Table of Contents . . .

THE SECOND BATTLE OF TERRA

ISD2 SPITE; OBSERVATION DECK
THE SOL SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR
DEC 30 2680/2680.363; 2353 HOURS (CST)

“Really, she isn’t that spectacular or exciting. You know, Jalin?"

"Sir...?"

"That blue and white sphere in front of us, General—I can’t believe several bands of disgusting humanoid aliens would band together just to defend one planet among thousands. It’s just so... pitiful. Don’t you think?" Captain Xerin Solna, the middle-aged commander of the the Spite stated.

As the entire remnants of an joint Imperial-Kilrathi Strike Fleet—now a still-formidable Executor-class SSD, 6 Imperial II SDs, Victory SD, Katana-class dreadnaught, and on the Kilrathi side the Hakaga supercarrier, 28 Corvettes, two Kamekh destroyers, Ralari II heavy destroyer, 8 light destroyers, a Snakeir-class carrier—cruised confidently toward Terra, that blue and white sphere, Captain Solna and his executive officer, Lt. General Jalin Mithrin, sat in their cushy, velvet plush chairs. Each of them sipped Rigmarrin Tea while recalculating the attack plan against the Empire’s final and most impressive target:

Planet Earth—the cradle of the Terran Confederation.

"Well surely, sir, without rudeness to my words, you must see the situation from their point of view. Quite the sizable attack fleet filled with angry peoples craving victory are making a Wampa-line right for their homeworld, their entire race’s place of ancestral origin." The Lt. General continued, speaking slowly and with confidence, "They have stuck thorns in our sides these past hours few of battle, but for the most part we have sent them running. The Rebellion," the Lt. General followed his CO’s hard-line Imperial reference, "and the Terran Confederation are scared, fearful of the future, and are in a state of panic and confusion as to the events that led up to such a dire situation as this. We’re going to beat them, and they know it, sir."

A long pause followed as Solna sipped his tea for just a moment.

"Exciting, isn’t it?" the Captain added.

"Very much so, Captain. When do our dropships and the Hakaga’s transports touch down?" Mithrin was eager for the last strike that would cripple this new bane, the Terran Confederation, hurting the government’s morale. And without high morale, there is no lust for life, and without that, any lust for victory, Jalin considered.

"It’s just minutes, Mithrin. Just minutes now, and our cloaked transports shall begin deploying ground forces." Captain Solna smiled at Grand Moff Jhediah’s ingenuity in his implementation of the long-forgotten Spaarti Cloning Cylinders to supplement their lacking ranks of Stormtroopers, Stormtroopers that were now on their way to the unremarkable M-class sphere before them now. "The first stage to eternal victory shall be with the Third Imperium."

And so the two went back to sipping their cups of tea, as Earth became larger and larger to them through the viewports.

NAGASAKI TERRAN CONFEDERATION SPACE FORCE INSTALLATION
PLANET EARTH; HOUSTON CITY LIMITS, TEXAS
2359 HOURS (CST)

At 2350 Hours, Nagasaki, only miles away from the Terran Confederation Fleet Service Academy, was a hive buzzing with activity. Any and all fighters, old and new, from Ferrets to Vampires were launched from the base, en route to the military phalanx positioning against the incoming Imperial-Kilrathi fleet blazing past Mars and onto Earth itself. Already, anyone present on Earth could see the arrowhead-silhouettes of Star Destroyers, the dwindling Kilrathi forces getting larger in the night sky by the hour. However, already three Vesuvius-class supercarriers, ten Confederation-class carriers, two Concordia-class light fleet carriers, five Caernaven-class patrol frigates, and ten Murphy and Sheffield-class destroyers were positioning themselves around Earth...

The Nagasaki Installation itself had always been prepared for this sort of event; it was a military city, rather than a true-to-name installation. At this place cadets were trained and the Confederation’s top-most officers made plans that would affect everybody and anybody treading Confed soil.

The military center’s architecture was a throwback to Roman times, with four main streets and four cubic apartment complexes that could easily be adjusted upon priority. Built on top of the apartment complexes were landing bays for aerospace fighters and transports. Built on top of the landing bays were anti-aircraft defenses—turreted plasma cannons and missile launchers lined up in neat little rows by the hundreds. The whole installation was colored with cold steel grays and navy blues.

