Work Text:
Major Commander Jarin Yew was a woman who knew what she wanted and right now she wanted success. As she stood at the front of the command center overlooking the orange-pink forest in the early stages of twilight, she was poised to get it.
The grainy images of the battle were feeding directly to two screens on the display in front of her. On the left screen her stormtroopers exchanged blaster fire with the rebel force holed up at the entrance of a cave. Her scout drones had identified the make-shift base a few days prior and she had orchestrated the plan now unfolding before her.
Commander Yew’s dark brown eyes flicked to the screen on her right. To the casual observer there was nothing to see, but that nothing was everything. Another garrison of her troopers was lying in wait in the forest. Their spectral-shifting armor, her research station’s latest creation, made them almost invisible among the kaleidoscopic foliage of Darthla’s flora. Mostly fern derivatives, but varying in color from yellow to blue depending on the age of the plant and the season. Now it was the Darthlan spring and the forest was an ocean of coral spirals exploding into crimson-tipped fractals.
A flash exploded across the first screen, a plasma grenade hurled by the rebels. A metallic whine and shouting voices leaked around the edges of the tactical officer’s ear piece. The woman in the control pit to Yew’s left winced at the sounds, but kept her eyes on her controls.
It was time.
Yew raised the com to her lips. “Fall back now, captain,” she ordered, her voice as calm as still water. The white-clad figures on the screen started to retreat through the bush. One fell, a rebel blaster bolt smoldering in his back. The black leather of Yew’s gloves tightened as she gripped the com link.
In another minute the troopers from the left-hand screen appeared on the right, shooting over their shoulders and diving into Darthla’s multi-hued bushes for cover as they fled at her command. Her stomach turned at the sight of her men in retreat, even a tactical one.
Yew’s eyes cut back to the rebel-held cave. A third of their forces had jumped the barricade in pursuit. Of the ones that remained half disappeared into the cave with the other half reforming a sparse defensive line. They would be preparing their escape, but they wouldn’t get far.
Another grenade flashed on both of her screens and Commander Yew squeezed the com.
Not yet.
More blaster fire. The urgent chatter of Captain Tarloc to his remaining stormtroopers. The camouflaged soldiers in their experimental armor shifted minutely as the rebels grew closer.
Not yet.
One white stormtrooper dashed across the screen on her right. Then two more. A group of five. Now a total of eight had sped past her camouflaged troopers without ever noticing them. Finally she saw the orange and black of Captain Tarlok's pauldron as he brought up the rear. A red bolt of plasma lanced past his head and the captain rolled to the ground and back to his feet again in one motion. His T-21 blaster was up and firing even as a long black scorch smoldered on the side of his helmet.
Yew toggled the channel and raised the com to her lips. “Spectral troopers, attack on my mark. Three… two… engage!”
The screen on the right exploded with red blaster bolts zipping from side to side, but the bolts from the Imperial side were far more numerous and accurate, not because they were elite troopers, but because the rebels simply couldn’t see where to target. The pandemonium was immediate, but not for the Empire. The rebels’ advance halted immediately and they were sent skidding back towards the hole from which they had come. The white-clad stormtroopers who had been feigning retreat turned on their heels and reengaged, doubling the firepower raining down on the tiny rebel force.
Commander Yew’s mouth turned up in the barest of smiles as her eyes shifted to the screen on the left. More of her camouflage-enabled troopers were sneaking up to the cave under the cover of confusion. She didn’t see when they tossed in the smoke grenades; all she saw was smoke pouring out from the cave as if from the mouth of some mythical beast. The rebels covered their noses and mouths with the edges of their ragged uniforms and vaulted over their own barricade into the coral-pink forest.
With another the flick of a button on the consul Yew changed com stations again. “Hold our position, Lieutenant Iuarez,” she said. “Wait until they’re all out.”
Yew’s brown eyes glittered as the rebels stagger from of their pitiful cave, stumbling from smoke inhalation and clutching their chests. Soon she counted eight. Combined with the five rebels who had already been killed and the four who had been lured out in the chase, that brought the total to seventeen: the exact number of rebel fighters that intel had provided her with.
The screen on the right was now clear of action; only the body of a single stormtrooper lay motionless in the underbrush. Her eyes lingered on the prone figure before she returned her attention to the events unfolding on the screen to the left.
