Hello again my loyal readers! I hope you are all enjoying the frequency I am posting these new chapters in. If you'd like for me to slow my updates down a little, just let me know. Otherwise, I'm going to continue to post a chapter every day or two until the story is done. Let's hop back into the story now without further ado. Enjoy!

Mets stood guard outside of the hatch leading to the team's quarters. He glanced over slightly as he saw Lieutenant Perch approaching, and he inwardly groaned. The Imperial officer stopped directly in front of the scout trooper and gave him a cursory examination. Mets stood at attention, while inside his reinforced plastoid armor, the trooper rolled his eyes at the antics of the Lieutenant. It was all temporary, he told himself. Perch was just stopping in to fulfill one of his casual inspections and lectures. Still, it was a complete and total annoyance, and Mets couldn't wait until the Old Man came back. Then this stiff could crawl back into whatever manual he slithered out of.

"Were you side-eyeing me, trooper?" Perch asked.

"No sir." Mets answered.

"I believe I saw you side-eyeing me when I approached." The tall, blue-eyed officer continued.

"No sir. Just scoping out incoming personnel for identification as per my duties, sir."

"Mm-hm." Perch hummed, sounding unconvinced. "TB-70561, correct?"

"Yessir." Mets answered.

"Inside. I want to conduct a surprise inspection of Delta-7 at once, TB-70561." Lieutenant Perch ordered.

"Sir." Mets saluted, and followed the officer as he opened the hatch and entered the room. Inside, Ekks and Lago had been playing a game of sabacc, while Gallen watched the pilot bilk the young trooper out of his credits. Daraay was at the work bench in the corner, an E-11 blaster disassembled before her. All of them stopped what they were doing and stood at attention as the interim babysitter of the unit appeared in the commons area. Perch put his arms behind his back as he examined the scene.

"Gambling in the barracks, are we?" He asked coldly. Perch stared at Gallen. "Senior Corporal! Why were you not reporting this infraction to command?" He then turned toward Daraay. "And Death Trooper…why were you not kicking the bloody guts out of these troopers for doing it?" He then eyed the blaster on the work bench. "Are you certified to disassemble that weapon, sergeant?"

"I am the weapons sergeant of this unit." Daraay answered. "It is my duty to ensure that all blasters are operating to…"

"I asked if you are certified by Blastech to take that weapon apart." Perch clarified. She was silent a moment.

"No sir, Lieutenant sir." She stated. Perch pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Should your commander return…and find his troopers in violation of so many protocols…" He growled in distaste. "I should think he would have all of you court-martialed at the very least." He marched into the center of the room, his back to the door as he lectured the unit for the fourth time in as many days. "Look…I mean look, won't you, at the state of this room. It looks as though a pack of womprats live here. Filthy!" He didn't notice the hatch slide open, nor Commander Tharcourt and Lieutenant Thorne standing in the doorway. "You should be polishing your armor. You should be conducting training exercises, and when not training, you should be polishing your armor! Do you understand at all the meaning of what it is to be a soldier?"

"Yes sir." The troopers chimed. Drakken silently walked up behind the Lieutenant who had been assigned to watch the unit in his absence.

"You are the face of the Imperial Military, troopers. Inasmuch, you are an extension of the will of the Emperor himself, a precision instrument of his very will. Your life and death mean nothing to the advancement of Imperial Law and might. Am I understood?"

"Yessir."

"Gambling in the barracks…illegal disassembly of Imperial property…and I'm certain that green cape is not standard issue nor is it regulation, IA-39718." He jabbed a finger into Gallen's chest, and the sniper looked down at it as if some annoying insect had landed there. "Why don't you fetch your team medic, trooper?" He ordered Gallen. "I want to see if he's still hording bacta spray like there's going to be a shortage."

"Sir?" Gallen said, seeing Tharcourt cross his arms behind his back and frown at the lieutenant before him.

"Sir what, IA-39718?" Perch returned. "I just gave you an order."

"And I am belaying that order, lieutenant." Drakken spoke. Perch turned, and seeing the commander, he snapped his heels together and came to a salute.

"Commander Tharcourt." He greeted. "I was just in the middle of an inspection, sir."

"I can see that." Tharcourt stated boredly. "Find many infractions, did you?"

"Yes sir." Perch announced. "These two troopers were conducting a card game on duty. Your Death Trooper thought it necessary to void the warranty on that E-11 blaster by disassembling it without a license. This is only the start."

