Belderone.

The only warning Governor Reynold of Belderone had of his impending doom was the explosion that levelled the gate of his citadel. By the time he had woken and fully realized the situation, the rebels were in the compound, firing blasters almost indescriminantly and burning the row of luxury speeders the governor collected.

By then, of course, it was far too late. The rebels were hammering against the main door of the house now. It was reinforced, but Reynolds knew it wouldn't hold. Not for long enough.

He briefly considered his options. The compound was overrun - no chance of escaping by ground. There was a speeder on the roof, a small one person vehicle that was little more than a toy for his own personal use. If he could reach it, perhaps he could make it to the Imperial base and-

No. A single glance out the window told him the rebels had considered that possibility. They had erected a repeating blaster in the courtyard. The speeder was unshielded - it would be shot down before he even took off.

For the first time, the main felt the bitter taste of fear in his mouth as he realized that he was going to die. And there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing? He thought with a frown. No...

Running to the wall he punched the button on his com that would connect him to his head of security and said, "Hold them off as long as you can." Then he called Imperial Centre and gave them the news.

It had taken him all of three minutes. He could hear the rebels clashing with his security team down below. For a faint second he had hope, hope that the Stormtroopers would overcome the rebels and push them out the compound.

But it was a faint hope. There were too many of them - too many blasters.

Slowly but surely the guards were pushed backwards up the stairs. Finally, with a great crash, the reinforced door of the governor's own room crashed open. He could see the bodies of his Stromtroopers sprawled in the hallway behind them.

With a grim smile and opened fire, spraying fire from a blaster rifle across the leading rebels. They crumpled, their scavenged armour no match for the highpowered rifle. From behind his expensive desk he saw four of the rebels fall, scorched holes in their chests.

Then he felt pain in his right side, and he looked down, surprised to see blood no blood flowing from the wound. It occured to him that the blaster bolt cauterized the wound, preventing bleeding.

Then everything went dark, and he slipped away.

<!--[endif]--><o =""></o>


Yaga Minor

"The Empire does not have the time to hunt down every pirate that attacks and Imperial convoy, Governor. Irregardless of the damage he may have caused you." Bhindi Drayson said, rubbing her temple. There was too much of this nonsense since the end of the war. At leastthe battle with the Coalition and the Sovereignty had kept everyone occupied.

"Admiral, I must protest! This rogue cost us the Moonshine! He is a far graver threat to the Empire than you consider him to be!"

"The Moonshine was lost thanks to your own stupidity, Governor. Not because your pirate friend is any great threat. I recall telling you repeatedly that a single Frigate would not be able to handle such an enemy. If you had listened to my advice, or that of your own officers, you would still have the Moonshine."

"Admiral, please!"

"I have no time for this, Governor. I expect that the next time we talk this problem will be taken care of. Or else you may expect a visit from me in the near future? Do I make myself clear?"

The man visibly gulped. The threat, it seemed, was clear enough.

"Yes, Admiral. It will be dealt with."

Cutting the communications, the Moff of the Ubiqtorate turned to the doorway.

"Captain. Please, enter."

Ariel Trinity did not smile as she shut the door and took a seat opposite Bhindi. Her expression, indeed, was the darkest the Admiral had seen it in a long time.

"You're supposed to be enroute for Anzat.? Bhindi said. "There isn't a problem, I hope?"

"Belderone has fallen." Trinity replied, somber.

Bhindi had heard of the planet, of course. There was an Imperial labratory of some description there, though she wasn't aware of it being of any great value to the Empire. Hardly worth delaying the departure of the fleet to Anzat simply to report the planet's fall.

"Belderone... where is it?"

"On the border of the Black Dragon Empire. Along with Anzat, it's our only vantage point into the Tion Hegemony." The Captain said.

Bhindi swore. Anzat was relatively isolated as far as Imperial bases went - hence it being as heavily defended as it was. To learn that the closest Imperial base had been lost was a blow, indeed. If the Black Dragon Empire attacked Anzat now...

"The nearest reserve base is in the Vorzyd system." Bhindi thouhgt aloud. Close, certainly, but if the Dragons attacked... maybe not close enough.

"There's more." Trinity continued. "Belderone is the location of Doctor Koffman's research facility."

That was why Bhindi recalled the name. Koffman had taken command of the research there, and it had been big news at the time. That was a blow to the Empire indeed. Doctor Koffman was one of the most important members of the New Order's scientific council, responsible for a good deal of the biomechanics that had gone into the Spartan-II project.

"Is Koffman alive?" The Admiral asked, now genuinely concerned.

"At last report, the Rebels were holding him. They hope to make some demands of the Empire, it seems."

"Demands? What kind of demands? Wait - you said Rebels? Not the Black Dragon Empire?" Bhindi said with surprise. Given its location, the Admiral had simply assumed that the Black Dragon Empire was responsible for the attack. But rebels... that might be a different story alltogether.

