-=Personal Quarters of the Admiral, Imperial I-class Star Destroyer Redemption, high orbit over Azemin, Azemin system, 44:6:11:16:12=-


Admiral Raven, leader of the Subterrel Strike Force, sat at his desk brooding. His quarters were locked, and he had issued very specific orders not to be interrupted unless a conflict-red situation occurred. General Max Cal, the Redemption's new commander, could look after the situation for the time being. Raven had work to do.

It was four days since the resupply convoy from the Greeop Sector had been ambushed just beyond the Subterrel Sector border. That the ambush had taken place despite Raven's precautions still rankled him. The enemy commanders had some wits about them, which he was forced to grudgingly concede.

The planning had been flawless, insofar as the Rogue Imperial fleet — the distracted and disrupted, but still the most sizable and dangerous adversary in the region — had no notion of the convoy run, and did not move to engage them. But the Loyalists . . . ah, the Loyalists, of whom Raven was 'entertaining' thirty-odd as 'guests' on the Redemption . . . well, they had managed to evade long-range scans, and reappeared on the combat scene, attempting to divert the convoy for their own needs.

It was an act of desperation, and showed just how dire the Loyalists' position was in this campaign. The Star Destroyer Honour had been driven off, losing two Interdictors in the process. A costly loss even at the best of times. Which the Loyalists were clearly not. As far as Intel could determine, the Loyalists were all but defeated in the region, as long as they were not permitted to secure supplies from either the Republic Shield or Rogue Imperial holdings.

Despite the ambush, the pilots of the Vigilance Starfighter Group had proven themselves once again. The gutsy pilots of Ragnarok Squadron, led by the VSG CO General Lommax himself, had been the aces of the day, running the blockade with the transport vessels they managed to fly like snubfighters somehow through the two interdiction zones, and back to the protection of the strike force with a minimum of losses.

Their escorts, Dagger Squadron led by their acting commander, Captain Draw, had performed admirably, too, defending the slower convoy vessels who were unable to run the blockade, despite flying bombers in an escort role. Draw's pilots had held off the capture craft long enough for reinforcements to arrive. They were to be commended, too, as Raven was a man to reward competence and initiative as much as he punished those who demonstrated a lack of either.

Commander Redron's Dragons had helped save the day, as well as the crew of the Ad Astra; the reinforcements supporting the Daggers in their defence of the slower convoy vessels. However, the strike force's collection of B-wings had been beaten up fairly badly, and there were only about one squadron's worth that would be ready for battle anytime soon.

The Admiral frowned as he sat back in his chair. He was waiting for a communication from General Vaughan in the Greeop Sector, who should have reported in hours ago. Raven was not the most patient man at the best of times, and the information Vaughan was meant to have retrieved was of particular interest to him.

For Vaughan's sake, the Logistics Officer had better have a good reason for causing him delay.

Raven checked his holoprojector expectantly, in the irrational hope that Vaughan would hurry up and contact him while he was thinking about him. That kind of thing did tend to happen from time to time.

But no, there would be no such coincidence this time. The Admiral cracked his knuckles and brought up reports on the Redemption's repairs once more to pass the time. The ship was still not fully repaired from the major victory at Pyaimm. Current estimates put the Star Destroyer back at one hundred percent in twelve days time. Earlier in the campaign the repairs would have been much quicker, but the loss of the Selaris shipyards was making its presence felt quite potently.

In hindsight he was only slightly regretful that he'd had that demolitions' woman from Zealot wire the Selaris orbital facilities to blow to hell and back in case of Imperial occupation . . . but that feeling faded when he reminded himself that destroying the shipyards was better than letting the enemy take control of it.

Another report, one he refused to review a second time until he had taken care of the current business, sat in the queue like a festering wound. The entire ground strike team sent to the Imperial fortress world in the Marak system had been killed, their mission outcome a complete failure. The only consolation was that as far as could be determined, the enemy had not captured any of Raven's operatives, so he didn't have to worry about information about the strike force's plans and status being provided to the Rogues via interrogation.

