simultaneously; of course, I always prefer Lieutenant, I'm a soldier first and a scholar second.

Durlock Acibor, Doctor of Historical Analysis, Master of Galactic History, Bachelor of Arts. I have all of the diplomas; they're hung crookedly on the wall of my tiny officer's quarters back in the barracks. I spent eight years of my life at Coruscant University to "develop my own outlook and judgment," all bankrolled by the Empire, of course. It seems that after 4 years of service in an Imperialist police force on Mon Calamari and 16 years in the Imperial Army itself, the Empire will give you a hand with collegiate tuition. Obviously, I spent the first two years or so rather alone on Coruscant, I received the occasional message from Xela or one of the lads (troopers who have served or are serving with me are always "the lads"), but the other students were mostly unwilling even to speak to a five-foot tall blue Mon Cal who was thirty years old at their birth. But those years are behind me now, I'm a soldier again, and I'm damn proud of it.

Xela always says that if I had just stayed a soldier, I could have been the first non-humanoid in High Command. I doubt it. But even if he is right, High Command is for articulate lads with pretty faces and lots of time on their hands, not aging amphibian soldiers; there's also the matter of my alleged "accent," but they're just teasing, I learned Imperial Basic from the finest officers on Mon Calamari. Besides, if I was in High Command, I'd have to blame myself for lousy orders and flubbed intel, and who wants to do that?

High Command screws things up plenty, but they're always better than the damned Rebels; whatever the Rebels equate to High Command seems to be a group of devils beating their heads together to formulate something that might vaguely resemble a plan. The Rebels can be sneaky devils, but they completely lack any strategic mind. I have always been left to think, what do they think is going to happen? Do they just intend to kill His Lordship, but then what? I suppose they assume that after the Emperor is dead, the Galaxy will just throw up its arms and go: "Ah, I guess you Rebels were right, we'll go back to a Republic. Oh, and by the way, we want you to lead it; you're good with that, no?" The very foundations of their revolution make no sense, and as a historian, I have an added perspective of why it is so ridiculous.

The Empire was born out of democracy. Even before His Lordship was elected to the office of Supreme Chancellor, he spoke openly of how the Republic was growing more and more defunct, corrupt, and evil; he was one of the senators representing the sovereign planet of Naboo, which was at the time under attack by the droid armies of the Trade Federation. His Lordship petitioned the Senate for support, but the heads of the Senate were in the pockets of the Trade Federation, so nothing was done about it. The Nabooians were doomed, occupied by the Trade Federation's droids, their freedom had been taken from them by a corporate empire.

But Senator Palpatine called for a vote of "no confidence" and impeached the incompetent Supreme Chancellor, and was quickly voted into the same position by the truly democratic remnant of the Senate. With his new power, Supreme Chancellor Palpatine dispatched peacekeeping forces to Naboo and restored their liberty. But even having such a great man as His Lordship in power was not enough to save the galaxy from the loathsome bonds of alleged "democracy," as the Trade Federation's contacts within the Senate ensured that they were not disarmed, the Nemoidians retained control of the corporation, and the very man responsible for the suffering of Naboo, Nute Gunray, retained his position as Viceroy. "Democracy" had failed, there had to be a better way.

The better way was the way of Empire; what the uneducated Rebels don't realize is that His Lordship is a supreme ruler and a monarch, yes, but he is what is historically known as an "enlightened despot." The powers that Palpatine holds he uses to execute actions for the benefit of the Galaxy without waiting for deliberations from some outdated legislative body; the true danger of an imperial monarchy is that somewhere along the line, a man will take power who does not have the Galaxy's best interests in mind. However, this is not an issue under the rule of the Emperor, as he is immortal! His divine presence cannot, and will not leave the Galaxy unless it occurs by forcible overthrow of the Imperial government.

That just isn't going to happen as long as me and the lads have breath in our bodies.

Now, I'm used to the lads being me and a bunch of bucket head humans. You know, Stormtroopers, Stormies, the Boys in White; but always, always, real humans. I don't work with clones, I only did once and I never will again. When recruits were first allowed into the Republic Army toward the end of the Clone Wars, I was rather excited to fight alongside these men who had fought for the glory of the Republic so effectively. My view of the matter changed about the instant I was placed in a squad of the guys; they're bloody droids with skin! Honestly, if you've ever tried to have a conversation with a clone, you know what I mean; they have eyes, flesh, and bones, all the normal things you would expect to see on a human, but their brains are not normal. The brain of a Clone Trooper is laid out like a droid computer brain, it operates on a series of algorithms; strategic algorithms, situation assessment algorithms, and self-preservation algorithms. All of these equations run back and forth through their collective consciousness to achieve their given objective while suffering a predetermined amount of "acceptable casualties." I'll tell you here and now, there's nothing scarier than being in a squad where you're the only one who is determined to come out alive; when the squad officer tells you that you might be an acceptable casualty, you can feel your stomach sink into your feet.