"According to what information we have, and there is little, Belderone was sacked by a group of Rebels from Kulthis. They wish for their world to be liberated from the Empire's rule and declared independent."

"I wasn't aware Kulthis was under the control of the Empire." Bhindi said. She knew little of the world, only that it was located very near to Belderone and quite anti-Imperial. But she was unaware of any Imperial presence there, the world being to much trouble to hold for its minor value.

"It wasn't until very recently. Admiral Dessaria's people put an outpost there to reinforce Anzat. It didn't go over to well with the locals."

Which at least explained the situation somewhat.

"So why not petition to the Dragons for aide? They're on the doorstep of the Tions..."

"They have as much hate for the Black Dragon Empire as for the New Order. I believe they want autonomy, not to be ruled by the Dragons. They also have no desire to see their planet ravaged by a major war."

"So they fight it on someone else's world. That explains why they attacked on Belderone, at any rate. But surely they don't think they can win against the Empire?"

<o =""></o><o ="">Trinity did not speak. It was impossible to determine the minds of some, and these rebels were one of that group. Their only bargaining chip was Doctor Koffman, and as soon as they killed him the Empire would come down swiftly and without mercy on them.

"I want Doctor Koffman's life preserved." Bhindi said after a moment. "The rebels want the base removed from Kulthis?"

"That is what they say."

"See that it is done. Once Doctor Koffman is safe, destroy them. Reduce Kulthis to rubble if need be, and teach these rebels that the Empire will not bow to terrorists and threats."

The Line-Captain nodded and, with a salute, departed. With the fleet already preparing to depart, the destruction of Kulthis would come quickly.
</o>

Mavrick Reynold awoke to the same searing pain in his side. It was very nearly unbearable, cutting into him and working its way into his heart, as if trying to crush the life out of him. Such pain as he had never felt before.

The Imperial Governor was no stranger to pain. When he was ten he had crashed his father's swoop, breaking three bones and searing the flesh from his back. He had thought then that the pain was the worst in the world.


When he was seventeen he had been shot through the stomach by a drunken friend. That had nearly paralyzed him - not just the pain, but the sight of hsi scorched and scarred belly. He had truely thought, that time, that he was going to die. Only their proximity to the hospital had saved him, and it had been a close thing. He still carried the scar.


But none of the pain he had felt before compared to this.


He looked down, and instantly wished he hadn't. Attatched to his leg was the most hideous creature he had ever seen, and it was nawing and sucking at the wound. Mavrick wanted to throw up.


Somewhere nearby, he heard laughter. He realized that beyond the confines of himself it was dark. Light was being projected from the ceiling, illuminating a circle roughly a meter around him. But aside from that, it was dark.


He realized too for the first time that he was being suspended from the ceiling by his arms, and that his shoulders felt as if they were trying to tear themselves from their sockets.


Even as he realized this the pain instensified, and he yelled with it, and the anger at not being able to do anything about it. The mocking laughter continued.


Suddenly he felt the pain in his leg subside, and at the same moment he felt himself drop from the ceiling and land on the leg. Pain shot through him, but he gritted his teeth and looked up.


The lights had come up in the chamber now, and he could see his tormentor. The man was young, with a shaved head and an expression that clearly showed delight at Mavrick's pain. He could nearly have passed for an Imperial, the Governor thought.


"Who," Reynold said with some effort, "or what, are you?"


The man smiled. His front tooth was missing, replaced by a gold-coloued substitute. Reynolds supposed the man thought it made him look dangerous. To the Governor, it made him look poor, like the trash he was.


"My name is immaterial." The man said. "But for your convience, you may call me Victor."


The double meaning of the word was not lost on Mavrick, and he laughed.


"You call this a victory?" He choked out, coughing. "You've captured the Governor. You and I both know that the Empire will install a new governor. And your little rebellion will be crushed."


'Victor' smiled again, his golden tooth disgusting Mavrick.


"You know nothing of us." He said, the contempt dripping from every word. "Belderone is ours. Your Empire was helpless to stop us from taking over an entire world."


Mavrick had no response. The man was probably lying. But the Governor had seen enough to believe that 'Victor' did not need to lie. Was it possible, then, that the planet had indeed fallen?


"Irregardless," he bit out, "your rebellion will fail. The Regent will send fleets and armies, and Belderone will fly his standards again. You, however, will not live to see it. I'm quite pleased to say."


'Victor' said nothing. He was put off by the Imperial's determiniation. Most of his captives had been weak, had given even before he spoke and begged for their lives. He had been offered everything: money, woman, power. Some had even offered to trade the lives of their loved ones for their own.


