The Rebel Faction

"Interesting."

Colonel-General Wesley Vos leaned back in his chair and stared at the wood-paneled wall. His quarters on In'chion were much more lavish - a gift of the people of the planet in return for freeing them from a formerly tyrannical government - but for now he was on board the Tyrant, the flagship of the SS fleet. The dark-stained wood and soft lights were perfect for his office, creating an ambiance that was unmatched in almost any other ship of war. It was said that Thrawn's art room created a similar ambiance, but in the years since Thrawn's defeat nothing could match it. Not to say that Vos was a Thrawn - far from it - but he did aim high.

Currently, his mind was working overtime, thoughts and ideas whirling about in his head. The staffer that stood before him, Lieutenant Lorenz, had just delivered the report from the Onyxian Sector. Days before that had come the report from the forces at Xa Fel. It wasn't often that such attacks occurred in Imperial space, and even less frequent did they occur in such order with such rapidity. His eyebrows scrunched over his hard, narrowing eyes as he tried to make sense of the reports.

Never mind the fact that the ships used were antiquated. Never mind that the attacks were on a smaller scale than usual for anything larger than a pirate gang. It was the organization that struck him strangely. Of course, he knew the official Imperial position - that this was a gang of pirates who simply were capitalizing on the chaotic nature of the newly annexed Onyx sector. But what about Xa Fel? If the attacks were related - and in spite of the High Command's feelings, Wes was sure that they were - what would a pirate gang have to gain from the planet of the Sith?

In his mind, first of all, was the idea that this could be a trick of the Confederation or the Coalition. Of those two the more likely would be the Coalition, who had been known to have a presence in the Unknown Regions, albeit not a large one. Still, it was not impossible that they has secretly built a presence there, unifying existing planetary forces under their banner and using them as a strike force against the Empire. Still, though, Wes would have been surprised if the divided and fractured Coalition could accomplish such a feat without the Empire's agents knowing about it. Unless, of course, the Azgard was smarter than he thought and had faked the division of the Coalition...but that was unlikely, and even if Regrad had tried a stunt like that the Empire would have smoked it pretty quickly. Besides, this division was not faked. The Confederation really had seceeded.

There was the possibility that the still-unified Cren Alliance was attempting a hidden strike, shaking the hand of the Empire even while hiring others to stab it in the back. After Bilbringi, though, the Cren had been closely watched, and even if they had managed to avoid the Imperial observation, they were just too kriffing scared to try something like that. There was little to no chance they were behind this.

That left the Confederation on the very short list of enemies. But Wes himself had been keeping a close eye on them, and he hadn't noticed any decrease in fleet size. His few informants within the Confederation borders also indicated that their economy, while in good condition, was not up to the standards that would be needed to fund an operation of this magnitude on the other side of the galaxy. Besides, Corise Lucerne and Proconsul Thorn were not fools. They stayed on their side of the line, and while the frontier was tense, they weren't about to launch a strike anytime soon, not on the Empire at least.

"Very interesting," he continued after a pause. "Lieutenant, summon the SS High Command. I want their input on these attacks."


ISD V Tyrant
Orbit above In'chion


"So, it does not appear to be an operation by the GC or the Contegorians. As you were gathering, I also considered the Commonwealth, as foolish as that sounds, since they're the only other galactic power with a fleet and an economy that could pull off such a major operation. But as you know, their treaty with the Empire would be destroyed were they to attempt such an action, and their economic minds would not allow something like that." Wes sat at the head of the conference table. To his left sat Moff Liam Zhukov, the political head of Oversector Outer. Next to him was Colonel Racen Selere, head of the Kommandos, then General Mauritius, commander of the Waffen-SS. To Wes's right was Admiral Typton, commander of the SS fleet, and Captain Drury of the Tyrant. General Sepp Dietrich and the Mandalorian Sennacherib also were in attendance, as well as General Willy Bittrich and a Mandalorian envoy from Concord Dawn, Candor Trek. All stared in rapt attention at their commander as he continued.