Her voice was level and unhurried, like she was ordering a subordinate to rearrange her schedule. “Commence the ambush. If any one of them tries to escape, shoot them in front of the others.”
In that moment a dozen troopers deactivated their spectral-armor. The rebels raised their weapons and swept from side to side, searching for a weakness in the net Yew had cast, but there was none. They were outnumbered and surrounded.
Captain Tarloc’s troopers appeared on the screen, the white of their uniforms a strange contrast to the pitch black of the experimental spectral-shift troopers. Lieutenant Iuarez and his men were already in the last stages of forcing the rebels into submission, closing the net around them with methodical steps and blasters raised, but as soon as the ranking officer appeared they made room.
The Captain barked something that leaked through the tactical officer’s earpiece and on the screen the rebels exchanged worried glances. The Captain raised his blaster to his shoulder and took a step forward. A less experienced officer would have put one of the rebels down as an example to the others, but no action was wasted with Captain Tarloc; it was a quality in him that Yew admired.
Grudgingly, the rebels dropped their weapons to the ground one by one. A few of them struggled to raise their arms in surrender through continued fits of coughing. One of these stragglers received a rough clip to the head from a black trooper’s rifle and was sent to his knees. The prisoners waited while their wounded companions were collected from the battlefield. Four or five men and women rolled on the ground nursing the scorched edges of gaping wounds. Their blood stained enough of the rich, salmon-colored loam that it was visible on the coarse feed to the command center. There were twelve prisoners in all.
On the screen Captain Tarloc raised his hand to his damaged helmet, activating his single channel com.
“Communication from Captain Tarloc, Commander,” the tactical officer said.
Yew nodded. “Loud speaker.”
The captain’s voice was rougher than usual through the static of his blaster-damaged com. “Enemy forces have been secured, ma’am. Awaiting your orders.”
Yew considered the screen, tapping one finger against her thigh like a metronome. She inclined her head to the aide hovering just behind her. He was a young lieutenant, barely out of the cadets and assigned to her for some galaxy-unknown reason. “How many cells do we have available in the detention block?” she asked.
The aid clicked on his data pad and then answered, “Eight, ma’am.”
“Kill four,” she said into the com. “Bring the others back for interrogation and processing.”
The grainy picture of Captain Tarloc nodded and he turned back to the others, pointing, sorting them out. Soon eight stood apart from the rest; the others were left on the ground, wounded and unable to stand.
Captain Tarloc led the gang line away surrounded by white and black-clad troopers while Lieutenant Iuarez organized his men into a firing squad. The prisoners weren’t yet off of the screen before they staggered, some of them trying to run back to their doomed companions. But Tarloc’s troopers made short work of their defiance. A few bruised jaws and cracked ribs later and they were making slow progress back towards the facility.
Yew bent to the deck officer who had been watching silently from the command pit. “Be sure our recovery crews sweep the area and retrieve all of the Empire’s property and personnel as soon as possible. Once they’re secure, scour the cave and then delete it.” Her order was met with swift assent and she turned her back on the screens, crossing the command center with a few sharp, echoing clicks of her boots. Her aide scurried to keep up.
“Inform the detention facility that they will be receiving new occupants and prepare a report informing Imperial command that the rebel presence on Dathal has been dealt with,” she said without slowing.
“Would you like to review the report before I send it out, ma’am?”
Yew spun on the aid with frightening speed, stepping forward until their toes were nearly touching.
“What did I just say?” she demanded.
The command center had gone quiet except for the steady beep of perimeter surveillance. The young lieutenant blanched and swallowed hard.
“Y-You asked me to contact the detention facility a-and prepare a report,” he stammered.
“Your memory serves you adequately, but your comprehension is deficient. I asked you to prepare a report. Not to write one for me in your infantile drivel and certainly not to send it to Imperial command without my prior review and approval.” She glared down at him and felt every bit like a nexu eyeing its prey. All she was missing was the rows of jagged teeth. “Is that understood?”
Beads of sweat rolled down from under the aid’s Imperial gray cap. He gave a nod and uttered a breathless, “Yes, ma’am.”
