Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The FIRST ORDER'S ascendancy has been challenged. With the NEW REPUBLIC government destroyed and many of its worlds seized in brutal conquest, SUPREME LEADER KYLO REN controls much of the Galaxy, but not all have bent the knee to him yet.

The valiant heroes of the RESISTANCE have escaped annihilation at Crait. Now their numbers are growing again, piecing together the shattered remnants of Republic forces and independent worlds threatened by the rampant tyranny, as well as taking in new fighters. However, Kylo Ren and his generals, ARMITAGE HUX among them, have moved to expand their forces and seize the entire Outer Rim, curtailing the freedom fighters’ resurgence.

Subjugated for aiding the Resistance, the Twi’lek homeworld of RYLOTH  is a focal point for these efforts. The First Order aims to exploit the planet's resources and populace, to arm and fund their future campaigns. But the proud Twi'leks have faced oppression many times before, and the spark of the Resistance is about to ignite on Ryloth...

Chapter Text

  Major Blyer Towast of the First Order surveyed the world below him and cursed his fortune, just as he did every morning. Ryloth. Damned, accursed and generally vile Ryloth. Home of the Twi’leks, and the source of his persistent headaches.

  Ryloth was in revolt against the First Order. Not a severe, resource-sapping revolt like some of those currently occurring in the Core and the Mid Rim. More of a persistent nuisance. A blister.

  Or perhaps a burn, incurred in snuffing out a candle. Ryloth hadn’t, after all, been on the invasion timetable laid down by Supreme Leader Snoke and his War Council, two years before. It had been identified as a potential bolt-hole for the Resistance and their allies, after the abortive Battle of Crait. The First Order had summarily blockaded the world, and in due course an individual in the capital city of Lessu had informed them that the rebels were indeed hiding out on Ryloth.

  For aiding an existential enemy in this way, the punishment had been necessarily harsh. Much of the political leadership had gone into hiding or fled off-world, and all those who could be found were put to death. The informant, an opportunistic minister, had been made vizier while a military governor took charge.

  That ought to have been the end of it. But, as with so many things in the last year or so, things had taken an unhelpful turn. The Twi’leks hadn’t taken the hint, and after several months of compliance, an insurgency had sprung up. Based in the wilderness, they had waged an efficient campaign against the occupying forces, and just four months after they started, they’d put a laser shot between the vizier’s eyes.

  That was the outrage which had brought Towast to Ryloth’s orbit. He would have quite happily burned the planet himself, but there had been instructions from higher up. Ryloth had agricultural potential, which he was not to jeopardise. Resources had to be conserved to feed the growth of the First Order.

  Which was a bit rich, as far as Towast was concerned. No one talked about resources when we did the Hosnian system. And it’s not like there’s anyone by Twi’leks down there. No one who’d be missed.

  But he was a dutiful officer, and stuck to his brief. His troops maintained the occupation, raking the wilderness for rebels and cracking down on anyone suspected of aiding them. Got to be firm with subhumans. Teach them what they’re worth, let them see real human strength.

  He scowled. If only I had more men. The ongoing campaigns throughout the Galaxy, against the many worlds which had suddenly discovered some backbone, had left him with only one Reclamator-class Star Destroyer, a Maxima-class heavy cruiser, two smaller Gozanti-class cruisers and a couple of Stormtrooper divisions to enforce the occupation.

  Really, he ought to have at least twice as many. Twice as many troops would be enough to comb the planet thoroughly. Double the number of ships would allow him to cover a whole hemisphere and burn out any opposition which his forces found. The mounting challenges to the First Order’s rule, however, had seen to it that so far, his requests had gone unfulfilled.

  Another week would finally get him the reinforcements he wanted. He’d be able to crush the Twi’lek insurgents and cement the Supreme Leader’s rule over Ryloth.

  But there would be time enough to dwell on that later. “Well, let’s begin today’s business,” Towast called to his bridge crew. “Tactical review. I want any updates in front of me now.”

  He had a high-pitched scrape of a voice. Behind his back, underlings made comparisons to rusty hinges. He, of course, didn’t have a clue. He was also ignorant of how ineffectual they considered him. He was a quite blind to his own mediocrity, somehow managing to ignore how most of his surviving contemporaries had risen to be admirals or generals, commanding whole offensives while he was given one world to subdue. When he did register some element of this, it was always a shortfall of what the vaunted office of Major surely demanded.

  Those closer to the Major’s rank, like Captain Hauserak, were aware, and kept their own counsel. Towast was a presence to be endured, like so many things involved in serving the First Order. So Hauserak called up a holographic display of the world, moving from Lessu to the other cities, and then to the First Order patrols and enemy units they were harrying.

  “On the run, as they should be,” Towast smirked. “It’s taken long enough, but of course, our victory is inevitable.”

  He moved to the viewport again, leaving Hauserak to study the map.

  “Is there any point to this species?” he wondered aloud to the alien vista. “Except of course supplying tarts to the Galaxy's least salubrious corners. In every debased cantina and pungent den a Twi'lek, prancing and simpering for a Hutt or some similar dreg. Well, the First Order will put such a servile race to its proper use.”

  “I don’t know if ‘servile’ is an accurate descriptor, sir,” ventured the commodore. “In both the Clone Wars and the Galactic Civil War, Ryloth’s populace proved willing and able to mount sustained campaigns against invasion-”

  “Under my command, Hauserak,” Towast snapped, “extolling the virtues of a subhuman species is tantamount to seditious speech.”

  “I only meant-”

  “We are only here because some alien fanatics took it upon themselves to harbour the Resistance. They are trying to defer paying the price of that folly. Desperation, commodore! That is all this is!”

  There was a twitch going in his cheek now. Officers did their best not to notice.

  Towast continued. “The Twi’leks have made, in their foolish and childlike way, a gamble. They’ll put up enough of a fight that when they acquiesce, we will be merciful out of sheer relief. They are deluded, of course. Once the situation stabilises we will establish proper command-and-control facilities, entrench garrisons and take hostages.”

  “To what end?” asked the captain.

  “To serve the First Order in a manner appropriate for such a race.” He licked his lips. “The War Council issued the decree three days ago, bearing the Supreme Leader’s own mark. Ryloth will become a world of penal colonies. Factories will be built, mines opened. Where once it was a source of disorder, soon it will feed the machine which unifies the Galaxy. And into it we will pour of the scum of other worlds, to be consumed.” He moved closer to the viewport. “A great correctional engine. My grand achievement. And all that will require is for us to wait patiently, and hold our nerve while the wretches crumble-”

  “Commander!” came a shout. “We have readings. Multiple craft emerging from hyperspace.”

  “Then deploy a TIE Squadron!” Towast barked. “At the double! I won’t permit a single thing past my blockade.”

  Let it not be said that the First Order hadn’t learned the lessons of D’Qar. A squadron of pilots had been stood within ten metres of their TIE Fighters for the three hours of their shift so far. Less than a minute passed between the order being issued and them hurtling out into the void, circuiting the Star Destroyer.

  “This should be amusing,” Towast said, casting an eager eye over the screens. “Ah, there we are. What kind of craft are these?”

  “Fighters, sir,” said the operator. “Beyond that, we cannot yet say.”

  “Resistance perhaps.” The commander smirked. “Always ready to throw themselves into the jaws of the bigger beast because they think it noble. Wake up and smell the blood of your friends, scum! The Galaxy doesn’t work that way anymore!”

  “Erm, Commander,” said another officer. There was a disappointing quiver of worry in his voice. “Several craft have taken wing from the surface. They’re coming up the gravity well.”

  So there was at least one enemy hangar down there somewhere, Towast thought, which had evaded detection. No matter. It just made the inevitable outcome more amusing, in the end.

  “Deploy two more squadrons,” he instructed. “Order one of the cruisers to cover the gravity well, as a precaution.”

  There was a grunted “Hmm”, from Hauserak, before the captain called, “Turn us broadside. Set the other cruiser to cover.”

  Towast heard a note of worry in his subordinate’s voice. “Something concerning you, Captain?” he asked, amused.