None of this had swayed him. But the Imperial... he was not begging. He was not crying for his life. 'Victor' had never experiances this sort of nerve.


He was a loss.


He touched a button on his wrist unit and the Imperial was hauled back into a hanging position, his chest now level with 'Victor''s head. Angirly, he lashed out, punching the man in the stomach time and time again until he felt the bones in his fingers give way.


Then he left, and darkness fell once more.





<!--[endif]-->

ISD Dragoon, Belderone Orbit

Simon Selkirk pulled up the visor on his helmet and offered a grimace to the younger man next to him.

"First time out?" He asked, strapping into the uncomfortable seats of the transport and settling himself. The other soldier nodded, his helmet still resting on his lap. He looked, Selkirk thought, too young for the forces. Training had worn the baby fat from his face, but his eyes still held the innonence that only a youth could have.

That would soon change, the old soldier throught. But there was no use in telling the kid that.

With the Empire's expansion increasing at such an incredible rate, the forces had pumped up their recruitment efforts considerably in the last months.
Everyone in the army was, of course, well aware that the Empire relied heavily on clone soldiers - half the soldiers on this transport were clones - but the numbers of real men were steadily rising.

With nearly one hundred worlds under the direct control of the Empire, and thousands more paying homage, that was hardly surprising. But to see a man as young as this sitting beside him was slightly unnerving.

"How old are you, kid?" Selkirk asked, giving him a smile. That seemed to set the other at ease, and he relaxed visibly.

"Eighteen, Sir." He said, recognizing the mark on Selkrik's armour that indicated he was a Sergeant. Barely old enough to enlist, in other words. Selkirk had seen a lot of young recruits - most ideological young lads who had no idea what the Empire was really like. They had most likely seen the holovids that showed Imperial Stormtroopers bravely marching into battle with rebels and defending the weak and innocent.

Most, after their first battle, were sorely disapointed with what the Empire really stood for. But they soon learned, and fit in perfectly with the rest of the corps. It was either that or face the officers, and no one wanted that.

A red light flashed on the wall, and Selkirk steadied himself as the transport lifted off. The younger man reached up to strap himself in, and in the process dropped his helmet.

"Shit." He said under his breath. The clone soldiers had, almost in perfect synchronization, glanced over to determine whether it was a threat or not. Seeing it was not, just some poor clumsy fool, they looked away.

Selkirk reached down and handed the other soldier his helment.

"Don't lose that. It may just save your life down there." The kid thanked him, and Selkirk felt the transport lurch as the pilot shifted from repulsors to sublight engines.

"What's your name, kid?" The older man asked, checking the power level on his blaster rifle to ensure it was ready to go. Lord knew what they were expecting on the ground - Intel had been strangely quiet on this one, but he wanted to be ready.

"Kyle." The kid said. "Kyle Urban. From Averam."

"Pleasure to meet you, Kyle. I'm Simon Selkirk." Satisfied that his blaster was in working order, the Sergeant removed his sidearm from its holster and proceeded to check over the weapon. "You ready for what's down there, Kyle?"

Urban nodded. "Yeah. I can't wait to get me one of those alien motherfuckers." His eagerness surprised Selkirk, and he looked up from his weapon with mild curiouisity.

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"Cause those alien mofos killed my brother." The other replied without hesitation. "I want to gut whoever took him away from me."

"The aliens on Belderone?" Selkirk asked. He was shocked that the kid even knew about the rebellion - other this the fleet that had arrived, the who ordeal as apparently top secret.

"Yeah. I was at the academy when I got the news. Had to ask my profs to let me graduate early so I could join the fleet in time to retake the planet."

Selkirk swore to himself. The kid hadn't even finished his time at the academy. He talked big, certainly, but how would he act on the ground once the explosions were going off and the air was filled with the stench of bodies?

"You're sure you're ready for this?" The older man asked, weighing his words. He didn't want to come off as condesending to the younger man: something told him Kyle Urban's ego wouldn't take well to that.

"Yeah. I wanna kill those mother fucking murderers. I'll kill all of them."

A shudder ran through the hull as the transport entered the atmosphere. A red counter lit up on the wall, indicating three minutes until touchdown. That meant that they were not using an establishing landing zone, that even though the internal dampeners eliminated the feeling, the ship was now in a nose dive. It would continue it's plummet until it was a mere half a kilometre from the surface before levelling out and dropping its troops before rocketing back up. The idea was to evade any surface to air defences the rebels may have deployed to counter the Imperial landing.

"You'd better put that on, then." Selkirk said, pointing at the helmet in the boy's lap. "We'll be on the ground in less than three minutes."

Kyle grinned and jammed the helmet onto his head. Selkirk lowered his own visor and spoke through his radio.