Yew turned again. The blast doors opened and closed with a whoosh as quick bursts of blaster fire crackled over the open com.
* * *
Cassian Andor was having trouble seeing through his right eye. There was too much blood in it. But he only needed one eye to see where he was going: to certain death. Death was the penalty for treason against the Empire, which struck him as a little ironic since the Empire had committed innumerable acts of treason against the galaxy and he, too, found the appropriate penalty to be death. Death to the Emperor and death to the Empire.
Cassian kept his face to the ground, but his eyes were on his surroundings. The imperial whites he was used to. It was these new stormtroopers in the black armor that drew his attention now. They weren’t carrying the standard issue E-11 blaster rifles; these were DLT-20As, their more powerful – and more expensive – cousins from the assembly lines of BlasTech Industries. Cassian figured that a scientific research station might have more advanced weaponry, but he didn’t count on it having a whole new form of warfare. The rebel lieutenant snuck a glance at the trooper marching at his side. Apart from the blaster, color and a few extra compartments around the waist, he was identical to every other stormtrooper he’d seen on this planet. At least now the question to what the Empire was up to on Dathal was answered. The next question was how they’d been able to completely camouflage the shiny sable soldiers in the forest’s cornucopia of red and pink. But he was getting ahead of himself and in times like these jumping ahead usually meant jumping to your death.
Just ahead of him, another of the captives tripped on an exposed root. With her hands tied behind her back she lost her balance and skidded onto her knees. The black trooper had his blaster up in an instant.
“Back in line,” the filtered voice barked.
The woman, Farro, tried to stand but her legs wobbled dangerously under of her.
“I said up!” The trooper took a menacing step forward.
Cassian was already running forward. “Wait! Wait!” He dove between the stormtrooper’s blaster and Farro’s back. He looked into the black eyeholes. Was there even a person in there? “She just fell, that’s all,” he explained in blurred words. “I’ll help her up.”
Before the trooper could say anything else he was on his knees next to Farro. She was doubled over, her face pressed close to her knees. Her teeth were bared in a terrified grimace, breathing in short gasps of the spicy air. A string of snot ran from her nose to the pinkish brown humus. “Hey, hey. It’s okay,” he coaxed. “Get up. You can’t escape if you don’t get up.” He didn’t like lying. He knew there was almost no hope for escape, but death by a blaster bolt to the head with your hands bound behind your back was no way for a Rebel to go.
“What’s going on here?” Another trooper’s voice accented in something Cassian didn’t recognize as either core or rim. He risked a glance up and saw the orange-pauldroned commander approaching. His blaster was half raised.
“Come on,” he whispered to Farro more urgently. “Let me help you, eh?”
Farro shook her head with unsteady jerks. “T-They k-k-killed Jak…”
“They did. They did.” A branch snapped under a heavy boot. “And they’ll kill us, too, if you don’t get up. Is that what you want? Do you want to die here?”
She shook her head furiously.
“Then lean on my shoulder. Come on.”
Farro put her weight on Cassian and they used eachother to get back to their feet. Cassian could feel her shaking. She stumbled forward a step but caught her balance in time for the black stormtrooper to push her back into the line.
Cassian huffed a sigh and pressed his eyes closed against the dark prickle of lightheadedness. When he opened his eyes the white stormtrooper with the commander’s orange pauldron was watching him. Cassian looked straight into the black eyes for a brief second and then marched himself back into place with the other prisoners. His gate was wide and unsteady.
The commanding officer didn’t move. Cassian could feel him watching him and thinking, but thinking what, he could only guess. He kept his face locked on the ground. The only movement was his clenching jaw.
Cassian had made himself stand out and that was always dangerous around Imperials. They valued uniformity too much not to be suspicious of those who stood out. And as much as he would like to believe it, they weren’t idiots. Cassian had probably marked himself as the leader of the rebel band. While that hadn’t been true at the beginning of their mission to Dathal, it was now. Both of his commanding officers were on the ground with smoking holes in their chests. That made him the ranking officer. He had probably marked himself for a beating later on, then interrogation, then death. Probably in that order. But now wasn’t the time to think about that. Now was time to survive and survival was something he knew a lot about.
The commander took one step back, then two. “Move out,” he ordered in a low growl and the captive rebels were on the move again.