Smack dab in the middle of the entire installation was the HQ of the entire place—a reaching skyscraper that ended in a point that, like the structure’s namesake, threatened to scrape the sky itself. Around the Nagasaki Twin Towers transports and fighters circled around it like ravens, some in protection of the city and others simply waiting to be cleared to land.

While one hundred thousand soldiers were within the Installation’s concourse, at least two hundred thousand Army and Marine troops were outside the center’s walls. Every soldier had been fitted with Confederate-red blaster-resistant armor and a pump-action plasma rifle to complement their standard-issue assault rifles.

Some soldiers climbed into hover tanks brandishing at least two pulse laser cannons pointing four directions, others climbed into single-person battle pods that held either one laser cannon or missile launcher. Others simply charged or loaded up their weapons—M-47 and M-48 Semiauto Laser Rifles, Marscorp MPR-27s, M-297 neutron mini guns, M-58A1 and HK-57 Laser Assault Rifles, SMGs, and RPGs—rechecked armor, and received orders and info through their headsets.

Among the group organized for a chaos that would come soon enough, was positioned Colonel John "Gash" Dekker of the Terran Confederation Marine Corps, standing his ground as he finished off the last cigarette in his pack. While he handled the infantry personnel, some of his men were in the Nagasaki hangars, suiting up in the fighters and preparing for take-off. Air cover would be a necessity for the Confederate forces to win the ground half of the Second Battle of Terra.

Overhead, several glowing streaks appeared in the clear sky above. Fighters would swoop over the terrain on bombing runs, and transports would set down and deploy soldiers.

"Everyone," a voice called out over the PA system, "Suit up and get ready. Infantry, HAPCs, and battle pods will go in first, protecting the hover tanks and ground assault vehicles while they take down the heavy artillery. Beowulf Squadron shall defend the hover tanks overhead, taking on the air forces. Again, everyone, get ready."

After several more minutes of clicking and clacking, of situating and searching, silence swept over the Nagasaki Confederate Armed Forces.

Suddenly, the hum of Nagasaki’s shield generators pierced the dry, blowing wind of the dusty landscape.

The enemy was coming.

A distant scream was heard, almost beneath the sounds of the dry wind... It was not a scream, more that it was a roar. And it was coming, growing more terrorizing every moment, and in greater numbers.

"What the hell is that sound?" This question and several like it were heard among the battalions.

Colonel Dekker had never heard the sound before either, but he took a wild guess and stuck with it.

"Fighters! They’re fighters! Secure your positions! Ready—"

His entire group pointed their firearms in the general direction of the sound.

"Aim..."

The reassertion of plasma rifles charging blocked out the roars.

"... Fire! For Earth, you bastards, fire at will!"

Several green and blue bolts of energy were shot into the air, into the heavens turned red by the Texas heat and the rising sun. Out of the red clouds, twelve TIE Defenders, seven Missile Boats, three Ekapshi light atmospheric fighters, and two Vaktoth heavy fighters swooped down upon the army and dropped their payload. Twenty-four small blue spheres—concussion missiles—hammered upon the shield-defended group, impacting with hard fizzles against the protection fields. Shocks of blue light phased over the soldiers.

In retaliation, eight Excalibur-class fighters burst through the shields of the Nagasaki Installation, their engines each producing their own screeching wails. Pulling a sharp forty-five degree turn, they shot after the Imperial and Cat fighters...

They’ll keep the fighters busy, thought Dekker. But what ’bout the incoming ground—

Over the hilly peak just north of the Installation, several lumbering structures trotted their way toward the armed group.

Dekker looked around as a siren was pulled, signaling the battle had begun and the Confederates could attack. Thousands upon thousands of rifle toting, shouting men and women moved over the landscape under the beating sun, towards the shapes massing so far away on the horizon.

For about a minute they all ran, until Dekker himself witnessed the several thousands of enemy soldiers up ahead of him on the hilly peak; the best of the Kilrathi Honor Guard, Kilrathi Marines, and Imperial soldiers with their Dor-Chak bladed laser rifles, several black and white-clad shock troops—Stormtroopers—equipped with their own wicked-looking blaster rifles. Accompanying them were several hulking monstrosities—Imperial AT-AT and AT-ST Walkers, he understood—that were already bombarding the front lines with cannon fire. The rays of energy scorched the earth beneath them, kicking dirt in their faces. No one cared though, or even took notice. They simply ran through, firing their rifles over and over.

"By the numbers! Let’s go, Marines! Move! Move! Move!"

"Oo-rah!"