  “We haven’t seen the enemy launching starfighters before, sir.” Hauserak was now scrutinising the scanner feeds for nearby space. “This has to be something they’ve been holding in reserve. We can’t rule out the possibility of a coordinated strike.”

  “The Resistance haven’t the strength for that,” Towast retorted, not troubling to hide his derision. Yes, he’d heard the rumours of this raid or that, but even the most fanatical rebel wasn’t about to come out and launch an offensive for a world they’d already lost. “These will be runaways. It’s not like our forces in the cities… lieutenant? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  The man stammered his words. “Transmission from Lessu, sir. We’re… actually, make that transmissions from all our garrisons. They’re under attack!”

  Towast turned to Hauserak. “Then I suppose they are capable of some coordination,” he sniffed. “Diversionary attacks, I’m sure.” Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the fighters coming up the gravity well, and the TIEs rapidly closing on them. He added, “Really quite futile. Nothing down there can affect us here in orbi-”

  But just then, he was interrupted by a blaring claxon. He turned to Hauserak, who barked “Incoming craft!”

  “Looks like multiple squadrons,” someone said in the sensor pit.

  Reacting as if this had been planned for, the Twi’lek fighters suddenly cut wide, their paths swinging away from the blockading fleet. Little staccato comets flared in the darkness, fighter craft immediately launching into attack trajectories and falling upon the TIE squadrons.

  The Twi’lek fighters, suddenly free of their pursuers, looped back to attack the forward cruiser, peppering its flanks with fire before they spun away again.

  “Pilots report those are Resistance fighters out there!” someone yelled.

  “Scramble the rest of ours!” Hauserak shouted. “They must be destroyed immediately!”

  “Comport yourself with some dignity, Captain,” Towast intoned. “We will weather this. A few fighters won’t be enough to tip the balance, either up here or down below.”

  “Err, about that, Major.”

  Towast swivelled, and his eyes bored into the officer who’d spoken. “What?”

  The man swallowed, but pressed on all the same. “Governor Rugis is making contact – from his shuttle, sir. He’s fleeing the surface. Lessu is overrun by the rebels.”

  “Absurd!” Towast gesticulated at the planet below. “What have we seen for the last year? Even when the Twi’leks have fought, they haven’t had that kind of strength. Governor Rugis has allowed himself to be spooked.”

  “Unless...” and this time, Hauserak didn’t quite manage to rein in his testiness. “The insurgents have been biding their time, concealing their true strength.”

  “Are you the ground commander?” snapped Towast. “You should be focusing on why those fighters aren’t dead already.”

  The Resistance craft chose just that moment to come close, and one of them immediately got the attention of the watching First Order. Despite his own words about dignity, Towast felt his mouth fall open.

  “That’s the Ghost!” someone shouted.

  “Then we’re about to take a prize to make our careers,” Towast retorted. He rubbed his hands together, grinning eagerly. Jaecen Syndulla. Oh, I will relish this. “Prioritise that craft first, it is not getting away!”

  His moment of anticipatory triumph was rather spoiled, however, when a large vessel shot into view off to port and gutted the forward cruiser from bow to stern with a stream of turbolaser fire.

  The Commander’s eyes very nearly left their sockets. “What the hell is that?” he demanded, keeping it just short of a scream.

  “Chandrilan cruiser,” Hauserak said grimly.

  “Get me an identiscan on it!” snarled Towast.

  The adjutant in question was already bone-white. “Sir, shouldn’t we-”

  “Shut up and do it! That’s a court-martial for you unless you get me the name in the next ten seconds.”

  “Sir!” The luckless adjutant’s hands skittered across his keyboard. He somehow contrived to turn paler still. “Enemy flagship is the Chainbreaker, sir!”

  “Oh kriff,” Hauserak said quietly. The Chainbreaker was much more than a simple cruiser. It was one of the most powerful vessels of its class, and it belonged to one of the First Order’s most hated enemies. Commodore Hera Syndulla.

  As if that wasn’t bad enough, there was more. Another crew member called to Towast. “Major, there’s a communication coming through from Lessu!”

  “Patch it through.” Towast had his response ready. He was going to enjoy it. Thought you could kick the First Order out, eh? Like there wouldn’t be another fleet along immediately afterward.

  But the Twi’lek woman whose visage sprang into life opposite him didn’t give him a chance to say it. “Tyrants! This is the Commander Numa of the Ryloth Resistance.” They’d never called themselves that before. “Your garrisons in Kala'uun, Lessu and Kala'din are routed. I daresay the runaway transports will be on your scopes already, your governor might’ve let you know too. We’ve got your forces in Sal'kaasa and Leb'Reen in retreat too. You want-”

  “Scurrilous cur!” spat Towast. “You will pay for this!”

  “Maybe,” grinned the Twi’lek. “But if I were you, I’d wait just long enough to grab the runaway transports and get yourselves out of here. Especially with Commander Syndulla closing on you.”

  “She may be right,” Hauserak lamented. “Because Syndulla brought friends.”

  Four other Resistance ships had sprung into view, already presenting broadsides. The Chainbreaker might not be a match for a Star Destroyer in open battle, but the corvettes and frigates tailing it might just be able to tip the balance. Moreover, they’d all brought more fighter squadrons to the engagement, including a number of Y-Wings.

  “Enforcer!” Hauserak barked into the commlink, directing his words to the remaining Gozanti. “Enforcer, move to retrieve retreating surface elements. Key your hyperdrive for potential withdrawal.”

  “Captain, have you gone mad?” Towast demanded. “We need them in position to solidify our position here!”

  “What position?” Hauserak gestured to the holo display, the Maxima was crumbling under broadsides from three of the newcomers. The other had moved to support the Chainbreaker, the two of them pummelling the Star Destroyer’s shields.

  And then came the Y-Wings, their path cleared by the Resistance fighters, slipping through the strained shields to loose their own ordnance. Surface guns were shattered, one after the other, and Towast felt himself the deck shake beneath his feet as the rest of the Resistance vessels turned away from the dying cruiser, adding their volleys to the onslaught.

  “More power to the cannons!” he screamed at his crew. Then at his captain, “Hauserak, if you let that bloody cruiser desert now, I’ll have you in sanitation for the rest of your days. Fire back, you curs, we can at least take the Chainbreaker-”

  “Torpedoes!” The cry actually drowned him out. And when Towast turned to look, he saw them. A sizeable spread of them, all of which, to his eyes, seemed to be coming directly for him.

  “Intercept!” he spluttered. “Shoot – shoot them, all of them!” The turrets were already filling near space with laser fire, catching and detonating some of the torpedoes, but too slowly, and soon enough came another cry.

  “Inside defensive range!”

  As the torpedoes streaked towards the bridge, now quite beyond the reach of laser fire, Hauserak turned to his commanding officer. Towast didn’t seem to register that he was even there, but Hauserak felt it incumbent upon himself to get the words out. They needed saying, for everyone aboard this ship.

  “You,” he told the commander, “are a bloody idiot.” Then the remaining torpedoes struck, and they made a quite perfect full stop.

  The single surviving First Order cruiser took in the fleeing transports from the surface, along with a handful of escape pods from the Star Destroyer, and made the jump to hyperspace. The Resistance ships took up positions over the gravity well, sending salvage crews to the wrecked enemy vessel.

  Hera Syndulla watched those transports go, lost in thought and only registering the cheers and hubbub around her as background noise. The only sound she truly paid attention to was the chirp of the comms unit.

  She gestured to the relevant technician, and drew herself up as another Twi’lek woman appeared before her as a steady holoform. “Commander Numa, congratulations on your victory.”

  Numa returned her salute. “Thank you Commodore,” she smiled, saluting. “Ryloth stands free.”

  Hera gazed out over her homeworld, beyond the burning First Order wreck. She did not share in the elation of her crew. “For the moment,” she eventually said. “But now comes the really hard part. Now we have to keep it.”

Chapter Text

  The First Order’s response came quickly, just a week after the occupation was broken. It came with enormous strength too – the Resistance had expected an impressive force but even then, it was far greater than what had been predicted. Two Star Destroyers, four cruisers and the same number of frigates bludgeoned their way into realspace, all flocking around a massive Super Star Destroyer.

