From "A New Kind of War"

"'....Democracy! What does that word mean to me? It means freedom. The freedom to choose the people who I think are best suited to govern my nation. The freedom to live in a world that is free of hatred, intolerance and racism. The freedom to walk down the street and express my opinion without having to look over my shoulder for a police officer. All of you enjoy these rights today and you enjoy them greatly for without these rights our lives would be decidedly different. But if we join the Empire we will not be able to enjoy these rights anymore! You can't put a price on freedom, it is the most valuable thing in the galaxy, more valuable than any gems or precious metals you can find. But not to the Empire. The Empire is indifferent to the needs of you the people. Especially out here on the Outer-Rim far away from Coruscant and Corellia. The Empire does not care about freedom, it cares about power and it will go at any lengths to achieve this power. Early today they bombarded our planet nearly killing a little boy. Then only a few minutes ago an Imperial operative at the Plaza of the Rising Sun threw two grenades into a crowd killing some of your fellow citizens. If that's what they do when they're trying to get us to join them what do you think they'll do once we're safely under their control? Who knows? And I will do my best to see to it that we will never know, because we will not join the Empire without a fight."

Andrew White, was dressed in perfectly normal dress for a Bandommeerian citizen in fact that's exactly what he was. However, like, Paul Ramsay he was also an operative of the Coalition Intelligence Bureau. His orders had been to nudge the crowd along, however as he watched the speaker on the podium rally the crowd to the point of a frenzy he realized that any intervention on his part would be unnecessary. Already the rocks had begun to fly, breaking windows. It was a large angry violent crowd that was facing the Imperials and things were about to get very very interesting."



The inHabitants of Gala had been watching the play by play of the Imperial-Coalition confruntation on Bandomeer with great interest. They had watched holovids of the initial confrontation between Imperial and planetary forces, holovids of Senate debates, and heard recordings of Kach Thorton's original ultimatum. They had watched holovids of his speech to protesters outside the Grad Hotel, holovids of the riots by the COalition base (which had been proven to have been caused by Coalition agents by Imperial, planetary, and independent investigations), and had seen holovids of the Imperials driving away the scum by force.

Oh how closely they had watched.

They naturally had every right to be worried, for Gala was only a few hundred light years away from Bandomeer, and Imperial expansion in the Hydain region had been accelerating as of late. In response to the expansion and invasion of Bandomeer, planetary forces drilled, politicians gave speeches and acted like they gave a damn about something besides votes, and citizens wrote or called their representatives in Congress. Newspapers wrote stories, editors and intellectuals debated the advantages and disadvantages of capitulating to the Empire, and people began to pick sides. Militias formed, radical groups assembled. Paramilitary forces began drilling in preparation for the day they would have to defend the planet from Imperial invaders, or assist them in their attempts to liberate the planet from the foolish ideals of freedom and democracy.

And the planets leaders watched as their society began heading towards a date with disaster.

A date no one would have imagined coming so soon.



For a moment on the world, however, all was at peace. Militias disbanded, and radical groups disappeared as quickly as they had appeared as it appeared that Gala, wealthy but unstrategic Gala, would be overlooked by the Imperial war machine.

The planet's inhabitants slept, unaware of events going on around the world.

But it was not to be.

Everything was quiet.

Then all hell broke loose.

Great green lances of death streaked down from the mighty warships in orbit, slamming into the plant with devastating explosions, each precisely aimed blast vaporizing part of some critical target.

Caught off guard by the Shroud's surprise bombardment, planetary defence forces were temporarily paralyzed as the ultimatum was broadcast: Surrender, or we will take your world by force.

The planet was not quite ready to surrender, however. There were only four of the cruisers in orbit, overlooked by sensor operators as space debris. Defiantly, planetary defence forces rose to dispute the attack. Fighters lifted from the charred remains of hangers, corvettes and gunboats left patrol orbits, and ground forces dug in for the inevitable invasion.

It was a gallant effort, as gallant as it was doomed for failure.

And believe me, it was definitely doomed.

