---

The Grolsk reserve was a forested area, as much of the planet was, far enough above the equator of the planet to be cool in the summertime and frozen over in the winter. The hardy forms of plant life that survived up here were coniferous trees that grew large and threw up a wide canopy; the snow would accumulate on the branches and then slide down as the branches bent, rather than broke. They were hard to cut down, traditionally, because they were so damned wide at the trunk. The branches grew toward the top, above even the worst accumulation of snow that happened in the winters.

The ground was grooved from the erosion of countless thaws, creekbeds of snow surrounded by rock and mineral formations, exposed to the air. Hardy vegetation clung to the hills created from this erosion, also above the typical snows, fast growing weeds that threw down their seeds during the brief thaws.

And the 7th Uslam Liberators used mining tunnels beneath the surface to deploy. They used specialized equipment to tunnel through the snow and set charges close to the surface, frozen beneath a thin surface of ice, on the likely approaches. They used repulsor sleds to move equipment and repulsor suspendors for moving over the snow lightly, giving the Uslamers a loping gait as they got over the snow. It was a common technology for the locals that kept them from sinking down into the snow if they had to move over the top.

For guerrillas, that meant few tracks for scout-troopers to spot as they made their passes.

Silence reigned over the area, but they saw the landing craft activity and knew that the Empire had finally come. Sensors in system detected a large force of starships bearing in. They all knew the Empire would come back for its pound of flesh, and made preparations accordingly.

Jenk could hear only the wind and the rustle as snow rolled off the branches of the trees and hit the ground with a loud hissing sound that Uslamers all knew in these parts; you curled into a ball if they were coming down, and dug yourself out later. They all had the means to do so. The wind chapped at their exposed cheeks, when they weren't wearing something to cover against that raw exposure. Like many of those that could, he'd grown a dark, bristly beard to help cope with that.

And they'd done just that when they saw an accumulation above them in a likely spot. They put shelter structures in place so that the snow would come down on them, and give them camouflage. Then they dug out portholes so they could see. Then they waited. The 7th took a pasting in the fight for Lorya, storming the secondary Imperial garrison there after the sappers put det charges in where they though they could create an entrance. Uslamers were miners, they were good at that sort of work. Still, the Empire put up a stiff fight and the 7th was under strength now. But they were blooded. So they were put out as the screening element outside Lorya, to try and keep the Imperials pinned down to buy the city time. If possible, they were expected to fall back. Worse came to worst, disperse and carry on the fight.

They used sandbags for cover behind the snow and turned the little snow-houses into snow-fortresses. But no one was throwing snowballs here.

They had a Merr-Sonn Mk.II medium repeating blaster and a Golan Arms portable rocket launcher, his squad did anyway, in expectation of a need to take out vehicles and anything that strayed into their killing zone. He was a combat engineer attached to a heavy weapons unit, and his job had been to find the most ingenious ways to make the best use of sensors, mines and other equipment of that nature, even as they supervised emplacements for larger weaponry. Mostly, as was typical for the Liberators, it was experienced mining foremen, like Jenk, telling others their assignments and providing their specs. With a planetary population used to doing mining work, preparing fighting positions here, and fortifications further back, was relatively easy.

The infantry heard the whining of a speeder bike and tensed up, but it was too far away and going in a different direction. The sounds of blaster fire, bursts of it, echoed through the cold air, and then an explosion. Then more silence.

"Movement on sensor grid 33-alpha," Jenk noted from the wrist-mounted tablet he was using to keep track of such things, "humanoid sized."

Minutes passed like tense hours, beings bundled up in the heated body gloves under the other equipment, to ward off the elements clutching their weapons and breathing, along with some muttered talk.

"Shut it," snapped Koller, the infantry squad's sergeant, even as she took a look down the electronic sights of her A280 rifle, trying to spot movement. Trying to hear movement.

"Contact, 318, counting squad strength, stormtroopers of some kind. 140 meters, wedge formation."

Others were tempted to shift over and crowd the firing ports, but the Koller waved them back down into position, hissing, "concealment!"

"When they come to 100, engage by zones," the Sergeant stated quietly and firmly in her alto voice to the rest of her people, as he started to nurse the power settings on the Mk. II. Jenk kept his mouth shut; he had a rocket launcher to engage anything larger, vehicles or anything that required the extra firepower, but he didn't shift up yet. He had an eye on the sensors, but they were only so good and not shielded, so the Imperials were likely to start taking them out once they were noticed.

"Open fire!"

And then the world exploded into light, and the smell of ozone as blasters fired in rapid, aimed fire, trying to catch the Stormtroopers flatfooted. But soon enough, the return fire came in, and people started taking hits even behind hard cover, because even sandbags had their limits. People were keeping up the fire, but also taking hits and others were trying to screw themselves into the ground, plowing into the snow just to get deeper into the ground. Natural instinct when death was flying in over-head.

Even while the firing went on, Koller called in her contact, making sure that platoon and company were informed of the situation, even as they poured on the fire. They had casualties, and a medic seemed to crawl through whatever he crawled through to patch up two guys, ignoring the already dead guy as a matter of course. He murmured reassurances to the men while trying to keep them from screaming loudly.

Then the silence reigned again, except for the moans of the wounded and the panting breath of the guys that just had a minute and a half of shooting behind them, already wrung out from the adrenaline.

And that's when Koller said, "We just got orders from the LT, we're shifting back to the rally now," even as she started to break down the Mk. II, wrapping the black blaster in a white sling/tarp so she could carry it strapped across her chest without it looking totally out of place against the planet's natural palette. She was slender, but had the shoulders of a miner, and plenty of muscle to lift the thing.

"Let's get out before the stormtroopers call it in and the kriffing Empire hits this position with artillery."

The command center was abuzz with activity, it had been ever since the resistance started. Yet before it was done in a much more controlled area from the command center at the heart of Uslam, the capital city of Lorya. But due to the cunning plan of Corvall using uslam miners to dig their way underneath outer defenses where sappers placed explosives, all essential personnel were evacuated here. Tensions were running high, the entire planet was in open revolt with imperial forces spread thin. Furthermore, the secondary ICC, was used to facility more military actions rather than administrative duties. It also didn’t have the accommodations for all the additional personnel causing an overcrowding issue, yet none dared openly speak out about it having served under the colonel for awhile now.

Jasper hunched down over the holopad that showed the planet with large red blips of rebel activity. Jasper zoomed in specifically over Lorya with a large red dot, his eyes narrowed his as if own failure seemed to spit him in the face.

In the Moff’s absence intelligence had revealed that the Prime Minister, and his administration were involved in rebel activity. Under Jasper’s mentor, the now Grand Moff of the outer rim who introduced his own doctrine of fear. Jasper acted accordingly, he order a public execution which was screened over the holonet to the entire planet. Jasper informed the planet of what crimes the men and women had committed and the penalties for committing such acts, which was death. When the shots were first fired the planet was quiet for a mere moment. After the transmission ended reports came from all over about insurgents starting fights with imperial troopers and even from the command center in Lorya, beams of light could be seen in the distance. Jasper was slightly worried but knew of nothing which could breach the outer defense of the CC, nor did he believe the insurgents had the supplies to carry on for long. But within hours Jasper noticed the attacks continued and by the time the sappers blew the outer defense, he called an immediate evacuation of the city to the Secondary command center. All the while he sent a report to both the Moff and Grand Moff about the incidents occurring on uslam.

Now he stood here at his lowest point but didn’t let that deter him. Reports had already been coming back from the more of the remote regions of the planet were beginning to fall and a report was just received that the Moff and her envoy were enroute meaning the insurgents time was numbered.

