Stars of Glory

Darth Vader strode down the corridor, his booted feet causing the deck to ring with every step. Behind him a troop of storm troopers followed their commander, as he walked on to the command bridge of his personal Super Star Destroyer, the Executor. The commanding officer turned and snapped to attention upon spotting Vader, He maintained his stance, resisting the urge to blink, fearing showing any sign of disrespect to the Sith Lord. Vader stopped a foot in front of the man, his gaze fixed on the ice planet occupying the main view screen. The mission had been a simple one. Locate the rebel base. He had. Destroy the rebel base. he hadn't. The force that had been dispatched to the planet several hours ago should have been more then enough to overwhelm any defenses the Rebels had erected. Indeed, several ion cannon blasts had been fired at his fleet, a sure sign the rebels had been planning on launching evacuation ships. The cannon had soon fallen silent, a sign he had taken to mean his men had done their job. No ships had launched from the planet, yet neither had his men reported back in yet. Vader turned to the bridge officer, the man gulping at receiving the attention of the Sith.



"Report." The one word was enough to get Vader's command across. The bridge officer swallowed, then began to speak.

"It seems the mission failed m'lord. We've lost all signals from the ground force, and sensor's indicate the Rebel base still has an active shield around it." The man stood rooted to the spot, awaiting his fate. He had come to this post only a few weeks before, when its previous occupant had displeased Vader. He had watched his predecessor's death, and prayed that his own death would not be as painful as the other had seemed. Vader looked at him for a moment, then turned back view screen. Seeing as he was still breathing, the bridge officer decided to simply continue. If Vader wished him dead, he would die. Otherwise, he would finish the report. "We have also lost contact with the rear guard ships. All attempts to hail them has failed. They are feared lost sir. A TIE squadron sent to investigate has also failed to report back. They are feared lost as well." Vader didn't even turn, but instead continued to stare at the planet below.

"It seems the Rebellion will not be as easy to crush as planned." he mused. He turned to the commanders awaiting his orders. "Prepare ground bases. We shall lay siege to the base. Any attempt to escape will be dealt with using terminal measures. At the end of the week, we shall attack. There will be no survivors, is that clear?" he ordered. The officers nodded, and immediately rushed off to begin executing their orders. Vader turned back to the bridge officer. He suppressed the urge to kill the man, realizing it would do him no good to seem angry at the set back. "Begin interdiction maneuvers. Allow no ships off the planet until I give you personal permission. If any ship, either theirs, or ours, tries to leave the planet, shoot it down. I shall allow no cowards, just as I shall allow no survivors.”



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While the Imperial forces began to move into position over Hoth, the terran fleet on the opposite side of the planet began to maneuver themselves. The Clans, anxious for activity after the long hyperspace journey, had been the first to begin moving. Several Batchalls had almost been issued, until it had been pointed out that no one had any idea what they were going to be facing, so why not go for it all? Thus the dropships were dispatched in large numbers, racing each other to the planet surface. The warriors from Clan Jade Falcon headed straight to the imperiled Rebel base, while the other clans found their own landing grounds. They all remained close to the base though, expecting the heaviest fighting to occur there.



In orbit, the Inner Sphere ships were more hesitant. Their aerospace fighters had already intercepted at least one enemy patrol. Fortunately, they had caught the odd ball shaped fighters off guard, and no casualties had been suffered in the engagement. Despite the easy victory they were still wary, and the larger war ships, brought in case of a dispute with the Clans, began to circle around the smaller civilian transports, a modern echo of the techniques used by settlers of long dead eras. Regular aerospace fighter patrols were launched, careful not to leave the area their mother ships occupied, fearful that their berths might be destroyed in their absence. The lessons learned by the Jade Falcon and her escorts had been taken to heart by the fleet. Who ever were leading these mystery ships, they were not to be underestimated.



The only group left out by the sudden activity where the independent entrepreneurs, the mercenaries who had traveled with the fleet, either for personal gain to out run trouble left behind in their home systems. Some split off, following the Clans down to the planet, while other set up their own perimeter watches, wary of the next act in the new war they had found.



