The Rebel Faction

And with the details all done, the only thing left was to tell the crew.

And if you think it's a gargantuan task, telling nearly a dozen Star Destroyers crews that they were pulling out of the Empire to go set out on their own, imagine how it felt for Kris, the commander of the flotilla and accordingly the man who would have to deliver the message.

He was just going to give it to them straight. They had been a good crew for as long as he'd been commanding him, and hopefully they would continue to do so in the future, when he and Griz would really need them.

Standing on the holopad that would project his image to all the crew stations on his flagship, the Imperial III class Star Destroyer, Titanic, he pressed the button that would begin the broadcast and another that would record it, so it could simply be beamed to the other ships once they're out of hyperspace and he wouldn't' have to do it all over.

"Gentlemen, and women," he said, almost solemnly, "You all know who I am. I am Vice Admiral Kris Enfield, commander of the Imperial III class Star Destroyer, Titanic, and the Twenty-First Heavy Squadron of the thirteenth fleet, stationed in the Borderland Protectorate.

"For the past seven months I have served as your commander, and you have served myself as well as the Empire. However, I regret to inform you, that that period of time has come to an end."

He could almost imagine his crews puzzled expressions at what he'd just said, though the bridge crew around him were being careful to keep their expressions neutral.

He paused for a few moments, he being a firm believer that silence has more eloquence than speech, and then continued.

"You see, recently it has come to my attention, that the political faction that we all know and serve, the Empire, is nothing but a mere shadow of its former self. And to make matters worse, nothing is being done about it. In fact, the men managing it, our Emperor Dameun Hyfe, and Supreme Commander Kaine, are actually encouraging it in the direction it's going."

This time he could hear several gasps from the bridge crew around him, horrified and shocked at what he'd just said.

"The Empire that we all currently serve is not the one established by our beloved former Emperor Palpatine or his own right hand man, Darth Vader. In fact, the principals that the old Empire was established have been all but erased from modern Imperial society. For example, the anti-alien prejudice the original Empire was based on, a keystone of the Imperial Philosophy, has been completely erased.

"And where has this gradual eroding of the Imperial Philosophy gotten us? Nowhere! We can't even take complete control of the galaxy, between the Coalition scum and the Black Dragon Empire, we are in control of just under half the galaxy, and millions of systems are neutral. In our heyday, before the Battle of Yavin, we ruled every system in the galaxy, for Coruscant to Mon Calimari. And now, without a strong philosophy to back us up. We are here.

"Now I don't know about you, but I'm sick and tired of watching men with their own interests at heart, not the Empires, command us and expand the Empire. We have all waited nearly a decade since the New Republic fell for us to re-take our position as the rightful ruler of the galaxy. I am tired of waiting. I believe it is time to take things into our own hands, to retake the galaxy back from the Coalition Filth and the false-Imperials alike, to rebuild what has been eroded by traitors to both the Empire and Palpatine.

"Gentlemen, it is time to bring back the True Empire, and we are to be the harbingers of it. It will not be an easy fight to bring it back, it will not be a quick one, but in the end, those who have perverted the great Imperial Doctrine and those who dare challenge it will fall, and the True Empire, the True New Order, will rise again."

It wasn't eay to cram all 42 of the men who made up the True Empires captains corp into the Titans conference room, designed for less than half that number, but they managed to do it anyway. The more vetrin members, the Captains of the 21st Heavy Squadron, were all sitting, while most of the Patrol Squadrons Captains were all forced to stand along the rooms walls.

The Captains ranged in age from 25 to 50, the older men usually commanding the larger ships because of their decades of service to the Empire. Interestingly enough, these were the men who wholehartedly supported the True Empire and its ideals, even though it had exhisted- and only then as an idea- for just the past hour or so.

Also included in the group were several younger men, given field promotions after their captains had refused to join them and had been executed by Kris and Griz's supporters. There were nine, all of their captains bars taken off their dead supiriors shoulders before cleaning droids took the bodies to the incinerators.

They were quiet and impassive. As were the others, who were listening to Kris speak.

"As I have given you all the reasons for, these two elements of the Imperial fleet are leaving the watered down New Order to rebuild the Empire of the old, the True Empire of our great lord Palpatine."

The more vetrin captains, those of the 21st, seemed to sit up straightor and give off a more powerful air of confidence and arrogance at the name. At the time Kris said it Daramin Vixon, captain of the Tartan Patrol Cruiser Hyfe's Fist, was looking at Griz Enfield's eyes and saw them grow unbearably hard, forcing him to look away.

There was no doubt that the older men loved the long dead man, his philosophy, and what he had built during his brief reign over the galaxy.

The younger men, on the other hand, had grown up in a post-Palpatine Empire. They knew nothing of it, other than stories they'd heard from supiriors or parents or reletives who had been supporters.

"To begin it, we, we being me and Griz, have layed out a plan for expansion."

Behind Kris, a holographic map appeared in the air, and Kris drew a pointer.

"Each groups orders have been drawn up, both targets and assignments. Do not worry about brutality and whatnot, only concern yourselves with haste. We must expand at the fastest speed possible. We must procure resources while the New Order, the misguided one who currently rules the galaxy, prepares to strike. And they will strike, they will not let this rebellion go unchallenged. And we, we must be prepared to meet them.

"For that, we will need ships and armies and anything else that will help us get a one up on them. But just as much as we need that we will need good commanders, able leaders who can lead their men to victory."