"Listen up, gentlemen. We're going to hit the dirt first, and we're going to hit hard. I want Alpha sqaud to disembark first and lay down cover while Bravo group unloads the heavy guns. Once we're established, the transport is going to take off and we're going to have fend for ourselves for a while."

Indeed, the cordon the Empire's fighters had secured was a narrow one, and it was figured that only a handful of the Empire's smaller ships could make their landings at a time. And there were three targets to cover, so for at least fifteen minutes the group would be dirstside, alone. The TIEs could provide some cover, but if they got to close the rebel SAM sights would cut them down.

Seconds later they felt the transport level off, despite the internal dapmeners, and immediatly descend to hit the ground. Even before they had touched down the ramp had dropped and troops were running down, automatic weapons firing blindly through the dust storm. As he ran, Kyle beside him, Selkirk could hear the transports heaver guns firing, laying down covering fire for the troops as the F-webs were set up.

"Clear!" Selkirk called into his headset, and the transport lifted off, driving hard for the sky. Surface to Air batteries began to fire, their ruby red lasers lighting up the night sky. "Mark those positions!" He yelled to his troops. "I want those sights knocked out asap!"

The troops on the gound were truly in a state of what one might call 'controlled chaos'. Half were on their bellies, firing at whatever targets presented themselves. The rest were busily hunkered behind the F-webs, getting the generators up and running so that the heavier guns could lend their weight to the battle.

A timer clicked on in Selkirk's heads up display. They had seventeen minutes before the next transport reached the atmosphere. Seventeen minutes in which to disable at least three surface to air positions, because the next ship was a big one and wouldn't be able to pull of the kind of high speed manouver that the smaller craft had done. It would be a sitting duck for the rebels heaviest weapons.

A minute or so later Bravo squad reported that the heavy guns were ready: three in all, set up in a very basic (but very effective) triangle to cover all possible approaches to the makeshift base. Their overlapping field shields provided some measure of protection to their operators: protection that Alpha Sqaud would lack for their part of the mission.

"Alright." The Sergeant steeled himself. No matter how many times he did it, it didn't get any easier. "Alpha Sqaud, move out. Bravos, provide cover."

He got an affirmitive from the Corporal in charge of Bravo group, and then the Alphas were on their feeting, running up the first hill and towards the emplacement. The heavy F-webs fired over their heads, (in theory) keeping the rebels heads down.

From what Selkirk could see, there were about a dozen rebels in front of them, most kneeling to avoid the fire coming at them from the F-webs.

Realizing it had ceased (the gunners ending their volley to refrain from hitting their own, who were now occupying the same space as the rebels) the rebels leapt up, only to see Alpha group cresting the top of the hill and opening fire. The entire Imperial sqaud dropped to their stomaches and raked fire across the enemy group. Selkirk glanced at his power meter and was shocked to see his gun was nearly empty. Dropping the power pack he slapped a new one in, the entire process taking less than five seconds.

"Clear." Someone said, and he realized that the hill was indeed clear. Half the rebels were on the ground, and the rest were fleeing down the other side. Two of the Imperial soldiers - clones, Selkirk assumed - continued to fire after them, and he saw at least two of them fall. He cringed, but he was well aware that the rebels had to be killed or captured. He could hardly let them escape.

"First target secured." Selkirk said. "Moving on."

"Sir?" A voice said, and it took a moment for him to realize it was not in his headset, but standing beside him. Lifting his visor, he realized it was Urban. He grimaced -was the young soldier feeling the effects of his first battle?

"Yes, private."

"What about the gun, Sir? We can't leave it for the rebels to retake."

Selkirk realized he was right. They could hardly allow the rebels to return and reoccupy the weapon once they Imperials had moved on to the next emplacement. Which left exactly two options: they could either destroy it, an action that command would probably frown upon (or worse), as a waste of resources. Or they could leave a group to guard it, costing the attacking force a third of its strength. Meaning, too, that the third gun would have a total of two to assault it.

"Quite right, Urban." He clicked the button that activated his headset with his tounge, and went on. "Bravos, you have proxy charges at your location?"

"Aye, Serg. Two packages, all ready to go."

He turned to the young soldier, deactivating the com again. The boy did not have to be told twice, and minutes later returned hefting two loads of proximity charges. These were soon set around the gun, hidden from plain view, but set to explode if anyone attempted to retake the gun. Then, once ensuring everyone had a new power pack in his gun, he led the group towards the second battery.

The next two emplacements fell with little difficulty: the rebels had been expecting an attack, of course, but Belderone was simply to large for them to cover. The Empire had not landed near the capital district, but some distance outside, where defence was far lighter. As it was, each gun was relatively lightly defended, and the Imperial groups had little trouble overwhelming them.

"Time?" Selkirk asked as they cleared the last gun.