And although he didn't like to admit it, the loss of Sergeant Rates — a competent ground pounder, despite his failure and death at Marak IV — and his team bothered him slightly. These were competent men, ordered into a difficult situation by Raven, who had died. Sending people to their deaths was not something new to Raven, nor to any experienced commander, but it wasn't something he particularly enjoyed doing.

His holoprojector suddenly beeped, indicating an incoming call and drawing him back from his current train of thought. He quickly accepted it, provided the authorisation codes, and noted with mild interest that it was originating from the Star Destroyer Prometheus, not the Lambda shuttle Mediator as he was expecting.

The blue-hued representation of the bearded Logistics Officer flickered into existence above his desk.

Raven stared at the image of General Vaughan sternly without speaking, waiting for the subordinate to explain his lateness before tearing him a new one.

"Please accept my sincerest apologies, Admiral." Vaughan began, inclining his head respectfully, "There was an incident with the medical frigate Vespia that required my immediate attention."

"I see." Raven growled, "What kind of incident?"

Vaughan's shoulders seemed to slump slightly and his expression darkened. "A militant attack. Another one, I mean. They're happening all the time now. The Vespia was sabotaged, then bombed into oblivion by a bunch of cowardly frakking motherkriffers." It was the first time Raven could remember having seen Vaughan so fired up, and his expression soured at the news. "Uh, I mean 'militants'." Vaughan added as an afterthought.

Raven frowned at his desk, which Vaughan probably thought was directed at him. It sounded like the situation on the home front was worsening daily. Just what the hell was Dave doing to let everything fall to pieces like this?

"Alright, fine. I won't tear you to shreds today." Raven sat back in his chair, to get to the matter at hand, and pretended to ask casually: "How was your trip?"

Immediately after introducing Vaughan to the Imperial captive Brigadier General William Vaughn, he'd sent the Logistics Officer on a trip back to his homeworld of Dicacia in the Mid Rim to do some genealogical research to see if he could turn up any interesting information about the Imperial general for possible use in leverage or coercion. The hope was that Vaughan might have been related to the Imperial officer, and that he would be able to discover information about the captives family, friends and so forth on the quiet.

"It was nice to be home, actually, but the weather wasn't to my liking. Didn't really get much of a chance to catch up with the family, either."

Damn, Raven thought. That was the agreed code phrase for a complete failure: Vaughan had not been able to uncover any information on the captive Imperial who shared his name. It was a longshot, but Raven was hopeful for any information he could use to give him more of an edge in the cat and mouse games he had been playing with the Imperial officer for the past month.

So far the efforts had yielded some very valuable intel — such as the vulnerable Rogue supply line running past Hexos which Raven had successfully hit and wiped out — but he could tell the wily old General was keeping some secrets close to the chest for now, and Raven was determined to get to the bottom of them.

Pretending that the discussion up until now had merely been introductions, rather than the main point of the communiqué, Raven pretended to get down to business. "Anyway, enough of that. You'll be unhappy to know the convoy was ambushed en route."

Vaughan's expressed changed into a combination of shock and anger. "What? How?!"

Raven shrugged, frowning again at the bitterness of the event. "Apparently our friends the Loyalists weren't quite done with the war here. Don't worry, though, our pilots kicked their asses, and I don't think we'll be seeing them again any time soon."

Vaughan nodded, still frowning. "Still, the fact that they managed to ambush at all—"

"The situation was unfortunate, but will not happen again. I underestimated the depths of desperation of the Loyalists." Raven's eyes hardened as he interrupted. "I will not let it happen again."

Vaughan inclined his head to placate him. "As you say, Admiral. I trust enough of the supplies made it through intact?"

"They did. Thank you again for sending the convoy through on such short notice."