After the short-range projectile combat, brutal mêlée battles began. Two or more Confederate Marines would take on the overbearing Kilrathi, some of which stood well over seven feet tall.

Dekker himself stuck to his non-plasma, ballistic C-47 Assault Rifle, staying low to the ground and taking part in a concentrated effort to destroy the chicken-legged AT-STs. Other Infantrymen whipped out cargo nets from their packs, and stretched them out towards the STs. While the mechanical warriors wound their own legs within the nets, trapping themselves, other soldiers fired heavily at their heads. After a minute or two, at least ten or so toppled over.

"They’re targeting the Nagasaki generators!" the voice over the PA spoke again. "Take down those Walkers—repeat, take down those Walkers!"

"Get down!" Dekker shouted, his well-trained, magnetically-guided shots, both five-round bursts and concussion micro-grenades from his C-47’s underslung grenade launcher, severing the leg of an AT-ST, sending it toppling over near two of his men. "Get the fuck down!" The three Marines cleared the falling hulk just in time, leaping out of the way.

Most of the hovertanks moved ahead with the battlepods as escort running over the enemy infantry and barraging down the AT-STs. Behind those forces trotted the larger, more imposing AT-ATs, over twenty in number. The frontal command sections of the quadruped mechanisms fired their guns over and over again, their shots returned by RPG blasts from the Marines.

Besides the threat of the dreadful artillery, the shock troops, called Stormtroopers by some that had bothered to read the New Republic FYI files, were putting up a damned good fight. Their armor seemed resistant, but not impervious, to the Marines’ arsenal.

His C-47 clicked empty as he unloaded four five-round bursts into the chests of three charging Stormtroopers. Slapping in a fresh banana-clip magazine, he took cover and took aim on the Walkers.

Finishing off a good portion of the AT-STs with the help of his men, Colonel Dekker began to take a good look around. Everywhere he looked, his men were getting slaughtered. Not easily, for they each took down at least one enemy soldier, but still dying nonetheless.

Dekker took out his com-link and opened a channel back to Nagasaki. "Gash to Nagasaki: it looks like we are getting our asses whipped and charred here around me. How does it look overall?"

A static-riddled voice answered a few seconds later. "The line is holding, Colonel. But yes, we are getting whipped and charred. It’s those damned Kilrathi. We couldn’t take them ten years ago on the ground, and we still can’t seem to take ’em now."

Reluctantly, Dekker agreed. "Hell, I know. The more they come, the more this place becomes a slaughterhouse. What’s their HQ? What’s dropping them?" His voice was surprisingly calm and collected, considering that deafening explosions were going up all around him.

Many more seconds of static occurred, then finally a response. "That Hakaga-class supercarrier, the Havahn ras Sivar."

"The Hakaga! I thought that mother fucker had been blown sky-high by now... but that’s beside the point—" Gash took a long moment to return gunfire to the oncoming Imperial forces. "A dreadnought like that iron bitch can carry thousands of troops. If that’s the case, she needs to be hit from the source so my men get a breather down here."

The Nagasaki communications officer tried to assure Dekker, "Look, Colonel, we’ve got a fully capable force above dealing with it already. The capital ships will take the Havahn—hell, it can’t handle the onslaught of three Vesuvius-class vessels."

His men were dying, and the Colonel was getting angry. "Damn it, you stupid console jockey, it’s not just the Havahn we’ve got to deal with. The Imperials are burning toward us with them. The capital ships have enough shit on their hands than dealing with just the Havahn and the Vacillator. I am saying it here and now: if we don’t take down the Havahn ras Sivar, then Nagasaki and many other major installations worldwide are already theirs—Confed just doesn’t know it yet."

NAGASAKI TERRAN CONFEDERATION SPACE FORCE INSTALLATION; COMMAND-AND-CONTROL CENTER
2680.364; 0505 HOURS (CST)

The "stupid console jockey," Lt. Hernandez Diego, listened to the Colonel’s news. Over his shoulder was the overseer and commanding officer of the Installation, Admiral Adam H. Brooks. A 60 year-old veteran, bitten with incoming frustration and ongoing impatience, scratched his dark red beard that contrasted with his ivory white hair. Turning away from the communications console, he then stared menacingly at the holographic display on the dais in the center of the building floor.

He went over the choice in his head... the Havahn ras Sivar would need to be dealt with, or his people would be dealt with instead—permanently. With that dreadnought up in orbit, Earth was a fading memory; the heart of the Confederation was beating slower and slower. Since Space Marshal Voight, CO of Sol Sector Naval/Space Force operations, had given him full authority of Nagasaki as its senior officer, the weight of responsibility and decision was heavy on his shoulders.

