-=Bridge of the Imperial I-class Star Destroyer Redemption; 44:3:21:21:12=-


“All engines, full reverse! Starboard batteries, open fire on the Anguish, and someone tell me why that kriffing transport is shooting at that Star Destroyer!” The booming voice of Fleet Admiral Kaz Falcion erupts from his command chair as he surveys the battle surrounding him. It had been nearly an hour since the first sign of enemy contacts, and the battle was slowly tilting in favor of the Rebel Squadrons, with enemy ships erupting into flames around the mammoth hull of the Redemption.

“Port shields collapsing, sir! I can’t keep them up!” The shield officer yells, frantically rerouting power and redistributing the shields over undamaged relays.

Kaz’s eyes turn toward the crew pit, watching crewmembers run from station to station, attempting to keep the Redemption fighting with all she’s got. His eyes fall on the shield control station, his eyes boring holes into the lieutenant there. “...They had better not fall.”

“SIR! The Dark Hand is coming about… She’s targeting her main guns!” The sensor officer screams, his eyes widening at his console display.

“Brace for impact!”

“I’ve go…” The shield officer is interrupted as consoles across the bridge spark, some erupting into small explosions and sending their operators flying across the bridge as the Redemption is hit by the primary deck guns of the opposing Star Destroyer. The Redemption lists heavily in space… before righting herself and returning fire along with a squadron of Y-wings swooping over the contour of her hull.

“Damage report!”

“Port shields are down, minor damage to secondary hull; repair teams are en route. Looks like the port shields came back up right before the impacts; that could have been much worse…” An officer Kaz couldn’t quite identify at the moment reports as he rights himself in his chair.

He turns back toward the shield officer, quirking an eyebrow.

“That’ll do pig. That’ll do.”



-=Primary hangar bay of the Imperial I-class Star Destroyer Redemption; 44:3:22:00:48=-


WHAM. The sound of a human body slamming against a bulkhead reverberates across the hangar, the few assorted techs servicing starships cringe, looking away from the scene near one of the Lambda-class shuttles that had been part of the convoy sent to resupply the strike force. A few glance over, watching as Commodore Michael Raven slams the commanding officer of the resupply fleet against the wall, both of his hands grasping the man’s uniform, a red tinge in his eyes as he screams with rage.

“What gave you the brilliant idea of ordering your ships IN FRONT of the task force?! What kind of MORON would do that… oh yeah… YOU!” He slams the officer against the bulkhead again.

“I… I… I thought it would be more prudent against a rear assau…”

He’s interrupted with another impact against the bulkhead. “SPACE, THREE DIMENTIONAL. I told you to intermix with the fleet so that you’d be covered by our guns. I swear if you pull something like this I’ll make sure you don’t make it home. Am I understood?”

“Ye… Yes sir.” The officer swallows a bit of bile growing in his throat.

Raven releases the officer, letting him fall the short distance to the floor. “Get the kriff out of my sight.”

As he scurries off, Raven starts looking around the hangar, surveying the aftermath of battle. He walks over toward a flotilla of technicians swarming a damaged Y-wing starfighter, its port engine nacelle being held on by a few wires and braces. He glances to his right, where a half squadron of X-wings lies broken and battered on the hangar floor, while other starfighters are being temporarily stored in their flight racks to await repairs. Shaking his head, he makes his way over toward the deck officer, a stout man, barking orders out to technicians that seem half his size.

“Have the commanding officers of the Echo Hawk, Warden, Steward, Crescent, Nova, or Starflare been found yet?”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry to say that the commanders of those vessels were killed when their ships went up.”

“Pity, though it saves me the trouble of doing it myself.”

“…Sir?”

“Any commander who takes a starship meant for picket duty and anti-starfighter operations up against mainline warships is a fool and doesn’t deserve to command a starship; let alone be responsible for the deaths of his crew.”

“…Sure, sir.”

Raven tosses the larger man a glare, but bites his tongue. His temper wouldn’t serve him well here, especially if intends to keep his fleet coherent.

