In the Control Room


The three remaining Special Forces troopers had kept up a steady fire, keeping the Coalition spies' heads down for the most part. A bit of fire came back from one of the cells, but it was as inaccurate as it was sporadic. A few well-placed shots from Green Two managed to send the alien scum scurrying back behind his cover.

Uthria realized how much he'd been shooting about the time his power pack emptied. Ducking down to reload, he didn't see the small, cylindrical object being hurled from the center of the room. Green Two did, and fruitlessly attempted to shoot it down. As the detonator arched towards them, he dived as well.

Green Six wasn't so fortunate. He came up for a shot just as the explosion ripped through the air outside the control room. Shrapnel flew through the hole, instantly decapitating him. His death was quick and painless, but it wasn't the end of the damage.

The explosion also ripped apart the walls of the control room and sent the last two Imperials flying through the air in opposite directions. As fate would have it, neither was seriously injured, and the fact that they were thrown ended up being the best thing that could have happened. As they flew, the ceiling and the walls crashed down on the position they had recently held, burying Green Six under a pile of rubble and separating Uthria and Two.

Uthria, alone now, picked himself up as the dust settled and did a quick damage assessment. No broken bones, a few bruises - nothing major. But his E-11 was gone. All he had was a slug-thrower with seven rounds and his combat knife. And his extra ammo was gone as well. Cursing in disgust, he began moving back towards the maintanance tunnel. He'd intercept the kriffing killers on their way out. Seven rounds, six targets. Perfect.

Green Two was knocked unconscious by the blast. Several minutes passed before he came around, and when he did he was alone. Assuming both Six and his commander were under the rubble, he also moved in the direction of the tunnel. The Coalition would pay for this.


One Level Down


The six members of Green Squadron had opened fire the second they saw a face poke around the corner. Someone must have jerked the enemy back, though, since none of the red energy bolts connected. A few random shots followed, just to let their opponents know that the Imperials weren't leaving, but the six decided to conserve ammo. Their cover was good, and they had a few tricks up their sleeves.

Green Eight, on command, produced two frag grenades. Setting them for two second explosions, he rolled the first one down the hall, then the second. After the explosions, the Imperials waited. If anyone survived, they wouldn't make it past this point.

What none of them knew was that directly above their enemies ran a second maintanence corridor. It wasn't marked on the schematics on the computer, but one of the frag grenades had managed to rip open the ceiling enough to expose the trapdoor. The Coalition spies had another way out.

"That's everyone," J-3 said, through the static hiss of his translator. "Let's get out of here!"

J-6 passed an eye over the half-dozen battered and disoriented men in patched prison uniforms. He took a moment to think their next action through before nodding, and saying "I'll take point. J-2, can you cover the rear?" J-2 nodded solemly. "J-3, you take care of the prisoners. We'll stick close together and catch back up with the rest of the team."

Without another word, the team set out for the same corridor J-1 had left through. Just in time, too - just as J-2 pulled the door shut, stormtroopers poured into the prison centre, peppering shots in their direction. J-2 pulled out a sidearm and blasted the door mechanism, fusing it in place.

J-6 filled the entire hallway, to the point that he had to stoop to move at all. Behind him, the prisoners followed, and behind them J-2 covered their retreat. In the distance, J-6 could hear gunfire, and privately wondered what lay up ahead.



Smoke and shrapnel filled the hallway, leaving the three agents gasping on the ground. Groaning, J-1 rolled on his back and got back on his feet. "New rule," he muttered. "No more of that."

Turning his eyes upwards, however, he spotted the huge tear in the ceiling. Barely visible and darkened though it was, J-1 could still make out the entrance to the tunnel. Quickly getting to his feet, he yanked up J-4 and J-5.

Without another word, he gestured to the opening in the ceiling. It didn't take much for them to get his meaning. J-1 pushed J-5 up into the hole, who in turn helped each of them follow him. The tunnel was barely crawlspace when compared to the maintenance tunnel they'd taken in, but as they peeked through grates on the floor the agents could see they'd passed safely over the guards.

They stayed quiet until the tunnel came out into an abandoned custodian's office on the far side of the building. Struggling to his feet, J-1 regained his composure and turned to J-5. "Where are we?"