  Watching from the bridge of the Chainbreaker, Hera hissed the name: “Hux.” She gritted her teeth and gave the order immediately, her voice low and controlled. “All units, fighting retreat.” She strode along past the ranks of officers, looking and gesturing to each of them in turn. “Target the smaller enemy vessels, take a toll on their squadrons." She had no doubt that her son Jacen, leading the fighter squadrons in the Ghost, would do exactly that. "But keep well out of range of the Super Star Destroyer.”

  Then she turned to the image of her opposite number, down on the surface.

  “Can that be right?” Numa pressed. Her hologram flickered, almost as if her anxiety had infected the devices. “Won’t the enemy just bombard the planet?”

  Hera gave her a grim look. “Right now, we have to hope they won’t. We’re going to slow the enemy, but I need you ready to evacuate. If it comes to it, we’ll come in to snatch every transport we can.”

  “Are you serious?” The other officer’s face was a mask of horror; she had not wanted that suspicion confirmed. “After everything we’ve been through to take our world back?”

  “We didn’t count on this,” Hera responded, keeping her voice level.

  Her fellow commander had all the fire Hera would expect; her own father had taught Numa, after all. But old Cham Syndulla had never compromised easily, and his influence remained on Numa for all that she had matured. She was Rylothian to the core, right down to the accent which Hera herself had shed decades ago.

  At a time like this, however, one had to be flexible. Faced with the bludgeoning strength of the First Order, it was bend or break unless you could find some sort of shelter. So Hera drew herself up, just a little. “Numa, right now there are no good options. I’ve sent a message to other Resistance units in the sector, and some of our best are on their way right now. But understand this: everything we do right now equals rolling with a punch.”

  General Hux’s fleet moved swiftly into orbit over Ryloth, weathering the fusillades that Hera’s ships threw at them. It wasn’t without cost – two of the frigates and one of the cruisers succumbed – but the outcome was never in question, and the Resistance were wise enough not to push it. Within a few hours, the First Order had effective control, and one of the enemy ships was just an expanding cluster of debris.

  “Let that be a sign of things to come, for the enemy,” Hux declared, as the last Resistance craft broke away. “Is the Ghost accounted for?” The notorious ship was almost as desirable a target as the Millennium Falcon.

  “No, General,” Admiral Mercer Vintalli reported. He was going over the assorted reports from the capital ships and fighter squadrons, in keeping with his duties as fleetmaster.

  Hux’s lip twitched, almost imperceptibly, as he regarded the surface of Ryloth, now shrouded by night. “Very well. Consider that an ongoing priority. The primary objective is in hand, I trust?”

  “Yes, sir. Our ground forces report that their perimeter is secure, and forward operations are ready to commence.”

  Numa’s worst fears did not come to pass; the First Order did not wish to obliterate any of the cities. As the space battled unfolded, they had dispatched a great flotilla of transports, all bound for the surface and guarded by flocks of TIE fighters.

  They didn’t target either of the capitals. Instead of Lessu and Kala'uun, they went for the city of Nabat. The invaders and defenders all knew why: Nabat was vulnerable in ways that neither capital was. It lacked the great canyon which separated Lessu from the land around it, and unlike Kala’unn, much of it was on the surface.

  “And if we can take Nabat,” Hux said, “we’ll have hundreds of thousands of hostages in our grasp. It’s a tactic which was used during the Clone Wars – we have that precedence.”

  “That is a consideration, sir,” Vintalli said. “But Ryloth didn’t fall in that instance.”

  “Only because the Old Republic had its Grand Army and several powerful Jedi,” Colonel Stolan cut in. He was present as a hologram, projected from outside Nabat, but he still managed to loom over Vintalli. “And we can take a harder line with our hostages, once we have them. Line a thousand or so up along the cliff face outside Lessu, give them a volley and send them all into the abyss.”

  Vintalli shot Stolan a searching look. The man had come to Hux’s attention after a series of brutal campaigns and punitive actions. Vintalli had pulled some files and looked further back, finding that Stolan’s whole career had been much the same. The man was plainly a capable butcher, but there was a question as to whether he knew any other way of operating.

  Still, the Twi’leks had revolted, openly attacking and driving out their rightful rulers. It was only right that there be a penalty, and it was only Ryloth’s mineral wealth which made it desirable to take the world intact. The First Order’s war machine could not be deprived for mere vengeance.

  “Nabat is not the little town it was during the Clone Wars,” Hux stated. “The Twi’leks learned their lessons in the Civil War, and they had thirty years to build up their defences. But we have plenty of intelligence on those defences.” He gestured, and a holographic display came to life. “Governor Rugis was of course executed for his failures, but he did at least have his intelligence officers compile extensive files on every city. We know Nabat almost as well as its defenders – Colonel Stolan has already studied them extensively.”

  “And I have a forward division at full readiness.” Stolan’s fervour bordered on the insolent, Vintalli thought. “Have I your authorisation, General?”

  “If you’re certain that they can withdraw at speed,” Hux said. “Should an escalade prove unfeasible.”

  The Colonel inclined his head. “I elected to deploy the Juggernauts for precisely that reason, sir. The rest of the advance force stands ready to follow.”

  “Then do it.”

  But what the First Order didn’t see was the rugged Corellian freighter, which slipped into Ryloth’s atmosphere and descended to the very edge of the plain outside Nabat. Skimming the dirt, it disgorged half a dozen swoop bikes. Before anyone could spot them, they were gone, the transport pulling away and the bikes flitting across the ground. Swift and sure as any arrow, they sped towards Nabat.

  All but a couple of of Scrapper Squad, the irregular commando unit which had formed around Rey and Finn, were mounted on those bikes. All good riders, fierce fighters, and brave enough to face the most alarming odds.

  “Our friends had better have been right about this,” Rey said, speaking into her commlink as she watched the Millennium Falcon peel away. This was a monstrously risky operation, and they were relying on the defenders in Nabat to get them the right information.

  “They’ve got visual confirmation,” Finn replied. His voice crackled in Rey’s ear. “Five Juggernauts, and other vehicles besides.”

  Rey tightened her grip on the handlebars at the mere thought. Juggernauts were an alarming prospect; nearly fifty metres of slabbed armour, thunderous engines and powerful guns. They’d been a mainstay of the Imperial Army all through the Empire’s reign, combining speed with durability. Between that and their frightening appearance, they were the perfect symbol of military power.

  The First Order had taken the same approach to the Juggernauts as all the other machines they had inherited – update the systems and add more weapons, including tail turrets. The result was a vehicle which was highly dangerous to attack from any angle.

  And yet… “How are they taking all that punishment?” she asked, watching the bombardment that the enemy convoy was weathering. “Juggernauts are tough, but not that tough.”

  “Use your scopes,” Rose told her. “You’ll see.”

  Rey did as she was bid, and adjusted her goggles to zoom in on the vehicles ahead. “Oh kriff.”

  “See?” came Rose’s voice.

  “I do.” She could just make out a shimmering hemisphere above the convoy, on which the bombardment was impacting, keeping the missiles and beams at bay. “So one of these things is carrying a shield generator.” And now she spotted it too, a Juggernaut’s back hunched by additional components and armour. “I guess we just found our priority target.”

  “That’s right,” Finn said. “But we’re gonna need to peel away some layers to get to it.”

  Rey bared her teeth involuntarily, until she remembered the mouthful of dust she was risking. On-the-fly planning had rarely been more literal, and she was less than pleased about that. Still, it had to be done. Ryloth’s freedom depended upon it.

  They came in with a howl of engines, like desert phantoms. Low to the ground, legs clamped tightly to their swoop bikes and arrayed in a loose arrowhead formation. Following a trail of tracks and craters, Rey felt her pulse quicken further as the looming city wall grew larger in the distance, and the flashes of gunfire and explosions got brighter.

  “One click from the target,” Finn called. “Closing fast.”

  “Roger,” she replied, in sync with Rose. She glanced ahead and to her left and spotted him, running at the centre of their little formation  Rose was level with her but further off, a blurred shadow in the half-light. Ki’rii, the Pantoran engineer, was on her right. Cylarei and Tannel, a Chiss woman and a Bothan, were invisible somewhere behind her, lost in the gloom.

