Chapter 1
The Colonel stretched back in his seat, taking in the sounds of the briefing room. A cigarra clutched between his fingers gave off a slow curl of smoke; in any other military gathering, he would have been reprimanded immediately. Here, it was just ignored: this military force valued its freedom more than anything, which gave way to some lapses in protocol. Not that the Colonel was exactly a rule-breaker; he just didn't see the point of denying himself this pleasure, especially when he was about to be ordered off on a suicide mission. Not that they had told him that this was going to be a suicide mission; in fact, he didn't know anything except that there was most likely going to be some orders handed out in the next hour. He just had a strong feeling that they weren't calling this many unit commanders together for their good health.
The Colonel was a pitch black Mon Calamari, mottled by the occasional white spot. His uniform was white, but not that of the fleet; a patch on the shoulder signified him as a Rebel Alliance SpecForce Marine. His eyes were the usual red of his species, large, seemingly independent of each other. Other than that, he did not seem to be exactly typical of his species. He just carried a different aura around him than other Mon Cal, something decidedly... unsettling. Nothing overt, he just seemed different to any casual observer. Of course, that impression might just have been conveyed by the cigarra held between his webbed fingers.
Over a hundred beings were crowded inside the briefing room, talking loudly, reminiscing, pondering why they'd been summoned here. The Colonel was somewhat curious about that himself, but did not think it was worth worrying about. He knew that he would find out soon enough, so what was the point? Everything eventually got explained in SpecForce, even if the explanation was a little delayed sometimes. That was the one certainty he carried with him these days, that there was an explanation for everything, even the least logical things. Of course, logic was in short supply these days, but that didn't bother him either. It was just to be expected.
Despite his own resolve to not worry about it, the summons had piqued his interest. That interest had almost doubled as soon as he had arrived at the base, and discovered that a large amount of high-ranking personnel had been called in for this little meeting. Even though it was not a certainty, there was at least a high probability that a major campaign was about to be implemented. The only problem with that was that the Colonel had planned to go on living for a few more years; major campaigns in the Alliance normally signified a shortened life span for all involved. That was why they never started them: the Alliance was a guerilla operation, not a conquering army. Only conquering armies could afford to commit men to extended campaigns. If the Alliance did not focus itself on quick strikes, and instead got in a slugging match with its enemies, then they were as good as dead. That was the first thing they taught at Officer Candidacy School; you get into a slugging match with a superior force, you die. It seemed that someone had forgotten that.
The room was filled with beings from every branch of the Alliance Military, along with some non-military personnel who would come in handy during a major operation; Fleet Command, Starfighter Command, SpecForce Command, Supply Command and Alliance Intelligence were all represented in force. What seemed odd, though, was the amount of Sector Force personnel here; men and women who did not serve under the Alliance Command structure, but rather cooperated with it when it suited their needs. They were, after all, more concerned with their home, their area of space, than they were with the Alliance as a whole. They of course supported the Alliance, but only as an afterthought. A unified force working to bring down an evil empire was a nice dream, but a secondary concern, next to the families and homes of these SecForces. They were almost a paradox; though they were not wholeheartedly given to this unified force, they functioned as the backbone of the Alliance. They were the ones who fielded 90% of the Alliance's ground troops and starfighter corps. Of course, they were low quality compared to Starfighter Command and the Colonel's own SpecForces, but quantity was sometimes more of a concern. Especially when fighting a drawn out campaign, the Colonel thought.
The Colonel even recognized a few of the beings gathered, either friends, or people he had worked with from time to time. But he did not get up from his seat to greet them. There would be time for that later; he was more concerned with finishing his cigarra before the briefing began. He guessed this was one of the reasons he had a reputation for being somewhat cold; his unwillingness to mingle, to participate in the bonding that often went on in military commands. His face tightened up in a close approximation of a human smile as he thought about that. The Colonel wasn't really cold per se, and would be happy to talk to his friends again; it'd been months since he had last seen them, after all, but there was a time and a place for everything. These last few minutes before being given his orders were the time and the place for the savoring of this cigarra.
His eyes rolled freely, examining all the new faces, and the occasional old one. An acknowledgement came his way from time to time, but none of the beings that knew him went any farther than that; they knew that he valued times like this. They figured it must have something to do with his species' culture, this strange detachment which rolled over him from time to time. Mon Calamari did have a reputation for aloofness, even mixed with their compassion, but the Colonel knew this had very little to do with what his species. Rather, it was what he had molded himself into over the years. He smiled inwardly at that, taking a last pull from his cigarra before he let it drop into a nearby waste chute. The Mon Calamari was sure that it was nearly time...
The Colonel was confirmed in his estimation by a call to attention from the sergeant standing at the entrance to the briefing room. The entire room immediately quieted and snapped from their seats into a standing position of total attention. If any civilian observer had been paying attention, they would have been amazed that the Colonel could have gone from a position of total relaxation to attention in one fluid motion. It was just something that one picked up over the years, if one was a professional soldier. Colonel Trell Jorser, of the Rebel Alliance SpecForce Marines, prided himself in being just that: a professional soldier.
