“ It is an awesome sight, isn’t it sir?”


There came in reply only a deep sigh. The eyes of a young man fell together, shielding the emerald-orbs beneath from a spectacle of grandeur all around him. It was indeed an awesome sight to behold, with literally thousands of ships creating a visible swarm around the Third Battle Group. Civilian ships ignited their exhaust fumes, setting them aflame in a most impressive display of brilliant fire and flare. Long barges, their holds normally filled with goods of sale, now held parties of people and droids that looked on through makeshift viewports.


The young man opened his eyes to look at comrade in the chamber. Their reflections were similar in purely physical terms: both were tall at over two meters, both had full heads of hair, both wore the green-grey uniform of an officer in the Imperial Navy.


There was however one prevalent difference between the two. The man who watched with interest barely a meter from a wall of transparisteel bore on his chest the insignia of a Captain. His skin was soft and almost feminine, as if he had never seen a hard day’s labor. That in fact the case, as with many members of the Empire’s officer corps. They were competent men and excellent commanders, brilliant in their own right and bearing the burden of command in many a battle: they had never killed a man with their own hands. They saw ships and fleets not as vessels and units that carried men into battle, all too oft to their deaths.


Though not older, the onlooker was wiser. One swipe of his skin gave away lines of age extent decades before their time. Though a member of aristocracy and the elite of the Imperial Fleet, the career of Admiral-Baron Telan Desaria had been forged on his deeds both as commander and soldier. On his chest was an appropriate badge of rank, perched below the ruby-topped form of the Imperial Cross.


“ It is awesome, Captain Vorran. It is also sad.”


Telan Desaria did not doubt the final success of the mission he had been entrusted to carry out. His was a mind made for battle. As well he knew that placed under his command was a potent fighting force, trained and disciplined. He also knew his enemy would be resolute and determined.


Among all this, he knew that many of the ships being given such a glorious send-off by the people of Coruscant would meet a glorious demise taking thousands of young officers and crew with them.


The Admiral sighed anew, softer and resigned. Before leaving the viewing chamber aft of the bridge, he straightened himself and pushed his prediction to the ash-heap of his mind. He was the commander of men and machine alike. He would not let them down.


“ Captain, let us return to the bridge. Our men need us not in words but spirit.”


The flag captain of the Third Battle Group acknowledged his superior and friend, falling in behind after closing the gap. Together they marched down the aft control corridor and onto the bridge-proper, each department-head looking up in acknowledgement. Desaria took his seat at the catwalk’s end, Vorran his position in the port crewpit.


“ Continue on course. Proceed with the jump when ready.”


A yeoman handed the Admiral a datapad, confirming the combat readiness of all ships. Three Attack Squadrons were on the roster, each filled with mighty Imperial Star Destroyers of varying classes. Passing various reviewing stands behind their flagship were two Light Squadrons, composed of every kind of cruiser the Empire fielded. Along were two Defense Squadrons of the frigates and pickets that would perform the essential function of guarding the battleships from the threats not inimicably designed for, and one powerful bombardment detachment.


Admiral-Baron Telan Desaria knew his ships, their commanders, and the commanders of the various formations. He knew it would be a glorious campaign.


On to Tion…

Admiral of the Fleet Baron Telan Desaria had been at odds with his conscience, with visions of the text history would pen of his actions in the coming weeks. This concern died when the first casualty roster arrived via HoloNet when the battle group exited hyperspace to change course to the final leg of its journey.


Seventeen transports and five escorts routed in five minutes. An entire legion sent to Fiamatt V destroyed in twenty. The Chief of the Imperial General Staff shook his head in amazement. The 170th Legion of the Stormtrooper Corps had, according to the lone report compiled from bits of information, performed poorly. Out of a Legion of two-thousand five-hundred, a full quarter survived to surrender. When the white flag was raised over the steel battlements of an Alpha-style pre-fabricated garrison base, the remaining men were massacred to a man.


