Chapter 21
Thirty-two years prior, hours after Order 66, on Mygeeto.
The fury of the snowstorm had diminished as the battle shifted elsewhere. Fluffy snow encircle and partially conceal the body of a Cerean Jedi, creating a pristine white funeral wreath.
Distant blaster fire draws the boy's gaze for a moment, who tenses for a fight. It moves off. From his wounds, the boy realizes someone turned the Jedi Master over. Someone cared enough to fold his hands and cover him with a cape. He feels nothing when he looks at the corpse, even when he removes the cloak. There's no remorse, regret, grief, or delight. He feels…cold, emotionally muted, and distant. A part of the boy knows he should cheer or cry, scream—something, anything. Instead, he sighs.
He'd followed and fought alongside the Jedi for two brutal years. He never joined the Galactic Marines or attempted to move closer to the Jedi Master. Instead, he fought beside his brothers in an endless grind from one battle to another. His unit often fought beside the 21st Nova Corps, and every time, the Jedi led the charge. He did not shy away from combat. The Jedi Master didn't take an advisory or command position in the rear, as many suggested.
He fought!
Before the battle and before their charge, the Jedi Master would examine his forces. His eyes would sweep over them, pausing for only a heartbeat when they met the boy's.
At that moment, the boy realized it's difficult to hate someone you respect.
Nearby, a faint blue light from beneath the snow draws his attention. It lures his gaze like a beacon in the dark. He reaches for it. Even within his cold-weather gloves, he can feel the freezing temperatures. Where his gloves and bracers connect, snow slips between them, stinging his skin. After months of battles on Mygeeto, he doesn't even feel it anymore.
His heart jumps when his fingers wrap around something. He raises it from the snow, discovering HIS lightsaber, pulsing with a warmth of its own.
"Hey!" A clone marine demands, aiming his blaster at the boy. "What are you doing?!"
The boy turns his gaze to them, studying their tense postures and weapons.
"He's an officer! Lower your blasters!" Bull roars from behind him. "NOW, troopers!"
He places the lightsaber in the Jedi's hands before covering him once more. He rises from his crouch, a hand taller than the Clones, with broader shoulders. They look up to him, losing their bearing. They can't believe a human wears clone armor-and rose to the rank of an officer.
"You-you're not a Clone!" The clone spots his pauldron. "Sir? Sir!"
"No, I'm not, but I am a brother."
Eighteen hours after the commander promised an EVAC
"I think he's waking up," Gary announces.
Dr. Wither exhales audibly, and the Death Trooper says, "That's a good thing, right?"
"Yes!" Lieutenant Gale cheers.
"We'll see," Simz growls.
"Commander, can you hear me?" Dr. Wither demands, running a scanner over him.
"I'm having trouble reconciling that the man who destroyed my village is also responsible for why I'm a trooper. He's why I'm here."
Dr. Wither looks at him strangely, and soon the rest do too.
"Sorry," he huffs with a pained laugh. "I started in the middle of the conversation. I've thought a lot about my service lately. These disastrous few days and interactions with General Syndulla have forced me to reflect."
"You knew who she was," Dr. Wither notes, revealing that she knew it too.
"Do—do you regret it?" The royal guardsman asks quietly.
"No. I still believe in the Empire, in creating order in a dark and monstrous galaxy."
The commander leans forward, struggling to stand up. Gary rushes to his side, and Gale joins him a second later. The commander slowly rises to his feet. His shoulder no longer burns, but his whole body aches with stiffness. It's a consistent pest in addition to his general weariness; he can't decide if his grogginess is from waking up or just exhaustion.
The doctor waves her hands at him, "You should rest and visit a bacta tank."
"We don't have time for that," he answers her.
"Your body can only take so much punishment," the doctor warns. "Without rest, there's a chance your heart will stop. You should eat and sleep a few hours at the bare minimum."
"Or a stroke," Gary adds brightly.
"At least I have something to look forward to," the commander takes a deep breath. "I haven't lost faith, but I'm curious how we got here. We weren't beaten by plucky rebels or some hokey religion, not entirely. Weak leaders like Dyer played their part and hastened our defeat."