A small group of males and females of various races and professions entered the room, all of them of the highest rank. General Madine, Vice Admiral Ackbar... this operation, whatever it was, was coming down directly from Alliance High Command, the Colonel was sure of it. The fact that they had been summoned aboard Fleet's command ship for this briefing had been a hint in that direction; this merely confirmed it. The males and females who made up this assemblage moved into the center of the circular room, where a holoprojector and other briefing tools were situated. After a few moments, most of these High Command officers had seated themselves at the very front rows of the room; only the Mon Calamari Ackbar remained at the center. Jorser knew that this would not last; the admiral would switch off with the other officers as the talk went into their various areas of expertise. Ackbar turned to the officers and called "At ease." His raspy voice was obviously electronically amplified, but was not uncomfortably loud. The entire assemblage of soldiers immediately sat down and readied themselves for a long briefing.
"I'm glad to see most of you made it here; we realize that this call came at short notice, and that many of you were pulled out of other mission planning stages, or away from well deserved leaves. Still, this could not be helped," began the Admiral, surveying the officers.
He continued, "Recently it has come to our attention that an Imperial colonel has gone rogue and taken his command with him. He sent us a transmission that signaled his intent to defect, but his corvette was cornered in the depths of Wild Space. He crashed his ship on the planet, and has been hiding in the depths of the jungle. We believe he has gone native. This would normally be of minimum concern to us, and would certainly not warrant gathering you all here. However, his transmission before the crash has brought our interest to this system."
The Admiral keyed the holo-projector, producing a huge rotating map of a sprawling solar system. One star stood at the center, with over 26 planets of various sizes rotating it. Each planet had captured anywhere from one to a half dozen moons. An asteroid belt cut through the system at about the midway point, just after the fourteenth planet. Jorser checked his datapad and saw that more specific information about each planet had been transmitted to him; the same seemed to have occurred for all the other officers in the room. Various other small dots could be seen among the planets, but Ackbar ignored them for now; the Colonel assumed they were starships, most likely Imperial.
"Apparently, the system is huge, with several habitable planets and moons, an asteroid belt, and various other interesting points; with the jungle planet that this Colonel crashed on near the center of the system. What is more important is that there were already Imperials there. And several corporate interests, all exploiting the native population found on the jungle world, and pulling vast quantities of minerals from every planet in the system. Important minerals. Gentlebeings, the Alliance has just inadvertently been given the location of one of the most valuable systems in the galaxy, which has apparently just recently been tapped by these corporate concerns and the Galactic Empire. We cannot exploit this system to its full potential: it's too valuable to the Empire; if we attempted to push them out, they would crush us. Rather, we must merely make it costly for the Empire to exploit this system, make them pay for every milligram of ore pulled from it. We are going to send in a fleet, drop a force at the edge of the system, then jump out. They'll establish a foothold, then summon in the fleet again; we move the bulk of our forces to the next planet, and continue to leap until we reach the center of the system. This, of course, will be less simple than it sounds. General Cracken will apprise you of what we're up against," the Admiral finished, gesturing to an older man whose hair had already begun to gray along the side burns.
General Cracken stepped forward and keyed a button his datapad, focusing the holo-projector on one formation of red dots, somewhere near the center of the system. A collective gasp seemed to issue from the viewers; Trell Jorser just chuckled, finding the image amazingly funny for some reason. Not that many would find a Super Star Destroyer very funny in normal circumstances, but Trell Jorser had been finding a great deal of things funny lately.
"As most of you know, this is an Imperial Super Star Destroyer. One of twelve massive battle cruisers, most likely under the command of a Grand Admiral, though not certainly. It is at the center of a fleet of over a fifty smaller craft, including, but not limited to, five Star Destroyers of varying calibers. This is not including the various corporate fleets in the system, each totaling about twenty capital ships, with an average of five being combat focused. This means that there are several hundred TIEs in the system, plus corporate fighter screens of about 36 ships, again of varying capabilities and types, per corporation. We have established that there are seven different such corporations in this system," Cracken began, rattling off the numbers as if they were nothing.
One pilot, a human Captain with jet-black hair worn moderately short, raised his hand. The man had most likely seen a deal of combat, as had every officer in the room, but he still seemed to have something of a baby face.
"Yes, Captain Antilles?" the General questioned, somewhat put off that this junior officers would interrupt his briefing.
"I apologize sir, but we don't have any Death Stars handy, do we? That's an entire sectors worth of starships! I doubt that we could take them, even if we brought to bear our entire fleet," the Captain replied, his eyes still wide.
Trell Jorser just grinned widely. At least, the Mon Calamari approximation of a grin; his eyes had rolled independently of each other for a moment, his mouth had curved downwards; it was hard trying to make humans believe he was actually smiling when he did this: a Mon Calamari frown occurred when their mouths curved upwards, something that took far more effort than curving downwards. Humans had something of a problem adapting to other being's habits. As if it was easy adapting to the thousands of habits each human carried, independent of every other human. Jorser had heard about this specific human; the pilot had flown wing for Skywalker during the Battle of Yavin, and had proven himself a genius behind the stick of a fighter. He even seemed to have a grasp of tactics in a combat situation, something many starfighter jocks lost while trying to get the most possible kills. Still, he was young, which explained the outburst. Just ten years ago, Jorser would have most likely done the same.
