It was becoming a comfortable routine. Delta-7 would have a mission, followed by a team discussion of how to do things better. Followed by a day or so of rest and recreation. Then, the team would have a week or so of training in different disciplines. Then they would get another mission. In the two weeks that followed, they had enough operations to keep them active; Eliminating a band of rebels in a city who had been sabotaging Imperial equipment; Boarding yet another rebel vessel; Taking down a weapons-smuggling ring on Bakura. It was after this last mission that Tharcourt had finally decided to disregard protocol and solve a problem that had been plaguing him on every single ground assignment the team had taken part in…
"I would like to requisition a pair of boots." Tharcourt stated. The supply officer fiddled with the screen of his terminal.
"Standard issue boots, which size?" The officer requested.
"Nonono…" The commander returned. "Not officer's boots. Engineering and flight boots. Size twenty-five-point-one."
"Those aren't up to code for your uniform, sir." The supply lieutenant advised.
"No, not for dress." The commander explained. "I'm Imperial Special Forces, lieutenant. We have a degree of…leniency in the field. I need something more comfortable for fighting in than these miserable things." The lieutenant pursed his lips and bobbled his head a little in contemplation.
"Understandable." He stated. "Sergeant, grab a pair of pilot's boots in size twenty-five-dot-one."
"Yes sir." The black-clad NCO said, and disappeared into a back room. He returned with a pair of matte black, oiled leather boots of the type worn by gunners, engineers and fighter pilots. Almost knee-high, they were a looser fit, and had a rounder toe than the more constricting officer's boots. The sergeant placed them upon the counter, and Commander Tharcourt inspected them.
"Perfect." He announced, swiped his ID chip on the scanner, and left with his new purchase. Drakken leisurely made his way back to his unit's home in its out-of-the-way section of the ship, allowing himself to reflect on the last few days. The uptick in weapons thefts and smuggling had him particularly worried. He was now convinced that the rebels may be planning something. Perhaps they were going to attempt a direct-action. That would be a stupid move, he thought. No matter what weapons they were able to get ahold of, they still couldn't match the Empire in a conventional battle. Not in killpower, and certainly not in numbers.
Tharcourt entered his office, sat down, and kicked off his officer's boots. He pulled on the new ones, and stood, trying them out. Much better. Function over form, the way he liked it. He dropped back down in the chair, and continued his mental exercise. Maybe the rebels were becoming desperate, being pushed from all sides, and had foolishly blundered into the belief that the time was ripe for a strike. Maybe they thought for whatever reason that it was time to show their hand.
That at its core was the essence of guerrilla warfare; you hit the enemy and ran, using your nemesis to arm and equip yourself, and bided your time. You created caches, safehouses, a network. You harassed the enemy, lowering his morale while increasing that of your own fighters. Once you had amassed enough troops and materiel, the next logical phase in guerrilla operations was to mount an attack on an enemy position that bordered on a conventional warfare operation. Had they grown so large and powerful, though? Unlikely. A force that large would have surely been noticed by the Empire.
The alarm on his communications pad pinged, drawing the commander from his thoughts.
"Commander Tharcourt." He answered.
"Commander…it's Captain Piett." The voice of his old friend and the commander of The Accuser began in a voice that told Tharcourt that something was amiss. "Get to the bridge quickly, old man. It's all hands."
"I'll be there five minutes ago." Tharcourt responded. "Out." He leapt to his feet and threw on his gray officer's cap, not even changing out of his boots. Tharcourt exited his office in a hurry, and found only three members of his team in the commons-room. Gallen was bouncing a small ball against a bulkhead, and catching it. Walker eating a protein bar by the kitchenette, and Daraay was polishing her helmet.
"Something's up." He said in a serious tone. "I'm going to the bridge. Make sure everyone's rested and fed. get them suited up and ready. I'll be back." Before any of his troopers could reply, Tharcourt was out the hatch and walking briskly down the corridor. The commander arrived on the bridge minutes later to find Piett in a holocall with Lord Vader. Tharcourt stood 'at ease' until the transmission was ended, and immediately hailed the captain. "What's happened?"
"Tharcourt, the Imperial base at Scariff is under attack." Piett stated gravely, turning to the commander. "All available ships in this quarter are ordered to assist."
"Scariff…isn't that a top-secret research facility?" Drakken asked.
"It is." Piett answered. "All of the secrets of our Empire are stored there. Plans for weapons, ships, scientific projects, everything. We're headed there now. Lord Vader has taken command of the fleet."
"The rebels get their hands on that data…" Tharcourt uttered.
"I know." Piett nodded. "Drakken, get your team on standby. It may be a surface engagement when we get there. It might be orbital. We must be ready for anything."
