(TNO Takeover of Ord Mirit)

Mopping-up operations.

The phrase played over and over in Wes's mind as he strode through his command carrier. Imperial High Command had degraded him to the point of mopping-up operations. His stellar service, his performance at Bothuwai and against the Confederacy, and now he was performing mopping-up operations.

To top it off, he still hadn't received the promotion he deserved. Or at least that he felt he deserved. He was still languishing as a Captain in the Special Forces. Never mind that he headed them up now. Never mind that his squadron commanders were all Captains too. Never mind that he was commanding fleets and planetary assaults. He was still a kriffing Captain!

Wes noticed one of his staff officers walking towards him from the bridge. Yet another problem. The kriffing High Command had given him a kriffing staff! And they wanted those kriffing reports now! Wes spent more time on paperwork now than he did in the field. Kriffing Sith spawn.

Lieutenant Lionel Leyon (what a name, Wes thought) stopped in front of Wes and saluted. Wes, knowing that he had to keep military etiquette now, returned the salute even as he was cursing Leyon inside. He hated all the pomp and etiquette required in the military. That was one of the reasons he worked this job now. He prized independent thinking in his men, and he didn't require the level of discipline most commanders did. Hence, when they were in the field, the men respected him enough to obey his orders but came up with their own inventive ways of following those commands.

Leyon spoke. "Sir, we're receiving a transmission from Colonel Trestky."

Stang. Trestky was Wes's new superior. Based on Coruscant, the Colonel was the military liaison for part of the Coruscant Defense Force as well as the local Intelligence branch. Wes figured the kriffing Colonel was going to order him back to Coruscant and stick him with the task of guarding his precious Intel people. He was both right and wrong.

In truth, Trestky wasn't such a bad guy, as Wes discovered when he opened the transmission on the bridge. "Captain Vos, thank you for responding so promptly."

Wes nodded. "My pleasure, Colonel," he said, thinking that it was anything but.

"Captain, I have read your file. Excellent service record. It seems that the tasks I was going to assign you are below your skill level. It would be a shame to waste such talent on guarding Intelligence agents."

Wes said nothing, but hope was once again growing inside.

Trestky continued. "I am ordering you off the front lines." Wes's heart sank once again. "However, there is an urgent task near Coruscant that needs your attention. High Command has finally realized that there is a growing threat in Coruscant's own backyard, so to speak. I'm releasing part of the Coruscant fleet to neutralizing that threat. You will be in command.

"You are to proceed directly to the staging area at Coruscant, where you will rendezvous with the fleet. A short jump to Borleias will follow. That planet will serve as your base for the campaign. From there, you will strike at the planets Ord Mirit, Jagga II, Carratos, and Aphran IV. Capture those worlds, and we should bring much of the space around Coruscant under the Empire's control.

"Should you succeed, another task awaits that is just as vital. And Captain...you had better succeed."

Wes, beaming inside, was careful to keep a stoic demeanor. "I understand, Sir. I won't fail."

"Good," replied Trestky. "I'll see you at Coruscant. And I have a surprise waiting for you."

The transmission ended. A surprise? Wes thought. What kind of surprise? But no time to wonder about it now. He had a mission.

Wes quickly moved into action. His first command was to the communications officer nearby. “Lieutenant, send a message to the Tyrant. Tell Captain Typton we have a new assignment and to prepare for a jump to Coruscant.”

He strode forward to the control section of the bridge. “Ensign, plot a course to Coruscant. Send the coordinates to the fleet and tell them to go to hyperspace on my mark.”

Stopping another staff officer who had overheard the Colonel’s command, he said, “Draw up a rough outline of orders to present to the other commanders, then send them to me. I want them done in two hours.” The officer scampered off.

Once the initial rush was over, Wes stood and waited for the jump, a slight smile on his face. He was going back into action. No sidelines for the Special Forces Captain. It was straight action. Just the way he liked it.

“Captain, coordinates are locked in,” one of the bridge officers said.

“Good. Have the fleet jump on my mark.” He glanced around the bridge. Everything was set. The fleet was ready. “Lieutenant, you may order the jump.”

The stars turned into blue and white streaks as the small Special Forces fleet entered hyperspace, heading for the Core and their next assignment.

The space around Coruscant was always busy. Not only were Imperial warships on patrol, but the civilian traffic swarmed the planet. Government officials sped to and from other planets and sectors, traders came and went, even spies sometimes. The occasional bounty hunter would drop into the system in some modified craft or another. Sometimes an Imperial patrol would catch a smuggler and space might light up with a short-lived firefight. But the traffic was mostly peaceful - the everyday workings of the city-wide planet.

Such was the atmosphere into which the Astrus-class carrier Vos entered when it reverted from hyperspace less than two standard days after its first hyperspace jump. Two previous revisions had been required to keep the carrier, and the rest of the fleet, on course, but now the sprawling city lay below them, a mechanical and inorganic landscape as beautiful in its own way as the forests of Kashyyyk or the oceans of Mon Calamari.

Wes wasn't interested in beauty right now, though. His first task, even before contacting either planet control or his superiors, was to make sure the rest of his fleet reverted successfully. It wouldn't do to have even a small frigate crash into the heavily-populated capital city of the Empire.

The Star Destroyer Tyrant was the next ship to revert to realspace, instantly drawing the attention of both the captain and a substantial number of nearby ships. Any time a large ship, notably a Star Destroyer, suddenly appeared just off your starboard bow, you tend to notice it. And, unless you yourself are in a Star Destroyer, you often tend to fear. The wedge-shaped craft had more than enough power to destroy half the small ships around the planet with as much effort as a human would use in batting away a flitnat.

But such was not its mission. It entered the system peacefully, and the surrounding ships went back to their tasks.

