The 71st

Chapter One

There it was. Another day on the Sentinel. Probably no action today. Just like yesterday, the day before, the day before that, and so on. It was TK-117's 25th day in the 71st Mobile Reconnaissance Unit. He had just woken up and was heading down to the mess hall to get his daily plate of "rations", known as brown sludge by the troops on the Destroyer.

He had just gotten done consuming his rations, and was heading back to his quarters. He ran into his friend, TB-497. "Oh," 117 said, "Hey, 497. What's up?" "Nothing. Just getting my rations." "That's what I just did. Hour's almost over" "Wait, am I late? I... have to go." 497 ran off. 117 laughed in his head about his friend's slight clumsiness. He pushed the button to open the door to his quarters. He took a short look at the minimal amount of items: A bed, a shelf, and a chest. 117 lay down in his bed. He still had a couple of hours before he had to officially wake up. This was just rations hour. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

"TK-117 to Admiral Perox's office. I repeat, TK-117 to Admiral Perox's office." Those words over the intercom system immediately caused his eyes to open up. 117 wasn't scared by much, but Perox was one of those few things, next to rancors, sarlaccs, and tattooed Zabraks. He suited up into his Scout Trooper armor, and went down the hallway towards Admiral Perox's office.

Stryker Perox was the main staff officer of the 71st Unit, but that didn't make him their friend. He supervised them. It was all just business to him. Nothing more. It had been five minutes since 117 was called down to Perox's office. Tapping his finger on his desk in a consistent pattern, he was beginning to grow impatient. Right as he was ready to go straight to the scout's quarters, he walked in. "About time, TK-117." There was a subtle hint of anger in his voice. "What did you call me down for?" "Your commander, TBR-226, was injured by a catwalk hanging on a few loose wires. His leg is broken. He'll need a few weeks off of the squad. You have been promoted to commander for now, 117. Don't get too used to it." "Admiral, I don't think I could be a commander." Perox got up and leaned over his desk, right into 117's face. His pearly green eyes shined in the fluorescent light. "You can, and you will. Now get out of my office." 117 stood up, said one last, "Yes, sir." and walked off. He now held the responsibility of an entire unit.

TB-497 had finished his rations and was heading to his quarters. He saw 117 in his armor. "117, what's with armor?" "Perox just appointed me to the commander of the unit. 226's leg is broken." "Well, uh, good luck!" As 497 said that, the intercom system went off again. "71st Mobile Reconnaissance Unit to Admiral Perox's office." 117 sighed, "Not again..." The whole squad equipped their armor, and moved down the corridors. They all entered the office. 117 stepped forward. "Admiral Perox, sir!" "Enough of the brownnosing, 117. Let's just get to the point. Two rebel soldiers were sighted on Tatooine smuggling Imperial resources out of one of our facilities. We're sending all of you to investigate. If things get serious, we'll send more troops down. Now, head to the weapon supplies storage, and gather your gear." "Yes, sir!" all of the troopers said in unison. They gathered their gear. 117 looked at his options spread out across the table. He grabbed what looked like a very long rifle. He also took a small pin that clipped to his armor. He didn't know what it was, but he thought it might be useful. After every trooper gathered their gear, they moved out to the transport ship.

As each trooper moved towards the Lambda-class shuttle, an Imperial Officer walked toward them. "Troopers, stand at attention!" Each trooper stood to face the officer. "TK-117, TB-497, JC-1337, TK-1225, KE-111, MC-228, all present and accounted for?" "Yes, sir!" "Good. Now kill the rebel traitors." The officer walked away as each trooper climbed into the transport.

TB-497 sat next to 117. They had been instant buddies as soon as 117 joined the squad. Now, they, or at least 117, was going out to his first real battle. He'd been in small skirmishes here and there, but all those amounted to was a small fistfight and an arrest. Real warfare, thought 117. As he drifted into his thoughts of combat with the Rebel terrorists, 497 caused him to snap out of it. "Hey, 117," "Yeah?" "You nervous?" "No. Not at all." Those words covered up 117's true fear. He had been nervous ever since climbing onto the shuttle. Various thoughts entered and exited his mind. What if he died? Would he become another nameless trooper left out in what used to be a battlefield for eternity? As he thought this, he could feel the shuttle begin to make its landing. "Here we are," said 497, "Armpit of the galaxy: Tatooine."

As 117 stepped out of the shuttle and onto the rocky terrain of Tatooine, he could feel a wave of heat hit him. Being in a fully sealed plastoid suit didn't help much either. The pilot of the ship poked his head out. "If you guys find anything," the pilot explained, "Just notify Admiral Perox over the comlink and we'll send more troops down." The ship's landing hatch closed and the T-4 shuttle began to fly back to the Destroyer. "Well," said JC-1337 "Let's find those Rebels." Everyone exclaimed something in a bored manner. 117 said one last thing: "Alright, listen up. We're going to split. 497, you come with me. 1337 and 228, you stick together. 1225, 111, you know the drill. Now, let's move out." They all headed off in different directions.

"I'm picking up 6 heat signatures half a mile away." "Imperials?" "Most likely." Hekter Stag was a Rebel infantryman stationed on Tatooine. He still sat perched on a hill, scout binoculars in hand. The Rodian behind him, Demas Cordd, continued pacing back and forth, with a behemoth of a Sandcrawler around 15 feet away from him. "Well, call in backup." said Demas. "Can't. Signals are jammed. Probably that Star Destroyer blocking any transmission that isn't one of their own." "Alright," Demas said, "Just keep your eye on every mountain and plateau."

117 and 497 were scaling a small mountain. Various nondescript walls of rock surrounded them. 497 was starting to pant. "How long 'till the top again?" 117 turned to face 497. "5 minutes at the most," they continued walking again. "Besides, I'm sure you can make it." "Whatever." said 497, still tired.

111, the only Shadow Trooper on the squad, felt embarrassed to be paired up with 1225. How could he, an elite trooper, be placed with such a standard and bland individual? He didn't know. 1225's never-ending loyalty to the Empire is what really got under 111's skin, though. Palpatine this, Vader that. He would've requested a transfer to be paired with someone else, but it was too late. As they were walking, they came upon a huge Sandcrawler, towering over them both. "KE-111, do you think there are Rebels here?" "Potentially. You search the back, I'll search the other side." 1225 went to the back, and 111 went to the other side.

1337 and 228 were complete opposites. 1337 was always a jokester. Comedic relief for the team in tough times. 228 on the other hand was a cold and near-mute trooper. Barely anyone ever spoke to him or went to him for help. He mostly kept to himself in his quarters. Nobody knew why he was always silent. Some said he lost his family to Rebels. Others would claim that he murdered them many years ago, and that he would never forgive himself for that.

111 turned to the other side of the Sandcrawler. As he emerged, he saw a hill with two people perched on it. He pulled out his binoculars. "Rebels." he said. He pulled his rifle out, looking down the scope. He set his sights on a human. Out of nowhere, the Rodian next to him turned around. KE-111 was spotted. No cover. Just him and the plastisteel on his back, about to be killed by two terrorists.

117 and 497 had finally reached the top of the mountain. 117 was looking through the scope of his Pulse Cannon (He had since learned the name of it while with 497). He searched for a while, and eventually his sights stumbled upon 111 being shot at by two Rebels. He did it. He pulled the trigger. Right on the human Rebel. Then, the moment of truth. The shot connected. Hekter Stag was dead. "Did you hit him?!" 497 asked. 117 pulled away from the scope. "Yeah, I got him. The Rodian is checking for a pulse." 117 took a second look. "Wait. Uh, he's pulling something from the human's backpack." "What?" "I-I-I don't know. I can't tell."