“What of the other vessels?”

“Ahh… The Apollo is in tow while her engines are being repaired, she nearly lost it; her superstructure is partially warped so until we hit a drydock we’ll only be able to get her back to seventy five, eighty percent working order. The Titan lost her maneuvering fins and communications array… she’s currently communicating via blink code with her turbolasers. The Crimson Ghost took minor damage to her secondary hull, repair teams are welding armor from the drifting hulks to her hull. The Stinger lost life support on decks five and six, but she’s still combat ready and repair teams are working on restoring power. Damage control teams report that we lost power to deck six, sections twenty one alpha to thirty two beta; minor breaching on the ventral hull near the primary deck guns but its nothing to be concerned about. Ahh, we’re suffering power outages across the ship, mainly crew quarters and non-essential locations. Damage control teams are definitely on top of the ball, I believe Admiral Falcion had a word with them after the battle, they’ve been pulling voluntary double shifts; I have no idea why. Aside from that most of the reports have been of minor damage, shield burn-outs. All in all the majority of the fleet should be back on its feet within six hours or so, maybe less if we’re lucky.”

Raven twitches slightly, the first engagement of the strike force and six ships had been lost, not to mention the destruction of some of the convoy craft that they desperately needed. Although they had been hit with concentrated numbers of larger craft, Raven couldn’t help but wonder how this would reflect on his status as a commander. Every life lost, every ship destroyed, would likely be blamed on him.

“…Get me their commanders, I need to have a few… words… with them.” He grins, storming out of the hangar.

The deck officer shakes his head…

“That man needs a vacation…”



-=Bridge conference room of the Imperial I-class Star Destroyer Redemption; 44:3:22:05:52=-


The dull thrum of the holographic display in the center of the conference room reverberates across the room as one by one additional figures materialized on the table. Seated at opposite sides of the conference table, Fleet Admiral Kaz Falcion and Commodore Michael Raven impatiently await the conference to start, neither officer desiring to waste time here when there were more important things to be done. The forms of Fleet Commander Dave Trebonious-Astoris, Lieutenant General Heavy Pasiechnyk and Brigadier General David Vaughan materialize first. Dave glances between Kaz and Raven, quirking an eyebrow before speaking.

“Is this everyone?”

“No. Major Olith Hesto and Major General Phil DarkFire should be here shortly to assist in the debriefing. They were part of the recon forces sent out, and are two of the pilots who have reported back with things of note.” Raven replies harshly, glaring up at Dave from a datapad.

“I see…” Dave replies, wondering where the sudden hostility came from.

Moments later, two additional forms materialize on the holographic display; both of the officers that Raven had just mentioned appearing.

“Excellent. Everyone is here… Major Hesto; you have something to report?” Dave interrupts as Raven opens his mouth to speak. Dave was too accustomed to running things to wait for someone else to start the debriefing.

“Sirs…” Olith nods to the assorted officers, before continuing. “My flight plan was a tri-jump recon mission; the first two jumps garnered nothing special, a few stray objects of note. During the last leg of the mission, I was pulled out of hyperspace in the middle of a battle zone between two large forces consisting of Imperial vessels. Two Imperial Star Destroyers along with assorted support craft were commencing ship-to-ship bombardments, with their starfighters running CAP support. I was able to get a positive identification on all vessels, and close range focus scans on their interiors; I believe that data is being analyzed now. A few minutes into combat while I was running focus scans on one of the Star Destroyers, I received the distress call from the fleet. Once the interdictor was destroyed I quickly made my way out of the combat zone; though I did manage to take a few of their fighters out before hypering.”

He grins slightly, continuing to glance between the higher ranked officers.

“After hypering back to region two, I was joined by a flight element from the Archangel recon squadron, and we made our way back to region one to bypass a small nebula. By the time we bypassed it and made it back to the fleet, the battle was over; and we rejoined with our flight elements onboard the Redemption before being rerouted back to our assigned starships.”