As defenders defiantly rose to dispute the Empire's claim to their world, and the planet's fleet rounded the planet, and Interdictor cruiser lept in from hyperspace and activated her Gravity Wells. After angling them for several minutes to get the Gravity Well's edge in just the right position, the primary occupation force jumped in between the Interdictor and the charging defenders.

As soon as they were all above the planet, the Interdictor shut off her Gravity Wells, and she and the shrouds jumped into hyperspace- that kind of expensive equipment was not something one risked in bloody occupations.

But once again, the defenders we3re caught off guard, and vessel after vessel and fighter after fighter exploded into showers of shrapnel as they hurried to angle their shields towards this new threat and adjust their course to engage them.

With every shot of it's massive main guns, the flagship, and Imperial-V class Star Destroyer, destroyed another Galan vessel.

And yet, like the brave heroes in stories and legends, the brave defenders charged on against these seemingly insurmountable foes and odds.

Unlike in the stories and legends, however, the Brave men fighting in the heavens above the planet were not going to somehow emerge victorious.

He was awakened by the mighty sound of turbolasers bolts striking he great granite Executive palace, and the shouting of his aids.

"Mr. Prime Minister, Mr. Prime Minister."

"Sir, get up!"

Googily, he slipped back into consciousness, but kept his eyes closed as he tried to get more sleep.

The groaning of the foundation as another Turbo laser bolt struck the Granite Edifice snapped him out of sleep and into action.

"What the hell's going on?" he shouted to his aides. "What the hell is happening?"

"Sir, it is critical that we get you out of here," his heads of security replied, a stocky but short man named Rolf. He about broke the president's wrist as he pulled the Prime Minister out of his bed, who was in nothing but boxers, prompting snickers from several of his aides.

"We'll explain everything to you in route to the safehouse, but right now it is critical that we get you out of here."

Mid way, Rolf, the security chief, decided that the Prime Minister was walking too slow, and flung him over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. THe next few minutes were some of the scariest in the Prime Ministers life as they descended stairwells, ran down halls, and squeezed through doorways at a running pace. Finally, he was quite literally thrown into the back of a waiting land speeder, which took off like a soul out of Hades as soon as Rolf had jumped in as well.

Behind the speeder, a half dozen more took up escort positions, each containing half a dozen of his security men, a portable missile launcher, and an E-web repeating blaster.

Behind the screaming convoy, the Executive Palace shrank in the distance. The place he had called home for the last twelve years.

The great Granite edifice was still standing defiantly, even as the massive green turbo laser bolts smashed into it, shaking it and cracking it, but not quite toppling it.

He wasn't sure what was happening, but regardless of the threat, he was going to have to be like that for his people: A great, immovable object, standing defiant of all that was thrown against him.

Another huge blast shook his old home. With every strike, he could fell a pang in his chest, as if he himself we being struck at the same time.

And then another, stronger pain erupted, as if someone had stuck a vibroblade into his heart. His vision blurred, and he slumped forward in his seat.

Speechless, Rolf looked at the fallen Prime Minister, and then snapped out of the almost trance-like state he'd entered, and radioed the news of the president on ahead to those who it concerned.

Everything was now out of his hands.

Behind the speeder, the Executive Palace, which had stood as a symbol of Galan pride and strength for a thousand years, crumbled under the Imperial onslaught.



The Deputy Prime Minister was on a shuttle and heading to the safehouse with two squadrons of Z-95s flying escort behind his craft when the news came through: THe Prime Minister had suffered a heart attack, and the (former) Deputy Prime Minister was now the man in the spotlight.

All present in the craft looked at the newly christened Prime Minister, and waited for him to speak.

"Well, sir," one of his advisers spoke. "What should we do."

"Well," he paused. "Well, I think we should have a moment of silence for our fallen leader, and then we'll fight a war."

As quickly as they had disappeared after it seemed Gala would be over looked by the Empire, the militias re assembled, the fringe groups reappeared, and the radicals renewed their calls for whatever they supported.

It is interesting to note that the Evangelicals, Bums, and nuts standing on corners and shouting "The End is Near" began receiving far more than their average level of attention from those few citizens who decided it was best that they simply went along with their normal routines.