Demas Cordd grabbed the detonators from Hekter's backpack as fast as possible. He was running for his life. The Rebel base's doorway was in sight. He could make it if he kept running. He didn't know if anyone was tracking him. He didn't care. He finally felt his boot hit flat, solid steel. He stopped running, taking a moment to breathe, while also shutting the door to the base. He opened his comlink. It worked this time. He called his commander. "Lieutenant, this is Demas Cordd. There are 6 Imperials moving on the base now. Get reinforcements set up over here!" "Roger." said the Lieutenant. Rebel soldiers gathered their weapons and set up battle lines en masse. They were ready.

1337 and 228 were still together. They had heard the commotion from before, but neither of them knew where it was coming from. As 1337 was walking, he saw a Rebel. "228, Rebel spotted. Kill him!" 1337 began to run. He saw the Rebel. He pulled out his pistol, squeezing the trigger as fast as possible. In one moment, the Rebel was alive, the next, not so much. "Alright," said 1337, "There are Rebels here." 228 simply nodded his head. "I'm calling for backup." 1337 pulled out his comlink.

It had been 15 minutes since the unit had landed on Tatooine. Admiral Perox was wondering whether they were dead, or just too incompetent to find the Rebels. Possibly a mixture of both, he thought. As if on cue, a young man entered his office. His rank insignia identified him as a Captain. "Admiral Perox, we have an update from the squad on Tatooine." "Tell me." "They've found Rebels. An entire base's worth. They request more troops and walkers." "Walkers?!" Perox was suddenly fuming with anger. "They think walkers are required to handle a few Rebel troopers?!" "Commander, they estimate there to be around 20 to 30 Rebels at this base." Perox calmed down. "Fine," he said, "Send down 24 troopers. No more. No less. Get 2 AT-ATs on the field. Anything to wipe these Rebels out." "Yes, sir." The Captain removed himself from the office.

The main hangar of the Sentinel, which was near-empty just a few minutes ago, was now bustling with activity. Stormtroopers were getting their gear ready. TIE pilots climbed into their Fighters and Interceptors. AT-AT drivers prepared their helmets and breathing apparatus.

It was pure silence on Tatooine for the squad. That was until they could all hear the screech of TIE Fighters flying towards the planet. "Looks like we've got help." said 117 to 497. A team of transport ships landed down near the Sandcrawler. Various Stormtrooper types, including Scout Troopers, Shadow Troopers, and regular old "bucketheads" climbed out. 2 large dropships swooped down towards the planet, dropping down a pair of AT-ATs.

The Rebels were standing still. One human Rebel pulled out a pair of binoculars. He set his sights on one of the huge walkers. "Oh my..." he said, "Get all troops to push forward and send out the X-Wings!" All of the Rebels raised their guns and ran forward, with 3 X-Wings of Scythe Squadron taking off from their base.

117 was still on the mountain with 497. A large machine had stood behind him this entire time. As he turned around to look at it, he received orders from Admiral Perox. "Shut down the Rebel uplink stations. They are essential to getting their Y-Wings to pass through and attack our walkers." "Yes, sir." said 117. He turned to 497. "We've got orders. Kill all of the Rebels."

The Battle of Tatooine was in full progress. Stormtroopers and Rebel soldiers shot at each other without hesitation. 1337 and 228 were running through a valley of rocks with another Stormtrooper by their side. As they were running, something flew in their direction, landing on the ground. 1337 recognized the familiar beeping of a Thermal Detonator. "Get down!" he yelled. 228 and 1337 dived down to a small incline. The other Stormtrooper wasn't so quick to react, however. Although neither trooper saw it, they could both hear the scream of a dead soldier.

A green tint covered the landscape. This was just because of the Pulse Cannon, of course. 117 was on the hunt for his next target. Rebels dotted the landscape. So many to kill, so little time. 497 stood off to the side, with an EE-3 in hand. 117 had found his next target: A male Duros. The reticle tracked the alien for a few seconds before the shot was taken. Then, as suddenly as the trigger was pulled, the Duros was dead. "One less problem." said 117, "30 or so more to go."

111 and 1225 were behind the Sandcrawler. The uplink had been activated, but there were far too many Rebels to get through without extra support. "Alright, 1225," 111 said quietly, so as not to attract attention, "Here's the plan: See that crawlspace below the Sandcrawler? We go under that. You reach your hand around the uplink, since its back is facing the crawlspace. Hold down the button. Mission accomplished. Got it?" "I could die." "Yeah, so?" 111 knew 1225 would do anything for the Empire. He also knew he could easily take advantage of this. "Look, 1225, if you shut that uplink down, Darth Vader will give you a medal. Personally." "Well... okay! Anything to meet Lord Vader." Yep, 111 said in his head, anything.

The bottom of the Sandcrawler was a collection of dust, dirt, and sand that had been there for who-knows-how-long. As 1225 was crawling under the massive Jawa vehicle, he thought about receiving a medal from Vader. Meeting him. It was all so incredible. The shiny helmet, the flowing cape. The life of his idol seemed like one of grandeur. 1225 reached the big metal box. He saw the feet of various Rebels guarding it. As he reached his arm out, he grew hesitant, but then realized this was all for the Empire. He reached his hand around, and held down the button. After a few seconds, the mechanical whine of the machine died down. He had done it! But this victory did not last long. One of the Rebel soldiers noticed the machine's change in noise. 1225 saw the Rebel turn around. "Pull me out!" he yelled to 111. 111 grabbed onto his feet, dragging 1225 out until he was able to get up on his own. The Rebel soldier crawled under the Sandcrawler, with his blaster in hand. As he emerged to the other side, a foot stepped on his hand. The boot of a Shadow Trooper. "Hello." said 111 before promptly shooting the enemy soldier in the head.

An Imperial General entered Admiral Perox's office with a small stack of papers in hand. "Admiral, we have unconfirmed reports from our aerial scanning crew that 15 Rebellion Y-Wings are moving into position to attack our AT-ATs." "Fine. I shall warn the troops." "Very good, sir." The General subsequently left.

Everything was still clear and quiet with 117 and 497. They had been observing the battle for the most part. That was, until, a squad of 5 Rebels attempted a flank on the two. 497 still sat, blaster raised. His arms were beginning to tire. "Ugh," he said, "When are we gonna get some action?!" Just as he said this, a blaster bolt grazed his head. This caused him to fall over on his back. 117 became alert, raising his A280c blaster rifle. He pulled back 497 with one hand, gun in the other. "C'mon!" he said, "Get out here! You would if you weren't afraid!" No response. Just pure silence.

"This is AT-AT Chimera Four moving into position." A response came over the military radio. "Be wary, pilots. Rebel ships may carry out a bombing run on both of the walkers. Evacuate only if it is absolutely necessary." "Yes, sir." The pilot turned to the other driver. "Decrease shield activity in the lower areas. Increase in the main body." "Yes, commander." the other driver said.

"This is Gold 6 moving into position. Commence the bombing raid!" The AT-ATs, with the metallic clanking of their feet, continued to move towards the GR-75, ready to blow it up. Then, it happened. The bomb made an impact onto the walker, creating a small explosion. Several Rebels got comlink calls telling them to attack the bottom of the AT-ATs. The raid was not over quickly. One of the walkers was already destroyed when the 14th Y-Wing passed by.