J-5 pulled out his laptop and checked their location. "Looks like this's as good a place as any. That wall borders on the far side of the building."

"Good," said J-1. "You two stay here and keep the place secure, I'm going to show J-6 and the others the way." With that, J-1 drew his knife and clenched it between his teeth - he'd need it - before plunging back into the crawlspace.

Little did he know where he'd come out again.

Two minutes earlier


Uthria pulled himself back up into the corridor. His slugthrower now at the bottom of what seemed like a bottomless shaft, he cursed his bad luck. Today, or rather tonight, had not been his night.

He'd been walking along the maintanance corridor, hoping to cut off the retreat of the Coalition spies, when fifty meters of the corridor had simply collapsed. He'd barely managed to catch hold of the part that remained as the remaineder of the tunnel crashed down through what appeared to be the empty core of the building. Apparently the builders had seen fit to construct a trap for the unwary. Either that, or they were simply lazy and left the building hollow.

Apparently he'd taken a wrong turn. Backtracking, Uthria trotted along, hate consuming his mind. In his warped state, he blamed the Coalition even for this latest accident, though in the last remaining rational part of his brain he knew that they could not have been responsible. They would die nonetheless.

As he moved, he heard a noise coming from one of the side tunnels. Stopping, he listened more closely. That's got to be one of them, he said to himself. Moving to the side of the corridor, he drew his knife and waited next to the tunnel. When the spy emerged, the Commander would kill him. And he rather enjoyed the thought of slitting the kriffing Sithspawn's throat.


Main Control Room, Top Floor


The supervisor watched the battle with a growing sense of rage. Whoever these infiltrators were, they were good. Two teams of stormtroopers went down, and now several of them had entered the unmonitored maintanance corridor. He cursed and attempted to think of a way to stop them.

When he saw the other three spies emerge from Detention Block 11C-3, he smiled. This was a development he could do something about. All of the lockdown mechanisms were at his fingertips; all he had to do was push the right ones. His hands reached out and touched three different buttons. Unless the escapees blew the security doors, they were trapped in the hallways. The guard watched with glee as the stormtroopers began to close in.


Hallways near Detention Block 11C-3


Lieutenant RC-459 moved along at the head of his stormtrooper squadron. He was a somewhat new commander, as the previous lieutenant had been killed not two weeks ago during an alien riot in the lower streets of Coruscant. Now he led the men with which he'd served for two years. He would prove here that he was worthy of his position.

The infiltrators had escaped out another entrance as his team had broken into the Detention Block, but they were not far ahead. He and his men advanced cautiously, checking corners before continuing the pursuit. One man already lay dead, the price for overeagerness. That would not happen again. As he moved, the voice of the supervisor came over his comm. "All units, be advised that three infiltrators are trapped in the hallways between Detention Blocks 11C-3 and 11C-4. Use caution."

He smiled. The enemy was trapped, probably against the security doors. They'd need a proton torpedo to blow those things open. Or a really good slicer. He checked around the next corner and glimpsed the three infiltrators, along with the escaped prisoners, just as he'd expected. The security door was shut.

Not wishing to lose any men, he pulled out a grenade. He waited a few seconds for the rest of his men to come up, then pulled the pin and tossed it around the corner. Five seconds later came the explosion, and RC-459 spun around the corner to find the corridor empty. The security door was open and the prisoners gone. He cursed and started running down the hallway after them, his men following.


On the other side of the lockdown


Green Nine cursed. After the grenades had detonated, the members of Green Squadron had waited for the dust to settle before approaching the corner. They had rounded it only to find that the grenades had not even scratched their opponents but had in fact opened up an escape route for them. Hence the profanity that now filled the hallways.

The six squadron members didn't have long to think about their situation, though. Green Ten was the first to spot the spies and the prisoners racing down the hallway towards them. Outnumbered, Green Nine gave the order to take cover and fire. Blaster bolts began to fill the hallway as both sides opened fire.

The three Coalition agents and their rescued prisoners clung to the corner that provided them with cover, caught between a blockade of Imperials in front of them and an advancing force behind them. The only one who dared to look down the corridor where all the firing was coming from was J-2, who used his sniper rifle to peek down at the enemy position.