---

She could hear them in the distance, speedbikes of scout troopers as they made their way to analyze rebel control of Lorya, her thermal binoculars zoomed in on them as they made their way through the snowy plains of the planet. Even after the liberators took the planetary capital, the Empire was very eager to go about and get all the information they wanted. Kle lowered her binoculars and pulled up her rifle, leading her shots. The very audible sound of her rifle going off indicated her shot, and it struck true as it caught one of the scouts in the side.

Those troopers were only about 900 meters out, still in the optimal range of her rifle, and in sight enough for her to see the trooper fly off his bike only for it spin out of control and explode when it hit the ground. Kle let out a sinister laugh as she slowly began to move out of her hiding spot in the rocks. She could see the other scout leaving the area, possibly out of panic or simply wanting to draw her out, however she did see him turn around to speed back to his friend. A grave mistake as this time her bullet met his head, a more aimed shot than the last.

Cycler rifles were effective against most infantry these days as most armor was designed against blaster shots and not high velocity metal. Regardless, she moved forward, keeping her Cycler at the ready as she moved towards her prey.

As she drew near she could hear the injured scout moaning in pain and gripping his side where her round had entered. Kle then stood over him, “Imperial, your death will give me the scorekeeper’s blessing, yes!” Her tone was that of a sadistic killer, which was true given she took great pleasure in the hunt. The scout raised one of his hands and pleaded, “Please don’t kill me! I’m just doing my job!” However his words meant nothing to her as she pulled out her vibroknife and crouched next to him, her massive hand ripped the helmet off of him and she could hear the imperial command he was in contact with telling him to report.

“I shall make it swift, no pain,” her voice stated, before her knife went through his temple to end him instantly. Kle looked over at the helmet, still hearing the commanding voice, she walked over and picked up the helmet. “Both dead, send more so that I may collect more points,” she told the voice before crushing the helmet with both of her hands.

The trandoshan made her way back to her hiding spot where two of the liberators were still lying in wait like she had told them. “You’re a good shot,” one of them laughed, a young one, Michroy. The other, a much older man who was likely in his fifties nodded his head in agreement.

“We move back to the city. Before curious artillery hit the area, if they can,” she told them before pulling out a communicator, she sent a message through to what was to be her command for the time being. “Two scouts killed, Hunter Squad reporting back to Lorya soon.”

The two picked up their rifles and began to follow her through the snow to a hidden repulsor sled to make their way back to Lorya which was only a few minutes away.

---

Corte ejected the A280’s power cell and inserted another, back pressed up against the sandbags. At least, against what little of them remained.

Her position had been eviscerated in the initial exchange, crimson bolts tearing through the meagre fortifications she and her squad had prepared. The roof they’d put up for their makeshift shelter was gone, and the occasional flake of snow fell on the open foxhole. Bodies littered the floor of the shelter. Only she and Vash were still on their feet. A third soldier, a young human male whose name Corte couldn’t recall, laid on the floor, tying his leg with a tourniquet.

The Falleen peered through one of the portholes they’d dug out, face strained and dark hair matted with blood. “No visual,” Vash said, lowering his carbine. Corte nodded.

“Sergeant Glaato, do you copy?” she asked, raising her wristcomm to her mouth. No response. The silence was tense. “Sergeant, come in.”

“Lieutenant Adala,” a rough voice responded over the sound of blasterfire, “this is Glaato.”

“Report, now,” she ordered.

“We’re under fire. Two wounded,” the Nikto replied. “Do we have orders?”

“We’re following standing orders, Sergeant, hold your position,” Corte answered. “I’m bringing my squad to you. Adala out.”

“We’re moving?” Vash asked.

“Can’t stay here,” Corte answered, gesturing to the squad’s devastated defenses. “If we take another engagement like that we’re all dead.” She moved to the fallen soldier and offered her hand. He took it, and she pulled him to his feet. “What’s your name, Private?”

“Josko,” he answered. "Jasko Bravic."

“Private Josko Bravic, can you walk?” Corte asked.

“I think so.”

“You don’t really have a choice,” she said grimly. “Lean on me, we need to move now.”

They made their way out of the shelter and into the open, forested field of the Grolsk Reserve. With Private Josko unable to walk easily unassisted, they moved slowly. Vash took point as they moved from tree to tree, keeping as low as they could and moving as quickly as they could while in the open. Glaato’s position was a kilometer or so from theirs, and they could hear the blasterfire in the distance. And then, very suddenly, it was much closer.

Violent red-orange light was joined by the crisp smell of ozone as blaster bolts flew. Josko screamed as a bolt caught him in the side. The three rebels went to ground behind a wide tree as they took fire. Corte laid Josko against the tree as Vash returned fire. The private was unresponsive. She checked his pulse, and found it perilously weak.

Cursing, she joined Vash in defending the position. The Falleen did not shoot wildly. With a blaster in hand, Vash was a predator. Each squeeze of the trigger was well-chosen, precisely timed, lethal. Corte, stock to shoulder, peered around the other side of the tree. A squad of snowtroopers, now less a few soldiers, were scrambling for cover, replying with wildly inaccurate fire in their haste.

She lined up her sights, held her breath, and squeezed the trigger.

---

As the sound of shots lingered in his ears among the newfound silence, Stojan made his move. He was in his trench, dug into the snow and connected to the First Section's, his headquarters's sections, shelter. Dug shallow but large enough for a crouching partisan to take cover in, it was inconspicuous, and seemingly that aspect had shown. The first phase line had gone off with relative success, an encroaching squad of stormtroopers eliminated by part of the 7th Uslam Liberators, the far off moans of the wounded all to remind of what losses they had taken.

The shots had come from their right, one of the other companies of the 7th. He'd known that it'd only be a matter of time before the Imperials shelled the whole grid square. And he didn't dare wait when the word was passed down the line that Phase Line Alpha was being abandoned. He snuck along his section's trench, clutching a DL-44 in his right hand, and a fusion lantern turned to the lowest output in his left. He came behind his second in command, a good friend, Lieutenant Milosevic, who sat staring idly at a manual clock by moonlight. Stojan spoke quickly but clearly, in a whisper-yell tone. "We're abandoning the phase line. Have the RTO inform the Colonel. And get a runner, I want all sections out of these trenches and to Phase Line Bravo in no more than ten minutes."

And suddenly, fire erupted far off, much further right than the last. Another engagement. Stojan took his leave from the Lieutenant, ducking into the section's shelter and stepping over bedrolls and cots strewn on the permafrost dirt, coming to his own paired with his rucksack. He expertly packed them all, slinging the rucksack with attached bedroll across his shoulder as other personnel around him did the same. As they all exited their shelter and dragged their bulky, snowsuit-clad bodies out of the trench, one of the Privates trailed behind, laying a detonator fuse into a wireless detonator. The mines that laid just under their trenches and on the roof of their shelter were armed.

They moved in columns by section through the pitch dark forest, ever wary of the far-off blaster fire as they trudged along, making idle corrections of direction with their compasses as they moved. The columns were dark, and silent, each section dragging their repulsorlift snow sleds behind them, with only the section leaders having their lanterns deployed, and not for light, only just to guide their sections.

First a pop as they trudged, thought as just a large branch cracking under the weight of trudging feet, but the ensuing flurry of red bolts proved otherwise, sailing over their heads. Repulsorlift sleds were deactivated and used as cover, the trees being cut and lit aflame for moments as falling snow snuffed the blazes. Fire from A280s and DH-17s answered, garbled encrypted speech from advancing stormtroopers putting pressure on the partisans.