"Oh really?" Thorne cooed, standing beside Drakken. "Do go on then."

"Right, well…" He continued. "Over the last four days, these troopers have accumulated a laundry-list of offenses to military protocol. Your Medic had an unnecessary amount of bacta and painkillers in his inventory, your scouts were rappelling from a training structure intended only for live-fire exercises, your astromech needs a memory wipe, and I believe your pilot is using spice." At that, he turned his head and homed in on Ekks. "I cannot prove it, sir, but I assure you…it's true."

"How…dastardly." Tharcourt said sarcastically.

"My thoughts exactly, commander." Perch returned. "As a fellow commander of an elite special forces unit, you know how important it is that special operations personnel hold themselves to a higher standard than even the best regular trooper." He smiled a sycophantic smile. "I understand you have a one-hundred-percent success rate on your missions, sir."

"That's right." Tharcourt nodded, then looked about the room at his troopers.

"My own Echo-9 has a sixty-eight percent success rate." Perch said with some pride. "How is it you are so effective, sir…especially given this…" He gestured to the room. "Sad collection of personnel?" Tharcourt looked at Daraay.

"You almost finished repairing that blaster, Daraay?" He asked.

"Yes sir." She answered. "Should be completed in another half-hour."

"Good." Drakken nodded to her. "I need you to look at my pistols. Make sure they're tuned up just right, if you don't have any plans for the afternoon."

"I would be happy to, sir." She said. He then looked around the room.

"Who's on guard detail right now?"

"I was sir." Mets answered. "Got relieved for this inspection."

"Alright. Ekks, since you don't look like you're doing anything useful, why don't you take over the rest of Mets' shift. I told you somebody would end up saying something about your card games." The pilot sighed.

"You sure did." He agreed. "I'll go stand guard, sir."

"Not on the spice again, are you?" Drakken asked.

"Not in a couple months." Ekks shrugged truthfully. Drakken lightly slapped his shoulder pauldron.

"Good. Stay straight, son." When Tharcourt turned back to Perch, he noticed the lieutenant's expression. "Problem, Perch?"

"You hold council with your troopers, Commander?" The uptight officer asked incredulously.

"Yeah…I do." Drakken growled. "Amazing what an arsehole officer can learn from combat veterans when he bothers to listen. Maybe that's how my team is so successful, what do you think?" Perch's mouth moved, but no words came out. "Now…you are relieved, lieutenant. Return to your unit before you go back with my boot in an orifice you may not like."

"I…I…yessir!" Perch saluted, and made a dash for the hatch, and Tharcourt let out a frustrated sigh.

"Lieutenant?!" He called. Perch wheeled about.

"Sir!"

"Your sergeants and corporals know more about war than you'll ever hope to know, Perch. They've been where it is you think you need to go. I highly suggest you consult them on matters of combat…" Tharcourt advised darkly. "Or else your fancy education might lead you into a world of hurt one day." Perch started to speak, but Drakken held up a hand to stop him. "How do you serve the Empire if the enemy wins and you're dead and bloated on a backwater planet?" He took a few steps toward the officer. "Big price to pay for being…squared away, isn't it?"

"I…I suppose it is, sir." Perch said in a low, admonished tone. Drakken put a hand on the younger officer's shoulder and gave him a light shake as a father would a rebellious child.

"Then learn from what I said, lieutenant." The commander advised. "And we will speak no more of this."

"Yessir." Perch whispered. Drakken gave a light nod toward the hatch, and the interim commander of Delta-7 left, hopefully a little wiser. The door whooshed closed, and Tharcourt turned to the handful of his troopers in the room. Gallen was the first to speak.

"Sir…" The marksman began. "I don't think I gotta tell you how glad we are to see you back." He grinned a little and looked between his commanding officers. "You two have a…good time on leave, sir?"

"I like to think it was the R and R we both needed." Tharcourt returned. "So don't get the rumor mill up and running just yet." Gallen's smile dropped a little. "Get Dall. Tell him to repack his kit with as much bacta and painkillers as he sees fit."

"Sure thing, sir."

"And where's Felian?"

"He's in the training hall, sir." The sniper answered. "I think he had a sixth sense for knowing when Perch was going to stop by."

"Sergeant's instinct." Tharcourt shrugged. "Come on Freya, I want a word with him." Thorne gave him a nod, a delicate smile on her lips. The two left the room, and Gallen looked at Lago.