“ Your Excellency,” called a guard from across the open space of the Admiral’s quarters. Try as he might, Imperial Fleet Assault Corps Lieutenant Alder could not break himself of his habit, always addressing his keep with aristocratic deference. Desaria had long stopped asking that the fiercely-loyal Fondor-native to use his military rank – a futile task.


Typically, his peasant bearing brought a smile to Desaria’s face. Now, however, it remained as stolid as ever. The Admiral did not reply, nor did he move. Senior Lieutenant Alder knew this meant the visitor could be admitted. As such, he escorted Captain Vorran into the dark chamber and pointed to the top of balcony of sorts. Desaria stood away from the purple carpeted stairs leading gracefully to the landing and its panoramic view of space.


Though only the endless lines of hyperspace could be seen, Captain Vorran was nevertheless amazed. It was the first time in the three weeks since Desaria had planted his flag on the Intimidator that the ship’s captain had entered the quarters reserved for a dignitary or higher-order commander. His own quarters were palatial in comparison with other navies, but nowhere near as plush as those around him now.


“ You called, Admiral?”


“ On the table.”


Vorran furrowed his brow, unsure. He had not enough time to become acquainted with the Chief of the General Staff to know his mannerisms and cryptic language. The thought of asking for clarification passed dangerously close to reality when Vorran saw a small hand-carved table seated next to a vertical brace. It was almost directly behind the Admiral, though below.


On scanning the azure crystal sheet and the white text thereon, Vorran found his stomach being twisted in two. At that moment, he was very thankful for the low lighting as he did not doubt he was turning pale. He uttered,“ My Gods…”



The Admiral let several moments pass before speaking. The report had been sent directly to Imperial High Command on Coruscant, viewed only by the Regent, the General Staff, and Reichsmarschal Kaine.


“ That document was prepared by an Intelligence officer on Teth and sent to me. You are the first to see it outside of High Command. And to answer your question, it is true.”


Vorran stuttered for the first time in his life. “ H- H- how?”


The Admiral inhaled deeply. The last vestiges of emotion were now gone from him. As happened on all of his assignments, the insular tunnel of hyperspace was allowing him to transform into the efficient machine of destruction that had earned his place in the Admiralty through ruthless efficiency and iron discipline. Only a total lack of emotions while in the presence of peers and comrades, as had now occurred, made such feats possible.


“ Our soldiers were not resolute enough. They expected the treatment we give to prisoners to be done unto them. They expected to live and fought accordingly.”


“ Sir, with all due respect, according to this, the Stormtroopers fought-“


Desaria interrupted his captain. “ Weakly. Without the courage and devotion of olde. Five years ago, that would not have happened. That damned Virus weakened the Empire, its veterans and most staunch idealists now on rolls of the martyred. Our previous defeats and will had perished; though we few older officers preached it, I fear it was not taken seriously. We were seen as the dying caste. Captain, I want you to distribute that report to every ship in this armada. Then, as commanding officer of this vessel, I want you to personally assure that every member of this crew, from garbage-shout operator to gunner, reads it.”


“ Admiral, the crew! This will-“


The Admiral barred his teeth and turned on-heel, the Imperial Cross at his neck swinging as he did. Again, he finished the sentence, but not as its creator had intended. “ – show the men that no quarter can be expected. They will see what kind of enemy we now face better than the Ministry of Propaganda could ever hope! It will stele their hearts and steady their aim. If nothing else, the cowards will be exposed. Distribute the report, Captain. We arrive at Lianna in five hours. By then, our crews will be ready to fight as they did two years ago.”

“ Thirty minutes remaining before reversion, Admiral.”


“ Acknowledged.”


Baron Telan Desaria regarded his figure in a full-length mirror adjacent his black-sheeted bed. He stood in partial uniform: grey-green breaches, jackboots, white collared-undershirt. For a man having celebrated three and one-quarter decades’ worth of birthdays, the Chief of the Imperial General Staff did not look as…antiquated…as some of his peers in the upper echelons of the military. While the Regent himself was barely fifty, his sagging features and weathered look gave him a wholly unattractive look. Desaria, on the other hand, spent much of his off-duty time maintaining the physique he had gained as champion of Kuat’s battleball league.