Something needed to be done, and Stojan was mulling the thoughts as he was face down in the snow. He turned over, proclaiming in the native Uslam tongue. "Make a tactical withdrawal! I want the Second Section to lead, Fourth follows! First and Third, put out cover fire!" And he himself sprang to his knees, extending his DL-44 with one hand and aligning the sights.

Moff Araunda Wyte stood aboard the bridge of her star destroyer, behind her stood Admiral Quint as she looked over a report. Scowling. She had been gone a standard month, and in that time Jasper had seen to execute the Prime Minister under Tarkins authorisation, the planet had since erupted into chaos as terrorists and rebels spread their disorder and plague across the face of her planet. Disgusting.

There would be some, choice words for him when she returned. First she had to deal with this meager fleet the Rebel Alliance had sent to take out the defenses she had in orbit. She had petitioned that only a personal Star Destroyer wasn’t enough to protect her planet, at least now she had the resources she should have had months ago. As the Warspite dropped out of hyperspace she took a second to look at the sensor readings, in orbit was the Warspite being accompanied by the Absolution, a Gladiator Impervius and two light cruisers, coming from a different approach angle was the Imperial Star Destroyer Valiant and her escort in the way of a Victory Star Destroyer Vengeance an apt name, again with two light cruisers.

While the second approach being held by the ISD Vronksr and the VSD Punisher again supported by two light cruisers. The rebel force that they’d face was meager, so she didn’t bother opening communication with them. They’d surrender, flee or die. Those were the only three options available to them. Her cruisers were even more powerful than those being used by the rebels.

She turned to an officer in one of the trenches. “Pass me through to Colonel Theat. Immediately.” Araunda waited for the voice of the colonel to come through over her communicator. She could have moved to the holocommunicator easily, to see his face and let her see his. This wasn’t part of the plan however, she had work to do as did he. They didn’t need to see each other right now.

Jasper immediately responded “Ah, Moff Wyte. Welcome back, I apologize for the current situation we have found ourselves in. I assume based on the scanners you received my report?” Jasper crossed his arms as he awaited the reply of the Moff.

“Theat, I was at a function discussing the future of the Imperial Navy with some very influential figures from High Command and various shipyards and manufacturers when I heard the news that some outer rim mining world erupted in chaos. You can imagine my surprise that this world in question was my own, which I had left in the hands of my very capable second in command. Perhaps I should have requested someone of higher skill to command the garrisons of my homeworld?” The tone of her voice was calm, calculated. Very few choice words held emphasis to show that she meant business.

Jaspers eyes narrowed at her comment on his inept abilities, yet let a sly smile grow knowing she could do nothing, as he was merely following out the orders of their superior Grand Moff Tarkin. She even thought her discussions with imperial high command was important even though few if any of them knew what Tarkin had planned in the coming months. “Again, I apologize for the inconvenience. Yet as I stated in my report, after I had gotten word on your Prime Minister, I carried out the correct measures as stated by the Grand Moff himself. Clearly, the insurgents had been working with him and planning this uprising for awhile. Especially given the circumstances that there is a insurgent fleet overhead. Though, from my reports your fleet should be able to handle them.” Jasper took a moment as he read over a few reports he just received. “It appears, the insurgents are slowly pulling back to more secure areas. But being spread so thin, I will have to await your reinforcements and orders to act upon these reports.” Jasper finished, responding in a calm and collected way. Yet not to be perceived as arrogant or annoyed with the conversation as afterall in his mind, the fault laid with her for installing such ministers.

“The accusation is noted, however I should point out that Prime Ministers are one of the inadequacies laid down by the antiquated systems left behind as remnants of the Old Republic, and by the Imperial Senate. Rest assured, I have it on good authority that the Emperor may be considering bringing an end to the Imperial Senate. Until that day however, sadly we must conform to the bureaucracy that tore the galaxy apart.” She sighed. “From my scans this fleet is the same band of miscreants who have been plaguing the sector for months on end, I expect him attack and run before a major engagement occurs.” Araunda turned to the Admiral.

“Prepare all ground forces for deployment, launch fighters. Get the ground forces to their ships, have the freighters approach the planet and deploy walkers.” In hyperspace, far away from the rebel fleet a group of five Imperial Freighters dropped out of hyperspace, one carried AT-ATs two AT-DPs and the other two AT-STs. Not a tremendous amount of firepower between them, but enough to reinforce the Imperial Garrison.

She picked up her communicator. “I’m sending forces down to you now Theat, secure the area around the garrison and hold the line. Don’t advance further than you already have, mark targets. Send all updated mining charts to my ship immediately.”

Jasper nodded “It will be done, Moff Wyte. Sending you our information on all the mining channels now and the area is already secured.As for targets, it seems most pockets of resistance lay in the urban centers such as the capital of Lorya. I’d suggest orbital bombardment but we can’t lay waste to our own center of command. Should I also organize an arrival for you?”

“We shall retake Lorya by any means necessary. If it comes to making an example of the Rebels so be it, however the richest mines are below Lorya. Bombarding it is not the ideal situation. I will however make an example of these rebels however, most importantly I need information of where the resistance currently is. Trudging through forest terrain is not terribly ideal, we’re going to make the terrain more… favourable to our forces. Prepare for my arrival, I shall be down shortly.” With that the line was cut without so much as another word.

She looked out at the space before her, her world. She’d take it back, for the glory of the Empire. She moved back to the holocommunicator. “Display me to the enemy commandship.” She stood before the projector, whether or not her foe would transmit their own likeness back was up to them. She however was open to display herself before her adversary. “This is Moff Wyte. I advise you stand down and surrender now, fighting only prolongs the inevitable, this is your first and final warning.”

Kia tried to suppress the shudders that ran through her. The commlinks were crackling with reports of action just like she had been told they would. It had the air of a storm breaking, she just hoped that she would be still standing when it blew over. She looked around the the aid station, medication and bacta sprays were ready for use though Kia, having worked in trauma centers during her medical training, knew that it wouldn't last long. Over the past few weeks they had ransacked every hospital and first aid kit they could find but there was no way they had enough for what was coming. Ryma, one of her nurses who had been a first responder, gave her a shaky smile. Kia returned what she hoped was a calm confident facade.

The aid station was located in a glacially carved overhang, the theory was that this would make it difficult for Imperial spotters to locate. Kia wasn't exactly clear how a few meters of rock would prevent sensors or fliers from tracking a flow of wounded from the front but it seemed to satisfy the military types. For the thousandth time she wished she were back in her clinic on Corellia but it was a phantom, there was no going back now.

"Medic!" The first in the rank of combat medics, a slim Rodian woman, leaped to her feet and raced into the chilled forest.

"May the force be with us," Kia whispered.

---

Corte Adala slid down a snowbank and into a shallow trench, blaster fire on her heels. She waited a moment, exhaling delicately. Her breath formed a cloud in the cool, still air.

After several seconds, each of which felt like a minute or more, Vash crested the bank and slid down to meet her. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief. That had been close. They’d traded fire with no less than a platoon of snowtroopers on the ridge. They’d made them pay in blood as they advanced, but there was no stopping the advance—that is, until one of the troopers tripped a landmine. They’d run for it as soon as the snowtroopers scattered at the explosion, holding their breath and hoping beyond hope that the stray blaster fire wouldn't catch them in the back.

The two of them had made it. Private Josko Bravic had not.

Corte motioned for Vash to keep watch, and the Falleen kept his carbine trained on the crest of the snowbank. Corte brought her wrist up to speak into the comm.

“Glaato, you still there?”

“Still here, Lieutenant,” the sergeant replied. “Are you almost here?”

