Chapter 38
Forty-five hours after the commander promised an EVAC
"Commander!" Dr. Wither yells. "The X-wing is approaching in attack formation."
"That's, no, why?" Gary stutters.
"Gary, Vee, go to engineering and boost the shields," the commander yells as he runs for the cockpit. A blast rocks the Zeta when he reaches the ladder, swinging him violently. He slams against the bulkhead but keeps a hold on the rungs, climbing once the ship evens out. He hears Wither firing as the ship screams past. Once he reaches the top rung, he swings into the cockpit.
"I have the main guns," Wither says. "The X-wing's starboard thrusters are damaged."
"I can't fly very well," the commander admits.
"You can shoot!" She replies. "Take the nose turrets. I have the wing cannons!"
The commander suggests, "Keep low; it'll-"
"I know it'll confuse his targeting, but this isn't a starfighter!" Wither snaps, swerving the ship toward the ground. She weaves to starboard, then port as the X-wing makes a second attack on the aft of the Zeta. Lasers strike the shields, causing the ship to shudder violently. "Aft shields down 50%; we can't take much more of this. He doesn't have a wingman, so he's sticking to attacks from behind. It's smart; we don't have guns there."
"What about a 'look behind'?"
"That's crazy! That maneuver checks behind destroyers and battleships in case someone's hiding in their wake." She points out before demanding. "What if he runs into us?"
"Then we die. But he won't because he's a rebel X-wing pilot. He'll deftly swerve around us but leave himself open to counterattack….do you have any better ideas?"
She shakes her head, "No."
The grand commander hits the intercom, "Vee, plug into the system if you haven't already. You have the port nose guns. I'll take starboard. Gary, strap in for high-G maneuvers."
On the other side of the battle, conflict hinders Gold-5. The war is over. Moments ago, he was rooting for these imperials. Before that, he'd argued, letting them kill each other or would have gladly slain them. That was before. He brushes the thoughts aside, but they push back. After years of running missions in service to the rebellion, he'd never felt this indecisive.
He swings the X-wing around. Gold-5 lines up for another attack, possibly the last, when he realizes what plagues him. The duel, the way the two commanders opposed each other in a melee that belongs in antiquity. It was so solemn and sad his breath caught, first confused and then contemptuous. Who fights like that? The way the deathtrooper threw herself at him, is the commander just that skilled, or did the deathtrooper throw her life away?
He pushes it aside. Focus! It doesn't matter! One way or another, he's a soldier, and he has orders to follow. Major Shin begged me, pleaded with me not to go. Why? What's so special-
The Zeta transport suddenly dives, and Gold-5 pursues, knowing they hope to confuse his targeting with the terrain. He adjusts, whispering, "That won't help you, imp."
His X-wing accelerates with his dive, drawn by gravity, aiming at her fuselage. Suddenly, the ship decelerates and swings upward, directly in his path! Gold-5 has no choice but to evade, but he's moving too fast. At first, cutting his thrust, he realizes he's turning too slow. My thruster is damaged! There's no chance to dart beneath the Zeta without crashing into the ground. Proximity alarms scream, red flashes light up his cockpit, and his heart pounds with adrenaline. He slams the thrusters and hits his afterburn, crushing him against his seat and rocketing through the turn. His shields scrap along the Zeta's, showering both vessels in dazzling sparks.
Unfortunately, it places him directly in the path of the Zeta's cannons. His climb is inherently slower than a dive, as both the sudden change in direction and gravity oppose him. His screens flash, warning him of the incoming fire. The first blasts fly by harmlessly, panic fire. The second breaks through his aft shields, and the third obliterates his starboard cannons.
Concerned, he unlocks his S-foils and switches to the travel position, the wings closing. Another warning appears on his screens, even as he struggles with the control stick. Screw killing them; it'll be a miracle if I survive! The starboard wing only closes halfway. The damage is worse than I thought! No longer symmetrical, the fighter begins rolling uncontrollably. The chaotic fall saves him, and more cannon fire races by as his ship tumbles haphazardly.
Desperate, he reaches to switch attack position. In the uncontrolled descent, he has to fight for every inch, but once he hits it, the ship stabilizes. He breathes a sigh of relief as the control stick functions. It's too late; lasers punch through his engines, igniting an explosion. He reaches for the ejection even as fire tears through the cockpit consuming him.
Within the Zeta, Dr. Wither exhales slowly. Then she hits the intercom, announcing, "Tango down. We're clear."
She switches it off, "When we missed, as he spun, I thought we were dead."
"Did you see why?" The commander asks.
"His starboard S-foil failed to close," she pauses. "They won't let us go, will they?"
The commander is quiet a moment, "Not without a fight. Head to the Dulok village."
"What? Are you sure?" She demands, even as she changes direction. "Wouldn't it be wiser to sprint to the finish?"
"No," the commander climbs out of his seat. "We'll never load all the wounded in time."
