Chapter 27
Thirty-six hours after the commander promised an EVAC
Research Station 9
"We surrender—but I demand all protections and guarantees as prisoners of war."
A blue-skinned Duro asks, "Would you have honored them if our roles were reversed?"
"No," Colonel Brenna admits. She's a lot of things, and Major Shin knows she'll face a tribunal for some, but Brenna's no coward. Her arm hangs in a sling made from a utility belt, and dirt stains her torn uniform. Thoughtfully, Brenna adds, "Maybe that's why you won, major."
"I accept your surrender. Once my troops search you, you'll receive medical aid."
Brenna sighs in relief. Despite the injury, she raises her wounded arm to salute him. "Thank you, major Shin."
He returns it solemnly. A cheer erupts from his men as they search the imps and provide aid. They chat excitedly about the end of the war. Inversely, the imperials sit with hollow stares and hunched shoulders. Defeat hangs on them like a shroud. While major Shin ponders them, Brenna does not rest. She refuses treatment, stubbornly directing the medics to her wounded.
Mirroring their feelings, the rain clouds gave way to a stunningly beautiful dawn. He's admiring it when a woman notes, "You're somber after winning a major battle at the war's end."
Hearing her voice makes him smile; it's impossible to resist. He turns his gaze to the tiny Human woman. Her brown skin is radiant, framed by sleek, satin black hair. Smudges of dirt and blood only seem to highlight her features. Her voice, her presence, infuses him with warmth.
"Since you mention that," he counters. "There was a promise, I think, a year ago."
"Oh?" She responds playfully. "I don't recall."
"No?" He presses. "Something about taking time off, rest, maybe even a vacation."
"Sir!" A technician interrupts them. "The ships and computers are locked out."
Major Shin sighs, "Colonel Brenna, what did you do?"
"I anchored all vessels and locked the computers to a single code cylinder," she admits slowly, then adds in resignation. "—then I destroyed it."
"We'll have to slice each individually," the tech informs Shin.
"…or use a code cylinder made by a higher authority than me," Brenna adds.
Shin sighs, then grumbles, "Fine. I'll see if we can slice the central computer first."
"Go to command," Brenna offers apologetically. "Look for the green holo of Endor."
"Thank you, Colonel," he replies with more courtesy than he feels.
"Go," his lieutenant waves him away. "We'll finish this later."
He looks over his troops, then focuses on his communications officer, "Inform command of our victory. Lieutenant, set a watch on the imperials before organizing security for the base."
"Yes, sir," they reply.
His eyes linger on her momentarily, and her smile is radiant.
Walking away from his troops causes his stomach to sink; he always feels like he's forgetting something. Worse, in spite of Colonel Brenna's surrender, the imperial base makes his skin crawl. He knows the imperials aren't just defeated; their will to fight is melting away. Yet, too many years on the run have ingrained wariness at the best of times. He unsnaps his blaster and hugs the walls. He peeks before entering a hallway and remains on edge.
The dimly lit corridors are no problem for major Shin. His glowing red eyes pierce even the darkest rooms and passages, a gift from his Duro heritage. Finally, he arrives at command, and sure enough, a huge green hologram of Endor floats in the center of the catwalk. A walkway extends to the holo from opposite sides of the second floor. It takes a few wrong turns before Major Shin discovers the stairs, then crosses the bridge to the computer core.
He struggles and curses for the next hour but can't slice it. He doesn't have a computer spike, either. Yawning, he decides to take a break. Shin can't remember the last time he slept. After searching, he finds a refresher with a sink and vacuum tube. These days, even washing his face is a luxury. Afterward, he gives himself a moment to relax and refocus on his task.
The door whisks open when suddenly, he overhears scrambled tones, "SHHHurrrk!"
"UrshhNUNk!" The reply comes from the far side of the room. Major Shin draws his blaster. He catches a glimpse, then dares to look again. Two figures work on the computer core: their armor gleams, some black stormtrooper variant. They walk softly and move skillfully in pairs. The major would've walked right into them if one hadn't spoken.
Death troopers? He'd read a report on them but never expected to see one. The vast armies of the Empire were full of special units, but death troopers bordered on myth. Two of them systematically check every door. Fortunately for Shin, he'd done the same, looking for the refresher. Shin waits until they reach a closet nearby. They smoothly and professionally enter with his partner covering him. As they enter, Shin darts out and hides behind a console. He edges around it while the troopers advance. Slowly and carefully, he slinks towards the exit.
I have to warn the others! Are they still alive? How did the Empire get here…or were they here all along? A hundred questions rush through his mind, but the answers are scant.
