Chapter 39

Forty-Seven hours after the commander promised an EVAC

General Hera Syndulla stares at the icon of the destroyed X-wing. Her command center remains absolutely silent, shocked by the sudden turn of events. Hera jolts, suddenly pointing at a tech, "Send a crew to retrieve Gold-5's remains and a fire suppression team. We don't want to cause a forest fire with his unexploded ordnance."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Hera points at the Mon Calamari communications officer, "Inform command of Gold-5's death, then do the same with the ships in orbit."

"They should be observing the conflict," the Mon Cal replies.

"We can't leave that to chance; we need everyone on high alert," Hera explains. Next, she picks up a headset and calls. "Major Shin, research Station 9, come in."

"Go," acid drips from Major Shin's words, steeped in his anger. "For Major Shin."

Hera ignores it and admits she shares his grief but can't change what's done. "Did you see what direction the Commander headed?"

"No," he replies. "But I watched Gold-5 die."

She doesn't have time to argue, and it's pointless anyway. She removes her headset and tells the Mon Cal, "Ask the ships in orbit if they're tracking the Zeta and ask where it's going."

"Why wouldn't they go straight to the compound?" the Mon Cal asks.

"Most likely, they will, but we can't take it for granted. This is the Grand Commander," Hera points out. "He may seek retribution or to slow us down; he may be heading here."

"How would he know where…?" Her large black eyes widen, then she works frantically.

Hera folds her arms over her breasts; I know what their orders will be and what part I'll play.

"General?" Captain Kensington approaches cautiously. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No, captain, now we wait for the order to attack."

"An attack? After everything that's happened?" Captain Kensington considers, taking it in before he asks. "What, with a frontal assault? Do they know what will happen?"

"Yes. A slaughter. A lot of people will die; that shouldn't have to."

Kensington flinches, then follow it with the question, "Theirs or ours?"

Before she can answer, the Mon Cal interrupts, "Ma'am. Command asks for you."

The communications officer gestures towards the HoloNet. Hera heads in that direction, waving for Kensington to follow. The blue light bathes the command center before it focuses, creating a room full of officers. She recognizes many of them from the ships in orbit as well as the majority of rebel high command, with Mon Mothma positioned at their center.

She's not facing command alone, but every significant officer remaining on Endor. The weight of their attention and expectations smoother Hera. She's risen far from her days as a smuggler and cell leader. But instead of feeling elevated, she feels trapped, condemned.

The only reason I rose this far is by evading direct conflict with agility and strategy, Hera reminds herself. This time, there's no escape hatch or trick. It's a fight to the last one standing.

"General," Mon Mothma opens. "I trust you understand what must come next."

"Yes, ma'am."

Mon Mothma notes, "I expected you to argue,"

"What's the point? You made your decision and fortified it with every officer involved."

A few of them glare, while others shift their weight uncomfortably. Mon Mothma hides her feelings behind a mask, nodding attentively.

"I'm glad you understand," Mon Mothma replies neutrally. "You have the full support and access to all rebel forces."

"I won't need them," Hera responds coldly. "I only need a flight of X-wings. The imperials must leave the atmosphere and Endor's gravity well before jumping to lightspeed. The Grand Commander is most vulnerable in transit because they have one military transport."

"However unlikely," an admiral notes. "There is a chance they will escape."

"Not if I lead the attack personally."

Tension fills, then flees the room as everyone pauses, assuring they heard her correctly.

"That isn't necessary, general," Mon Mothma says quietly, reminding her of her new obligations. Then raises her voice, "We cannot leave anything to chance—the troops you arranged for Station 9 stand ready. Whatever resources you may need are available to you."

"An assault is risky and wasteful," Hera argues. "They're vulnerable in flight."

"I agree with the general," Admiral Ackbar interjects. "Particularly if she's willing to lead the attack on the Zeta."

Mon Mothma's serene façade weakens, clenching her jaw slightly before she continues. "You're too important to waste on that attack. We'll retain it as a backup plan should the assault fail. You may believe we haven't listened, but we are. The commander has proven he's resourceful and hard to kill. Therefore, we must cut off any means of escape."

"My lady," Hera loses control of her bearing and pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration. "I can't tell you how many people derided the commander as a 'stormtrooper,' but we're throwing everything at him. Either he's nothing, or he's something exceptional. You can't have it both ways and expect me to ignore the obvious contradiction."