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Down on Hoth, the Jade Falcon dropships had already made their way to the Rebel base. Even now geodesic domes were being erected to serve as temporary headquarters and barracks for the Clan warriors gathering there. Technicians scrambled back and forth, setting up generators and equipment. The biggest problem was the adverse weather on Hoth. Being a colonization effort, they had been planning on more earth like conditions, and the cold was making anything made out of metal exceptionally brittle, most especially the wiring in their computers. They had already burned out three heaters trying to keep the communication center running, but fortunately they had managed to get everything under control for the moment.



Inside the base, Karl Pryde stood across a holographic image of the planet. He had become much calmer in the past few hours, having received word that the Jade Falcon, though heavily damaged, had managed to survive the battle with only minimal casualties. Satisfied that his ship, and the woman he had left aboard it, were both fine, he had settled down to a task that he was sure was going to bring him much excitement: killing Imperials. Across the display stood the leaders of the Rebellion as he knew it. The oldest was a woman, whom the others all called Mon Mothma. The older gentlemen to her side he had met before, General Rieekan. He had also already met the other woman. A noble it seemed, as everyone called her Princess, though she had instructed him to call her by her first name, Leia. The younger gentleman at her side had been brought in by one of the Elemental patrols that had been looking for survivors. He was Luke Skywalker, an ace pilot in command of the Rebel’s Rogue squadron. Karl couldn’t help but think Skywalker looked a bit short for a pilot. He wouldn’t say it though, as it seemed the young man had taken down one of the enemy walkers by himself, using a simple grenade. Rather impressive, even if had been shot down first.



He looked down at the display again. It was showing a plain a good fifty klicks east of their position. Said plain was occupied three large red splashes, surrounded by several smaller squares and rectangles. All of this was being displayed courtesy of the Rebels’ sensor equipment, which had detected the trio of Star Destroyers landing several hours ago. It was safe to assume they already had a solid camp erected, with it seemed regular walker patrols established. Attacking the base head on would be foolish. The three ships were massive, on par with the two that had attacked the fleet earlier in the day. If they became involved in the firefight, the attacking force would be mauled in a matter of minutes. What was needed was stealth. Many of the Clan mechs could be altered to carry electronic countermeasures, but he wondered if that was going to be enough. From the looks of the camp, the Imperial forces were setting in for a siege. He snapped out of his daze, realizing the others were in the middle of a heated debate.



“We need to abandon the base now!” Mon Mothma insisted.

“We can’t, don’t you see that? Lord Vader must have his ships in position by now. Any one trying to leave the planet will be torn to shred!” Luke replied. Leia seemed torn between the two of them, and Rieekan seemed to be lost in thought.

“Yes, but if we all leave at once, then surely there will be a few survivors! The rebellion must continue, no matter what the cost!” Mon Mothma shot back. Luke shook his head at the reply.

“It won’t continue with out people to continue it! There is no way to guarantee who will make it off the planet, if any one does so at all! We need to stay, destroy that base, and then get out while they’re retreating. It’s the only way!” Luke argued. Mon Mothma shook her head, refusing to continue the argument. Karl thought for a moment, then nodded his head.

“Skywalker is right. A decisive victory here will do you much good. Not only will it allow for an escape from the planet, it will also provide a good propaganda oppurtunity.” He explained.

“It is foolishness! How would you even begin to attack that base? Those are Imperial Star Destroyers! They will blast you to rubble!” she cried.

“Well, I was thinking of a more subtle approach. I would never face such power head on. Instead, let us consider a more covert approach. How much do you know about Imperial sensor arrays?” Karl asked.

“Quite a bit. Why do you ask?” Skywalker replied, intrigued by the Il-khan’s proposal.

“I was thinking of altering the ECM systems on several of the battlemechs. It would allow them to sneak up on the enemy base. A little psychological warfare first, followed by long range bombardments. We have battlemechs already configured for such an attack.” Karl explained.

“A sneak attack against an Imperial base? A man would have to be a fool!” Mon Mothma declared.