As Prime Minister during this traumatic event , it would be his responsibility to negotiate with the Imperials- who would end up taking control of the planet and he knew it- while keeping the populace from rioting or becoming violent.

He was walking a razors edge, and perhaps everyone but him knew it.



The military command center, located in the deepest levels of the underground base, was a bustle of activity as soldiers and civilians alike went about with their business. Some monitored the engagement in orbit, others kept careful tabs on the various groups and mobs assembling across the planet, and some got coffee for those monitoring the engagement or keeping tabs on the populace.

Deeper still was the primary control center, which contained key military and political figures. Present was the High Marshal of the Army, the Admiral of the Navy, several lower Marshals and Admirals, several particularly military oriented Senators, and a man to get them all coffee.

All were huddling around a status board in the middle of the room, projecting the situation in orbit, as he walked in, muttering about what they were watching, with the High Marshal occasionally speaking into a comm-link he carried to send orders to the fleet.

"OK, so what the hell's going on?" He asked agitatedly as he entered, the pair of secret service men behind him scanning those present in the room before retreating back to flank the room's lone doorway.

For a moment none of them looked up - they watched the explosion of the Defiant, a Katana dreadnaught that had been their last large ship in orbit.

Now the largest ships up there were three Carrack Cruisers and a Nebulon B.

"Senator, brief him if you will," the High Admiral - who's name he did not know - asked a Senator - who's name he also didn't know.

The Senator, who's hair was drenched with sweat and tie loosened, turned to his boss. "Well, Mr. Prime Minister, there honestly isn't much to say. About two days ago, Space watch detected four new objects in orbit that had never been tracked. They appeared to be nothing but space debris, so they were put at a low priority on the investigation list.

"A flight of Headhunters was sent to investigate one of the objects approximately an hour ago. Before they could get into visual range, however, the Shroud - which is what it turned out to be - began opening fire on critical installations, along with it's three companions. The fleet was pulled out of it's parking orbits and patrol orbits and assembled, and at the same time the Headhunter flight began closing in. Before they could reach the Shrouds, however, an Interdictor jumped in from somewhere and began interdicting the planet. A few moments after the Gravity Wells were up, an Imperial Navy Squadron jumped in, and vaporized them.

"The Interdictor then shut off it's Gravity Wells and it and the Shrouds jumped away.

"The fleet rounded the planet about fifteen minutes ago, and proceeded to engage them. Our largest ship, the Defiant, was destroyed just as you entered the room. However, until then the Imperials had concentrated most of their firepower on our smaller vessels- Corvettes and Patrol Ships. That explains why mainly larger ships - Frigates and Light Cruisers - are what's left.

"What's really killing us now is that big ship - one of the Imperial-V Star Destroyers we've heard rumors about. It has two massive turrets that can destroy smaller ships in a single blow, but it takes approximately four times as long to charge and fire.

"Predictably, the results are devastating."

"The situation on the ground can be described as nothing less than chaotic. Militias have assembled, some favoring each side, mobs have gathered, protesters have assembled. Much of our police has been called up to help deal with this. Unfortunately, most of our ground forces were destroyed in the bombardment, or are currently busy digging in.

"So there you have it. It doesn't look good, and can really only get worse. All it would take to send the situation on the ground into an all out confrontation is a single spark, a single spark our outnumbered police are trying to prevent.

"In orbit, all that we are gaining by remaining in combat with the Imperials is wasting valuable machines and men.

"So that's it, what's our move?"

For a moment he staired at the ruined fleet, pressing on against even these impossible odds.

His men, his people, were getting slaughtered for nothing.

"Pull them out," he ordered. "Send them to orbit over Maridun or Vjun or somewhere else near. Somewhere nearby where they'll be if we need them. I don't care as long as you get them out of here-- they're serving no purpose here for us by getting slaughtered, at least not now.

"Yes sir," replied a young lieutenant. It didn't really matter who it was who passed on the orders to him-- not here, not now.

Slowly, with weapons power redirected to shields, the remainder of the original flotilla reoriented themselves onto a hyperspace vector for nearby Vjun.

