Hello my loyal readers, new and old! I'm back with another chapter, and for those of you who have been waiting with baited breath to see what happens to our beloved characters, I'm sure it's not a moment too soon. Before we jump back in, I want to give a shout out to some of my reviewers.

Guest: You're absolutely right. Too many SW stories are told from the point of view of the rebels, the "good guys" of the universe. It's a nasty habit of people to paint entire groups with such broad brush-strokes as to render them all as mere caricatures of "good and evil", when it's more than likely that there were as many decent and morally upright Imperials as there were seedy and treacherous rebels. I wanted to tell the tale of such a group of Imperial soldiers, people who have complex morals and values, and who see the truth of war. The Imperial war machine is a very interesting thing to study on as well, and until shows like Andor, we've never gotten to see it save from the point of view of heroes on the outside looking in. Thank you for your support and support!

Poidski: Hmm...you may be right, we'll just have to wait and see, won't we? Tharcourt is good at thinking on his feet and adapting, using the enemy's greatest perceived strengths as a weakness against them. It's what makes him successful, and yet puts him at odds against the rest of Imperial Military Doctrine; He fights from a position of flexibility and thinks his way around the foe instead of just using bare force in every engagement.

Bluecat: Glad to see you're still in the audience. I hope you're enjoying this story as much as you did my previous works!

With all of that said, let's jump back into the story already in progress.

As his commanders and teammate were engaging the enemy soldiers belowdecks, Glitch activated one of the Englehardt collapsible escape pods. The ten-meter long cylindrical pod swelled to its full size with air pumped from the ship, and launched free of the vessel. Seeing the escape pod shooting from the liner, Decoja, in a fit of rage that his prey was trying to get away, ordered his fighters to make an example of the cowardly Imperials. Three headhunters swooped in, in a delta formation. Glitch, controlling the escape pod remotely, and still linked to all of the others, had counted on this. As the Headhunters closed in behind the empty vessel, Glitch launched three more empty escape pods, and boosted their engines beyond their safe operating levels. This sent them streaking out from the liner like shot from a barrel, and before the pilots of the old starfighters knew what was happening, and before they could react to their sensors screaming at them in their cockpits, the three ships were struck from behind by the escape pods, detonating in a trio of fireballs.

Glitch looked through the exterior cameras of The Princess Latania, and saw two more Headhunters coasting along the port side, just outside of a bank of escape craft. A quick scan showed one of the pods to be an empty, and he bided his time until the pilots had maneuvered their fighters almost wing-to-wing. With a synthesized laugh, Glitch fired the escape pod at maximum velocity, pummeling the two Headhunters and watching them explode with the sort of rational satisfaction that only a droid could muster. He had four empty escape pods left, and he sent one of these flying outwards, feigning a straight-shot past a fighter. As it moved in to intercept, he juked the pod to the left, and slammed it into the front of the enemy ship.

"Break contact! Break contact!" Decoja screamed at his pilots. "They're using the escape pods as weapons, damn it! Damn it, break contact!" The remainder of the Headhunters pulled quickly away from the stricken liner, the five fighters diving below the belly of the ship to rejoin their command vessel. The shuttle the Crazies had arrived on broke free from its moorings and started to pull away from the ship, putting it in line with a bank of escape pods on D Deck starboard. Glitch activated another empty, and sent the craft hurtling into the cockpit of the shuttle, causing it to lose power and careen off into the blackness of space.

"Launch!" Drakken yelled over his commlink, and within seconds, over a hundred escape pods were jettisoned from the liner, containing the passengers, crew, and the troopers of Delta-7. As the pods shot free of the ship, the two Glitch launched just as he rolled into the last escape craft, rocketed toward the enemy frigate. One of them impacted a turret on the forward section of the top of the ship, knocking both barrels clean of the turret. Decoja jerked the joystick of his weapon control system to the left and destroyed the second just meters before it would have impacted the bridge of his ship. With a scream, the captain turned his guns on the bridge of the passenger liner, and unloaded a cannonade of laser fire that obliterated the forward section of the top of the vessel.