"Diego," Brooks barked out from his silence. "I need a Marine Landing Craft prepped and ready to go in ten minutes. I want a full half-wing of Tigersharks or anything else that can fly and fight to assume escort on them when they break atmosphere."

The Lieutenant responded in question. "Sir, just one LC? You are planning to blow the Hakaga up from the inside, right? Wouldn’t two or three be a better outfit?"

"We don’t have two or three to spare, a majority of our forces our either out fighting these ‘Dark Alliance’ forces, or leading the evacuation of Houston. One is all we got, and we are gonna make it count. We have to make it count."

The communications officer turned back to his console, brushing the moisture out of his blonde hair. "Aye, sir," he said reassuringly, "One Marine LC is ready to go. Thirty soldiers are on board—"

"Good. Tell them to each carry one mini-thermonuclear device with them." The Admiral smiled. Things were starting to go his way.

A new female tactical officer with a smooth voice, pretty face, and dark complexion intervened, "Thirty twelve-megaton nukes...?"

Admiral Brooks suddenly blew up. "Yes, god damn it—thirty fucking nukes! This isn’t an inquisition! Our people on the ground, yes, are holding their own but it doesn’t look that way for long. I want that Hakaga splattered across the atmosphere and I know thirty damned nukes will do it! Now, Diego, get that shuttle in order and send it the hell up!"

NAGASAKI TERRAN CONFEDERATION SPACE FORCE INSTALLATION; COMMAND-AND-CONTROL CENTER
0545 HOURS (CST)

The tactical officer, soon known to the Admiral as Lt. Commander Shawna Muriel, informed her superior officer. "The Marines got in, but half of the fighters protecting her were destroyed, and the LC took a disabling hit to her port engine. They did get in safely. The Marines are apparently combing and lining the internal spine of the Hakaga, centering around the engines."

"Good," commented Brooks. "When they blow the engine and the superstructure’s spine the ship will do one of three things... One: collapse in on his self, Two: lose its drive capacity and start drifting toward Earth, burning up in the atmosphere and, Three: do both.

"Is it going easy on board, Marines?" he asked the battling Marines, implying that Hernandez would need to secure a channel.

Moments later, sounds over the comm were heard—screams, growls, energy pulses, then a voice. "Dekker here..."

KIS HAVAHN RAS SIVAR; SECONDARY REACTOR CHAMBER
0550 HOURS (CST)

"... things are getting pretty thick!"

Colonel Dekker took point down the darkened, dank corridor, the light of the concentrated firepower he and his men were pouring down it illuminating their way. Burly Kilrathi warriors poured out of every nook and cranny in the Hakaga’s bowels, Dor-Chaks firing away as their glowing felinoid eyes appeared in the dark. The Cats’ plate armor was enough to stop at least a couple shots as well, which had to be factored in.

"Get some! Get some, you furry fucks!"

His C-47 clicked empty again after releasing a three-round burst into the head of one of the more aggressive Kilrathi. "Fuck!" he muttered. "Out of clips..." Throwing his rifle aside, he drew his M-44 Machine Pistol sidearm and took cover behind a wall pillar for the moment, letting his men take over for the time being.

As he leaned against the wall, waiting for the right opportunity to scramble back out, he watched as PFC Wesley Schmidt crawled toward him on his hands and knees. Blood flowed freely from his body, a thick crimson trail behind him. "C-Colonel..." the boy choked out, blood seeping from his mouth and nose. Dekker could see he’d been not only shot, but gored by the blades of a Kilrathi’s Dor-Chak. "C-Colonel Dekker... I... I just want to go h... C-Colone..."

The Private’s eyes dilated and he collapsed. His dead eyes were still open.

"Easy there, Private..." Dekker whispered. Gently, he closed the young man’s eyelids. "Semper fi, mac." Gash winced, drawing himself back and forcing the image aside that threatened to bring back memories of Repleetah. He rejoined his men at the side of his senior NCO, Gunnery Sergeant Sedgley.

"Dekker, what the hell are you doing on board?" Muriel asked out of turn over the comm of Dekker’s C-512 Combat Helmet.

The Colonel, breathing heavily between sentences as he fired away at the oncoming Kilrathi, spoke, "My squad caught the LC just before she took off. I hope you bastards weren’t expecting me to miss this party."

