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The first time Voshno ever visited Ghala, and he was stuck under a tarp. He was a Tengaran country boy all the way through.

Ghala was the jewel of Tengaru, a balmy place where vacationers from other places came to enjoy themselves. For the adventurous, there were the wild lowland jungles and higher, cooler altitudes, but always the trees and the vibrant slashes of wildflowers, in a riotous array of colors as the green was shot through with a dizzying array of shades. Bisecting this greenery were the waterways. The waters were often of crystalline purity in the lakes, which were the size of small seas, though muddier in the jungles themselves. Further up from the equator, the soil turned to clay and the land was still crossed with rivers, estuaries and lakes, where it was more tall grass, rather than lush rainforest.

As a result, Tengaru did not bother with building roads, except in towns and cities. The transport system used what already was there, all that water. That was their highway system.

In better times, Ghala would have beings sipping all sorts of drinks on sidewalks and enjoying the balmy pace of life. But they resisted their occupation strongly and the Empire responded with increasingly harsh measures to protest, which turned into insurgency and moved from the University centers out to the countryside where the farmers and the fishermen became the backbone of the fighting.

But Ghala still had its guerrilla cells, and these were active in the last few days at the behest of an Alliance Intelligence controller that made patient contact with the local organization, not terribly impressed with the conduct of the 43rd Alliance Regiment's lack of urgency about actually fighting the war.

She said the magic words: Iron Masks.

The city-fighters of Ghala were experienced and wary, and had been cadre'd by experienced Tengaran gendarmes and criminals that knew their city. They were able to procure the required equipment and promise their support. Snipers, surveillance, explosives and streetfighters. But they were not the ones that would break into the Sultana's manor.

Teams of guerrillas would hit the position with explosives and high volume heavy blaster fire. The assault would be timed with a volume of fire against Imperial positions and a purloined Imperial vehicle, outfitted as a ram with explosives to crash the compound, which lay by the water. If they could breach, they would. And they would support the rescue team as much as possible. But they expected to be stopped cold, because they were hitting a company of Imperial Storm Troopers.

The real assault element was the rescue team was hidden under a tarp in the bed of an ostensibly civilian vehicle, the sort of speeder truck that saw less use outside of Tengaru's cities than on most planets, but were still commonplace. Five beings in armor with the t-shaped visors, one Twi'lek in a uniform for a food delivery service, making for the delivery dock near the kitchens. Theoretically, they'd get checked if they made it all the way there, but that wasn't the point here.

Voshno did not like jetpacks, but the truth was that no one expected guerrillas to just jump the fence. It was not in Rebel doctrine to use jet packs. And even Resol Squad rarely used them in their months as a lowland jungle raiding unit that inflicted casualties, kidnapped officers and stole equipment, out in the hinterlands, but never really got to use the jetpacks in combat. Surprise doom for the Imperials.

That wasn't the original plan, but Hadaj had to improvise. When the SpecForces task force en route was intercepted by the Empire in a bad luck situation, she found the answer to her 'specialized strike troop' problem, after realizing that Jest wouldn't merely mind losing them, he'd welcome it. And unlike Colonel Jest, when Old Man Resol told her the best way in was with jetpacks, she took the grizzled bounty hunter and mercenary's advice to heart.

The asset inside, GRIEVOUS, had a small group of dedicated infiltrators, locals with well-hidden loyalty to the Sultana, ready to get her into a safe room when they got the signal. That would give them time to prevent an execution and give them the window they needed to clear a way to her. These were palace staff, they would not last long in a fight and these people knew their odds. Without their supreme bravery, there would be no op.

Hadaj had a good plan, that was what Old Man Resol said to his boys. Those people inside were giving their lives, more than likely, to get their ruler to that safe room. Make it count.

Voshno had some residual loyalties to Tengaru and the Rebel Alliance, but he was a Mando Boy now. He knew what this war felt like from the day he found his family's farm done in, he and Grin. His brother died in his arms, a burned out hole in his chest. He was not usually the one that had the battle lust out of the squad, but the anticipation had him shivering a bit in his armor as he waited for the word. The speeder truck glided over the cobblestones of the street, its occupants keeping all suit systems turned down as much as possible so as to not be picked up on a scan. Still, they had macros set in the microcomps they all ran that would bring it all to life with the signal, slaved to Resol's signal.