"Just come out, just come out." 117 muttered under his breath. His blaster was still raised. He could hear the bombing raid of the Y-Wings a few moments ago, and it was apparently over, but he knew it was still too dangerous to leave. There were most likely Rebels still here. It had already been five minutes since 497 had been grazed by a blaster bolt. As 117 stood with his blaster raised, he wondered what the pin clipped onto his armor could do. He pressed down on it. Suddenly, a large purple-blue bubble emerged all around him. "A shield!" he said to himself in amazement. He realized the potential escape. He told 497 to get up, and get in the shield. He did, and they started moving down the mountain, to push forward with their fellow troopers.

The GR-75 was nearly within range of the AT-AT, but not quite yet. The large pit at the end of the Rebel base was turned into a battleground full of dead bodies of Stormtroopers and Rebels alike. 1337 and 228 had been separated in the chaos. 1337 was running through a barrage of laser fire and flying pebbles. Those Rebels were taking every chance they had to kill him. But, they failed, as 1337 dived into one of the now abandoned moisture-farmhouses. The lights in it were out, and the only way he could see was the sunlight pouring in the doorway. He thought that he couldn't make it out alive, until he saw the spiral staircase. "Ah, perfect!" he said in a relatively lighthearted tone. He ran down the stairs, towards the main area of the Rebel base.

1225 and 111 were still together. 1225 mercilessly shot at Rebels with his generic E-11. 111 liked to think higher of himself. He didn't carry an E-11, no. Not him, of all troopers. He held an X-8 Nightsniper with him at all times. He occasionally got intense glares from some other troopers for his weapon of choice. Mere jealousy, he thought to himself. But now wasn't the time to think about that. This was war. The Nightsniper was used by him for its night vision capabilities. The damage or rate of fire certainly wasn't anything to rave about. As 111 thought about this, he killed another Rebel, almost without thinking about it. Most Rebels in this sector were dead, so 111 took a break, sitting on a rock to catch his breath and cool down. He stared blankly at the ground, when he saw the AT-AT turn the mountain corner. As 1225 walked past him, he said, "Ready to see our big bad hellhounds of metal destroy the Rebels?" "Yep." said 1225, almost with a hint of personality.

1337 had reached the heart of the Rebel base. The GR-75 towered over him, but he wasn't here for the sightseeing. He knew where the uplink was located, and he hid behind the corner of a wall. Around 10 Rebels were guarding the uplink. "They're all cool as a cucumber." 1337 said to himself. Moments later, he revealed himself to the Rebels, dropping his DH-17 blaster pistol in favor of a rifle laying on the ground. "Get him!" A Rebel exclaimed. Luckily, there was a stack of large crates near the uplink. 1337 hastily climbed up to get the advantage. He reached the top, pulling the rifle's trigger as soon as he had made it. The Rebels were nearly all dead. But, blasters don't fire forever. The gun overheated and 1337 couldn't cool it down in time. There was a single remaining Rebel, running away, however. 1337 jumped down and pulled a small dagger from the pocket of one of the dead terrorists. He threw the blade, and it perfectly impacted into the back of the remaining Rebel. He picked up his rifle, still smoking from the barrel, and he blew off some of the smoke, or at least attempted to, what with the helmet on.

"Come on, we're pushing them back!" yelled 497 as he and 117 ran through the desert. 117 pulled out his Pulse Cannon. Looking down the sight, he landed upon a female Twi'lek operating a turret. He took a deep breath, concentrating his eyes. "3..." the Twi'lek turned the turret away from 117. "2... 1!" He pulled the trigger. A bright, but momentary, green beam shot out of the barrel. The shot traveled through the air for a millisecond, before landing on the Twi'lek's head. 117 sighed. "Did it."

"Commencing primary AT-AT cannons. Cannons nearly primed. Permission to fire on the GR-75?" "Granted." The AT-AT pilot was finally ready to put the walker to use. His co-pilot turned to him. "One minute until GR-75 is within firing range, commander." "Understood."

228 had been left behind at the summit of a mountain by 1337. He didn't mind, though. He continued trudging through the mountainside, attempting to find any sign of teammates or Rebels. Nothing. That was until he stumbled upon two enemy soldiers guarding a passageway. 228 stepped quietly. When close enough, he punched one in the back to knock him down, and he simply shot the other one. The one that had been knocked down attempted to get back up before 228 stepped on the man's throat, crushing his trachea. The anger that had been confined in the deep recesses of 228's mind were being unleashed. The almost always silent trooper uttered one sentence: "How does it feel?" That was the last thing the Rebel soldier heard before succumbing to a lack of oxygen. Afterwards, 228 simply began sprinting towards the main battle area.

Admiral Perox had exited his office on the Sentinel and was now standing aboard the main bridge, overlooking the battle below. "Status on AT-AT?" Perox yelled, which seemed to echo throughout the whole ship to some. "Primed to fire in 25 seconds, sir." "Good," said Perox, almost to himself, "It seems that today marks the end of the Rebel Alliance's presence on Tatooine." As he said this a loud swoosh was heard above the Destroyer. "Admiral, what was that?" a voice yelled from somewhere among the bridge. Perox didn't care to answer to whoever spoke out. He whispered to himself, "Y-Wings."

"Commencing fire in 10... 9... 8... 7-" the AT-AT pilot was cut off as a bomb from a Y-Wing hit the walker's body. "Not again..." he said. "Commander, system levels are critical!" The co-pilot attempted to yell over the explosions. "How bad?" "We're at 25%." The co-pilot selected a button on the walker's control panel. "Sentinel, permission for both AT-AT drivers to evacuate. System levels are critical. 25%." Nothing but static. "They..." the commanding driver said quietly, "They cut us off. They saw the level reports..." Two seconds after he said this, the AT-AT's cockpit exploded, killing both drivers.

117 shot two more Rebels before hearing the explosion of the AT-AT. He turned around, half-expecting to see a piece of shrapnel flying at him, resulting in death. "The scum," he said when seeing the impact, "I'll kill every single one of them!" While saying this, he began pacing towards the burning wreck. 497 grabbed him by the shoulders, stopping him. "What are you doing, 117?! There isn't anything that way!" 117 released himself from 497's grip and continued walking. 497 turned around to follow. "Alright, fine. The Rebels might be in retreat, but that's no reason to act like this." 117 stopped in his tracks and turned around. "Don't you get it?! These Rebels have been killing our troops from the beginning and I wanted to get some revenge. And then what? We lose the battle." "But this isn't the final battle." The two sat down on a natural "bench" made of rocks. "Look," said 497, "There'll be more and more opportunities to defeat these fools. Don't beat yourself up over one loss. It was your first battle. Don't sweat it." 117 sighed. "I guess that's true. Look, I'm sorry. Sometimes I just overreact to things. I've always been like this. Never gonna change." 497 let out a slight chuckle. "Say, why don't we get away from this madness and check up on the unit?" the Shock Trooper said. "Y-Yeah." said 117. They walked towards the burned-out corpse of the AT-AT.

The hangar door to the GR-75 transport closed with a loud thud. Demas and around 12 other Rebel soldiers were standing in the cargo bay of the ship. The Rodian could feel the jolt of the war-torn craft as it took off. An older human in the back, around 50, Demas guessed, exclaimed, "Why the hell did we retreat?! We had those Imps cornered, and we're just gonna leave 'em there?!" A Weequay with a large, fresh scar across his forehead entered the potential argument. "Look at how many of us there are left! We'd be wiped out by the Stormtroopers down there in an instant! It's a miracle we haven't been blown apart by a TIE Fighter yet!" Several more soldiers, alien and human alike, entered the fray, but Demas held back, keeping to himself. His only true friend at the base was gone forever, wiped out by one of those blasted Imperial snipers. A scout, Demas had to guess.