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Han Solo was repairing several loose wires on the Millennium Falcon, when he heard the hangar doors slide open. A frigid blast of air greeted him as he turned around. Standing in the doorway was quite possibly the most terrifying thing he had ever seen. Well, it definitely qualified as the ugliest, rivaling Jabba’s hideous mug. The machine stood close to twenty meters as he estimated it, and was capped by a grinning skull head. Mounted above its closed fists were several cannon barrels, and missile racks ran up the sides of its torso. Smaller gun mount was visible on the side of the head, and a massive cannon was sealed to its hip. It had been painted jet black, making it easy to spot it against the ice fields of Hoth. Even worse was the strange thumping sound coming from the machine. As it walked closer to him, Han realized the sound must be some sort of music, though it was like nothing he had ever heard of before. He wondered if it was even fair to call it music.



The machine walked into the hangar, each footfall causing the ice sheet to tremble beneath Han. He briefly wondered if the ice was thick enough to support the weight of the machine, then decided it wasn’t important. Several more machines strode into the hangar after it, three more identical to the first, followed by five more with the most erratic paint jobs he had ever seen. One was painted in colors similar to the cloudracers he had bet on as a youth, while another looked as if it had gone running through a paint factory, not caring which colors it knocked over onto itself. The other three had much more conventional schemes, what he took to be some form of camouflage. None of the machines bore any other resemblance to each other, each a different shape and size. The smallest was maybe half the height of the first machine, and the others seemed to be spread out between the two sizes.



The lead machine stopped a dozen meters away from Han, and there was a small popping sound from the rear. A long cord dropped between its legs and a man corkscrewed down the line, landing on the ice with a small thump and a quiet grunt. He turned to Han and waved, as he began jogging over. The man wasn’t anything spectacular, only of medium build and height. He seemed to be somewhat wiry, though that might have been the result of the several days worth of beard growth he had accumulated. He glanced around the hangar, then waved to Han.



“Aye, good day mate.” His accent seemed to be a strange mix of accents from any land once held by the British Empire. “You wouldn’t be happening to know where I could find one Karl Pryde? Bugger still owes me fifty credits.” Han pulled his blaster and aimed it at the new comer. “Hey, no call for that mate. ‘Sides, me friends up there might not take too kindly to you puttin’ a bullet in me. And their guns be a bit bigger, if you catch my drift?”

“Who in the name of the galaxy are you? And what sort of monstrosity is that?” Han motioned to the machine the man had come from.

“What, me Atlas? Never seen a mech before? Bloody hell that’s a new one for me. Anyways, name’s Marcus. Marcus Aurelius.” The man held out his hand towards Han. Han grinned. He couldn’t help but like the man. The guy seemed to be just as much as a scoundrel as he was. There was a low roar from behind the Falcon, and Marcus turned to try and look past Han.

“What in the bloody blazes was that?” he asked.

“What, that? That was just Chewie. Hey, Chewie! Get your hairy butt over here!” Han called out. There was a thump from the other side of the space freighter as the Wookie landed on the ice. Marcus let out a small whistle as he saw Chewbacca for the first time.

“Now there’s a gent who needs a shave. Bit of hair problem eh?” Marcus asked. Han grinned and shook his head.

“I may have never seen a mech before, but how is it you’ve never seen a Wookie? They’re fairly common ‘round the space ports.” Han asked.

“Ach, you might say me and mine aren’t exactly from around these parts. Not just a whole ‘nother world, but a whole different galaxy at that.” Marcus replied.

“Sounds like a blast. So who’d you say you were looking for again?” Han asked.

“Bloke by the name of Karl Pryde. Likes to introduce himself as Il-khan. Probably showed up with a bunch of mechs like mine, just sort of different?” Marcus prompted.

“Hmm, can’t say. Me and Chewie were back here prepping for evac when something screwed up those plans royally. He some sort of officer or something?” Han asked.

“Aye, leads a bunch of overly well spoken blokes who refer to themselves as clanners. Any ideas mate?” Marcus replied.

