Chapter 15

The Grand Commander

"Sir, I'm not supporting it, but did you consider the Admiral's coup?"

"My apologies," Serrano interrupts Iona. "Something happened with Gary."

"What?" The commander looks at Serrano in surprise. "Do you have more information?"

"No, I sensed his fury before he restrained it."

Curiosity demands, how often do you sense this? How far does it work? Is it only strong feelings or can you talk to each other? …and more before he reigns it in. "Gary, come in."

Silence. Concern grows among them as he calls a second and a third time. Finally an answer, "This is the IMP. The sergeant has been detained for assault and public disorder."

"The Imperial Military Police," Iona mouths.

The Grand Commander exhales slowly. His gloved hand covers the visor on his helmet. With another deep breath, he demands, "Report, trooper."

As he listens to the IMP's report, the rest of the command staff exits the meeting room. Captain Shilling hurls a spiteful look before going to the bridge. After listening to the IMP report, the trio turns towards the lift. But before they reach it, Captain Wyndt calls out.

"Commander, you never explained how you know so much about the Thalassians."

"I served under General Hurst Romodi during The Ciutric Offensive," the commander replies impatiently. He pauses, cooling his tone, and manages his irritation before elaborating. "When we retook the rim; the seppies hired Thalassians and other pirate scum as reinforcements. Ultimately, the pirates betrayed them, but not before we saw what evil we faced."

"Evil?" Captain Wyndt laughs haughtily. "There's a lot of weird alien cultures."

"They're not weird. They're pure evil, malice is an end in and of itself. Twenty years as a stormtrooper and I've never seen anything like it. I loath slavery in general but the Hutts, the Zygerrians, and the Pykes aren't going anywhere. We have to work with them; we have worked with them. The Empire should have ended the Thalassians decades ago."

Captain Keel joins them while Antonius passes by, speaking into his communicator. The commander steps aside, offering the lift to him and his medical droid. The admiral acknowledges it with a nod, "I know our status. How soon can we make the jump to hyperspace?"

"Sir, you must rest," the 21-B insists.

"I will rest, once we make the jump," the admiral insists as the doors close.

"You said we must retrain, commander," Keel changes the subject. "How much retraining? How far will you break down our forces?"

"Down to the teams and individually; we're reintroducing Clone standards and tactics."

"That's too much," Keel argues. "We don't have ten years to train like Clones."

"Attrition warfare successfully utilizes the masses we have," Wyndt adds. "…or had."

"I agree. We don't have time; even if we did, we couldn't and shouldn't replicate it. The Clones were elite but their singular focus doomed them. We use attrition warfare, akin to the separatists, low-skilled but overwhelming numbers. It is effective and easily replenished but is inflexible. Both the Clones and rebels know how to pick us apart, headhunt, or evade us."

Wyndt presses, "Then what's the point?"

"A moment, please," the commander holds up a hand to stop them. The maelstrom of issues stalls him. Iona's question echoes, did you consider the Admiral's coup? Gary's trouble with the IMP. Both captains study him, while Serrano and Iona wait quietly. Keel's face is unreadable beneath his stormtrooper helmet, but Wyndt remains doubtful. Noticing his glance at his aides, Keel peeks over his shoulder at the Iona and Serrano, soon it's echoed by Wyndt.

"Serrano, see if you can help the Undaunted. Iona, assist in the docking bay," he orders.

"Yes, sir," both snap to attention before boarding the turbolift. The commander knows the whole situation is fluid and undecided. Until he receives the admiral's blessing, he wants to keep as much as possible to himself. The more anyone knows, the more his adversaries can oppose him. Plus, the Grand Commander wants to avoid promises he can't keep, even if they're implied.

"Sorry," he apologizes when he returns his attention to them. "The rebels countered us with air and space power, avoiding ground battles. Instead, they used hit-and-fade, bombings, and assassinations. The Clones were faster, more adaptive, and integrated at every level. We are not. Our forces are too factional, limited, and ineffective. This training will change that."

"Change is not easy," Keel warns.

Wyndt ignores his comrade, pushing harder, "How is that going to help us, now?"

He points out, "Low morale is a festering wound. New training keeps them sharp and gives them options, but too tired to cause problems. Meanwhile, we streamline and plan."

Captain Keel looks at Wyndt, "He's right, we're having issues at every level on the Inevitable, even before the elite troops deserted."

"Well, that ties up the troops but what about everyone else?"

"Not just the troopers. Everyone. Navy, pilots, and technicians too. "

"-but that's," Wyndt interrupts. "That's wasteful, everyone already has basic training."

"Exactly, basic," the commander emphasizes. "Harsh training will create mutual respect among our forces, uniting them, and revealing future leaders."

"Some divisions are required," Wyndt huffs. "People must know their place, their limits."

"These rifts fractured the Empire into thousands of small disorganized groups, not one singular force. The rebels used those divisions to pick us apart, easily."

"Retraining will take months," Wyndt complains. "Maybe years…"

"Especially breaking conditioned habits," Keel points out. "What if training causes confusion in the ranks and officers give contradicting orders?"

