Chapter 2
Spears and arrows fly by, sticking in corpses with a "Thup!" With long steps, the commander races to the top of the corpse pile. He reaches for his pistol, but his holster is empty. His spirit plummets, but stubbornly he clings to hope. I need the high ground! More fireworks erupt from above, splashing the mass grave with orange and red hues.
A bolt of energy halts him as he reaches the crest, and more blasts force him down. He freezes for only a heartbeat but doesn't have any to spare. Maybe not the peak but higher than them. More arrows and blasterfire hound him until the Ewoks catch up.
One raises a spear, and the stormtrooper surges forward. He grabs the spear and kicks his enemy. The Ewok stumbles but keeps one paw on the stick, nearly pulling him down the hill. The commander tears it free. Another Ewok ascends, and he snaps the spear over its head. The first grabs the commander's foot, causing him to wobble dangerously. He drives the remaining spearpoint through its back.
An arrow strikes his chest plate, and another slips under his pauldron. He withstands the first, but the second knocks him over. Gritting his teeth in pain, he can't keep from sliding downward. Every move and his arm stings, even shifting his weight nettles his shoulder.
More Ewoks gather around the pile, screaming and growling at him. One scrambles up the hill on all fours towards him as he continues sliding down, and more begin climbing.
"I need a plan!" He hisses, but fear and anguish spoil every thought.
Miraculously, he spots a scout trooper's leg sticking out of the pile, rising as if to save him. A blaster pistol remains in the boot holster. He grabs an arm, halting his descent as his hope blossoms. He rolls, scrambling towards the leg, and dives for it. Propelled by desperation, he clings to the thinnest ray of hope. When he seizes it, he aims at the nearest Ewok and fires twice.
Both blasts miss. The Ewoks laugh manically, reveling in his misfortune.
The commander screams then throws it in the Ewok's nose. It stumbles then rolls down the hill. More Ewoks ascend towards him, teeth bared, crude weapons in hand. They move together now, cautiously as a unit. He realizes he's trapped; I should have kept moving. Two more wild shots pass by, not even striking the mound. Suddenly, an Ewok with a spear howls at him, shaking it fiercely. The others remain quiet, slowing their movements to a crawl.
His chest tightens. He spins, barely avoiding a crude dagger. Two quick thrusts and a slash drive him back; the rest scramble up the pile. The commander snatches a helmet, first smashing the Ewok's knife and knocking it away. He blocks a spear then kicks another monster. A third hesitates, looking over his shoulder.
He follows the look—but his head snaps back, shards of plastoid flying from his helmet. He rolls down the pile blinking in and out of consciousness. His HUD blinks out, lowlight fails, and his vision blurs. He doesn't even remember coming to a stop. He shakes his head at the bottom of the heap. When that doesn't work, he smacks himself, and slowly his vision clears.
Finally, he gets a look at his attacker. The Ewok descends coolly, with inky black fur, except for its white feet. Looped around its neck is a band of teeth, fangs, and claws. This Ewok is skilled; he must be the chief. Held in its bloody paws is a crude stone ax, chipped and scratched from a hundred battles. New and old blood mars it, stains it, making it eerie to behold.
Instead of facing him, the chieftain climbs on an officer's body. From his perch, he looks down on the stormtrooper. The commander struggles to move, to stand, inching closer. His head throbs, his body aches, and his vision blurs again. Gritting his teeth, he gets one knee under himself, then the other. From the Ewoks' perspective, he's kneeling beneath their chieftain.
The chief's lips curl with contempt. His fellows share their leader's scorn by spitting insults. He holds up his hands, encouraging them as if saying, 'look what I have done.' Then after he's indulged himself, the chief takes the ax with both hands and raises it above his head.
"It doesn't matter how strong you are. Or how fast or smart you think you are, son. They live here; we're tourists at best. Sometimes we're their dinner. They live and die here. They know everything, how it looks and sounds and, yes, smells. You and me, we'll sleep in a warm bed tonight. They'll still be here, as they always have, and always will."
Recurring memories of his father disturb him. The commander swallows his feeling and takes a deep breath. His aide stands a few steps behind him, and his bodyguards remain with her.
"Imperials!" He calls out—army in their grey, stormtroopers in white, and various special forces allocated to him. In perfect unison, they snap to attention when they hear his voice. He can feel the tension lingering in the air. Most of them didn't know why they were here, but they knew it was critical when he took command.
"Rebel forces have gathered for a sneak attack on the Deathstar. They're walking into a trap. Today-we will bring an end to this destructive conflict."
Absolute silence from his legion. They're too disciplined to reveal their shock, although some had guessed, and rumors always ran wild. He gives them a moment to let it sink in.
He raises his voice, "It has not been easy! We've fought from one side of this galaxy to the other. We've brought order to ignorant savages and lawless scum. We've suffered; we've grieved and buried our fallen. I swear it has not been in vain! Beyond this battle is the peace we've sought! At the end of the Clone wars, we dreamed of it, and now it's in our grasp!"