When the signal chirped, the fire started. Moments later, the tarp was ripped off the truck and the Mandos launched themselves over the fence, coming down with blaster fire and already charging across as the guerrillas soaked up the casualties of engaging the white jobs. All around, there was a world of fire, but that was the world Mando'ade inhabited.

Old Man Resol, who should have been slowing down, showed none of that as he sprinted ahead while others covered, and then covered them as they moved through a sculpted garden with high hedges and stone benches, and into the kitchens of the Manor. Long months of conditioning the Mando way, with assault courses and killhouses, raid after raid after that, sharpened them to the point where even the Barabel moved nearly as fluidly as the Nautolan, as they covered angles. But they generally held fire, because the point wasn't to seek out Imperials to kill, however much as they might want it. They only engaged the ones that spotted them, staying on the move.

That didn't mean a stormtrooper or two didn't get in the way, but they were mowed down with volume of fire. There were Tengaran Royal Guard, but that corps had been purged of loyalists. The ones that got in the way were subject to the same treatment by the insurgents out there, some of whom were former members of that corps as well -- they'd briefed the snipers well on how to identify the officers, which added to the confusion as beings screamed out. The smuggled-in firepower, repeating blasters, E-webs and other, allowed the guerrillas that few minutes or so of superior firepower before the Imperials could mobilize true fire support.

Those guerrillas also knew their odds. They were engaging the Imperials in a stand up fight in Ghala, something they avoided for a long time, because they reckoned the prize worth it. They were buying Resol a way in and would pay the price; time favored the Empire.

Resol Squad had nav waypoints to work off of that would show them primary, alternate and tertiary routes to the safe room. They could hear the blaster fire and grenades echoing in the jasper-veined stone corridors of the Sultana's residence, and that was where they were headed. The staff not in on the caper took one look at the armored forms of Mandalorian warriors and didn't stop to think, "How did that happen?" but instead opted for the instinctive response. Confronted by armored, heavily armed warriors, they got out of the kriffing way.

There is a certain appeal to the calm before the storm. No words were spoken between the five Mando warriors as they sat in cold meditation, the weight of their weaponry heavy in their hands. Life, death, failure, victory, all possibilities for the near future, a certainty only moments away, and yet impossibly far. The entire thing seemed surreal to Javi Knol. The years of his life, the grueling training, the boring drills, and the unwavering hatred all amounting to this one moment of energy and adrenaline. Javi felt the same way before every conflict. His moral conscious, his fear, and his rationality would all compete, pleading, begging, and screaming for him not to do what he was set to do. But in the end they always failed. Javi would partake in this high stakes game of problem solving, understanding the severe consequences for failure. Except failure and death wasn’t an option anymore. He was a Mando’ade Warrior now, and he possessed a different mindset.

The tarp was torn away, and the battle began. Power surged from the jetpack launching Javi off his feet and carrying him over the barrier, depositing him unceremoniously upon the lawn. His cold breakfast lurched in his stomach and then settled; as did his reason, morality, and fear, each emotion fading into silence at last. All that remained was the evolutionary trait that all creatures possessed, and the training etched upon stone inside his head. Roll, get down, shoot, run. Javi operated like a well-oiled machine, trusting his fellow clan mates to protect him just as he did for them. Whatever differences that existed between them evaporated like smoke on the wind. They would succeed together, or die alone. It was their training and determination against their enemy’s, and Javi wasn’t about to allow Imperial loyalist best him.

Teeth gritted to a near breaking point Javi kept pace behind Old Man Resol, his once cold T-21 now hot, even through his gauntlets. The automatic rifle unleashed bursts of death at an unprecedented rate, the perfect weapon to discourage any hopeful troopers from taking shots at the exposed Mandos. One trooper, by mere chance alone scored a hit in the brief elapses between Javi’s bursts, his red bolt connecting with Javi’s shoulder plate. The armor burned but held, the warning singeing deeper than any burn ever could. Be more vigilant! The Corellian gunner returned fire, but the trooper ducked down, popping up again a few seconds later to release a more accurate shot. He never got a chance to learn his lesson, or revise his foolishness. Javi made sure of it.

