Mefflis V, Capital of the True Empire

Three weeks later...


It had been three weeks since Mefflis V had fallen. Sixteen inhabited worlds spread across twelve systems all paid homage to the Emperor Griz Enfield. Moving around the palace he now called his own, the Emperor stalked through corridors emblazoned with tapestries, past fittings forged from the rarest metals that could be found. Some had thought it too ostentatious, but a sternly worded reminder put an end to any objections. The decoration represented the splendor the Empire once possessed, and would possess again. Only the frail and weak vestige of decadence that clung to the name Galactic Empire stood in the way of that dream’s realization.


Emperor Enfield smiled to himself as sentries saluted rigidly. Many had been skeptical of seceding from the Empire. The Empire was paradise to many, and one simply does not leave paradise. Some had hesitated, some outright refusing to give up families and allegiances. They were quickly dispatched, their remains long since pounded into hydrogen by devouring suns. Confidence grew throughout the fleet as one victory lead to another. And another. And another.


Then, the powers that be on Coruscant decided to deal with the upstart officers and men of the errant squadrons and sent in a flotilla to deal with them. Back and back the True Empire had been pushed until some threw their hands up and surrendered. Enfield closed his eyes and sneered in disgust as he thought of Captain Jexmin and his heavy cruiser leaving formation and dancing to the tune of full pardons and retirement. Xilmas, Grogman, Mexatas Prime all were lost, costing irreplaceable men and materiale. Then the fools under Admiral Haster blundered into Mefflis V.


Ah, Mefflis… The Emperor smiled, having left the guards at their post and wandered into a great drawing room where servants were quick to lavish food and drink upon him. He actually barked out a laugh, startling a young blue-black haired maid standing ready to answer his whims. He thought back to Mefflis, standing on the bridge holding the center while Kris micro-jumped a flurry of light cruisers into the middle of the Imperial line. The lighter gunships and warhead-launcher platforms were decimated, the covering four Star Destroyers unable to turn away from the cannonade the Emperor had put upon them. Inside of an hour, the True Empire was victorious. The infidels who believed in decay saw their blood pass in waves along the decking. Those that saw the light of the past swore fealty to it and turned their back on disorder. The true way, Palpatine’s way, would return or they would die returning it.


A good many ships captured, our losses recouped. We retook what we lost and went further than we planned. Enfield raised his glass in salute to the tall portrait of Ysanne Isard on the wall, thinking she would be proud. In the harvest of prisoners and converts had been Captain Jexmin, and he had dealt with accordingly. Six fennire, long-toothed wolf like beasts from F’d’orsk, tore him apart in seconds, the barbs in their mouths giving the traitor reason to lament his crime and welcome death.


“ Your Highness, a channel is open from the Supreme Commander. He requests an audience.”


Emperor Enfield waved off the bowing servent in his grey coat and activated the panel nearest him. A calming aquatic motif was replaced with the bridge of a Star Destroyer in the blink of an eye. “ Yes Kris?”


“ What are you doing?”


“ I am enjoying life, why?”


Kris Enfield growled something the receptors on the other end could not pick up. “ I am taking the Protector and Tarkin’s Fury to Mexatas VIII. I want you to bring the Righteous and her escorts to Prosth. Both have Imperial garrisons we can raid for fuel and weak native inhabitants. I do not forsee any problems.”


“ You don’t expect a counter-attack?”


“ No. They have not bothered us in two weeks and there are no reports they are doing anything but licking their wounds. I will see it that they have more to lick.”


“ Fine. But then I am coming back here - I have ordered the creation of a Non human registry and I want to oversee it myself.”


The Supreme Commander closed the channel, leaving the Emperor alone with his thoughts, and servants too cowed by him to dare remember anything said. Kris never could enjoy the finer things…

More than anything in the galaxy- more than any amount of riches, more than any amount of power- Moff Torston Tollnies loved caek (spelling error intended). Day or night, no matter what the circumstances, a piece of cake could always be found by the obese oaf's side. Regardless of flavor, whether Ser-fruit, Demon, Nerf, or one of a hundred or even thousand more exotic concoctions, he would eat it if given the opportunity. The basement of his massive mansion (located on a huge estate on Toprawa) was nearly all a single massive freezer and was, almost predictably, filled to the brim with cakes, none of them quite the same.