"Two minutes, Sir." One of the Bravo troops reported. Indeed, the transport was just visible in the night sky, a massive vessel ferrying some hundreds of troops to reinforce the Imperial position on the ground.

"Let's go down and meet them, shall we?"

They arrived just as the ship touched down, settling into the soft earth and sinking some centimeters before finally stopping and allowing for the offloading of troops.

"Who is in command here?" An authoritative voice called out. It was, Selkirk was surprised to see, a woman. And a young woman at that, dressed in the black uniform of a Black Fleet Line-Captain.

"I am, Ma'am." He said, removing his helmet and saluting. "Sergeant Simon Selkirk, Imperial Commandoes."

The woman ran her eyes over him and nodded, finally returning the salute.

"Your position is secure, Captain?" She asked. Selkirk would have expected her to sound worried, as if someone or something would leap out of the hills and attack them. But her voice conveyed no fear, only mild curiosity.

"Yes, Ma'am. We knocked out three surface to air sights and routed the rebels in this area. Resistance was light, and I'm happy to report no losses."

The Captain nodded, saying nothing. Selkirk wondered briefly why a Captain of an Imperial warship was here on the surface. He was damned sure that Captain Raktus (the commander of the Dragoon) would be as far away from the surface as he could get. Belderone might be an Imperial planet in name, but the merest threat of any rebel activity would be enough to make Raktus fleet to the safety of his Star Destroyer.

"The General will have orders for you, I'm sure." The Captain said, watching the transport lift off once more, now covered by the batteries Selkirk's sqaud had just taken.

The Empire had returned to Belderone. Let the rebels regret their invasion of this planet, Trinity throught with a small smile.

Reynold awoke to find himself hanging from the ceiling. He could feel the metal of his binders cutting into the skin of his wrists, but stangely the pain seemed to have subsided. He realized that he had become accustomed to it, and wondered if his captors knew it too. If they did, he knew, he could look forward to increased measures soon.



"I don't condone what they do here." A voice said, and on cue the lights came up, illuminating the space. Reynold glanced around, finding a figure standing and observing him with mild interest.



"Good to know." The Governor returned, as if it made a difference. "Maybe if you tell the Empire that they'll make your death a little bit more bearable."



At this the figure smiled.



"Ah, Governor. Always the character." He paused, frowning. "Your empire has forsaken you. You know that?"



Reynold did not doubt that the man was lying. The Empire would not take the fall of Belderone lghtly, of that he was sure. When he didn't respond, the man continued to speak.



"You have nothing to say to that, Governor? Your empire has abandoned you. They do not care whether you live or die. What good is it to continue to resist? It makes no difference."



It was Reynold's turn to smile.



"Whether I live or die is immaterial." He said softly. "The Empire will return to Belderone, and when they do you and all your rebel friends will die."



The conviction in his voice startled the man, and he stepped back as if the Imperial might physically swing at him.



"We are prepared to deal with the Empire, Governor."



Reynold simply laughed, his throaty voice echoing off the walls.



"Bullshit." He bit out. "The Empire can crush you like a fly, and we both know it. They've more firepower and more soldiers than you could shake a stick at."



"And you?" The man asked, the anger he felt creaping into his voice. "You believe it's all about guns and men? The Empire does not have the force to stop us."



The man was striding around him now, and as he spoke he passed out of Reynold's feild of vission. But his voice continued to reverberate through the chamber.



"The Empire will come here, they will retake Belderone. But we have little thought for this world, Governor. Whether Belderone falls or no is irrelevent. That is not our aim."



The Governor could sense the chinks appearing the man's armour. He was growing angry, and in his anger he was slipping.



"Your aim? What aims does a dead man have?" He said with a grin. "When the Empire takes this planet back and every last one of you lies dead, what then?"



The man had completed his circle now, and stood in front of the Imperial Governor, his eyes glinting.



"Then, my poor, ignorant Imperial friend, we will have our victory."



And with that, the chamber was plunged into darkness, and Governor Reynold felt a whole new world of pain as his torture intensified.





* * * * *



Belderone, Surface



The convoy of Imperial vehicles – a small group of light tanks and armoured personel carriers, mostly - crossed the land with blistering speed. Intel had, quite accurately, predicted a small rebel response, and the majority of the rebel soldiers were confined to guarding the antiaircraft guns or supply depots.



Which made the Empire's transit over the ground that much easier. That Belderone was an Imperial planet being retaken meant that they had a very good defensive network in place. Indeed, it was that very network that prevented the Empire from simply landing troops in the midst of the cities and retaking them. But the Empire also knew the exact design of the defensive networks, and had little trouble in avoiding the most dangerous and taking those that presented themselves as easy targets.



The officer in charge of the ground forces, General Farlander, had opted for a quick and surgical strike into the largest stronghold of rebel activity, centred in the research institute of the planet's capital. That was, if reports were to be believed, Doctor Koffman was being held. And, they had all been told, preserving the good Doctor's life was their most important task.