“Yeah, a few. If he’s some sort of commanding type he’s probably in the briefing room. Follow me, I’ll take you there.” Han turned to Chewie, who had gone back to working on the Falcon. “Hey Chewie! I’m taking our new friend here to go meet the leader types. Take of the old girl for me alright?” Chewbacca growled in reply, not even looking up from the console he was working on.



Marcus motioned to his followers, who moved their mechs into the hangar. The door slid shut behind the last one, and Marcus and Han headed off deeper into the base, while the others began to inspect their mechs. They wound their way through a series of icy passages, and Marcus shivered in the cool air. The tunnels were unheated, as any temperature above a certain point would cause the walls to begin melting, thus compromising the base. Han barely noticed, having long gotten used to the cold climate. He walked over to her, much to Karl’s amusement, and the slight shock of the others.



“Excuse me my dear, but what is your name pray?” he asked, taking her hand and gracing it with a kiss. Leia blushed, while behind them Han scowled. Mon Mothma cleared her throat, and answered for Leia.

“She is Princess Leia Organa, one of the leaders of our rebellion against the Empire.” Mon Mothma intoned.

“Ah nobility! Such a heritage is fitting for one of such beauty!” Marcus praised. Han’s scowl deepened to a snarl, and Karl coughed slightly to gain Marcus’s attention. Marcus turned around to see the Il-khan glowering at him.

“Karl, me mate! Where’s my fifty credits you bugger?” Marcus asked.

“It was deducted out of the fifty thousand credits you owed me for destroying that Puma on Tirgol. Or did you forget about that?” Karl asked.

“Aye, well, perhaps, perhaps. Any way, all water under the bridge right?” Marcus asked. The Rebel commanders all watched this conversation with vast confusion. “Any way, what sorta mess you gotten us into now?” Marcus questioned. Karl thought for a moment, a stray idea crossing his mind.

“Your lance is still mounting ECM right?” he asked. Marcus nodded his head.

“Aye, we’re still the sneakiest merc company around. Why you ask?”

“How would you like a job?”

“Rather early for the clans to be feudin’ isn’t it?” Marcus asked.

Karl shook his head. “Not against one of the Clans. We have found a new enemy to fight. The Galactic Empire.” Karl informed Marcus.

“Ah, some has delusions of grandeur eh? Sure, we can knock them flat on their rear ends for ya. What do you need us to do?”

“We need you to attack this shipyard.” Mon Mothma pointed to the holographic display table. Marcus scanned it briefly, then shrugged.

“Sure no problem.” He turned back to Karl. “Terms of salvage?” he asked.

“If you kill it, you keep it. Though I would like one of the ships for Jade Falcon. Consider that one of the terms of the contract.”

“Done. How many ships??”

“Three that we know of. There may or may not be orbital support for them.” Karl added.

“Bah, just adds a hint of danger to this cake walk. Can mine keep a ship too?” Marcus asked.

“If you can capture it. We get ours first though.” Karl replied.

“Done. Any support teams?”

“I will add one star of Elementals to help capture each ship. I will also provide an artillery support star if you would like.” Karl decided.

“Hmm, aye, that would be nice. Mission time?”

“How does tonight suit you?”

“Great. The faster it gets done, the faster I get paid. Standard payment correct?”

“Aff.” Karl replied.

“Well bargained and done.” Marcus held out his hand. Karl took it and the two men shook on their deal. Karl turned back to the Rebel commanders. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Marcus Aurelius, the man who will destroy the enemy camp, and secure us a pair of battleships to use as well.”

“What of aerial support? I can have Rogue squadron set up a few of the remaining snowspeeders. We can provide a distraction and cover for the walkers as they head in.” Luke offered.

“They are called battlemechs son. And even then, they are better off with out the cover. Your Rogue squadron has no way of hiding from sensors do they?” Karl asked. Luke merely shook his head. “As I thought. Launching the speeders would give away the advantage of surprise. Let the battlemechs handle first attack. You and your pilots can follow in a second wave.” Karl suggested

“Yeah, I guess that would work better wouldn’t it? Ok, so the speeders will take the second attack. Will there be any protection from a space bombardment?” Luke asked.