Where his face was concerned, the Admiral thought himself unappealing. His mate on Kuat did not think so, but as the face’s bearer, he disagreed. One prominent scar above his left eye gave a hint of mystery while a lack of facial hair retained its youthful appearance.


Desaria allowed one more look, and given the circumstance of career and stress, resigned himself to the fact he was still mildly attractive as he had been when a mere Captain in the Imperial Navy.


There was no greater reminder of that eclipsed age of innocence and ignorance than the tunic he donned one arm at time. Clasping it together affirmed his responsibility and authority. It had been specially fitted by Artemis Lannsford, the most renowned tailor in all the Empire with a fee to match. Desaria tugged at the collar then adjusted the tunic with a firm pull. It sat perfectly on his frame.


Pleased, Desaria looked left to his nightstand. From it he removed the black and silver Imperial Cross from its case, the Pforr Leaves and Sabres crossed at its top clasp. Affixed at his throat, it was the most sought-after decoration an officer in any branch of the military could be awarded.


Before leaving his quarters, Desaria attached his holster to his belt. The pistol within had been used by his father at the Battle of Brentaal, many years ago. It was ornately crafted and sighted by some of the most dedicated artisans on Kuat; a weapon to rely on it was. The Admiral would doubtfully use it in action, but it was definitely comforting to have.




“ Admiral!” Captain Vorran stood from the command chair on the catwalk and clicked his heels smartly. “ Fifteen minutes until reversion, Admiral.”


Baron Telan Desaria assumed his perch and looked forward without emotion. “ Report, Captain Vorran.”


“ Crew is at battlestations. All guns are manned and ready; fighters are ready for deployment. As soon as we revert, shields will be raised to full.”


Desaria nodded, silent permission for Vorran to adjourn into the crew pit from a position he could command his ship. His place at the Admiral’s side was taken by A. D. Semenov, Flag Captain and Desaria’s adjutant. It was Flag Captain Semenov who would aid Admiral Desaria in dispatching orders in battle.


“ Sir, the 1st Destroyer Squadron is in position around us, the 115th Light Assault Squadron in screening formation. All other ships have dropped out of hyperspace to prepare for phase II.”


All was proceeding as planned. With the previously-top secret report distributed to all ranks, zeal was at an all-time high. Major Kolomeitsev, Inquisitoriate representative on Desaria’s staff, sat back with obvious glee in his cabin as he had no work to do. The ‘Red Terror’ had no loyalty to ensure, the crews and soldiers policing themselves.


Voices echoed through the crewpit stations as the eighteen-thousand meter mass of the Intimidator slowed from astronomical speeds to sublight. Space was anchored and hyperspace cast off. The blue nebula-like state of faster-than-light travel gave way the star-dotted fabric of the abyss.


Nestled in the cold vacuum was Lianna, atmosphere laced with white accumulations of clouds barely covering the brown and gold savannahs below. Seas and lakes abounded, ebbing and flowing with the forceful winds that plagued and shaped the very earth. The world was pleasant, its inhabitants oppositely so.


“ Your Excellency, we are receiving a transmission from the surface.”


“ Put it through,” Semenov ordered, gesturing forward. A panel of the triangular viewports on the bridge transformed into the image of a horned Devaronian.


“ Infidel ships. You have entered the realm of the God-Emperor. For the crime of defiling His domain, you will be executed.”


There was no more said and the image faded back to a partial view of Lianna.


“ Admiral! Four warships are approaching from the lowest-orbit moon.”


“ Specifications?” asked the Admiral. Imperial Intelligence had sent in dozens of operatives to gather information since the commencement of unofficial hostilities between the Galactic Empire and the Children of the Divine as they called themselves. None had returned and little documentation had been made of the forces at their disposal. Many common ships found themselves in the service of the Divine, but had been refitted and transformed beyond recognition.