“Got pinned down, lost a man on the way.” Corte leaned against the wall of the trench, catching her breath. “We have new orders. Screen is falling back to the rally point. We’re a click from you, I think,” she said, scoping out their surroundings, trying to remember where along the trenches she and Vash were, “I don’t think we can make it over to you. Too hot. Fall back to the rally, we’ll meet you.”

“Understood. Be safe out there.”

“You too, Sergeant. Out,” Corte replied, and the comm went silent. “Rally is a click away,” she said, hefting her rifle, “give or take a few meters.”

They followed the trench until they found a tree. They went up, over and around, concealing themselves from the watchful eyes of any pursuers. Corte crouched at the edge of the brush and scanned their rear through a pair of macrobinoculars, but there were no snowtroopers to be seen. They were clear, for the moment. They trekked on, staying low.

---

The dropship plunged through the high sirrus cloud. The insertion was being carried out in textbook fashion, minimizing exposure with a stomach churning plunge from the High Guard to the ground. Tesha Ryn, secured in a tight webbing harness, bore the discomfort with stoic approval. The rebels were not reported to have a significant anti air capabillity, but there were no excuses for getting soft.

"Thirty seconds!" the pilot called out. The six other troops sharing the crew compartment didn't waste time checking gear, they had tripple checked equipment already, carrying an ISB agent made even veterans extra cautious. A trim woman, unremarkable in every way, Tesha was forgettable in almost all regards. She wore grey Imperial Army fatigues with no insignia and carried a standard rifle with a customized sight.

Exactly twenty eight seconds later the heavy repulsors fired, kick the deck up into the passengers. The harnesses released a heart beat after the dropshit hit. The troops unassed the vessel with commendable haste and Tesha had only just cleared the zone when the pilot boosted skyward. The wake of the repulsors scattered a small storm of snowflakes from the blast scared landing zone. Firebase Tau was a hundred meter circle blasted into the alpine forest at the top of a small plateu. Engineering had scraped the topsoil into a burme that ringed the position, even as she watched sappers were spraying the soil with a plasticizing agent to establish and to prepare it for heavier fixed weapons. In the center of ring, the massive tubes of six repulsor mounted howitizers faced eastward, slowly traversing with a gentle whine.

Ryn headed off the landing square towards a straight backed young man whose fatigues were a little too clean to be a line trooper. By convention officers didn't wear insignia but to a trained eye they remained embarassingly easy to spot. The man moved towards her rapidly holding a small metallic cylinder. Tesha watched with the natural skepticism of a spy for unfamiliar electronics.

"Sonic damper Ma'am, the guns," he explained in the imitation Coruscanti accent many officers were adopting.

"Ah," Tesha responded eloquently and took the cylinder and clipped it to her lapel in the same way the lieutenant was wearing his. The officer reached over and flicked a switch.

"We have been instructed to give you whatever aid we can," the artillery officer said keeping pace with her as she headed towards the TOC. Behind them there was a world ending rraaAAAWWK as the guns began to fire, rocket assisted rounds screeching skyward with long jets of flame, reaching towards the rebel positions to the east.

---

Midway through the movement to the rallypoint, they heard the scream of rocket artillery and the 'crump' sound as the warheads split up into cluster munitions and spread out in the air, fist-sized pellets of death deployed in disintegrating strings of fire and shrapnel. The explosions started somewhere ahead of their old outpost line and walked back, trying to catch Uslamers as they moved, to disrupt their orderly fallback.

These hit the tree branches, the rocks, the soil...and beings. They shattered the snowscape of the Grolsk reserve with their thunderous arrival as the place erupted. Those that found purchase on the ground, something to hide under or behind, had the best assurance, but not a perfect guarantee, against the bomblets. Of course, a direct hit, the worst of luck, negated it.

Besk served as a sapper against the Imperial garrison when Prime Minister San was executed, he planted charges that helped the Uslam Liberators blow their way into the compound, but he'd never seen explosions like this. He'd never been, even in his career as a miner and laying down demo to help blow new excavation new sites open, subjected to this sort of thing.

He was on his belly, as the world shook and geysers of earth, dirt and rock flew through the air.

Then it was over, but for the screaming in the forest and the frantic calls of 'MEDDDDDDDIC!' that echoed through the cold air.

Someone yelled for them to get moving, "Get to the rally! Move it, move it! Off your kriffing cans before they start another barrage!"

He knew that others were with them, but he wasn't sure who was down and who was up. He vaguely remembered helping a medic move someone because they yelled for it, and because adrenaline gave him the heart-pounding incentive to do what he needed. He was carrying a missile launcher and a blaster carbine, along with other equipment, but he did what he was told, because there was no time to think.

They had a stretcher case on a repulsor-sled and loped over the snow themselves, risking fire from their movement to get to the rally. They didn't think beyond the rally to Line Charlie or, after that, falling back to the vehicles, but they knew they had a better chance there in prepared positions with entrenched weaponry than they did against this barrage in the open.

---

The city changed so much since Jennifer had first joined the resistance movement. There were once protests on the street, stormtroopers attempting to keep order, Imperial governance in almost every aspect of life. Those were the days that she made bombs to plant in guard posts and took potshots at patrols. It was exhilarating and fulfilling. That was all in the past, though. As professional rebel soldiers zipped past her, on their way to complete an assigned task, the young woman was mesmerized.

She looked out and saw the hustle of military operations. It was unlike anything that she had ever seen before. Most of the civilian populace was indoors, waiting patiently, or working with the rebels to set up defenses. She watched armed personnel run to and fro, preparing for an upcoming assault. Jennifer could see anti - aircraft weaponry being set up and manned. Makeshift barricades were being created out of junk material on the streets.

So where did she belong in all of this? There was a part of her that was afraid. Even with the rebel forces being so prepared, they were still taking on an empire. Would the liberators of Uslam even be backed up by the greater rebel force? Besides, how could Jennifer help in this mess? She didn't have an assignment nor did she report to a commander to receive one. Overall, the young woman was lost.

Jennifer stopped in her tracks as a familiar face approached. Gillian, her long time friend who had also joined the resistance cell. She waved to the man as he came close. He seemed rushed and a bit worried.

"Looks like the Imperial forces will be here soon, depending on how long our boys can hold 'em in the outskirts", Gillian said as he motioned for Jennifer to begin following him. He made for a street that was just a block away, keeping at a brisk pace as the two moved forward.

"So... what do we do, Gillian? I can't just sit here while stormtroopers gun down people in the street", Jennifer proclaimed. Gillian grinned, ushering the woman to an abandoned building off the main street. He opened the door to the lobby of the downtrodden place and looked over the room, still flashing his teeth.

"We do what we've been doing... except bigger, yeah?", he said, pointing to the scene before them. The room was a mess of electronics, scrap, and wires strewn about a dilapidated setting. A few tables lined with fold - up chairs stood in the center of it all, the tops also covered in similar materials. There were also various jars and vials of liquid, labeled as being highly corrosive or explosive depending on the contained substance. Gillian approached one of these set ups, picking up a small device that displayed a virtual timer as he flipped a tiny switch.

"We might not be coordinated with the defense force, but we know this place. We know the alleys and the shortcuts. Remember how we used to run military police into an alley and jump 'em? Imagine if we did that but-...", Gillian was interrupted by Jennifer.

"...but we bait Stormtrooper squads and blow them up?", Jennifer asked. Gillian smiled and nodded as he set the timer down. The young man took a seat next to the table, looking some of the electronic appliances over. Jennifer soon followed his suit, taking a seat across from him.

"Gillian, I-... we might not make it out of this", Jennifer stated plainly. Gillian nodded again in response.