"It might be cynical," the Deathtrooper asks. "But how does this help us off Endor?"
"All I want is off-world," Simz adds. "The Empire is dead. I served. Now I'm done."
"Is that's the extent of your loyalty?" Doctor Wither demands. Her flash of anger isn't isolated; the royal guardsman pivots ever so slightly towards them.
The storm commando retorts, "I'm not dying for a lost cause!"
"I didn't sign up for martyrdom either," the Deathtrooper joins Simz.
"You swore to serve the Empire!" Doctor Wither scowls, eyes narrowing dangerously.
The room divides into factions. A few words transform them into a microcosm of the Empire's fracturing. Despite his fatigue, the commander quickly adds up each group. The doctor and the royal guardsman remain devoted, while Simz and the Deathtrooper want out. That leaves him standing in the middle with Gary and Gale and the two stormtroopers on the door.
"Sir," Gary begins hesitantly. He motions to Simz and the Deathtrooper. "I know you've served your whole life, but I served for my wife and child. I want to see them again."
Well, poo-doo! The commander's calculations go sideways. I should have expected it. Tension inflames the rift growing among them, their survival hinging on one wrong move.
"Maybe," Gale motions for calm. "We should contact command first."
The idea surprises everyone. The commander admits, "You're an amazing officer, Gale."
He looks at the Deathtrooper and the commando. Simz nods first. The Deathtrooper shifts his weight in the uncomfortable silence. The commander knows he wants to speak, but he stands alone now. In the commander's experience, the trooper is trouble. It may be better to make an example of him, but the commander needs the man. He needs the Deathtrooper's skills, both his elite training and leadership. Unfortunately, it's only at this moment he realizes he doesn't know the Deathtrooper's name. "What are your names?"
The commander looks from the Deathtrooper to the royal guard. Both are taken aback by his bluntness. "We don't have time for operating numbers."
"Lieutenant Urden Diggs, sir," the Deathtrooper announces.
The royal guardsman almost seems pained to speak, "Master Sergeant Hugo Serrano."
"Doctor, call Iona," the commander orders. She hits a button on her desk.
Gale asks, "Should we give you the room, sir? Command said, 'you alone.'"
"I need you to trust me. At least until we leave Endor," the commander replies. Then he asks, "Have any other officers of significance arrived?"
Doctor Wither shakes her head, "No, a few techs and an egotistical TIE pilot."
"Are all pilots egotistical?" Lieutenant Diggs asks rhetorically.
Dr. Winter shrugs, then nods, conceding the point.
The commander states, "You're my command staff and guards Swanson and Caizor."
"They're busy, Swanson is patrolling, and Caizor is disciplining the pilot for fighting."
"Very well, keeping secrets hasn't saved the Empire so far. I need more than trust; I need you to KNOW. Therefore, everyone stays for the meeting."
Iona appears soon after, freezing at the door when they look at her. Doctor Wither motions impatiently, and she puts on her headset. Then Iona signals, giving and receiving various coded responses before the room darkens. Blue light flickers, and a hologram of Admiral Garrick Versio appears before them. An aging officer, he's grown soft around the gut, but his eyes remain sharply focused.
"When I heard you're alive, I thought it was a mistake," the admiral begins. "If what your communications officer says is true, you've gathered a significant force."
"Yes, sir," the grand commander replies. "We're requesting immediate evacuation."
The admiral's eyes flicker away from him for a moment. He looks at someone beyond, then his gaze flattens. His lips press together, "That's not possible, commander. The Alliance has significant control over that region, and conflicts rage across the galaxy. I can't risk it."
Gratitude dies on the commander's tongue as confusion muddles his thoughts. He blinks. A pit of fury grows in his stomach, one he barely restrains. He forces the words through clenched teeth, "You owe me, admiral, more than mere favors. All we need is a pickup! We could pack a single Zeta with my forces. Don't tell me you can't!"
"Watch your tone, commander. I'll remind you, you're speaking to an admiral!"
The Grand Commander slowly folds his arms across his chest. Disbelief warps into pure rage. Unable to speak, unable to believe the Empire has fallen so quickly. After a moment, the commander says, "Rank comes with obligations that you won't live up to!"