"I fear, gentlemen, that we are only seeing the tip of the iceberg in these attacks. The attackers are gathering force, launching strikes that are coordinated enough to seem uncoordinated and using resources that only a galactic power could have. Having ruled out all of these individual governments, I am at a loss. It seems that we were facing an unknown of incredible strength, assuming as I do that we have only seen a tithe of their full power. So, I summoned you here to receive your input on..."

As he was speaking, the door to his left opened and Lieutenant Lorenz stepped in. "Sir," he said, interrupting Vos's speech, "you have a visitor."

Vos, who hated being interrupted, whirled towards the door, a tongue lashing already boiling in his mind, when he caught sight of the figure behind Lorenz. The dark hood and cloak covered the person's features, but it was obviously a female of the human species. What caught his eye was the glint of metal on her belt, just under the cloak, and the way she held her hands together and her head down. He checked his words, simply saying, "Yes?"

If the others at the table were shocked by the lack of a reproof, they were even more shocked when Lorenz declined to answer his commander. Instead, he simply bowed and stepped back out of the room, bowing to the female as he did so. Dietrich, indignant, rose to lash out at the visitor, but the words never came. Even as he clambered to his feet, the visitor's hand came up, the fingers squeezing the air between them. At the table, Dietrich's windpipe closed, denying him the air needed to speak, and all that emerged was the sound of choking.

All the officers present had lived during the time of Palpatine and his servant Darth Vader, and all had heard of military personel treated in this manner during those times. All knew that the Sith were still active in the galaxy. None of them ever thought they would see the powers of the Force called upon in such a devestating and shocking way again. Only a few of them had ever seen such a display; only Admiral Typton had seen Vader do it when he was serving as a midshipman on Vader's flagship. Vos, shaking his head, said, "Welcome, Lady of the Sith. If you would, please release my general; he may be impertinent, but we need his expertise. And I promise he will be polite."

The figure nodded, and Dietrich collapsed into his chair, his sixty-year-old lungs gasping and wheezing, drinking in the life-giving oxygen. Even as he wheezed, the figure took another step forward and said, "I'll hold you to that, General." Her voice came as somewhat of a surprise to the gathered military officers. They had expected the harsh rasping of someone completely consumed by evil, or at least a bit of a deeper tone. They did not expect a melodious sound that filled their ears with pleasure.

The figure reached up and removed her hood, and the officers' eyes widened further. Not only was her voice lovely, her face was beautiful as well, unmarred by the effects of the Dark Side. No scars, no wrinkles, no blemishes; it seemed as though she had stepped directly out of one of those holonet shows. Looking around the room, the lady smiled and said, "It appears I was unexpected. I am sorry for the intrusion, but I have urgent business with this branch of the Imperial military."

Selere, directly across from the woman, replied, "I don't mean to be rude, Ms..."

"You may call me Darth Skygge, or Lady Skygge as you prefer."

"Lady Skygge. But what possible business could a Sith have with the Imperial SS?"

Skygge, for Skygge it was, grew grim. "It has to do with the report that is currently sitting in front of your commanding general. Colonel-General Vos, I have heard glowing reports of your conduct. That is why I sought you out, for I believe you will do what needs to be done."

Vos raised one eyebrow. "I'm not sure what it is that you think you will make me do." He raised his hand as her eyebrows shot up. "I know you can use your Force to control me, and probably all these men if you so chose. But I do not believe you could control enough people to do what you need. So I'll need an explanation before I agree to anything."

Skygge smiled. "That's what I've heard about you; you're smart. Very well then. You are correct when you assume that this invasion is by an outside force. At the same time, you are mistaken." Wes's other eyebrow shot up, and Skygge chuckled. "The leader of this invasion is someone called Dacien, and it appears that he is nastier than even most of the Sith. He employs an army of Force users, including an individual that seems to be similar to the notorious Lord Silk, if it is not the devil himself. However, these specialized ranks have dwindled; we cut down many of them on Xa Fel. I myself dispatched his Huntress, an individual who is driven by her hatred of Dacien and yet is entirely loyal to him. Or was, I should say, as she is now dead, cut down and sucked into oblivion by a Force storm that also claimed the life of Lord Vicirus.