  Eyes forward, she reminded herself. Focus. Which meant reaching out with the Force as well as letting her physical senses adjust. Now she could detect everyone in the formation. It helped calm her nerves.

  Something metal and blocky loomed in her path – even with the Force’s warning, with her speed it seemed to come out of nowhere. She swore and tacked right to evade it, gunning the engine a little harder to get back into formation.

  “What’s that?” Finn asked.

  “An Occupier-class tank,” she said, sneaking a glance behind her. “I think.” She got the impression of raggedness in its outline. Holes torn by mortars and missiles. Whatever the machine had been, it wasn’t a threat anymore.

  “Our friends are still kicking, then.” Despite the crackle of the radio, Rey could hear the satisfaction in Ki’rii’s voice. “I just passed another wreck. That shield can’t keep everything out.” That, or the First Order’s drivers were having a little difficulty too.

  “Still a lot of kicking left to do,” Finn countered. “Got a clear visual. All the Juggernauts are still intact, far as I can see.”

  Rey echoed that. She could see the convoy now, twenty or so heavy, brutish machines which rumbled towards the city, vomiting laser fire and ordnance. Five Juggernauts, like Finn said, and several smaller but still imposing vehicles.

  “No battering ram, at least,” Tannel observed. True enough, there was no sign of the enormous cannon that the First Order tended to field during sieges.

  “Not viable while the guns are intact,” Finn replied, feeding a bit more power to his engine. “They’ve gotta move fast to dodge the bombardment. Way too fast for a big siege gun to keep up.” There was a pause. “Which makes me wonder how they’re planning to get in.”

  “Must be carrying explosives,” Rose reasoned. “Set enough of those against one of the gates, and let rip.”

  Finn made a sound which suggested he had just pictured how that might go. “Set charges.”

  Rey gingerly took a hand off the controls, reaching down to her belt and hitting a key to arm the explosive which hung under her bike.

  They’d hastily rigged the explosives on their flight here, acting on reports from Nabat about the enemy force. The bikes came with detachable storage pods, and it had just been a matter of making the bombs fit those. Still, as improvised solutions went, this was one of the diciest they’d ever attempted.

  Rey heard Finn exhale, in a way that told her he’d done the same with his bomb. “Never had something this dangerous between my legs before.”

  “That a fact, Captain?” Ki’rii laughed. “Rose, feel free to confirm or deny.”

  Rey couldn’t help but snort. Her hand returned to the control sticks - further up this time, index fingers resting against the cannon triggers. She inched closer to the convoy, feeling a charge on her skin as she slipped inside the shield – and then a rattle of dirt fragments on her armour.

  “Joke when we’re safe, Ki’rii,” was Finn’s retort. “Getting close!”

  The machines loomed larger against the wall, silhouetted by the fire they were taking. The Twi’leks were throwing everything they had at their attackers.

  Someone hissed a curse - revealed as Tannel when he snarled “they made me!” and swerved sharply away, laser fire snapping at his flank.

  Finn growled. “Tannel-”

  “It’s alright. I’m committing, gonna distract them.” The Bothan commando peeled off to the side, drawing his blaster pistol and firing back. Rey saw him hit one turret gunner, the Stormtrooper toppling from his vehicle. He smacked down hard, swallowed up by the night as they sped on.

  “And I’m coming in now,” Cylarei added.

  A flurry of laser bolts snapped out of the dark, hitting the guns that had targeted Tannel. Other guns opened up at Cylarei, but it gave the other three the cover they needed. Further out, Tannel came around and went on the attack again.

  Rey opened the throttle, scooting around to the side in parallel to Cylarei.

  “Wanna let our friends know?” Ki’rii asked.

  “Just pinged them now.” Finn had wanted to hold off as long as possible - once the defence turrets on the wall let up, the enemy would know something else was going on. But now all bets were off. The cannons on the walls fell silent.

  Rey sped on, closing on the rearmost Juggernaut. She got the tail gun in her sights, zeroed in on the Stormtrooper manning it, and fired. Her target was hit in the chest and thrown high into the air, the gun falling silent.

  That gave Ki’rii her opening. Urging her bike fully into the air, she hit the release for her payload and veered away, leaving the charge to fall beneath the wheels of the Juggernaut. Seconds later, the charge exploded, a blast which lifted the vehicle half a metre off the ground and ripped through its underbelly. The Juggernaut crashed to earth, gutted and flaming.

  Somewhere to the left, Finn and Rose had pulled a similar move. One of the Juggernauts had taken a hit and was labouring hard, compensating for some shredded tyres. A tank next to it had been less lucky, and was now lying upside down, burning fiercely.

  Two bombs spent. Rey decelerated and altered course, already looking for her next target. “First few down. Do we have a way to the generator?”

  “Gonna need those rear tanks outta the way,” Tannel said. Coming up behind the rest, he’d have the best view. “And the Juggernaut.”

  “Two of us should be able to handle that,” Cylarei answered. “Sprint up, bombs either side of the big guy.”

  “I like your thinking.” Finn seemed to have decided for himself. “Rey, Tannel, hold back. We’re gonna need your payloads for the generator.”

  “Noted.” Rey picked another target and fired, hurling that trooper into the air. The First Order gunners were now raking the ground, trying to swat the nimble bikes, and she was using the Force as much as she was reacting, in order to evade their fire. You know you can’t just loose the fighters on us, she thought with satisfaction.

  She feinted with a little rush at one tank before jinking and changing course, as Finn and Cylarei raced up, either side of a Juggernaut. They released their payloads before shooting up and away, looping back as their bombs erupted, deforming the wheels or ripping them away entirely. The tanks either side of the bigger machine were upended. The Juggernaut itself tipped almost immediately into a roll, ploughing headlong into another unlucky tank.

  “And now the shield,” Finn called. “Rey, Tannel, you’re up!”

  The Juggernaut with the shield generator looked to be more heavily armed and armoured than its fellows. As well as its tail gun, it had a crow’s nest turret partway along its spine, and both gunners had her in their sights.

  In the fleeting seconds she had, Rey took stock. “Generator’s buried under a lot of plating. I think that’s going to take two blasts to crack it open.” Other vehicles had also drawn in close – she’d be blasted to bits if she tried to get ahead. Dropping her payload on top of the generator was her only real option, and even then, she had to worry about the two gunners.

  Rey urged her speeder on, weaving to avoid another volley as her friends opened up with their blasters. That reduced the torrent of fire coming at her, but only by so much. “Come on,” she hissed.

  With her comrades hammering the tanks, she urged her bike into a leap forward. She boosted the repulsor, lifting herself into the air and weaving to avoid the gunners’ onslaught. And as she did, she fired back.

  Her first volley hit the rear turret, ripping it from its mounting and taking the gunner with it. But at the very same moment, her other enemy landed a glancing shot on her bike. It jolted violently, almost shaking Rey from the saddle, and she had to fight to keep control and evade a volley from another tank. She fell back.

  Worse, when she glanced down at the little control console, it was flashing red. Payload jammed.

  Rey hissed a particularly graphic Jakku curse, her mind racing.

  Finn’s voice broke through to her. “Rey, what’s happening?”

  “My bomb’s stuck,” she reported. Something was wrong with the cannon triggers too. “Guns are shot too.”

  Finn’s voice was tense. “Can we stop that thing with just one charge?”

  “No!” Rey replied. Tannel was still too far back anyway “Just gonna have to ditch on top of the big boy, and try not to get mown down after that.”

  “Wait up!” Ki’rii shouted. “Coming up on your seven, Rey!” Rey risked a look at her mirror and sure enough, there she was, pushing her bike into a headlong sprint.

  Rose had clearly spotted her, and guessed her intent. “Ki’rii, are you-”

  “Best plan we have right now,” Rey said. “Cover us.”

  “Force be with you,” Finn said quietly. Then, “Suppressing fire!”

  But Rey only heard that shout as if it was at a great distance. She opened herself to the Force, completely. The physical world seemed to fall away. There was only the current, and the path it showed her.