"ShhhkitcHUK!" The trooper searching the refresher calls, pointing urgently at it. Major Shin realizes the soldier found some evidence of him. The other three immediately click on their carbine lights and actively search for him. Shin slips through the bulkhead and makes his way to the entrance. Along the way, he discovers a slain rebel, then more in defensive positions. Grief-stricken, Shin presses onto the landing pad. He immediately notices Brenna and her troops, still bound. A lithe death trooper speaks with the colonel and Major Shin's lieutenant.
He creeps closer, huddling near crates so that he can listen.
"Ask whatever you want," his lieutenant smirks. "I'll never talk,"
"Luckily, I want nothing else from you, commander." Without warning, the death trooper shoots her in the face. Shin's heart stops, and a part of him dies with her.
Colonel Brenna flinches, declaring, "That was rash; she would have talked. We need as much info on the status of Endor as possible. Now, unbind me, and let's complete the mission."
The death troopers prime their blasters, and the imperials recoil. Their leader announces, "Colonel Brenna. Your failure is complete, and your services are no longer required."
A blast pierces Brenna's chest; then, the death troopers execute the rest.
The Compound
"That is a horrible plan," Diggs insists. The death trooper shakes his head forcefully.
Endor's suns rise high enough to pierce the forest, flooding the office with bright sunlight. A breeze rushes through the shattered windows, temporarily stifling the cries of the wounded and dying from below.
"It isn't optimal, but it gets us there," the commander determines. "Good thinking, Gale."
"I told you, you wouldn't like it," Gale holds his hands up. "-and I can't take full credit. It came to me when Vee brought the royal guardsman."
"Thank you," Serrano speaks abruptly. The guardsman is obviously uncomfortable conversing, especially when expressing his feelings. "I appreciate his return and…everything."
Exhaustion plagues the grand commander. A moment passes before he realizes Serrano was referring to how they concealed the royal guardsman's suicide.
"Will you notify his family?" Gary asks.
Serrano quietly replies, "On admittance to training, imperial agents notify our families of our demise. They're compensated for the loss. Few survive training; the rest serve till death."
"Now that the Emperor is gone," Gale inquires gently. "Who do you serve?"
Curious, everyone turns to the royal guardsman, but he's unfazed by the weight of their attention. The royal guardsman's silence matches his absolute stillness.
"Since he's not going to answer, what happened with the witch?" Diggs asks. Then he pauses to study them. "Do we want to know what happened?"
"You look like hell," Simz points out. The storm commando isn't wrong.
"It was hell," Gary admits, sitting heavily. With a deep breath, the commander gives them a summary. Gary adds a little before saying, "The doctor might remember more."
The wounded required Dr. Wither's attention immediately; even hours later, she's still at it. Their report leaves the room anxious, followed by uncomfortable glances at each other.
"You got the vane, so it's a win," Simz growls. "I didn't think you'd make it."
"I really don't want your job. Now, I KNOW it's awful." Diggs adds. The commander and Gary stare at him wordlessly. "Sorry, I won't make jokes anymore. Sir."
"I laughed on the inside, lieutenant," Gary replies sarcastically.
"Shut up, Gary," the death trooper chuckles.
"Do you still believe this witch is the source of our problems?" Serrano asks. The commander nods gravely. "Then you were right to choose a minimized team."
"Master Sergeant," the grand commander uses Serrano's rank intentionally, using his authority as an officer and commander. "The witch made a lot of allegations, and she wasn't the only one. Is there any truth to these rumors that the Emperor had…the Force?"
Saying it aloud makes the grand commander gag; it feels ridiculous. The royal guardsman doesn't reply immediately; tension and anticipation fill what his silence fails to deny.
Finally, Serrano replies, "If he did. I would never speak of it."
"He's dead," Simz rudely adds. "Your oaths died with him."
Even behind the helmet, Serrano's glare is unmistakable. The unspoken threat floods the room with pressure. Simz recoils, realizing he went too far, and everyone tenses.
"Serrano," the commander distracts him, trusting his self-discipline. "Before proceeding, will you collect the doctor, Caizor, and Swanson? They've earned the right to be here."
"Yes, sir," he replies before leaving the room. On his way out, the doctor returns, and he bows to her slightly. She returns it before entering, moves to the closest chair, and falls into it.
"Is there any alcohol in this room?" The Grand Commander asks her.
"Bottom drawer on the left," she mutters, then covers her eyes. The commander discovers two glasses and a bottle but fills only one and hands it to her. Wither tips it back before holding the cool glass against her temple. Without opening her eyes, she asks, "What happened?"
They stare at her, and the doctor points out, "You're on edge, and you're too quiet."
"We asked Serrano about the Emperor," Gary informs her. "He said, 'If he did, I would never speak of it.' Then Simz pissed him off."
Wither ignores the last part, thinking about it before asking, "Is that a yes?"
"It's as much of a yes as we'll ever get," the commander answers quietly. "He considered how to respond for too long."