"There's a maintenance corridor above," he said. "In the ceiling. Possibly where J-1, 4, and 5 escaped."

"Have you got any charges left?" J-3 asked J-6. "We could blow through from here!"

"Only the shaped charges, and we need them!" J-6 cursed as the clank of approaching footfalls drew closer.

"We can't cover both directions," muttered J-3. "We're running out of time."

J-6's breathing suddenly became heavy, and a bestial glint entered his eyes. With a heavy grunt, he rammed both gauntleted fists into a nearby metal wallplate, slicing through metal with serrated claws. Tearing the plate free, he positioned it in front of him and rounded the corner, roaring and bellowing.

Even the best-trained Imperial soldiers took pause at the juggernaught bearing down on them. Behind him, the others rushed forwards and clambered one over the other into the maintenance tunnel. Closing distance with the Imperials, J-6 hurled the metal sheet at them - not big enough to harm them, but causing chaos and shrieks of pain as they stumbled over one another.

Turning nimbly, J-6 leapt into the maintenance tunnel, followed by a spray of fire from the recovering Imperial troops.



J-1 pulled himself along the narrow maintenance tunnel, where up ahead he could hear strained movement. As he passed an air vent, however, some soldier's instinct caused him to stop. In silence he waited, for a moment, before that instinct struck again.

With lighting reflexes, J-1 flatenned himself as an armored fist rammed through the paltry metal grating, knife in hand. The blade passed just over J-1's body, slashing and gounging.

J-1 grabbed the arm and sprung out the air vent, tackling his assailant. He bounded off the man, coming to his feet and pulling his knife out of his mouth - a rapid and dangerous feat. Knife in hand, he sized up his enemy, and felt recognition strike. He looks like one of those men from the other day.... J-1 took up a combat stance, keeping his distance. He can't make it out of here alive.

In the hallway


Overtaken by fright, and realizing that standing in the path of an angry Azguard is generally not a good idea, the six members of Green Squadron scrambled back around the corner. Nine poked his head out just in time to see the beast scrambled through the maintanance hatch that its companions had entered previously. Cursing, he rushed forward, only to plow into RC-459. The two went down in a tangle of arms, legs, bodies, and armor. Most of the soldiers remained stoic, but one of them couldn't help himself. At the sight of his wingmate making such a blunder, despite of the situation, Green Ten burst out laughing.

The two armored troopers picked themselves up, and Nine immediately assumed command. "Lieutenant, take your men and secure all exits from that corridor. We cannot allow those spies to escape."

As is inevitable in such situations, RC-459 was put off by the superior tone - until he saw the markings of the Special Forces on Nine's armor. "Yes, sir," he replied. The stormtroopers moved off as quickly as they could.

Nine glanced back at his comrades. "Alright, boys, we're going after them. Eight, take point."

Green Eight, the squadron's resident sniper, raised his rifle and head through the hatch. Peering through his night-vision scope, he scanned the corridor. "All clear," he called down. Pulling himself the rest of the way through the hole, he started slowly down the hall, careful to spot any possible ambushes. The rest of Green Squadron followed, taking up positions on the sides of the corridor.


Down the corridor


Uthria couldn't wait any longer. Punching a hole in the wall, he swept his knife around, hoping to at least bleed the kriffing spy that had killed his men. No such luck. His knife barely managed to catch a small bit of cloth before the agent grabbed his arm and pulled him into the wall, using the momentum to roll himself out.

Uthria's helmet hit the metal with a clang that resounded through the corridor. Shaking his head, he discarded the now-dented helmet with its cracked faceplate and curled his lip into a snarl. The two agents squared off, one full of desperation, the other full of hate.

Uthria struck first. Even in his frenzied state, he still kept his head. Instead of a screaming rush, which would have ended with a Coalition knife in his chest, he made a quick jab at the agent, hoping to draw a return strike. J-1 just jumped backwards, though, too smart to be drawn into such an obvious trap.

Uthria stepped back, sizing up his opponent. The Special Forces man was larger, but the agent was more agile - the adversaries were evenly matched.