"Close that damned hatch!" Clash yelled, holding onto the edge of a shipping container as oxygen and debris were sucked from the hold. One of his three remaining men crawled on his hands and knees to the control board, reached up and slammed his fist into the red button. The massive hangar door slowly slid shut, locking into position with a loud clang. The four men surveyed the cargo hold. "Heh. The damned fools must've gotten sucked out into the void." The leader of the band commented. "Too bad…after that show, I was looking forward to meeting them. Prep those containers!" As his three men readied the cargo containers for transport, Clash dialed in a command on the bay door control panel. "Now…let's try this with atmospheric shielding…" The door slid open, the weak force field containing the air in the cargo hold. He pulled his commlink. "Cargo ready, captain."

"About time!" Decoja yelled, on the verge of losing what little self-control he still possessed. "The passengers got away while you were assing around in there! We gotta get those boxes and go! At least tell me that Imp officer is spaced." Clash chuckled.

"Oh, he's spaced alright…" The gunfighter answered. "…you won't be hearing from him anymore."

"Finally…" The captain sighed. "Alright. The shuttle is inbound. Hook up the containers, and I'll send the shuttle back to pick you up. Then we're out of here."

"Roger." He clipped the commlink back onto a loop of the load-bearing system on his armor, and motioned to the void in the wall of the ship. "Move them out!"

"Preparing to retrieve load." The pilot of the small transport vessel announced over the net as he backed the ship into the cargo bay. The freighter was more than capable of taking on the six containers, but pressed for time, this run would consist of using his ship as a tug, dragging the crates using electromagnetic couplers, and docking them with the flagship of the fleet. The pilot surveyed the damage already wrought on this operation, and stared at the pieces of Headhunter starfighters floating about the area, and was glad that all he was doing was shunting a few boxes a kilometer.

As soon as he had touched the rear of his ship to the deck of the cargo bay, Clash and his men secured the first crate to the back of the freighter, engaging the magnetic lock. The others had already been linked together, and so as the four men backed away, the pilot easily maneuvered his ship forwards, dragging the boxes from the hold and toward Decoja's waiting ship. Clash watched the shuttle leave, resting his hands on the two blasters at his waist.

"You lost half your fleet getting these friggin' crystals…" He growled. "I hope it was worth it." A shot rang out, and Clash swiveled about to see one of his men on a knee, having been shot in the back by the three Imperials now leaping from the small ship in the cargo bay. He drew his blasters and started blazing away at the trio of Imps. "Kill 'em! Kill 'em aaaallll!" He bellowed over the intensifying firefight.

After shooting the armored man, Drakken hopped down from the cockpit of the small ship and rolled, coming up to a knee and firing both of his blasters at the remaining three opponents. His rounds glanced off of their thick armor, and he dove behind a shipping container as they returned fire. Freya fired her small blaster pistol from the cockpit, then dove to the deck, pitching out of the way as a bout of blaster bolts struck the floor where she had just been. Daraay, almost as protected in her plastoid shell as her opponents, simply hopped down, absorbed a round from a blaster, and sent one of Clash's men flying with a powerful blast of her weapon that she thought must have almost crumpled his chestplate. She ducked and ran behind a nearby container as a spray of full-auto bolts came her way.

"Come on out…" Clash said in a calm but sinister rumble. "No point in hiding, Imps…we got the cargo. You've lost. May as well throw it all in, eh?" He smirked, and motioned with one of his blasters, and a man with a DLT-19 moved around the crates to the far wall, and disappeared into the maze of containers. He motioned with the other blaster and a second soldier went the other way. Clash moved into the containers, listening intently for any sound of his prey. "It won't be long now anyway…" He stated. "This ship…and you will be a bloody smear in the cold, cold void…"

"And where's that leave you?" The Imp officer called from somewhere in the containers, and Clash spun about with his blasters. He grinned.