"They will speak about this battle for a thousand years, and you, my brothers and sisters. You will get to say, 'I was there! I fought!' Will you fight?"
"YES!" They scream.
"Will you fight for the Empire?" He demands.
"YES!" They cry again, quickly followed by "FOR THE EMPIRE!"
He dismisses the men after giving out specific orders and speaking with unit commanders. His heart pounds with excitement; he shares their eagerness but hides it. He keeps his tone and posture casual, whether he talks with green recruits or seasoned veterans.
"Sir?" His aide declares. "Inferno Squad would like a word."
Black armor with red accents and markings distinguishes them. They stand apart from the rest of the Imperials even without the unique armor. One of them grunts. "Good speech."
"My apologies, Inferno Squad," he opens. "I was not ignoring nor disregarding you."
"It was an excellent speech," another compliments with a strong accent, coreworld certainly, possibly Coruscant.
"Commander Iden Versio," the third declares as she removes her helmet. She's stunning at first glance, but her handshake is firm. She may be a lord's daughter, but she's no princess.
"Your father and I sought special units for years. It's an honor," he assures her. "The Empire puts too much emphasis on monoliths and not enough on elite problem solvers."
One of her men asks coarsely, "You don't really believe all that. Do you? Peace?"
"This is Meeko and Hask," Iden introduces them.
The commander glares a moment, unimpressed by Hask's casual tone. Then he recalls, they have their special mission too. Are they goading me? In the Empire, a misspoken word is as deadly. "I have the utmost faith in the Emperor's plan. I will carry it out, precisely as ordered."
They're taken aback by his response and share a look before Iden replies, "Well, that was…clinically precise reply. Do you really believe we'll have peace after this battle?"
"We can appreciate your caution, commander," Meeko adds. "But we're not ISB."
"C'mon," Hask taunts him. "What do you really think?"
"Sir!" His aide shoots a warning look. Although faceless beneath her helmet, with experience, troopers read as much from posture as with expressions. "Command requests you."
I should remain silent and excuse myself. Still, he admits, they earned their place.
"I think a lot of these troopers won't return here. I think we're fighting a flexible and deadly enemy in a forest full of cover and concealment. I think we have twice as many moffs and staff officers and half as many field officers and soldiers as we need-"
"Sir!" His aide interrupts again, her tone a little more forceful. "We should go. Now."
"I think, no, I know I do not want to explain my failure to the Emperor-or Vader." Strained silence follows his statement and the intensity he puts into those names. Inferno squad looks elsewhere; they know what he's saying. Realizing he'd ruined the mood, he lightens his tone. "Relax, you're not going to lose your job. There will always be another enemy to fight."
Hask snorts, but Iden nods thoughtfully, "I can't argue with that."
"It gets worse. I need a favor, Commander Iden. When you finish your mission, please return and help us finish ours. I can't promise my troopers they'll live, but I'll do anything to make it happen. With your help, a lot more of them can return home proudly."
Surprised, they stare at him before Iden shakes his hand again, "I think we understand each other. We'll be there, commander."
He recognizes the officer. As the Ewoks ridicule the commander and their chieftain draw out his execution, he remembers the man. It was the young officer that woke him, then escorted him to the command center. His lifeless eyes stare at the stormtrooper pleadingly; his indignities did not end with his death. They aren't over yet, he admits.
"I'm so sorry," the stormtrooper reaches out to him. He places a hand on the officer's arm. Even as the chieftain uses him as a pedestal, wrapping both hands around his ax. The glint in the officer's dead eyes turns cold, hateful, and full of disappointment. He leans forward and places another hand on the officer's leg. Full of regret, he whispers, "I am so very sorry."
The chieftain raises the ax over his head.
Suddenly, he yanks the body, toppling the Ewok. Then rolls it back over the beast. First, it screeches in surprise, then with anger. It would be impossible if the Ewok were any larger, but the officer's body pins the chieftain. The commander jumps on top, tearing the ax from the Ewok's hands. With a roar, he chops into the chieftain's neck.
The Ewoks cry in horror, frozen with disbelief and shock.
One of them raises a spear and dies nearly split in half. What follows next, his mind can't quite follow. All of his pain, fear, and shame merge into a fury he didn't know he carried. Rage overwhelms him as he hacks, chops, and cleaves. After some time, his mind returns. He's panting for breath, and his heart thunders. His arms feel like jelly. His wounded shoulder is pure agony, blood trickling down his armor. His whole body aches as the adrenaline bleeds away.
Finally, he notices the dismembered Ewoks encircling him.
More emerge from the woods, hunting the cause of so much trouble until they spot him. For a second, he raises the ax again and intends to fight. But a horn startles him, Doot Doo Doo Doo! Another answers quickly, repeating the call to battle, and more follow distantly.
Without warning, an arrow strikes a nearby tree, and wild blasterfire incinerates another. The commander hurtles into the dark forest, dimmed by the forest canopy, so dark he can't see the stars above or what lies before him.