"His minions have, as nearly as I can tell, attacked the Onyxian Occupation Zone now. They have established themselves on several planets, and it seems as though their forces are once again massing for an assault. Where that attack will come, I am not certain. That is for your strategical minds to figure out. I simply bring warning and a personal request: that you gather as much of your fleet as possible and proceed to the Occupation Zone. If Dacien's forces are as large as you and I believe they are, then even the Empire will have difficulty stopping them."

With the new information presented, Wes's mind cleared quickly. "Onyxian Occupation Zone, eh?" he said, a smile beginning to tweak the corners of his mouth. "I think we can handle that. Admiral Typton, gather the fleet proper. We're taking a trip to Generis."

Through the twisting hyperlanes of the Onyxian Sector, the Crusader fleet flew ever onward. They had a long way to go, for the Expedition's High Command had tasked admiral Dubai with invading a system on the far end of the sector. Their reasoning, it could be guessed, was that this would throw Imperial investigators off the scent and make finding the Crusade's hidden base all the more difficult.

The blocky grey steel of the Onyxian cruisers and frigates contrasted sharply with cavalcade of colours and hues that adorned the decorated Mandalorian contingent, an unusual medley of styles that intrigued the admiral as he watched from the command center's bay window. His officers, who appeared by hologram, were arranged around him, waiting in patient silence.

At last Dubai seemed to have his fill of the mesmerizing view, tearing his eyes with difficulty from the fleet to take a seat at the head of the conference table.

"Gentlemen," the old admiral croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Gentlemen, as you know we are nearing the planet Generis to begin operation thunder hammer. I've called you all here to go over our strategic situation and objectives one last time, to make sure we're all on the same page about our purpose here and on how best to handle our... special allies."

The battlegroup's officers glanced uneasily amongst themselves. "The Mandalorians have agreed to share formations with us, sir," offered one captain, a young man with a face like a trout gasping for water. "They still refuse to integrate command with our tactical officers, however, and won't confirm any of our strategic priorities."

"This is of no surprise or concern to me," said Dubai, who gave a dismissive wave. "The Mandalorians are fools and barbarians, but they're our fools and barbarians. Let them do as they want, we'll maintain our battleplans as though they weren't here and just mark up any damage they do as a bonus towards our own ends."

"What about orbital defenses?" prompted another officer, this one a shade more respectable. "If they're as low as our scouts would have us believe, wouldn't it be best for either us or the Mandalorians to engage them independantely? So we don't get in each other's way?"

"In all honestly, I don't expect the discipline of the defenders to hold," Dubai replied, steepling his fingers on the table before him. "The Imperials and the natives don't get along well, and Generis's population poses little strategic value. They'll likely retreat once they see the size of our force, or failing that be swept away in the tide. They are a minor hurdle, nothing more."

"Agreed, sir," said a third officer. "The real threat is response times. We don't have a good idea of Imperial reserves, but the remoteness of the chosen system should ensure we'll have enough time to strike, make a show of force, and be off again before we face reprisal. Failing that it will provide powerfully useful information about the Empire's response capibility."

Dubai's steepled fingers had turned into clenched fists, and his gaze was levelled sharply at the third officer, who promptly fell silent. "Are you quite finished, captain Ruford? By all means carry on if you are not, it's clear you have the whole strategic system well in hand." The coldness of his tone was more than enough to cow the lesser officer, who quickly looked away.

"Don't lose sight of your objective out there," Dubai snapped, giving his officers appraising glares. "Our purpose is to scatter the local defenders, terrify the civilian populations, incite confusion and disruption, then retreat and regroup before the Imperial navy can respond. Any glory-hunting, disobedience, or deviance from our task will be dealt with harshly, am I understood?"