"Nice of ya to worry, but I got me a ride…" Clash called back. Drakken stood with his back to one of the containers, his blasters at high ready. He heard the armored man approach, and leapt from his hiding place, firing both blasters as fast as he could pull the trigger. He hit Clash's chestplate twice, and Decoja's lieutenant roared and fired back. Both men took cover behind two more containers, still firing away. Drakken checked his weapons and found that they were running low on power. He quickly fumbled with them, loading new power cells into them as Clash simply discarded his and drew two more. Drakken leaned out to fire, but Clash sent him to cover with a wild barrage of bolts.

Edge, one of Clash's men, stalked through the crates. He held his heavy blaster pistol with bent arms, the weapon close to his face as he maneuvered through the labyrinth of boxes. He rounded a corner, and a metal pole came out of nowhere and knocked his blaster to the deck. The highly trained former mercenary wasn't to be caught off-guard again, and as Freya swung down with her staff, Edge caught it in both hands.

"Fool me twice…" He said, staring up at her. "Shame on YOU!"

"Wahhh!" Thorne cried as she was thrown from the top of the container. She landed on her feet hard, and fell to her back, still holding onto her staff, the other end in the huge soldier's steel grasp.

"Bring a stick to a blaster fight…" He commented. She tugged on her weapon, but Edge pulled back, dragging her to him. "Some assholes are always tryin' to swim upstream." He said disappointedly, reached back with his left hand and produced another blaster pistol.

Thorne kicked up between his legs, and found a spot that wasn't armored. He let out all of his breath in one grunt, and Thorne hopped upright and spun her staff into his head. He staggered, tried to raise his weapon, and had it knocked away just before she landed another blow to his head. Edge pulled another blaster from a thigh-holster, and she parried this one to the side and flipped her staff up into his chin, followed by a downward blow to the top of his helmet. Then, with all the strength she could muster, Freya jabbed the tip of her staff into his throat, sending the huge man to his knees.

"Aye…" She growled. "…some arseholes be always tryin' tae swim upstream." With that, Freya issued a coup de grace, swinging her weapon into the side of his helmet so hard that she heard a snap. Edge fell to the deck, his neck broken.

Daraay fired at the tall being in full durasteel armor again, and watched her four bolts simply glance off his chestplate. She did a quick mental calculation as to how thick the armor had to be to deflect the rounds from her portable cannon. She ducked and twisted around the corner of a shipping container as the walking tank fired back with his DLT-19x, blowing a hole in the metal crate. He lumbered forward, allowing his weapon to recharge for another blast.

"Come out, little Death Trooper…" The armored figure called in a thick accent. "…and I will make this quick." Daraay cocked her weapon.

"Judging by your accent…you are a Devaronian." She stated.

"Yes, what is it to you?" The juggernaut replied. He spun around the corner and fired, his powerful blaster punching a hole in another container. He slowly looked about for the Imperial.

"My lieutenant killed a Devaronian with nothing but a fighting staff." Daraay said from the next container over, trying to buy time to figure out how to defeat this opponent. The armored alien laughed.

"He did not have this blaster." He answered. "Else your lieutenant would have gone to pieces." He walked to where the sound of the Death Trooper's voice had originated, but found nothing. Daraay had maneuvered around the container, and now emerged on the other side. She leveled her blaster at him and fired a single, concentrated blast into his chest just as he turned. "Uhf!" He exclaimed, being thrown into the wall. The Devaronian quickly brought up his own heavy blaster and fired, and Daraay rolled to the side as a hole was blasted in the deck. She fired a burst of full-auto bolts into his armored carapace, then ran behind a container as he charged his weapon and fired again.

"I heard you were good…" Clash said, moving around the stack of shipping crates for a clear shot. "So far, you haven't shown me anything special yet." He threw himself out into the clearing, both DL-44's aimed where the Imp officer should have been.