"My pleasure. Anything we can do to expediate your victory in the Subterrel."

There was something there, hinted in Vaughan's tone. "Tell me straight, is everything going to hell as much as it sounds over there?"

Vaughan hesitated momentarily. "Well . . . yes. The return of Josh's forces helped immensely — I really can't understate how much the Patriot pilots and the Chains of Justice have helped us — but I think in order to flush all militants from the region we're going to need more pilots, more starfighters. Capital ships aren't much use in the fight we've got going here. The damned cowards scurry away when cornered by a warship, and they're nimble enough that the only truly effective method of eliminating them is with smaller craft."

It sounded like Dave really did have his hands full. Maybe the old man wasn't just incompetent after all.

"We'll see what we can do. But remember: we do have a war to fight. It takes time, and I can't make any promises."

Vaughan raised his eyebrows and smiled, the first time in the conversation. "Oh no, you just asked, is all. By the way," Vaughan looked more seriously for a moment. "Who do you have commanding the Redemption now that Jester's retired?"

Raven paused for a moment before answering, wondering if it mattered much if anyone were to intercept this information. He decided it didn't matter too much. "I've appointed General Cal to oversee the Redemption."

Vaughan looked thoughtful, and nodded. "Fair enough; he's had enough experience here on the Prometheus, so I guess that makes sense."

"That was my assessment, too. I'm pleased to have your approval," Raven commented dryly.

Vaughan barked a laugh briefly. "Sorry, just thinking aloud. At any rate, I'm sure you have things to do . . ."

"Correct. Thank you for the update. Azemin out."

Vaughan bowed in farewell before Raven cut the transmission.

Sitting back slowly in his chair, Raven rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Now that he knew where some pieces of the puzzle had fallen, it was time to plan his next moves toward victory in the Subterrel Sector.



-=Aft Cargo Hold, Imperial I-class Star Destroyer Redemption, high orbit over Azemin, Azemin system, 44:6:14:21:20=-


The aft cargo hold of the Star Destroyer Redemption had been extensively modified. A large area was cleared, and a number of rooms build into the side of them. The largest room was the makeshift quarters of the ranking Imperial prisoner of war currently housed on Admiral Raven's flagship.

Brigadier General William Vaughn, service number ILO-1056, sat in the comfortable chair behind his desk and contemplated his situation. One month ago he had agreed to co-operate with the Rebel Admiral, for the cessation of torture and interrogation against the thirty-five Loyalist Imperial officers and enlisted personnel currently being held by the Rebels onboard the Star Destroyer Redemption.

Surprisingly, the Rebel Admiral Raven had been true to his word, and had relocated all the Imperial POWs into the converted cargo hold, which was now used as a kind of makeshift barracks. Rank and decorum were maintained: the General had the largest quarters, with a door that locked, and en suite 'fresher. His second in command had suitably smaller quarters, and it progressed down to the lower ranks, who had communal quarters and 'fresher facilities.

And since making the deal with Raven, the only Imperial in Vaughn's camp who had been questioned was himself, and very delicately and civilly at that. He did not know what Admiral Foltz, Vaughn's commanding officer would think of the situation if he knew, and that bothered him somewhat. Was he a traitor for working with the enemy, even if it was to the destruction of another enemy?

Such thoughts occupied much of his time nowadays. Maintaining discipline among his personnel was not terribly difficult, as many were relieved just not to be in isolated internment, or being interrogated any further. But the boredom was an enemy to be fought constantly, and for many of them it was a constant battle not to let the days of imprisonment wear them down.

It was not that they were being mistreated at all, merely that they continued to be at the mercy of the illegitimate Rebellion, when they should have been out on the front lines fighting against the very Rebels who held them captive. Even fighting against the Traitors, the hostile Imperial faction who had forsaken the New Order for their own chance to carve a miniature, illegitimate empire in the Outer Rim, would be much more rewarding than sitting about lethargically with no notion of what their futures would be. The Rebels' mercy would only last so long, they were sure.