Steam rose off the superheated barrel hissing eerily as the damp air surrounding them reacted to the unnaturally hot weapon. The last one inside Javi thumped his T-21 in irritation, not liking what he was seeing. The blaster shouldn’t be heating up so fast, even though Javi was shooting at an unmatched rate the cooling fluids should have kept it at least touchable for another three hundred rounds at least. Problems like this could kill a man, through no fault of his own. On such a high stakes mission dealing with an overheating firearm was not a predicament Javi wanted to be in. “Damned, humid weather, damned cursed planet.” Javi muttered, even as he paced backwards, following the footsteps of his comrades. At least due to the slight lull in the battle the weapon would have the opportunity to cool. Javi shifted the gun down to a hip-line position, providing rear security for his squad, watching the receding corners, and passageways warily. A women darted across the room behind them, taking cover behind a cushioned chair. Javi jerked instinctively, T-21 raised to kill but he hesitated. Obviously she wasn’t a combatant. Or was she? Racked by indecision Javi let the women alone, giving only a word of warning to his fellows to watch for noncombatants. “I don’t like this, we’ve got to many uncovered positions from which they could spring.” He added, flinching yet again as another supposed noncombatant scurried away. “The Imps will have an easy time surrounding us.” Javi glanced over towards Kast, the team’s explosive expert. “Maybe add some trip mines with leg poppers? So we don’t have any unwelcome guests joining us without us being in the know.”

A strange sensation, being able to hear one's heart beat just as loud as a drum in your head. The predatory instincts of a Barabel combined with the muscle memory of Mandalorian training was making his adrenaline spike. He was quite aware of what they were about to do. An unlikely strike team taking on a task meant for others. It was their time to show the rest of the galaxy that they were ready for larger scale engagements like this one.

The black and green armor didn’t move or quiver as if stalking some unseen prey he kept in a crouched position ready to pounce. Until the signal could be sent the Barabel continued to go over what equipment he had and where it was. This combined with slow deep breaths helped to calm his beating heart. Then in an instant the signal was sent and the tarp pulled away.

This one wasn’t all too keen on using jump packs but it didn’t matter. He was the point man, the berserker, the one no one wanted to go one on one with. A Barabel in close quarters combat was both awe-inspiring and fearsome for many that he had fought before. His handy Ryyk blade didn’t help the morale of the enemy either. Gripping his trusty short barrel blaster rifle with one of his large hands the largest member of the team found himself over the wall and behind a planter filled with exotic and colorful flowers.

The flowers and dirt around exploded around him almost immediately. The incoming blaster fire from the surrounding fire fight was definitely intense. Roak continued to move up from cover to cover following the squad leader until eventually taking point. The cold-blooded reptilian was definitely a big target but not an easy one and the last thing you wanted to do was let him get close. One soldier didn’t get the memo.

As the team got close to their entry point, Roak came face to face with an imperial storm trooper. Before the trooper could raise his weapon to fire the Barabel had extended the blade in his left gauntlet and back handed the trooper across the chest. His strength combined with his short sharp blade opened the trooper’s armor up like a tin can and threw the soldier back a few feet. The storm trooper tumbled to the ground. He didn’t get back up.

Roak found himself again taking point, this time taking out his Ryyk blade in his right hand and heavy pistol in the other. It was his favorite combination and fighting style and how he liked to clear buildings. Moving through the kitchens and back rooms knowing full well his brothers were at his back. It was a refreshing experience with them, having complete faith in the others' abilities was always something that relaxed him.

It was a bit awkward at first getting through the smaller doors for him, but he wouldn't voice this. His movement alone would tell the others of this. One of his brothers had been hit already and even seemed a bit jumpy with all the servants moving around. “Remember we are sssupposed to care about the localsss. Blowing off a leg or two doesn’t help usss. Heartsss and mindsss brother, heartsss and mindsss” the reptilian hiss slithered off his tong with some of his words but his voice was kept rather mono tone. Even if he did enjoy killing and fighting he didn’t enjoy torture or needless harm.