“ Four-hundred meters, rectangular in shape, only a few weapon emplacements detected. No fighters or bays.”


Semenov turned into the aft control corridor to one of the communications officers. “ Designate ‘Divine Light Cruiser Alpha.”


“ Send the 33rd Defender Wing to intercept, test their systems. Tell Line Captain Asimov to prepare to detach some of his cruisers.”


Admiral of the Fleet Baron Desaria smiled. Battle is joined…

The Chief of the Imperial General Staff stood at the very fore of the bridge and surveyed the field of battle. On his face was etched a mask of total bewilderment for he could not decipher the actions of his foe. A requisite lack of Intelligence on the capabilities of enemy ships and crews certainly did not help matters, but even with he stood puzzled. The four ships that had appeared from behind the mass of a grey moon simply stopped when seventy-two Imperial fighters attacked.


Major Nicholina Santiago led her formation towards the enemy in perfect shape, six squadrons composing a giant, three dimensional triangle. She had ordered a salvo of concussion missiles fired before the wing broke off into squadrons then flights to engage. Even as orange balls of flame and metal erupted into space, the four ships did nothing. There was no retaliatory fire from the Divine vessels.


Major Santiago requested advisement, and the Admiral was unsure what to say. He had never before met an enemy that greeted obliteration with such apathy.


“ Admiral,” called Flag Captain Semenov. “ One of the cruisers is listing to port and moving out of formation. Sensors show all power sources shut down.”


Perhaps they are testing us. Our response. If so, then these must be pawns, sacrificed while their commander sits away and watches our actions. Had I expendable ships, I might do the same. The thought was unsettling, an Admiral dispatching his men’s lives carelessly. Ruthlessness in the pursuit of victory was one thing, incompetence another.


“ Captain Semenov, send orders to Line Captain Asimov. He is to detach his light squadron from formation and converge on the enemy. Major Santiago is to disengage three squadrons and re-form in grid” - Desaria searched his mind for an overlay of the tactical designations for the Lianna System – “ Epsilon – 13 – G.”


The Admiral listened to the click of Semenov’s heels and reverted to his solitude. It was not easy, as the bridge of a ship at warm especially one serving as a command ship, was a loud and bustling place. When he had, he imagined himself in the position of the enemy: observing an attacker who was oblivious to his presence, then striking down on them when overconfidence reigned.


Set against the populous mass of Lianna, the Admiral could faintly see the craft he had ordered away. Coming under the imposing prow of the Intimidator, Desaria watched the three cruisers and frigate of the 90th Light Squadron rocket away from the battleships and support vessels. Admiral Desaria made a note to meet Captain Asimov, the only knowledge the Admiral possessed of he and his unit was their service records. Distinguished in fighting pirates and privateers in the Farlax Sector, Commodore Lathan’s transfer of them to the Third Battle Group came with much pomp and lauding.


Little time passed between the issuing of the Admiral’s orders and their implementation. Cruisers and frigates had fast engines, and reached their foe in no-time. For reasons of safety and sense, Santiago withdrew her fighters. Asimov wasted no time or energy, pouring a full broadside into the inert enemy. In the span of two minutes, there was nothing remaining of the first encountered enemy but scrap. Lifeless, chunks of hull drifted in space.


Despite the apparent success and broadcasts of victory from the 90th Light, Admiral Desaria felt a pang of uneasiness in his stomach…

Around the mass of Lianna they came, fifteen ships angrily charging into battle to avenge the death of four sacrifical lambs. Fourteen of them were small frigates, each looking as if it was torn from spacedock before painting or finishing-out could be completed; they had the image of evil, replete with spikes, hellish etchings, useless projections of sheet metal and durasteel. The last ship and most noticeable was considerably larger than its peers, nearing the size of an Imperial III-class Star Destroyer. Long and wide with a barrel-looking structure aft, it still had the features of its smaller escorts.