The 71st Mobile Reconnaissance Unit had finally regrouped after a hard-fought battle. They all sat down on small boulders, taking a moment to relax and regain some strength. "We all okay?" asked 117. "Yep." or "Yeah." said everyone, except for 228, who silently stared at the ground. 117 gave him a sympathetic look, though nobody could tell, thanks to his Scout Trooper helmet. Suddenly, a voice echoed out behind them. "Hey!" 117 turned around. It was a Sandtrooper, orange pauldron and all. 117 got up, telling the troops under his command, "Stay here. I'll go talk to this guy." "Yessir." said 1337 in a somewhat sarcastic tone. 1225 elbowed him. "You don't disrespect the unit commander like that, JC-1337!" 1337 sighed, and said, "You're hopeless, y'know that?"

"What is it?" asked 117 to the dust and dirt-covered Sandtrooper. "We've got an issue." The pauldroned soldier pulled a datapad from his utility belt. He quickly dusted off the screen, which displayed a holographic image of Tatooine. "Yeah," said 117, "That's Tatooine. So what?" "So," the Sandtrooper said in an authoritative tone, "The comscan crew back on the Destroyer've tracked that Alliance transport moving towards Jabba the Hutt's palace." "You're not saying we're gonna bust into Jabba's palace just to find a few Rebels probably stopping by there for supplies, are you?!" "Look," said the Sandtrooper, leaning into 117's face, and partially whispering, "Nobody but me, a few select Admirals, and now you know this: A few months back, the Empire placed an operative, a spy, basically, to scout around Jabba's palace, searching for any sign of Rebels working alongside the Hutt himself." "And," said 117, "What did our spy-friend find?" "This." The Sandtrooper tapped something on the datapad's screen, and the display switched to an image of some kind of a small cargo transport, with something draped in a tarp on it. "What's under the tarp?" asked 117. "That's the thing," the Sandtrooper replied, almost a bit overdramatically, "We don't know. Our operative tried to get to it, but there were apparently some Rebels guarding it. Now, they need that GR-75 to grab the cargo, and head off to who-knows-where." "And why is my unit involved in this?" "You've got, what, 5 other men?" As the Sandtrooper said this, he leaned to the side, looking past 117, and towards the rest of the unit, sitting on the rocks. He looked back towards the Scout Trooper directly in front of him. "Okay, good. Here's the plan. My unit'll converge with yours at Jabba's palace, and we'll bust right in, and steal the Rebel cargo." "And is this little plan of yours authorized?" asked 117. The Sandtrooper didn't answer directly. "I'll call a shuttle down to pick us up, and I'll go report this plan to the commanders on board the Destroyer." "Perfect." said 117. The two troopers shook hands. As they did this, the Sandtrooper said, "TK-819." "TK-117." said the battle-worn Scout. He was more than ready to head back to the Sentinel.

The shuttle had returned from Tatooine's surface, carrying 13 personnel: 12 soldiers in the passenger bay and 1 pilot. It landed in the Sentinel's main hangar, which was only now slightly busier than usual. The ship jolted as it landed on the smooth and shiny hangar floor. "Good to be back, huh, 117?" "Huh..." said 117 quietly, slightly baffled that he survived the battle. "Yeah," the Scout said, his senses fully returned, "It is."

The walkway of the shuttle opened up. Steam shot out from the pipes, exhausting all of the energy from the door. The unit stood up and grabbed their weapons. 1337 had lost his original blaster on Tatooine during the battle, and was now carrying a battle-worn and musty rifle. 117 stepped out first, with the unit behind him. The pilot of the shuttle, a 20-something fresh recruit in a black officer's uniform without the rank insignia, probably from somewhere like Corellia or Eriadu, rushed out of the cockpit to catch up with 117. He stopped the Scout. "You're supposed to report to Admiral Perox immediately." "Got it." said 117. He sounded monotone and calm, but his mind was racing and his heart rate increased. As suddenly as he arrived, the cadet pilot left the team's side to go meet with someone standing in the hangar. 117 was nervous. He knew the Rebellion won the battle. Somewhat decisively, thought 117, but that didn't matter. Numerous Stormtroopers were lost, as well as two AT-ATs. Some feeling in his gut told 117 that this meeting wouldn't end on excellent terms with Perox.

"2 heavy walkers and 18 Stormtroopers! That's what we lost today!" "Admiral, with all due respect, this wasn't entirely my unit's fault-" "You're the ones who discovered the Rebels, and now your team, and one other are all that is left!" The voice of Stryker Perox could be heard in the corridor outside of his office. Perox leaned back in his chair slightly, and sighed. "Look, 117, I realize this wasn't entirely your team's fault. But, you can certainly do a much better job next time. Things like these are why I was reluctant to command you when I accquired your unit 4 years ago. This is your one and only warning, I hope you realize that." "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." 117 got up from the streamlined black chair, and headed out the door. One and only warning. 117 played the sentence back in his head. He had no idea what would happen if a second failure occurred, and he didn't want to know.

117 stepped out of the Admiral's office to find TK-819, his armor cleaned up and seemingly shined. "You report your plan to the commanders?" asked 117 when he saw the Sandtrooper. "Well," he began, "A few... modifications were made by them." "Like what?" "Well, according to Imperial law, the Hutt Cartel, while largely illegal, is still essential to the economy of the Outer Rim. The potential death of Jabba the Hutt means a sort of recession in this part of the galaxy. We're gonna have to evacuate the palace first." "Without the Rebels figuring us out?" "Please, the GR-75 won't arrive there until early this evening. Those things are slow. I, of all people, should know." "What do you mean?" 117 was slightly suspicious. "I used to serve with the Rebel Alliance." 117 took a few steps back, out of fear. "Don't worry, the Empire turned me into a better person. The life I lived as a spice smuggler for the Alliance, well, those days are over now. I'm clean." 117 relaxed. "Okay. Well, let's get to this plan, then." The two troopers split up, heading down to their own respective corridors.

228 sat in his quarters. His plain white armor shined, especially after he cleaned it up. His eyes faced the ground. He could occasionally hear an officer or an MS droid pass by the doors to the room. This was what he did every day, unless called out to battle or getting rations. Then, the sick memories came back. Dalen Cravvix. The name he had left behind 10 years ago. Lana Cravvix. His wife. And the Rebels. "They..." 228 whispered to himself, "They killed them!" He jolted upright, onto his feet, removing his helmet and throwing it to the ground. He leaned against the wall. The auburn beard he had when Lana was still alive was long-gone now. His unkempt auburn hair was neatened when he got to the Academy. The Empire was all he had in his life now.

The intercom system of the Sentinel hailed down two units. "71st Mobile Reconnaissance Unit and 29th Battle Legion, please report to the main hangar." The two separate teams converged and found themselves standing at the landing platform of a shuttle. The same cadet from about 20 minutes ago stepped out of the hangar's control tower turbolift. The cadet stepped into the shuttle, with the two teams following. After everyone was seated, the platform lifted up, and the shuttle once more returned to the depths of space.

"Get me one of the lovely Twi'lek women, please." Bib Fortuna, Jabba the Hutt's closest advisor, sent one of the snout-nosed Gamorrean guards to one of the back rooms of the palace. A few minutes later, the guard was back, guiding a scantily-clad light-purple Twi'lek woman. "Ho, ho, ho," Jabba said, "Now, dance!" The blue, trunked creature known as Max Rebo exclaimed something to his band, and they began to play a light tune. A few seconds into this alien music, Fortuna heard the loud sound of the main, rusted metal door opening at the palace's entrance.