The small group continued to make their way through the palace. This one did agree with his brother though. Too many servants that don’t know how to stay down and out of the way. Roak would be the first to bash or push anyone out of the way that didn’t move fast enough as he followed the nav points on his visor toward their shared objective.

Kare adjusted the delivery uniform. She wasn't fond of being in the fray of her own plan, but something about the Mandalorians and their bravery (or insanity) had convinced the Rebel agent to get her hands slightly dirty. So here she was, driving a speeder truck with a bunch of armed killers hiding under a tarp right near the drop point. Kare, whilst guiding the truck, was making a few last second taps on the datapad leaning against the front console. The final signals were coming through, right on schedule. Things were going according to plan, which started to make the Twi'lek jumpy. The other shoe was going to drop, she just hoped it would be after the mission was over. With a quick, final tap on the datapad, the sound of blaster-fire rocked the relatively quiet atmosphere.

Kare stopped the truck and quickly pulled the tarp as the Mandalorians jumped into action. She gave a small smile as she watched them glide into the air, some more graceful than others in her mind. But the smile faded as the agent noticed a truck ahead of her, around a bend in the road and just in view of what had happened. The glistening white armor made Kare's heart stop. Luckily, the training kicked in subconsciously. She bolted out of the truck, hearing the sound of the Stormtroopers' armor clank as they began their own pursuit. The foliage was particularly helpful in covering Kare as she attempted her escape, quickly tapping away at her comlink. The screen flashed with confirmations of casualties, calls for backup, and chaotic transmissions from the Empire. As much as she wanted to aid the rebels in their aid, there was nothing she could do for them from here that the cell couldn't manage themselves. The best she could do was send out contradicting reports using an Imperial Officer's stolen ID to try and confuse the Imperial forces. It would buy the insurgents and the Mandalorians time, the only currency that mattered in these types of operations.

A blaster bolt whizzed by Kare's ear as she had been trudging through the brush, finishing up the last report. She wasn't excited about engaging the enemy, but she wasn't a bad shot herself. The Twi'lek ducked into a roll as more shots were fired in her direction, managing to prevent a blow as she drew out her blaster pistol. The Stormtroopers were unable to adjust their aim by the time two quick shots impacted into the white armor. The two Stormtroopers fell, and the rebel agent fired two more shots to confirm the kills. She wasn't far from the overwatch position, as she had been moving up a small overhang near the Palace. Kare got into her position, setting down a holoprojector next to her that sprung to life with an active map of the Palace. The proper navpoints were marked, and Kare watched the Mandalorians progressing into the Palace with almost textbook form. They may not look like proper soldiers to most, but she could recognize the training and discipline of proper warriors.

It took only a minute to set up the A280-CFE into its sniper configuration. Kare began to scan the environment through the scope of the sniper. She wasn't a particularly great shot, but luckily the upgraded scope did most of the heavy lifting in accurately assessing the path her potential shots would take. Who needs skill when you have technology? The Rebel Agent watched the Imperials attempting to regroup. Nothing seemed to be particularly amiss, so Kare took her eyes off the scope and instead focused on pulling out the datapad and getting to work. She typed away, managing to get into the system quicker than she expected. Lock outside entrances to slow reinforcements... open up the path for the operatives. Piece of cake. A quick tap on the comlink patched her in to the Mandalorians. "Resol Squad, your path is unlocked. Watch your corners and watch for hostiles. I'll patch into the feeds to provide Overwatch." With a few more taps, Kare did her best to patch into the security feed to keep a close eye on her new operatives, and to get visual confirmation on the asset they were risking so much to attain...

Zaheed glanced at a few of the others while they waited underneath the tarp. It was silent- as usual, they were always quiet right before the fight, a sort of meditation before they got stuck in deep. The adrenaline fueled dark humor would follow after they'd finish the raid. He lifted his blaster rifle and peered down the optic, a force of habit more than anything- he'd gotten comfortable to the point that he could point and shoot without fully needing the optic for anything within close to medium range. His burnished orange and olive armor rustled slightly as he put his hand on a pouch at his side, adjusting the explosive payload safely carried within. He did a quick mental count of how much he had and where it all was.