  Again the storm of plasma bolts broke out, and Rey accelerated, surged up and forwards. She drew her staff, activating the shock-coils at one end, and hauled herself up to stand in the stirrups.

  Her eyes were now level with the gunner, in his nest above the Juggernaut’s back, and Rey could feel his belief. Not that he stopped firing – but her staff moved as if with a mind of its own, the energies that wreathed it deflecting her enemy’s shots.

  “Almost there,” she growled. “Now or never, Ki’rii!”

  She could feel the engine straining, feel every component taxed by the manoeuvre. But she wasn’t about to let it stop her, and drove it on. One last burst of power, the bike giving everything it could.

  To the gunner’s credit, he didn’t concede defeat until the last possible moment – when Rey’s staff struck him in the chest like a lance, and hurled him away into the night. Now she was over the shield generator, with a dozen more guns cycling up to fire and obliterate her.

  She killed the engine and leapt sideways.

  The following second seemed to last for an age, Rey hanging in the air with the bike falling away from under her.

  But as she fell, Ki’rii came streaking in, standing in the stirrups. Rey thudded down on the seat behind her, almost losing her balance before she caught hold and steadied herself.

  The abandoned bike slammed down and was consumed in a booming explosion. The shield-carrying Juggernaut shuddered, its armour cracked and torn. Then Tannel followed Rey, dropping his own charge directly into the gouge Rey had made.

  This time, the explosion fountained up from within the vehicle, and the charge in the air died with the shield. “Get clear!” Rey barked into the radio.

  As the bikes peeled away, Finn signalled to the city, and the cannons up on the walls opened up with a vengeance. The convoy was hit with a deluge of fire, and only a handful of vehicles escaped to fall back.

  The Scrappers whooped as they rode for the city, and again as Finn opened the channel to the defenders. His fist punched skywards, and he yelled: “Nabat doesn’t fall tonight!”

Chapter Text

  The attack on the Juggernauts was the first the First Order knew of the second intervention on Ryloth. The next came only a little while later.

  Poe was reviewing his fighter wings, all arrayed a briefing room on the battleship Aldera. Snap Wexley and Karé Kun walked alongside him, helmets tucked under their arms. Their lieutenants followed behind them; Jess Pava, Poe’s own, Karé’s second Lilwo Tigray, and Kallie Lintra, the younger sister of the late Talissan, now serving under Snap.

  “You’ve only got time for a short speech, Commander,” Jess was saying.

  “My favourite kind,” Poe responded. But he kept his eyes on the pilots.

  Two of the captains were relatively new to him. There was Na Funnet of Violet Squadron, a red-skinned Twi’lek woman more commonly known as Trig. She was one of the Ryloth Defence Authority officers who had escaped the First Order’s invasion of that world, joining the Resistance to fight on. She’d backed up her credentials quickly, and had been the first new squadron leader instated by Poe.

  He was feeling particularly vindicated in light of their new mission. Except for Commodore Syndulla, no one here knew the skies of Ryloth better than Na.

  Beside her stood Danwo Souel, the rangy Kel Dor who headed up Silver Squadron. He was a longtime follower of the Resistance cause, though as part of the Belderone chapter, his unit had been far from their allies during the Starkiller crisis. Over several months, Souel had shepherded Silver Squadron through a gruelling journey across the wartorn Galactic Core to rejoin Leia’s forces.

  Souel spoke first, his voice buzzing through the rebreather mask he wore. “I’ve been looking forward to this, Commander Dameron. It will be good to fly with you.”

  “Likewise, Captain Souel.” Poe cast an eye over the assembled squadrons. “Good morning, people! I’m sure you’ve all been briefed on our destination; we’re heading to Ryloth. To be more specific, we will be bolstering the air defences on the surface, operating out of Nabat.”

  As he spoke, BB-8 projected a hologram of the city – and the besieging First Order forces, beginning to spread out from their landing site on the plain to surround the city.

  “These are the latest strategic images provided by Commander Syndulla and the Ryloth Resistance,” Poe continued. “But our more immediate concern is in orbit. Because to get to Nabat…”

  BB-8 changed the display to show Hera and Hux’s fleets, both holding station over Ryloth.

  “We’ve gotta get past this,” Snap said, gesturing to the ships.

  The pilots tried, with varying degrees of success, to disguise their nervousness at the sight of the Unremitting and its escorts.

  “You’re planning for us to go through a Super Star Destroyer?” asked Na.

  Poe shook his head. “Snap said past, not through. The Aldera can hold off Hux’s ship for a time, with Commodore Syndulla's help, and we’re using that to effect a planetfall op."

  The pilots absorbed this wordlessly, though he could see the emotion in more than a few pairs of eyes, burning like a low candle. He saw it most in Na, and he made sure to catch the Twi'lek woman's gaze as he resumed.

  “Let’s be clear – short of a miracle, we’re not taking down the Unremitting today. We are going to cover our bombers while they mess with its guns and thin out the escorts. We’re also gonna do a little of that with the enemy fighter wings, because once our ships are in close enough, our transports will scramble and dive for the surface.” Poe held up a finger. “At that point, it becomes our mission to get them down there.” He mustered a wry smile, knowing the irony of what he was going to say next. “We aren’t going for dramatics today, people. Kills are not the objective. We will stay in formation and we will keep it tight. Everyone clear on that?”

  “Aye!”

  “Good. Now let’s hand out the tasks and get ourselves ready. Ryloth stays free, and Hux gets a bloody nose. How does that sound to you guys?”

  Kaydel slumped back in her seat, finally permitting herself to let out a breath which she’d been holding in for a long time. “You got them?”

  “Yep,” Finn reported proudly. His hologram flickered on the Falcon’s console. “It got dicey, but those machines are either running for cover or burning out on the plains now.” He glanced off to the side, seeing something Kaydel couldn’t. “We have to say some hellos, so I’ll leave you to it. May the Force be with you.”

  A questioning mrraap emanated from her lap. When she looked down, the ship’s Porg was staring quizzically up at her. Porgs almost always looked worried, but right now, this one looked especially so.

  “Yeah, Gial,” she told him. “They’re alright.” Either the Porg understood Basic, or he was very sensitive to tone. He hushed up.

  Chewbacca rumbled, and a hairy finger wagged in Kaydel’s direction. His eyes remained on the controls and the view ahead.

  “OK, I’m on it.” She strapped Gial into his little harness, clipping that onto her belt. Porgs were surprisingly resistant to pinballing around an enclosed space, but it made for a serious distraction.

  Chewbacca also hollered to R2-D2, who responded that yes, he was ready, mag-locked in place and interfacing with the Falcon’s computer.

  Technically, Kaydel was serving as a copilot. In reality, R2 was handling those duties, plugged directly into the Falcon's systems. So Kaydel was on her usual comms duty - which wasn't to be underrated, as the only person in the cockpit who could speak Basic.

  “Nyzar and LM,” she spoke into the commlink. “You boys comfortable?”

  “Bit snug for me,” Nyzar replied, wryly. “But I’m locked and loaded.”

  “Same,” came LM-276’s clipped, synthetic voice.

  “Good.” Changing the channel, she patched through to Poe. “Commander Dameron, tell me you’re close and that we’re not about to try and solo Hux’s fleet.”

  “Fear not, Falcon,” came his voice. “You’ll be seeing us any moment…”

  Kaydel looked, and sighed with relief. There was a little blizzard of white lights up above. “Yep, we’ve got eyes on you.” She tried to maintain her composure, as Chewbacca fed power to the thrusters and the acceleration pressed them back into her seats. “Save some for us.”

  The Resistance reinforcements dropped from hyperspace straight into range of Hux’s fleet, and before the First Order even knew what they were facing, they were firing. Quickly, they moved into position above the gravity well, and the craft they carried took off.

  Black One leapt from the Aldera’s hangar, flanked by the rest of its squadron as it shot out into the void. Gripping the joystick, Poe flexed his fingers in anticipation, watching the Resistance transports and fighter squadrons spill from other hangars and other ships.