“…Two Imperial fleets were attacking each other? Did you stumble on some sort of military drill?” Vaughan asks with a look of slight confusion on his face.

“No sir, it was most definitely live-fire, they were gunning for each other. I’m not really sure how to explain it…”

Olith pauses, as Major General Phil DarkFire speaks up.

“I can confirm his report, and I believe we might be dealing with two separate Imperial forces. I was part of the recon force to investigate the deep space energy readings that we were picking up. Upon arrival in the search zone, an Imperial platform was under siege by a second Imperial strike force. My CMD was able to pick up two distinct IFF codes, each unique to the two separate forces. I ran focus scans on all of the ships in the area along with all of the escaping shuttles and transports. Intel has all of the data and I believe they’re comparing my information with Major Olith’s.” The Major General speaks confidently, glancing between the assorted officers.

“Two separate Imperial forces?” Vaughan restates as his holographic image shifts slightly.

“It seems likely that two conflicting Imperial warlords are contesting this same area of space… Intelligence is still working on comparing the two battle recordings and HUD logs; we should have an answer soon. In the mean time, there is another issue that must be brought up.” Raven replies, manipulating the holographic controls while he slides a datacard in.

“This is Aphene.” He says, pausing as he collects his thoughts. “Initial scans on the planet indicated minor power readings across its northern and western continents; they were ignored at the time due to prioritization of threats. An A-wing from Archangel Squadron was dispatched to verify the status of the energy emissions and re-evaluate the planetary condition. It found this:”

He slides a second datacard into the display. Small red blips in the shape of orbital platforms sprinkle the atmosphere of the planet, other red blips designating garrisons appear on the northern and western continents.

“Analysis of the sensor data shows that the planet of Aphene is relatively undefended compared to the others in the sector; with the new data involving two separate Imperial forces it is most likely a newly captured planet. We are going to capitalize on this and hit this location with the entire strike force, likely it will forge open supply lines to ferry in new supplies so that we do not have to lose any more ships babysitting incompetent commanders who can not fly cargo craft from point A to point B without dying.” He pauses, noticing the stares from a few of the others at the minor outburst.

“Ahem…” He pauses again, to regain his composure. “After destroying or disabling the orbital platforms, we will initiate a complete planetary blockade over the garrisons to prevent a distress call from slipping out. Following precision orbital bombardments from the fleet, elements from the Redemption will land here… here… and here…” He says, indicating three of the largest garrisons on the planet. “These garrisons likely maintain the C3 nexus of the planet, taking them out would force either the swift surrender or complete annihilation of the Imperial forces on the planet. Questions?”

“How soon until you are ready to undertake this mission?” Dave asks with his gaze focused on the planetary display.

“Soon, repair crews nearly have the Warden patched enough that she would survive the trip through hyperspace, and the Titan’s communication array is nearly working. Once those two tasks are complete and salvage crews are done with the rest of the wreckage, we will need to await a minor resupply, due to the losses incurred in the ambush, before we depart.”

Dave pauses, his gaze turning from the holographic display to Raven. “Major, Major General, thank you for your reports, you are dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.” Both reply in tandem, their holographic images dissipating.

“Exactly what did we lose when the strike force was ambushed?” Dave asks, having been told of the battle and some of the damage; a full assessment had never reached his eyes.

Kaz grins, glancing over toward Raven. “Go on; tell him what YOU got blown up.”

Raven’s head visibly twitches to the side. “…The Corvettes Apollo, Crescent, and Steward were lost, along with most of the crew; the survivors are being treated on the Resurrection II. Gunships Nova and Starflare were both lost, destroyed by the two attacking Imperial Star Destroyers, and the Echo Hawk is a loss, she broke apart after a torpedo attack on her ‘neck’."

Dave's face remained impassive as he heard the news, but Raven could tell from the tightening of skin around his eyes that he was not pleased. He stared at Raven, letting the silence extend for a few seconds longer than what was comfortable. Then he sighed. "Losses are to be expected in war in unfamiliar territory, but we need to try to minimize them or your operation in Subterrel will cease to be viable. In the future, I want you to spread the pickets further apart from each other so that they do not all fall victim to the same attack."