Sergeant Simon Selkirk sat in the pilots chair of one of the Empire’s light transports, watching the landscape flash past outside. The rear of the transport was filled with his squad, with one exception. Beside him, where the Corporal usually sat, was Line-Captain Ariel Trinity, outfitted in the uniform of an Imperial commando. Her presence, General Farlander had explained, was that of an observer.



Selkirk was still not entirely comfortable with the Line-Captain, but having had one his men run a search on her, he knew she could well have his life is she so desired. She was, by all accounts, very close to Moff Drayson. The Sergeant wondered if that was what General Farlander had been referring to when he said that Trinity was acting as an ‘Observer’. He had heard some rumours lately of a new section of Imperial Intelligence that was, of course, highly top secret.



He shrugged the thoughts off, turning his attention back to the view outside the vehicle.



“All units, be advised,” a voice crackled over the com set, “expecting strong rebel activity entering next quadrant.” Selkirk sent a simple click to confirm, and glanced at the map. Their route was divided up into sections, each about 100 kilometers long, colour coded depending upon the estimated rebel strength and likelihood of an attack. Indeed, this next part of the route was red, indicating maximum threat levels.



He conveyed the message to the troops in the back of the vehicle and turned to Trinity.



“Are you ready, Captain?”



Trinity offered him a bland look.



“I have no fear of the rebels, Sergeant.” He noted that her words did not exactly answer the question, but he shrugged it off and turned back to the route ahead of them.



Sure enough, as the vehicles pulled onto the more major throughway, a group of speeders and trucks appeared behind them, accelerating fast to catch up. Almost immediately the rearmost two Imperial vehicles – light hover tanks – slowed, the rebel speeders now rocketing past them. And with that the Imperials opened fire, shattered the rears of the unarmoured speeders and bringing them crashing to the pavement, where their payloads exploded spectacularly.



The Imperial convoy barely slowed as they past the next obstacle: a bridge from which a group of snipers fired on them with high powered weapons and fired rockets at them. As they sped beneath it the gunners poured fire into it, and behind them it collapsed, crashing to the ground, dust rising from the scene.


The key, everyone present knew, was to avoid being trapped. No doubt the rebels had a much larger force waiting in reserve, and as soon as the convoy halted for whatever reason their trap would be sprung. With the advance group being as light as it was – only six squadrons and four tanks – it wouldn’t take much to wipe out.



Assuming the Empire made a mistake.



With the landing zone secured the Empire could afford to take its time eliminating the rebel presence on the planet, and so this advance group continued along unabated, ignoring the multitude of targets on either side: surface to air sights, supply depots, and the like. Once the rebels got word that the Empire was closing in, Doctor Koffman’s life would be jeopardy. They could only assume he was still alive as the distance to the capital shrunk, the Imperial vehicles pushing on under the burning afternoon sun.

Kulthis

The rebels who had taken Belderone had planned for my eventualities. They had anticipated the Empire trying to retake Belderone. They had anticipated a fleet invading that world. They had anticipated, too, the Empire sending a fleet to Kulthis, to inspire fear in the populace and force their surrender. They had even anticipated invasion or bombardment from the Empire, and errected bunkers and shields capable of withstanding such an attack.

But they had not anticipated the Empire's actual response to their rebellion. From the bridge of the Venerator Command Destroyer Despot Admiral Odysseus watched with muted interest the activites of the Bellicose.

The Bellicose was a rarity among the Imperial Fleet. A limited number of the Modular Taskforce Cruisers had been built, and among those only a bare few were so equipped as the vessel now in orbit above Kulthis.

Upon their entry into the system the Empire had launched its fighter corps, quickly gaining space and air superiority and pounding any defences into submission. Now, unchallenged, the Empire had set up a blockade of the planet, fighter patrols keeping space and sky clear and measures taken to ensure no ships escaped the system.

And, more importantly, allowing the Bellicose to go about her work unhindered. The ship was now deploying an Imperial weapon designed years prior, and virtually unused since its first deployment. A weapon that was in its own right more terrifying and more deadly than any Death Star, Sun Crusher, or World Devestator.

A weapon that would guarantee the submission of the people of Kulthis in a matter of days. That, or the death of every last one of them. To the Empire, it was irrelevent which the rebels chose.

The weapon in question was the Orbital Nightcloak. In an hour the cloak would go into effect, cutting off all light and heat to the planet. In a day snow would begin to fall in formerly temperate regions. In a week all plant life would wither and die, and the inhabitants forced into heated structures. Inside a month the planet would be plunged into a perpetual ice age, with no light and no source of heat other than what could be produced.

Whether the people of Kulthis had any idea what was going on or not, the effects would be terrifying.