  Fifty transports of various sizes had to be escorted down to the surface. They quickly assumed their formations, but already, the First Order was doing the same. BB-8 trilled, and shunted the images to Poe’s display.

  “See all that, Commander?” Hera asked him over the comm.

  “And a fine good morning to you too, Commodore,” he answered. “I see it.”

  Hux’s flagship was every bit as grimly imposing as the dreadnoughts Poe had seen and fought in previous battles; a ten-kilometre slice of dark, steely armour from speartip prow to tapered tail, gleaming darkly in the light of Ryloth’s sun. It bristled with armaments, though mercifully it lacked the enormous autocannons which made dreadnoughts such a terrifying, city-smashing prospect.

  Things didn’t look any more promising when he looked at the rest of the fleet. Two Star Destroyers flanked the Unremitting, one Resurgent and one of the lighter Venerer class. Two Maxima-class frigates and three frigates - two Nebulon-K, one Lancer. All in all, it was a flotilla against which the Resistance fleet could only hope to stand briefly.

  “All the more reason to get down there quickly,” was his assessment.

  “I concur,” Hera said “We’re moving to support your ships.”

  “Much appreciated. May the Force be with you.”

  “And with you too.”

  Hera’s ships swiftly advanced into the fray, adding to the ferocious exchange which had already broken out. That gave Poe's units much-needed protection from the cannons of Hux's battleships, and kept some enemy fighters from pursuing.

  It would also provide cover for the Resistance’s true intention. However much the First Order tried to learn the lessons of the Empire’s mistakes, their initial assumption was always that the capital ships were their true concern. That error might only be fleeting before they reassessed the situation and perceived the truth, but the Resistance could still exploit it.

  For a moment Poe watched, before he turned away and switched to the squadron officers’ channel. Two of the smaller enemy ships were still in their path, a Maxima-class cruiser and a Nebulon-K frigate. They’d been stationed further out and moved to block the oncoming Resistance craft. Neither was as big as a Star Destroyer, but nonetheless they were holding the gravity well.

  “OK, we need that enemy cruiser out of the way. Gold and Violet Squadrons, go in and hit it hard. We’ll cover you. Snap, I leave the frigate to your wing.”

  The orders were quickly obeyed, the fighters and bombers assuming attack vectors as the other squadron began their descent. That left Silver and Stiletto Squadrons leading the defence of the transports, fending off the majority of the First Order fighters.

  Black Squadron, meanwhile, curved around to the side, keeping enough of a distance for the enemy not to spot Poe’s intent. To an observer, they would seem to be shadowing the transports.

  The First Order fairly leapt upon the bait. Not that that’s a great thing unless we make this work. Gotta be tight. The peril was there to see – a flock of dark craft streaking towards the bombers, whose own escorts were busy stripping cannons off the cruiser.

  The hardest part was waiting just long enough for the TIEs to expose themselves. Poe forced himself to hold to his course, feeling the seconds scrape by, until the moment came. “Now!” He switched course sharply and accelerated to hit the enemy fighters on their flank, blasters firing on full auto. His wingmen kept with him, the kind of coordination that made him proud to lead them, and added their guns to the onslaught.

  Some of the TIEs turned to respond, but their formation was too confused now, and Jess and Hallis had lobbed torpedoes into their midst as well. Those only added to the disarray, and Gold Squadron’s bombers swept across the cruiser unmolested.

  “They’re hitting hard,” Jess reported, as Poe took out another TIE. “Cruiser’s… yes!”

  Poe came about and now he saw it for himself, explosions blooming throughout the cruiser’s bulk. Their way was clear. “Gold and Violet, great work! All squadrons, full descent now!”

  The transports dived for the surface in five groups, arrowhead formations with fighters running in spirals around them. First Order squadrons followed, and it became a vicious dance; intercepting missiles, fending off attack runs and throwing salvos back at the enemy. Now the Millennium Falcon showed itself, shooting up into range and training both its mighty cannons on the TIEs.

  Poe laughed, and contacted Kaydel. “There you are, Kaydes! Wondered if you’d make it.”

  “Wouldn’t wanna miss out,” Kaydel said breezily.

  So you're finally on board with the nickname, Poe thought to himself. Though I'm prepared to bet that's because Rey's started using it.

  Chewbacca roared in the background and Gial tried to imitate him, as the Falcon discharged a pair of concussion missiles and they ripped through a pack of enemy craft. The onetime freighter looped around, falling into step with one of the other formations.

  No matter how many times Poe flew with the Falcon, this sight would always put a smile on his face.

  Behind them, the Resistance fleet peeled away, their job done. Poe watched them, gladly noting that they all seemed intact. They might just be able to pull this off, he thought.

  But suddenly a panicked yell from Kaydel rang out. “Poe, above you!” Poe looked up and yelled, as did his squadmates, before yanking his joystick to the side.

  He barely dodged the cyclone of green laser fire that came his way. Something black and silver plunged past him, followed by several more – and they took three Resistance fighters as they went. “Karabast!” he gasped, checking his console – Black Squadron were still intact, but that was only so much relief. “Too close, too close – BB-8, what are those?”

  But it was Jess who answered. “TIE Daggers, Commander!”

  Karabast indeed. “We gotta get after them!” Poe immediately took his fighter into a dive, Black Squadron following.

  He could see the Daggers now on his forward scopes, with the sharp-pointed wings for which these new craft were named. They were a new breed; superiority fighters which, while not as advanced as the Silencer, could be rolled out in large numbers.

  He was chasing a quintet. Five elite enemy pilots, with craft every bit as powerful as his, who’d just killed three of his pilots. And they were going just as fast as he was.

  Moreover, they were savaging fighters, bombers and transports alike as they went. Before Poe’s eyes, three of them stripped a repurposed freighter of its escort before the other two tore up its underbelly and blew it apart. Then a gunship. 

  “We can’t catch them!” Suralinda said grimly. “Maybe our A-Wings can alone, but those odds…” She was right. Two craft against those five would risk disaster.

  But if they weren’t caught, those craft could overwhelm the fighter escort and then tear into more transports. That could throw everything into chaos. Unless…

  Poe flicked a switch on his console. “Black Squadron, we’re going in real hot. Boost on my mark.”

  “Oh, no…” Hallis moaned.

  “Sorry kid, it’s gotta be done.”

  He could almost see her face, scrunched up with trepidation. He could also picture Jess gritting her teeth, C’ai looking grim – and Suralinda’s sharp teeth flashing in a smile. Apart from Poe, she was the only one of the squadron who actually liked using their overdrive thrusters.

  Poe counted the seconds and picked his trajectory, watching the meter build towards readiness. He drew in a deep breath, tensing his shoulders. “Aaand… go!” The overdrive ignited, with a kick like an enraged Fathir.

 The speed of their dive so far was nothing compared to this. As one, Black Squadron leapt forward like the black heads of blue-white comets. BB-8 gave a vwheeerp that was half terror, half exhilaration.

  “Focus now, buddy,” Poe told him. “I need my targets.” BB-8 chittered his compliance, and Poe’s HUD lit up with a chain of icons. “Thank you!”

  Riding the overdrive’s momentum, he swung his ship out of its dive and opened up on the first TIE, blasting it to atoms before going for the next. His quarry was skilled, and evaded Poe’s cannons - but Poe was ready for that, and already had a torpedo primed. His opponent didn't evade that. The rest of Black Squadron followed his lead, pairing up to target the Daggers and setting up pinpoint shots to take them out.

  “Never gonna like doing that,” C’ai said. “But it does work.”

  Now the Resistance craft were in the atmosphere, dozens of little fiery comets tearing through the night. The trouble was that a hundred more trails of fire were screaming after them.

  “They just don’t stop,” Hallis lamented.

  “Too true,” Poe replied. “BB-8, the rear gun is yours!”

  There was more than a little relish in the answering vee-woo.

  “That’s the spirit!”

  BB-8 let fly, making pinpoint shots as Poe set each one up – not that the TIE pilots weren’t eager to get Black One in their sights. The other X-Wings were firing back too, along with the transports, forcing their pursuers to brave a veritable storm of blaster bolts.