They rocketed around the planet with tremendous speed and set immediately towards the 90th Light.


“ I see them, Captain,” Admiral Desaria commented before Captain Vorran could report in as to the sudden arrival of enemy warships. The Intimidator’s commander was an excellent officer, but far too unused to working with a flag officer on the bridge.


“ Sir, we’ve designated targets. The small escorts all roughly fit the same basic specifications without all that trim. They are Divine Frigates. Their larger ship has been tagged a grand cruiser.”


Admiral Desaria nodded to Flag Captain Semenov, an aide walking away from him as he spoke having delivered his own report.


“ Admiral, six of the grand’s escorts are breaking off and mowing to directly engage the 90th. Remaining ships are turning for us. Speed has slowed considerably, approximately one quarter-standard.”


The Admiral smiled. The enemy commander, despite his obvious religious fanaticism in a God-Emperor and a great power to one day reclaim the galaxy, was competent. The loss of his four frigates had given him an approximation of what the Imperials could do in offense, and now he was testing their defensive reflexes. He would engage the main body nevertheless, but was moving slow enough to alter his strategy if needed. Desaria had been too long without a worthy adversary.


“ The Light is to engage at maximum range and ease off slowly – let their range close gradually, then move in to skirmish-“


“ Admiral!!!” The Chief of the General Staff turned to see Semenov, aghast and disgusted as he beheld the datapad with an uplink to the main battle computer. His now-pale features glanced up to meet Desaria’s gaze. “ Captain Asimov is attacking, and has not raised his shields.”


“ Range!” Desaria demanded, his eyes now flecked with bulging lines of red.


“ The enemy formation is spreading itself out to prevent a flanking maneuver. We will be in weapons range of the main body in two minutes. Until it is countered, we will not be able to relieve the 90th.”


Admiral of the Fleet Desaria barred his teeth and barely withheld a howl of rage. With the arrogance entitled a man in one of the Fleet’s highest ranks, he stormed from the bridge. Flag Captain Semenov followed and was soon joined by two other officers of the Admiral’s staff. When they entered the lift after Desaria, he was a different man. His rage had been placed under control, evident by clear eyes and the commanding voice in which he ordered the lift’s droid-controlled voice recognition hardware to make priority speed to the flag bridge.

Admiral Desaria stepped from the lift and onto the flag bridge, quickly ordering those officers already there to halt their rise to attention. Much smaller than the command bridge of the Intimidator, the level served as the private command chamber of any officer commanding more than a ship and whose orders could not be confused with those of ship functions. Desaria took his raised seat, Semenov his place behind a row of terminals, and five other officers in various positions.

“ Range to target.”


“ We reached maximum effective range of the Fleet’s heavy weapons fifteen seconds ago. Remaining batteries will be within effective range in three minutes,” reported the dark-skinned Summorian who served as the flag-tactical coordinator.


“ Very well. 1st Destroyer Squadron to line-abreast, center on us. Intimidator: commence fire by battery, concentrating on their forward escorts.”


It was a sight to see, six powerful Star Destroyers of three distinct classes moving from a column into a line on either side of the dagger-shaped command vessel. Frigates moved forward and cruisers dipped out of the way, their wedge-shaped forms unstoppable when in motion. Only as the battleships’ ionization reactors worked full-force did nature’s inertia relent to Man’s will. Waves of heat could be seen flickering from exhaust vents when another craft passed near by. Such precision was rare in the galaxy, but not the Empire.


While the sextet of titans jockeyed for a place in the line of battle, the battle’s centerpiece announced the commencement of hostilities with a salvo of turbolaser fire, neon lances burning across the depths of space. From other ships, such a cannonade gave near-stars a pale impression against such a display of destruction. Under the hail, no ship could survive. Five Divine ships found themselves under the Empire’s vengeance before they could find themselves no more: each targeted vessel disintegrated into balls of fire.


“ Line abreast achieved.”


“ Commence fire by ship. Intimidator to concentrate all fire on the enemy heavy cruiser. Fighters are to remain in picket positions.”