"Yes, well—"

"We’ve got about seventeen antimatter nukes placed around this muther." Even if he had to go out like "Big" Duke Grecko to bring the Hakaga down, it was going to happen.

NAGASAKI TERRAN CONFEDERATION SPACE FORCE INSTALLATION; COMMAND-AND-CONTROL CENTER
0602 HOURS (CST)

The Admiral faced frustration once again, giving Muriel a harsh glance. "Seventeen?"

"Yeah... this ship may have a mere skeleton crew on it but you have to remember that it carries ground troops, too. The other thirteen guys carrying their nukes were slaughtered... So seventeen better be our lucky number or Earth will start to become a gleam in the Kilrathi’s eye."

The Admiral wiped the sweat off his brow with his cuff. "Okay, Marines, I guess you’ve done everything that you can do. Make sure the seventeen are set, then get the hell off that ship—those are your orders!"

"Hear you loud and clear on that one, sir!" Dekker came back.

Lt. Commander Muriel turned from her console minutes later. "Everyone alive is back on the LC, sir, departing off her belly right under the engines."

Brooks paused for a moment. "Well if they are departing, then—"

"Energy spike right above us, sir!"

Over eight miles above them, among waves of fighters and ships within the sea of stars, one bastard ship born of hate and revenge named the Havahn ras Sivar, met its doom.

In a chain of belching eruptions, seventeen explosions burst from the spin of the underbelly, from the center of the Havahn ras Sivar to the inevitable strike upon its fate: the engine core. The twelve-megaton bursts led to a final one-hundred forty-megaton burst from the three fusion reactors of the vessel, creating an aurora of destruction that emanated from within the ship, to outside around him. A blue-green expanding ball of fury took unlucky fighters of both sides, two Star Destroyers taking on heavy damage as well as, unfortunately, a Confederate supercarrier too close to the blast radius, taking her out of the battle and later hopefully to the drydocks.

But that was not its end, no. The spinning, fiery skeletal remains of such a warship survived the first phase of destruction, only to enter another. Safe-to-assume, the last Hakaga-class dreadnought, the singular might of the beaten Kilrathi Empire, began to plummet on a spasmodical re-entry course towards his hated destination: the planet Earth, just off the Miami coast.

A fitting end for such an unfitting ship, Admiral Brooks mused.

INCOM T-65C X-WING AA-301
SECOND BATTLE OF TERRA
0650 HOURS

General Wedge Antilles grimaced as the Darket he was tailing disintegrated, spraying debris across his shields. As the flickering cleared, he saw one Dralthi IV and two Dralthi Vs swoop down to attack him head on. He tried to evade, but their fire quickly boxed him in. As his advanced sensors warned him of an enemy missile lock, three pairs of advanced proton torpedoes and sets of quad laser bolts slammed into his tormentors.

The three Kilrathi detonated. Wedge barely avoided the large pieces of debris as his remaining squadron mates formed up on his lead. "Thanks, guys. I thought they were about to punch my ticket back there."

Gavin answered him, "Yeah, but their employment was termina—" His statement was cut off by a loud metallic whine directly behind them.

"Evasives!" Wedge called out, but the others were already pulling their fighters away hard. As he looked over his right shoulder, he saw the Tarkhan swing after Gavin. The fighter was huge, dwarfing the 12.5 meter-long X-wing that the Rogues were flying. "Gavin! Get out of there!"

"I’m trying, but I can’t shake—" The nine tachyon cannon, their barrels ominously decorating the fighter and its turret, fired. To Gavin’s credit, and the small size of the X-wing, he avoided five of the off-white beams, but the other four slammed into his aft shields. They punched through and ripped off his port strike foils and engines. The crippled X-wing span off, out of control, fire spilling from its ravaged left side.

"Gavin, eject! Eject now!" Tycho called out. None of them even knew whether Gavin’s comm was working.

Aboard his X-wing, Gavin pulled himself off the right side of the cockpit, where the centrifugal force of his spin had pinned him. He held on to his restraining harness, keeping himself centered in his cockpit, and sealed his flight suit. Sparks flew from the electronics. He knew he only had a few seconds until his fighter exploded. He reached down and pulled the ejection lever...

... Just as his fuel ignited.