Anything seem…different about the old man to you?" He asked. The younger trooper shrugged.

"Maybe he just needed a holiday?"

They entered the training hall, and quickly spotted the scout sergeant. Felian had a silhouette target placed at the eight-meter line, and he stood with a carbine at low ready. A buzzer chimed, and Sergeant Felian snapped the blaster up to his shoulder and fired at almost the same moment. His energy bolt hit low on the target's abdomen. He reset, lowering the blaster. The buzzer sounded again, and in a fraction of a second, Felian had the E-11 shouldered and a bolt had struck the target.

"Wow…he's right scary fast, eh love?" Freya commented. Drakken's trained eye watched him reset and fire again.

"He's fast, but not accurate enough." Tharcourt commented. "He's trying to improve his grouping while reflex-firing."

"Ah…" Freya replied. Felian turned, and spotted them. The sergeant gave a quick wave across the space between them, pointed to the target, then his blaster and lightly slapped the side of his helmet. Drakken chuckled and they approached.

"You're faster, Sarn't." Tharcourt nodded. Felian removed his helmet.

"Welcome back, sir." The scout replied. "Yeah, I may be faster, but my accuracy hasn't caught up yet."

"Slow is smooth, smooth is fast." Drakken offered. "It's not who gets the first shot off. It's who gets the first one on target."

"Rather be first on the trigger and first on target if possible, sir." Felian groused. "I'll settle for the second one. Care to give it a go, Commander?" Drakken looked at the target.

"Been a minute." He answered. "Sure, why not." He squared off with the target, relaxing his legs and letting his right hand drape next to his low-slung blaster. The buzzer sounded, and before the chime had even died out, Drakken's blaster pistol was in his hand, and a new burn mark was scorched into the left shoulder of the metal target. He grunted and holstered the weapon.

"With all due respect sir…damn." Felian commented. He had barely been able to register his commander's drawstroke while staring at the man.

"I know…I was off by two inches." Tharcourt complained. "We'll come in here and do some drills tomorrow."

"I…wha…yessir, whatever you say." The sergeant stammered, always intrigued by Tharcourt's speed and accuracy with his sidearm.

"Can I gie it a try?" Thorne asked. Drakken gave a theatrical bow and gestured toward the target, making Freya giggle as she stepped up to the line. She stood at an almost forty-five degree angle to the target, her gloved fingers lightly touching the grip of her blaster. The buzzer went off, and she drew her weapon and fired, barely grazing the target. She let out an aggravated growl and holstered the blaster.

"Smooth it out." Drakken advised her. "Don't rush your shot either. Focus on smoothly and fluidly getting the blaster to full extension. Bring the front sight to your eye, not your eye to the sight."

"Okay." She nodded, and got into position again. The signal sounded, and she drew quickly and fired, her bolt striking the right arm of the target. "Hmph. Feckin' 'ole lotta bloody awful, I am."

"Nah. You aren't bad." Drakken assured her. "Besides, you wanna get into a close-quarters fight with her, Felian?"

"Not if I could help it." The scout answered honestly.

"Yeah, me either." Drakken agreed. "Wait…there it is, Freya. Use the blaster like you would your staff. Its still just an extension of your body. Focus on it like you would a melee weapon…just one that shoots."

"Alright…doesnae make a lot of sense, but I'll try." Thorne said. She readied herself, and when the buzzer went off, she drew the blaster and discharged ten shots in the span of two seconds. Five of the bolts hit the target in the body. She holstered the weapon, and looked at Drakken, whose eyebrows were raised comically.

"Yep…fast and brutal." He said. "Not pretty, but by the void, it'll do the job." Freya giggled, and he turned to his scout sergeant. "By the way, before I forget, I wanted to talk to you, Felian."

"Of course, sir. What about?"

"Well, we just got back aboard about an hour or so ago, and it looks like the powers that be are already planning our next mission." The trio began to walk across the training hall floor toward the exit as Drakken continued. "I understand my lieutenant here did a bang-up job of the last rebel base this team assaulted…" Freya blushed a little and Felian shrugged.

"I would say she did pretty adequately, sir." The sergeant returned.

"How many enemy bases is that now we've knocked out of commission, Felian?"

"Since we started up this outfit sir? Something like six or seven, I think."