"Yes, admiral," the officers chorused back.

"Good," said Dubai, turning his chair to face the bay window. "This battle is a vital step for the campaign, and for Nyx. Only if every man does his duty can we hope to achieve victory. Nyx previals."

As he said the words, the streaking lights of hyperspace gave way to normal space, dominated as it was by the planet of Generis. In the distance, black shapes moving around were instantly recognizable as warships.

There was a hum audible from the command center as shields were powered up and guns went live. Sleek fighters, launched immediately upon arrival, came into view on either side of the window forming into tight wedges around the flagship.

"And so battle is joined," said Dubai, rising from his chair. "Get to your stations, gentlemen. Today we go to war."

Windswept though the plains of Generis might have been, the end of the seventeeth week of the year was unique in that not a breath of air stirred from its place. There was no breeze, nothing; just rain falling in unceasing sheets down from thunderheads which blocked out the sun leaving the most eerie, greyish light to shine below. Citizens of the argi-world were quite used to the downpours, which came thrice a year. The rasputitsa it was called in an old dialect, one forgotten by all but the most senior of citizens who rocked back and forth on their porches, phasing in and out of reality.


The citizens of Generis were quite used to the rain; they acted and dressed accordingly. Those soldiers of the Empire, on the other hand, stationed hither and thither to better protect the people, brooded about as the deluge continued, sounding like the impact of so many blaster bolts on stell at the height of a battle.


" Damn."


Colonel Alazahr stepped passed a saluting Corporal of the Imperial Army and as quickly as was possible removed the plastic rain slicker from his body. The material itself worked wonders, keeping the rain out and moving away; the problem was the creases in the material which formed pools of water that emptied into collars and arm-holes and sleeves. For all the glory and technical supremacy of the mighty Galactic Empire, its soldiers, like every other man in every other army, could not stay dry.


" Report, Major. I am quite soaked, quite cold, and considerably pissed off to be summoned on my day off."


A young major nodded his apology but did not avert his eyes from a two-dimensional plot table spread out before him. His black gloved hands clenched the edge of the display; his eyes seemed fixed at moving splotches of blue and red - altogether, he looked considerably more apprehensive than the Colonel was used to seeing.


Of course, that's not saying much. My previous second was killed by that monster than killed Bradford, so he has reason to be anxious. But what has him going now, in command?


" Sir," the Major said, speaking to a thought he did not even know his superior was having, " we have unidentified contacts in system and approaching. Most of them are in what I assume is combat formation with one trailing group that is more a jumble or gathering than any military unit."


Alazahr removed his gloves and dropped them to the floor, smacking as they hit and spraying water on the ferrorcrete. He moved over to the Major and let his eyes stare. There he saw it: the outline of Generis itself in green approached by several red dots of varying size. Too many, in fact.


" That trailing group might be pirates or mercenaries. Whoever they are, they're not friendly. Send word via HoloNet: Generis is under attack."




In Orbit


Generis looked like a world troubled, confused even. Here and there were patches of green in a wide panorama of light browns puncutated here and there by a swath of deep, penetrating blue. Of course that brown was simply the rolling savannahs and endless farms that dotted the surface, but to the unlooker it was simply a world unsure of whether it wanted to cast of life...or embrace it.


Lieutenant Golgan, a veteran of nine campaigns with almost fifteen years' service in the Imperial Navy, couldn't care either way. To his brutish form, worked up from seaman to petty officer and only by the prodding of a dying captain, into the ranks of commissioned officers, he no longer distinguished between planets. Each world was little more than a name and a set of coordinates on a star chart. His world was made of hulls and grease and lreactors. The only worlds he knew as more than strings of letters were Kuat, Rendilli, Corellia, Sluis Van - and then only to curse cheap mechanics and careless engineers.