The order was almost superfluous for there only three escorts and one battleship remaining to fight. But fight they did. There was no time before orders could be relayed from the flag bridge to the various ships in the assault element when the Divine ships fire in turn. Without exception, the craft fired off streams of rockets into the Imperial lines. If the angular and clean Imperial ships evaded, the rocket detonated leaving only a bright flash in the night. Many fighters protecting the larger ships were consumed by such rampant conflagrations. At once, the sky lit up with explosions of fire and ice.


“ Admiral, frigates Trimmia and Gerr are reporting damage to their drive systems. Flight Command is also requesting Leash-Off status.”


The Admiral grinned. There are no enemies to fight yet on they go. “ Denied. Those rockets will pose more of a threat then a field of mines. However, dispatch three wings from the 1st Destroyer to cut around their projected range and flank them. Make all speed to the 90th.”


Despite the Admiral’s appreciation of the Fighter Corp’s dedication, there could be little happiness behind his mask of amusement. Plumes of fire raged into existence before dying as quickly as they had come. Green light filled the stars as Imperial energy weapons hammered home their superiority. For the first time, the Divine ships moved out of the way but were eliminated nonetheless. The grand cruiser fielded that day was reduced to a floating hulk then tomb as oxygen supplies were consumed in a fire that swept the aft.


Victory was won, but the commander of the Third Battle Group was far from happy. Lianna needed yet to be conquered – and matters of the Fleet now awaited his attention.

“ I made a grave error in choosing your formation to spearhead this assault. I place the blame for actions this day entirely in my own hands.”


Admiral of the Fleet Telan Desaria sat behind his obsidian desk, moving a stylus between thumb and forefinger, seeming to hope its agitation would spring forth an answer on crystal sheets. Flag Captain Semenov stood to the Admiral’s left, Captain Vorran to his right. Both held a visor cap under arm and were totally motionless.


Standing equally so below the room’s raised ending was Captain Asimov and the commanders of three other cruisers from the 90th Light Squadron.


“ I entrusted Flag Captain Semenov here to handle the logistics of integrating various units into a cohesive battle group until I arrived. When I did, I only reviewed reports on commendations and strengths. This incompetence can be borne by me alone.


“ Your squadron received, as a whole, the Legion of Merit with three Service Clusters from the Regent’s Office, and so I did not give your worthiness a second-thought. I never looked into why.”


Desaria continued rolling the stylus from one end of his hand to another while the other produced a flimsiplast. It crinkled and bent from unseen waves of air pushed forth from ventilation shafts, making the only noise in the room.


“ The 90th Light is an outstanding formation – for dealing with pirates, thieves, brigands, and criminal elements. For the last two years, your command as moved across the entire Delteon Sector providing internal security and doing a wonderful job of it. However, in that time, you never encountered a ship over two hundred meters or that could give any serious resistance to a Hammer-class Light Cruiser or Fire-class Frigate. So here you are, faced with fifteen ships of a virtually unknown enemy, each barely 250 meters on the keel, so you think victory is a foregone conclusion.


“ This arrogance, built up battling privateers, never gives raising your shields priority. And for that, you even attacked despite my orders to withdraw. Casualties were approximately seven hundred for your squadron. To me, those are acceptable casualties in an engagement such as the one we just had.


“ To you, however, those numbers should be staggering. I laud initiative, and attacking was a good idea if you saw a weakness. But for not raising your deflectors you are guilty of gross negligence not to say incompetence!”


Asimov clicked his heels and straightened himself. “ Admiral, if I may – “


“ You may not!” Desaria bit out. “ I cannot blame your men, or the officers under your command. They learn from you. You other captains under him, for not ordering action taken on your own, are just as guilty. One would think that Captains, Imperial Captains, would have the wherewithal to execute basic preparations.”


The Admiral never grew angry or loud, instead letting the calm manner of his dressing down sink into the minds of the men before him. His eyes narrowed as he gazed over the iron-faced officers.