All except one ship.

Hyperdrive crippled by the Imperial bombardment and many of her crew dead with all but bridge life support gone, the Lancer class Frigate Torrant was in her last throes before becoming another small moon orbiting the planet for all eternity.

The captain, recognizing their problem, pulled all power from shields and weapons and put it into the drives, launching the great wounded vessel forwards.

And right into the hanger bay of an Eternal-class Star Destroyer.

Tractor beams grabbed at the ship as the Imperials realized what the Galan ship was attempting to do, and every weapon that could be was brought to bare against it.

But it was too late.

The captain and his remaining crew--Thirteen according to sensors in the ship--shut off the Fusion power generator's cooling system.

The explosion, as powerful as a Thermonuclear Bomb, completely destroyed the inside of the ship. And without it's power plant to hold it up, the massive battle cruiser began to fall toward the planet.



At this very moment before he could watch in terror as it fell to the planet, a messenger burst into the the room. "Sir!" the red faced noncom, who was puffing for breath, shouted. "The situation on the plant just went straight to hell! Militias have opened fire on not only each other, but protesters supporting the other side, and riots are breaking out in the streets!

"The Cabinets assembled in a room down the hall, waiting for you to come."



It is commonly believed by the masses that high ranking politicians no longer have the public interest in mind, but only there own as well as the interests of their wealthy supporters. Instead of spending days and meetings trying to fight for the common man, they supposedly spend their terms trying to gain the largest slice of the pie for themselves and their backers.

Sadly, with only a few rare exceptions this is true.

That was why the Coalition would, in the long run, fail. They would destroy themselves in the end like every great Democracy in history, thanks to the delinquent duo of corruption and greed.

But this thread is planet being taken over, not the Coalition's inevitable downfall.

The newly christened Prime Minister was thoroughly disgusted by the former Prime Minister's cabinet, who held only their own interests at heart. Furious, he assembled a temporary cabinet of his generals and any nearby civilians who had been spirited to the bunker at the outbreak of hostilities.

THe messenger hurriedly gave his report to them.

"THe situation in the Urban areas has gone straight to hell, please pardon the expression. As I told the Prime Minister just a few minutes ago, there is rioting in the streets, and crowds that have formed to demonstrate are being attacked by militias who oppose their views.

"The Army is in a bad position. As this began, most troops were busy digging entrenchments and erecting fortifications. Police in the city, while still adequate for crowd control, are heavily outgunned by the militias who have taken it upon themselves to kill cops wherever they may find them.

"Outside here in Galu city, a hastily formed battalion made out of men in training has begun an advance into the city. While highly ineffective--these men have only gone through basic training, and aren't near the regular level of our infantry--the effects have been spectacular. Crowds have dispersed as they advanced, though they haven't encountered any actual paramilitary units yet, so we don't know how they'll do in that case.

"Unfortunately, Galu's the only city who's had any sort of military response. All others have been paralyzed by the violence.

"We also have the latest Public Opinion polls. Those in favor of Imperial Annexation are at a high of 85%, up from a pre-attack level of 75%, and those in favor of remaining neutral are at 10%, with 5% in favor of appealing to the Coalition for help.

"I advise against that last course of action, sir, due to the high Imperial support and the fact that hie Imperial boarder is only a few light years away, while the nearest Coalition planet is 5,000 light years away.

"And last, but certainly not least, your approval rating is at 4%. THe Imperial supporters believe we should surrender, the independence ones believe we should fight on, and Coalition supporters believe we should appeal for help. Nobodies happy, we've got Imperials in orbit, and the populace are out of control.

"I don't honestly see how sir," the messenger said solemnly, "how this could get any worse."

The people could live on and be happy if the planet was annexed by the Empire, but if the people fought on they would destroy themselves, their wealth, and everything that their ancestors had worked hard to build since the planets colonization thousands of years ago.

They could always fight later.

"Send a message to the Imperials," the prime minister ordered a messenger in the room. "Ask them for twelve hours to put down insurrections. Whether they accept or not, pull the troops from their entrenchments and fortifications and send them into the cities. Get this violence ended ASAP. As of now, this planet is under Marshal Law."

