The Rebel Faction

In its classic wedged formation, the Imperial Guard pressed on. One mighty Reign-class Destroyer took its place at the van, two slightly smaller but nevertheless potent Imperial-III class Destroyers on its haunches. Sitting behind the forward most ship was the VSD Praetorian, its hundred proton warhead launchers at the ready to immolate any threat. Around the quartet of battleships buzzed four small frigates, a pair of Interdictors in the rear – globes on and running. The 10th Squadron remained dutifully to the rear as a small but efficient reserve.


The Guard moved on, no useless chatter between its component warships. The worlds of the Anzat system looming larger and larger as the Imperials sauntered deeper towards the sun. Passing below the giant but lifeless world of Hurrabb, many an officer and crewman looked up to view the barren rock, its purple and blue hue truly breathtaking against a field of white star-dotted black.


Shots rang out from the Frigate Fire III, what remained of an incoming meteorite spinning harmlessly away while its fellows were sizzled into nothing against the transparent shields humming usefully in the night. No sooner than a query was sent from the largest vessel in the bite-size armada was an answer returned and all traffic silent oncemore.


Aboard the Autarch, Fleet-Admiral Desaria could be proud of the stoic actions of his men. Resistance to the Empire was expected but would be light at best – that notwithstanding, the men of the Guard knew death to be an ever-present companion, a mate every time a uniform was donned. They faced it with lament but the same zeal as their commander.


“ Admiral, we are being querried by perimeter defense.”


“ Type and designation?” demanded calmly the Kuati nobleman.


“ Two Immnan-class Pickets, each one-hundred meters in length with two heavy laser cannon and a micro-missile launcher. Maximum stowed projectiles – ten.”


Desaria shut his eyes, saying a silent prayer to Athena, the Kuati goddess of war and patron saint to all generals. Opening them again, he acted as his sealed orders bade him act.


“ Communications to all indigenous vessels – civil and military band.” Upon acknowledgement from a warrant officer in the crewpit, Desaria spoke. “ By order of His Excellency the Regent of the Galactic Empire and the Executors of his Will the Imperial High Command, the system of Anzat is hereby annexed. As such, forces operating under the guise of the defensive militia are commanded to stand down. Heavy weapons must be returned to their armories and all vessels to display mounted weapons at maximum elevation.


“ Officers are permitted to retain their pistols as long as they act within the confines of the rules of honour.


“ Failure to act according to these orders will result in the destruction of all parties who resist.”


With that, Desaria nodded his executive officer and captain of the Autarch who understood perfectly the silent order. Tactical command thusly order all weapons armed and all projectile launchers loaded. The waiting game was now afoot.

Fleet Admiral Desaria read over the transcript of sliced communications channels in use by the Anzati militia. One moment an officer named Palleton was refusing to engage, the next an officer named Coragan, promoted to Commodore by the Prime Minister, was issuing haphazard and useless commands to defeat the oncoming Imperial dogs.


Fools, Desaria thought, rubbing thumb and forefinger gently over his forehead. Sure enough, he listened to the tactical operations officer report six corvettes and a light cruiser charging full speed towards the Guard, six more coming from hiding places on the far side of Anzat itself.


“ Sir, the corvettes are outrunning the Carrack. They are firing from the hip but are still two minutes out of range.”


“ Whomever took command obviously has no knowledge of how to lead a fleet into battle. It is unfortunate but unavoidable. All ships slow to one-quarter. Guns – target the lead ships with forward heavy turbolaser cannon and fire by battery. All other ships – hold fire until ordered. Perhaps we can talk some sense into them.”


Vorran closed with Desaria. “ Admiral, they have jammed all transmissions. I doubt they want to talk.”


“ Pity. A waste of ships we could have used. Guns - - fire when ready.”