He punches the intercom button, "Vee, come to the rear hatch."
"What's your plan?" Dr. Wither asks.
"Remember what the witch said? We need a distraction, a large transport, and allies."
"Are the Duloks the allies or distraction?"
"Hopefully, a bit of both, but we can't depend on them. Ultimately, it's up to us."
He drops into the main bay, meeting Vee and Gary. The probe droid seems unharmed by the scorch mark on its chassis. On the other hand, Gary sits hunched over in sadness.
The commander squeezes his shoulder, "The pilot was a good soldier."
"That didn't save him," Gary insists. "If Vee hadn't scanned him again, he might be alive. We might be dead if we had to fight in the open against those deathtroopers. W-we worked together, but even when we do the right thing, they try to kill us!"
"I know," the commander nods sadly. "I know, Gary. Like it or not, doing the right thing doesn't always work out. Remember what I said? The days ahead will be harder and darker."
"Sir, I don't care about the Empire," Gary cries. "My only worry is if I surrender, will I see my wife and daughter again? Or will I rot in prison for the rest of my life?"
"I don't know, Gary," he concedes. "If the Empire invested in us instead of squandering so much time and credits on super weapons. I think we would've won the battle and the war."
"Would it matter?" Gary reasons. "They won't stop, not until we make them stop."
"A fear has taken root in me," the commander reflects. "What if the Emperor was right? Is the threat of utter devastation the only way to make them stop killing us…or each other?"
Gary doesn't hear his words, staring fearfully, "Sir…"
The commander follows Gary's gaze and realizes he's clenching his ax. He tries but can't let go. He pulls with his other hand, but his grip is locked. He jerks, twisting the blade and tears his fingers open. When he finally breaks his grip, his hand aches terribly, trembling perilously.
Gary warns, "If you use that ax again, I don't think it will let you go, sir."
Ignoring Gary, he orders, "Vee. I have two missions; the first is easier than the second. Go to the Dulok Village, and play this message." The commander kneels. "Great King Gorneesh…"
General Syndulla's Camp, almost an hour beforehand…
"Command, uhh, that viper probe droid scanned me again."
"Inform command," Hera orders the Mon Cal before seizing a headset, startling her staff. "Gold-5, advance on that signal immediately."
"Of what, ma'am?" Mon Mothma's communications officer asks.
"What?" Gold-5 reacts sluggishly, either in confusion or weariness.
"The commander is making his move!" She replies. "This is our only chance to help!"
"General!" Another technician calls. "We detected a power surge; someone is using heavy weapons at Research Station 9."
"The AT-AT," Gold-5 informs them in a breathless voice. "It just destroyed the main entrance to the station! They pinned the death troopers in a crossfire, then collapsed the entrance! The commander…he's-he's fighting someone in the pile of bodies! I'm almost in range…"
A pause follows. The pilot's silence and Hera's stress make every second pass at a crawl. Reminding herself that she's a symbol as much as a commander, Hera stands straight and presents calm. Within, her heart races, and she barely resists swallowing in anticipation.
"The death troopers are dead or fleeing," Gold-5 chirps. "I think we did it! We did it! The commander's opponent is down, and the imperials stand with him. Ha-ha-ha, one waved at me!"
"Command," Major Shin's gravelly voice announces. "Research Station 9 is ours."
"YEAH!" A cheer races through the command center as her staff celebrates. A thousand ideas of what Hera would rather be doing pass through her thoughts. On the top of that list is a long nap in the Ghost. She squashes the thought and resists the urge to sigh or celebrate.
General Syndulla nods in reply to the Mon Cal's excitement. Then she congratulates her technicians for the job well done but reminds them, "Back to work. We've won a victory, but we're far from finished here. As long as we maintain a presence on Endor, we are under threat."
Hera is surprised at how relieved she feels and how much frustration she's bottled up over the last few hours. The last few days, she corrects herself. Still, Hera keeps her mind focused and checks each technician, assuring they aren't too weary or distracted. Then she returns to the reports piling up from the most recent events.
"General?" Captain Kensington calls. "What about the assault teams?"
"Have them stand down, besides the necessary security for the support staff heading to the research station."
"Yes, ma'am, but is the support team necessary? You heard the commander's message; they deleted the files at the station."
"They deleted the files for the weapon, but hopefully not all the files in the station. Intel must data-mine them and cross-reference it with what we already know. Additionally, we have friendlies and enemies that deserve a funeral."
"Yes, you're absolutely right, ma'am," Kensington admits. "I'm on it."
Her bodyguard and Lord Dyer appear at the entrance. The giant motions outside, and lord Dyer scowls. Hera tells her comm. officer, "I'll be outside if something comes up."
She moves through the doorway and looks at the mid-afternoon sun, already struggling to penetrate the thick foliage. Shadows stretch from ancient trees, and Hera can't help but feel judged by the weight of their sunlit presence. She can't decide if she feels worthy or not.