"Actually, we're going around the space angle entirely; with the dozens of gravity wells in this system, our normal tactic of hyperspacing in and out would be severely hampered anyway. Of course, this means that they're limited to normal drives as well; that SSD is stuck near the center of the system, unless it wants to leave the most valuable mineral deposits open to attack. But don't worry, Captain, you'll have plenty to do: Starfighters, small assault transports and ground troops will be the backbone of this operation. Now if you don't mind, I'll continue with the intelligence portion of the briefing. That won't be a problem, will it, Captain?" Cracken stated.
"Uh, no sir," Antilles replied, blushing slightly.
"Alright. Now, as the Captain just discovered, everyone in system is confined to normal drives, or incredibly short hyper jumps. This makes fighters the weapon of choice, and ground troops an important commodity. Our ground forces will move in, establish small bases on each planet, providing the fighters places to operate out of. When the Imperials bring a force large enough to kick you out, you evacuate and move to a new foothold. They can't be everywhere in the system at once; rather, they'll spread their capital ships out, focusing on protecting the Corporate mining operations and their own operations.
"However, we would still have many, many problems if this was the only quantity we could factor into the equation. Rather, we can trust in the fierce competitiveness that exists between each of the seven corporations, which have cut out a piece of this system for their own. They have most likely each paid off the Imperials in great sums to ignore their own petty squabbles, which explains why there is a corporate war going on in the system, largely ignored by the Imperials. But that's not all.
"Pirates have dropped in. Normally, a Super Star Destroyer would discourage them, but they saw the same weaknesses we have seen. There is also the guerilla war being waged by the natives of the jungle planet, the only sapient race in the system. Thanks to an Imperial attempt to use them as slave labor, they are now on every planet, and are causing problems for the Imps on every planet. They are of course losing badly, but they are one more added nuisance that the Imperials have to deal with. Finally, there is the relatively unknown equation of that rogue Imperial who initially gave us the location of this planet by accidentally dropping in. We don't know if he's still interested in joining us, and even if he was, we won't be reaching that part of the star system... for about four months. I'll let General Madine take over, and further explain to you just how long term our battle in this system will be."
Jorser shook his head: he had known this was coming, but he still could not believe that the Rebel Alliance would commit this much of its military to this campaign. This had to be what the Empire wanted; they could afford to commit a massive force to this system: the Rebels couldn't. But then again... that would explain the massive amount of SecForce personnel here. They would most likely compose the majority of the forces committed, and would represent far less of a drain on Alliance High Command resources than if SpecForces were given the campaign. Even the Starfighter Command and Fleet Personnel were mostly SecForce... The Mon Calamari colonel could only wonder how he had managed to get picked out of all of SpecForce for this wonderful little tour of duty.
Madine, the commander of Alliance SpecForces and the man to go to when you needed a crazy ground mission planned out, looked grim, as if he had been up all night for the past several weeks; Jorser figured that he most likely had been. Working out the strategy for a disaster like this would tax even the best man. Of course, it didn't have to be a disaster: Trell knew that Madine was one of the best; Trell would not have joined up with SpecForces if that had not been sure of that. Still, even the best had to make a mistake once in a while. The Colonel absently wondered if this might have been it.
Madine began speaking as the holo-projector mirrored his words with an animated demonstration of the proposed leapfrog operation. "Many of you already think this operation is a bad idea. Many of you would prefer to be assigned to sectors where you'll be protecting your people, rather than fighting in a godforsaken system to keep the Imperials away from some minerals. Well, I could tell you that if we don't severely slow this operation, Imperial effectiveness in the rest of the galaxy will be tripled. I could tell you that we need to do something for that race the Imperials are using for slaves. I could tell you that causing the Imperials problems here will knock them back significantly, and force them to keep a large portion of their fleet in one small area of space. But I don't need to do that because I know you are all soldiers, and I'm a soldier. So I will outline for you what you have to do, when you can go home, and what has to be accomplished before we pull out.
"Basically, the operation is a simple one. Our fleet will drop in, under the command of Admiral Terrilan, and keep the Imperials busy while our six super transports offload about sixty assault transports filled with troops. These transports will land on the outermost two planets and the two moderately habitable moons surrounding each. Each unit will have an individual assignment, anywhere from damaging Imperial and Corporate assets to setting up bases and landing strips for the fighters which will be operating from there. This initial drop will be given six days, and will be operating with limited fighter cover. Then the hop occurs. A small contingent will remain on each solar body, keeping the enemy units there busy while the rest of the force moves on. Any additional forces that are to be contributed to this effort will first land on the outermost planets, and then will be moved up towards the front. They are going to be our staging areas, and will therefore be incredibly important to this campaign. From this point onward, our forces will only hit major planets. We will never, ever completely extinguish any Imperial or Corporate forces anywhere, because if we do that, then the Imps can just move that SSD up and boil the entire planet, rather than letting us control it.