The entrance to Jabba the Hutt's palace was now gaping open. A few moments earlier, TK-117 had attempted to communicate with the guarding eye-droid in botched Huttese, but it turned out that all he had to do was pull out the blaster pistol that he had brought along, and threaten to shoot the thing. The newly formed (but temporary) team of 12 Stormtroopers entered the palace. The ensuing hallway was dimly lit. 1337 enthusiastically stepped forward, ahead of everyone else. That was until a spider-legged droid containing a brain in a large jar stepped in front of him. "What the?!" "That's a BT-16 droid," said 819, "They contain the brains of an ancient order known as the Bo'marr Monks. In fact, this palace is the-" 1337 interrupted him. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it." As they all continued to walk, Bib Fortuna approached them. "What have you come to my great master's palace for, soldiers?" Nobody in either unit knew Huttese, except for 117, but it was botched to the point of almost being inunderstandable. Not even the knowledgable and resourceful 819 knew it. TB-497 stepped to Fortuna. "Do you speak Basic?" The male Twi'lek had only a confused look on his face. 497 unhooked one of the pouches from his utility belt. He opened it, pouring a pile of credits into his hand. Bib Fortuna looked in awe. 497 said nothing, but pushed his hand in the direction of Bib. The alien took the credits, and said, "Thank you for this gift to Jabba. He is eternally grateful." He stepped to the side, letting the troopers move past. 117 caught up with 497. "What was that?" the Scout said. "Charisma and credits are the two things every being in the galaxy needs, and I have those two things." 117 was slightly in awe. He knew 497 was a caring person, maybe a little impatient, and a charismatic one, at that, but he'd never seen the Shock Trooper bribe anyone. The twelve soldiers entered the palace's main hall, where they saw Jabba.

"Your Imperial commander told me you were arriving." Jabba said. A rusted protocol droid that might have once been shiny and silver came over to the large and slimy creature's side. "Hello there. I am K-4T1, human-cyborg relations. I serve the purpose of translating the mighty Hutt for you. 'Your Imperial commander told me you were arriving.' " "What is your mission here?" said Jabba. K-4T1 translated once more. "Well," 117 began, "We're here in support of the Empire, and we were sent to evacuate your palace in search of Rebels, mighty Jabba." The Hutt's eyes widened. "Evacuate! That is impossible! Where will my servants, musicians, and patrons go?" Translated once more, 117 replied, "The Empire has set up several shelters and camps in the area around Beggar's Canyon. You'll be heavily guarded and safe, and once our mission is done, you'll get your palace back for good." Jabba considered for a moment, before deciding. "Hmmm.... okay." "The mighty Jabba says you may." said K-4T1. "Alright, then." said 819. He turned toward a red-pauldroned trooper behind him. "Call the shuttles, and get these people loaded up." "Yes, sir."

Most of the palace's attendees, including Jabba himself, were all loaded onto standard Imperial Shuttles, and taken to a camp near Beggar's Canyon as promised. As the last passenger, a rough-skinned Koorivar, boarded the final shuttle, 117 looked on, towards the flying ship. 497 walked up to him, the heat of Tatooine slightly more intense than a couple of hours ago. "Think the Rebels'll get to us before we find the cargo?" asked 117. "Nope. Those Rebels aren't anything but a joke. That's how I see it. Haven't been killed by one yet. They're not dangerous." "Yeah..." 117's mind drifted off into distant memories. Your mother is on the list of casualties. We're sorry, son. Those words struck something in his mind that day, when the Rebels broke into an Imperial weapons factory, disguised as Stormtroopers, and killed half of the factory's staff. The 9 years since then and now seemed more like 9 minutes to 117. The Scout snapped back into the present when 497 tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, 117. We gotta search for that cargo. We can't just leave you in the sun forever." "Oh, yeah. Uh, let's go, then." The two troopers headed back to the cool indoors of the palace.

"When's that GR-75 gonna get here? Those Stormtroopers already cleared out the whole damn building. It's a miracle they haven't found our hiding spot yet." The male Rebel soldier shushed the shorter female next to him. Suddenly, they heard footsteps. "Get down!" the male whispered. They ducked behind a small wall, just next to the hovering platform. The Stormtrooper in the room inspected the cargo ship, looking at the tarp. He tapped into his comlink. "Get the others over here, I think I've got something." The female Rebel looked toward the male. "We've got to attack that guy, Dremmin!" The male Rebel, named Dremmin, looked her in the eyes, with harshness. "Fine. Let's both surprise him. You jump out and get on top of him, I'll blast that bucket off of his head." "Alright," said the female, whose name was Nali, "3, 2..."

A blaster shot was heard in the deeper levels of the palace. 117 and 497 were still inspecting the main hall, with the others in the lengthy and narrow corridors. "What was that?" asked 497. "I don't know." As 117 said this, he raised his blaster pistol. "Stay behind me, 497." The two troopers walked down a flight of stairs, leading to a steam-filled room with a structure of glass jars, filled with Jabba the Hutt's food. They walked up the next set of stairs, towards the area where the blaster shot came from. And inside, they saw two Rebel soldiers at the same cargo platform 117 saw in the hologram. "Get back!" 117 hissed as he grabbed 497 by the collarbone, hitting him against the wall, so that the Rebels wouldn't see them. 117, who was closer the room of the Rebels, glanced around the corner. "Two Rebel soldiers," he whispered, "And one of our own is dead." "From the 71st?!" 497 worringly said. "Nope. 29th from the looks of it." "Still a loss for 819." "Mhm." 117 seemingly ignored 497, looking around the corner once again. "We're gonna have to call in the other teams if there are more of their kind in there." 117 spoke the words "their kind" as if they were a completely different species, and to him, Rebels were anything but human. 117 tapped into his comm. "We need both units to converge at the back of the palace. We've found the cargo lift." A reply came over from 819. "Already on it. We received a call from one of my men, but it was abruptly cut off." "Yeah," said 117, "I think I know why."

111 and 1337 were paired up. At least it's not that brownnoser, thought 111. But despite this, he was still annoyed by 1337's constant quipping and jokes. Things like "Why did Jango Fett cross the spacelane? He didn't! His head was cut off halfway through!" constantly got on his nerves. He saw himself as the perfect soldier, someone who wouldn't show cowardice in a situation. Being a Shadow Trooper turned you into a narcisisst is what the troops at the Academy said, but to KE-111, being a Shadow Trooper only meant you were the best of the best, and nothing more. As he thought this, he came across two Rebels near the cargo lift. "Get'em!" he yelled. 1337 and 111 both opened fire, but only one was killed. The female. Too bad, 1337 thought, she was a real looker, too. 1337 tried to shake his mind off of the subject, because now the male was getting away. As more troops arrived, surrounding the area, blaster fire began to surround the sole remaining Rebel.

"This is the GR-75 transport Deliverance reporting in. Your special cargo is ready to be picked up." Demas Cordd was able to hear the pilot's voice from the cargo bay, which was transmitting into Jabba the Hutt's palace. "Extraction Team Delta, do you copy? I get no reading." Demas was unable to hear the rest of the conversation, as the ship was beginning its descent towards the palace's natural landing platform. The noise it made was a deep, mechanical whirr as it landed. Suddenly, after the ship had settled in the ground, the pilot came out from the cockpit. He placed a standard-issue Rebel soldier helmet on his head and announced, "It appears that Extraction Team Delta is under attack. We're going to have to storm the palace to get our cargo out." A few groans were heard. Demas wasn't one of them, but he wasn't enthusiastic to go into battle, either. He never truly was. He had, in fact, seen firsthand what war did to innocent planets.