The clicking of boots at his doorway brought the General's attention back to the here and now, and he smiled at the sight of Lieutenant Mary Coombs standing to attention, saluting.

The General stood and returned the salute, before inviting the young blonde woman in.

"Welcome back, lieutenant. At ease." Vaughn returned to his sitting position and allowed his second in command to speak standing. "Report."

"Thank-you, sir." the uniformed woman relaxed slightly before him. She appeared lightyears improved upon the first time he had laid eyes on her, when the Rebel Admiral Raven had shown Vaughn a hologram of her battered body, broken and bloody, her blonde hair stained through with red. She was a gibbering mess then, and over the past month had improved drastically since being taken out of the Rebels' harsh interrogation sessions.

"I have conducted my sweep of all personnel, and I regret to inform you that I was unable to collect any more information."

Vaughn sighed, and squeezed the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Thank-you, lieutenant." Abruptly he stared directly into her grey eyes. "What is your assessment of that?"

The lieutenant was taken slightly aback. General Vaughn asked her for analysis much more than her former CO, the late Colonel Ulric on Aphene did. "My assessment . . . is that some people probably know more that they are unwilling to share."

The middle-aged general nodded slowly. "I agree with that assessment. Why do you think that is, lieutenant?"

Mary's mouth worked, as she wondered if she should speak truthfully or not. "Probably, sir, it's because they don't feel we should be helping these kriffing rodders!" She realised her anger had gone beyond that which was befitting her station. "Sorry, sir, please excuse my rudeness."

Vaughn was surprised at her outburst, but understood why. He stifled a smile. "I understand completely, lieutenant, I really do. I don't want to be here any more than you or any of our comrades want to. But here we are, and the only way we're going to make it through this to fight another day is to co-operate. Or at least give the illusion of it."

"Sorry, sir, you do not have to explain yourself to me. I was out of line."

Vaughn waved off her apology. "These are extreme circumstances, lieutenant, so you don't have to apologise." He looked up at her sternly for a moment. "Do try to maintain your composure, though, we can't let our enemies know they can get to us."

"Understood, sir."

"Good." The General ran a hand through his greying, balding hair, and his green eyes gleamed up at Mary. "Please sound assembly. I must impress upon our people that we must trade smaller secrets about the Traitors to the Rebels. We have to buy ourselves more time."

Coombs looked at him quizzically. "Time for what, sir?"

The General stared off into the distance and seemed weighed down by something heavy. "Until the time is right to trade off the last piece of important intel we have. I need to stall for time, or else it will all be for naught. We must find more low-level information to trade to our good friend the Admiral, otherwise he might decide that our tongues might be loosened by less ideal accommodations . . ."

Not wanting to return to an interrogation cell again, Lieutenant Coombs blanched.

"I understand sir. I will sound assembly at once."

"Excellent. You are dismissed."

After exchanging salutes, his second in command marched professionally from the room.

Now alone again, the General sagged under the weight of responsibility Raven had purposely given him. It was a tricky balancing act, trading information on the Traitors to the Rebel Admiral. He had to provide enough information to keep them out of interrogation, but not at too quickly a rate that they ran out. And Vaughn had a certain piece of information that he just knew Admiral Raven would love for him to share.

But he would have to wait for the opportune moment to share it, which meant he needed more trivial information on the Traitors to trade to stall it.

Getting to his feet, Brigadier General William Vaughn ignored the weight he could feel gathered around his shoulders and stood proudly. He was the ranking officer of the Imperial Armed Forces on this ship. It was time to address his men and remind them of that.



-=Primary conference room, Imperial I-class Star Destroyer Redemption, high orbit over Azemin, Azemin system, 44:6:15:20:38=-


Major Sarriah James shifted uncomfortably inside the massive conference room of the Star Destroyer Redemption. The petite redhead was completely out of her comfort zone: she was facing the Admiral in charge of the strike force alone, by herself with him on his own flagship, in an Imperially-scaled room that could easily seat thirty . . . and what was worse of all, she was in charge of Zealot Unit.