"But," Gary injects. "He said 'he'd never speak of it.'"
"If it wasn't true," Diggs realizes. "He'd deny it outright. Why wouldn't he lie, instead?"
"Royal guardsmen are men of impeccable character, honor, and utterly devoted to the Emperor." The commander explains. "He'd lie for the Emperor but not for himself."
"Why wouldn't he remain silent?" Gary asks. "He does that all the time."
"Imagine if he did," Dr. Wither counters. "Silence would be the worst answer; rumors would run wild. Everyone will take it as confirmation of what they want to believe. Our royal guardsman walks a difficult road of duty to the Empire, his honor, and his oaths to the Emperor."
"He can't break any of them?" Gary asks.
"He refuses to break any of them," Dr. Wither corrects him. "It's admirable."
"Is that how high command works?" Diggs asks.
"No," Gary laughs. "They're dead or on the run."
"Blast! Gary!" He curses and laughs, motioning furiously before refocusing. "I mean innuendos, plots, and reading between the lines. Interpreting orders and infighting?"
"Hah! I went to Coruscant once," the commander replies before adding. "…but I dealt with a lot of commands. Grand Admiral Thrawn took care of that, and few risked challenging him. There is more flexibility as you rise in the ranks, but the risk compounds. If you fail as a trooper, you get demoted. Fail as an admiral, and Lord Vader chokes you to death."
Even deceased, their fear of Lord Vader is so profound that it ends the conversation. Lost in thought or exhausted to the point of stillness, the quiet stretches until a heavy 'thump-thump' break it. Serrano returns with the two dungeoneers, armored from head to toe. Thick overlapping plates clank together with the hum of actuators moving their suits. Serrano enters first, then motions to the dungeoneers, "Guardsman Caizor and Swanson, sir."
"Sir," Caizor hisses, and Swanson adds, "We thought you'd forgotten about us, sir."
"You held the line. I'll never forget that," the commander responds, recalling their place in the battle. "Who came up with the idea of fixed bayonets?"
Both look at Gale, who shrinks. Then Diggs adds, "Gale came up with the firing line on the second floor too. He armed all the secondaries: the techs, admin, and non-combatants on standby in case of attack. The tiered layer of fire kept the Ewoks from overwhelming us."
"They're the only reason the beasts didn't break through," Swanson insists.
"One of the reasons but not the only one," Gale argues. "When you two joined the battle, the Ewoks faltered. They recovered, but they'd lost their momentum."
"What happened? Exactly?" The commander asks.
"They slipped inside the walls," Gale replies. "We knew they were near but not how many or how close. They began by throwing grenades at the E-Web and gate. Then they poured through and butchered our troopers. The vipers and mouse droids spotlighted infiltrators, but it was too sudden, and snipers took our deck officers. Ewoks were on us before we knew it. Caizor and Swanson rallied the courtyard, and Diggs led the support on the second floor."
"You should be proud of yourselves," the commander congratulates them. "You held where few would have, against a superior force that surprised you."
"At an immense cost," Dr. Wither tells them, sipping her drink. "You made a good choice with the interrogator droid. It was invaluable, but we lost so many lives."
He resists slumping, standing tall and forcing himself to remain calm, "How many?"
"Thirty-seven dead, and twenty more will die if we don't find more bacta and medical supplies. We're out; we're tearing up uniforms for bandages. Twenty-some are walking wounded; they can hold ground but not much else. The rest are functional."
"So we're around thirty percent?" The commander asks.
"Twenty-six. Maybe less; I can't do the numbers right now," she sighs.
"Movement in the treeline!" Someone shouts. Instantly, they're armed and at the windows. They stare at the trees, unable to tell if the movement is the breeze or attackers.
The commander pulls out his rangefinder, watching closely until a bush shifts aside. A white rag tied to a stick pokes out of the bushes.
"Hold your fire!" The commander yells, but the order comes too late. His troops are too anxious. One shoots, then a dozen more blasts follow. He screams, "HOLD YOUR FIRE!"
It stops as quickly as it began. A tense moment passes before the bush shakes again. Cautiously, a small, bandaged, and furry Yuzzum emerges. He yells, "How did you miss?!"
Gary giggles until the commander smacks his shoulder. They descend the stairs and exit the compound into the courtyard. When they reach the gate, more Yuzzums crawl out of the bushes or wait in hiding. They raise their hands, those that can, as many hold children and babies. With a rough count, the commander estimates an entire tribe stands beyond the gates.
"Grand Commander," he recognizes the gravelly voice. The Yuzzum, who'd sung to them only hours ago, stops and motions for his people to wait. Then, he advances alone.
"You were right, commander. They came for us," His shoulders slumped and eyes down, he gives them a pleading look. "We've lost everything and have nowhere else to go."