"I'm not planning on it. In fact, I say we rig ourselves up to go in case we get swarmed, Jen". Jennifer was first taken aback by this, but she didn't comment on it. In fact, after a few moments of silence had passed, she solemnly nodded in agreeance. No, they might not make it out of this. But she wanted to take as many Imperials down as she could.

"Alright, let's do it then. May the Force be with you", Jennifer said. With that, she began working with the components before her, setting out to make as many explosive devices as possible before the city fell under siege. Gillian began doing the same, wiring things together and connecting the proper parts.

"And may the Force be with you", Gillian replied.

Uslam was always a beautiful planet before the Empire took over and used it for the buildup for the Imperial Army. Many citizens were forced to work overtime or be conscripted to join either the army or navy. However, people in Lorya decided to fight back against the oppression of the Empire. General Mathland Crovall became the figurehead of the Uslam Liberators and built up supplies to strike before it was too late. That moment came when the former Prime Minister (and his entire administration), and closeted rebel sympathizer, was executed live for the whole planet to see.

It was when General Crovall issued the order to strike at heart of Lorya to avenge the dead on the faithful day. The Imperial Garrison fell within hours with a few dozen Imperial soldiers and officials dead. Then, the capital city of Lorya fell in a day. Thus, the liberation began; however, everyone knew that the Empire was going to fight back for control.

General Crovall drafted up plans to defend the capital for the upcoming counterattack. That was when he began communication with Alliance High Command for aid and supplies. So far, nothing came out of it. All he got was delays and stalling that had been lasting for weeks. Thankfully, the stash of supplies was enough to form a solid defence against the Imperial military, especially the shield generator. Once the defences were dealt with, the headquarters was finally established in City Centre among with other important facilities. There were several citizens that joined the Uslam Liberators after the successful uprising while others from all over Uslam rushed to Loyra to help with the cause. For the citizens that didn't volunteer, General Crovall issued evacuation orders out of the planet just yesterday.

Crovall overlooked the evacuation as desperate citizens were rushing onto the shuttles. Many of them were families or the elderly that didn't want to face the Empire's wrath. It seemed that it was going to a normal busy evening until he got word that the Empire finally arrived. Immediately, the General rushed back to headquarters and began checking in with the front line. The expected news came that the Empire kept on marching while the fighters were falling back to Phase Line Bravo. Meanwhile, the Admiral Adamantius Xen was probably engaging the Imperial Navy.

Suddenly, General Crovall heard about the rocket artillery firing upon the forest where soldiers were fleeing to the rally point. He walked towards the communicator and turned to one of the officers. "Make sure that all commanders can listen to me." he politely asked. After a moment of setting up the lines, the officer gave a thumbs up and the General began to speak.

"This is General Crovall. Fall back to Phase Line Bravo. Repeat fall back to Phase Line Bravo. Make your stand there and show the Empire bastards that we mean business. This is a chance to show them that we are tired of their rule. To show other planets under the oppression of the Empire that they don't have to cave in and summit to tyranny. There's still a chance to fight back in Bravo. Make the Empire regret coming back to our home."

He smiled and confidently finished off the short speech with, "May the force be with you all."

---

Forward, position, cover.

Forward, position, cover.

Forward, position, cover.

Corte and Vash traded off, moving from tree to tree. One would move forward, take position with sights down range, cover for the other. So on and so forth. Whistling through the trees heralded rocket-propelled death as the artillery rained on them, shrapnel scattering through the forest. They heard screams, shouts, cries both north and south of their position. Blaster fire too.

It took somewhere in the range of twenty minutes to cross the kilometer. Corte, fully suited, could run a kilometer in under ten minutes, but keeping under cover slowed the two rebels significantly. She couldn’t complain, though. Their slow progress kept them alive, and they reached Phase Line Bravo

Bravo was at the crest of a moderate incline, not a true ridge or hill but a significant gradation in the landscape. It was Lorya’s first real line of defense, stretching for a few kilometers through the Groslk Reserve. The line itself consisted of sandbag-lined trenches, camouflaged in the brush and snow. The Liberators had dug in dozens of blaster nests across the line, each fitted with an E-Web or Mark II repeater, and had erected hexagonal pre-fab pillboxes at intermittent points along the line. Behind the line was an array of anti-air weaponry, launchers and flak cannons which were enough to dissuade Imperial air support.

As they arrived, Corte pointed out a T2-B repulsor tank, camouflaged under a blanket of snowy pine branches and leaves, nestled on the line. Rose Company’s infantrymen were supported by an armor unit consisting of three of the T2-B’s, all of which were positioned along Bravo line. This one in particular was the Ironrose, the T2-B assigned to Corte’s Second Platoon. She and Vash had found their squad.

They were just two of scores of rebels repositioning from Phase Line Alpha. Corte looked down the length of the line to see dozens of soldiers scaling the incline and taking refuge behind the line. Less than she’d hoped. It seemed that the screeners at Phase Line Alpha had been bloodied badly in their first engagement with the Imperial reinforcements.

Vash and Corte scaled the inclined and made their way over and down into the trenches of Bravo Line. It was busy, with dozens of Rose Company’s soldiers rushing here and there along the line. Blasters were being prepped, power cells were being delivered, defenses were being reinforced at the last minute.

Corte and Vash pushed their way down the trench line to the Second Platoon’s gun nest. It was a small, space, lined with sandbags and with a wooden cover. It was well hidden on the slope. There, they found Sergeant Raya Valkheva overseeing the onlining of the two Mark II medium repeaters they’d placed in the nest. Privates Aarie Syndulla and Benji Starr had gotten the first one operational and were working with the second.

“Lieutenant,” Sergeant Valkheva greeted her with a crisp salute. Corte waved a hand. “You made it. Where’s the squad?”

“We are the squad,” Vash answered grimly. Corte nodded. She hadn’t given it much thought over the past half hour, but her situation finally came to her in a wave of nausea. She’d been in command of this platoon for less than a week and she’d already lost more than half a dozen of her men.

“Is Glaato back?” Corte asked.

“Sergeant Glaato’s five minutes out, ma’am,” answered a thin, wiry man in fatigues. “Corporal Illievec,” he introduced himself, “communications.”

“Inform me when he arrives, and get these blasters online and prepped, we’re anticipating hard contact within the hour,” Corte said, remembering her role as commander. “And get those anti-infantry turrets online. We’re going to make them climb over each other’s bodies if they want to get up here.” That was met with a few half-hearted cheers, but no one was particularly in the mood.

“Orders, Lieutenant?” Vash asked as Corte turned to leave.

“I need you on sharpshooting,” Corte said, “scope out our position and find a firing position.” Vash nodded, and turned away to find a spot.

The whole world rang like a giant bell on Empire day. Kia picked herself up out of the shallow swale in which she had thrown herself. The air was thick with sweetly poisonous explosive residue with an undertone of burning pine. The forest around her was shredded and splintered from the hundreds of anti personnel bomblets that had fallen like a pall over the retreating rebels. Smoke billowed in eddying currents as she pressed herself to her feet amazed to find she was still alive.

It hadn't been her job to come out to the line. By rights she should be back at the aid station but the rebel forces were taking far more casulites then anticipated and the su. Until she got back, the ancient 21B droid would have to handle the stabilization of the wounded. She looked at the roiling storm of smoke that lay before her, surely the wounded she had been called for were dead.

"Mmmm.. mmm," a voice murmured from a nearby, words distorted by agony. Kia scrambled over to the pile of shredded pine and began to tear away branches. Beneath the curtain of branches she found three soldiers. Two of them were dead, torn to pieces by the storm of shrapnel. A third, a muscular human man clutched at his chest. The stink of spilled intestines and blood was overpowering.