Of the half dozen survivors of the special operations unit lost at Aphene, she was the only member of Commodore Qel-Droma's command staff who escaped that hell hole. She had no idea how the rest of the Zealots were coping, or even if they were still alive. Damn you Cody, she thought to herself, full of self-pity, and not for the first time this week. I never wanted to be your second officer, and now I've been battlefield-promoted to commanding officer. Look what you've done!

She couldn't bring herself to hate him, though, as her former commander was quite likely dead or in Imperial captivity. Not that she allowed herself to let her thoughts of the missing in action Zealots' fates to run through her mind. She was upset enough with being in charge of the Zealot survivors, without going down that hypothetical path of guilt and sorrow.

Admiral Raven had summoned her to his flagship, which was ominous and irritating enough in itself. That she'd sent him a rather blunt message regarding the treatment of one of her operatives only a few days before that . . . well, she wasn't expecting this to be pretty.

The automated doors hissed open with the frightening speed of Imperial hydraulics. And suddenly Raven was there.

He was a forbidding sight, and armed to the teeth, she noted . . . unusual for an admiral, especially one based on a near-impenetrable fortress of doom like the Redemption. Star Destroyers weren't seen as indomitable harbingers of death for nothing.

Despite being at her wit's end and angry at being summoned like some trivial underling, Sarriah decided to play it civil for now.

"Admiral," she began politely, but without saluting. "Major James reporting as ordered."

Raven, for his part, strode in slowly and looked her over without a word. If he noticed the sarcasm in her voice, he didn't let on.

The silence was heavy, but after a few tense moments the Admiral broken the silence.

"Thank-you for coming, Major. We have much to discuss."

It was about Lucas Stark, she knew it. Ironman's escapades on the Unforgiven were not going to be tolerated by the stern leader of the strike force. Well, she was ready to fight nail, tooth and claw for her people, no matter how intimidating this admiral might be.

"I'm not one for pleasantries or wasting time, so I'll get right down to it."

Here it comes, Sarriah thought, her petite form bracing the verbal impact to come, preparing her verbal counterattack.

"We have received vaguely reliable data that seems to indicate that some of the remaining Zealots missing in action may still be alive."

What? she thought, confused that the conversation was not going as she expected. She felt offbalanced, as though she'd thrown a punch at someone . . . only to hit air.

Ignoring her confused look, Raven kept speaking. "We received a transmission several days ago indicating their possible destination, but it's taken this long to determine a twenty-six percent chance of it being authentic. Put simply, that's not much to go on, but it just so happens their possible destination is a target that fits my current operational parameters."

The imposing admiral handed the tiny major a datacard. She looked at it, then back at him.

"That's the destination we're going to be hitting," he explained. "The Maxite belt, an extensive asteroid field in the Oxion system. We believe it to be the site of a heavily fortified Imperial installation. Our people are probably in there somewhere. So we're going in and blowing everything to hell. Your job will be to get what's left of Zealot together and assist with the space battle."

The major looked at him incredulously. "More suicide missions? My team's in tatters; barely a fraction of us made it out of enemy lines, and now you want us to run headlong into another battle? Do you honestly expect us to throw ourselves into a full-fledged battle --- in an asteroid field no less? How stupid do you think we are?"

Raven grunted and shrugged slightly. "I don't care. You're Zealot now, you figure out how to motivate your people. Understand, this mission is going ahead, and some of your people may yet be alive. You will participate in this operation."

His tone brokered no argument, which made Sarriah want to snap back all the more.

"So, we're going to have some kind of backup this time, instead of being left for dead?" Sarriah bit out acidly, the bitterness of the debacle at Aphene rising up within her like a raging Wookiee.