KF-190 TARKHAN 405
0652 HOURS (CST)

First Fang Kal’meht dai Mirov nar Ki’ra watched in delight from the safety of cloak as Gavin’s fighter exploded. The smile he felt touched his features as he saw the pilot eject. He worked his fighter over so it was lying right in front of the pilot. Kal’meht savored these kills, imagining the fear the helpless prey surely felt as they stared down the barrels of his guns. He toggled a switch, and the great fighter decloaked. One of the Rogues strafed his fighter, the lasers causing his shields to flicker. The fighter’s turret automatically followed the new target. Kal’meht cared little. His seven main cannons were more than enough to kill the pilot.

The guns autotracked into position as he fingered the trigger...

INCOM T-65C X-WING AA-310
0657 HOURS (CST)

Gavin stared at the huge fighter as its guns locked on him. He drew his sidearm, even though he knew his small blaster couldn’t damage the enemy ship. All of a sudden, another deafening metallic howl sounded right over and behind him.

KF-190 TARKHAN 405
0701 HOURS (CST)

Kal’meht’s eyes widened as the fighter materialized in front of him, its wings moving down until they were sitting more firmly against its hull. He pulled the trigger. Seven bolts of decelerated tachyon particles lanced forth at the pilot and the fighter behind him. They crossed the 20 meter distance in a nanosecond...

... And slammed into the black fighter’s shields, leaving both the pilot and fighter unharmed.

Impossible! No Terran fighter has shields that powerful! Not even a torpedo bomber’s shields could take that much punishment. Then he realized what he was looking at. One of the most feared fighters in Terran history.

A Dragon...

"No!"

The cannon on the wingtips fired. The twin glowing spheres crossed the distance in an instant, doing far more damage than Kal’meht’s own guns. The Tarkhan shattered, and the white hot fireball consumed Kal’meht in an instant.

DRAGON 401
0703 HOURS (CST)

"Ya-hoo! The Calvary has arrived!" Major Frederick von Richthofen called out as the Tarkhan disintegrated, nearly knocking his forward shields down. He maneuvered his fighter until the ejected pilot was lined up with the emergency EVA airlock that replaced the old flashpak launcher. He opened the outer door and activated the small tractor beam inside. The hapless pilot was quickly pulled inside. Frederick cloaked his fighter and closed the outer door as he maneuvered out of the way.

Mk3B MISSILE BOAT 101
FORMER LASER-SAT DEFENSE NET
0750 HOURS

General Maarek Stele pulled his Missile Boat away hard, afterburning through the tight turn on SLAM overdrive assist. The persistent Excalibur tailing him bore the markings of the Martian Homeguard. After what had been done to that planet, he knew his opponent would die before they stopped fighting. "I could use some assistance here," Stele said between maneuvers.

Another Missile Boat from his squadron shot by Stele’s fighter, firing a pair of advanced torpedoes at point blank range. The two projectiles slammed into the Martian fighter’s aft, knocking the fighter into a spin. Stele maneuvered back behind it and savaged the fighter’s engines with his laser.

F-103-B EXCALIBUR 507
0755 HOURS (CST)

Lieutenant Michele Ferris felt her fighter dying. There was a constant clanging as lasers ate away at her engines. The controls had been knocked out by the torpedoes. A screech, metallic groan, and a shattering sound signaled the destruction of her stabilizer. An internal explosion wracked her ship. She stared at the small photo by one of her MFDs, a picture of her husband, two-year-old daughter, and nine-month-old son. They had all lived with here on the Homeguard base, now a smoking crater in the Martian surface.

Tears ran down her face as she spoke, not realizing her comm was still on, "I’ll... I’ll be with you soon, my husband, my children." The Excalibur’s engines exploded, and Michele Ferris finally rejoined her family.

Mk3B MISSILE BOAT 101
0757 HOURS (CST)

Maarek felt sick as his target exploded. The pilot’s transmission hit him hard. Family. Home. Those were the things that he had missed for so long. He’d helped take that away from that pilot. Not only that, he’d helped to destroy it. Most of those Martian pilots out there didn’t even have a home to return to anymore. How would he feel if someone destroyed Kuan, the home he had been torn from so long ago. His feeling grew to disgust as he thought about Alderaan and the many other planets ruined by the Imperial march. He’d even seen the look of loss and outright hatred in the eyes of Alderaanian Rebel prisoners.

"I-I... I can’t be a part of this," he said aloud. "The pain the Empire causes. Not... anymore."

The Emperor’s words from so long ago rang through his mind: "Those who would corrupt others, enslave them, and steal what belongs to us all must be stopped. It is time for strength. It is time to remove the last obstacles to peace, prosperity..."