The lights flickered for a moment before succumbing to death. Alone in the darkness of a Spartan but expansive brig cell, Commodore Palleton felt his former flagship shudder underfoot, the recoil of her ten light turbolasers shaking deck and bulkhead alike. That pasty-faced ensign he once entrusted with an away mission had doubtless shunted all power to the forward shields, a move he recognized instantly as faulty. Carrack-class Light Cruisers were designed to deliver broadsides and this man pronounced the new Commodore by the Prime Minister did not realize it.


A new series of movements interrupted the Commodore’s thoughts, these unmistakably foreign in reason. Palleton heard a string of Twi’lekki profanity coming from the adjacent cell but he was only able to indentify a rather harsh comparison of the acting commander’s mother to a Twi’lekki multi-mating wild boar. When his first officer switched to Basic, Palleton gave a hearty laugh – Idlekki had been thrown from the bed by the ship’s jostling.


“ What’s your take on this?” Palleton asked, the security officer too preoccupied monitoring the bridge comm. traffic to shut them up.


“ My guess – the Imps have switched to ion cannon and want this ship in tact. Our corvettes cant stand up to them and are probably all gone by now. This can be used for occupation duties though and isn’t too far off their scope of usable craft.”


“ My thoughts exactly. You know – we almost avoided bloodshed. Almost.”


“ Shockball and frag-grenades, my friend.”


Many a moment of tense silence passed as both men resigned themselves to their fate - - the ardent but misguided patriotism of the crew above and its dedicated but hideously inexperienced commander would bring the afterlife into view sooner than expected.


Thoughts were again interrupted but this time from something much closer. Both officers stood but quickly had to brace themselves on whatever was near. Alarm klaxons sounded, their telling screech resounding through the corridors. Red lights illuminated the security office and the pair of occupied cells. A stream of plasma was hissing forth from a ruptured conduit atop the door. Fruitlessly, the security officer did his best to seal it; seeing he could not, he rushed out for assistance from a damage control team.


Palleton’s ears perked as over the din of rushing steam, explosions, and the buzzing of his containment field he heard what he thought was a blaster. His suspicion was confirmed when he heard the words spoken over the open receiver on a nearby console. “ Shots fired - - Imperial troops have entered the ship!!!”

First Lieutenant Harkiss dove from his crouched position, landing behind a console in the aft control corridor. Perhaps a dozen soldiers had the entrance to the bridge sealed, supported by twenty or so regular crewmen wielding whatever side arms could be taken from the weapons locker before it was overrun. Turning to where he had been, Harkiss saw the crumbled form of an FAC lance corporal not quick enough to avoid an untimely demise.


Righting himself behind the terminal, Harkiss bounced up and squeezed off three shots at a target ten meters away – both shots missed. Gritting his teeth, he pulled a blue-painted Ullfig – ULFG or Ultra-Light Fragmentation Grenade. The officer removed the safety clip and hurled it down the corridor. Air whooshed from his lungs as molecules of sulfur and tritus combined to create the intended explosion. Flames leapt from surface to surface while a tongue of fire caught the sleeve of a nearby Anzati who did his best to swat it. His actions of fire suppression were futile as it burned deep and began consuming his flesh – with that his patting grew more frantic. He leapt up accompanied by a yell of agony from his lungs. That did not last long, however as the lieutenant fired another pair of shots that silenced his scream and ended his pain.


Several troopers took advantage of the chaos and smoke to advance as far as they could so when Harkiss looked back, six men had joined the four already there. His trained assault troops bore a cold determination on their faces, each one knowing not all would return to the belly Suvarov. Filled with the knowledge of certain death, the soldiers of the Guard carried on with a morose shadenfreude known to only the best units.


“ Ready Boss?” asked Private Gonaraus, who then jabbed a finger at a nearby NCO. “ Sergeant Allts is itching for a promotion!”


Harkiss looked back with a toothy smile and chided his subaltern. “ You should never wish that sort of thing on someone. Think of all the work Alltie would have to do as an officer - - he hates paperwork now!!!”