"Stick around, I might surprise you…" A voice said from behind him. Clash turned and fired ten rounds into the corridor formed by the boxes, but there was nothing but empty air. Then four rounds hit his chestplate, and another zinged off of his helmet before he picked up on the Imperial officer on top of the container. Clash began shooting, and walked his fire up to where the officer was, but Drakken dropped to the lid of the container and rolled away. He ran in a crouch to a position behind the armored man, and popped up, firing six more times. This time, Clash dodged the shots, throwing himself back against the solid wall behind him and firing back. Drakken had to drop down on the other side of the containers.

"Hm. You have skill…I'll give you that, Imp." Clash stated, walking around the row. "But you're still outgunned." He popped around the corner and fired six times, then scanned for the officer. A bolt flew past his head, and Clash turned and fired four more times as Drakken rounded a corner. "It's too bad…a fellow gunfighter…in another life, you could be working with me. You had to pick the wrong side though." Clash climbed atop one of the containers and walked its length. He spied the Imperial at an intersection of boxes, and took aim.

Drakken had expected the man to try to use the high ground as he had, and saw Clash just in time. He darted to the side, running the length of the row of containers, firing both of his blasters. Clash jogged to keep pace, similarly dual-wielding his own weapons. They reached the end of the row, and Clash leapt from the crate just as Drakken slid to the deck. Clash landed in a kneeling position, his blasters aimed at the commander's chest, and Tharcourt slid to a stop with his own SE-14r's pointed at Clash's unarmored mouth. Both pulled their triggers at the same time, but nothing happened.

"Krick…" Drakken gasped, and rolled away, got to his feet and took off running as Clash threw down his blasters and drew two breech-loading slugthrowers that had been sawn off into pistols. A lead bullet smacked a container by his head, and Tharcourt threw himself around a corner, landing on his back. He got to his feet and quickly reloaded his blasters with the last two power cells on his belt. "How many kriffin' blasters you have, digleberry?!" He yelled.

"Two is one…" Clash called back, firing a slugthrower down the corridor. "…one is none…" He fired the other then stopped and reloaded. "And all of them is plenty!"

Daraay had made up her mind as to what she needed to do. The problem was getting into a position to do it. The Death Trooper took a deep breath of air through her helmet, surprised that she was actually getting winded facing this foe. She came out around the corner and fired a full-powered blast into the armored Devaronian, and as he leveled his blaster, she sprinted around the container, and peeked out around the other side. The mass of durasteel was stalking toward the corner she'd fired from, and Daraay bolted down the narrow corridor, and tackled him just as the enormous alien started to turn toward her. She used her MWC-35c to parry his blaster out of line, then slammed full force into him, knocking the Devaronian off-balance. Then with a swift upward motion, she brought her weapon up and caught the bottom lip of his helmet and tore it off of his head. The horned man growled and threw her to the ground. Her right hand went to her boot.

"Not bad, Death Trooper…" He said. "But now you die." He started to raise his blaster rifle, and barely registered the quick flick of Daraay's right hand. The knife shot through the air and buried in his neck, severing his carotid artery. He grasped the knife and pulled it free with a spurt of blood, giving Daraay enough time to cock her blaster and fire a concentrated round into his head. The decapitated durasteel-clad body dropped to the deck, and Daraay hoisted herself up and limped off.

Freya yelped and rolled behind a container as the man discharged a jet of flame from his weapon. She ran down the row, around the corner, and fell to her back as another stream of fire surged over her, singing some of her red hair. She clawed herself back behind the container and paused a moment, huffing and panting. How was she supposed to beat a guy with a burner? She was trapped in the short row of boxes, with nowhere to go.

"Know the last thing my old boss said to me?" The man asked, pacing back and forth along the row of three crates. "You're fired." He chuckled. She stuck her head out around the corner, and quickly ducked out of the way as a ball of flame blew past. "I guess you can say he ended up feeling a little…hot blooded." She looked to her right, and another short burst of fire puffed in that direction. "Come on out now, sweet thing." He said. "I'm all fired up for a chance to smoke an Imperial tonight.