Many nod in agreement, relieving Hera, who felt so alone in her view. Even Mon Mothma reflects before she places her hands together as if in prayer. Then she interlaces her fingers and drops her hands to her waist.

"That is a fair point," Mon Mothma begins, nodding grudgingly. "This Alliance was born from the embers of the Clone Wars. It took decades, but both loyalists and Separatists who rejected the Empire eventually became the spark that lit this rebellion. While now, it may feel victory was inevitable, then and all the days leading to it felt impossible. The Empire lay in ruins, but we cannot let her evil spread and take root, only set the galaxy aflame a second time."

You're the Empire now, the memory of the Grand Commander whispers to Hera.

"The commander isn't alone," General Dol Donna reminds them in his raspy voice. "There are hundreds of them now. Their escape could draw out the war for years. It's a near-perfect rallying cry for propaganda. The commander is insignificant. His escape is not."

"They must be stopped, once and for all," Mon Mothma concludes.

Captain Kensington warns, "They've had days to entrench and prepare."

"You'll have every available resource at your disposal. Use it well."

Nearby, soon after the rebel meeting ended…

Captain Kensington checks to ensure he's alone, then once more, fed by his suspicion. He cautiously steps into the isolated transport, seemingly alone but sensing a presence. Years of pathfinding have instilled in him sharp perception and good instincts.

"She quit, yes?" Cackles a voice, setting the captain on edge. Then the second, rational voice declares, "They demand an attack, and she quit. She's blind to necessity."

"No, she didn't. She accepted their orders," Kensington replies. "I'm NOT in charge."

"WHAT!" He crouches and sidesteps when he senses dangers, but the hybrid already has him in her grasp. The witch appears out of thin air, slamming him against the bulkhead and clenching his throat. "I saw it, I SAW IT! How could this be? Did you betray me?"

"No," he huffs, then regains his dignity and breaks her hold, shoving her back before she can respond. "You were wrong! This agreement is based on your advice and foreseeing problems. Worse, you betrayed it! I told you, no one dies! No one! You killed that tech!"

"Of course," the mad one cackles before she explains. "Blood, death, and toil is the currency of leadership. They would never have taken the attack seriously if no one was harmed!"

"Great job," Kensington scoffs. "Instead of reinforcing the need to pursue the commander, you have people hunting us. Everyone is tense, and NOW we're going to attack…"

The witch senses his reluctance and scowls, demanding, "Have you lost your nerve?"

"No!" He replies defensively. "This isn't about nerve. This battle will be a slaughter; the imps are cornered and entrenched. They'll fight to the death for HIM, and they know we're coming. It feels…I don't know. Orchestrated, like someone is managing this disaster."

"Stop whining! Stop imagining things," the witch snaps. Then she decides, "The general must die. Her indecision infects you."

"No!" He roars vehemently, surprising even himself. "You will not touch her!"

"I decide! Me!" She snarls, snatching him up with the force and choking Kensington.

"Go…ahead…kill me," he gasps. "Without…me, you die…here on Endor."

"WEAK!" She curses him. "Pathetic! Sentimental! She will destroy us if she finds out!"

"No!" He grunts, barely able to breathe. "I'm…not a monster…like you!"

She releases him, and Kensington falls to the deck within the shuttle, gasping for air.

"I…," the witch exhales, glaring. "I was not always like this."

"I saw your eyes," he rubs his throat. "You enjoy it, the power you have over others."

"I did what I must to survive. Are you so different, so BETTER?" She spits.

"Yes," he answers immediately. "I still have a code, lines I won't cross."

"Hah!" The madness cackles. "Insecurities, pride; fear what others see in your shadow."

"No," he shakes his head. "I'm not innocent, but what I've done is for a cause. I've killed, but it wasn't out of fear but necessity. I'm not proud of it, but it happens in war. However thin that argument might be, it's enough, and yes, it makes me better than YOU."

"Go! While I still let you leave," she snarls. "I will fix this."

"If you harm Hera or any other rebel, I'll destroy you, even if it costs my life," he vows.

Her eyes narrow, "Go. Now."

The Compound

"On another day, those rebels might be our friends and neighbors. Some of us might have family among them. Today they're coming to kill every last one of us."