The men laughed anew, some still chortling to themselves as the group rose to its feet. DL-44 Blastech rifles in their hands, the FAC troopers gave off a hellish battle cry as they charged down the hall. Orange bolts of energy seared the air to and fro, the combatants on both sides doing battle with identical arms. A black-uniformed Fleet Assault man fell to the ground, clutching at his scarred armor. One of his fellows, a female of like rank, stooped to give him aide but was cut down all the same.


Lieutenant Harkiss said a silent prayer for the fallen as he stormed into the final stretch of the control corridor, then a prayer for himself when he ran through the breech and into the open single-level bridge itself. The guarding laser gate had been nullified by the frag-grenade, saving half the attackers.


Entering the bridge, First Lieutenant Harkiss ran into a tall and lanky man wearing a flamboyant green uniform bearing a junior-officer’s insignia. The man was frantically trying to clear the jam in his newer model MerrSonn pistol – they fired an energy bolts like any other pistol but the charges were cased, empty rounds ejecting after each shot. Harkiss liked the power it offered but his line of work required a high volume of fire – hence his TaggeCo. Arms ZX-81.


The enemy officer gave up on the weapon as Harkiss neared, instead removing a dagger attacked at his hip. Before he could draw it, the Imperial was upon him who hit him hard across the face with the barrel of his gun. The young man went down holding a broken jaw with both hands. Harkiss looked around to see his remaining four men corralling the Anzati crewmen who had decided on discretion as the better part of valour.


“ Who…commands…here?” Harkiss asked, breathing heavily as he adjusted from the rush of adrenaline every engagement brought.


“ Ens…Commodore Corogan.” One of the captured crewmen pointed to the lump sprawled in pain on the deck.


Harkiss activated his helmet mike triumphantly. “ 1st Platoon CO to Bravo Company HQ. We have secured the bridge and have the ship’s commander in custody.”

The Prime Minister listened to the words of a traitor. He felt a rage growing within him and knew there could be no other word to describe Palleton. The man listened and with every word he heard, his four nostrils flared more and more.


“…if we do not resist them, we will be admitted into the Empire without question. If we do not surrender, many of our homes, our towns, our cities – and our families – will be destroyed. Admiral Desaria has assured us that we will be afforded all rights granted any Imperial Citizen. Resistance would mean death to most of us – surrendering means a quiet acceptance of the inevitable.”


Prime Minister Horuth slammed a hand onto the receiver control to silence the transmission, glad when its blasphemous chords no longer echoed in his office. Turning, he gave the assemblage a cold stare.


“ What of the Army?”


General Xaxil folded his hands across his lap. “ Thirteen battalions of militia have taken up defensive positions in the city and I have stationed a regiment of regulars in the government quarter. What armor we have is just outside the city on the Plains of Marhab.”


“ The other cities?”


The young military officer tugged at his collar, uneasy in the position he had been given only an hour ago after the execution of his predecessor. “ I have given total control to garrison commanders. On the average, perhaps ten to fifteen thousand per city. We have sixteen major cities to defend and only enough resources to defend five. We are spread dangerously thin.”


“ They will hold. I am sure of it.”


Xaxil wanted to laugh at the politician’s arrogance and total disconnection with reality. The men he was speaking of would do their duty – until faced with a heavy turbolaser barrage from above then they would throw their duty to the side along with their weapons. There were far from enough regulars to bolster the one-week per month trained militiamen. All he could do was get as far away from this idiot as possible.


“ Can we expect any support from the Navy?”


Xaxil held his breath - - the aged officer, only a Captain but as respected throughout as Palleton had been, confessed earlier that he would not lie. He held true to his word. “ No, Minister, you can not. Those units that survived the orbital engagement fled. We have lost contact with them.”


“ Very well, “ Horuth replied. “ To your posts then. I await report of your victories. We’ll smash them as they land.”


Xaxil sighed to himself but was quick to leave the man’s office before he opened his mouth, inserted his foot, then kissed his life good-bye.