Freya huffed. Getting burned to cinders was almost as bad as having to listen to this goon's bad jokes as he hunted her with his flame-throwing gizmo. She glanced up at the top of the container she was leaned against, and suddenly got an idea. She stood, and with a nimble movement, vaulted herself on top of the crate with her staff. She heard the man down below, moving back and forth, still waiting for her to stick her head out again.

"Hey, I got a joke for you." He said, and gave a short burst of flame down the left side of the row. "What do you call an Imperial broad on fire?" Thorne drew her RK-3. "Give up? A cause for celebration!" He sprayed fire down the right side of the passageway, and Thorne vaulted through the air to the containers on the other side of the gap, landing on her side and firing three shots at the tanks on the man's back. There was a high-pitched hiss, followed by an eruption of flame as the weapon system exploded, cremating the man where he stood.

"Yeah, an' that joke was overdone…" She panted.

Meanwhile, Drakken was having problems of his own. As he ducked down in a shadowy corner of the cargo hold, he checked his blasters to find his weapons were on fifty-percent power. He huffed, realizing that his opponent had to be wearing some sort of impervious armor, and wishing he'd had some on a few of his missions. The hold was mostly quiet now, the sound of blasters and small explosions having died away, and he hoped that Freya and Daraay had won against their own opponents. He pulled his commlink from his belt, covering the hall to his right with a blaster.

"Freya…Daraay…" He whispered. "You guys alright?"

"I'm a'right, love." Thorne returned, and he felt a sense of relief.

"I am here, sir." His bodyguard stated, standing next to the lieutenant by the small ship, and he sighed the rest of the tension from his body.

"Good…you guys…" He panted. "I need help. This big guy's got some kind of enhanced armor…I never figured on having to shoot through something like this. He's…dank farric!" They heard the transmission end abruptly, followed by a cacophony of blaster fire from the other side of the bay. Freya gasped, twirled her staff, and ran toward the sound. Daraay cocked her blaster and moved toward the fighting as well.

Drakken barely escaped getting shot to pieces when Clash rounded the corner, both of his blaster pistols blazing. Tharcourt rolled to the side and dove behind a cargo container, returned fire, first from one blaster then the other, then ran further into the boxes. He hit a dead end, and sprinted back the way he had come. Encountering the armored man again, the commander fired six bolts, all of them glancing off of the shiny breastplate and pauldrons the man wore. Clash fired back, one of his red bolts striking Drakken's upper left bicep, and he threw himself to the floor and rolled aside. He looked up in time to see Clash pull both of his triggers, his blasters lightly clicking on empty cartridges.

"Ha!" Drakken yelled, and started to raise his blasters. Before Clash's empty weapons even hit the deck, he had two more pistols in his hands, and Tharcourt dove into a narrow gap between two boxes as twin bursts of full-auto bolts streaked toward him.

"Gun crazy!" Clash shouted, fully immersed in his own personal zone. He practically slid up to the gap and fired another long burst in between the crates. He paused, then fired another burst, laughing as he did.

"Oi, mate!" A voice called. Clash spun about, and had his left blaster knocked down the corridor by a blow from Freya's staff. He jabbed his right one out to shoot, but the Breoh'an knocked it aside, trapped his arm with her weapon, and wrenched, sending Clash's other blaster to the deck. He growled and punched her in the face, and she staggered back. Freya started to attack again, but froze when the disarmed man suddenly had an RK-3 in each hand. She backpedaled down the corridor two meters and dove to her left, avoiding his fire.

"You'll have to do better than…GUH!" Clash called out, being blown to the deck by a blast from Daraay's cannon. He rolled to his back and fired a salvo at the Death Trooper, who disappeared back around the corner. He pulled a thermal detonator, armed it, and pitched it over the containers, followed by a second in the other direction. Then Clash got to his feet, picked up his blaster pistols, and hurried off after his opponents.