“ The Empire will not tolerate fools. You are being relieved of command and being sent before a Court Martial. I have penned an affidavit in absentia recommending your dismissal from the Service and execution. Dismissed.”

“ The vultures have finished their task?”


Admiral Desaria let his words hand in the air as he gazed from his office viewport into space. The Intimidator had moved into a high orbit of Lianna itself and had been forced to keep its entire retinue of gunners at their posts: debris from what remained of the Divine warships floated free and needed to be dealt with lest they kill more Imperials in death than life. The three cruisers and frigate of the 90th Light had taken a loose diamond position off the battleship’s bow creating a wide screen visible from the Admiral’s port-facing office.


“ They have, Your Excellency.”


Desaria let loose a thin-lipped smile as he turned to greet the answerer of his question. “ You do that simply to irritate me, don’t you?”


“ Do what, Your Excellency?”


The Admiral’s smile quickly morphed to sneer in the time he took to pull his chair from the desk and rest into it. Seated before the desk was a slightly-greying officer whose black ensemble belied his service affiliation. On his chest sat the five-strong row of orange rank pips of a Colonel in Imperial Intelligence. Were it not for the man’s rather pale skin, that badge of office would have been the only spot of colour from top to bottom.


Desaria waved off the question, knowing the much-tread ground of his title would be pointless to revisit. “ And?”


“ From what we can tell, you destroyed at least a dozen Corellian-built ships out there.”


“ I watched the battle from the flag bridge and I did not see this formation engage one ship resembling anything I’ve ever seen before.”


Colonel Somir grinned toothily. “ Given what we have ascertained about their politico-religious beliefs, they were all heavily refitted. Apparently, the ships built in the Tion region are done up to the inner hull only. After that, each is hauled from the construction site and finished in an exotic ritual of placing spikes and making the ships as fierce as possible. No two ships, even they were designed the same, would be alike. When they…acquire…a ship from outside their little hamlet here, it’s stripped and redone down to the bulkheads.”


“ Does this enhance anything?”


The Intelligence officer reached a gloved hand to his right shoulder, flicking the clasp of his tunic open. His white collared-undershirt breathed fresh air. From an inner pocket, the Colonel removed a gold box. The engraving was spectacular and looked hand-made; on opening it, he removed a cigarette then replaced the container.


“ Nothing. Recovered hulls showed embrasures that once held guns were fastened shut so decoration could be place more flowingly on the hull.”


Desaria offered the Colonel his igniter, a cylinder of azure fluid trapped behind a box of etched crystal. “ And their crews?”


“ What we know I have gotten from various reports. I’ve not had the chance to interrogate any yet – “


The Admiral held up a hand, not wanting details of how the ruthless officer would extract information from a recalcitrant subject. Desaria had seen many millions die, had ordered thousands to their deaths, had killed with his own hands in the heat of battle, but cared none for the wretched techniques used by Intelligence.


“ I understand they are fanatical. This God-Emperor, who no one outside this sector has ever seen, is probably commanding things directly, so can be counted on to act poorly if pushed, but I intend to proceed giving him the benefit of the doubt. I’ve read your report several times in the last hour. I still don’t know – where do these people come from?”


The Colonel took a strong puff of his cigarette then exhaled, haze and smoke pouring from his nostrils. “ We don’t know.”


The Admiral sighed and excused himself from the desk with a strong push from it. His hands, gloved as all officers’ were, clasped themselves at his back from habit, and he gazed down towards the pale brown orb of Lianna. The first drop ships could be seen heading down, beginning the more brutal phase of the first operation.


Ground Assault…

The bowels of the Imperial sentinel- class drop ship held a full company of Imperial mobile infantry. The young men and women that sat stiffly in their harnesses looked at each other with apprehension. They had all seen the report sent down from the highest levels, of the massacre of Fiamatt V. That knowledge that no quarter would be given, that none would be received, sat heavily with the soldiers of the 160th Mobile Infantry division.