He then stood up from his seat and headed towards the door. "Where are you going?" one of his new cabinet members asked.

"To organize the resistance," he replied without looking back.



In orbit, a very watchful admiral observed the army units that had been entrenching themselves pull out of their hastily dug fortifications and advance into the cities they'd been protecting.

In anthers predicament, he'd long realized, lies an opportunity.

"Land the troops, the planet is ours," he ordered.

Liberty Plaza, Galu City

"What do we want?" the speaker asked, voice full of emotion.

"Freedom, Liberty!" the crowd shouted back.

"What do we want?"

"Choice!"

"Only the Coalition can provide the support we desire! We have to. . . "

The speaker, a moderately successful public speaker who normally gave speeches on teamwork to large corporation's employees but had adapted them for this topic at this rally, never had a chance to finish the sentence because she ducked as blaster bolts began lancing across the stage.

Screams from the crowd confirmed he worst fears that not all of them had a) been aimed at her, and b) missed.

With a brief grunt of pain, cut off almost as soon as it had left her, Ann Smith hit the deck.



Above them he could see a flight of Z-95s. The pilots, with their ships powerful sensor systems and general birds eye view of the city, were directing soldiers on the ground and generally doing their best to keep them out of harm's way.

"Big bear," the radio at company leader Allen Smith's ear crackled. "This is Fly on the Wall." Fly on the wall was one of the fighters above, the one tasked with directing him and his men. "Big bear, straight ahead in Liberty Plaza gunfire has broken out. Advance and neutralize offending militants, roger."

"Roger, Wilco," he radioed back. "Advancing to plaza."

There was no need to relay the orders to his men; they had heard the radio conversation live as it was happening. With a brief hand gesture in it's general direction, they formed into a four-man wide column, and set off to the Plaza.



"Fly on the wall, this is big bear. The plaza is as quiet as a graveyard, repeat, there's nobody here. Approximately fifty dead, no wounded, either carried off or finished off. Orders?"

"Big bear, this is fly on the wall. They can't have gone far, so stay alert. I've got no idea where they went because a whole crowd of people dispersed at once, but I'm sure they're around. Keep on your toes."

Then, from the far side of the plaza, came a blaster bolt.



His men were not the well-trained, professional soldiers that made up Garos IVs army. They had been pulled from boot camp and sent here in a desperate measure. Thus, when the storm of blaster bolts came across the plaza towards them, he, their drill sergeant in a slightly more peaceful time, was the only one who dove for cover (in his case, behind a fountain).

Paralyzed with fear, they stood still several seconds before following his example, or falling, wounded.

"Fly on the Wall this is Big Bear! We are under fire, repeat we are under fire! Request immediate air support."

"Rodger Big bear, Wilco."

"Shit," he muttered to himself, softly enough that the radio didn't pick it up. He heaved up his Stellar Enterprises IR-18 up--modified for fully automatic projectile fire-- and released a burst of magnetic projectiles into them.

Them: The enemy, whoever they might be. They were on the other side of the square, in an office building firing out of the windows. It appeared there were at least fifty firing, and maybe more.

He'd entered the plaza with a hundred and fifty men. A glance to the right showed the crumpled corpses and bodies of some of his dead and wounded men. At least fifteen, maybe twenty.

How unfair. They weren't even soldiers yet, just idealistic youths in the first few weeks of their training. They didn't even know what cover was yet.They were boys, not men! Why did they deserve to die?

But why did anyone?

War is not fair, and life is not fair for that matter.

"Goddamn it, fuckers, open fire!" He shouted to a squads worth of them lying prone behind a fountain. About half of them lifted their weapons up and in the slow, unpracticed manner of trainees, opened up with both blasters and slugs.

Hidden in a doorway on the far right side of the square, one of his men with a rocket launcher unleashed his weapon on the enemy, blowing up a dozen windows with militants in them.

"Hell yes!" he shouted, "We'll beat these fuckers yet!"

From an opening next to the building men began to emerge. They were not wearing any sort of uniform--though they all were wearing shades of black or dark grey--but each carried a fairly modern blaster rifle, just a single generation behind the current Imperial model.