Stele blinked the tears from his eyes, shaking his head slowly. Unity and strength. That had been his motto, the core of what drove him. He realized with a start that these Terrans had that. Sides that had once opposed each other bitterly now fought side by side against a common foe. Their strength was that of one defending their home. The Empire was moving to destroy that. Take away from these people that which Maarek held most dear.

The day of our glorious absolution nears, Maarek Stele... a tiny voice echoed through the corridors of his mind. You above all others must remain vigilant for the Empire...

"No... not anymore..." Stele rasped aloud, shrugging off the voice from the past, his grip on his flightstick quivering. "Not anymore..."

He opened a channel to the Vacillator as he flew towards the stern. The voice of Jhediah himself finally answered him. "Yes, Stele, what is it?"

"Jhediah, what you’re doing, I can’t be a part of," he said as he chose his target. "The Empire is a lie, but the Emperor had been right about one thing. ‘It is time for strength. It is time to remove the last obstacles to peace and prosperity.’" His torpedoes gained their lock. "Grand Moff Jhediah, consider this my resignation."

"What?"

Maarek fired.

The pair of torpedoes was quickly followed by three more waves of torpedoes before he broke off. "All Confederation and New Republic fighters," he said, switching to their channel, "get clear of the Vacillator’s stern!"

SSD VACILLATOR; BRIDGE
0802 HOURS (CST)

First the Hakaga, now this...

Grand Moff Jhediah turned to Admiral Güthrig. "What has he done?"

"Sir! Incoming torpedoes. They’re locked on to our port engines," Güthrig calmly answered, "They’re... they’re going to hit us..." He turned to Jhediah. His voice was cold and hard, "Maarek Stele has just defeated the Third Imperium. Yes, your touted ‘Guardian of the Empire.’ Indeed." He thought to himself that he might have been wrong about Jhediah in the end—wrong, that is, to ever have put any faith in him at all.

The fighters afterburned away from the Imperial Fleet. Seconds later, the first torpedoes struck. Maarek had not been targeting the engines, but the powerful cooling system that prevents the tremendous reactions from melting them. The cooling pumps and coolant reservoir were shattered under the impact of enough firepower to take down a Corellian Corvette Blockade Runner twice over. As the cooling system failed, the results were rapid in their forthcoming.

The massive nucleonic reactions within the engines melted the titanic engine bells. The fuel lines breached and the three engines, each larger than an Imperial Star Destroyer, exploded. The blast tore through the superstructure like tinfoil. The fireball stretched for kilometers as the ship heaved to starboard. The blast wave ripped off the left corner of the spear tip-shaped ship, shaving a two kilometers off the width of the ship and nearly three down its length. The internal structures were warped and torn, and fire and debris poured freely into space. The armor had been stripped off nearly to the main hangar recess, including the extra shielding around the immense Solar Ionization Reactor. Helm control was completely lost, and the once magnificent ship began to spin out of control under the asymmetrical thrust from the starboard engines.

Güthrig gave the order to abandon ship, even though Jhediah protested vehemently. Güthrig had guards force Jhediah to proceed with him to the hangar and into Jhediah’s shuttle.

"Not going down with the ship, Güthrig?" Jhediah asked, seething with anger in a subtle manner that only Güthrig could have picked up on.

"No, that is the place of the ship’s commander. The one responsible for the loss of the ship. And I’m not letting you stay."

Jhediah jumped back to his feet, swaying slightly as the shuttle took off. "How dare you speak to me that way!" Jhediah yelled. "It was your incompetence that has lost us this battle! Was it not you who I gave command in this operation?"

Güthrig glared at the man, his patience for his naiveté run out. "Sir, with all due respect—shut up!" While Jhediah thought of a suitable response, Güthrig sent Admiral Tschel orders to sound the retreat and to pick up as many of the Vacillator’s survivors as possible.

TCS REYNARD; BRIDGE
0810 HOURS (CST)

Commodore Henry Nelson shouted above the cheering as he ordered that their PTC hold fire as the Vacillator’s crew abandoned ship. The vessel was careening out of control, performing slow cartwheels through the void as Kilrathi and Imperial ships worked to dodge it. Finally, the bottom was perpendicular to the fleet, and gunnery worked out a firing solution.