The youthful looks on the faces of the Infantry was noted by the man who sat in the command chair at aft of the shuttle. His gaze drifted over the soldiers, their camoflauge, blaster rifles, vibroblades, all looking like a joke. They were probably just out of boot camp.

Colonel Tchort shifted his weight in the high backed chair, his throat mic knocking against his chin as he did so. His eyes were a clear, cool blue, like some chill winter wind they peirced those he looked at, even in the crimson light of the shuttle interior. His countenance was angled, sharp featured, with a haze of stubble covering his lower face. He wore his camo smock with a his visor cap, a confidence about himm that the soldiers picked up upon.

The shuttle hit turbulence as it decended into the cloud cover, rocking the unsettled troopers uncomfortably. They knew not what would await them on the surface, what horror awaited them with baited breath.

Citrious was a small village surrounded by teris fields as far as the eye could see, the endless savannah interrupted by the occasional weeping willow, Citrious itself, and the line of Highway 716 connecting Fejuhl and Geeridin: both cities seemed far away from the remote hamlet.

Looking on the quiet town of little more than a thousand, Lieutenant Colonel Tyrellus saw staple of peace in the middle of a war. Buildings were quaint, the roads were unpaved, and signs of technology few and far between. At the town’s center sat a majestic cathedral, its four spires pointing towards the heavens.

A gust of wind ruffled the Colonel’s hair, bringing him back to reality, and a harsh reality at that. The Empire was at war, and he was there for that very reason: to command an Imperial panzer brigade in battle.

Looking through his macrobinoculars, the village itself seemed less real than it had only a moment before. The cathedral’s spires were more clear, enhanced by an impressive display of micro imaging, and it was on those spires that hung the skeletal remains of the God-Emperor’s enemies. Most appeared humanoid, one group of three too large to be anything but Yeventhan, but all were too decayed to be absolutely sure. Tyrellus reasoned they could be more than a half-century hanging, for the aggressive yet mysterious Children of the Divine had been in existence for that time at best.

The Colonel’s comlink crackled to life in his ears, the voice of 14th Fusilier Battalion’s commander as strong as in person. “ Ephan, are we going to move out today? We’re on the reserve slope of a rise and I can’t see a damned thing.”

Tyrellus sighed and re-donned his militant and professional persona. A quick sprint and awkward hop later and he was standing through the cupola of a Hercules HAV. He placed the clip of his headset into its scomplink, instantly connected to all other vehicles in the brigade – and all higher commands through some other channels. One circle of his hand in the air and the seven independent assault battalions of the 91st Panzer Brigade lurched forward.

To the left and right of the Colonel’s command panzer stretched out his brigade, not a single soldier on foot. Behind a forward phalanx of armor came repulsor trucks with no armor whatsoever: each carried a full platoon of infantrymen. Artillery borne on hover-platforms or wide tracks rumbled along the plane.

“ Button-up!” cried the commander of the Brigade’s recon element, the 774th Walker Company: one hundred men stalking about in small personnel-walkers, @#%$ grandparent of the mighty AT AT Walker.

Tyrellus looked ahead where the first contingent of his walkers entered the town. Civilians – or soldiers without uniforms – were pouring from buildings armed with pistols, homemade explosives, and antiquated rifles. The walkers’ dual light laser cannon fired wildly massacring dozens by the second but the fanatical people streamed ever on. Persons dressed in flowing black robes holding eight-barred crosses in one hand and a book in another yelled in a hoarse language, seeming to encourage the needless sacrifice.

Odd to note was that one species or race did not dominate another. Thulians, humans, Twi-lek, even Wookie ran on with the same dedicated and crazed ardor. The walkers’ fire was indiscriminate but their numbers were too many. One, then two, then ten of the small chicken-like vehicles fell into the mass wrecking buildings and streets.

Tyrellus shuddered when he considered what was transpiring, but acted as an Imperial should. The guns of the leading repulsor tanks were primed…

Then fired…