And because all the work he did for the Empire (or rather, the lack of it), he had nothing but time to sit and eat cake at his estate. His company was universally less than desirable to all but perhaps a Hutt, and his hygiene about as good. He lacked social skills, preferring to sit and eat his cake rather than socialize. He wasn't a very good speaker, or a very persuasive person (any Jedi or Sith would tell you he was weak minded). If it wasn't for the powerful political connections his family had possessed for generations, he never would have gotten anywhere close to his present status. In fact, in the Imperial service, he would have been promptly executed for his irreversible ineptness.

His demeanor was rather irritable, unless you were talking about cake (perhaps the only thing he really enjoyed discussing). He had the repulsive tendency to explode in fits of rage at any time with little or no provoking, and when he was doing something, would grow extremely raged if interrupted and start melting down, claiming he couldn't get anything done with all this pressure.

So it was with a bit of reluctance that one of his servants, a human rescued from the slave trade by Imperial Intelligence and, ironically, forced into indenturement for his entire life to repay his part of the cost of the raid. But, regardless of the Moff's severe lack of maturity and the inevitable likelihood he would explode the moment he addressed him, it was an important matter that must be brought to the mans attention. After all, he was one of the most powerful men in the entire Boarderland protectorate.

"Uh, sir..." he addressed the Moff, cowering as if it would protect him from the inevitable fit of rage. "We have just received as series of transmissions from headquarters dealing with the Rebels in the Lahara sector..."

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAX!" Cruxwell suddenly shouted, though completely unprovoked, "You should know better than to interrupt me while I'm eating, you incompetent fool!"

"But sir, the transmissions were marked "Priority." If I waited until you were finished eating (sometime around the end of the universe, the servant noted to himself, unless a heart attack took the fat oaf first), then most of the information will be outdated by the time I read it to you."

"What?" The Moff replied, suddenly becoming calm as if nothing had happened, a stupid, quizzed expression occupying his face. "Well why didn't you say so?"

"I said so sir. I clearly stated that it was marked priority."

"No you did not. If you said it was marked priority I would have ordered you to read it to me without the slightest delay."

The servant shook his head. It was useless arguing with the man because of his childish logic and reasoning combined with his immaturity and unwillingness to admit mistakes.

"I apologise sir," he said instead of his true thoughts, "I should have told you it was a priority message first thing."

"You are forgiven Rax, now quit stalling and tell me the message. What use is a priority mark if you are just going to stand here and argue with me about something. By the time you read it to me most of the information might be outdated.

On the inside, Rax felt like shaking his head.

"Of course sir. Actually, there are several things. First of all, within the past two hours two raids have been launched by the guerrilla forces, one striking a base on Prsoth and the other Mexatas VIII. Several hundred thousand credits of losses are estimated by the bases executive officers, particularly in the form of lost slaves but also in the form of stolen supplies. Most of their fuel and ammunition stores were lost, whether stolen or destroyed. In addition, several light cruisers and a Strike-class cruiser were boarded and captured, with their cost adding up to just over a billion credits..."

"Who put those men in charge?" Peff interrupted. "What kind of incompetent fools would let this happen."

Rax answered without thinking. He knew all of the officer's under the Moff's command by heart. His great memory was why he was made an aide instead of being forced to do standard lower labor like most Imperial slaves.

"Vice Admirals Paladin and Luxwell, sir. And, if I recall correctly, both were appointed by you."

"That's impossible. I wouldn't put such fools in charge of my military forces. I want you to find the man who did and have him demoted. And also have those two demoted down to Captain. I don't want them to mess up anything like this ever again."

"Of course, sir," was the reply, Rax clicked on his datapad as if to take note of his orders (in fact, it wasn't even on. From the full report he knew they'd been badly outgunned and made the best defense possible out of what they'd had, but had no chance of successfully holding the raiders off. However, he never bothered the Moff with the details since he never listened to them anyways.)

"Secondly..."

"While we're on the subject of officers, why don't you stick somebody else in charge? Somebody who knows what he's doing. Get a more competent fleet officer transferred over here. Like that Gilford from the eighth fleet, or that one little bastard who took Myrkr a few months ago, and Bandomeer just a few days? He was on the holonews. His name was Borton, or Klorton, or something."

