Han stepped over the Imperial Storm Troopers that lay on the ground and tapped one with the sole of his boot.
"Never thought I'd be doin' this again."
Chewie wuffled an agreement.
"Okay," Han said. "I need y'all to fan out. We should be able to get some of the prisoners and hostages outta here but we gotta do it by the book. There shouldn't be any more guards from here on but you never know so be careful, alright?"
He got murmured acknowledgement from the rest of what remained of his group. He had already sent most of the group down the cell-lined corridors they had been assigned to upon reviewing the blueprints of the Palace.
"Alright. You know where you're goin'. Good luck."
The men filed away, but Chewie rumbled a question before he left.
Han shook his head as he looked up at his friend.
"No, I need you to go with them, they're in more danger."
Chewie clapped a hand down on Han's shoulder and Han gave him a reassuring smile.
"Go, ya bug furball."
Han watched, making sure Chewie actually went. He let his men file past and then turned to follow them.
"Don't move!"
Han's eyes rolled before they closed.
"Ah, great."
"Silence."
The voice was cold and harsh and, as it approached, Han tried to picture the owner. Sounded average height and probably average build. Shouldn't be too difficult to take out.
But he spun about and saw a man at least three inches taller than him and a great deal broader.
As he moved to attack, the Stocky man drove his foot forward and caught Han completely off guard. Han clattered to the floor in a confusion of armored clothing and weaponry and landed hard.
He stifled a cry and tried to call for help.
"Cald-"
But he was dragged backwards by his ankle.
"We don't make things easy for men like you, Captain Solo," Stocky smirked.
"I'll bet," Han retaliated, twisting onto his back and jamming his foot into Stocky's stomach.
Stocky staggered back with a grunt and then launched himself forward with a yell, catching Han a stunning blow to the jaw.
Han sat down hard on the cold permacrete but scrambled out of the way before the man could grab hold of him. Instead, he crawled around the man and snatched a weapon from the ground, the first one he lay hands on. It turned out to be his canteen.
He swung it anyway and, though it connected with Stocky's temple, it had barely any effect. It simply served to infuriate Stocky more. As if to prove this point, stocky grabbed Han's collar and yanked him to his feet.
Han, desperate for some means of escape, brought his knee up sharply and Stocky doubled up in pain, hands between his legs.
He dropped Han as he crumpled and Han started to scramble for it, but, suddenly, he couldn't breathe.
He turned his head as best he could and saw that Stocky was holding the strap on the back of his jacket taut, tightening the collar. The memory of Armitage doing the same thing came back to get him and he shook his head. He had to get out of this.
He stretched out a hand toward his gun but Stocky kicked it away, laughing. The laughter sounded muffled, as though underwater, and Han could see blackness threatening the edges of his vision..
He turned onto his back again, to try and see if there was any way in all seven hells he could fight back. But Stocky pulled the cord harder and Han gagged soundlessly. This was it.
But a distant scream of a blaster penetrated his thoughts and then sweet, cool oxygen flooded his lungs. He gasped and gulped, unable to get enough of it, and lay still a few moments, wheezing. He looked up eventually and saw Stocky with a hole in his chest and Calder standing over him, a wide grin on his face, one hand extended towards him.
"Alright, sir? Thought you might need a hand."
Han nodded and grinned too as Calder helped him to his feet.
"Thanks," he said gruffly, rubbing his sore neck. "Let's go."
--
As the men of Gold group reached their various positions, the crouched, waiting for the order to move.
--
Han picked up his comlink and raised it to his mouth.
"Gold leader requesting call-in."
There was a moment of silence and then,
"Gold two, standing by."
"Gold three, standing by."
"Gold four, standing by."
Then there came a long growl and Han grinned.
"Gold six, standing by."
"Gold seven, standing by."
All of the sub-groups were ready. Han then switched frequencies and relayed a second message.
"This is Gold leader. All Gold units ready to go. HR Gold standing by."
"Copy, HR Gold. All HR Units stand by to move."Han waited silently, knowing that his men all had comlinks that provided them with the same message.
"All HR Units commence attack. All HR Units commence attack."
--
Leia watched the holonews' live coverage of the events at the Imperial Palace with growing concern. The building looked highly unstable and there were a great deal of uniformed men running around behind the news reporter.
She barely heard the words being said and simply watched as the situation unfolded.
There was a small explosion in the distance and the reporter looked a little more nervous.
"Attempts are being made to regain control of the Palace as we speak and there is now a good chance that-"
A unanimous cheer erupted behind him and cut him off. He touched a hand to his earpiece.
"Wait…I think…yes…Yes! We have retaken the building!"
--
Luke was lying on the floor now, his head swimming, his blood slowly collecting in a pool surrounding him. And, when he heard voices outside his cell, he figured that they had come for him and were going to kill him outright.
Luke groaned. His leg hurt like hell. It never occurred to him just how much he relied on the Force.
Slowly but surely, his vision darkened and his body lost the battle to stay conscious.