He ran out of the row of crates, and felt a blow across the front of his helmet that send a chime through his head. Freya delivered another strike to the side of his helmet, and ducked as he spun her way. Then Drakken opened fire from behind the gunfighter, and peppered him from head to toe in blaster bolts. One found its way through a chink in his armor, a gap at the back of his right thigh. Another burned into his left shoulder. Clash turned to fire at Drakken, but a full-power round from Daraay's blaster propelled him back against a crate, and he dropped both of his pistols. He fell to his knees and looked up at the three Imperials who now advanced on him, blasters pointed at his face.

"Guess you got me then…" He grumbled, then spit blood onto the deck. "Heh. All this…over a bunch a' crystals. What a waste." He chuckled. "We still won though, in case you didn't notice." He jerked his head toward the bay opening. In the distance, the last of the containers were being loaded onto the enemy gunship.

"The containers are aboard!" Decoja yelled over the shipboard comms to his gunners. "Target that kriffing ship!"

"Sir…what about Clash and his men?" Someone said back.

"Krick him. He's probably dead anyway! Now fire! Kill the Hell outta that karking ship!" With that, Decoja grabbed the fire control stick, and the vessel began belching out a cataclysmic fusillade into the liner.

Drakken cringed as the ship lurched. The lights flickered. Another shudder and the electrical system went into emergency mode. They were taking heavy fire, and The Princess Latania probably had no more than a couple of minutes to live. It was now or never. He fished around on his belt, and drew the detonator pad for the containers, and switched it on. He held it up in his right hand.

"You didn't win." Drakken stated, looking at Clash. "You kriffing rebels just made yourselves easy targets." He held a thumb over the red button on the controller and glanced at Decoja's ship. "So long and good night, Captain." He pressed the button, but nothing happened, and the liner continued to take fire. Tharcourt's face fell. "Uhhh…" He sounded, and pressed the button four more times. Then he rapped it against his blaster a couple of times and pressed the button again. "The Hell?" Suddenly, there was a chain reaction of explosions, and they all looked to see the bottom of the frigate erupt in flame. As if in slow motion, chucks of durasteel began to blow away from the vessel as the rigged containers began to set off other explosions within the ship.

"What's going on?! What's happening?!" Captain Decoja yelled as explosions began to rock his ship.

"Sir, the cargo…" A voice said over the intercom before the signal turned to static following a shuddering detonation of something in the bowels of his ship. Every gauge cluster and alarm on the bridge began to scream in danger, and the raider captain bolted upright. Decoja was now sure of it. It had to be him. "Damn you Imp!" He bellowed just before the bridge filled with flame and popped like a steel bubble.

"Get to the ship!" Drakken cried out, and shoved Freya in the direction of the sporty little craft. He spun back around to the gunfighter, still sitting against the container. "Come on if you're coming." He said. Clash looked up and scowled.

"Ah…you do what you want." He replied stoically. "I'm sitting riiiiggghhht here, Imp." Drakken nodded, and kicked a blaster pistol over to the man he had done battle with for the last five minutes. Clash smirked, picked up the weapon, and sat it in his lap, petting it like a tooka as Tharcourt made a mad dash for the ship.

They piled into the confines of the cockpit, and Drakken closed the canopy and fired up the engines. Not even wondering if his plan would work or not, he shoved the main thrusters up to full power, and the ship shot out of the cargo bay just as it filled with fire and shrapnel, towing five containers behind it. As soon as they hit space, he felt the weight of the cargo drag the craft back. He flipped a switch on the console, activating sport mode on the high-end vehicle, and the lug on the engine abated. He flew in between the wrecks of two starfighters, and shot downward to avoid flaming debris from Decoja's ship. Behind them, the massive liner began to list to one side, portions of the hull blowing outward as the ship slowly came apart. He looked up to see two Headhunters diving towards him.