“…Respectfully, sir, shut the kriff up. I had to redistribute the entire fleet since the transports sat in front of the fleet instead of following orders. Mid-battle? There is no way I can micromanage the command of each vessel, maybe if you appointed competent commanders to run them, they would not have been lost!”

Dave muttered something under his breath. "Let me make this clear to you, just in case it is not already. You, sir, are in command of the Subterrel Strike Force. Fire or promote whomever you see fit. I do not want to hear anything more about competent commanders, since their careers depend on your good will. Do whatever you see necessary to cut down on these issues in the future."

“Let me make something very clear to you, I am doing the best job I can to assure this strike force stays together and we get back with as many people as possible with reducing our losses as much as possible. I do not want to hear your kriffing preaching, lectures, or advice that undermines the job that I am doing. I was unaware that the previous commanders of these vessels were utter morons, and they will be replaced. We are going to appoint members of the Righteous Indignation Division directly to the command positions of the remainder of the starships in the fleet except for the Redemption. They are the best commanders we have, and have trained for these situations before.” Raven replies pointedly.

"Fine," Dave shot back. "Do whatever you see fit. Greeop out." His rage uncharacteristically palpable, Dave’s holographic form dissipates from the conference room.

“…Right, I, uh, think I have some reports to work on. Logistics out!” Vaughan speaks into the silence quickly, and before a reply can be made; his holographic form also dissipates.

Kaz sighs, shaking his head while standing up. “Must be that time of the month for the both of you.”

Raven’s head turns toward Kaz, his glare unseen as Kaz turns and walks from the briefing room, leaving Raven there alone. He slams his fist into the conference table in frustration before looking back toward his datapads to get back to work.



-=Bridge of the Imperial I-class Star Destroyer Redemption 44:3:26:13:37=-


“…And once Dragon Squadron makes it back here with the convoy, we’ll quickly disperse the supplies to the fleet and begin the assault. The fleet is already in formation to hit multiple platforms at the same time to catch them off guard; but you are going to need to assure our hyperspace jumps are coordinated.” Raven says to the Redemption’s communications officer; a young female from Coruscant whom he could not name. “The timing needs to be precise, so get to work coordinating with the other starships; I expect full readiness within the hour.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll take care of it.” She says with a slight twinge of worry in her voice, knowing that failure was most assuredly not an option.

“Good.” Raven says, offering no comforting words even though he could tell she was nervous.

“Sir!” The sensor officer’s familiar voice resonates across the nearly still bridge of the Redemption, causing Kaz to swivel in his command chair toward the man in the bridge pit.

“…I hope this is important enough for you to have interrupted me while I was busy…” Kaz says while slowly sharpening a knife in his hands, skillfully bringing the blade to a fine razor sharp edge.

The sensor officer’s eyes widen slightly. ‘The hell is he doing with that?’ He thinks to himself for a moment while regaining his composure. “COMSCAN shows the convoy and Dragon Squadron are about a half hour out.”

“…Ah, good, so I won’t be sitting on my ass bored for much longer.”

“Correct, sir.”

“…I wasn’t asking you. Get back to watching the blips and telling me what they mean before I test how sharp I’m making this knife on your throat.”

The sensor officer swallows a bit of bile creeping up his throat before nodding rapidly. “Yes, sir!” He turns back toward his console, keeping track of the incoming ‘friendly’ blips on his screen.

Kaz turns back to his normal position, gazing out of the prow viewport as he continues to sharpen the knife. “I do so enjoy being king.”