I don't work with clones. Ever.

But I have nothing against the bucket head humans. Stormtrooper recruits are some of the finest lads in the Galaxy, they all go through at least a year of training on Carida, and that's damn hard. I know because I, too, went to the Imperial Academy, in fact I don't know any non-clones who didn't. A ten mile hike through the wilderness with sixty pounds of armor and equipment on you is difficult anywhere, but in gravity that's 1.98 times Galactic Standard, it's nearly one hundred and sixty pounds pulling you down. You've got to have respect for lads like that, it takes dedication to pass a course on Carida; and the Stormtrooper training requirements are one of the highest in the Imperial Army. I went to the officer's training school on Carida, which is less physically challenging, but if what I did was easier than what they did, I've got to have some respect for the boys.

I'm going to miss working with the bucket heads; but I'm getting ahead of myself, it's Corellia. My grey officer's jacket held strong in the light wind as I checked my small, standard-issue, black pistol holstered right against my belt, as always. I think it gives me a modest, yet commanding presence. I had on my tactical visor, as usual; the shiny black thing covered my eyes. My weak, weak Mon Calamari eyes always need an aid of some sort; but it's almost always the tactical visor that I use, it's light, effective, and looks bloody brilliant. I've always felt that Coronet, the capital of Corellia, was one of the most untrustworthy cities in the Galaxy; the way the massive skyscrapers loom all around me always keeps me on my toes. All the men, women, and children walking this way and that, going about their own potentially-traitorous business, and always giving me and the lads these peculiar looks. This world in particular, Corellia, has always kept my interest as a trooper, much more so than my own waterlogged birthplanet. Perhaps the people of this world are flooded with Rebel propaganda, doomed to a life of treason, or perhaps the traitorous desire was from something deeper, from some specific man, a focal point, a locus.

I always aspire to destroy both the propaganda, and whomever that damnable locus is.

Walking along on that bright Corellian day, I stood with the last five bucket heads I think I'll ever command: Sergeant Gilad Cassell, a commanding vet promoted to NCO on Ghorman; Corporal Gawain Steel, a man whose last name adequately reflected his personality, the lad was born on Carida; Private Hart Vogel, a greenie from Corellia, but still a trooper; Private Zin Knight, a shaky Coruscanti son of an ex-Imperial Senator; and last was my favorite, Private Liddell Auckland, he was a lad that was always excited about everything, always ready for action, and always prepared to lay his life on the line. That day, as I said, was bright; I distinctly remember casting my gaze towards the sun in time to see a conglomeration of avian creatures crossed directly in front of them, all of them making chaotic noises, as if even this world's animals rejected order, even the nonsentients felt the lack of reason in the air. Chaos. That word perfectly describes the Galaxy. It describes the Galaxy of Rebellion.

Me and the lads of Victor Squad had been assigned to a simple patrol around Coronet. I didn't like it, but it was necessary, and I did it; same old, same old, business as usual, and so on. Sometimes I feel like it isn't the proper use of a Stormtrooper squad; I mean, we're the Emperor's finest troops in the Galaxy, and here we are doing simple security work. What the bloody Hell are they thinking? But I know what the situation is, I know there's a Rebel around each corner, a Rebel who would just run up and slit the throat of some less-trained soldiers, they need us to keep everything stable. Besides, we're pretty damned scary walking around the streets.

There was a lovely park on the corner. Young children frolicking in the thick green grass, old men and women sat kindly chatting amongst themselves on the cold, hard durasteel. But Sergeant Cassell turned to me and pointed something out, something that didn't seem right,

"Lieutenant, take a look at that group of men over there, a bit suspicious, eh sir?" He pointed directly at them, leading the entire squad's gaze. You could tell who their leader was by looking at him. You just got this gut feel that he was in charge. Also, he was doing all the talking, and slapping anyone who interrupted. He was sitting next to a clone of his. Or twin. The twin was looking bored and action-hungry. There was also a small hooded creature but all he was doing was twittering. And then there was a Weequay with red eyes, just standing and staring,

"Good thinking, Sergeant, there's definitely something not quite right about them. Victor Squad, move out to investigate!" I did my little thing with the hand-signals as I'd learned, it was more of a habit than me actually thinking I needed to illustrate my orders. Me and the boys steadily began to advance on the park, moving at an average pace so as not to create a situation of alarm.