"I got you," she said, nerves steadied by the familiarity of the triage sequence. Chest wounds, with internal penetration. She pulled a laser scalpel from her pack and cut the mans body armor away. It wasn't so bad. She produced an imager and powered it on. With meticulous care she began extracting shrapnel pices and applying combat stims to slow the bleeding and reduce the possibility of shock.

"Sweep and clear!" a mechanical voice sounded somewhere to the front. Kia froze, the pattern of storm trooper speech modifers too familiar to be mistaken for anything but. She lay flat against her patient trying not to move. Three scout troopers emerged from the smoke carbines sweeping for targets. Terror surged in her but she remembered the proccedure. Shakily she raised a commlink to her lips.

"Starlight 1-2 I have contact to my front," she whispered raising her unfamiliar DH-15 in trembling hands and hoping any of the real soldiers were close enough to help.

---

The icy wind blew around the squad as they approached a small camp with a fire still roaring “The reports say all insurgent positions are falling back, yet command has told us to hold positions. What the hell are they thinking? That’s not the way to win a war.” TK-102 said through his comms to his squad which numbered 6 others. They all chuckled save for their commander who told him to knock it off as they searched the small camp which seemed to have been left my either fleeing rebels or some civilians that wanted to make it out of the city during the initial fight. “Fire is still warm, that means they probably aren’t to far. Can we go and check it out.” TK-102 asked to which the senior sergeant replied with a shake of the head. “Negative our orders are to hold positions until given the green light. I’d suggest you be thankful the fire is still warm and that we don’t have to deal with some damn combat. Not that you even know what it would feel like.” TK-304 the sergeant said as he kneeled next to the flame looking out to the forest. TK-102 slumped down next to the fire and huddled it close as did two others while the rest took a defensive position waiting for orders.

Little did the squad know they were being watched from a distance, primarily by someone whose expertise it was to kill said type of people. The hunter stalked its prey, moving ever so closer from her snowy hiding spot. The two liberators watched her crawl forward slowly, barely able to hear her shift in the snow as she moved with her Cycler rifle out. All three of them had their weapons pointed at the camp, ready to pounce when the time was right.

Soon enough, Kle was in her position close to the ground, barely noticeable if someone wasn’t looking for her. She reached down to her waist and pulled a thermal detonator from her belt, priming it and waiting a moment. Silently, she counted the seconds before throwing it at the imperial position. One of them would be able to get out the words “What the?,” before the explosion hit the squad from the center.

The squad all blew back, the three from the center were dead in an instant. Another two were critically injured and couldn’t move. Leaving the sergeant and another trooper left. Both scatter shot into the open snow, as they ducked behind a tree. “TK-304 reporting fire. Squad nearly destroyed, mark on position. Over.” TK-304 reported back while TK-9230 stood kneeled behind a tree with his E-11 aimed in the open. Firing indiscriminately at the open area while the sergeant continued reporting in.

Firing in any nonsensical direction was generally not a good idea, but they were desperate and panicked which was what Kle had planned on. She took aim with her rifle while prone, aiming at the one firing before firing. The shot ripped through his shooting arm, allowing the trandoshan to run up behind a tree before they could try and shooting at her. Kle looked around for a way to get past them, before looking at he tree she hid behind. Her claws dig into the thick bark and allowed herself to climb up while her two followers began to lay down a suppressive fire on the the two remaining storm troopers.

TK-9230 slumped back as his arm was shot and turned to the sergeant. Shaking his head, while he may not have had the ability to return fire he had a plan. The trooper pulled out a frag grenade and armed it. He then ran out into the open where the two rebels opened fire on his position, while they were trained on TK-9230, the sergeant pulled out his own Frag grenade and threw it at the position which would kill or disperse them allowing him to pick them off. TK-9230 went down but it was too late for the rebels to notice the plan and a grenaded landed in their pit and blew up, killing them both. The sergeant unaware of Kle moved over to where the 2 critically wounded troopers laid and kneeled next to them to give them comfort while reporting him “TK-304, insurgent eliminated, 4 casualties and 2 injured. Request assistance.” the comms officer noted the report and confirmed orders for a dispatch.

Kle looked back to see the bodies of the two she had taken with her, their deaths did very little to affect her in any true sense but it was slightly saddening. The trandoshan eventually got into the branches of the trees and slowly moved as to not make noticeable rustling which was hard for a trandoshan. But she could see him talking. Eventually she jumped down and landed next to the trooper, she went to throw him back into the snow and leaped upon him, ripping his helmet off of him.

“Give me your name, prey!”

TK-304 spit in the monsters face as the his face quickly became red from the snow. “I’ll tell you nothing.”

A sadistic smile ran across her face as she wiped the spit from her face.”That’s what I hoped to hear,” she chuckled before pulling out her vibroknife and ran it across the storm trooper’s armor. Kle jammed it into the soldier’s left shoulder and turned it, allowing the blade to do some work. “Speak,” she commanded.

“GAH” The sergeant screamed as the knife dug into his shoulder. “I’ll tell you nothing, I’m already a dead man, I know of your work. Let alone the work of trandoshans.”

“You know of me? Then my reputation is more widespread than I thought,” Kle cackled before off of the soldier before stomping on his chest. She looked over at the two wounded troopers before stomping down on TK-304 again, but this time on his knee cap. The trandoshan walked over to the two and took their helmets off before dragging them over to a tree. She walked back over to the still conscious trooper and spoke to him, “If you know who I am then I think you know what I do, yes?” She motioned to the dioxis grenades on her belt.

The two troopers unconscious by now due to the explosion didn’t move. The sergeant nodded but waved the thought out of his mind. He then thought to himself he still held another grenade and two stun grenades if only he could get to them without the trandoshan knowing. “I d..d..do. Just get it done. B..b….but if you expect me to t..t...talk. I’ll need the warmth from a helmet.” The sergeant said hoping to distract the dumb alien.

Kle let out a laugh, “Yet you speak already. You do not need a helmet, just as I do not.” Her eyes scanned the imperial before crouching down, his belt still held a grenade, something she had already used once to ambush them. “I suppose loot is in order,” she told herself before plucking the explosive away from his belt, yet leaving the stun grenades. “I know you will not talk Imperial, even if I dare to kill your comrades. An attribute of loyalty to your emperor,” she stood up and looked to the trees, “I can get you medical help, save you. But you are all merely brainwashed boys, prey to me and my species.”

“It’s freezing here, the helmet and suit have heaters. As for us being prey do what you need to do.” The sergeant knew what was coming yet didn’t care. He had prepared for this ever since his first taste of combat. Yet he wasn’t done yet, he used his good arm quickly grabbed a stun grenade and set it off, hoping either assistance would arrive or he would awake before the monster laid in front of him.

It was fortunate for the trooper that the trandoshan was crouched over him, close to the stun grenade when it went off. The results were instant as both soldiers were incapacitated from the blast, Kle being sent to her back as she lost consciousness. However, it was up to luck to see if the soldier’s wishes would come true.

Lorya

Admiral Xen stood on a high balcony jutting from out from the governor's palace, hands clasped behind his back, the collar of his dark longcoat turned up against the biting wind. He was a tall man, his gaunt face nicked with minor scars and his nose crooked from repeated breaks. His black hair was streaked with grey and swept carelessly back from a high forehead. The slightly wild look in his green eyes completed the aura of piratical adventure he was so careful to exude.

Below him Lorya was winking to life in the frigid dawn. Nighttime blackout orders had been imposed by General Crovall until the shields could be activated and the heavy batteries brought online. So far, the presence of Xen's X-Wing squadrons had dissuaded what was left of the Imperial garrison's TIE force from attempting any bombing runs.