“I am sure the aerospace fighter on board the jumpships have gotten just as bored as the battlemech pilots. They will be more then glad to offer us a fighter screen.”



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Dax Ter was rather upset. He had come to Hoth with the rest of his brigade hoping to crush the rebels in one quick attack. Now he was stuck on some ice ball of a planet, freezing his ass off, and his back itched to boot. All because the damn quartermaster couldn’t find him a suit of armor big enough to fit him. It wasn’t his fault that he was taller then the average stormtrooper. Yet he was still stuck wearing a suit of armor two sizes too small for him. It made the webbing inside the armor pull tight against his back, chafing against his skin. Worse, there was no way to scratch it through the heavy winter armor. He grumbled his discomfort, which was picked up by his comlink.



“What was that 1942?” His commanding officer asked.

“Nothing sir. Comlink picked up some random noise. Sorry sir.” He replied.

“Well make sure it doesn’t happen again. Turn down the gain setting on your mic.” The commander ordered.

“Yes sir.” Dax reached up and twisted the small dial on the side of his helmet that controlled the gain on his comlink. Then he almost lost his balance as the ice shelf beneath him shuddered. Catching his balance, he turned to see one of the massive AT-AT walkers passing a bare five meters away. The massive walker towered over him, and he realized it was turning. He quickly ducked out of the way as it passed over where he had just been. The bloody pilot hadn’t even seen him. He sighed, and went back to staring out at the blank ice field. He didn’t even know why he had to stand guard. It wasn’t like the sensors wouldn’t detect anything before he saw it.



Out across the ice he heard a creature howl. It was long and eerily high pitched. He had never heard anything like it before, but it sent a chill straight through to his bones. No sooner had he thought this then several more howls joined the first, some maintained one long note, while others broke up into a series of short yelps. He shivered as each howl echoed through him, digging down into some primal portion of his subconscious, where it triggered a deep sense of fear. Dax suddenly hoped his hearing was playing tricks on him. Because it sounded like what ever was making the howling was coming closer. The ice beneath him trembled once more, and when he looked around there was no sign of a walker. The one from before had already made its way to the other side of camp. There was no way it was making the ice tremble all the way over near where he was on patrol. The howling was even closer no, and behind it, there seemed to be a faint echo of a drum. Dax suddenly began pouring over the briefing from earlier. According to the mission briefings. There were no life forms on Hoth, nothing besides the rebels and the Tauntauns. Now he was sure he heard drums, along with a deep wailing behind it. All through out came the howling, the incessant howling. It was enough to drive a man to madness. Inside his helmet Dax bit his lip until it bled, trying to keep his calm. This must be some rebel trick, he figured. Some means of scaring the Imperials off planet.



Scanning the ice fields in front of him, he finally saw them. They looked like men, but they were moving too fast. Much too fast. And as they got closer, Dax could tell there was one more thing wrong with them. They were too tall, far too tall, to be any mere men. The strange drums, that echoing howl, and the dreadful wail followed them, echoing off the ice as the giants approached the enemy base. For that was what they were. Giants, black as night, with eyes that glowed red in the starry night. Paralyzed with fright, Dax forgot to run. He forgot to sound the alarm. All he remembered to do, as the giant’s hand reached down and picked him up from the ice, all he remembered to do was scream.



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Marcus flicked a button on his command stick, and his Atlas’s hand closed, crushing the helpless stormtrooper he had just picked up. All around him, the steady drone of Scottish bagpipes and drums played from the mechs, while smaller elemental suits riding them called out with wolf howls. Judging from the reaction of the one he had just crushed, these stormtroopers had never come across anything like it before. All the better for his lance then. Besides, psychological warfare never hurt any one. Well, save for the losers, but that’s war. Marcus flipped the switch on his radio. It seemed like a good time to wake up the locals.



“Dixieland band, this is Whistlin’ Dixie. I am on site. Feel free to play me a tune.” He radioed to the waiting missile support mechs.

“Roger that Whistling Dixie. Missile ETA is thirty seconds. Over.” The reply came in with a trace of static, but he could tell what it said.