The speeder slowed down as they neared their position. Kast shifted from his seat, and moved into a slight crouch. As soon as the tarp flew off, he and his brothers were out, jetpacks flaring in unison as four warriors of fables bust into the courtyard. He landed and rolled, and before he was on his feet, his blaster was already firing. Around him, blaster bolts whizzed, and his visor was peppered with the occasional bits of dirt and stonework as grenades exploded in their vicinity. On the ground, Kast acted on instinct. Whenever he saw white plastoid, he fired once, then thrice. As far as he was concerned, anyone without a mando helmet was not a friendly.

Following his squad-brothers, Kast brought up the rear of their formation, his legs pumping as he jumped backwards steps at a time, keeping up pace with his sprinting brothers. He didn't pay attention to the nav-points on his HUD, paving the way to their objective was Roak's job, he spent his time focusing on flank and rear security, his head constantly jerking left right and center at the closest sign of movement, pointing his blaster and firing if they carried a weapon, and barking at them to leave if they were unarmed.

Javi complained about the noncoms running around, and suggested laying mines to deter imperials, while Roak suggested against it, reminding them that there were innocents about them too. Kast shook his head. "Roak's right, too many noncoms in the area, might end up blowing their legs off instead of Imps. Keep pushing forward, I'll deal with it."

Out of the corner of his eye, Kast spotted a stormtrooper emerging from a hidden corner to fire on the backs of his squadmates. Hell, if it weren't for the bright white plastoids, Kast might not have spotted him until it was too late. Kast skittered to the side as the blaster bolt glanced off the ground he just stood on, before sticking his arm out and letting loose a gout of flame from one of his flame projectors. He was rewarded for his efforts with the sound of a blaster dropping to the floor, and a imp screaming and flailing at his body before falling down.

Following his squad into a corridor, Kast paused and grabbed at a spare fuel canister at his belt and released the nozel, allowing the fuel to cover the floor behind them. Following his squad down the corridor, Kast shout a jet of flame from his projector and set alight the entrance to the corridor- it probably wouldn't stop any particularly determined imperial forces, but no one would want to follow them through the flames if at all necessary.

With their rear secured, Kast returned his attention to the front, and followed his brothers through the palace and towards their objective

Fun fact: Mandalorians brought in by Jango Fett trained Republican Commandos. Other fun fact: Old Man Resol was Cuy'val Dar, one of those trainers.

An observer familiar with the operational procedures of Republic Commandos could see hallmarks of that training as they cleared room to room, as they stacked and then entered, and forced the Stormtroopers to fight disadvantageously in the corridors against a foe that had more armor, and the advantage of finely-honed skills. In a small space, numbers and firepower mattered less because it was chokepoints. The Sultana's villa was a place where the rulers of Tengaru relaxed by the river, enjoying the city lights by night. It was built to be cool in the summer, and save on air conditioning.

Using the map markers and other navigational aids on his HUD, Voshno was the second one through most of these doors, clearing ahead after the Barabel took down whatever was in the corner. They made good time, even as they heard the scream overhead of a TIE fighter raining down on the Rebel positions, a visceral reminder of tick-tock.

Resol never really bonded with the Clones, and didn't feel much for the white jobs here either, who were probably the Spaarti-grown variety and other 'sources' of recruits. That was a job, a very well paid one, and the Republic didn't really matter to him. This was different, his boys were a varied bunch, but vode an all the same. The anti-nonhuman prejudices of the Empire fell flat here, because even a Clone Commando or an ARC trooper would have a hard time resisting a Barabel that happened to be a Mando Boy, chopping at them with a blade. The Nautolan's naturally agile frame was tuned to a new standard under the harsh tutelage of the Mandalorian way. The two humans lads chose their purpose as surely as anyone else did.

And that was what gave them the edge over these stormtroopers.

Along with superior marksmanship.

When they transitioned into the part of the palace with the panic room, they came into a hall, an indoor garden with flowers, bushes, leafy vines lovingly cultivated along anything they'd grow up, which was just about the whole room. It beautiful gold-veined stone floor, polished lovingly and just waiting for a party. Fancyness, a place to host balls and receptions. It had a skylight overhead, to bring sunlight down on the crystals. Here, the architecture certainly opened up.