"Love you sweetie…" He said to Freya, who was practically in his lap in the tiny ship. "…but I think this is gonna be the shortest escape plan ever." The Headhunters streaked in for the kill, but at the last moment, both exploded, showering Drakken's ship with tiny flak. He looked around to see where the shots had come from. A second later, three TIE fighters screamed past.

"Captain Liagri to Commander Tharcourt." A voice came through the speaker on the console. "Sorry I am late, but I will take it from here." He pressed a button near the speaker.

"And you can have them, Captain." He returned. "When you're done with those starfighters, you mind picking up some escape pods…and maybe a dumb SpecFor commander?"

"It would be a privilege, commander." Her voice answered.

Drakken stood on the bridge of the Imperial carrier with his shirt pulled down as Dall treated the wound on his shoulder. Captain Liagri finished up ordering the ship to Eriadu, and made her way over to where Tharcourt was standing. He nodded politely, then closed his eyes and grunted as the medic abraded burnt material from the hole on his upper arm. Liagri's eyes moved momentarily down to the commander's bare chest, then flicked back to his face. Drakken winced as Dall sprayed bacta on the blaster wound. The captain cleared her throat.

"Ahem…are you certain you wouldn't rather be down in medical for this?" She asked. Dall stood up straight and gave his commander a satisfied slap on the back. Drakken flipped his shirt back onto his shoulders and rotated his left arm a moment.

"Nah…no thanks, I'm good, ma'am." He said, and the left side of her mouth turned up for a moment. "I need to make a holocall, and getting those containers to Eriadu is my main priority right now.

"Well…you special forces officers are certainly a breed of your own." She stated. Drakken nodded to Dall, and the medic tossed Tharcourt his tunic, and left the bridge. Drakken threw the jacket on, leaving it open in the front. "Whenever you feel up to it, you can check in with your superiors and issue a preliminary report. Until then…" The captain beckoned to an ensign, who brought Drakken a metal cup of cool water. He turned it up and drank it all down. "I would actually be very interested in knowing how a platoon of ground-pounders destroyed most of a rebel fleet."

"Eh. I had leverage." Drakken explained as the ensign refilled his cup. "They weren't going to blow that liner with that cargo still aboard. They were forced to send in their men piecemeal. It at least gave me time to come up with that hair-brained plan. If their leader hadn't been so arrogant, I think we would have been up the scat nebula without a hyperdrive." He took a long drink of the water as Captain Liagri chuckled. He took out a cigarra. "You mind?"

"Go ahead." The captain nodded. He lit the cigarra and took a long drag. Blowing out the smoke, he shook his head.

"Wish I could have saved that ship though." He muttered. "Damn waste…everyone make it off?" Liagri plucked a datapad from a terminal nearby and scrolled through the report.

"Besides the persons killed in the first attempt at taking the ship? All except five security officers…the purser, his assistant…and the captain." Drakken slurped the water.

"Furmer didn't make it?" He asked. "Damn…"

"What matters is that the cargo is safe." Captain Liagri stated. "You did something incredible today, Commander. Someone ought to promote you for this little stunt." He took a drag from the cigarra, frowned and shrugged.

"Just another day." He muttered. Liagri hummed.

"If this is just another day for you…" She began, then trailed off. "Commander, would you like to get something to eat?" She offered a small smile. "A man like you willing to do all of…this for the Empire…I would enjoy getting further acquainted with you." He raised an eyebrow. "I'll have the chef make something…celebratory. We could dine together in my private quarters."

"I…I couldn't." He said. "I appreciate your offer, but…" Her lips formed a small 'o".

"You have a wife." She said. His lips twitched up a little.

"Girlfriend." He corrected her. "I would really appreciate something to eat though, especially for my team." She nodded.

"I'll see it done." Liagri smiled. "Where is your ladyfriend, if you don't mind me asking." Drakken rolled his eyes.

"Ohhhh…probably waiting to see if I make a proper ass out of myself again." He answered.

