The Rebel Faction

Dubrillion had known no invader on its surface since the first colonists arrived four hundred years before. The world had been Imperial for the better part of its existence but shortly after Endor, contact was severed and it reverted to its own sovereign state. The Empire had come to reclaim its errant property, but was meeting defiance instead. Needless to say, its minions were not happy and showed their contempt with TIE Defenders and salvoes from orbiting warships.


Major Martinn felt the pain shoot up and down his arm as he brought a pair of field-glasses to his eyes. He looked out over the valley he had resided in since arriving with General Teth'al and could not recognize it. Situated at the mouth of two-meeting gulleys, the fortress of Kelsis II was all that remained of the capital city's defenses: Kelsis I and III had been leveled by a relentless cannonade from above. Between II and the remains to its left and right marched an endless stream of infantrymen and walkers passed onto their targets. Sporadic small arms fire from those who survived in the outer breastworks made the Imperials duck occassionally, but all heavy weapons had been destroyed.


These damned guns don't help. Martinn kicked at the nearby mount for a pathetic attempt at weapons-manufacturing that had exploded with its first shot, killing a crew of nine. Angry as he was, there was no use in deriding the factory that had produced them - only an hour before he watched the entire complex raised to the ground by a flight of assault bombers. Poetic justice, I suppose.


Pain again distracted the Major, reminding him of the suffering about. His uniform had began different from those of the natives under him but now, covered with dust and debris he was undistinguishable from the bodies littering the glacis of the fortress.


Nearby, an Imperial AT-AT mounted the forward slope and eradicated those few working guns that had provided some harassment to the advancing enemy. Smoke rose into the blackened sky as a pair of TIEs screamed by. What discipline had instilled them to fight and defend their homes disintegrated - the native militia of Dubrillion broke and ran.


The Major slumped down, the field glasses falling to the stone floor and shattering. His left arm had been blown off and pain wracked his body - today, he had earned his pay. The General would have been proud. He knew what he had to do; he was a mercenary, a title that bore instant execution if captured by Imperial troops. He raised his pistol and pulled the trigger.


The pain disappeared as his eyes shut for the last time - he could not see the Imperials rampaging through the streets beyond and he could not hear the screams of those who could not escape. Finally, from the fire of war, he had found peace.


Inside the Bunker


Our time has come, Colonel. Dubrillion belongs to the Emperor now. We will fight them another day.


Teth'al and his faithful aide departed the capital city for the last time, ascending into the atmosphere with several Defenders on their shuttle's tail. A few well-placed laser shots had discouraged further pursuit. Their own vessel now drifting slag, they set course for the Coalition staging area where they might at least find work and live to give back as good as they had gotten.


Looking back, had the Trandoshan tear ducts he might have cried. He had just gotten to like that planet.

The message they had been waiting for had finally come in.

"Sweet victory."

The mission was accomplished and a complete success. Dubrillion should've known from past mistakes, to train their military a little better. It was too late now, as Dubrillion's life as an independent ended in those short few hours. Everyone on the bridge was excited over the victory, but kept their calm as they always did. Lucius was no different.

"Pay those transports no mind. We have finished what we came to do."

Little did the captain know, stories would end up being told of this perticular assault by the empire. "The Dubrillion Massacre" dubbed the title of the hundreads and thousands of civilians who would be slaughtered that day. It was never his intention to go as far as this, but it was inevitable. Stormtrooper squadrons would be reinstructed to take prisoners of the survivng civilians.

"Begin setting up a military outpost just beyond that ridge, and finish the mop up. Tend to repairs, and prepare for the Moff's arrival."

The litenant did as he was told. Lucius aknowledged this lietants abilities to carry out orders swiftly and without delay. He too, would one day become a great captain, and Lucius would over see it. He would keep tabs on his missions for months on in, at that point. It seemed Renegan was at the right place at the right time.