So did the white jobs, with emplaced E-Webs.

They dove for cover, even as Resol gave curt orders, in Mando'a, "Javi, engage 10. Voshno, engage 2." Bearings, directions on the clocks, "Kast, start a fire. Roak, with me son," he said as the old man slammed to the ground and got on one knee behind the cover of a planter, a sprinter's pose. He wasn't in his prime anymore, but he was a long and lean guy, a runner and the muscles remembered.

It wasn't the party the room was built for; it was the party the room got.

Keenly aware of his surroundings the Mando warriors pressed on through corridor after corridor. The tight places where exactly the kind of room clearing the barbell wanted. Cutting down foe after foe with either the heavy pistol or his Sabre. The imperials stood little chance to get away from their impending doom. If the Barabel didn't get you, the others that followed would.

Roak knew what was coming up next. The open courtyard before the safe house was going to be a problem they all knew it. The Imps would too, the last choke point, the last place to get them into the open. It was in the floor plan that they had received and Roak had spent many hours going over the layout of the building. Even going as far to building a holographic simulation of the building back at base so that he wouldn't have gotten anything mixed up.

That was another thing Elder Resol instilled in them was to be prepared for anything. To be able to think and adapt, be problem solvers. Roak normally wouldn’t put that much effort into a strike, but he was well aware that if this one went smoothly then they would get much more dangerous and high profile missions. Speak the words and where the armor, and we will do great things. That’s all the old man had to tell him. That was all he needed to hear, having a purpose was all he ever wanted.

The door was coming up on them quickly, they were even a little ahead of schedule. The diversion that the others were making was working. A scream overhead, the unique sound of tie fighters reminded the Mando what was at stake. Holstering his pistol and sheathing his sword he grabbed his rifle with one hand and took a cryo grenade from his belt. The courtyard was too open for his normal tactics.

Bursting through the large heavy doors they were met with a peaceful sight of colorful flowers and ornate stone carvings. These beautiful sights were soon stolen by blaster fire from implaced E-Webs on the opposite side of the courtyard. The Imps had placed themselves in a rather well situated position, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough. Taking up a position next to Elder Resol Roak could only nod at his teacher as a sign of ‘ready when you are’ the Barabel would be sure to throw his grenade at the nearest position but would otherwise follow his lead with his short blaster rifle in hand.

Boats really should rock, Rin decided. Not too much, just enough to give you that quiet sense of motion and make it hard to stay awake. And a drink - a proper boat should have a drink. Then again, this was hardly a proper boat at all; the hum of the repulsorlift made that more clear than anything else. The hull was over a meter from the water below, and she could hear the occasional snap of an electric discharge from the lift pads. And, of course, to every side, the sound of a blaster turret’s power generator, the scent of armored suits, and a wire-taut tension she needed none of her unusual senses to feel.

She sat on a crate of spare ammunition, legs up over the speeder’s railing, leaning on the huge blaster emplacement welded to the back of the transport. There would be excitement in the fullness of time, but for now, the only sounds nearby did little else but lend texture to the quiet. Rin tilted her head back and pulled in a long breath of the heavy, wet air, and took care to listen.

“You think she’s really blind?” came a voice - a man, Krenna, young enough to make Rin feel nostalgic. He hadn’t stopped staring at her since Resol had introduced them.

“The fuck does it matter?” Another voice, this time that of a young woman, Soli. Modulated through her helmet, the harsh edges from her accent were rounded off.

Krenna made a dubious noise, “I dunno, just….you don’t think that’s a little weird?”

The sound of someone moving quietly in armor, “I think you’re weird, Krenna.”

“I’m just saying-” Krenna began, but then the whole boat shifted, tipping everyone standing just a step off balance.

Rin swung her legs off the railing, coming to her feet while the boat rocked with a second shockwave, stronger than the first, enough so that she could feel the heat of the blast on her cheek. The sound of explosions, fractured into a thousand muted echoes washed over the boats, startling small flying animals into the air with their own multifarious cacophony.