Captain Vos stood on the bridge of the Astrus-class carrier and watched the rest of his fleet arrive. When the last ship reverted to realspace, he strode to the communications console in the center of the bridge. "Lieutenant, open a link with Colonel Trestky."

In less than a minute the colonel's sharp features filled the holographic stand. "Captain, I see you made good time. Excellent."

Wes nodded in reply. "Thank you, Sir. We did our best."

"Excellent job. Now to business, though. I am transmitting the rest of your orders now. You are to take those portions of your fleet you deem battle-worthy, replacing those ships you feel are not from the Sesswenna Sector Fleet, as well as four of the new Universal-class corvettes. Test them out, see if you like how they work.

"Along with the orders I am also transmitting a document, recently approved by the High Command of the New Order, promoting you to the rank of Colonel in the New Order Special Forces, recognizing your gallantry in the Unknown Regions and your innovation at Bothuwai. Congratulations, Colonel Vos."

Wes now had reason to be extraordinarily pleased. A Colonel! He'd been hoping for a promotion to Major! This day was going well.

"Thank you, Colonel Trestky," he replied. "I will bear the new rank with honor and bring further glory to the Empire."

"Excellent. Finally, I would like a report of your fleet and any requested replacements."

"Colonel, the Reign of Fire is in need of repairs, as are the cruisers Nebulous and Burgoyne and the Frigate Desert Wind. If possible, Sir, I would like to exchange them for another Eternal-class, two Curiassier's, and four Fire-class Light Frigates."

The Colonel glanced to the side, apparently received a nod from a staff officer, and replied, "That should be acceptable. Your orders should come through shortly. And you may want to pay a visit to the Admiral while you're around. After all, you will be taking some of his ships."

" A Colonel? My ships? The hell you say!"


Major Trodden hoped to show the appropriate deference to the speaking figure who despite the rosy tint of his cheecks and generally cheerful demeanor was aghast. Inside, however, the Major only growled and said a new string of curses against the woman he had chosen to marry two decades ago. I chose the wrong sister. The one I should have taken is now a Commodore in the Customs Bureau while the one I did take resigned to become an unsuccessful kitchen-designer; for that choice, I have never been permitted to apologize.


" Sir, the Colonel's name is Vos, of the Army's Special Services branch."


" I don't care if he's a Fusilier, Artillerist, or Walker Commander in the Guard - no Colonel is going to commandeer my ships! He has some of his own, let him use them. You Army types are all the same, always trying to steal from the Fleet!"


The Major growled again, imagining the heinous laughter of Commodore Mitchlin were she to see the fate she had doomed him to; for spurning her advances Trodden had been blacklisted for the remainder of his career, destined for nothing save aide-de-camp openings to rotund flag officers who moved only from one meal to the next. " Sir, his orders have apparently been given to him by High Command. The General Staff - "


Admiral Alfonso Miguel de Fierra, Duke de' Castii, waved off the Major, a horribly complicated gesture for the man that created more waves in his flesh than could any typhoon to the endless seas of Mon Calamari. Major Trodden felt his stomach churn under his dark green niform tunic and decided to abstain from eating for the next few lifetimes.


" The General Staff is always making plans and breaking plans and allocating ships that aren't theirs to allocate. I am the commander of the Sesswenna Sector Fleet and I will decide what goes where!"


Major Trodden sighed and decided now was as good a time as any to let the other jackboot fall. " Your Grace, the ships he will be given will not go far - his operational area is well within what is defined as this sector."


" What???!!!" came the expected reply, shouted forth like the bellow of a massive cannon whose bore was none too smooth. Major Trodden felt his blood curdle as the stodgy old aristocrat, a man he could not believe was actually a decorated fighter-commander once, continued to yell. " I will speak with this Colonel - NOW!"




*Modeled after Hermann Goering*

The newly-appointed Colonel Vos sat in his command chair on the bridge of his command craft. Slouched would be a better term, though a colonel in the Imperial Army would never slouch. Well, almost never. Considering what he was contemplating, slouching was necessary for Vos.

The communications array nearby remained silent. Colonel Trestky had suggested (more like a command) that he at least give Admiral de Fierra a call, if not visit him in person. Wes wanted to do neither. He'd heard reports about the obese Admiral who sat at Coruscant. The man had gotten too comfortable, and he no longer took action. Wes did.

Centuries ago, Wes's home planet, Bakuru, had been fractured in a great civil war. The rightful ruler, a President Avraham, had appointed general after general to command his armies. When the rebels consistently defeated them, he began to dispair. One name, though, came to the forefront. A young Colonel fighting on an obscure front had only lost two battles, and those two had been turned into strategic victories. The president promoted the colonel and turned over command of the war to him. After the new general had lost a few battles, critics began to complain. The death toll was staggering, they said. He can't win, they said. President Avraham, realizing that the general continued to push forward, replied with two words: "He fights."

Wes, in this situation, saw himself as the successor of that general. He had entered Imperial service intending to fight, and fight he did. It was his fighting that had recently landed him the promotion to colonel, and he was appalled that he had to even pay respects to an Admiral that had grown so large he could barely lift himself out of his chair. It disgusted him.

He was saved the trouble of making the call himself, though, as a transmission came through from a Major Trodden at Admiral de Fierra's headquarters. Great, Wes thought. Well, at least I don't have to make the first move.

He rose, straightened his uniform, and received the transmission. Major Trodden appeared on the screen. "Colonel Wesley Vos?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Wes calmly.

"I am representing..."

That was all the major got out before he was violently shoved out of the way. "Lemme talk to him," was spoken offscreen, and the view soon was filled with the fleshy face of Admiral de Fierra. Wes nearly threw up at the sight.

"Admiral..." Wes managed to get out, just before the Admiral launched into a tirade.