"Our job is a hard one: we have to do the Imps massive damage in this system. Meanwhile, we have to convince them that our force is not worth expending an excessive amount of firepower on, but also that it is worth drawing troops and ships away from other areas. The initial campaign will last about six months, with us fighting our way to the core of the system. We will then pull the majority of our forces out, leaving a small SecForce contingent behind that will continue the strike and guerilla operations. More specific orders will be transferred to each of you; I will personally be briefing the SpecForce contingent assigned to this mission; Generals Brettock, Morassint and V'Shent will personally brief their respective SecForce contingents. Admiral Ackbar will brief all Fleet Personnel involved, General Seihar will brief Starfighter Command personnel. Ackbar and myself will not actually be participating in the operational portion of this campaign; High Command just hasn't figured out whom to place in charge of the SpecForce portions yet, and Admiral Terrilian is in the Vorfam System fighting a covering action for our troops there. Are there any questions?" Madine finished.
The question and answer session at the end had gone the same as it always did; no new information was imparted, and everyone was as generally mystified by this operation as they had been when they first heard about it. As the vast number of officers began to file out of the room to their respective briefings, Colonel Trell Jorser pondered for a moment. Whoever was going to lead this had to be completely insane. He grinned, thinking that the chances of his being assigned to that position had just increased ten fold.
As he headed towards the exit, he heard a call from behind him. He spun immediately, wondering if it could actually be whom it sounded like... "Veradun? I thought you'd gone down at the Battle at Grenadine!"
"What, you think it's that easy to kill me, Colonel? Nah, when my hyperdrive went out, I used the grapples on my fighter to hook onto one of the last transports jumping out...," the short, dark skinned man clad in a flight suit explained.
Hoset "Gambler" Veradun hadn't changed much since the last time Vorser had seen him. He still carried the SpecForce Marine emblem on his right fist, still seemed just as easy going as he had ever been. Veradun was one of the few men who was able to stand the Colonel's company for more than a few minutes without becoming uncomfortable. The Colonel had always told Veradun that this was because they were both of the same species, one that the scholars had yet to classify. Jorser wondered if Veradun had figured that one out yet. The only significantly new thing that the Colonel could pick out was the new set of insignia on the man's shoulder; Veradun had been promoted to Major recently, which was hardly surprising. The man was one of the best pilots and leaders that the Colonel had had the pleasure to work with. The unit patch was new as well, but you had to expect that kind of thing in the Rebellion. Unit transfers and reorganizations were constant, as many units were suddenly wiped out or depopulated by combat and transfers. Jorser's own battalion, the 275th Rancor's Teeth, had recently been cut down to only two companies from its original six.
"And you just piggybacked your way to the rendezvous. Sounds like the kind of stunt you'd pull. So what are you doing here? I thought they had canceled the SpecForce Marine fighter support project after that disaster," Jorser stated, looking the man over.
"Well, they kind of did, but they needed a fighter contingent to go in with the first wave and provide long term support for you people from the ground, before the landing areas are set up. These Starfighter Command pansies couldn't deal without a five star hotel set up for them, so they called in the only Marines they knew of with combat fighter experience. So I get my own squadron and I get hitched to this joyride," Veradun answered, grinning sheepishly, running his hand over the short crew cut that composed his hair.
"Great, so the Rancors have to cover your ass while you pamper your fighter? What are they assigning you, anyway: I wouldn't waste an X-Wing on you psychos, so I know Madine won't," Jorser opined.
"It's always nice to know you've got a friend on the ground. But of course, you're right: we're getting the bottom of the barrel: A dozen Lightstar Class assault fighters, mass driver turret and all. My techs keep asking me if they can just sell these on the antiques market and buy some real starfighters," Veradun pointed out.
"Heh, tell 'em I second that. Bes'a isn't still with you, is she? I bet she could do wonders with even those heaps," Jorser questioned.
Veradun shook his head sadly, "Nah, we lost her at Mentavi, just before Grenadine. The same thing goes for 90% of the old wing: that's why they could only muster a squadron of us for this little operation. And I have a feeling that not many of my people are gonna come out of this one, no matter what I do."
"Well, my friend, there's only one thing you really can do," the Colonel stated simply, putting his arm around Veradun's shoulder, something he had picked up from humans.
"And that is, Colonel?" Veradun asked, grinning, already knowing the answer.
"Get stinking drunk in every possible leisure hour. Come, let's get the briefing from Madine: the quicker we're out of there, the quicker you can start buying me drinks at the Officers Club for that time I saved your life," the Colonel replied, giving the Major a broad Mon Cal grin; he was one of the few humans who had picked up on that particular sour looking gesture.
The two soldiers, uncomfortable among any other company, were genuinely happy for a brief time. They were among the few warriors who had figured it out: the only way to avoid becoming horribly depressed by the whole business was to make a science out of friendship. Only express your true feelings, make true friends with others who had survived for more than a year in combat. As all their other old comrades were dead, this seemed a sensible course of action indeed.