"Team's already getting ready." Tharcourt affirmed, watching the tunnel of light and color as the destroyer moved through hyperspace. He pulled out his commlink. "Daraay."
"Yes, sir." His bodyguard replied instantly.
"We're headed for Scariff. You know the ground?"
"Yes sir." She answered.
"Good. It may be a ground assault. I want everyone to standby for instruction." Tharcourt ordered.
"Understood." Daraay said. Tharcourt turned back to Piett. He felt his heart starting to beat a little bit faster. It was always a good feeling…those moments before the fight, when your blood pumped firmer in the arteries, and you focused all of the adrenaline and impulses of your instinct into a controlled 'fight' response. It was a sense of hyperfocus, a moment to push everything else away except the mental and physical faculties you needed for the upcoming contest. Oddly, it was almost a type of meditation, a moment of calm and clarity.
"Those boots aren't regulation." Firmus stated dryly. Tharcourt snapped from his trance for a moment, and shot Piett a confused look. He looked down at his new footwear, and looked back up with a conspiratorial grin.
"More comfortable to fight in." He stated. Piett gave a slight amused smirk.
"Always unconventional, my friend."
The Accuser came out of Hyperdrive in the middle of what Tharcourt thought had to be the largest space engagement since the Clone Wars. When he'd heard the rebels were attacking the base, Tharcourt had imagined a small-scale battle. Given the rebels' tactics and equipment he had seen so far, he suspected that perhaps a couple of transport ships full of rebels had mounted a direct action against the facility. What he saw before him was staggering.
At least a dozen capital ships and twice that number of frigates and cruisers were in the space above the planet's ruined and burning shield gate, trading blows with a couple of Imperial Star Destroyers and cruisers. He spotted Calamari vessels in addition to Alderanean and Corellian-manufactured ships. New InCom T-95 X-Wings and older Y-Wing fighters were being engaged by hundreds of TIE fighters, the smaller ships swarming like insects among the larger vessels. Tharcourt was stunned. Where had the rebels amassed so many capital ships? Why were they consolidating their power now, and at this location? It didn't bode well.
"Yes, Lord Vader?" He heard Piett answer, and looked to see the captain speaking to a small holoprojection of the Emperor's second-in-command.
"The rebels have captured sensitive information, and beamed it aboard one of their ships. If you have any personnel aboard your ship who are trained in boarding operations, send them to The Devastator at once."
"With your leave Piett, I'll take my team immediately." Tharcourt stated.
"I have a team of specialists I will send at once, Lord Vader." Piett returned. The image of the dark-armored wizard clicked off. Piett turned to his old subordinate. "Well, Drakken?" He said, cocking his head. "Waiting for a lengthy sendoff?"
"Not at all, Firmus. Well, I'm off to save the galaxy." Drakken replied confidently. Piett smirked, and the two shook hands before Commander Tharcourt left the bridge in a haste.
"Load up! Load up!" Tharcourt yelled, tagging each member of his team on the back as they hurried up the ramp of The Huntsman with their gear and weapons. Once the last of his troopers had entered the shuttle, Tharcourt himself sprinted up the ramp as it began to close. "Go, go, go!" He called to Ekks in the cockpit. The stormtrooper answered by throttling up the ship, and taking off, past the swarms of stormtroopers and TIE pilots scrambling to their posts in the large bay.
"Might be dicey…we're flying through a warzone here." Ekks shouted back at the nine passengers of the T4-A. He jerked the stick to the side, and the small ship shot to the right, narrowly dodging a rebel X-wing and two TIE fighters engaged in a dogfight. He threw the ship to the left and upward, avoiding a large chunk of what used to be part of a ship. An orange glow illuminated the passenger hold for a moment as a fighter exploded near their shuttle. Most of the team held on to their benches, handholds on the bulkheads and each other as the shuttle rolled and pitched. Gallen looked like he was about to be sick, while Daraay seemed relatively unfazed. Dall held onto a metal ring on the wall beside him with one hand as he calmly went through his supplies with the other. Tharcourt sat blandly in the floor, back wedged against the doorway to the cockpit, with his right foot against a beam to steady himself as Ekks dodged and weaved through the chaos between the two destroyers.
"Coming up on The Devastator, Commander!" Ekks called. "We're coming in hot!"
"Just get us there in one mostly functional piece…" Tharcourt sent back. A few more moments, and The Huntsman had safely entered the hangar of the star destroyer, and was guided to an empty space where it landed. The ramp was lowered, and the team disembarked, some of them grateful to have a solid deck under their feet again after the short but harrowing trip. A minute or two later, another ship sped into the hanger and landed nearby. Tharcourt noticed a high-ranking officer walking quickly toward him, and came to attention.