Feinting again, Uthria didn't jump back this time. Instead, he slid on his knees, swinging his knife in a slash more suited to a vibrosword than his short blade. Nevertheless, it caught the agent in the side, drawing the first blood of the fight. A flesh wound only, it didn't drop the agent. Uthria was pleased for less than a millionth of a second, though, as he felt a searing pain in his shoulder where J-1's blade had sliced him at the joint in his armor.

Both agents bleeding now, they stood back and re-assessed. Uthria upped the threat level of his opponent - this guy was good. It took skill (or a whole lot of luck) to pull off a cut like that after he was cut. His jaw shook with anger, and his eyes narrowed as the two faced off once more.

This time J-1 lunged first. Uthria ducked under the blow, and J-1, knowing that he would soon feel the Imperial blade between his shoulders, reversed his grip on the knife and stabbed backwards blindly. He was rewarded with the sound of his blade striking soft flesh and a gurgling sound following. He turned and saw the hilt of his knife sticking out of the Imperial's windpipe.

Uthria had come up intending to stab the agent in the back. Instead, the spy's knife had pierced his windpipe and severed his jugular vein. He had only seconds to live. His eyes wide, he picked himself up and, with his last bit of strength, threw himself at the Coalition agent, burying his knife in the agent's armpit. Collapsing onto the floor, he attempted to breathe, but nothing happened. And there in the tunnel, with only a Coalition spy for company, Commander Hulran Uthria died.

J-4 helped pull the last ragged prisoner from the maintenance shaft, so that now the little abandoned office was full of agents and escapees. J-6 worked against the far wall, wiring small explosives with a craftsman's care.

"Where's J-1?" asked J-5, as he scanned the new arrivals.

J-6 frowned, and looked up from his work. "Wasn't he with you?"

"He went back to find you guys, didn't you see him?"

J-2 shook his head. "No."

J-4 checked his watch and cursed. "We're badly running out of time, if the alarm's been sounded then Xarrin wouldn't be able to wait out there much longer. Where could he be?"

As if on cue, J-1 dragged his bloodied self from the tunnel. "Are we all here?" he rasped, while struggling to his feet.

J-2 lifted his fellow agent upwards until J-1 regained his balance. "Yes," the Rodian replied, not betraying a hint of concern.

"Good," J-1 wiped the grit and blood from his suit. "What about the charges?"

"Almost set," replied J-6, as he pressed in the detonation device.

"Even better." J-1 tried to control his breathing as best he could. His cuts were bad, but there was no time to address them now beyond a field dressing. Best not to show any weakness in front of the rest of the team at so critical a juncture.

Behind them, the sound of shouting and clomping boots was getting closer. J-1 gritted his teeth, "How much longer for those charges, J-6?"

"Set and ready," J-6 replied, before running back. "Back up into the maintenance tunnel while I blow the charges! The blast should be well contained, but-"

"Just do it already!" shouted J-1, as he squeezed back into the tunnel.

The Azguard spy nodded, pushing down a button on a wrist-mounted panel. There was a woosh as the charges blew outwards before the blast seemed to suck back inwards. With a crash, the entire wall broke away in huge chunks, grinding into the side of the prison like strange, jutting markers.

The agents herded the escaped prisoners towards the opening as fast as they could, J-1 scanning the revealed night sky for anything, any approach. Distant but approaching, the sound of a speeder could be heard.

As they stood on the ledge looking out, a larg armored Coruscant police speeder suddenly hoved upwards into view. J-1 paled as he stared it down, wondering if their number had come up.

After a moment that stretched into an hour, the speeder turned around and extended an armored ramp to the opening. On the inside was Xarrin, grinning wildly. "Nice to see you're on time! And you've brought the party favours too."

J-1 shoved Grewal up the ramp, and in his wake the other prisoners shuffled. The agent only managed a passing nod at Xarrin, the bloodloss starting to weaken his awareness.

Xarrin gestured for the spies to hurry up. "Come on, we haven't got all day! We have to get out of here before they realize this was stolen." J-1 and his team hustled quickly up the ramp after the prisoners, and the armored ramp closed shut after them.

On the outside, J-1 could just hear potshots being taken at the back of the ship. Even through his exhaustion, J-1 zeroed in on Xarrin and grabbed him by the arm. "Tracking devices?"