Like a sting between his fingers, there was the matter of the president's wellfare that concerned him, and not go away. Should he still be alive, his fate would be delivered by the captain, personally. No one deserves to live after abondoning their people in such a crisis. Lucius also had principles, but it was common sense that this leader lacked.

"Do not let our men forget..I want this president before me by nightfall...no, that foul, wretched creature."

Death before dishonor.

Success


The message had been sent only five light years to where another Star Destroyer waited and watched. When received, that distance was covered in little time at all bringing the ISD III Venomous to Dubrillion. From it flew a small shuttle and no escort it at all that quickly rendezvoused with the battleship Advocate.


From the small craft moved an old man in the uniform of the Political Kommissaariat, each stride supported by a thick and ornately-sculpted cane. Jewel inlays on the tip and head were worth more alone than an Imperial captain would make in a decade of service. Captain Schi stood straight and saluted Moff Xallon, regional governor of the Braxant Sector.


" You have done well," the aged man said, moving nearer the young officer who had just brought a planet to the Imperial Banner. " The Coalition's arrival was not anticipated by High Command or myself, but they did not threaten this operation. You lost what in the way of equipment?"


The Captain turned and fell in-alongside the Moff. " Three ships during the battle, Your Excellency, approximately one thousand soldiers during the surface landings."


Xallon almost dismissed the report with a wave of his free-hand. His body was failing but the man's mind was as sharp as any of his peers'. " Of no consequence. We were victorious. Now we can begin integrating the people here into the Imperial way of life - revive the economy, return them their culture, and watch Dubrillion prosper."


Uncertain, Captain Schi felt his lips twist into a sneer.


" You disagree? Many do - many of you think we should enslave them or execute them. But such harsh acts breed rebellion and we won't suffer any more of that. We will bend them to our will by welcoming them into the Empire and soon, they will serve us. They will become Imperial citizens and one day they will wear the same uniforms we do. We integrate so we do not have to fight. Do you know why the Empire spends only a fraction of its personnel on garrison duty - because the people are happy! They are not oppressed to the extent they once were. As a result we can concentrate on the eradication of our enemies and the continual expansion of the Empire."


Moff Xallon placed a knowing hand on the Captain's shoulder, then hobbled back to his craft. Soon after he departed and his command-ship with him, leaving Dubrillion as the latest conquest in the Emperor's name.

Somewhere, far away, Jay leant back and considered the day's events.

Defeat.

The Coalition was used to defeat - why, techincally it was built on defeat. The weight of defeats, the pain of it, that is what had crafted the Coalition, from those who would not accept it and would not bow down to it. Those who couldn't be bribed, who wouldn't so quickly change sides and join the victors.

As he though of this, though, he looked out on the fleet of transports and freighters, carrying countless survivors, countless refugees. They had even apparently recovered the mercenary leader responsible for buying them enough time to complete their mission. Victory was never their objective, defeating the Empire was never their hope - Dubrillion had just tried it, and had failed. Theirs was a completely different kind of objective, one he had achieved, one he carried with him now.

Flying through space with him, was the memory of Dubrillion, the last of that willpower and that spirit that had driven them to resist where so many others surrendered. It was that which he was meant to save, that spirit, and he had done so. Regrad was right in wanting to preserve something the Coalition could so dearly need.

"It is the will to fight..." he said, as if to no one "The will to fight is worth more then victory itself. To lose a battle is a set-back in an ongoing war, but to lose your will is to surrender utterly. That is defeat."

It was not defeat they had tasted today, it was not defeat they had tasted ever. The Coalition had not been defeated, not yet, not so long as it still had the willpower to fight, to do what was right.

Yukatan, who had heard his open statement, went over to the Knight "I see you're learning then." he said, chuckling "Good. In my line of business, you see a hell of a lot of defeat. You've got to remember what victory tastes like, though, or you'll lose your appetite for it. Come on, let's take these people home - their new home."

Jay nodded, and smiled to the scruffy spacer. He leant over the controls and called to his Nav-officer. "Set coordinates for Coalition space. We shall take these people home."