The sun crested the skyline, painting the sky pink and gold, illuminating the pale stone buildings and verdigrised copper roofs and spires of the city. A pretty place, built up organically over centuries, full of winding streets and crooked alleys and hidden squares and courtyards and gardens. The poorer sectors, where the miners lived, kept their old-fashioned charm, free of industrial sprawl which was mostly deep underground.

Some areas of the city, of course, were already scarred by the coming battle. Whole districts had been bulldozed to create space for the heavy turbolaser platforms Xen's fleet had stripped from Uslam's orbital defenses, hardened artillery installations, landing zones, and of course, projectors for the shield dome that would- if luck held out- soon encase Lorya.

"Admiral," the electronic voice of Captain Zyme crackled across Xen's communicator. The Skakoan was Xen's flag-captain, and was in orbit aboard the Right, "We've detected multiple hyperspace translations in-system. The Moff's fleet has arrived."

"Right on time," said Xen, sparing a backward glance to the governor's palace behind him. A grotesque Coruscanti transplant- grey ferrocrete and steel, so dissonant with the city over which it loomed like an unspoken threat. Like most of the Imperial ruling caste- graspers desperate for advancement and favor- the Moff had carefully derivative tastes in architecture. Not, however, in her wine cellar. Some truly choice selections, now comprehensively looted. The Admiral's storerooms on the Right were fully stocked indeed.

"Orders, Admiral?" Zyme queried.

"Recall all fighter and transport elements to the fleet. Intruder and Cutlass squadrons?"

"In position, Admiral," replied Zyme.

"Good, I'm heading for my shuttle now, will be with you shortly."

"Leaving so soon?" said a cool voice from the doorway behind Xen. The Admiral turned, smiling a little. A short man in the unmarked black fatigues of Alliance SpecOps stood just inside the palace. The left side of his face was something out a nightmare. A skinless mass of scar tissue studded with patches of bare skull, the expression frozen in a lipless sneer, teeth stretching back to the jaw. His left eyelid had been burned away, leaving only a bloodshot orb swiveling in its gnarled socket.

"Shang," said Xen. If the other man's appearance fazed him he did not show it, "Afraid I must be off. The Emperor's convoys aren't going to raid themselves. Can I tempt you to come with me? Would be a blow to the Alliance to lose you on Uslam, of all places."

"Afraid not, Admiral," said Shang, "Corvall's got some steel and knows what he's about on defense, but brave stands do not a victory make. Someone's got to take the fight to the Imperials down here."

"Still think we can win this thing?" asked Xen, and as he spoke there was an incredible azure flash as the shield projectors ignited in unison throughout Lorya. A majestic violet dome slowly unfurled itself over the metropolis, bathing everything in its faint purple light.

"I wouldn't have come otherwise," said Shang, "Don't forget us down here. We'll be looking for your supply runs."

"I won't. Never seen I blockade I couldn't run. Bleed the bastards white, Commander," said Xen.

"May the force be with you, Admiral," said Shang.

Admiral Xen snorted through his nose and swept past the other man, dark cloak billowing out behind him. Shang watched him go, his unlidded eye gleaming in the glow of Lorya's newborn shield.

-

Later, In Orbit

The long hull of the Ancestral Right cut through the void like an immense predator through the deep. A cloud of vulture droids swarmed around its hull. Agile, dumb and easily replaced, even TIE squadrons could slice with ease through these relics of the Clone Wars. Embedded in the swarm, however, were the Admiral's prized weapons: X-Wings in escort formation, dangerous not only to distracted TIEs but even to the Empire's beloved capital ships.

The rest of the Rebel fleet- an eclectic mix of aging Seperatist vessels, stolen Imperial cruisers, and a few Alliance escorts of modern design- followed in Ancestral Right's wake.

Admiral Xen stood not on his ship's bridge, but in the elevated observation chamber that made the Providence-class's profile so distinctive. Command staff of all races, even droids, bustled around him, busy with the business of looming bloodshed. Xen's eyes tracked the progress of his vessels across a holo-projection of Uslam's orbit, occasionally glancing to the chamber's large windows for confirmation of the virtual display, on which the red daggers were closing in.

The Moff's fleet was advancing on them from three sides, meaning to trap them against Uslam itself. There was a narrow gap in the Imperial alignment, highlighted on the holo-display- through which the rebels might flee without trading fire with the attackers.

Admiral Xen had a low opinion of the Moff's abilities, but not low enough to see such an obvious flaw in his opponent's formation as anything other than a trap. More to the point, he had no interest in retreating without killing some Imperials first. He studied the holo-display.

The VSD Punisher was the nearest vessel to hand, advancing in the shadow of the ISD Vronksr. Xen had his target.

"All vessels: the destroyer Punisher is our pound of flesh. She dies before we jump, and anyone who jumps before I give the word, I hunt down. You'll wish the Imperials had gotten to you," said Xen on the fleet's command channel, "Hutt formation, please- heavy up front, nice thin tail. You may absolutely begin firing when in range."

The comms channel filled with "ayes!" and "yes sirs!"

"Intruder and Cutlass Squadrons," said Xen.

"Reporting in," crackled the COs of two fighter-bomber squadrons noticeably absent from the rebel formation.

"You know what to do," said Xen.

"Yes Admiral."

"Sir," said a lanky Duro to Xen's right, "Transmission from the enemy fleet incoming."

The Admiral arched an eyebrow, "Let's hear it then."

A holo-projection of Moff Whyte replaced the battlefeed in front of Xen. He did not transmit an image of himself back.

“This is Moff Wyte. I advise you stand down and surrender now, fighting only prolongs the inevitable, this is your first and final warning.”

"We've been warned, gents!" said Xen to the command staff, to general laughter. Whyte's holodisplay flickered out.

"Would you like to respond, sir?" asked the Duro lieutenant.

Xen turned to the window, where the serrated dagger hull of the Punisher grew larger by the second against the huge white orb of Uslam. A flicker of turbo-laser fire, still inaccurate at this range, lashed out at the rebel formation from the ship. In the distance, the Vronksr was cruising at full speed to support its smaller cousin.

"We'll let our guns do the negotiating," said the Admiral, "Open fire."

---

Shots continued to fly to and fro, the light smoke with the pungent smell of the gas from the blasters blanketing the firefight, which traded shots carefully now, both sides content to wait behind their trees. Stojan's heart pounded as he let off another shot from his DL-44, one that went wide, a suppressing shot. Adrenaline surged within him, and a runner finally snuck his way forward. Sections 2 and 4 were away, and Section 3 was stuck in place with heavy casualties. He took the time to count his own section as the runner waited for a reply.

His eyes immediately fixed on a spot of crimson and black on the white of the snow, and his RTO lay mere feet away, a hole torn wide in the chest of his snowsuit, a half-cauterized mess of a sucking chest wound directly above his heart. He wished he hadn't seen the man, because Stojan knew the wound was hopelessly fatal, even as he bellowed in Uslamer, "MEDIC!"

He turned to the runner, a grimace on his face as he barked out a message. "Get the third section ready to load the wounded!" The runner nodded, running off with his A280 hanging off his bony frame and baggy snowsuit. Stojan turned back to the dying RTO, being worked on by the medic, ever-apparent that the medic was just trying to make him comfortable. Stojan worked at the straps connecting the comm pack to the RTO's back, wrestling it free. He grasped at the receiver, barking into it. "This is Captain Markovic to callsign 'Cverna', move up to last stated grid coordinates, over."

"Copy." Came the stern, static reply, and the low rumble of repulsor engines emanated from the device, or perhaps from the forest itself, further towards Phase Line Bravo.