  Poe, Kare and Souel led the rearguard, intercepting missiles and vicious dives, and blasting any attackers who got too close.

  That slowed the enemy down nicely, and now Nabat was in sight, laid out beneath them. Poe heard a chirp from his commlink – coming from Na, flying at the head of the lead formation. “Violet Leader, what do you see?”

  “Our friends are coming up,” Na reported gleefully. “We have Ryl craft ahead.” Seconds later, Poe saw it. There were six formations of starfighters climbing toward the Resistance squadrons.

  “Keep it tight,” he said. “We’re not there yet.”

  The Ryl fighters shot past him, moving to engage the First Order. In his rearview, Poe saw the explosions, TIEs blown apart. The rest didn’t press on after that, veering away from the descending Resistance craft.

  But that wasn’t the end of the bad news. Na spoke again, and this time she sounded worried. “Captain, I’m seeing craft taking off from the First Order encampment too. They’re – oh kriff. Interceptors!”

  “Take them out, Na!” Poe barked, and peeled off from his own formation to join her. Twenty TIE Interceptors had come into view, throwing themselves at the transports, and even with the fighters’ best efforts, they were taking a toll. As Poe watched, a transport was gutted by a torpedo, and another was ripped open and sent spinning away, taking out an X-Wing too.

  Then another transport was hit, not fatally, but enough to send it careening out of formation before its pilot got it back under control. Immediately, Interceptors went for it. Most were struck by fire from the Resistance and sent spinning back down to earth, but four got through, destroying one of Na’s fighters and two locals.

  “BB-8, can we boost again yet?” Poe demanded. BB-8 replied in the negative. “Damnit!” he hissed, watching the First Order craft close on the limping transport. He pushed harder, straining his engines, but he simply wasn't going to make it. Not even the Falcon was quick enough. The remaining four Interceptors went straight for the transport, locking into attack trajectories-

  And then a scything fan of laser fire from below cut the air and obliterated the quartet of attackers, leaving the transport free to drift down. They were in range of Nabat’s turrets, and their allies below had wasted no time.

  “That was some neat gunnery,” Hallis said quietly.

  BB-8 chirruped happily as cheers rose over the comm.

  “Let’s not get carried away,” Poe cautioned, both to the droid and his pilots. “We made it, and I’m proud of everyone for pulling that off. But let’s be clear; that’s the end of the beginning. Now we put on our smartest faces, greet our new friends, and dig in.”

  As they flew down to the open hangars, he looked out and watched the surviving First Order craft, heading back to their encampment.

  “There’s a lot more of this to come,” he said.

Chapter Text

  Finn’s unit had a head start on meeting their allies in Nabat. Following their attack on the First Order convoy, they’d sped to a gate which the defenders had opened for them. Now inside the city, they were inspecting their surroundings.

  “Reassuringly thick doors,” Rey remarked, still sat behind Ki’rii. “And thicker walls.”

  Finn gave her a cautioning look. “Still, I hope they won’t be tested.” A booming from high above drew his eyes up. Atmospheric entry, and now he could make out faint lights in the sky. “And let’s hope Poe’s guys make it down. Our new friends are counting on a lot more than just us on bikes.”

  They dismounted and dusted themselves off as best they could – their attack on the enemy column had left them all coated with sand, and more than a few scorch marks. But hopefully the Rylothian defenders wouldn’t mind, because footsteps were quickly coming their way.

  A squad of Twi’lek soldiers approached, all partially armoured in white and yellow. Under that, their uniform was the usual Resistance green. At some unseen signal, their ranks parted, each soldier pivoting to face inward.

  A slender Twi’lek woman with blue-green skin passed between the two rows. At a guess, Finn would say she was in her late forties or early fifties – though even now, he didn’t really trust his ability to estimate the age of anyone but humans. More importantly, the approaching woman had a senior officer’s insignia on her chest, which removed any doubt as to who she was.

  Finn drew himself up, stepped forward and saluted. “Commander Numa.” The others behind him followed suit. They did so with a certain wariness, which seemed to be mirrored by some of the Twi’leks.

  Numa’s name came with stories attached, the sort that demanded caution from outsiders to Ryloth. She’d fought under General Cham Syndulla, and as part of that, her cell had almost betrayed Hera’s Spectres to strike a more violent blow against the Empire. Just how much of the firebrand remained over thirty years later was impossible to say so far, but Poe had been very clear to Finn: play it safe.

  “Captains Finn, Rey.” Numa saluted, as did her troops. “First of all, thanks for your help out there. That was quite the display. Not far off what I’ve heard about Enfys Nest and her Cloud-Riders, back in the Civil War.”

  “Well, you know,” Finn said, lightening his tone. “We’ve got a reputation to uphold.” Hopefully that landed on the right side of cocky. We want to show we’re confident, but they won’t welcome gung-ho types.

  Numa let out the suggestion of a laugh through her nose, before she turned her eyes to the rest of the group. “So, this is Scrapper Squadron,” she remarked, her expression appraising.

  “Part of it,” Rey replied. “The rest are up in the Falcon. Do you like what you see so far?”

  Numa brought a hand up to her chin, turning a sharp eye on each of them in turn. “Well, I can’t say you were what I expected, but yes. Perhaps more varied than how I’d imagine an elite force to look,” she added, glancing from Rose to Cylarei to Tannel. “Though, maybe that’s right for the Resistance. Added to that,” she continued, nodding at Rey. “It’s good to see a Jedi again, especially fighting on our side.”

  Rey smiled, and though it was hard to tell in the dark, she was probably blushing. Kanan Jarrus and Ezra Bridger, the Jedi with whom Numa had worked during the Civil War, had idols to her, almost as much as Luke Skywalker had been. Wherever they were based, she’d seek out the veterans, asking for whatever stories they might have.

  She was denied any chance to enquire right now, however. A commlink on Numa’s collar chirped, and she stopped to listen, before tilting her head down and speaking into it. “Good. Maintain readiness.”

  The sergeant with her came forward, his urgency clear even before he spoke. “Transports incoming, Commander!”

  Numa nodded, and spoke into her commlink, her words clipped. “Signpost the Falcon and Dameron’s squadrons to Hangar Three. Get our fighters in the air!”

  Almost immediately, a boom and whoosh of retros sounded from the upper levels, and starfighters took wing, climbing rapidly towards the fighting above. Finn saw captured TIEs, Republic craft and a few patterns he didn’t recognise. Then he spotted a few other squadrons, which had the S-foils of X-Wings but for cockpits, had what looked like the central pods of TIE Fighters.

  “Chir’daki,” Rose whispered.

  Finn looked to Numa, who nodded and smiled. There was a certain steely pride to her expression. “Oh yes. Our infamous Deathseed fighters. They’ll get your friends down safely.”

  Despite her words, Finn couldn’t help but worriedly look back up, but then the anti-air turrets kicked in, spearing enemy TIEs with laser fire and plucking them out of the sky. Between that and the Rylothian fighters, Poe’s units had the cover they needed and swooped down into view. Cheers rose from the streets around them.

  “Best we get to the main hangar,” Numa said, pointing to where Black Squadron were now visible, descending gracefully. Then came the other fighters, the reassuring shape of the Falcon, and the transports. “We can introduce you all at once.”

  Finn gestured. “Lead the way.”

  Numa set a brisk pace, and Finn found himself marching to keep up as they made for the hangar. In their wake, Rose, Tannel and Ki’rii, the shorter members of the squad, were almost trotting.

  Along the way, Finn took note of the city’s layout and architecture. While he’d spent time here a year and a bit ago, along with Rey, Rose and Poe after Crait, he hadn’t actually seen any Rylothian cities before. All their time as guests of the Ryloth Defence Authority had been spent underground.

  Nabat was clearly built to endure an inhospitable climate. Ryloth’s dust storms were notorious – along with the wildlife, they were part of the reason for the Twi’leks building underground – and Nabat’s buildings reflected that. Their exteriors were roughly hewn stone, heavily worn even after just a few decades, and shorn of any decoration. Still, like Rey had said, the place looked reassuringly solid.