Freya threw water on her face from the refresher sink. She grabbed her nose and jiggled it a bit to make sure that it hadn't been broken. It's already big enough without some lug lampin' me in it. She thought to herself. Thorne grabbed a towel and dried her face, the cloth coming away splotched with stains of brown, black and blood red. She stared at it for a moment. Once again, they had come close to oblivion, and once again, Drakken had somehow gotten them out. She remembered what he'd said as they sat waiting in the cargo hold. I guess in the end it catches up to you, huh? You have a good run, then you end up in something like this…

How much longer could they keep doing this and survive? If they kept getting sent on these missions, she realized, in a long enough timeline, their life expectancies were surely going to drop to zero at some point. Freya sighed. Somehow, someday, she and Drakken had to find a way out. Until then though, she just had to do what she knew he was doing, and keep pretending to be the good officer. She fixed her hair as best she could, pulled on her toeless boots, and slid her tunic on. She snapped up the front and fastened her belt around her waist.

Freya walked into the rec room where the rest of the team had been allowed to rest after their mission. To her, it was like going home to her family. Ekks greeted her with a hand on her shoulder, a triumphant laugh, and a shake of his head. Mets and Coleth pounded their chests lightly with their fists and grinned proudly. Felian and Lago sent her a salute, which she returned smartly. Gallen made a blaster-like gesture with his arms, then pointed at her with a grin. Glitch rolled up and waved his arms, buzzing and beeping at her. She pat the droid on the head.

"How are you feeling, ma'am? Lago asked as she dropped down on a padded bench next to him.

"Tired." She answered. "Think I can sleep fer a week, an but."

"Was it really that crazy down there?" Mets asked. "We heard from Daraay that you guys were in a major firefight." She nodded.

"Aye. We was up again' it." She admitted. "Guess we came out a'right in th' end though…"

"No details, lieutenant?" Coleth pressed. "You being so good with stories…what you and the old man did down there has to be a crazy good one." She smiled a little, her mind still numb from the events of the last few hours.

"Nae…well…maybe. I'll fill ye lot in later if ye want. Not much t' tell. Bampot with a burner was the worst of it…" She ran a hand through her tangled locks. "Bout roasted th' air awf me heid."

"Wow…" Lago commented. "…that sounds rough, ma'am."

"Sorry we missed it." Mets said. "After we annihilated those freaky-looking rebels, we didn't get to do much." Thorne frowned sadly.

"Thank yer lucky stars fer that." She returned. Felian noticed her mood, and interjected himself into the conversation.

"Hey, we all had jobs to do, and every last one of you did yours just fine." The sergeant stated. "Ma'am, we managed to get almost everyone off that ship and past the enemy. You can thank Glitch for most of that."

"Murrnurr-nurmuhnuh-whurmurnurnur-meenernump...whrnurmer-murnermerrunnuup." The droid said. Freya was too tired and zoned out to try to pick through the words, and looked at Lago. The young stormtrooper smiled.

"He said the idea was all Commander Tharcourt's..." He translated. "…but he did a pretty good job of weaponizing escape pods if he had to say so himself." Thorne snickered a little and stuck her thumb up at Glitch.

"How's the commander?" Gallen asked. "Ma'am?"

"Huh? Oh sorry." She said, shaking herself from her thoughts.

"I asked how the commander was, ma'am." The sniper repeated. "Where is he, anyway?" Thorne scoffed.

"Up on the bridge, Gallen." She answered blandly. "Bein' a good Imperial."

What a chapter, and what an end to the mission. What lies in store for Drakken, Freya and the team now? Will this further prove to Tharcourt that his faith in the Empire has been misplaced, or only galvanize him in his fight against the rebels? Until the next installment of this riveting story, fav and review. I will have a new chapter up in a day or so. Until then my loyal readers, farewell, adieu, auf Wiedersehen, goodbye, and as always, Cheerio! -Drake