---

Sensor links were up and Fiver, his astromech droid, was bleeping along his messages as well -- Intruders added a comm channel for the droids and ran a linked network that the droids generally managed in network. The pilots' chatter was the despair of the communications operators on the Right -- the Intruders spoke the lingua franca of the Outer Rim, Huttese, when they fought.

They were a dangerous squadron, experienced smugglers, pirates and Outer Rim defense force types, used to clawing for every little advantage they could find, often in obsolescent junk. Commanded by a Twi'lek female, Ma'Vena, callsign "Mom," the Intruders were a fierce squadron, unified in hatred of the Empire. Willing to fight something so powerful and numerous.

The Alliance, so used to never having the best of anything, came through for once and put these beings into something that let them strive and contend on an equal level with the Empire.

The X-wing was still a new platform, and Shan had come in just as they were phasing out the Z-95's, which were alright, but at a decided disadvantage against TIE fighters. Not so the X-wing, which had the slender lethality that a starfighter should, at least in his mind. In the cockpit of one of these, he felt like he was part of a sleek and dangerous predator, gliding on the solar winds in search of prey.

Many thought of space as empty, but he always felt as if there were currents in that vastness, something that got him weird looks even from his squadron. He could wax poetic about space, the splash of colors in a nebula or the harsh light of a star. It was silence, but it was a thunderous silence.

Clang, Shan's callsign, they said, worked on a different frequency. He was their weirdo, a guy that knew tech but not from an educational standpoint; he'd get into the guts of something and figure it out on intuition and experience. Space never failed to stir him.

The sensation was shattered by the order to initiate their operation.

They used Orivod, a large asteroid on the verge of being a moon, to shadow their approach; for whatever reason, the rock interfered with sensors and communications, so the approach would be with comms from the fleet totally unable to get througth. It was a risky commitment.

He felt the thrum of the engines as the power system shifted power into those and a lighter-than-usual front shield, while they were out of range. The idea was to build up the thruster momentum while out of range in order to make the approach with the shields shifted forward during the attack approach. S-foils were locked, for the same reason. Lacking jammers, they needed every bit of thrust they could get. Max thrust, the chariot of the heavens.

Because the orders were to make an attack run on a Victory II-class star destroyer.

As they burst from the cover of the asteroid on their final approach, like a covey of mynocks, spreading out in twos and threes, the X-wing's leading the Y-wings and trying to draw the fire with their superior maneuverability. He was tuned into the comm chatter, and returned some of it, including, "Lock S-foils in attack position," but he could never quite recall what he was saying in the focus of the moment, the sharp edge of awareness that came into play when he was flying.

A Victory-II was not the largest ship in the Imperial inventory, but up close and personal, with the turbolasers thundering away and smaller defenses engaging them, it was big enough to turn Shan's piss cold. He tried to cling to his typical composure, his awareness of the minute and sense of the intangible, as he jinked to avoid the fire.

Others were not so lucky; if the Punisher was the Rebels' pound of flesh, and even despite the surprise of the Cutlass and Intruders' approach, there was still the silence of disintegrating squadron mates and the hum of the engines, the blip of the warning radars, the binary staccato of Fiver's status updates. They were paying the bill for it.

There was a instinctive flow to his motion as he banked to engage a TIE trying to find an angle on a Y-wing, as the TIE broke it's attack to evade, and the two starships danced. But it was the subtle added thrust here, or the turn there, as he took to the outside arc beyond the TIE and played the Imperial against a squadron-mate's cone of fire that allowed him the moment where he had the unshielded Imperial in his fire control reticule when the Imperial tried to evade one cone of fire only to find himself positioned briefly in the sights of another.

He took the shot with all four cannons, feeling the pulse of their firing, and watched the enemy disintegrate. He swung back into the run, further back from the others as they made their runs. The X-wings fought like brood mother Nexu, scraping for every angle and bit of purchase the rebel pilots, experienced fringe spacers, could find against TIE pilots, who were academy-trained professionals. Theirs was a pitiless ballet in the cold void, shadowed by the huge wedges of the Imperial fleet.

And while they spun to stay out of the sights of the TIEs and put the TIEs into their own sights, the Y-wings unloaded on the Punisher.

All that was in a single run, with the Cutlass commander ordering his Y-wings clear.

"Finish it and break off!" Mom growled on the comms, along with, "fierfe--" and static as her own ship disintegrated. Moments later, another Intruder finished off her killer, but the damage was already done.

Intruder squadron lost twenty-five percent of her X-wings...but they could see the Punisher bleeding air and flame from holes in the hull in the rearview mirror that the pilots all used.

It better be worth it, the thought bubbled through the concentration that typified Shan's flying, but he left the bubble there, not wanting to process the grief of his squadron leader's death while still in the fight.

-snip will finish tonight-

---

Corte sat in the gun nest, cradling her A280 with eyes on the wilderness no-man’s land between the lines. The distant sound of rockets and blasterfire echoed through the woods. The Mark II repeaters, on her left, were online and ready to fire at the first on her order. That order would be coming soon.

Behind her, Sergeant Valkheva directed her squad. “Private Previc, Private Miklovic, on the guns. Corporal Illievec, take Novacs and Syndulla on the line. Starr,” she added, addressing the platoon’s medic, “I want you behind the lines, on the wounded.”

“Lieutenant,” a gravelly voice addressed Corte, and she turned to see Glaato descending into the nest. Corporal Illievec and the two privates pushed past the burly Nikto on their way into the trenches. Glaato was a blooded veteran of half a dozen conflicts with the Empire across as many worlds. He bore the scars of those defeats. A particularly ugly blaster burn marked the left side of his face, just below the eye, where he’d taken a grazing shot from an E-11 on some distant planet. “First Squad reporting in. I have Corporal Jurvec setting us up on the line.”

“Good. How many casualties did the squad suffer, Sergeant?”

“Two wounded, one dead. Privates Da’lya and Juricec are receiving medical attention now,” he answered. Corte rubbed her temples with a sigh. The Second Platoon was now reduced to fourteen combat ready soldiers. It was her fault. She’d take three casualties over seven any day. “I didn’t see the Second Squad on the line,” Glaato said slowly.

“They didn’t make it. Corporal Xier and I were the only survivors from our post,” she said. “Sergeant Huvec and his men fought bravely.” They hadn’t. One of the privates, a jumpy, barely-trained Uslamer with more patriotism than common sense, recruited from Lorya to replenish the company’s depleted ranks, had opened fire prematurely and compromised their position. The Imperial troops turned their guns on the post after that first shot. Huvec and his rifles had held the line for barely thirty seconds against the barrage.

“Understood. Orders?”

“Wait. Hold the line.” Corte shrugged. Glaato crouched next to her and offered her a flask. She took it and threw it back, expecting water. It was whiskey. She swallowed a gulp with a wretch. Glaato took a swig after her.

“It’s going to be rough,” he said, offering the flask to Valkheva next. The short Uslamer woman declined with a wave and returned to her macrobinoculars, scanning the forest for contact. Private Previc and Private Miklovic, at the ready on the Mark II’s, stared intently into the distance, shallow breath visible in the morning cold. “But we’ll make it through.”

Corte pursed her lips. “How sure are you about that?”

“I’ve done a lot of fighting, Lieutenant,” the platoon sergeant said, “you get a sense for it. Life and death. The ground is good, the defenses are good. The men and women on the line are good,” he said, nodding to the gunners, both of whom had turned an ear to the conversation. “Very good. We’ll make it through.” He took another swig of whiskey, pocketed the flask, and stood to return to the line.

“Stay sharp,” Corte ordered as he left, returning her eyes to the kill zone. The gunners likewise turned their attention forward. “Let’s make it through.”