Xarrin held up a crushed device with frayed wires on either side. "We've got it. This ship's clean. We should be able to lose them in the undercity before they know we're gone."

J-1 sighed, and fell back into his seat. The prisoners and the agents sat around the tight confines of the police vehicle, lit only by the red and yellow emergency lights along the ceiling. Finally feeling exhaustion getting the best of him, he drifted off.

Xarrin shook his head at the worn out spy, and returned to the cockpit where several of his gang members piloted the ship through narrow gaps in skyscrapers. "Have someone go back there and take a look at their leader, the one who's cut up," said Xarrin, as he climbed into the copilot seat. "We've still got a long night ahead of us."

In the Maintanance Corridor

Green Two peered around the corner. No sign of life. After the firefight he'd just been in, this lack of activity was disturbing. He trotted ahead slowly, carbine ready. Rounding another corner, he came to a dead stop and swore. Uthria lay in a puddle of blood. Signs of a stuggle abounded, from the dented helmet to the blood splatters on the walls to the trail of blood that led away from the fight. Two approached and knelt by his commander, checking his pulse. Nothing.

He swore again, then muttered, "I guess we do all die sometimes." With that, he rose and turned to track the wounded spy. As he did so, Green Six strode up behind him. The only other survivor from the explosion, the two stared at each other, then silently moved with the blood trail. They would track the spy to hell and back if they had to, but they would kill him, and they would do it slowly.

As the two moved off, the rest of Green Squadron trotted up behind them. Green Two filled them in on the situation. Realizing they had little hope of surprising their enemies, the squadron picked up the pace until they heard an explosion in front of them. The tunnel had been blown.

Two acted quickly. Grabbing a small plasma torch from Eight, he burned a hole through the wall and entered the adjoining room. It took less than a minute to traverse the distance to the spies exit point, but even that was too long. The speeder was pulling away just as they arrived. In a fit of rage, Two fired a long stream of energy from his carbine into the armored hull of the speeder, but the light bolts did nothing but make noise.

As the police speeder pulled away, though, two other speeders came into view. Stopping at the hole in the wall, Wes Vos called out, "Where are they?" A nod and a pointed finger from two told the Captain all he needed to know as he saw the slower police speeder disappearing into the urban terrain of Coruscant. The two speeders carrying Gray Squadron accelerated after it.

Wes, driving the first speeder, called out to Racen Selere, Gray One. "Captain, get your repeater ready." Selere, a large man, was carrying a heavy repeating blaster. He was the only one in the squad who could use it, and that was going to come in handy now. While the blasts from a carbine might not do much to the police vehicle, a reapeating blaster was a different story.

"Aim for the engines," Wes continued. "Not much armor there." Selere did as he was told, waiting for a close, clear shot. After a few minutes, they were in range. And they leveled off. Selere, sighting as best he could down the barrel, squeezed the trigger. Red energy bolts sped from the barrel, lighting up the rear of the police speeder. If the engines went, the repulsors would be soon to follow; then it was lights out for anyone in the armored vehicle as a 300 meter plunge to Coruscant's surface would disintegrate the craft.

"Fuck, we need to lose these guys!" hissed Xarrin, as he watched the two smaller speeders pursuing them. The armored police speeder shuddered again as it took another hit from the webber. "We're going nowhere fast, like this..."

J-1 flickered in and out of consciousness, lying across three seats in the passenger area. All around him, agents, prisoners, and gang members held fast to the walls as they rocked and shook with the ship. In his mind, J-1 couldn't hear the sound of las-fire or feel the roughness of their flight. His senses were enveloped in a dream.

He was back in Coalition space, back before he'd left on this crazy mission. She'd been there. They'd sat in his private ship's quarters, unmoving, saying nothing to each other, having nothing to say. Why couldn't he get her out of his head? What had happened to Gale? What was happening to him?

His eyes fluttered open. J-1 looked up towards J-4, who was examining his wounds. "You'll live," the Cerean remarked. "Provided we don't get shot down in this chase."

J-1 nodded feebly before falling back down into his seat, unable to sustain consciousness.