The Colonel stretched back in his seat, taking in the sounds of the briefing room. A cigarra clutched between his fingers gave off a slow curl of smoke; in any other military gathering, he would have been reprimanded immediately. Here, it was just ignored: this military force valued its freedom more than anything, which gave way to some lapses in protocol. Not that the Colonel was exactly a rule-breaker; he just didn't see the point of denying himself this pleasure, especially when he was about to be ordered off on a suicide mission. Not that they had told him that this was going to be a suicide mission; in fact, he didn't know anything except that there was most likely going to be some orders handed out in the next hour. He just had a strong feeling that they weren't calling this many unit commanders together for their good health.
The Colonel was a pitch black Mon Calamari, mottled by the occasional white spot. His uniform was white, but not that of the fleet; a patch on the shoulder signified him as a Rebel Alliance SpecForce Marine. His eyes were the usual red of his species, large, seemingly independent of each other. Other than that, he did not seem to be exactly typical of his species. He just carried a different aura around him than other Mon Cal, something decidedly... unsettling. Nothing overt, he just seemed different to any casual observer. Of course, that impression might just have been conveyed by the cigarra held between his webbed fingers.
Over a hundred beings were crowded inside the briefing room, talking loudly, reminiscing, pondering why they'd been summoned here. The Colonel was somewhat curious about that himself, but did not think it was worth worrying about. He knew that he would find out soon enough, so what was the point? Everything eventually got explained in SpecForce, even if the explanation was a little delayed sometimes. That was the one certainty he carried with him these days, that there was an explanation for everything, even the least logical things. Of course, logic was in short supply these days, but that didn't bother him either. It was just to be expected.
Despite his own resolve to not worry about it, the summons had piqued his interest. That interest had almost doubled as soon as he had arrived at the base, and discovered that a large amount of high-ranking personnel had been called in for this little meeting. Even though it was not a certainty, there was at least a high probability that a major campaign was about to be implemented. The only problem with that was that the Colonel had planned to go on living for a few more years; major campaigns in the Alliance normally signified a shortened life span for all involved. That was why they never started them: the Alliance was a guerilla operation, not a conquering army. Only conquering armies could afford to commit men to extended campaigns. If the Alliance did not focus itself on quick strikes, and instead got in a slugging match with its enemies, then they were as good as dead. That was the first thing they taught at Officer Candidacy School; you get into a slugging match with a superior force, you die. It seemed that someone had forgotten that.
The room was filled with beings from every branch of the Alliance Military, along with some non-military personnel who would come in handy during a major operation; Fleet Command, Starfighter Command, SpecForce Command, Supply Command and Alliance Intelligence were all represented in force. What seemed odd, though, was the amount of Sector Force personnel here; men and women who did not serve under the Alliance Command structure, but rather cooperated with it when it suited their needs. They were, after all, more concerned with their home, their area of space, than they were with the Alliance as a whole. They of course supported the Alliance, but only as an afterthought. A unified force working to bring down an evil empire was a nice dream, but a secondary concern, next to the families and homes of these SecForces. They were almost a paradox; though they were not wholeheartedly given to this unified force, they functioned as the backbone of the Alliance. They were the ones who fielded 90% of the Alliance's ground troops and starfighter corps. Of course, they were low quality compared to Starfighter Command and the Colonel's own SpecForces, but quantity was sometimes more of a concern. Especially when fighting a drawn out campaign, the Colonel thought.
The Colonel even recognized a few of the beings gathered, either friends, or people he had worked with from time to time. But he did not get up from his seat to greet them. There would be time for that later; he was more concerned with finishing his cigarra before the briefing began. He guessed this was one of the reasons he had a reputation for being somewhat cold; his unwillingness to mingle, to participate in the bonding that often went on in military commands. His face tightened up in a close approximation of a human smile as he thought about that. The Colonel wasn't really cold per se, and would be happy to talk to his friends again; it'd been months since he had last seen them, after all, but there was a time and a place for everything. These last few minutes before being given his orders were the time and the place for the savoring of this cigarra.
His eyes rolled freely, examining all the new faces, and the occasional old one. An acknowledgement came his way from time to time, but none of the beings that knew him went any farther than that; they knew that he valued times like this. They figured it must have something to do with his species' culture, this strange detachment which rolled over him from time to time. Mon Calamari did have a reputation for aloofness, even mixed with their compassion, but the Colonel knew this had very little to do with what his species. Rather, it was what he had molded himself into over the years. He smiled inwardly at that, taking a last pull from his cigarra before he let it drop into a nearby waste chute. The Mon Calamari was sure that it was nearly time...
The Colonel was confirmed in his estimation by a call to attention from the sergeant standing at the entrance to the briefing room. The entire room immediately quieted and snapped from their seats into a standing position of total attention. If any civilian observer had been paying attention, they would have been amazed that the Colonel could have gone from a position of total relaxation to attention in one fluid motion. It was just something that one picked up over the years, if one was a professional soldier. Colonel Trell Jorser, of the Rebel Alliance SpecForce Marines, prided himself in being just that: a professional soldier.