Rin could feel the way her crew’s attention snapped into focus, radio chatter streaming in through their commlinks in a sudden crescendo. The same sounds tickled Rin’s ear where the comm-link nestled, hers without the benefit of a helmet. Two assaults, the first big and flashy, the other doubtless to become so, but only one that really mattered. Rin took a last long breath, letting the taste of moss and green leaves linger in her mouth before she spoke.

“Mister Krenna,” Rin said, “Ahead full, signal the other boat to follow at ten meters’ distance. I want the cannons ready to fire by the time we clear the breakwater. Soli, on the cannon controls, and wait for my command to open fire.”

The two nodded and moved with the competent speed that only comes from long practice. That swiftness of action should have been reassuring, but it was taking a considerable amount of Rin’s willpower to not get lost in the details of the life, the purpose swirling in coruscating arcs about her charges. This wasn’t the first time she’d been surrounded by people filled with the kind of purpose that Mandalorian training could bring to bearm and the last time hadn’t gone well for anyone involved. Memories made sour by time and distance threatened to burst anew, and that was something nobody could afford at the moment.

Instead, she focused her attention on the world ahead of the boat. They picked up speed, but the steady stream of sodden air past her skin did little to pull the sweat away. The boats were quiet, but there would be guards at the Sultana’s manor, and they wouldn’t be friendly. The boat tilted beneath her, coming around a stand of gnarled trees. At the same instant, or even before, Rin shifted her weight, wrapped her fingers around the boat’s railing, and closed her eyes. Her world shifted, changed, her awareness no longer centered only on her body.

Chaos, panic, pain, fury, precision - everything Rin could feel swirled in an ugly maelstrom. Ghosts of sounds swept by her, the thrum of weapons, the crunch of a thrown fist, a dozen different orders. Pain, too, crackled through her mind, fractal and branching. It should have been overwhelming, part of her wanted it to be. But instead, Rin picked the pieces out that she needed, letting everything else slide through her mind like water through a net.

The boats shifted again, rushing up to the manor’s breakwater with an eerily quiet speed. Rin spent another moment in her reverie, then pulled her awareness back to herself with another effort of will. She unwrapped her hands from the railing, looking straight ahead, her hair lashing behind her in the slipstream.

“Soli, get the cannon hot,” Rin said, and raised one hand, “On my signal.”

Another rising whine, this one of the blaster’s power supply coming to life. Even at the prow of the speeder, Rin could feel the heat coming off the thing. A few seconds later, and the boats cleared the breakwater, engines still whirring at full speed.

Rin spoke the instant they were past the breakwater, “Turret ahead, twenty meters to starboard, take it down while they’re trying to figure out where to aim.” She dropped her arm, the signal to fire, and the world exploded, torn apart by the sound of heavy blaster fire.

“Target down,” came Soli’s voice in Rin’s ear, “But they damn well know we’re here now.”

“Pull up to the dock,” Rin said, “Keep the blasters hot, that won’t be the last time we need them.” She turned, pointing to the crew of the other boat, “Keep a pilot with the boat, the rest of you, with me. Krenna, Soli, shoot anything that even smells Imperial.”

She paused, “...And blow a hole in the wall while you’re at it, we may as well take some of the heat off Resol and the boys.”

The boats swept up through the harbor, moving with comparative freedom - the docks had been made for luxury ships and pleasure cruisers, and provided more than enough space for the pair of overpowered transport skimmers, though they crushed a few timbers coming to a stop. Rin hopped off the railing, heavy blaster bolts roaring past her, the sound of shattered masonry filling her ears. Dust rolled in a cloud and she couldn’t help but cough, but that was no barrier to knowing what lay behind the wall. Half a dozen manor staff, heavily armed, standing with what could only be an Imperial stormtrooper. Through the smoke and billowing dust, she could see them coming to their feet, hands grabbing for weapons.

Rin reached to the small of her back, pulled out her stunstick. The snap of it clattering out to its full length came in counterpoint to the shattered pieces of wall settling against themselves, underlined by the quiet buzzing of the electrode at its tip.