Xarrin spat another curse as a desperate maneauver failed to shake their pursuers. "This thing's too heavy, we can't outrun them!" Casting wildly about, Xarrin pointed to J-6. "You, Grey man! Get over here!"

Perplexed, J-6 sauntered over, squatting down to Xarrin's level. "Can I help you, sir?"

The ship shook from another hit, and Xarrin gritted his teeth in response. "We need a gunner. I've got a webber in the back, it's loose but you look big enough to hip-shoot the damn thing, so that shouldn't be a problem. Give us some covering fire, will you?"

"As you wish," J-6 replied, shouldering the E-web blaster from a side locker. He briskly made his way towards the ship's top hatch, and pushed it open.

J-6 popped out of that hatch - barely - with the disquietingly large gun in hand. The rattle of las-fire echoed back into the speeder as he laid into their attackers, trying to keep them at bay. With an Azguard's passion for warfare, though, J-6 took great care not to waste his shots merely to decorate the decaying buildings either side with blastmarks.

The speeder raced between dank, grey columns of steel and stone, passing closer to the undercity levels with every moment. Sunlight had long been left behind, as had electricity in some spots. Though the darkness seemed uniform, Xarrin leapt up from his chair and pointed at a particular patch.

"There!" he said, "Over there, quick!"

The pilot responded, swinging into a huge, broken sewage line. Xarrin grabbed J-6 by the leg and yanked him back into the cabin (thankfully he had the sense to stop firing). "Will you quit it already? Keep quiet and turn out all the lights."

Xarrin got back in his seat and pointed to a side tunnel. "There we go, cut all systems and pull us into there."

The last gasp of power was enough to carry the speeder into a stable hover in the narrow maintenance shaft before it went completely dark. Through the pitch blackness the two pursuing speeders shot, having completely lost sight of their prey. A few desperate minutes passed as they searched frantically for their enemy, but to no avail. Finally, Xarrin began to breath normally as he saw the speeders give up and fly away.

"Come on," he said, his tone more relaxed. "Let's get everyone out of here and ditch the speeder. We'll have to hoof it the way back."

Return fire began flying from the craft as the police speeder began weaving in an attempt to lose its pursuers. Wes couldn't see the creature firing it, but he knew the thing had to be big. Selere shouted down at him, "Quit movin' aroud! You're spoilin' my aim!"

Wes yelled back. "Well, if you want to die, you drive the kriffing thing!" He swerved again to avoid another energy bolt, and yelled, "How the kriff is he that accurate?! He doesn't have a mount!"

Selere stopped shooting long enough to spare a glance at the being firing back at them. "It's a kriffing Azguard!" he replied, resuming his fire. This time the bolts flew towards the shooter rather than the engines, though.

In the second speeder, Gray 9 was having trouble keeping his speeder out of the way of the E-Web's fire. Two grazing shots left burn marks on the speeder's paint got him riled. The third, which nearly took his head off, got him mad.

"To hell with you, you kriffiing Sith spawn!" he cried out in rage. Pushing the throttle all the way forward, and pushing the speeder's engines past the danger point, the speeder shot forward, passing Wes's vehicle and climbing into a position directly over the enemy craft. Sideslipping left, Nine banked just enough to allow the three squadron members to open up on the Azguard with their small arms. The bolts began striking dangerously close, and the creature, recognizing the above threat, twisted to fire the weapon straight up. One bolt connected, spinning the speeder off course.

Wes, cursing, slowed down to make sure his squadron mates were still healthy. By the time Gray 9 had gotten the speeder under control, their enemy had gained nearly a kilometer lead. "Stang!" cursed Wes. "Alright, let's catch 'em."

Engaging the throttles once more, the small speeders roared after the other. After a minute, though, the craft disappeared. Gray Squadron flew around the area for several minutes before figuring out that they weren't going to find anything that way. But then...

The scanner on Wes's ship seemed to be picking up lifeform readings nearby. Not sure it wasn't simply Coruscant civilians, he decided to try something different. He grabbed his commlink. "Gray Nine, pull back half a klick and hide the speeder. I think I've got 'em. If I do, we'll follow them on foot. Might be able to capture one of them. Figure out what the heck they're after."