A small group of males and females of various races and professions entered the room, all of them of the highest rank. General Madine, Vice Admiral Ackbar... this operation, whatever it was, was coming down directly from Alliance High Command, the Colonel was sure of it. The fact that they had been summoned aboard Fleet's command ship for this briefing had been a hint in that direction; this merely confirmed it. The males and females who made up this assemblage moved into the center of the circular room, where a holoprojector and other briefing tools were situated. After a few moments, most of these High Command officers had seated themselves at the very front rows of the room; only the Mon Calamari Ackbar remained at the center. Jorser knew that this would not last; the admiral would switch off with the other officers as the talk went into their various areas of expertise. Ackbar turned to the officers and called "At ease." His raspy voice was obviously electronically amplified, but was not uncomfortably loud. The entire assemblage of soldiers immediately sat down and readied themselves for a long briefing.
"I'm glad to see most of you made it here; we realize that this call came at short notice, and that many of you were pulled out of other mission planning stages, or away from well deserved leaves. Still, this could not be helped," began the Admiral, surveying the officers.
He continued, "Recently it has come to our attention that an Imperial colonel has gone rogue and taken his command with him. He sent us a transmission that signaled his intent to defect, but his corvette was cornered in the depths of Wild Space. He crashed his ship on the planet, and has been hiding in the depths of the jungle. We believe he has gone native. This would normally be of minimum concern to us, and would certainly not warrant gathering you all here. However, his transmission before the crash has brought our interest to this system."
The Admiral keyed the holo-projector, producing a huge rotating map of a sprawling solar system. One star stood at the center, with over 26 planets of various sizes rotating it. Each planet had captured anywhere from one to a half dozen moons. An asteroid belt cut through the system at about the midway point, just after the fourteenth planet. Jorser checked his datapad and saw that more specific information about each planet had been transmitted to him; the same seemed to have occurred for all the other officers in the room. Various other small dots could be seen among the planets, but Ackbar ignored them for now; the Colonel assumed they were starships, most likely Imperial.
"Apparently, the system is huge, with several habitable planets and moons, an asteroid belt, and various other interesting points; with the jungle planet that this Colonel crashed on near the center of the system. What is more important is that there were already Imperials there. And several corporate interests, all exploiting the native population found on the jungle world, and pulling vast quantities of minerals from every planet in the system. Important minerals. Gentlebeings, the Alliance has just inadvertently been given the location of one of the most valuable systems in the galaxy, which has apparently just recently been tapped by these corporate concerns and the Galactic Empire. We cannot exploit this system to its full potential: it's too valuable to the Empire; if we attempted to push them out, they would crush us. Rather, we must merely make it costly for the Empire to exploit this system, make them pay for every milligram of ore pulled from it. We are going to send in a fleet, drop a force at the edge of the system, then jump out. They'll establish a foothold, then summon in the fleet again; we move the bulk of our forces to the next planet, and continue to leap until we reach the center of the system. This, of course, will be less simple than it sounds. General Cracken will apprise you of what we're up against," the Admiral finished, gesturing to an older man whose hair had already begun to gray along the side burns.
General Cracken stepped forward and keyed a button his datapad, focusing the holo-projector on one formation of red dots, somewhere near the center of the system. A collective gasp seemed to issue from the viewers; Trell Jorser just chuckled, finding the image amazingly funny for some reason. Not that many would find a Super Star Destroyer very funny in normal circumstances, but Trell Jorser had been finding a great deal of things funny lately.
"As most of you know, this is an Imperial Super Star Destroyer. One of twelve massive battle cruisers, most likely under the command of a Grand Admiral, though not certainly. It is at the center of a fleet of over a fifty smaller craft, including, but not limited to, five Star Destroyers of varying calibers. This is not including the various corporate fleets in the system, each totaling about twenty capital ships, with an average of five being combat focused. This means that there are several hundred TIEs in the system, plus corporate fighter screens of about 36 ships, again of varying capabilities and types, per corporation. We have established that there are seven different such corporations in this system," Cracken began, rattling off the numbers as if they were nothing.
One pilot, a human Captain with jet-black hair worn moderately short, raised his hand. The man had most likely seen a deal of combat, as had every officer in the room, but he still seemed to have something of a baby face.
"Yes, Captain Antilles?" the General questioned, somewhat put off that this junior officers would interrupt his briefing.
"I apologize sir, but we don't have any Death Stars handy, do we? That's an entire sectors worth of starships! I doubt that we could take them, even if we brought to bear our entire fleet," the Captain replied, his eyes still wide.
Trell Jorser just grinned widely. At least, the Mon Calamari approximation of a grin; his eyes had rolled independently of each other for a moment, his mouth had curved downwards; it was hard trying to make humans believe he was actually smiling when he did this: a Mon Calamari frown occurred when their mouths curved upwards, something that took far more effort than curving downwards. Humans had something of a problem adapting to other being's habits. As if it was easy adapting to the thousands of habits each human carried, independent of every other human. Jorser had heard about this specific human; the pilot had flown wing for Skywalker during the Battle of Yavin, and had proven himself a genius behind the stick of a fighter. He even seemed to have a grasp of tactics in a combat situation, something many starfighter jocks lost while trying to get the most possible kills. Still, he was young, which explained the outburst. Just ten years ago, Jorser would have most likely done the same.