Unfortunately for everyone present then, there was a situation of alarm. From the very center of the park, light, heat and shrapnel burst outwards across the grass, ripping through and killing everyone in range. The four men in the shadows grinned and cackled. After the smoke started drifting up into the air, the screaming of terrified creatures and the wailing of sirens pierced the explosion-fresh air. The four ran, laughing all the while, savoring the destruction. The shockwave had knocked us all down, but Corellian fire crews were already moving into position; the situation would be contained, at least. Knight and Auckland pulled me to my feet, I was pumped-up and extremely pissed-off, I wanted the heads of those four men,

"Steel, get on the horn, phone some departments and get me those men!" I watched as Corporal Steel put his hand to his helmet, adjusting his communication frequencies to call CorSec precincts in the nearby area. While he was doing that, a SoroSuub limousine pulled to a halt directly in front of us, and produced a human, flanked by two Stormtroopers, wearing a grey uniform, much like mine, except his was adorned with twice as many ribbons and medals. His rank badge read Surface Marshall, this was the top military man on Corellia,

"First Lieutenant Durlock Acibor, you are to come with me immediately. Please, this speeder has been prepared for you," he spoke quietly with a distinct tone of anger in his voice; the boys just watched in stunned silence, even Steel had given up on his calls. None of us, not even I, had ever been directly addressed by someone of such a high rank,

"Sir, yes, sir!" I quickly answered with an officers' salute, and at once piled into the limousine. The Surface Marshall pulled himself right in behind me and took a seat directly opposite me in the spacious, luxuriously adorned vehicle. The two Stormtroopers he had brought with him stayed behind with my lads, though I got the feeling they weren't my lads anymore as the limousine's engines roared and pushed the vehicle away from the smoldering ruins of the park,

"Surface Marshall Jaik Morril," the man introduced himself with an outstretched hand, which I quickly returned with my own name, "I know who you are, Acibor, most of High Command does. Your actions have been watched since you re-enlisted into the Imperial Army. I can see you are confused, but the situation is very logical, I assure you. You, my friend, are among only a handful of men who have taken advantage of the Imperial Army's education benefits and then re-enlisted; this is typical only of the most loyal soldiers; the second point of interest is much more obvious, you are a Mon Calamari. The profile of your species labels you as notoriously disloyal and a threat to the Empire, yet your service record labels you as borderline fanatical and among the Empire's most charismatic leaders,"

The limousine was floating above all of Coronet's usual ground traffic, and the durasteel jungle was flowing by at a steady rate, I quickly realized the obvious, "I'm not being held responsible for today's attack? I'm not being recommended for a court martial?"

The Surface Marshall chuckled politely before replying, "Of course not, Acibor. The situation today was far beyond your control, though you reacted to it perfectly. The mix of your training and your own creativity makes you one of the most brilliant commanders I have ever seen. To send you home in shame would be to shoot myself in the foot. However, you are half right. To Victor Squad and the entire non-commissioned Imperial Army, you were executed for your failure today; that is because of the nature of your next assignment,"

I nodded at that, I was dead now to the lads, the poor lads, "And what exactly is my next assignment, sir?"

"We are coming to that, Acibor. Just be patient, which I already know you are more than capable of." I looked out the window as I felt the limousine begin to slow down, we were at a security checkpoint, and the driver was showing identification to what was clearly a level-3 checkpoint at which everyone must be identified regardless of vehicular markings. The driver advanced us further to a level-4 checkpoint, at which security personnel physically looked into the tinted windows of the vehicle to examine the passengers; by the time we continued beyond that level, I already knew where we were. Imperial Army Corellian High Command, the place where all of the Army's operations in the entire Corellian Sector were planned and executed, some important business was about to go down.

An armed escort led me and the Surface Marshall into the building and through its complex layout of pure white corridors. Non-commissioned troops and officers alike saluted Morril as we went by, he was the boss here, and everyone knew it. The two Stormtroopers that were our escort led us to Morril's private office, where they were promptly dismissed. The Surface Marshall took me into his modest office alone. Special attention from High Command was either an incredibly bad thing or the best thing to happen to your career,

"Lieutenant Acibor, this is the single most clandestine operation in your entire career," he said to me as he sat down behind his desk, he pointed to one of the chairs opposite his desk, which I quickly took, "You are being reassigned to a special division of the Imperial Elite. Surely you are familiar with General Madine's Storm Commandos?" I nodded, of course I had heard of them, they were famous for their ruthless efficiency and were the top ring that any bucket head could hope to achieve, barring His Lordship's Royal Guard, "Your new position will be similar to that one. It is a top secret subdivision of the Imperial Elite: Commandos' Corps, a classified assignment for superior… nonhuman soldiers," I nodded again, this time less enthusiastically; again, I was being singled out as an alien, "Of course, you are well aware of the New Order's stance on human superiority. An alien of your talents must be tapped, but it must be done covertly; an alien of your talents cannot be tapped before the general public. The Emperor himself recognizes that some nonhuman soldiers can go above and beyond, and that is the purpose of your new assignment," he opened up a drawer in his desk and produced a datapad, which he handed to me, "This is all the information you need. Ah, but you will be needing one last thing," again he reached under his desk and slid something else across the desk to me, "Wear it proudly, Captain Durlock Acibor," it was a lovely new rank badge: Three red boxes on top, three blue below, an Imperial Army Captain, "There is only one matter left, you need to meet your squad."