Nine confirmed the order, and both speeders took off the way they had come. After half a klick, they rounded a building and cut the power. Quickly grabbing their gear, the thirteen SF troopers moved silently towards their quarry.

When they reached the position once again, the lifeform readings were gone. Wes had marked the spot, though, and it wasn't long before Gray 4 signaled that he'd found the speeder. It looked pretty torn up - a testament to Selere's skill - and the power was completely dead.

"Stang," said Two. "It must have limped in here on its last legs. We almost had it."

"They aren't gone yet," replied Wes. "Come on, let's start tracking." With Eight, Gray Squadron's infiltration and tracking expert, leading the way, the thirteen troopers began the long trek through the city, following their opponent's trail. Eight's initial observations instilled hope.

"There's a lot of them," she said, studying the tracks. "Prisoners that escaped, maybe?"

Eight had been a sub-lieutenant in the Imperial Navy before her transfer to the Special Forces. She'd worked in both intelligence and on the ground with the Imperial Marines and would have been appointed to the Guard had she not had that one episode of insubordination. A shame, really - some jerk-off Captain attempting to force himself on her. But no one could doubt that she was good at her job.

Picking up her Underslung Rotary Carbine, Eight started forward. Wes still didn't understand Eight's liking for the rarely used weapon. It worked well enough, and it didn't overheat, but it had no general appeal with the majority of Imperial forces. Oh well, he thought, if she can shoot it...

With that, the chase was on.

J-6 carried the passed-out J-1 on his back, forging ahead through dark tunnels as the ragged line of rebels and prisoners followed in his wake. At the back, Xarrin continued to glance behind them for pursuit.

It wasn't long before the glare of trooper flashlights could be seen creeping up behind them. Xarrin cursed - they still hadn't reached an escape point, and the Imperials were already on their tail. Whoever was leading these men was good. "Move it, you spinless shit-for-brains, or we're all dead!"

It was of little use, however. The prisoners still stumbled and shuffled along. Many of them were in such bad shape that they had to be carried by rebels or spies, while the sound of Imperial pursuers was rapidly closing.

Cursing once more, Xarrin rounded towards the enemy's directions and started firing his pistol wildly, scattered shots all along the tunnel. It had little effect, but he fired a few more to make his point before rushing back up towards the spies.

"Listen," he growled. "We've got maybe a minute tops before the boys in white catch up with us and turn this walking rag-pile into a shooting gallery. We need a distraction."

"I'm out of explosives," muttered J-6. "If J-1 were awake, he would have a plan."

"Yes, but he isn't. What else have we got?"

"Nothing," said J-4 plainly. "We brought the lightest gear we could manage on this operation to ease the infiltration."

"Damn. All right, fuck it, we'll just keep going - but this is going to get messy. You get your guy to the escape tunnel, and I'll round up a few of my boys to-"

"J-3," interjected J-2, who simply pointed back the way they'd come.

"What the hell's he doing?!" exclaimed J-5. "J-3! Get back here, now!"

The Aqualish wasn't listening, however. He was running back up the tunnel, dodging up and over the debrise and dirty water towards the beams of light. The first trooper over the mound of trash received a screaming Aqualish kick to the chest, knocking him back. J-3 tore his electric translator from around his neck and wailed in his strange, alien language, lashing out at the confused soldiers that had surrounded him.

"Go!" shouted Xarrin, as he bodily shoved the rebels back down the tunnel. For a gut-wrenching moment, the spy team strained against their natural instinct, watching their fellow fighting in the midst of a growing unit of Imperial soldiers. Their spy training won out, however, and they quickly followed Xarrin down into the tunnel.

J-3 whipped a knife from his sleeve, slashing a soldier's helmet straps clean off along with a strip of skin. A rifle butt knocked the knife out of his hand, but J-3 turned quickly enough to grab the man's gun and ram the barrel back in his face. A spray of automatic fire at close range was narrowly avoided as he dived forwards, the shots tearing up a tunnel wall and pinging off another man's shoulder.

Finally trapped and utterly surrounded, J-3 felt heavy gloves descend on him on all sides, hurling him down and raining blows until he slipped into unconsciousness.

Though the spy had been subdued, it took only a glance to confirm what the soldiers had suspected - with that distraction handled, the rebels were gone without a trace.