"You mean Thorton sir," he corrected. The young Commodore had been mentioned in military reports recently for several innovative strategies he invented during fleet exercises. They had now been widely distributed within the navy, with his name attached to every copy.

"I suppose I could look into getting him transferred, though his superiors may not want to transfer him. But we can have it arranged, saying that he's needed for counter-insurgency work and ..."

"Say, Rax, bring me another piece of cake. With you flapping your gums how am I supposed to eat?"

The Imperial II-class Star Destroyer Tarkin's Fury exited hyperspace far away from Mexatas VIII. Ships of all kinds, from small civilian shuttles to large military transports, moved to and fro as was natural in a port of any allegiance. The vessel closest to the ship scurried away as best as their engines would allow. Though the fifty-nine people aboard the Proximus Legend did not look back to see it, a quintet of laser turrets along the starboard gundecks swivelled in their direction. One whispered ordered from the Destroyer's bridge and all fifty-nine lives winked out of existence forever.

Aliens all, so my conscience is clear. Even if there were humans among them, they knew the price of defying me.

Kris Enfield tugged at the sleeve of his white uniform tunic as a cloud of debris and ionized gas spread out where a small ship had been off the bow. He ignored the dying light and considered having a new uniform made, one of a dark grey to set him apart from others in command. After all, he was never a Grand Admiral - he was more! He was Supreme Commander of the True Empire's military and he needed something fitting his immense responsibility.

" My Lord, Imp...enemy ships are approaching."

Enfield let a sneer crease his face as the tactical officer deftly corrected himself. No doubt, the memory of the last officer's execution who dared refer to anything other than True Empire forces as Imperial was still fresh in his mind. It could not be anything else for the act was quite public, the massive bodyguard the Supreme Commander kept near his side easily crushing the man's neck with one hand. The noise of crunching bones had been enough to inspire obedience.

Fear or respect - it makes no difference if they do as I say.

" My Lord, six gunships are leaving orbit and moving towards our location at flank speed."

" This accounts for the entire garrison?"

The tactical officer bowed his head. " According to our latest Intelligence reports, yes sir."

" Very well - time to tip our hand."

A signal was sent to the edge of the system where another Destroyer sat, newer and a hundred meters longer than that which interloped above Mexatas. It made a dangerous but daring micro-jump into the heart of the system appearing almost as if from the void itself. The six gunships approaching the Fury and the pair of frigates with which it faced off found themselves now hideously outmatched. Their dread was short lived as the Fury doled out death with a full salvo from very gun it could bring to bear.

" My Lord - the Protector!"

Enfield looked left; the other Star Destroyer was still slowing from its micro jump and seemed to be veering towards its sister-ship! As the Supreme Commander's eyes went wide he saw some sort of bulbous bulk-tanker veering as well, trying to flee the path of the unexpected arrival. Neither tanker nor battleship was equipped for rapid maneuvering - the twp ships met ingloriously. Powerful as they were, the Protector's shields nibbled away at the tanker's hull until whatever it carried leaked into space and immediately froze into disfigured shapes. The shields wore down quickly, however, and the symphony of steel grating against steel filled space.

" Blast her! Now!" Enfield shouted. Somewhere towards the rear of the ship, a gun captain was of like mind and let loose all his cannon could give into the tanker. Explosion after explosion tore the ship apart until what remained drifted harmlessly away. The damage to Protector appeared extensive even on cursory examination.

The Supreme Commander let his rage dissipate, instead breathing slowly out and turning after. Towards the nearest bridge officer he mumbled," take what we came for and raze the planet." To his bodyguard, he gave another command: " execute her captain, I think that will put a stop to any repeats. I'll be in my cabin."

As he left the bridge, Enfield wondered to himself, I wonder in my Uncle is having as easy a time?

As it turned out, he wasn't. In command of the Prsoth garrison was the capable Vice Admiral Tobias Luxwell, who had (quite literally) wrote the book on fleet maneuvering in long distance engagements to minimize vulnerability to long range salvos.