-=Bridge of the Imperial I-class Star Destroyer Redemption 44:3:26:17:49=-


“Hyperspace reversion in three… two… one…” The Redemption shudders slightly as it emerges from the chaotic blue-white void of hyperspace, its spear-shaped form aligned precisely with a distant XQ1 orbital platform. Like a fine-tuned machine, turbolaser and ion cannon fire from the Redemption’s main batteries illuminates the dead blackness of space between the station and the Star Destroyer, slamming against unshielded hull. Armor plating nearly instantly vaporizes across the platform as the Redemption’s main guns unleash a blistering barrage of firepower into it. An explosion sends shards of superheated debris in all directions as one of the docking platforms is shorn clear off the station, plummeting toward the surface of the planet.

“All batteries, target their primary reactor core, fire at will!” Kaz commands of his gunnery officer as he watches the station quickly being shorn apart in front of his starship. His steely silver eyes flash with the illumination of his vessel’s green turbolasers lancing through space, adorning his face with a sort of demonic fire. The unorganized fire splashing against the station’s hull quickly becomes more coherent, lines of green turbolaser fire concentrating on the ventral ‘bulb’ of the station with increasing intensity.

“Target structural integrity is weakening, reading power fluctuations all across the station. They’re trying to reroute power to weapons and shields.” The sensor officer reports while feeding the data to the gunnery stations across the ship.

Kaz nods slightly, not necessarily caring, while at the same time not feeling the need to lash out in rage; that was most assuredly a nod-worthy occasion. He glances over toward Raven, whom was screaming into a communicator, grinning slightly. ‘I wonder who’s pissed him off now. He really takes this too seriously.’ Kaz thinks to himself, before looking forward again to survey the battle.

The rapping of footsteps against durasteel suddenly drowns out all other activity on the bridge as General Sair Mandella, executive officer of the Redemption, strides down the walkway bisecting the crew pit area. A brown hat with a wide brim and ‘u’ shaped indentation adorns his head instead of the usual officer’s cap, though the rest of his uniform is well kept. “HA HA! I'LL KRIFF YOU UP, KRIFFERS!” He screams at the top of his lungs, his eyes widening as he glares down at the assorted officers attempting to perform their duties.

He steps down into the crew pit, nearly hurling the gunnery officer out of his chair. “Stop. Just Stop. Get out.” He commands, taking the now empty seat for himself.

He grabs the gunnery officer’s headset, attempting to place it on his head before realizing his hat was in the way. Unwilling to remove it from his head, he wraps the headset around the back of his neck, placing the earpieces over his ears and adjusting the microphone to wrap around the side of his head.

“This is General Sair Mandella to all stations. Yes, I am in command now, and you all know what is going to happen if you fail. Disable that station. Now, kriffers.”

The stream of turbolaser fire emanating from the Redemption’s batteries erupts into a torrential downpour of green energy. The sheer power being expunged by the weapons causes the sensor officers on other starships of the Subterrel strike force to merely gape mindlessly at their consoles for seconds on end. Less than a minute passes before an explosion rips along the ventral hull of the XQ1 platform, the station’s lights flickering off. Secondary explosions rip across certain parts of the station before the entire bulk of the station begins slowly listing to the side, its orbit decaying.

“Sir, the station’s primary reactor is offline, secondary systems destroyed; she’s adrift and venting oxygen into space.” The sensor officer relays, blinking his eyes slightly to rid his vision of the streaks of light that continue to pour forth from the Redemption.

“Very well, cease fire; bring us into a high orbit. Lock tractor beams, I want every Imperial on that station dead, every scrap of usable material extracted.” Kaz grins slightly, watching the station list further before being suspended in place by the powerful invisible grip of the Star Destroyer’s Phylon I tractor beams. As the tractor beams hold the station in place the torrent of fire from the Redemption ceases; the destroyer continuing on its course toward a high orbit over the planet.

Sair allows a smirk of his own to cross his face, leaning back in the gunnery officer’s chair, propping his feet up on the console. “Another hard day’s work done.” He says, more to himself than anyone else, folding his arms behind his head and tipping his hat forward slightly, almost as if he were going to take a nap.