“Copy that Dixieland. We’ll be sure to keep our heads down.” Marcus reached up and changed frequencies. “Ok, boys, missiles are inbound. Keep the sensors up, we don’ want to see any scratches on our pretty toys do we? And keep up the scare tactics.” Marcus commanded.

“Roger that. Lead. Weapons?” Marcus recognized the voice of his second in command, a pilot who only answered to Wilder.

“Weapons are hot and free. C’mon boys, lets have some fun. Wilder, take the buildings. Cat, you got the light vehicles. Dickens, well, just blow stuff up. Me, I’m going after that tin can on the far side of the base.” Marcus declared.

“Roger that.” Wilder acknowledged.

“Copy that boss.” Cat’s soft contralto replied.

There was a beep as the mute Dickens acknowledged his orders. Marcus broke his Atlas into a quick jog, letting his laser play over the base. He was keeping the PPCs on his arms cool until they had to deal with the ships, the same as the rest of the lance. The Guass rifle mounted on his hip was also silent. Karl had warned him that the big walkers sucked up energy blasts like a sponge, but that hitting them with ballistics could knock them silly. Marcus intended on following what he thought was probably good advice.



The perimeter of the base suddenly blossomed with fire, as the initial missiles impacted into the ice around it. The first salvo had been for the much the same reason as the bagpipes and drums that were still playing, to intimidate the defenders, making life easy for the attackers. After that the missile strikes became much more random. The supporting Clan mechs had keyed their missile locks into the Marcus’s and his lance’s radar systems, so they could pick their own targets from maximum range. So far they had been sticking to the building, looking for ammo dumps, barracks, and possible defense sights. Wilder was helping quite a bit, several structures burning merrily, victims to the twin flame-throwers he mounted on his Atlas. Cat was using her machine to great effect. Fist sized rounds, meant to annoy battlemechs, turned stormtroopers into red pulp, the rounds tearing through thin armor, leaving oversized exit wounds. The excess heat from the rounds was melting the ice where they landed, and the melted water was mixing with the blood and gore to form a nightmarish sea. Dickens was simply firing his guns at what ever moved or happened to stray across his path.



Ahead of him, Marcus could see the walker he was looking for. It ambled towards him, its blasters firing repeatedly. The hits scorched through his armor, even though he had taken up the reflective armor Karl had offered. He decided to reply in kind, and the Guass rifle on his hip barked a single shot. His targeting computer had done its job well, and the melon sized projectile had smashed into the bridge section. The walker stumbled forward for a few more moments, so Marcus unleashed a missile barrage at its feet. It was an old trick he had learned in the arctic circles of the terran sphere, but even on Hoth it worked. The missiles melted and evaporated the ice beneath the AT-AT’s feet, causing the massive walker to list and fall over. Behind it he could see the other two getting to their feet. Looking down at his damage readouts, he was dismayed to see that his mech was a bright orange color. It seemed the blasters on the walkers were more dangerous then he had thought. But before either of the two could get on their feet missile barrages, from the looks of them Arrow IV Thunderbolt Artillery, smashed into the large back portion of each walker, sending flames and shrapnel flying. The walkers collapsed back to the ground, their chassis smoking ruins.



From behind the walkers came massive energy blasts, the capitol guns on the Star Destroyers coming into play, now that they had no worries about hitting their own units. Marcus and his lance moved as quickly as they could, using the PPC bolts to return fire, hoping the ionic weapons could disrupt the firing cannons. They ducked behind wreckage when they could, while Elementals ran towards the ships. Missiles rained in from afar, though they did little against the thick armor plating on the ship. A few guns went silent as lucky strikes hit them, but the rest continued to harass the attackers. Marcus watched as Dickens mech disappeared from his radar, and worry shot through him. He twisted in his command couch, and spotted the flare of an ejection pod. He could see the ruined Atlas on the ground, the mech’s legs torn out from beneath it. All that remained below the hips was a twisted pile of junk metal. Finally, Marcus reached safety, having ducked underneath one of the massive ships. He watched as the Elementals scurried into what seemed like an open hangar bay. He decided to follow suit, and steered his Atlas up a ramp that had been left down, apparently to allow the walkers access to and from the ship.