"Seven indeed, sarn't." Tharcourt stated. "I think it's almost become our go-to family activity." Felian gave a slight chuckle. "Rumor has it, there's a mission in the offing, and we're to be assaulting another rebel stronghold. Piett said he doesn't even know the wheres, whys and whats of it, but I can probably expect a briefing in a couple of days." Felian simply gave a nod. "I know I've been conspicuously absent for most of the last two weeks. How's the team?"

"Don't worry about that, Commander." Sergeant Felian assured him. "Everyone's kept up their training regimen. Just give the order, and we can be booted and suited, and skids up in half an hour." Tharcourt smiled a little.

"Good soldiers don't even need an officer." He commented.

The next two days consisted of tactical training and time on the firing range, along with a healthy dose of hand-to-hand combat drills. To Drakken, it felt like finally being home after a long stint abroad, and he fell back into his old, comfortable routine. The only minor difference now was that every night as they were turning in, Drakken and Freya would steal a few moments together in the corridor outside of their dorms. A couple minutes of passionate kissing and a drawn out goodnight marked the end of their days now, and every morning, they would take a moment to kiss before heading into the office for the day.

On the morning of the third day, Drakken and Freya were called to one of the briefing rooms on the upper levels of the ship. Upon arrival, they found Captain Piett already seated at the rotund table, Admiral Ozzel sitting at one end, half-hidden by the shadows of the room. Another Naval officer, a commander, was seated near the admiral. Tharcourt and Thorne snapped a quick salute to the higher-ranking officers, and took a pair of seats across from Piett. No sooner had they sat down than Admiral Ozzel spoke up.

"Yes…indeed." He seemed to greet them. "Commander Tharcourt and Lieutenant…Thorne it was, yes?"

"Aye sir." Freya returned.

"Yes well…I hope you two enjoyed your brief holiday. We are in the midst of a war, afterall."

"Yessir. It was much needed, sir." Drakken answered. He looked across the table, where Piett held his right hand up as if to scratch an itch on his temple, blocking Ozzel's view of his face. He gave Drakken a roll of his eyes.

"I trust you two didn't get up no good." The admiral continued. He wiped his brow with a kerchief. "Oh, you know what I mean, commander…young female lieutenant hanging about with a…a…" Tharcourt raised his eyebrows questioningly. "…a man of your mettle. I don't like hanky panky." Drakken had to stifle the urge to grin.

"I don't think any of us do, sir." He agreed. Ozzel nodded, seemingly satisfied, then returned his gaze to Tharcourt as if to demand an explanation. "Oh, I mean there's a war on. No room for distractions like that." Ozzel nodded again and his eyes went to Freya as if begging the same question. She coughed.

"Don't ye worry none, sir. Me datty always said fast women's nothin' but trouble, he did…sir."

"Good man." Ozzel stated. "Wait…why in the stars did your father give you that advice?!" Freya grinned bashfully and shrugged.

"Wen all the other lassies was a' playin' with dollies an' learnin' t' cook, I was boozin' an' trainin' with the fightin' men. I s'pose he just figured I was…" Ozzel held up a hand.

"No, never mind, young lady. I need not hear more." The admiral protested. Piett went to scratch his imaginary itch again and winked at the both of them.

"Sir, with all due respect, are we under investigation for suspicion of…some kind of…relations?" Drakken queried innocently.

"What? No, no, no." Ozzel waved. "You are to receive a mission briefing shortly, as soon as…" The hatch to the room slid open, and Lord Vader stepped in. As he moved to the far side of the conference room, the only sound in the space was the echo of Vader's mechanical breathing. He stopped and turned back to the five officers.

"I will be to the point." The black-clad being spoke. "Intelligence has discovered a rebel base on the planet Lorta. Commander Tharcourt, you will take your team there and eliminate the rebels. I want nothing less than full destruction of the enemy. Tear the base apart and recover every piece of information you can. Admiral Ozzel, Captain Piett?"

"Yes, my lord?" Both answered.

"Once Delta-7 has succeeded in their mission, I want the entire site…destroyed by orbital bombardment."

"Yes, my lord." They both answered.

"And Commander…" Vader added in a warning tone, "…my orders to capture the rebel pilot and the freighter still stand. Am I understood?"

"Absolutely, sir." Tharcourt stated. "If I may ask a question, Lord Vader…" The dark lord stared at him silently, as if daring him to speak. Drakken swallowed as if dislodging a blockage in his throat. "Are we to capture any rebel personnel, sir?"