“Sir! Reports coming in from the fleet.” The sensor officer raises his voice again to be heard over the normal commotion of the bridge. “The XQ1 off our prow is holding steady at sixty-three percent hull integrity, our gunners did exceptionally well in preserving the majority of the station for salvage. The Resurrection II reports her target is adrift, with its hull integrity slowly degrading. The station’s hull is at forty percent and falling; it has lost life support and external bulkheads are beginning to disintegrate, salvage teams are already en route. The Titan and her escorts are still in combat with their target, sensors show that it was able to activate shields before they were able to disrupt main power. There were only a few ATR-6s and DX-9s idling in orbit aside from the platforms; all have been either destroyed or disabled. All communications channels are being jammed, and the fleet is entering high orbit.”

Kaz nods slightly, standing up and walking toward the prow viewport at the small gem of a planet in front of his vessel.

“Excellent… Prepare for orbital bombardment.”



-=Command center of the Imperial Garrison Hammerpoint 44:3:28:14:16=-


“I think they’ve stopped…” Slowly, Lieutenant Mary Coombs crawls from under the console she had taken refuge under once the bombardment started. She slowly glances around the ruined command center, at some of the other uniformed Imperials crawling out from under the wreckage. A console she had just repaired to her right explodes into a shower of sparks from new damage sustained. She cringes, reeling back and raising her arms to shield her eyes, her tattered uniform falling from her wrists down to her elbows.

“You all know the drill. Damage report!” The yell was from Colonel Lars Ulric, who had just managed to pull himself out from under a collapsed bulkhead.

“Communications are still down, sensors running at twelve percent… damn… eight percent. Main power offline, that last barrage took out the reactor, we’re running off emergency generators now. Their last bombardment also decimated the eastern hangar, the western hangar is still heavily damaged, and we’re working on repairing a few of the shuttles.” The Lieutenant says, looking over a datapad in her hand with a slightly cracked display, the only operational one in the garrison.

“Dispatch all available technicians to the western hangar. I want a shuttle online twenty minutes ago.” The colonel says while he steps over the wreckage, kneeling next to a bloody smear compressed below a support beam. “Kriff, Polik is dead.” The garrison’s medical officer, a human male named Robert Polik was the last surviving member of the medical team. The rest of his staff and the medical bay itself had been decimated in the Republic’s opening turbolaser bombardments. Another console erupts into sparks along the side of the garrison’s command center; a dull thrumming noise starts to fill the air.

“Everyone out! I lost the power regulator! GET OUT NOW!” A technician suddenly scurries out from behind the damaged console, making a sprint for the blown-open blast door that was now serving as the entrance to the command center. Coombs’ heart leaps into her throat as she quickly gathers a few instruments from her console, pushing a damaged bulkhead aside and making a run for the door. The colonel is hot on her heels, the two of them bounding down the hallway past sparking glowpanels; their boots crushing shattered transparasteel underfoot. They quickly whip around a corner, leaping over a small barricade of dead stormtroopers, skirting past the scene of a ruptured power conduit from the bombardment the day before. A loud explosion causes the two of them to go deaf nearly instantly as both of them are thrown to the floor; skidding across durasteel plating littered with shards of transparasteel and metal. Coombs feels a wave of heat pass over her body as the command center detonates in a blaze of fire. After a few moments, realizing that she’s still alive, she slowly feels around for where she is before opening her eyes. Her hands run over her tattered uniform, slowly examining herself.

“…I think I’m still in one piece, nothing broken… Colonel? COLONEL?!” She yells, her hearing slowly returning as she glances around to survey the carnage caused by the explosion. “Oh… Oh no…” She says quietly to herself as she spots the colonel another five meters up the hall, his head impaled through by a wayward peel of durasteel jutting out of the wall. She slowly makes her way over toward him, her arms bloodied and cut from the shards on the floor. She closes her eyes momentarily and lets out a long breath to compose herself before she runs her hands along the Colonel’s body, pulling a few items out of his pockets and uniform pants. She pockets his communicator and rank cylinders, before finding a ration pack in his vest pocket. Feeling bile rise in her throat, she suppresses her urge to expunge her stomach contents onto the floor. She breathes in deeply for a moment, fighting back the feeling so that she could satiate the hunger from not eating in two days. She sits down next to the cadaver, opening the pack and fishing the contents out with two fingers on her other hand, quickly devouring it. She stands up, letting the empty ration pack fall onto the colonel’s chest before climbing over the durasteel rod he had just been killed by; making her way toward the exit to the command center.