Belderone

The Empire's Belderone Research Facility was a massive construct, spanning several city blocks and incorporating dozens of buildings, both above and below ground. It was amongst the largest of its type of facility in the galaxy, and certainly the most respected. It reported to the Empire, and did the vast majority of their medical and scientific research work, recrieving near-unlimited funding for its work. Despite it's rather bland name, Belderone Research Works, the facility was one of the most powerful and respected of its kind anywhere in the galaxy.

And it was all under the supervision and command of one Doctor Koffman, the man accreditied with (secretly, of course) which much of the biomechanical engineering that had gone into the Spartan-II project. Even The Bastion Conclave had solicited his help when reprogramming their Legionnaires.

Having been funded and largely constructed by the Empire, the team going into the facility to secure Koffman had a thorough knowledge of the place's defences and layout, and thusly managed quite easily to evade the rebel guards and get into the main facility.

Sergeant Selkirk led this mission, his dozen men following close behind. They lacked the heavy support they had had in their last mission, the F-webs having been deemed to heavy to carry into the place, but it should hardly be needed. This was, after all, a misison of stealth, not firepower. The lack of heavy guns did not worry Simon Selkirk.

What did worry him, however, was the unexpected presence of Captain Ariel Trinity. The team had done away with their heavy gear, that being to awkward for their assignment, and he could see even in the darkness that she looked terribly attractive in the Imperial uniform that hugged close to her skin. He hoped that the rest of his team would not be distracted by her physical form. The Captain had been assigned, he was informed, by Admiral Odysseus before he led half the fleet to Kulthis to glass the planet, as an Observer.

The Imperial Sergeant pushed the thouhgts of his head, knowing too well he could not afford to be distracted and dwell on such things. Trinity's presence would have to be tolerated. Besides, her records showed she was more than capable in such a situation, and could even be an asset.

If the rest of the team could keep their eyes off her!

"Alpha, go." He whispered into his mic, seeing that the way was clear. So far they had avoided any unncessarry killing, not out of any shyness at taking life, but out of self preservation. The fewer bodies, the lesser the chances of someone picking up on their presence.

The team clambered across the open space, and when it was once again clear the Bravo group followed.

"Intel reports that the Doctor is being held in the main building. No surprise, it's heavily guarded and the rebels have got every entrance covered, even the ones they're not supposed to know about."

"What do you propose?" Trinity asked, eying the Segeant carefully. He was annoyed at the question, and she knew it. She winked.

"Alpha squad will go in the back way." He said, ignoring her. "When we give the signal, Bravo will hit the main entrance and draw their attention. Alpha will go in, secure the Doctor in lockdown centre. Then we call in the big boys to swarm the place and secure the facility."

It sounded simply enough, in theory. The main building doubled as the lockdown facility for security reasons: in case of outbreak of any particularly nasty virus the entire building could be locked down and made virtually invulnerable to attack of any kind. That way, were something to get loose, the most important staff of the facility could be saved. The lockdown was level independent, and according to reports the top three levels were locked down, with the Doctor being held on level four. Alpha squad had only to get him to the next level using the manual overrides and wait for the Army to come in and secure the rest of the facility.

"All right? Let's move."

They crossed the rest of the distance to the main building without incident, and finally split with a mutual exchange of salutes. Despite indications otherwise, Alpha had the more dangerous of the two jobs. If they got trapped in the unlocked layer before the Army secured the facility, chances are they would all die. Bravo had the job of distracting the enemy, but they could keep their heads down and wait for the Army to arrive easily enough. Once Alpha gave the word, transports would hit the base within minutes.

Led by Selkirk, breaching the building just as Bravo opened fire on the main door, drawing attention towards the surface. The building was dark, requiring the use of goggles, and all of the soldiers were on alert as they entered the first emergency staircase to take them upwards.

"Level Four," Selkirk said, pushing open a door and swearing. Laser fire pocketed the wall beside him, and he yanked the door closed and tore his goggles off in anger. The hallway beyond was fully lit, overloading his goggles and making the shooters invsible. Worse, they now knew the Empire was there, and were no doubt reporting this to the guards holding Koffman. By now, the man could be dead.

Trinity stepped forward, hefting her rifle and smiling thinly.

"Sergeant, open that door." Seeing the look in her eyes, Selkirk did not hesitate, but pushed open the door and opened fire. Clearly, the rebels had not expected this, and the returned fire took a second or so to resume.

That was all the time Ariel Trinity needed. She slid silently into the hall, unseen by the Rebels, who were focused on trying to hit Selkirk's gun hand as he covered the Line-Captain.

Calmly, taking her time to aim down the barrel of her gun, Trinity shot the first rebel in the head. They had not taken cover, and were simply standing in the open, as she moved slightly and shot the second shooter between the eyes as well. The third was cut down as Selkirk pushed the door all the way opened and, firing in full automatic mode, struck him twice in the chest.