"Actually, we're going around the space angle entirely; with the dozens of gravity wells in this system, our normal tactic of hyperspacing in and out would be severely hampered anyway. Of course, this means that they're limited to normal drives as well; that SSD is stuck near the center of the system, unless it wants to leave the most valuable mineral deposits open to attack. But don't worry, Captain, you'll have plenty to do: Starfighters, small assault transports and ground troops will be the backbone of this operation. Now if you don't mind, I'll continue with the intelligence portion of the briefing. That won't be a problem, will it, Captain?" Cracken stated.
"Uh, no sir," Antilles replied, blushing slightly.
"Alright. Now, as the Captain just discovered, everyone in system is confined to normal drives, or incredibly short hyper jumps. This makes fighters the weapon of choice, and ground troops an important commodity. Our ground forces will move in, establish small bases on each planet, providing the fighters places to operate out of. When the Imperials bring a force large enough to kick you out, you evacuate and move to a new foothold. They can't be everywhere in the system at once; rather, they'll spread their capital ships out, focusing on protecting the Corporate mining operations and their own operations.
"However, we would still have many, many problems if this was the only quantity we could factor into the equation. Rather, we can trust in the fierce competitiveness that exists between each of the seven corporations, which have cut out a piece of this system for their own. They have most likely each paid off the Imperials in great sums to ignore their own petty squabbles, which explains why there is a corporate war going on in the system, largely ignored by the Imperials. But that's not all.
"Pirates have dropped in. Normally, a Super Star Destroyer would discourage them, but they saw the same weaknesses we have seen. There is also the guerilla war being waged by the natives of the jungle planet, the only sapient race in the system. Thanks to an Imperial attempt to use them as slave labor, they are now on every planet, and are causing problems for the Imps on every planet. They are of course losing badly, but they are one more added nuisance that the Imperials have to deal with. Finally, there is the relatively unknown equation of that rogue Imperial who initially gave us the location of this planet by accidentally dropping in. We don't know if he's still interested in joining us, and even if he was, we won't be reaching that part of the star system... for about four months. I'll let General Madine take over, and further explain to you just how long term our battle in this system will be."
Jorser shook his head: he had known this was coming, but he still could not believe that the Rebel Alliance would commit this much of its military to this campaign. This had to be what the Empire wanted; they could afford to commit a massive force to this system: the Rebels couldn't. But then again... that would explain the massive amount of SecForce personnel here. They would most likely compose the majority of the forces committed, and would represent far less of a drain on Alliance High Command resources than if SpecForces were given the campaign. Even the Starfighter Command and Fleet Personnel were mostly SecForce... The Mon Calamari colonel could only wonder how he had managed to get picked out of all of SpecForce for this wonderful little tour of duty.
Madine, the commander of Alliance SpecForces and the man to go to when you needed a crazy ground mission planned out, looked grim, as if he had been up all night for the past several weeks; Jorser figured that he most likely had been. Working out the strategy for a disaster like this would tax even the best man. Of course, it didn't have to be a disaster: Trell knew that Madine was one of the best; Trell would not have joined up with SpecForces if that had not been sure of that. Still, even the best had to make a mistake once in a while. The Colonel absently wondered if this might have been it.
Madine began speaking as the holo-projector mirrored his words with an animated demonstration of the proposed leapfrog operation. "Many of you already think this operation is a bad idea. Many of you would prefer to be assigned to sectors where you'll be protecting your people, rather than fighting in a godforsaken system to keep the Imperials away from some minerals. Well, I could tell you that if we don't severely slow this operation, Imperial effectiveness in the rest of the galaxy will be tripled. I could tell you that we need to do something for that race the Imperials are using for slaves. I could tell you that causing the Imperials problems here will knock them back significantly, and force them to keep a large portion of their fleet in one small area of space. But I don't need to do that because I know you are all soldiers, and I'm a soldier. So I will outline for you what you have to do, when you can go home, and what has to be accomplished before we pull out.
"Basically, the operation is a simple one. Our fleet will drop in, under the command of Admiral Terrilan, and keep the Imperials busy while our six super transports offload about sixty assault transports filled with troops. These transports will land on the outermost two planets and the two moderately habitable moons surrounding each. Each unit will have an individual assignment, anywhere from damaging Imperial and Corporate assets to setting up bases and landing strips for the fighters which will be operating from there. This initial drop will be given six days, and will be operating with limited fighter cover. Then the hop occurs. A small contingent will remain on each solar body, keeping the enemy units there busy while the rest of the force moves on. Any additional forces that are to be contributed to this effort will first land on the outermost planets, and then will be moved up towards the front. They are going to be our staging areas, and will therefore be incredibly important to this campaign. From this point onward, our forces will only hit major planets. We will never, ever completely extinguish any Imperial or Corporate forces anywhere, because if we do that, then the Imps can just move that SSD up and boil the entire planet, rather than letting us control it.