Nelson smiled with satisfaction. "Fire the Phase-Transit Cannon." The Reynard was filled with a loud humming as the gun sent the charge from its capacitors to its firing mechanism. The end of the barrel glowed brightly as the ship moved into firing position. Finally, the massive gun discharged a crackling orb of energy at the Super Star Destroyer. It slammed into the unarmored reactor, breaching its containment fields and unleashing the power of the core of the sun. The light from the eruption of energy was blinding to even the people on Earth, watching the battle in the night’s sky, glowing like a new star celebrating Earth’s victory. Proof to all the we would not go quietly into that dark night. Freedom’s rage against the dying of the light.

The great Vacillator was gone.

ISD2 DEATH’S HEAD; HANGAR 10
0822 HOURS (CST)

His escape shuttle boarding Tschel’s Star Destroyer, Jhediah held his head down in defeat. When Admiral Güthrig asked for permission to order the retreat, Jhediah merely nodded. One might almost say the Grand Moff was humbled. He had studied the greats: Thrawn, Daala, Vader, Isard, Zsinj, was careful not to repeat any of their mistakes, had lived up to the full ideals of the New Order, and yet he had failed. Was it the arrogance of Warlord Zsinj; perhaps the temper of Admiral Daala? It was no time to second guess himself, and the matter was effectively moot. He’d lost, and now the Third Imperium was doomed as the Empire that it was descended from.

The war was over, and there wasn’t anything left that he could do about it.

Was there?

SUPER STAR DESTROYER ECLIPSE III; MAIN MEDICAL BAY
HYPERSPACE
0850 HOURS (CST)

"Cryogenic cycle complete."

The monotone, mechanical computer’s voice resounded through the ghostly corridors and chambers of the Eclipse-class Super Star Destroyer to no response.

One by one the six pods in the chamber began opening, the hisses of pressurized air releasing being heard with the opening of each one. The six Imperial Royal Guard members rose in unison, already garbed in their armored crimson armor and helmets—thick suits whose streamlined cloaks did much to conceal the weapons at their disposal beneath. Each one picking up their force pikes as they stood, they assembled near the chamber’s entryway.

"How long has it been?" Kelshaev inquired, the first to speak.

The approximate length of time escaped Ruoke’s mouth calmly, "Ten thousand, five hundred years."

"We are still in hyperspace..." Kelshaev feared what the Imperial engineers had warned upon the Eclipse III’s voyage into hyperspace, that such a journey of unheard of time would shake the ship apart years into hyperspace. He shook off the fear, drawing confidence from the simple fact that the ship was still intact and they had awakened on schedule. Or had they? "Are we... at our destination?"

"We are well within the appropriate galaxy," Kir Layak was pleased to announce, giving a cursory glance at the readout on a wall console. "In five hours we will arrive at our destination."

"Then at last we will have our retribution."

"It is such. It is... his will."

"Let us then awaken him for our day of absolution... our day of deliverance."

The six Royal Guardsmen strode down the adjacent corridor, their crimson robes whirling behind them with every step.

Ruoke and Kir Layak were at the front of the two, three-man single-file lines that marched into the Secondary Medical Bay. The six Royal Guard members moved about in sweeping, graceful motions, as if every military step they took was under forceful scrutiny by a strict superior officer.

The double-doors to the Secondary Medical Bay hissed shut behind the six Royal Guardsmen. Enclosed in the chamber’s darkness, lit only by the eerie green glow of the contents of the cryogenic tanks that filled the room like high-tech coffins, each of them immediately dropped on one knee and bowed their heads in unison.

"My leige... you are already awake," Kir Layak spoke, his voice low and meek.

"Your majesty..." Ruoke kept his eyes on the floor, away from his master.

This was the man, the Sith Lord, that had brought the Old Republic to its knees, the man that forged the Galactic Empire from its very ashes, the man whose very name had rightly carried supreme authority through his minions and fear across entire systems from the Galactic Core to beyond the Outer Rim, the man whose word alone had once brought about the near-total extermination of the Jedi Knights.

Emperor Palpatine, his wrinkle-less flesh putting his cloned body in his early to mid twenties—the peak of youth—rose from his cryo/cloning cylinder, membranous liquid and other viscous fluids dripping from his limbs. He licked his dried, blue lips and reared himself back at his full, regal height.

"Arise, my faithful servants." They did so. "So much there is to do... and so little time." He smiled, his sagely reptilian eyes traveling the chamber. "Yes... everything is proceeding just as I have foreseen it. Much we have sacrificed and long we have traveled... across galaxies... across time..." He dropped his grin. "It’s time to end this."

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