"Simple, Segeant." The Line-Captain said, checking the power pack of her weapon and being pleased to note she still had nearly 200 shots left. With a sheepish smile Selkirk slapped a new pack into his own weapon and led his team into the hallway.

They proceeded with due caution to the room suspected of holding Koffman, and entered to find only two prisoners of little note. They were nonetheless relieved to see the Empire finally arrive, and eagerly informed them that they had heard the guards saying the Doctor had been moved down to level three.

That, at least, explained the relatively light guard on the fourth level. It also presented a problem: they would have to pass back through level four to get to the secure level five. The rebels could easily make that very difficult.

Selkirk relayed this problem to Trinity, who nodded.

"Leave that to me, Sergeant." That was, evidently, enough for Selkirk, and soon the team was back in the stairwell, the prisoners having been sent up to level five by way of manual override.

"This time try to excersize more caution, please." Trinity said without a smile as Selkirk once again went to push the doorway open. He nodded and motioned to two soldiers, who knelt beside him and pushed their guns forward so that they could fire outwards as soon as the door was cracked.

When the Sergeant pushed the door open, fire immediatly began to fill the air, most of it hitting the door. The soldiers fired back, their shots carefully aimed. Two rebels fell instantly, and then another man primed a grenade and tossed it casually through the crack.

As it exploded, the entire group burst outwards, spraying fire in both directions and cutting down those rebels who had survived the blast.

Only once the hallway was secure did Selkirk realize that Trinity was leaning against the wall, her breathing heavy.

"Captain!" He said, coming to her side. He could see blood staining her black uniform, spreading from her side. He swore.

"It's a scratch." Trinity said bitterly, holding her side and stepping forward, her face a grimace. "Find Doctor Koffman." Selkirk did not move. "That's an order, Sergeant."

It was rare that an officer of the Navy pulled rank on an Army officer for reasons other than selfishness or boasting. But the Imperial training in Selkirk was strong, and he obeyed instantly.

"Yes, Captain." The team spread out, rushing off from the location and towards the room now believed to contain Koffman.

Limping, Trinity returned to level four, opening a hidden keypad and entering a series of codes into it. Then she waited.

By the second week, Kulthis belonged to the Empire. Snowtroopers had been landed, their first deployment of any mangnitude since Hoth, and bases established for the eventual day that Kulthis would return to normalcy. The perpetual darkness was a hinderance, to be sure, but it was solved by burning vast ammounts of debris from towns and even cities destroyed by the Empire.

By the end of the third week, the people of Kulthis were placing urgent communications to the Imperial base begging for an end to the ice age. The plants had died long ago, and with them the animals had perished. Food was scarce, and what little there was remaining had been snatched up by the rebel leaders, who demanded extraordinary sums for it.

It had escaped them, it seemed, they no matter what ammounts they offered to the Empire their lives were forfeit.

One month to the day of the Night Cloak being put into effect, the last communications ceased. According to official reports, the people of Kulthis, faced with a slow agonizing death by starvation, sabatoged their power facilities. The cold, nearing -100 degrees, quickly killed those who had so far survived.

In orbit, scans by the Imperial Fleet revealed no life whatsoever left on Kulthis. With due haste the blockade was lifted, the Nightcloak pulled back and the planet reopened visitors.

The Imperial bases remained, regular soldiers taking the place of the Snowtroopers as temperatures returned to normal and stabalized. Flooding on a massive scale changed the landscape of the planet, destroying entire cities and wiping out whatever evidence of previous civilization might have been there.

It was not widely reported, and those that did pick up on called it a natural phenomenon, which the Imperial Fleet had bravely tried (and, unfortutely, failed) to prevent. Kulthis was, for all intents and purposes, destroyed. Those that were fortunate enough to be off planet at the time returned to find little that reminded them of home, the ice age and ensuing floods having changed the very terrain of the world.

The natives were encouraged by the Empire not to return, given compenstation on planets loyal to the Empire. Kulthis became a centre of Imperial military strength in the sector. With no inhabitants other than the Imperial Fleet and Army, and vast and largely untapped natural resources, the world was ripe for an Imperial production facility.

The once blue skies of Kulthis were replaced by the fogs of industry. Cloning centres were erected, arms factories established and testing grounds built on the most amazing of geological locations.

Kulthis was a world like no other: completely and utterly Imperial, a fortress in its own right, its entire existance to arm and supply the Imperial fleet in the 'Border Regions'. No other planet in the Empire could claim total and complete loyalty to the Empire.

In the event that the New Order should fall, Kulthis was one planet that would retain its allegiance to the standard of the New Order until it was taken from them by force or destroyed utterly, as Alderaan had been.