"Our job is a hard one: we have to do the Imps massive damage in this system. Meanwhile, we have to convince them that our force is not worth expending an excessive amount of firepower on, but also that it is worth drawing troops and ships away from other areas. The initial campaign will last about six months, with us fighting our way to the core of the system. We will then pull the majority of our forces out, leaving a small SecForce contingent behind that will continue the strike and guerilla operations. More specific orders will be transferred to each of you; I will personally be briefing the SpecForce contingent assigned to this mission; Generals Brettock, Morassint and V'Shent will personally brief their respective SecForce contingents. Admiral Ackbar will brief all Fleet Personnel involved, General Seihar will brief Starfighter Command personnel. Ackbar and myself will not actually be participating in the operational portion of this campaign; High Command just hasn't figured out whom to place in charge of the SpecForce portions yet, and Admiral Terrilian is in the Vorfam System fighting a covering action for our troops there. Are there any questions?" Madine finished.
The question and answer session at the end had gone the same as it always did; no new information was imparted, and everyone was as generally mystified by this operation as they had been when they first heard about it. As the vast number of officers began to file out of the room to their respective briefings, Colonel Trell Jorser pondered for a moment. Whoever was going to lead this had to be completely insane. He grinned, thinking that the chances of his being assigned to that position had just increased ten fold.
As he headed towards the exit, he heard a call from behind him. He spun immediately, wondering if it could actually be whom it sounded like... "Veradun? I thought you'd gone down at the Battle at Grenadine!"
"What, you think it's that easy to kill me, Colonel? Nah, when my hyperdrive went out, I used the grapples on my fighter to hook onto one of the last transports jumping out...," the short, dark skinned man clad in a flight suit explained.
Hoset "Gambler" Veradun hadn't changed much since the last time Vorser had seen him. He still carried the SpecForce Marine emblem on his right fist, still seemed just as easy going as he had ever been. Veradun was one of the few men who was able to stand the Colonel's company for more than a few minutes without becoming uncomfortable. The Colonel had always told Veradun that this was because they were both of the same species, one that the scholars had yet to classify. Jorser wondered if Veradun had figured that one out yet. The only significantly new thing that the Colonel could pick out was the new set of insignia on the man's shoulder; Veradun had been promoted to Major recently, which was hardly surprising. The man was one of the best pilots and leaders that the Colonel had had the pleasure to work with. The unit patch was new as well, but you had to expect that kind of thing in the Rebellion. Unit transfers and reorganizations were constant, as many units were suddenly wiped out or depopulated by combat and transfers. Jorser's own battalion, the 275th Rancor's Teeth, had recently been cut down to only two companies from its original six.
"And you just piggybacked your way to the rendezvous. Sounds like the kind of stunt you'd pull. So what are you doing here? I thought they had canceled the SpecForce Marine fighter support project after that disaster," Jorser stated, looking the man over.
"Well, they kind of did, but they needed a fighter contingent to go in with the first wave and provide long term support for you people from the ground, before the landing areas are set up. These Starfighter Command pansies couldn't deal without a five star hotel set up for them, so they called in the only Marines they knew of with combat fighter experience. So I get my own squadron and I get hitched to this joyride," Veradun answered, grinning sheepishly, running his hand over the short crew cut that composed his hair.
"Great, so the Rancors have to cover your ass while you pamper your fighter? What are they assigning you, anyway: I wouldn't waste an X-Wing on you psychos, so I know Madine won't," Jorser opined.
"It's always nice to know you've got a friend on the ground. But of course, you're right: we're getting the bottom of the barrel: A dozen Lightstar Class assault fighters, mass driver turret and all. My techs keep asking me if they can just sell these on the antiques market and buy some real starfighters," Veradun pointed out.
"Heh, tell 'em I second that. Bes'a isn't still with you, is she? I bet she could do wonders with even those heaps," Jorser questioned.
Veradun shook his head sadly, "Nah, we lost her at Mentavi, just before Grenadine. The same thing goes for 90% of the old wing: that's why they could only muster a squadron of us for this little operation. And I have a feeling that not many of my people are gonna come out of this one, no matter what I do."
"Well, my friend, there's only one thing you really can do," the Colonel stated simply, putting his arm around Veradun's shoulder, something he had picked up from humans.
"And that is, Colonel?" Veradun asked, grinning, already knowing the answer.
"Get stinking drunk in every possible leisure hour. Come, let's get the briefing from Madine: the quicker we're out of there, the quicker you can start buying me drinks at the Officers Club for that time I saved your life," the Colonel replied, giving the Major a broad Mon Cal grin; he was one of the few humans who had picked up on that particular sour looking gesture.
The two soldiers, uncomfortable among any other company, were genuinely happy for a brief time. They were among the few warriors who had figured it out: the only way to avoid becoming horribly depressed by the whole business was to make a science out of friendship. Only express your true feelings, make true friends with others who had survived for more than a year in combat. As all their other old comrades were dead, this seemed a sensible course of action indeed.