He paused for a moment.

"You, my men, are those commanders."

Every one of them smiled. They had known that was coming when he had reached the part about good leaders and commanders.

"You are all good men, and you will all do well. Now..."

He shifted their attention back to the projector. Clicking a remote in his left hand, he zoomed it in until it was a closeup of the entire Hydian region, the region that would soon become the True Empire.

"This, as you all know, is the Hydian way." He ran the pointer down a line winding down the center of the projection-map. Clicking another button on the remote he held, multiple planets began brightening until they glowed a bright red.

"These," he said, pointing to them, "Are all neutral planets in the region, each destined to become a member of the True Empire."

Most of them faded, though perhaps a dozen remained lit.

"And these are the targets you are all going to be sent to take..."

Nearly losing his balance from the bad combination of putting his pants on and a massive adrenalin rush, Hal Portman rushed to cloth himself at least enough to appear in public, not worrying about it matching. At the same time, he was trying to watch the status console on the suites upper right hand corner and drink down a cup of burning hot coffene.

He was lucky he didn't break a bone or smash his skull.

A few minutes later, he was quite a sight to see as he ran down the hall that his room was on, clad in a white T-shirt, dress pants, and wearing unmatching socks, one green and one blue.

None of the other people occupying the hall stopped to watch him, however, though a few did cast befuddled glances his way. Every one of them was occupied with prearranged procedures and knew exactly what he was doing.

That was the way it should be, at least within the Agamar Defense Headquarters. Buried deep withing an unspectacular looking mountain, it was loaded to the brim with most of the Agamarian Defensive Army and her commanders, as well of those from the Agamarian Space Defensive force.

Up until a few years ago, Agamar had had no military or defensive installations to speak of.

The Yuuzhan Vong invasion had changed that.

Occupied for most of the war, the Yuuzhan Vong were quickly pushed back. But their "psychic residue," like those a victim feels in their home after being burglarized, remained on Agamar. They decided it was time to establish a defensive force. And so since the Yuuzhan Vong had been pushed off, Agamar had been slowly but steadily building up a military force. It wasn't large, but it would fight of a pirate attack or some warlord.

But from what he'd seen and heard so far, it wouldn't be nearly enough for this.

When he arrived, the Central Command Center was packed. But an isle was quickly cleared for him when a guard at the door shouted out "Make way for General Portman," causing the crowd to part like the Red sea to Moses. They all knew that if there was anyone who could defend their planet with the limited resources at their disposal, it would be him.

His first glances at the central status displays, topped by a hologram of the planet and surrounding space, told him it was much worse than he'd expected. In orbit was a single Imperial-class Star Destroyer, flanked by a pair of Victory-class ships. Behind them, presumably to provide fighter cover for the larger ships, was a pair of Lancer frigates. Halfway between them and the planet was a small image that looked like grains of dust floating in the air. Image tags, however, identified the "dust cloud" to be a dogfight between two squadrons of Imperial TIE fighters and two squadrons of Agamarian Defense Force's X-wings.

From the Image tag, it was dead even, the well trained Agamarian pilots holding their own against the (presumably) battle hardened Imperials.

But still, all in all, the situation didn't look good.

"Oh, shit," he said, finally managing to put the feeling he got at the first glimpse of the Imperial class ship into words.

"Sir," a young, dark haired messenger said, approaching Kris and Griz. "Sir, the Titan, Hyfe's Fist (they were going to have to rename that one sooner or later), and Pride of the Empire are all in formation and have taken up a geosynchronous bombardment orbit over the planets capital. As of now..." he looked at a printout he was holding in his right hand, "No enemy forces have been detected around the world, other than the two squadrons of X-wings engaged earlier by Black and Red Squadrons."

"What did that earlier engagement cost us?" Kris asked, concerned about his men's welfare.

"Two TIE Fighters and a TIE Interceptor," the man replied without blinking, "Compared to their losses of six X-wings. From analyzing their wreckage, engineering believes they are rather late models, too. Actually older ones but upgraded with a new MOD package from Stellar Enterprises."

"Not bad," Kris commented, proud that his men had done so well up against the ships.

"Pathetic," Griz muttered.

"What!" Kris shouted, spinning to face Griz.

"I said Pathetic."

"Why?"

"They had a mere 2:1 kill ratio against some Outer-Rim planetary defense forces fighters. I remember when Imperial TIEs would massacre formations twice their size, destroying a dozen enemies for each of their own."

"Griz, haven't you ever considered..."

"Sirs!" Came the shout from a nearby crew pit. "We've got bogeys on screen. And they're coming this as mad as hell and as thick as grass!"

"Sirs! We've got bogeys on screen. And they're coming this as mad as hell and as thick as grass!"

At the call, there was no massive wave of chaos or panic across the bridge. Their reaction was of a much more veteran crew, though in fact nearly all of the Titan's junior and mid-level officers were green. But weeks and months of drill had made each man aware of exactly what he had to do, and they did it, whether their minds were on the task at hand or not.

As Griz heard the call, he coolly looked up at the sensor display console in the bridges center, and then, his report confirmed, switched from a casual mopping up attitude to a far more serious demeanor.

"Shields to full strength," he ordered. "Charge all cannons and launch Torpedoes to cover the launch of our fighters. Drop bay shields, then put them up as soon as the last ship's out. And the Victorys...

"Pull the Victorys to our Starboard side to put the Titan between them and us, then, when I give the orders, here's what's going to happen..."