He found himself staring at an entire fleet of the oddest craft he had ever seen. Each one seemed to be a ball with flat wings attached to it. He grinned. Below his cockpit Elementals were exchanging fire with more of the white armored soldiers. The Elementals clearly had the advantage, their armor meant to resist a blast or two from a mech. The paltry rifles being used against them were barely leaving marks on the armor. Meanwhile, the Elementals had decided not even to waste ammunition. Instead they had waded into melee with the stormtroopers, using sword and fist to do battle instead. Marcus looked back at the fighters and grinned. No reason to let them have all the fun. And as long as he left one or two intact Karl would be pleased. He began to fire at the fighters, laughing with each explosion.



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On the hangar floor, Sergey turned as the first of the fighters exploded. He dropped the stormtrooper he had just killed, the man’s ruined head spilling brains and blood on to the floor. It seemed that the crazy mercenary was bored. Oh well. He and his men had plenty to worry about at the moment. If some crazy Inner Sphere dog wanted to rain shrapnel down on the fight below, there was nothing he could do about it.



He motioned to four of the others to follow him. They made a break for what seemed to be a door into the ship itself, not caring as blaster bolts ricocheted off their armor. They took the door with military precision, and proceeded down the hallway. More of the white clad figures tried to stop them, but salvo from his short-range missile pack eliminated the bunch. It wasn’t his fault they had grouped together in close quarters. Or that they had insufficient armor for dealing with Clan warriors.



Down at the end of the corridor he saw several more of the enemy arranging some sort of heavy weapon. He signaled to the rest of his squad, and they dropped in formation. Several minutes of suppressing laser fire later, the hall was filled with the stench of burning ozone, and wispy smoke from stray hits. As his men picked themselves up off the floor, Sergey looked at all the scorch marks lining the hall and ceiling. It seemed no one had taught the white dogs how to aim! Well, he wasn’t one to quibble over small blessing such as that. He motioned to two of his men, who picked up the tripod mounted weapon and slung it over one of their shoulders, mechanical muscles making an easy task of a chore no man could have ever pulled off unaided.



It took another hour to find what he was looking for. Sergey and his men were covered in pockmarks from blaster hits, and the arms of their Elemental suits were covered in gore and blood. They still had about half their ammunition left, having spared it only for heavy situations, such as when they faced the crew mounted guns. They had collected another one, and the two Elementals carrying them were becoming quite skilled in their use. They made a fearsome sight, triggering the mounted blasters with one hand, while the other spat lasers or flame or missiles. The rest of the squad was eager to acquire more of the weapons, for they had a much higher rate of fire then the small lasers mounted in their combat armors. But as far as Sergey was concerned they could wait. For he had just found the Holy Grail of this mission. There, on the wall before him, was a digital lay out of the interior of the vessel they were in. He had his on board computer scan and save each level of the ship independently.



He motioned to his men, and they broke into a run. Now he knew where to find a lift to the levels he needed to take. Now he knew where the communications center was, so that it could be destroyed. Better yet, now he knew where the bridge was. Il-Khan Pryde was going to be ever so pleased when he delivered this gift to him. As the mechanical gauntlets of his suit crushed another enemy’s skull, he smiled, and began to laugh.



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Vader was just stepping into his shuttle when an aide came running across the hangar floor. The Executor was much to large to take into atmosphere the way the smaller Star Destroyers could. He would have to take a shuttle to the surface. But first he had to deal with what ever it was this fool wanted.



“M’lord, I bring bad news.” The aide began.

“What is it now?” Vader demanded.

“Sir, the surface base has been attacked. Even now, reports are coming in of boarders on the Glory and the Majesty. The Gauntlet was able to launch before she was attacked. Unfortunately, the ground base is a total loss.” The aide reported. Vader took a deep breath to calm himself. Reaching out with one hand, he slowly closed his fingers into a tight fist. The side grasped at his throat as he began to choke, his windpipe being crushed by some unseen force. As the aide dropped to he floor, Vader looked down at the body.

“Thank you for the report.” he said.