"If you feel their…interrogation will benefit our purpose, commander." Vader answered. Tharcourt managed a nod. It was a short but purposeful statement. Unless a few of the rebels were valuable enough to be kept alive for information, they were to all be killed in detail. Tharcourt understood that much. "Do you have any further questions, Commander Tharcourt?" The dark lord asked, a hint of impatience to his voice.

"Ah…no sir." Drakken said, mimicking satisfaction. He managed a small smile. "When do we leave, my lord?"

"Is The Executor on a course for the Lorta system, Admiral Ozzel?" The black-clad warlord asked, glancing sidelong at the commanding officer of the fleet.

"It is, yes my lord, as you ordered." Ozzel schmoozed. Vader simply stared at him a moment.

"Then you have your orders, Admiral. You are dismissed." With that, Ozzel and his aide stood and he made an overtly sycophantic bow.

"Yes, milord." The portly man returned before leaving the room. Vader then turned to Firmus.

"Captain Piett. I am entrusting you with shipboard operations in this attack." Vader said. Drakken recognized his friend's expression; Piett sitting straight as a Ca'loh tree, his face betraying nothing as his eyes were fixed on his supreme commander. Piett was taking in everything, the said and the unsaid to ensure that he fully understood not just his orders, but the meaning of them, and any unspoken chances for leeway or free-action. "You are to coordinate with Commander Tharcourt…to ensure the completion of his mission by any means necessary. You will then see to the orbital bombardment personally." Piett gave a small nod.

"It will be done, my lord." He said rigidly.

"Then you are dismissed, Captain." Piett stood and made a short, dutiful bow before exiting. Now alone in the conference room with Lord Vader, both Drakken and Freya felt a little uncomfortable, but both remained sitting upright, their eyes forward. "You have never failed me in the past, Commander." Vader stated. His head turned slightly toward Thorne, and the remark felt like it had bitten into her psyche. She felt sweat on her forehead.

"I have done my duty, my lord." Drakken replied. "That's all."

"Lieutenant Thorne's actions in your absence were quite…satisfactory, Commander. You have taught your subordinates well." Drakken looked over to Freya, then back to his superior. He gave Lord Vader a small smile and a nod.

"Thank you, sir." Vader looked between them for a moment.

"A word of advice, Commander…Lieutenant…" He spoke, "…the actions of an officer while on duty can be undone by what they do elsewise. Loyalty and…obedience, Commander. Those must be absolute, do you agree?"

"I do fully, sir." Drakken answered, keeping up his best sabacc face. Vader looked to Freya.

"Aye sir. Loyalty tae th' Empire comes first, me laird."

"Good." Vader mused. "Others in this military take very seriously certain activities of their subordinates. I care not what vices or…indulgences my officers partake in on their own time. So long as it does not interfere with their duty." He stared at both of them until they both practically felt like they were melting in their chairs. "I pray it will not hinder your abilities in that regard…will it?"

"No, sir!" Tharcourt and Thorne barked like a couple of cadets.

"I am pleased to hear that." Vader said, a touch of sarcasm to his mechanical voice. "Remember Commander…Lieutenant…should it be so, despite your continued success, I have no compunction against…terminating your commands."

"Loud and clear, sir!" Drakken returned, his voice quavering the faintest bit. "We will do our duty to the last, sir. Blood and bone." Vader said nothing for a moment, then walked to the hatch. He turned back to the two.

"You begin the mission tomorrow evening, Commander." He stated. The hatch opened without Lord Vader pressing any button, and he was quickly gone. The door slid shut, and Drakken and Freya slumped in their chairs, both letting out tense breaths.

"Oh fer feck sake, me darlin'…" Freya panted. She pulled out a kerchief and haphazardly wiped at her forehead. "Ohmegods…" Tharcourt poured a glass of water from a pitcher on the table and drained it in one nervous motion. He sat the cup down with a shaking hand.

"Whoo…that was morbidly terrifying…" He commented. Thorne shook his shoulder. He looked into her wide, frantic eyes.

"Ye hear 'im, Drakken?!" She whispered. "He knows! He knows aboot us, dun he?!"

"Sweetheart…I think he knows everything." Drakken muttered.

A briefing by Darth Vader is always a thing to inspire fear and awe in one, is it not? And it seems that the dark lord knows about their...attachment. Fortunately, he doesn't seem to mind too much, so that's a plus at least. I'll try to have another chapter up soon, my loyal readers. Until then, Cheerio!