Now a a gray-haired old man of fifty, his flesh was old but his mind was still sharp. Often described to be a "mountain of a man," the 2.25 meter tall Vice Admiral Luxwell still had a twinkle in his eye and a spring in his step possessed only by those most dedicated to serving the Empire and her great Emperor Hyfe. In his thirty years of fleet service he had worked his way up from the bottom instead of starting as an officer by graduating the academy. However, this gave him an unusual sense of compassion for and understanding of the lower enlisted men and officers. He had been through what they'd been through, experienced what they'd experienced, and desired what they desired.

In return, his men loved him- they would even die for him, if he asked it,
without a second thought.

That was good, because, seeing what they were up against, it was likely they would.

Outgunned three to one as it was- he didn't know if they had any reinforcements on standby- things were looking hopeless. In an orbit several thousand Kilometers above his flagship, the Strike-class cruiser Pride of Xenoth (named after an obscure outer-rim gas mining planet who'd anted up the money to purchase it), was the massive bulk of the Imperial-class Star Destroyer, broadcasting herself as theRighteous, and an assortment of escorts.

He had a handful of gunships, three cruisers, and several planet-based wings of TIE Defenders to either delay or destroy them with.

That, and several hundred TIE Phantoms ready for pickup from the little-known foundry buried deep below the garrison.

This was going to be an interesting fight indeed...

Three days afterwards...

We recognize one all encompassing Empire whose purpose is to ensure order and stability in the galaxy, to spare the vanquished and subdue the proud, to defend its citizenry, and to propagate the Empire's message to the galaxy. We recognize the Empire as the sole legitimate government in the galaxy, and as such the galaxy and the Empire should be considered one in the same.

The Lahara Rebellion (as it was now being referred to in Imperial High command circles) was not the Empire. Therefore it was not legitimate. Therefore it must be destroyed.

We recognize one absolute sovereign Emperor as the ruler of the Empire. To defy the Emperor is to defy the Empire. The Emperor has complete authority in all matters and there is not, nor any need for, an oversight committee to approve the Emperor's decrees. The Emperor's word is law until such time as He decides to change it. The Emperor is the sole holder of Imperial power, there is not and cannot be any consort of sharing of power. For practical purposes, the Emperor may consult with the Ruling Council, made up of the Grand Moffs, Grand Admirals, and Grand Marshals of the Empire. This Council is responsible for advising the Emperor and for carrying His word to the citizens of the Empire.

The Lahara Rebellion and it’s treasonous leaders had dared defied the Emperor and his word. His word was law and they were disobeying the law. Therefore they were defying the Empire. Therefore they must be destroyed.

We recognize a hierarchical system of government in which the Emperor is all powerful. We recognize that He may delegate this responsibility as he sees fit to the Grand Moffs, whose responsibility it is to oversee the Empire. for the purposes of a practical governing systems, the galaxy shall be broken down into regions, called Protectorates, to be ruled over by a member of the Army or Fleet as appointed by the Emperor, the Regent, or the Ruling Council. These Governors are responsible for bringing the word of the Emperor to their people, and for maintaining the Empire's dominance within their space.

By defying the great Emperor Hyfe and inserting their own false Idol to serve in his place, they were going against the Empires hierarchical system of government. Therefore they were defying the Empire. Therefore they must be destroyed.

We recognize that to provide for the common defense a military force will be maintained by the Empire. This force will be responsible for the defense and expansion of the Empire. Those units charged with the patrol and defense of space will be known as the Grand Imperial Fleet. Those units assigned to planetary surfaces will be known as the Grand Imperial Army. All these units will be highly trained and kept in a constant state of readiness to defend the Empire. A hierarchical chain of command will be established in both the Army and the Fleet so that the Emperor's commands can be acted upon with efficiency and professionalism.

By trying to halt the expansion of the Empire, and impede the Grand Imperial Fleet in its given task to defend the Empire and her peoples, they were defying the Military. By defying the Fleet and Army they were defying the Empire. Therefore, they must be destroyed.

***

Beyond any doubt, the flotilla arrayed out behind Kach Thorton's flagship was beyond any doubt the largest he'd ever commanded. Four squadrons, a full battle group, containing 35 Capital Vessels. Not to mention the six-thousand meter long Stormhawk, worth a squadron of enemy battleships in her own right.

It was every bit of firepower that had been prepared to take Bandomeer when the "highest priority" orders for immediate deployment came in. Left defending her were several frigates and a heavy cruiser, supported by a few gunships and surface based fighters.