The Grand Commander's words suck the air out of the compound's main room. No one gasps or cries out; imperials are too disciplined for that, but a few wobble or stifle tears. His comrades, his command team, stand shoulder to shoulder with him on the balcony. Together, they present a unified front for the hundreds of Imperials looking to them for salvation.

Doctor Wither remained in the Zeta, assisting the wounded, assuring they're secured for travel. Even now, troopers haul wounded on stretchers up the stairs and to the elevators. It's a slow process, there are few stretchers, and the compound isn't designed for swift travel to the roof. Surprisingly, the interrogator droid hovers nearby, assisting when it can.

"This is a withdraw, not a last stand," the commander assures them. "Push them back, make them fight for every inch, but DO NOT throw away your lives."

A sigh rises from his men, fearing the worst, reinforced by lackluster leaders before him.

"Don't conserve ammo; we have plenty. Lieutenant Gale coordinates the withdrawal. Our dungeoneers run the first floor. Lieutenant Diggs commands the support fire and the second floor." When he mentions them, the imperials study each leader in turn. The commanders meet their scrutiny with confidence. "Look to them if confused or uncertain about what to do."

"I won't ask you to fight for the Empire or me. I know some of you have lost your faith." The commander turns and squeezes Lt. Diggs' shoulder, surprising the death trooper.

"Let me repeat. This is NOT a last stand. The galaxy is better with us, every last one of us, and our story does not end HERE! Fight for your lives, for a better future! Fight for the troopers to your left and right, not a distant cause or someone you barely know. Will you fight?!"

Silence at first, surprised and unsure, the Imperials go through a lot of speeches but rarely are asked for a reply, let alone their opinion. Lt. Diggs announces, "Yes."

Gale nods, yelling, "YEAH!"

Sporadic at first, with nods and a few raised fists, "Yeahs" and "Yes" are cheered.

The commander refuses to let it end there, demanding again, "Will you fight?"

"YES!" They cry in harmony.

"Battle stations and prepare to repel an attack!" The commander roars.

"For the Empire!" One stormtrooper yells, and a tech adds, "For the Grand Commander!"

Cheers and roars follow bustling activity as they rush to their stations. Stormtroopers take their positions on the walls, reinforced with soldiers in the courtyard. Lines of ditches were dug to slow attackers before embankments behind two rows of crude metal stakes, with a false breach between them. Anyone that tries to pass between the stakes will have to move slowly or risk impalement, making them an easy target for the shooters on the second floor.

"Is this you're doing?" The commander asks Lt. Gale.

"Yes, sir."

"Did you forget about us?" Dib Yowza asks. The short alien stands among them.

"No," the commander shakes his head. "Your people will fight under Lt. Diggz. When the rebels breach the first floor, your people will move to the rear of the building. We'll sweep the walls with the Zeta's cannons, then blast a hole. You'll flee and head north. A few might try to follow, but we'll keep their focus on the compound."

"It is not the best, but more than we could hope for," Dib admits.

"I'm not finished," the commander counters. "The rebels won't stay long. A few days or a week, maybe two, and they will abandon this place. The proximity of the trees and the water purifiers make it a perfect home for your people. It will require some repair, but it's fortified."

"Sir!" Dib swallows. "Yes, thank you, sir I-I-I…"

The commander offers his hand, then does the same to his officers, "If I don't get a chance to thank you later. Then hear me now; thank you for everything you've done."

He shakes hands with each, then the dungeoneers and even Iona. The timid communication officer hesitates, asking, "What about me, sir? Where do you want me?"

"You're with Gale. Help him as much as possible; he has the toughest job."

"Yes, sir!" She replies excitedly.

"…and me, sir?" Serrano inquires, and the quiet royal guardsman waits patiently.

"With Gale too," the commander realizes he'd forgotten the royal guard. "Go where ever disaster strikes or the lines fail. Your presence will halt the rebels and strengthen our warriors."

"Where are you fighting, sir?" Sims grunts. The storm commando stands near the door.

"Where else?" Diggz chuckles. "The courtyard. You're taking the walls, aren't you, sir?"

"That's right," the commander nods. "The worst fighting will be there, initially. Once they get the weight of their numbers inside, we're retreating whether we want to or not."

"I'll help with the injured," Gary suggests.

"Thanks for volunteering to accompany me, Gary," the commander laughs.

"Dank farrik!" The stormtrooper slumps.

Imperial klaxon scream, ARROoouu! ARROoouu! The shield activates, extending over the structure moments before explosions rock them.