--
Chewie simply kicked this door down, just as he had the rest. Except behind this door was no long-time prisoner of the Imperial Loyalists but an old friend. Luke Skywalker lay deathly pale on the cold stone floor of the cell, his body surrounded by blood. Chewie raised his bowcaster and fired off two shots into the ysalamiri in the corner.
Immediately, Luke stirred.
Chewie lifted him and then turned, carrying him into the corridor where he placed the half-unconscious Luke on one of the many repulsor stretchers.
The medic saw the concern in the Wookiee's eyes.
"He'll be alright. Don't you worry."
Chewie didn't really have time to worry. He moved on to the next door.
--
They had been opening cells and rescuing those imprisoned inside them for three hours when they reached a section of children. Many were already dead. Some died as they reached them.
But those who were lucid enough to talk mistrusted the men in their cells immediately. They didn't trust any man in uniform. The type of uniform didn't matter.
--
"How many so far?" Han asked, collaring one of the younger men to gain an answer.
"Two hundred and eighty seven, Sir," he responded.
Han nodded. The cells here could only hold four hundred, max, and he knew the Imperials wouldn't have brought more prisoners than they could keep.
"Alright," he nodded. "Well, let's keep going."
The next door Han opened was more heavily locked than most of the rest. And there was only one occupant. She was young, long brown hair, quite tall if she hadn't been huddled in the corner, and she would have been pretty were it not for her appalling lack of color and her abominably thin body. She was grimy and her clothes were so torn they barely covered her. She had multiple bruises and lacerations and she was shivering.
But she almost looked – apart from the terrible evidence of her maltreatment – the way Han though Jaina might look in a few years.
The girl looked at him with big honeyed-hazel eyes and held her head up defiantly as the door swung open.
When Han approached her, her jaw set and she narrowed those eyes.
Han stood in front of her and was about to kneel down to talk to her when she reached for the buttons on what remained of her shirt and started to undo them.
"What are you doing!" Han asked, a little louder than he had intended.
"My apologies," she said sarcastically, leaving her buttons alone. "I didn't realize your preference."
She shuffled forward again, on her knees, and reached up toward him. For a moment he was puzzled and almost extended a hand to help her up. But then she closed her too-thin fingers about his belt buckle and yanked it open.
He grabbed her wrist and stepped back with a strangled cry.
"Stop!"
She looked up at him, eyes bright with contempt.
"Then what do you want?"
He shook his head.
"What are you doing? Why did you-"
"Don't play this game with me. I know why you're here. They send all the new officers down to me for a little fun. Now what do you want so that I can be done with you?"
Han was suddenly aware that his mouth was hanging open.
"How old are you?" he croaked, finding his throat dry.
"Fourteen. And you?" she responded insolently.
He knelt down in front of her and held her gaze.
"Are you trying to tell me they send new officers down here for…for…"
"Service," she finished for him. "So what do you like?"
He tried to take her hand but she snatched it away.
"Listen to me," he whispered, "please. We're the authorities. We're here to rescue you."
"Oh?" she asked, he voice dripping with skepticism. "And what about the others?"
Han nodded earnestly.
"Them too. We're going to take you to the hospitals and make sure you-"
She started to laugh, first softly, then outright. Han frowned, completely flummoxed.
"You know," she said, her mouth curving up into a wry half-grin, "if I were seven I might believe you."
"What?" said Han before he could stop himself.
"The number of times you people have tried that one, you ought to know better than to think I'd fall for it again."
Han stared for a moment in absolute disbelief.
"Look," she said. "I don't care what you want, just take it so I can get fed."
"Fed?"
"Ah, the playing dumb routine. Yes, fed. I don't get fed till you get yours. Remember?"
"I don't know what I can say to you. I'm not an Imperial Officer. I'm with NR Authority. We're here to get you out."
"Prove it."
Han broke her gaze to fumble in his armored vest and found, after a few seconds, what he was looking for.
"Look," he said, "here. It's my ID."
She took it from him and cupped it in her hands, hiding it from his view.
"What's your name?" she said.
"Han Solo."
"Rank?"
"General."
"Number?"
"145798B."
She looked up at him and handed the small card back to him. Then she let her head hang and shook it gently.
"What's your name?" Han asked softly, touching his hand to her shoulder.
"Tirinide," she answered. "It's Corellian for-"
"Trinity. I know. My last name comes from the Corellian for 'soul.' "
She nodded, face still out of his view.
"You're Corellian too?"
"Yeah," he said. "I was born just outside of Coronet. I think."
Tears splashed down onto the cold stone, but when she looked up, she was smiling.
"What took you so long, Solo?"
He shook his head again.
"I'm sorry."
"For taking so long?" she asked.
Han nodded.
"It's alright," she said softly. "But you're too late."
"What?" Han whispered. "Why?"
She finally relaxed a little and Han saw her wince.
"It doesn't matter. I'm glad you're here."
He bent his head to look into her eyes and saw that they were glistening.
"I'm not surprised," he said softly.
"Yes," she nodded, a weary smile on her drawn face. "I didn't want to die alone."
Before Han could question her, her eyes had closed and she fell forward into his arms, blood streaming from a gaping wound in her side.