"It's out of my hands…remember your briefing about special orders? '…under no circumstances are you to deviate or modify them. Do not speak about them to anyone.'"
It feels like years ago to him, but he remembers. It feels like a different person said it.
Admiral Versio swallows. His gaze grows conflicted as he whispers, "We've received the final orders of our Emperor and begun the first step of securing our future. We must—we must hold firm, even if it costs us everything, even if it means our home or our family."
Home or our family? Inferno Squad? Vardos? What does that mean?
"Grand commander," the admiral shakes off his fatigue. His eyes glow with renewed fervor; his voice grows hard as stone. "You are now the senior officer of Moddell sector and the Endor system, elevated above all remaining Imperial forces. Use any means necessary to harm the rebellion and fight to the last man. That's the best I can offer. Admiral Versio, out."
The blue light fades, leaving the suddenly darkened room disquieted. When the lights return, everyone stares in varying degrees of defeat, shock, and dismay.
"Well, screw that!" Gary cries. He motions frantically, "Sir! Sir, you can't do this!"
Iona stares before crumpling into a ball on the floor, weeping quietly. Doctor Wither slumps against her desk, eyes hollow and distant. Gale reaches over to put a reassuring hand on Iona's shoulder, his eyes redrimmed and widened in shock.
"I will not die for them," the Deathtrooper announces, and Simz nods emphatically.
"We have our orders," the royal guardsman quietly insists. His chilling tone cuts straight through them. Everyone freezes before they turn to look at the red armored trooper. He remains absolutely still but somehow conveys menace and control over the whole room.
"No," Simz says. "They aren't even willing to TRY!"
"W-we-" Doctor Wither's hands cover her eyes as she stutters. She pulls her hair back tightly, smoothing it while restaining her feelings. "We are servants of the Empire. It's our duty."
"Sir?" Gary shakes his head. "No, sir, I can't. You promised we're leaving."
Gale straightens up, joining Gary and the black-armored troopers. Tension explodes in the room as the two sides stare at each other. The commander watches silently, utterly crushed. Violence seems imminent. Diggs, Simz, and Wither reach for their blasters. The Imperial divide is on full display, troopers against the doctor and the royal guardsman, Iona crying in the middle.
"Enough!" A spark ignites within, the commander shouts. "Hey! Attention on deck!"
Despite their legitimate fears and misgivings, iron discipline snaps them to attention. For all the Empire's faults, even a disaster as great as Endor can't break their training.
"You heard me receive command of this sector. Do any of you contest my leadership?"
"Sir?" Gary whispers, a bleakness rising in his voice. He's the only one who speaks. Even Doctor Wither's gaze seems hollow and hopeless regardless of her resolve.
His weakness subsiding, he announces, "Our orders are to damage the rebels as much as possible. The best way to do it is to escape Endor and carry on the fighting elsewhere."
"What?" Several of them gasped, stunned, the doctor gaps.
"Our orders are to fight to the last man," Wither reminds him.
"Admiral Versio did not specify where," the commander counters.
"That-," she scowls. "That's a wild interpretation at best."
"That's my prerogative as the senior officer of Moddell sector."
"The admiral said, 'the best I can do,'" Gale says, then points at the commander.
Doctor Wither realizes, scowling. "Wait, he knew you'd do this…but that means…"
"He can't say it," the commander confirms. "He can't openly give the order."
"Hah, ha-ha!" The Deathtrooper laughs before sighing with relief. "I'm in. Yes, I agree."
Relieved or not, his command looks to him. Even Iona wipes her eyes and looks up.
"When the Admiral looked away," Wither presses quietly. "Who was he looking at?"
"Only the Emperor knows," the commander shrugs.
"He's an Admiral." Gary points out. "Only someone like-uh- Lord Vader could do that."
"Some serve without recognition," Serrano explains cryptically. "Their will is imposed without question. Their decree is absolute, our sole purpose in life and, if need be, our death."
A moment passes as they consider his words. Simz ignores it, "Anyway, leaving Endor?"
"What's the plan?" Doctor Wither asks sincerely. "Sir."