“Walk away,” Rin said, “This isn’t worth your lives. Please.” Her voice was a command, clearer than a bell and loud enough to made her own ears hurt.

The men behind the wall looked at one another, then to the stormtrooper. Rin couldn’t see behind his helmet, but he could see the way his thoughts gathered about him, and she was ready when the man raised his weapon. She ducked, the blaster bolt coming close enough to her head that it burned a lock of her hair, and launched herself at him. Behind her, Resol’s troops raised their own weapons, the sharp reports of blasters tearing the air anew.

The first bolts went wide, of course they did. The dust hadn’t entirely settled, and there were too many targets, too many things moving too quickly. Rin strode forward, her legs swallowing the short distance between her and the knot of manor guards. Another shot and she spun, moving like a dancer, another bolt flying past with a finger’s width to spare, her pace never slowing. With a viper-quick motion, she grabbed the trooper’s weapon by the barrel and forced the barrel up, her ears assaulted by the noise of another blaster bolt. The trooper made a noise somewhere between a yelp and a gurgle, and Rin twisted at her hips, yanking the man off balance and throwing the weapon behind her with a clatter.

She brought the stunstick up in a hard, sharp jab at the joint in his armor between the breastplate and his helmet, meant to leave the man a quivering puddle on the ground. But the trooper had been well-trained, and he recovered quickly, sweeping his own arm down and deflecting the strike, the electrified tip of the stunstick skittering over his armor. In the skin of a second, the trooper pulled a short knife from his belt, and he punched it toward Rin’s side. Her feet still planted, she shoved hard at the trooper, felt him tip past his point of balance, and felt the hard, but blunt, impact of the trooper’s armored forearm rather than the knife. The man fell to the floor in a clatter of armor, and Rin took a step forward.

In that quiet fraction of a second, Rin could see that to either side, a pair of the other manor guards had fallen, shot by Resol’s troops. Another was apparently running, having thrown his weapon behind him; the gods alone knew where he thought he’d get to. The trooper, though, grunted, and started to shove himself to his feet. Rin kicked at the hand that held the knife, a movement bringing the power of her entire body along with it. She felt bones crunch at the blow, heard the knife go clinking away across the manor’s floor. This time, the stunstick found its mark, and Rin shoved it hard against the trooper’s neck, until she knew he wouldn’t be bothering anyone until long after they were gone.

Another blaster bolt, and one of the remaining manor guards collapsed in a heap, weapon spinning out of his hand. Rin was only a couple of meters away, and she saw the guard look at the pair of Mandalorian warriors, then at her, and swing his elaborately-engraved rifle toward her. One of Rin’s charges was reloading, and the second missed her shot, the bolt going wide of the last guard. He was too far to close the distance before he could pull the trigger, and too close to have any expectation that he could miss.

Rin’s arm moved with the kind of speed that seemed like it might produce its own thunderclap, a hard, fast overhead arc. A piece of a second later and the remaining manor guard screamed, his left arm going numb at the impact of Rin’s thrown stunstick, his shot hitting nothing but air. At the same moment, Rin yanked her own sidearm from its holster, brought it up in her free hand, and split the air with a final bolt.

Rin holstered her weapon, walked over to the man she had just killed. She swallowed, leaned down and picked up her stunstick, only now realizing how hard she was breathing, how her heart was pounding in her ears. She collapsed it, but didn’t return that to its holder, keeping her fingers wrapped around its familiar shape.

“You two,” Rin said, pointing at Resol’s troops, half-swallowing a breath, “Make sure the rest of the docks are clear. I don’t think there’s anyone out there, but we should check anyway. Be ready to get back on the boats once Resol gets here, the less time we’re near this place, the better we’ll be.”

Without waiting for acknowledgement, Rin brought her hand to her commlink, pressing the transmit button. “Docks secure,” she said, “And we made you a new exit, too, if you get lost. If-” Her voice trailed off.

There was something else coming. Something that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. With a start, Rin looked to the sky, her head twisting to the decoy attack.

“Fighters!” She yelled into the commlink, “Fighters incoming, coming from the east!” She swallowed, and made her way back toward the dock proper, “Resol, hurry it up, we’re about to have to deal with air support.”