After minutes of maneuvering through the maze of crushed durasteel and blocked passageways; she emerges from the command center. She squints her eyes, raising her right hand to her brow to try to block the sun from shining into her eyes. She blinks, taken aback by the destruction laden before her. Craters caused by the ongoing Republic orbital bombardment predominantly mar the once clean base. She turns her head to the side, the smoking remains of the communications center still smoldering from the opening barrage from the forces in orbit, the communications dish itself lies broken and burning on the ground next to the wrecked building. Fighting back the recurring urge to vomit she quickly jogs across the cratered terrain toward the western hangar, knowing the last of the garrison’s personnel have established refuge there. She passes the barracks, the entire structure collapsed in on itself before her, some parts of the structure burning slowly. She nearly gags as a growing perimeter of blood seeps out of debris from the thousands of soldiers killed within the blink of an eye.

“The… My… Urgph…” She stumbles and falls to her hands and knees, unable to swallow back the bile in her throat as she hurls the small meal she had just eaten onto the scarred-black durasteel plating underfoot. She coughs a few times, spitting blood and bile onto the ground, before slowly standing and resuming her course toward the hangar.

A dull whine fills her ears as she continues to walk, the hangar in sight now. She visibly cringes, a full third of the hangar caved-in, the remainder had been bombarded time and time again; holes larger than her body blown open out of the reinforced durasteel. She spots bloodied and battered officers and enlisted men slowly walking about, working feverishly to salvage parts from dozens of destroyed TIES and shuttles to repair the few that they thought would be restored to working order. A technician spots her, raising his hand and waving toward her, urging her on. She allows a smile to cross her face, breathing deeply as she realizes that she would be safe soon. The whining in her ears continues to intensify as she walks forward, and she raises her hand to her eyes again to search for the source of the noise. Her body freezes as a trio of Y-wings suddenly burst from behind the hangar, small spherical objects dropping from open ventral bomb bays. As she stands there, the hangar erupts into a massive fireball, and as she watches the rolling flames approach her body, she does the only thing she could do…

She screams.



-=Bridge of the Imperial I-class Star Destroyer Redemption 44:3:31:04:32=-


“All enemy resistance has been crushed, sir. Base construction is underway, and we are currently securing strategic locations.” The communications officer on the Redemption emotionlessly reports to Commodore Michael Raven as he steps onto the bridge to start a fresh shift.

“Excellent, order the fleet to disperse into a holding pattern over the planet; have any communications been intercepted from the surface?” He says, stepping over toward the prow viewport to observe the fleet’s movements.

“No sir, nothing, things have been quie… Wait… I’ve got something; I’m picking up a low frequency carrier wave…” The communication’s officer begins working at his console, his eyes darting from display to display. “It’s a distress call sir; I’m trying to intercept it…”

Raven’s head turns around slowly toward him. “…You had better stop that transmission…”

“I’m trying sir! Kriff! Another one! A third one! I can’t intercept all of them, they’re bouncing the carrier wave off multiple transmitters, and there must be a few pockets of Imperials still on the surface.” He says, feverishly working to block each outgoing communication, but every time he isolates one, two more pop up.

“Very well…” He activates his communicator, toggling it through the Redemption’s communications array to the entire fleet.

“This is the Redemption; an Imperial distress call has been received by enemy forces in the immediate area. All ships go to red alert and prepare for combat.” He says with a powerful, commanding voice before stopping in front of the viewport, switching his communicator to the Redemption’s intercom system.

“All hands… Battle stations.”


(This is where the narrative ends, and VSG/RID/CD103 begins. Good luck pilots, commandos and tacticians... Make us proud)