"Are you the boarding crew from The Accuser?" The major demanded."
"Yes sir. Commander Tharcourt, Imperial Special Forces." He answered. "Just tell us where you need us."
"Special Forces…good." The major commented. "Form up over there. We'll hold you in reserve in case things become complicated with the capture and boarding of the enemy vessel. Then your people can do what you do best."
"Yes sir." Tharcourt returned. "I understand the rebels have attacked the facility and captured sensitive material. How much damage have they inflicted, sir? Do we have casualty estimates yet?" The major's face suddenly became sullen.
"You haven't heard. The Imperial base at Scariff has been destroyed, commander." The major returned coldly. "Casualties are…total." He nodded. "At least from what I have been told." There was a somber moment of silence.
"Lot of good men…sir." Tharcourt muttered.
"Yes…there were." The major stated. "And we will avenge them."
"Yes sir…we will do that." Tharcourt vowed. "Troopers, form up there. Over there. Move." He ordered, and Delta-7 moved into a formation by the far wall of the hanger. Through the force field of the hanger, Drakken could see the star destroyer moving now. Slow at first, then with a familiar but soft lurch, the ship entered hyperspace.
"Shouldn't be too long, commander." The major remarked. "The squadron is dismantling what remains of their pitiful fleet, and we are now in pursuit of the ship containing the data. The rebels are mistaken if they think they can outrun this destroyer." Tharcourt nodded. "Well, stand by commander. We'll all get to exact our revenge soon enough." With that, the major turned and walked away. Commander Tharcourt joined his men. Scariff had been a tragedy, a disaster. He had to inform his team that the rebels had scored a victory against the Empire. The first major success they had achieved. It would come as a demoralizing blow. He also knew he had to give them something. Something to inspire them. He tried to find the words.
"Troopers, rebel forces have unfortunately…" He paused, the idea of such death and destruction wrought at the hands of the insurgents was bitter for him to speak. "…they have mounted a large-scale attack on Scariff…resulting in the um…the complete destruction of the facility there." There were sighs and muttering from his unit. He held up a hand to silence them. "I'm told that Imperial casualties there were…one-hundred percent. I'm…I'm as shaken as you that the rebels were able to pull this off. It was unforeseen. Unpredictable. This is war, troopers. The very nature of guerilla warfare that I have tried to teach you men. This is the gall…the audacity of our enemy on a stage everyone can see now. And we cannot help but see it…to be moved by it." By now, several of the hanger crew, a small squad of stormtroopers, and three officers had gathered to listen to this unknown commander giving a speech in the middle of the hanger. Tharcourt folded his arms behind him, and held his head high.
"We have now seen the deviousness and the boldness of our enemy. But you are better. Don't forget that. We are better at playing their game than they are, and we have proven it, and we will prove it again!" A cheer went up from the unit, as well as the juxtapose of personnel listening to him. He waited until the noise died down. "This has been what will probably be known as the greatest tragedy the Empire has yet seen. But it will not be repeated. We are Delta-Seven! We will avenge those brave men on Scariff. We will do what we do best. We will hunt these terrorists down and visit a plague of destruction upon them until they have paid in blood for the death of every good man on Scariff One-hundred-fold!" Another cheer went up from everyone in the vicinity of commander Tharcourt. He closed his eyes a moment. He meant every word of the sermon he had just given. The rebels had just invaded a planet…killed thousands of Imperial soldiers. He refused to let the insurgents repeat what the separatists had done two decades ago."
"We're now in pursuit of a rebel ship that contains an unknown number of enemy combatants…" He stated "…as well as stolen Imperial data of unknown importance. I guess we can assume that if they've stolen it, it is of great importance. As soon as we catch up to them, there will be a boarding operation, but…we are in reserve until called upon. So stay frosty, and remember; They hit us today, but they have wrecked their fleet on the rock of this Empire…and soon we will hit them back. For Scariff. For the Empire."
"For the Empire!" Delta-7 echoed in a cheer. Tharcourt pirouetted, and stood 'at ease' in front of his unit. Several of the troops who had been loitering nearby gave approving nods and proud smiles before going back to their tasks. Tharcourt just watched space go by through the docking bay port, more than ready for the fight that lay just ahead.
How does it feel to finally be in the timeline now? Well, I suppose we were always in the Star Wars timeline, but now we're at the very beginning of A New Hope. How will the team fit into the original story? And I'm sure you're wondering if there will be a denouement of my story and the original plot, and between Tharcourt and Thorne's plots. Well, I suppose you'll have to read on to see. I may be doing quite poorly health-wise, but I am determined to post a chapter a day for the next couple months. Another arrives tomorrow. So until then loyal readers, Cheerio. -Drake