Imperial intelligence had been her before the attack, as usual, creating cells of supporters and training and arming them for the big day of their attack, he realized.

He might not like the result of their efforts, but you had to respect the thoroughness and results of their preparation. And with these supporters as well as many others running around the planet, it was no wonder that Imperial support had been growing to an all time high just before the invasion.

He let off a blaster shot at one man, striking him dead in the center of his chest. he seemed phased, but he kept moving.

Damn, body armor.

"Look ahead boys, we've got newcomers to this party. Cut them down."

Obviously, the Imperial militiamen were better trained than his own, because they immediately went for cover as they entered the battlefield, randomly firing in the Galan forces direction as they entered to keep their heads down.

It worked. Smith was forced to duck below the fountain as a blaster bolt whizzed by his head.

"Take this you fuckers," he shouted as he looked back over the ledge and unleashed the entire magazine of magnetic slugs on a group of them hidden in a doorway.

They didn't even have a chance. Even though they were out of his line of sight behind a duracrete wall, they were cut to pieces by ricocheting half-inch Tungsten balls.

The Imperials kept coming, though, prompting him to direct his fire on their narrow corridor into the plaza. Blaster on full automatic, he cut down a line of them as they tried to advance. The ones behind them hesitated, then came forward. He cut them down as well.

In the traditional maneuver of combat advances since the invention of the firearm, half of the troops under cover opened fire all at once, forcing them to duck down while the other half of them advanced.

He knew what was going on, but he couldn't do a damn thing. If he stuck his head up to fire he knew he'd be a goner. As it was, he could feel blaster bolts heat as they whizzed centimeters over his head.

The advancing troops were almost here. . .

Then there was a sound like a thunder crack and a flash as bright of lightning. When he quickly looked up to see what it was, he saw the building containing the enemies on the far side of the square crumbling from a direct proton torpedo strike. Above them, he saw a Z-95 Headhunter, presumably Fly on the Wall, following through from his strike.

With a whoop, he began firing now that the advancing troops covering fire was gone. Caught in the open against heavy fire, the militiamen were chocked with fear for just a second, but it was a second too long. His troops, boys that they might be, opened up with him, and in just a moment was all over.

"Come on, we're moving up," he called to his boys.

The remaining hundred that rose up to follow him were a bit shaky from the adrenalin rush. They had just had their first foray into combat, and had lived to tell the tale.

Fifty of them, however, remained behind, staining the pavement red.

The Imperials, as he thought they would, had gone ahead and landed despite their request for twelve hours to put down public disorder. The Prime Minister didn't blame them. The opportunity for an unopposed landing was one worth seizing. Normally, a landing was one of the bloodiest parts of an invasion.

He'd sent fighters to try and resist the landings near major cities, however, they had been found woefully obsolete against the Imperials latest model TIE Defenders. Not that this wasn't expected, but they'd had to try.

Public support was now completely gone, he had been informed. Even with his troops advancing into the cities, anarchy ruled the streets. Imperial militias, formed by Imperial agents before the attack, ruled any ground government troopers didn't take, and murdered protesters in favor of independence or calling for Coalition assistance.

Even his cabinet wasn't loyal.

He had one thing, however. A single pistol, with a single shot.

He was alone in his chambers now. He used it.

"Tragic what happened to the Prime Minister," the Imperial Commodore said to the new (Imperial Supporting) Prime Minister, but let's face it. The people disliked him and his choices at the end. They wanted the strong, well run government, not a band of idealogical liberal fools to run their planet. And they have spoken. During the invasion, anarchy ruled. Entire battalions of soldiers denounced the government and joined Imperial forces in putting down the last of the resistance. The people are happy now that Imperial efforts to repair the damage and bring living to a higher standard are in place."

"Yes," agreed the new Prime Minister, former Minister of State Winston Blair. "And regardless of the government, it is the people that matter, not the state. A government exists to serve them, not the interests of it's politicians."

"And that," said the Commodore with a new note in his voice, "is why the Empire will live on."