"General?" Her bodyguard interrupts her thoughts.
Hera pushes aside her daydreams, "What happened with the explosion?"
The giant and Lord Dyer share a look, then says, "It appears like sabotage. One shuttle was damaged, it seems repairable, but it's not going anywhere today. The sole witness spoke of 'black troopers' but died from her wounds. Three others were wounded, but only one seriously."
"I guess it's too much to ask that anyone saw anything?"
"Nothing. We searched everywhere and spoke with everyone. All replied, 'We heard or saw the explosion and came running. We've accounted for everyone, and I can't find tracks."
"That's within the death trooper's skill set, right?" Hera asks. The lord seems preoccupied, so she calls his name. "Lord Dyer?"
"Yes," he hisses irritably. "Sorry, general. Something is off about the whole affair."
"Explain," Hera orders, then glances over her shoulder at the command tent. "Quickly."
"Commandos or death troopers, these are the best of the Empire, agreed?" Lord Dyer begins, and Hera nods. "Yet, they disabled one shuttle. ONE. They didn't destroy or, worse, commandeer an X-wing. They're all pilots; imagine if one launched and fired at our camp."
Hera does not like the thought of it at all, but Dyer continues.
"How or why this shuttle? The only witness died immediately afterward. How? They decimated Major Shin's unit, but this tech miraculously detected and interrupted them? Unlikely at best. They would have cut her throat before she knew they were there."
Her bodyguard adds, "She has no defensive wounds or bruises unless burns conceal them. An autopsy will reveal more. No tracks, suspicious activities, and so far, there's no witnesses or even suspects besides the victim's final words."
"How fortunate," Dyer hints darkly. "We're fighting 'black troopers' elsewhere."
"Ma'am," the Mon Cal pops her head out of the tent. "Command requests you."
"Keep at it," Hera orders them before returning to the command tent.
Within, Captain Kensington waits by the holo. He asks, "What did they find?"
"Nothing substantial yet," Hera replies cautiously before nodding to the Mon Cal tech. "We'll find out more with time and an autopsy."
Lights flicker, and Mon Mothma reappears with General Dol Donna wreathed in blue.
"General, we received a report of an explosion," Mon Mothma begins.
Hera doesn't look at the Mon Cal but reminds herself she's not just a comm officer. Hera explains, "Unfortunately, a technician was killed in an explosion. We're investigating and will update you when more information becomes available."
They nod, and silence follows, causing Hera to grow suspicious. Finally, Mon Mothma says. "General Syndula, we cannot allow the Grand Commander to rally Imperial forces in that sector or elsewhere. We believe the best chance is striking them in transit."
Are you insane? Hera barely resists shouting. She looks down to conceal her expressions, unable to hide them quickly enough. She asks, "You realize some will see this as an execution?"
"This is war. He's a deadly opponent and threat to the Alliance," Dol Donna declares.
"I thought the war was over," Hera replies before she can think better of it. Dol Donna scowls, and Hera changes direction. "The commander helped defeat elite troops and mass murders. He gave us Research Station 9. He ordered imperials to oppose the climate arrays…"
Mon Mothma and General Dol Donna share a look, causing Hera to pause. Her brow furrows before she glares at them. Mon Mothma admits, "We captured and jammed the transmission. No one beyond Endor heard it."
Hera blinks.
"Using this weapon has disgraced all of Imperial Command. Across the galaxy, Imperials are defecting and deserting in mass. Many will align with him if they think he's a feasible alternative to the moffs and Admirals. That message would have cemented it and given him galaxy-wide notoriety. We cannot allow him a platform. Strategically, everyone should believe the Empire was united behind these attacks."
"Millions of people were slaughtered-" Hera begins.
"Billions will be saved," Mon Mothma interrupts sharply. "Not just from death but tyranny and oppression. This is no longer a conflict of squads or cells; we are at a critical juncture of a galaxy-wide insurrection. Our recruitment has exploded; moderate and neutral planets are joining us and overthrowing their imperial-backed governors."
Hera understands, but, "Our rebellion has to stand for more than victory at any cost-"
"Thousands of battles are ongoing, and tens of thousands of insurgencies," Mon Mothma retorts. "Every time we stop to debate policy with you, we cannot focus on those battles. People are dying while you declare the virtues of a STORMTROOPER!
They're going to test you, Lord Dyer warned her. Don't fail that test.
Every instinct, every moral fiber of her being, tells her to resign. Hera knows that won't help. It won't save the commander. It will merely remove her from a position where she can help, where her decisions matter. Feeling sick to her stomach, Hera makes her choice.
"I will follow your orders, but I want it recorded that I protest," Hera counters. "This is a terrible decision with far-reaching consequences we will regret."
They don't reply, Mon Mothma hits a button, and the holo ends.
A tech announces, "A zeta-heavy transport just launched from Station 9."
Hera stiffly picks up a headset and calls, "Research Station 9, Gold-5, come in."