For his part, Raven didn't even acknowledge the emotion of her reaction. "In a sense. I'm sending a sizable force in to blow everything to hell. If your people are good enough, they should make it through that."

Another risky, suicidal mission. The Zealots were going to be thrilled . . .

Sarriah closed her eyes. She wasn't sure what was going to be the most insurmountable part of the operation: undertaking it, or getting all the uninjured Zealots to actually agree to go on the mission in the first place. Tempers had been running high among the unit, and morale running at an all-record low after being abandoned on Aphene.

"That's all I have for now. Best of luck, major." Raven's stare bored into her forbiddingly. "You're going to need it."

"Yeah, right." she mumbled as she stalked out of the room, all pretence at decorum and military propriety abandoned at what she'd been asked — well, no, ordered — to do.

"Oh, one last thing." the Admiral's voice pulled her up sharp, despite her momentum toward the door.

The redhead turned to pierce the Admiral with a look that needed no translation.

"I don't give a kriff about your unit's discipline issues, or your request for 'special consideration' of your man's situation. The Unforgiven is Captain Duran's ship in Cody's absence, and if he doesn't have the balls to deal with a pipe-wielding maniac tearing through his security team, then I'm not going to interfere with how he runs his ship unless I notice it affecting this strike force's battle performance. Your man's a psycho, but I don't really care if it means he gets the job done. So make sure he gets the job done, or I will get involved, and it won't be to your liking."

The threat hung in the air for a few moments, before he clarified further. "I am not above shooting insubordinates."

Sarriah's face was starting to twist in preparation for the tirade she was about to deliver to the arrogant leader when—

"Dismissed."

The voice was as hard as cold durasteel, and despite her indignance and rage, she felt it best to turn about on her heel and march back to her shuttle as quickly as she could.

An altercation with the arrogant Admiral would have ended in blood, she somehow knew. Hers or his, she didn't care to guess. But she'd seen enough blood on Aphene, and she made an effort to to put all thoughts of arrogant assholes out of her mind.

She had an impossible mission to plan.



-=Main briefing amphitheatre of the MC80 Star Cruiser Ad Astra, high orbit over Azemin, Azemin system, 44:6:17:07:33=-


"So, to recap," the lead pilot of the Vigilance Starfighter Group was finishing his briefing for the upcoming Maxite operation to his pilots. "Group Aurek," Kirghy looked at the squadron of pilots assigned to the group pointedly, "will fly their torpedo-laden B-wings from the staging area here into the Maxite belt and unleash hell on however many targets as is necessary to get the defences' attention. Once they've scrambled enough opposition to put you down, you will immediately jump out of the region further into Rogue Imperial territory, hitting targets near the shipyards in the Kharanok system. Hopefully your hit-and-fade strike pattern will successfully lure enough defences from the Oxion system into pursuit, at which point you will break off and head home to your rendezvous point with the Resurrection II."

Moving across the podium, the General addressed the rest of the pilots.

"Group Besh, that is, everyone else, will be assigned to the Ad Astra's task element, which will jump into the Maxite belt after Group Aurek have drawn off enough defences. We will then hit the enemy with everything we've got, with the ultimate outcome being the annihilation of all Imperial defences in the system, and the razing of whatever installations or outposts they have stationed there."

Kirghy moved to the front of the podium to get into the pilots' personal space to maximise their attention on him. "This is going to be a big op. I'm not going to lie to you, it's probably going to be the biggest thing since Pyaimm, but we made it through that hell, and we're going to make it through this, too. The Admiral himself will be temporarily transferring his flag from the Redemption to the Ad Astra, so that should give you some indication of how seriously he's taking this mission."

The General turned and walked back to the lectern to collect his pages of flimsiplast and stacks of datacards. Powering down the holoprojector and raising the lights, General Kirghy Lommax looked back at the pilots expectantly. "Well, that's it. Skids up in an hour. Dismissed!"