117 shot his burst-firing SE-14c pistol at his target, but to no degree of success. The male Rebel escaped, running away towards the exit. The team of now-11 Stormtroopers stood around the cargo lift, some actively guarding it, while others searched for anymore Rebels in the vicinity. 117 checked the built in holo-clock in his helmet's computer. The hour showed that it was early evening. "That's when the Rebels should be arriving." 497, currently talking to another trooper, turned his head toward 117. "What was that?" he said. 117 turned around. "We should be expecting a team of Rebels any minute now. Everybody!" he yelled. Every trooper in the room turned towards him. "We can expect a team of Rebel scum to break in to the palace, so stand guard!" Almost every soldier in the room raised their blaster, either slightly or a lot. That's when 117 could hear the faint-yet-familiar noise of the palace's main entrance door opening.

117 raised his blaster pistol. "Get ready." he said quietly. There was only silence, apart from the foot steps of the Rebel soldiers entering the palace. Then, the door opened, revealing: K-4T1, left behind by Jabba and his cronies. The rusty protocol unit took a few steps forward, and said, "Goodness me! It appears I've been caught up in a battle! Apologies, soldiers, I'll be on my w-" Before the droid could finish his sentence, a grenade landed next to him, blowing up and scattering his arms, legs, and numerous other bits and pieces of metal around the room. A few troopers shielded themselves from shrapnel, including 117. "Everyone take cover!" the Scout yelled. Most troopers in the area got behind crates or large cages, while some went into the long, narrow halls of the palace. 117 could hear a human voice outside of the room they were in. It was a Rebel. "Grab that cargo, men!" Suddenly, a group of Rebel soldiers, human and alien, all rushed in, blasters firing.

497 was holding an A280c blaster rifle. He typically only used an EE-3, but he felt that difference was better for this time around. He was at the corner of a wall, periodically checking around it to fire at some more Rebels. He was finally getting the action and excitement of a battle that he had wanted for forever. The fighting in the Jundland Wastes was fine, but this was what he was looking for. He fired at 3 more enemies, only killing one. The beige-tan jacket of the grey-haired human now had a burning hole in it, which could only be seen for a few seconds before the Rebel fell to his knees and was dead. The two Rebels he hadn't killed were now dead. He got a moment of silence, which he enjoyed every once in a while, but he just loved to kill Rebel scum.

117 had run off to one of the side-hallways of the palace. The blue-tinted room was filled with steam. Luckily, his helmet filtered it out. He was walking with his pistol raised, which he had replaced his rifle with back on the Sentinel, when he heard footsteps nearing him. There was more than one person. 117 got down, crouching behind a large metal box. The footsteps neared. Then, the two beings, a Weequay and a human, entered the room. The two had their blasters raised. 117 leaned out from the corner, burst-firing 5 shots at both of them. "Imperial!" yelled the Weequay. The two enemies stood still. 117 leaned out, and fired once again. The two Rebels also crouched behind large crates, were firing at the lone Scout. 117 poked out once more, but this was his biggest mistake. As the SE-14c fired once more, the human Rebel hit one of the exposed shoulder areas between his armor, on his right arm. "Gah!" he yelled, which caused him to drop his pistol, leaving him defenseless. His right shoulder was numb. He couldn't articulate his arm muscles. The two Rebels got up, walking towards 117, ready to shoot him. The two saw the injured Scout. They had their guns pointed right at his face. Then, he heard a blaster shot.

MC-228 fired his E-11 at one of the Rebels, the human one, and the Weequay turned around. "What the-" is all that the creature managed to say in Basic before being punched in the face by the stoic soldier. The scarred Weequay dropped his RT-97c heavy blaster on the ground. It impacted the metal floor with a loud bang. The tough-skinned creature was now lying on the floor, grasping onto his bleeding face. He slowly backed up. 228 raised his E-11 once more, shooting the injured alien in the stomach, which left a smoking hole in the creature's center. He checked back on the human, still dead. 117, who was still rubbing his numbed shoulder, looked at 228. The silent trooper reached his arm out, offering 117 to grab it. The Scout Trooper grabbed 228's hand, raising him to his feet. "Thanks, 228. You saved my life there." 228 simply nodded, seemingly in agreement. He then walked off to the sound of distant blaster shots, rifle raised.

117 stood there, in the steamy room, unsure of what to do next. That was, until, a trooper, the red-pauldroned one that called down the shuttles, from the 29th Battle Legion passed through that stopped when he saw 117. "What are you doing?" he said, "The Rebel traitors've started that cargo shipment. They're already halfway to the palace's entrance!" The soldier ran off. 117 picked up his SE-14c, still smoking from the barrel.

The cargo lift was now 3 quarters of the way towards the palace entrance. Stormtroopers and Rebels were taking cover, shooting at each other, and doing who-knows-what-else. 117 came emerged from a side hallway. He saw one of the Stormtroopers from the 29th Legion attempting to shut off the lift. The soldier stopped, blaster at his side. He pressed a few keys on the lift's control panel. Then, a Rebel soldier, a Rodian, pulled out a small blade, stabbing the trooper in one of the exposed areas between the armor pieces. The Stormtrooper let out a few pained grunts before going limp and dying. 117 raised his pistol, shooting 5 bursts. As the lift continued up a flight of stairs, the Rodian took cover, pressing another button, activating a bubble shield around the lift. Blaster bolts continued to ring out around the room and palace. The lift was now entering the main hall, towards the throne of Jabba the Hutt.

1225 had made his way to the throne area, ahead of any squadmates or Rebels. He learned methods like this back in tactical training at the Corulag Academy. He had his blaster raised, ready for the slew of Rebel scum about to come through. That's when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned around, only to see a human Rebel running at him, with a fist raised. 1225 grabbed the fist with his own hand. His blaster slipped from his grip. The Rebel gained a surprised look on his face. He gasped. 1225 threw him to the ground. The Rebel got back up. 1225 tried going for his blaster, but the jacket-wearing human tackled him, knocking the rule-following trooper onto the trapdoor of the Rancor pit, directly in front of Jabba's throne. The Rebel picked up 1225's blaster rifle. He shot 1225 once in each foot, so he couldn't get up. "You scum," said 1225, "You'll never win the war against our great and glorious Emperor..." His voice sounded strained. The Rebel was hovering his hand over the button that activated the trapdoor. He was about to push it, when...

117 fired his SE-14c at the back of the human Rebel's head. He was holding his hand above some kind of a button. The Scout Trooper didn't know what it was for, and he didn't want to know. The Rebel now had a burning hole in the back of his head. As the Rebel fell down, a Stormtrooper came into his view, both boots charred and smoking. "What's your ID?" asked 117. "TK-1225." said the trooper. "Oh," said 117, "That was you." "Yes, sir." 1225 said. "Can you get up?" asked 117. "No. My feet were shot. You'll have to get medical support." 117 then grabbed 1225 by the arms, pulling him towards the throne. His back hit the trapdoor activation switch. The door opened, luckily with no one on it. "Hm," said 117, "We could put this to good use." The Scout Trooper proceeded to pick up the body of the human Rebel, and throw him into the pit. "Lunch." 117 said quietly. He turned back towards 1225. "You," he said, "Uh, well, just play dead." 1225 let his body go limp. If one looked closely, they would see he was still breathing, but in a chaotic environment like this, barely anyone would notice. 117 then raised his pistol back up. He could hear the cargo lift getting even closer.