" Captain."


Golgan cursed under his breath, then above it: the habits of old Non-com's died harder than they themselves. He glowered at the tactical officer, a sniveling, pasty-faced Ensign who had dared ate a Captain's daughter without permission and was thus sentenced to a career in a gunship. The young officer withered under that gaze, but he reported all the same.


" Contacts are approaching. Frell - look at them!"


The Ensign had gone from merely cowed to panic in record time. He stood from his seat and looked forward, his mouth agape like the yaw of a black hole. The viewport filled with the fast-approaching shadows of ships that grew more discernible by the second.


" Word from garrison command," whispered a junior rating from the communications console. Golgan just waved his hand and the audio played, the only sound on the bridge. It was Colonel Alazahr.


"Golgan, withdraw at once. Your three gunships won't do anything but give them target practise. Bring me reinforcements; you're the only hope if they've found a way to jame HoloNet. Go - now!"


The rough and unapproachable Lieutenant cast his head down. He would rather have fought, but the Colonel was right. Glory is eternal, but the lives of those below were not. Seconds later, the naval defense force in orbit was gone.


Generis was open to invasion...

They descended from the clouds in tows and threes, little black specs thhrust through the thunderheads on the shriek of atmospheric drive units that had not yet adjusted. Up to the sky did look farmers and business alike, each struck in tandem bu curiosity and fear. A pair of the black specs descended to be seen as craft of unknown design and swept over the captail city; they were heralds of approaching horror. Not a shot was fired as a populace felt itself now in the inescapable grasp of dread.


The black craft were seen to be fighters, and many naive civilians assumed they would be all with which their new protectors would have to contend; many ignored the warning sirens which blared in the steel and ferrocrete canyons of the city's center. Then, piercing the clouds, defiling them almost, larger black craft descended which grew larger and larger till they were ten or fifteen times the size of those that had dashed about.


With the wail of so many grav-jets pushing into gear, the storm did break. The large black craft dove into the city, firing at all targets of opporunity: fruit carts, trucks, trams, and even a grain train moving lumberously on its mag-tracks. Civilian targets all.


Through Vengaris the marauders went, missiles striking and cannon blaxing. Though the rasputitsa clouds cast the city in a dark pall, all now glared bright as fires lit the bleakness. One gunship, not content to fire on the civilians in the crowded city-center, screamed onto the Avenue of the Arts, paying tribute to statue and painting with a gift of ash and flame. Tehn onto the Central Boulevard it did scream, towards the city's edge where towering buildings and large structures gave way to quaint homes and modest apartments. There, on the edge, was one sprawling grey structure, alien among the shops and homes. The gunship's commander's eyes filled with greed and a lust for destruction. Driven by the lash of the captain's cursing tongue, the gunship sped towards the warehouse, or factory - the target!


The shock was palpable when the gunship drew near for above the structure it saw not an open sky but the black-crossed red Imperial Standard. The ship wanted to change course and orders were issued to that affect, but it was to no avail. Pairs of neon bolts lanced out from the structure, shots from the five light turbolaser turrets at each corner of the pentagonal garrison base. In rapid succession, scarlet bolts joined the fray when the quad-laser turrets on Whirlwind repulsor ranks opened up. The gunship turned but fell and joined its victims in short order.


One down, twenty to go.


Colonel Alazahr remained silent while his staff whooped: his regiment was bored, classified and deployed as a garrison-unit for almost two years. Then men, despite the presence of death, suddenly felt alive in the midst of battle. Such was the mind of a soldier.


" Captain Drummond," Alzahr called, quieting the command chamber with his words, " take an infantry company and a platoon of FlaK into the city. Drive off what you can and keep an eye out for landings."


A young, sandy-haired officer with the broad carmine stripes of the General Staff on his trousers, moved close and nodded. " You think this more than a raid, sir? Will they actually invade?"