"Then it's on us, as officers," the commander counters. "That's our responsibility."

"It's still too much," Wyndt insists. "How long will we remain idle? When do we fight?"

"We fight immediately. We need resources before we can hope to face the alliance. There's more to my plan but we'll hone our edge, here, at the galaxy's edge."

"How could we, crippled as we are?" Wyndt shakes his head and Keel folds his arms.

After considering them, he reveals a piece, "Everything we need is at our fingertips. The rim is rich with resources, and desperate people willing to fight tooth and nail. Fighting pirates, rogue corporations, and criminals will sharpen our skills. Victory will lure allies into our ranks. From these victories, we will rebuild. In time, at our choosing, we will strike the Alliance."

"Do you plan to turn us into rebels?" Wyndt asks skeptically.

"No, they mastered it over decades. We'll never compete, at least, on that battlefield."

"That sounds like banditry," Keel adds with distaste. "You'll find little enthusiasm among the ranks or the admiral for it. The rim deserves better than exploitation."

"Definitely not, our targets will be deliberately chosen unless we're attacked."

"How could that work?" Wyndt demands, sensing weakness and pressing harder. "You say we're going to act immediately but retrain first. We're not rebels or bandits but we'll steal and recruit from locals to rebuild. How is this not a paradox?"

Keel adds, "How are we any different than the other imperial warlords, or the rebels ravaging the rim?"

"Those are good questions," the commander begins slowly.

"Questions you won't answer," Wyndt strikes.

"Questions I want to submit to Admiral Antonius first, so we're united on the answers. Remember, we're the Empire and can do more than one thing at a time. We start small-"

"Ugh," Wyndt scoffs. "More excuses! We need concrete plans and decisive actions!"

"Captain," the commander speaks his title slowly, to push back before asking. "Have you lured an enemy fighter into a trap, so your wingman can take them out?"

"…yes," the sudden question surprises Wyndt and makes him hesitate.

"Everyone says we're defeated. If law-abiding citizens see an imperial transport, they'll ignore it, send it away, or offer help…for a price." He looks at both, making certain they're following. "Our enemies see an opportunity, revealing themselves. The rebels' greatest strength was anonymity. They abandoned it. Now, they're in the open, where we have the edge."

"You want to use their greed and aggression against them?" Keel reflects. "Brilliant."

"Our weakness becomes bait," Wyndt considers. "Instead of a risky assault, you lure them out of position and overextend their forces. When did you come up with this?"

"You locked me away for a year," the commander shrugs. "What else could I do?"

Suddenly, Wyndt offers, "I'll support you if you promise to leave my pilots alone."

"No," the commander replies. "If I see a problem, I will resolve it. No exceptions."

Wyndt folds his arms angrily and Keel gives him a look and motions at the flight leader.

The commander winces, "…but, but with the Admiral's help, we will resolve it together."

"What justifies you, undermining me?" Wyndt demands.

"You left our crippled destroyer without any starfighter support, risking everyone."

"You relieved the gunnery crews," Wyndt counters.

"Turbolasers are useless against snub fighters, but we needed defenders. That's why I left the tractor beam crews in place. Additionally, you destroyed a helpless transport ship."

"Those were Captain Shilling's orders," Wyndt replies weakly.

"You're the flight leader. You'll argue with me but not another captain? There may have been up to twelve hundred slaves on that vessel, some of whom, may have joined us out of gratitude. Instead, we can't utilize their fuel, their parts, or the slaves they're holding."

Wyndt throws up his hands in frustration and declares, "I'm done talking about this."

As Wyndt turns his back, the Grand Commander feels a rush of anger. Instead of giving in, he releases his clenched fists and exhales slowly.

"Thank you for that," Keel says. "For meeting him halfway."

"It didn't work."

"No, not this time but you have to realize this isn't your command, commander. They don't know what you've sacrificed; what little they know is tainted by Endor."

"We don't have time for this; their egos will lead to more disasters!"

"Then make time!" Keel replies forcefully. After a moment, he adds, "We're good people but we've been on garrison for too long. We aren't special forces, we're just…regulars."

"Special forces aren't that special. It's mostly willpower and training hard, holding on when others have given up. Most are led to the apex, no one is born there."

"Fair enough, but you should know, before the Battle of Endor," Captain Keel details slowly. "We patrolled the Corellian Trade Spine between Isde Naha and Terminous."

"There's a lot of tedious spacelane patrols."

"…for five years," Keel adds.

"Who…," the commander stiffens. "Who gave that order?"

"Grand Moff Tarkin."

"…and after he died at Yavin, no one countermanded it." The Grand Commander declares, blinking slowly. He sighs yet again. After a deep breath, he can't help but think, I hate the bureaucracy! I hate the tedious discussions, pointless conferences, and pettiness!

Focus, the commander reminds himself. Focus, this isn't helping.

"That's all the more reason to correct it immediately," the Grand Commander asserts. Before the conversation can continue, he changes subjects, "For now, I need a favor."

Captain Keel tilts his head, surprised.