TK-819 slowly made his way through the palace corridors. Bits of sand and stone crumbled from centuries-old overhangs and ceilings. The trooper had his blaster rifle raised when he heard a noise. Footsteps. He tightened the grip on his weapon, and raised it a bit more. Then, he heard the same set of footsteps behind him. He turned around, but not quickly enough to fire his rifle. A Rebel shot him in the leg. 819 couldn't get a good enough look at him before he fell down, but he could've sworn he recognized the face for the split-second he saw it.

Dremmin lowered his DH-17 pistol. He had just shot a Stormtrooper in the leg. A Sandtrooper, from the looks of hit. As Dremmin continued walking, the trooper raised his head. The Rebel turned his attention to the soldier. He pointed his pistol at the trooper's head, when he spoke. "Dr-Dremmin...?" the Sandtrooper asked. Dremmin's eyes widened. He bent down on one knee, and he carefully removed the Imperial's helmet. Dremmin's stomach churned when he saw the face beneath the armor. His jaw was hanging open. He pushed the words out with difficulty. "Kelter..." said Dremmin. The man once known as Kelter looked Dremmin in the eyes with his own brown ones. "You..." said Dremmin, who was now standing up, blaster pointed at 819. "Dremmin," said 819, "Don't- don't do it...!" His leg was still freshly numb from the blaster shot. "You traitor!" yelled Dremmin. His finger landed on the trigger of his blaster. His hand started trembling. Then, he pulled the trigger, shooting TK-819 in his exposed head.

Dremmin put his blaster pistol down, pointing the barrel towards the floor. Suddenly, he heard a blaster being readied to fire behind him. Dremmin turned around. It was a Shock Trooper, with an EE-3. The Rebel only had time to raise his pistol before being hit by 3 bursts of laser fire.

497 saw the body of the Rebel soldier drop to the floor. He lowered his rifle. He moved his gaze over to TK-819. His face was charred, and unrecognizable. His light-brown hair was all that was left of his original physique. 497 cringed under his helmet. He'd seen dead Rebels before, and he no-doubt enjoyed seeing that, but he'd never seen anything this gruesome.

The cargo lift was close to the opened palace doors. It kept hovering on, with Rebel soldiers standing around it. More died by the second, and the Imperials were closing in. 117 knew that, as he emerged from one of the side-hallways in the main palace corridor. He glanced over to the right, and was temporarily blinded by the light outside, disorienting him. He leaned against a wall, and fell to the ground when blaster bolts shot from an unknown location, grazing the wall the Scout was leaning on and breaking off bits of it. With his his sight regained, 117 got back up, blaster raised. He looked dead ahead of him, in another side-hallway entrance. He could see a Rodian taking cover behind a wall corner.

Demas took cover, just in case the Scout shot at him. The Scout. Demas thought. He hadn't seen any others, so this had to be the one that killed Hekter. Demas was determined to get his revenge. A sniper couldn't operate in close quarters combat any better than a drunk Aqualish. he thought. Apparently, he thought too soon, when the Scout came around the corner. Demas backed away as the trooper swung a punch at the alien.

117 attempted to right-hook the Rodian in the face, but the green-skinned creature dodged his hit. They were less than a foot away from each other, and 117 decided to raise his blaster pistol, pointing the barrel right into the Rodian's chest. The alien retaliated, punching 117 right in the side of his helmet. It didn't injure him, of course, but it knocked him away. The trooper's blaster fell out of his hands, and 117 landed his arms and upper torso on a table full of gold treasures and antique jewelry. He picked up a large golden goblet. As the Rodian was raising his pistol to shoot 117, the Imperial soldier picked up the goblet with both hands, and said to himself, "Sorry, Jabba." as he swung at the alien. The hit was dead on, and it knocked the Rodian to the ground. His eyes fluttered before closing. 117 took a look at the goblet. There was a large crack down the middle, in the area where the Rodian had been hit. 117 dropped it to the floor and ran out into the battle, the cargo lift almost at the GR-75.

117 ran down the hallway, further toward his goal. Rebels guarded the lift left and right. There was no way to kill them all with just a pistol. He looked out of the doorway once more. His eyes were focused on all of the enemy soldiers in the main corridor. Suddenly, someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Gah!" yelled 117, pointing his gun at the person in front of him. It was 497. He lowered his pistol. "Relax," said the Shock Trooper, "It's just me." "Yeah, but it could've been a whole lot worse if it wasn't." Suddenly, a call came over both of their helmet-comms. "Troopers," said a Coruscanti-accented voice, presumably Admiral Perox, "The Rebels have reached their extraction zone! Damage that transport before it can escape!" The signal cut off after that. 117 and 497 ran outside with the other Stormtroopers.

The transport was loaded with as many troopers as it could have been. The cargo door shut. All of the Stormtroopers shot at it as it readied itself to take off. TK-1225 stopped shooting and ran up to the transport. He removed something from his armor's pouch. It was a tracker. The ship lifted off of the ground. Luckily, 1225 was quick, placing the tracker on the GR-75 right as it came out of his arm's reach. The rugged transport lifted off, flying into the distance, until the Imperials couldn't see it anymore. Some troopers at down, while a couple others simply stared. 1225 walked back towards the groups.

117 watched as the transport left his sight. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. We'll have another chance. he thought, over and over again in his mind for a few seconds, before finally opening his eyes again. "Hey," 497 said walking up to 117 from behind, "You didn't get angry. You okay?" "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Like you said, we'll have more chances to defeat the Rebels. We always will." 497 patted him on the shoulder, and walked off. 117 was glad his angry tendencies were starting to subside, but he gained another feeling as he looked up to the Sentinel, floating in the atmosphere of Tatooine. It was a feeling of fear. Again.

----- ----- -----

117, with his armor now cleaned up and shined, entered Admiral Perox's office. The olive-gray uniform of the officer was neatly pressed, with a shiny plastoid rank bar. 6 blue squares on the top and 6 red on the bottom. 117 hardly had knowledge of the higher-ups' ranking system, but he didn't think about it too hard. He was a trooper, and officers' dealings were of no concern to him. He sat down in the chair. Perox simply stared. He was breathing calmly. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it. 117 gulped. He didn't want to be the one that talked first, but he did. "A-Admiral," he stuttered, "Why did you call me in here if-" he stuttered again, "If... if you weren't going to speak to me?" "Get out." Perox said quietly. "Could you speak up, Admiral?" "I said get out. Now. Before I decide to do anything rash." "Yes, sir." 117 stood up, and walked out. The door shut behind him.

Demas Cordd jolted awake. The room was dark. Completely dark. Demas couldn't see. He moved his head around, and his arms weren't restrained, so that was good. He stood up, but was pushed down again by a hand. The lights turned on. There were two Stormtroopers behind Demas, both holding blasters. The Rodian looked forward. There was another plain metal chair across the table. And a door. Said door opened. A middle-aged man with graying (but still brown) hair walked in. He had a crisp, white uniform, and a rank bar that indicated ISB officer status. The man sat down. Demas remained silent. Luckily for him, the officer spoke first. "We found you unconscious in Jabba the Hutt's palace. The rest of your team made it out." The agent had a Naboo-styled accent. He continued again after a few seconds of silence. "Agent Vancer. That is what you shall refer to me as. Understood?" Demas nodded. "Now," Vancer said, "Where are your Rebel friends?" "I'll never tell you." Demas said. Vancer frowned. "Always the stubborn ones, these Rebels." the agent said. He stood up, looking towards one of the troopers behind Demas. "Captain, please take this Rodian to the interrogation chamber. This environment seems a little... mild for him." "Yes, sir." the trooper said, and both soldiers picked up Demas, bringing him to his feet. The Captain placed cuffs around the Rodian's wrists. They led him out, and into the chamber.