Alazahr looked towards a wall-mounted display of the situation in orbit. The more disciplined part of the arrived enemy were shifting assets from an assault formation into one that resembled either bombardment or siege. Either way, it was certainly far from a cheer possibility.


" They would be stupid not to."

The Imperial garrison base was among the largest structures in the Generisian capitol city. Far out from the city's center, it looked all the larger, sprouting up from the tops of small ada-trees and bristling with the shafts of numerous weapons emplacements that a day before had glistened with the spit and polish only bored and tired garrison troops could apply. Now, those guns were covered in grease having actually had to recoil from shots fired in anger - a first for so many sweat-covered gunners and fresh-faced officers. Judging from the wreckage of one enemy gunship whose crash had consumed a dozen homes, those gunners did better than they might have, but not as well as they could have.


Damn. Colonel Alazahr knelt beside a firing slit below the curved shrapnel-shield on the top parapet of the garrison base. He looked out at the overcast sky, broad grey and white clouds slowly losing the fight for dominance with hideous splotches of black that were not the creation of the Gods but of Daemons come to Generis. Squinting, the Colonel could see up the main boulevard to the wreckage of one of the regiment's two attached flak platoons. Most of the grenadiers who had sallied forth to protect them were dead or dying. Almost two hundred Imperial soldiers killed in a matter of minutes. So the landings begin.


" Incoming!" Alazahr was no war-hound; he was a soldier. He had gone where he was told, fighting who he must to survive. He had seen enough action to abandon his gaze and flatten himself on the metal plating under his boots, clutching his helmet as he did so. An officer barely twenty meters distant was too curious and peered over the parapet wall at the embrasure where a single--mount repeating blaster opened. Two concussion missiles lanced at the base on tongues of jet-blue flame and white smoke, slamming into the durasteel armor plating with a terrible force that rocked the surrounding sections. Flames shot hight over the wall, sending the repeating blaster, its crew, and the curious officer flying into the air in small pieces that would never be recovered.


The craft that fired the missiles streaked in low over the base, testing its defenses. A shoulder-fired micro-torpedo fired up from an alert grenadier on the opposite wall; the projectile was sucked into an exhaust fan and exploded - the debris was a welcome rain down on the defenders.





Surrender? I fear no surrender is possible.


Righting himself, Alazahr took another look into the city, absent-mindedly wiping the dust and grime from his breast plate. No, surrender was not an option. His intincts told him his men would die anyway and if die they must, it would be on their feet. He returned to the command chamber at a run.


" Colonel?"


Alazahr just shook his head. There would be no surrender and the issue was dropped. The regimental commander felt a dozen eyes on him, all of which he ignored. " We fight, Lieutenant. We'll hold here as best we can then we will head off into the farmland. We have to protect them."


The Lieutenant looked over the shoulder of the Colonel to a holo-vid feed of civilians running into the grassland that surrounded Vengaris on foot, in vehicles, on pack-animals - anyway they could. Alazahr was stabbing a finger at the civilians, sure of their charge. The garrison was on Generis to protect its people - they would hold off the enemy until reinforcements came.


If reinforcements come...


Fellix System


Fellix was nothing. Literally. There had been a star there eons before, long before the minds of man had come to fathom the life-cycles of stars. Now, it was only a General Staff officer's attempt at imposing a map's order on the endless void of space.


Fellix did however, have significance, despite its desolation. There was a small, unmanned transponder station there the size of a Carrack-cruiser, pulsing at all hours as it pushed HoloNet transmissions throughout the Onyx Sector. And there, next to it, was the diminuitive form of an Imperial gunship, connected by low-jack. Into the systems the guship's crew did tap until it overrid the security protocols by passwords for emergency use only. Eventually, a small blue-ish figure shimmered to life in the sector-relations cabin aboard the Conqueror-class Star Destroyer Intimidator.


" This is Lieutenant Golgan, commander, Naval Detachment of the Generis Garrison. Generis is under attack by superior enemy forces. Send reinforcements."