But the unusually light defences were necessary for the situation. If the Coalition returned and by some miracle took her - unlikely - then he could retake the planet. But this was a threat that had to be smashed while it was smoldering, before it could burst into flames and cause the Empire real trouble.

"Next stop, Mefflis IV."

With limited resources to draw upon, and most of these resources put into expanding it's small fleet, the True Empire was at a significant disadvantage to the Empire, and would be for some time. However, her leaders were not stupid. Kris, a believer of the mobility school of thought, had managed to divert enough resources to construct a network of probes around the Empire's boarders to detect incoming intruders, and relays to send this information to where it was needed. It was hoped that by rearranging forces to counter attackers they could gain a local superiority of numbers, even if the Empire was far stronger in the big picture.

"Contact Emperor and Supreme Commander Enfield. Give them the details of the situation and request the immediate return of them and their fleets to the capital."

"Yes sir, it will be done with all possible haste."

And to think that this had to happen on the shift of (now) Admiral Hans Pornam, former Captain in the Imperial Navy of the Imperial-class Star Destroyer Admirable.

"Captain," he now called (The Captain being the former Commander of the ship)

"Yes sir?"

"Assemble the fleet. The Central computer has given the enemy fleet an ETA of forty-three minutes, and an approximate location for their arrival. I want the fleet moved around this location to give us the first shot of the engagement. With our numbers, compared to the estimates of enemy strength from their hypermatter trail (a staggering dozen star destroyers and support vessels) it may be our only hope."

"It will be done, Admiral," the captain replied, turning towards the communications station.

***

"Now here this, all crews to battlestations!"

Frack, though Pilot Gordon Hiller, do the brass ever get tired of running drills?

Immediately, the lights in the pilot bunk room, containing another seven men like him, began brightening, a device meant to wake them up. One of them, his squadron leader and a man who took all the drills extremely seriously, immediately hopped up and began sliding his pants on. The rest of them groaned, however, displeased with the interruption to their sleep.

"Now hear this, all crews to battle stations! This is not a drill, this is not a drill!"

Oh Frack!

"And while we're a two-hour jump from Mefflis!" Shouted Griz Enfield at the holofigure of the man in charge of his capital's defenses.

I assure you sir, that we can hold them off until you and Suprime Commander Enfield return to actually destroy them.

"Damn you Thorton," he grumbled as he reviewed the tactical display next to the Commander's image. Multiple Star Destroyers had fanned out in an attempt to encircle the defending True Empire fleet. Fast light cruisers- Carracks and Strikes- in turn moved out from the forces flanks in an attempt to surround and cut off any of the defender's maneuvers.

"Alright, here's what you're going to do. You will pull planet based fighters and capital ships back to our Golan I battlestations and then use fast corvettes and picket ships to probe the enemy force and hopefully draw some foes back to their heavy guns. Make no genuine offensive move. Me and Kris will be there within two hours and coordinate our jumps so our forces surround the foes.

"We will win this."

Two Months Later... Imperial Execution Range on Imperial Center

"... And so, in light of your crimes of High Treason and defiance of the Emperor and his will, this Tribunal had sentenced you to execution on the firing wall."

It is better to die on one's feet than to live on one's knees, Kris told himself.

His head was filled with all kinds of thought, a slurry of emotions at what he was hearing and seeing.

"The sentence will be carried out immediately."

On the other side of the firing range, a line of a dozen Storm troopers spread out, guns across their chests.

Kris couldn't see this though, through his blindfold, but he could hear them and his mind painted a picture more than vivid enough for him.

"Do those so sentenced have any last requests, or wish to beg for mercy?"

There was silence, for a moment.

"Could you," Griz said, "Give this old soldier an honorable death, and remove this blindfold. I do not care so much about these binders, but if I am forced to die, I wish to look death in the face to the last."

There was dead silence, and then the messenger spoke up.

"The tribunal has resolved that no concessions be granted to those being sentenced."

"Troops, shoulder arms! Present arms!"

It was silent as a grave yard.

"Arms, up!"

There was a dozen clatters as the executioners raised their blasters.

He was scared, he was nervous. He was twitching uncontrollably.

But Griz died like a true soldier. He stood tall, he stood proud. Death did not scare him.