497 was at the Star Destroyer's on-base shooting range. He was the only one there. He held his EE-3 high. A robotic voice came over the speaker. "Prepare for targets in 3, 2, 1." Suddenly, several dozen holographic enemies, human and alien alike, appeared with generic blasters in hand. They started rushing at 497. The Shock Trooper blasted one in the face. One down, 19 more to go. A male human started rushing at 497. Luckily, his reflexes were quick, and he blasted the hologram into nothing. Then, he could feel his back sting. Blaster bolts. He let go of his rifle, putting on hand on his back. It left him vulnerable to fire. More holograms started shooting at him with non-lethal bolts. He shot a couple more holos before they all got shut off.

497 got up, and turned around to see 117, who had stopped the simulation. "Hey," said 117. "Yeah, hi. You really saved me there." 117 chuckled. "They're just holograms. I didn't save you from anything." "Yeah, it was sarcasm." "Uh, huh." 117 said. 497 put his blaster on a small metal table. "What are you here for?" 497 asked. "Perox is angry with me. I don't like the guy, but I can respect him. It's totally justified. Like you said, we'll have another chance to defeat the Rebels." "Yep," said 497, "Exactly. Y'know, I hate the Rebels." "Don't we all?" said 117, as he sat down on a metal bench. 497 sat as well. "I mean," began 497, "I just hate their cause. They claim to fight tyranny and evil, but have you seen those holos of the Emperor? Happiest man I've ever seen. I wish I could be like him." "Yeah," said 117, leaning back against a wall, "I hate the Rebels too, but for... different reasons." 117 looked off to the side, drifting into distant memories again. "Hey," 497 said, "I've got a small problem with this rifle. Mind looking at it?" 497 picked up the EE-3, and handed it to 117. The Scout inspected it, then opened up a small panel, revealing wires and circuits. "Hm," said 117, "Looks like the distributor capsule is loose." He plucked a small circuit from a gray panel, then put it back in, tightening it. "There you go," he said, "Good as new." "Thanks." said 497, "I was just testing you, though. I could've fixed that. You just haven't fixed one of these in weeks." "Well," 117 said lightly, "I've still got it." "Yep." 497 said, as they got up and walked out of the shooting range.

Vancer led Demas Cordd, still in handcuffs, down the detention level's long, narrow hallway. The Rodian's body was aching all over. He couldn't go through that again. The pain was indescribable. At the very least, it was starting to subside, but it still hurt. Suddenly, Vancer forced Demas to stop walking. "Here," Vancer said, pressing a button near a cell door, "You'll have to share this cell with more alien trash. We picked up too many prisoners at Scarif, and we're overcrowded." He unlocked the cuffs, and shoved Demas into the open door. When Demas turned around, the door was shut, and he could hear Vancer walking away. Demas turned around again to see his cellmate. An Ishi Tib. He was lying down, but suddenly got up, awakened. "Huh," the Ishi Tib said, "Who, uh, who are you?" "I'm your new cellmate." Demas said. "Oh," the darker-green alien said, "Well, uh, come and sit." Demas did so, and sat next to the Ishi Tib in the small space. "Lansor Onn." the alien said, holding his hand out, "What's yours?" "Demas Cordd." Demas said while shaking Lansor's hand. "So," the Rodian began, "When were you captured?" "Yesterday." Lansor said. "What battle?" "Scarif." said Lansor, "You weren't there?" "No," Demas began, "But there were some rumors floating around my base about what happened there. I'm still not exactly sure." "Well," Lansor started, "I wasn't on the ground, but from what I've heard, a Rebel strike team entered Scarif, and stole the schematics for some kind of a... planet killer." Demas' eyes widened. "Planet killer?" "That's what Alliance High Command was told." Lansor said. Demas gained a puzzled look on his face. "Where were you?" "On the Profundity. Some Stormtroopers boarded us and took dozens of prisoners."

Admiral Perox was sitting in his office. He was scrolling through a datapad, when his comlink, sitting on his desk, alerted him of a message. Perox put down his datapad and answered the call. "What is it?" asked the Admiral. "You've been called for an important meeting with some other officers on board, sir. General Hedan and Captain Skallon are awaiting you on the bridge." the man over the link said. "Very well, Ensign. Notify them that I shall be there within the hour." "Yes, sir."

"Anyways," said 117, as he and 497 were walking down one of the Sentinel's corridors, "I punched the Rodian, dead-on in the face. He was a tough one." "So how'd you bring him down?" asked 497. "Well," began the Scout, "I picked up this golden cup, or goblet, or something. Anyway, I took the goblet, and whack." As 117 said this, he smashed his hands together. "Wow," said the Shock Trooper, "Impressive. You took it down pretty quickly. Just goes to show how inferior the Rebels are." They continued walking. 117 stopped. "Well," he said, "My stop is here." 117 turned away from 497, and entered a room. His quarters. "Right, then," said 497, "See you around!" The Shock Trooper turned back, retreating to his own quarters. There hadn't been a battle in a while, so there probably wasn't going to be one anytime soon.

Admiral Stryker Perox had arrived on the bridge, his uniform neatly pressed and his rank bar shinier than ever. He looked to the front of the bridge. Skallon and Hedan stood, in silence, their hands behind their backs. As Perox walked over the main platform, he could see numerous techs and engineers work in the pits below. He stopped, just a couple of feet in front of the duo. Out of the corner of his eye, to the right, standing near one of the windows, was Agent Vancer. "What have I been called for?" Perox questioned to both Hedan and Skallon. "Well, sir," began Captain Skallon, "We've recently discovered that, during our little battle at Jabba the Hutt's palace, one of our soldiers placed a tracker on the Rebels' escape vessel." Skallon was a pale young man. Maybe about 28. Hardly old enough to be a Captain. Hedan stepped forward, Perox now giving him attention. "We've tracked the Rebel ship, so far, to be flying in the direction of the Anoat sector. We haven't deduced what planet it is, but we may yet find out in just a few minutes." Perox squinted his eyes, in the direction of Skallon. "And which of our troopers placed the tracker on the Rebel ship?" asked Perox. "Well," Skallon began, "Apparently it was one of your own. TK-1225, I believe." "Hm," said Perox, "I shall congratulate him later. But now-" Suddenly, Agent Vancer, who had sat out of the conversation this whole time, stepped forward, between Skallon and Hedan.

"Admiral Stryker Perox," said Vancer, "The boy who was beaten by his father. Poor little thing, you were, Admiral." Perox's face twitched. "And," continued Vancer, "Speaking of your father, where is he now? You haven't seen him since you were 11, if I am correct." Perox gained a look of anger in his eyes. "My father is dead." said Perox, "He's been dead almost ever since the Empire was created. You never speak of him again, understood, Agent?" Vancer seemingly ignored Perox. "I suppose by now he is either rotting in the Unknown Regions, or he is still serving under our fine Emperor." Perox stepped forward, raising his fist. But he didn't have time to throw any punches. Skallon tapped Perox on the shoulder. "Admiral Perox, we've narrowed the Rebel ship to be heading to one planet in the Anoat sector." Perox turned around. "Which is it?" the Admiral asked. Skallon turned his pale face to Perox.

"Bespin." he said quietly.

----- End of Chapter One -----

----- Chapter Two -----