  Steep walls made canyons of streets, the better to shelter anyone who had to step outside during such a storm. The outer walls were higher still, dotted with turbolaser cannons and what looked like retractable screens, to shut out the dust. The same weapons were mounted on several towers in the city proper.

  At least there didn’t seem to be many civilian buildings in the surface levels, he supposed. That would make fighting here easier. It occurred to him that adapting to the planet’s often hostile weather had left the people well-placed to defend their homes against invaders. Subterranean settlements had no doubt played a part in keeping the insurgency going while Ryloth was occupied. It would’ve taken the First Order years to root them all out.

  Numa even confirmed it, when Rose asked her about the Deathseed fighters. “Yes, the First Order outlawed them and confiscated every craft they found, but we had boltholes all over the planet. Not even the Ryloth Defence Authority had all of them on record, and Yendor hid a lot before the enemy could take a look. He’s out there now, him and a few other commanders. With luck, they can make life difficult for Stolan.”

  “Good,” Finn said. “Stolan deserves all the difficulty we can give him.”

  Then he turned his attention to the Rylothian troops he saw, and he found plenty to approve of there as well. They looked well-trained, young and old alike. A lot of the defenders' arsenal seemed to have been taken from the occupiers. Stormtroopers blasters and shock-batons were in evidence, but so too was armour, most of the white paint scoured away or daubed over in Rylothian or Resistance colours.

  Rey looked amused by that. “They've copied your style, Finn,” she remarked, her armoured elbow tapping his side lightly.

  “Counts as flattery, right?” He shrugged. “Smart move, either way. Now every blaster and power pack we pull off a dead enemy is compatible with our kit.”

  “And the First Order’s gear is always high-grade anyway,” Ki'rii pointed out. “Makes sense to turn it back on them.”

  Finn didn’t say anything more. He could hide it well enough, but the thought of looting Stormtrooper corpses was still an uncomfortable thought for him, however necessary it might be. They were still his own kind, and he wondered if some of them might be able to break their programming in the same way, given the chance.

  Rose took his hand and squeezed gently. Finn looked at her, seeing the concerned expression on her face, and smiled at her. “It’s OK,” he said, softly enough that only she heard. She still held his gaze for a moment, just to be sure, and he kept hold of her hand.

  A few minutes later, they were in the hangar and greeting Poe, his pilots, and the troops who’d ridden down on the transports.

  “My my,” Numa said, as the towering forms of Nyzar and LM came into view. “Scrapper Squad only gets more varied.” Fortunately, she sounded impressed. Which was to be expected, with Chewbacca, Nyzar and LM all standing taller than anyone else in the hangar.

  Then, Poe was with them. “Hey hey!” he laughed, enfolding Finn in a thudding hug. “I saw what you did to those Juggernauts. Great work. Made a nice big mess of some big, nasty machines.”

  “Thanks,” Finn chuckled, as Poe turned to hug Rose and then Rey – only she'd just broken free of Chewie's shaggy arms, and was embracing Kaydel with the almost exaggerated restraint Finn had come to recognise.

  Poe saw and gave him a small, rueful smile. Give ‘em time, as he’d said once or twice before. In any case, Chewbacca had now caught both women in much less restrained hugs.

  Quietly clearing his throat, Finn looked back at Poe. “Not like we had all the fun to ourselves, though. Must’ve been a pretty hot descent.”

  “Yeah,” Poe said, and his smile faltered a little. “Lost a few fighters and transports on the way down, though thanks to the home team, not too many. For which,” he turned to Numa, “I have to thank you and your squadrons, Commander Numa.”

  She took his proffered hand and shook it. “Likewise, we’re glad to have you here.”

  The two commanders stood opposite each other, respectful but appraising. Poe was the one who finally said it. “I’ll be honest, Commander, I was expecting someone a little more…”

  “Inflexible?” she smiled. “Oh, and ‘Numa’ will be fine for now.”

  “Noted,” Poe said, relaxing a little. “But yeah, we’d heard stories. I was expecting the second coming of Cham Syndulla.”

  Numa shrugged. “I’ve had a couple decades to mellow. Peacetime, even a watchful peacetime, has a way of doing that.”

  Kaydel’s jaw tensed a little, in a way that said she was suppressing a remark about where that had got the New Republic.

  Poe saw, and changed the subject. “Going off your last message, you've got five thousand Twi'leks under arms here, right?”

  “Add a couple hundred non-Twi’s," Numa replied. "And Commodore Syndulla brought us three extra companies, so now it comes to a little over six thousand. How much are you adding here? Two thousand?”

  Poe took over. “Three thousand, two hundred. Would’ve been even more, but…” he sighed, and gave a little shake of the head. Plainly it had been a difficult flight. “We can billet most of them on the transports if need be, though any wide spaces will be welcome too.”

  “That shouldn't be necessary.” Numa's smile carried some ironic amusement. "Day one of the occupation, the First Order had us build some pretty expansive barracks down below, here and in both capitals. I say we get your guys below, set up tents for the rest. Only heavy ones though; what you’ve heard about the dust storms is not an exaggeration.”

  Poe nodded. “Get some sleep while we can.”

  “You’d better be including yourself in that.”

  “I am.”

  Rey frowned. “Do you want us to meet your officers now, Commander Numa?”

  Numa shook her head. “I say we save that for the morning. Can’t see the First Order throwing anything else at us this late at night, after you messed up their convoy.”

  “They’ve gotta rest too, I guess.”

  “Exactly. And looking at your troops, I think hitting the hay’s best plan.” She looked at Finn, a testing look in her eyes. “Wouldn’t you say so, Captain Finn?”

  Finn let out a yawn which was rather bigger than he’d expected, and laughed. “Yes, yes I would.”

Chapter Text

  “Well,” Hux eventually spoke, eyes fixed on the holos. “This is an irritating complication.”

  “Indeed,” Vintalli conceded, from where he was pouring over strategic charts. He could just about see Hux out of the corner of his eye, and suspected that the General wanted to stew for a little while longer.

  Vintalli returned to his own holographs, frowning. The new enemy ships had been sufficient to hold the First Order’s at bay, protecting their planetfall operation, and had escaped any severe losses. Yet despite the loss of two First Order ships, the naval situation remained something of a stalemate. Not one of the enemy vessels could meaningfully threaten the Unremitting, not without support from the ion cannons stationed at Lessu and Kala'uun.

  Perhaps it would have been prudent to dismantle those, he mused. Though I suppose Rugis must have assumed they were now our ion cannons.

  Even then, the Resistance would pay a ruinous price for any attack. Hence they had withdrawn to a safe distance beyond the circling TIE squadrons, holding position by Ryloth’s nearest moon. Hera Syndulla was no fool; she’d be well aware that the only viable strategy was to wait the First Order out. As above, so below.

  He looked out across the great expanse of the Unremitting’s hull, dotted with cannons. Beyond, Ryloth’s surface was shrouded by night.

  “I would say, General,” he said, “that there are upsides to this situation. The new Resistance didn’t do any substantial damage to our surviving ships. With our other assets in the sector, we can rip these and Syndulla’s ships out of the sky. Ryloth will be…”

  He was going to say helpless, and add that this meant several prize targets were now trapped on the planet’s surface. But at that moment he looked up, and saw Hux’s expression.

  “I didn’t mean the new arrivals,” the General said. “I meant what the scum have been up to elsewhere. Come and see.”

  Vintalli obeyed, chastising himself for not paying more attention to his superior. As he approached, he realised that the holos Hux was surveying weren’t planetary or even system-scale. They were showing something much bigger, and painting a highly unpleasant picture.

  “Stars’ end,” he breathed.

  The sector was laid out before him, hyperspace routes superimposed over the swirl of stars and planets. And along those glowing strands, dozens of alert markers pulsed an angry red. They were of varying sizes, and different descriptions sat alongside the alerts - cruiser damaged here, depot station destroyed there. But they came together to tell the same story: the Resistance had sprung uprisings and ambushes right along the hyperspace lanes to Ryloth.

  He studied it further, his dismay growing. “They’ve disrupted some of our own supply fleets. This must have been coordinated, but the extent of it…” He shook his head in dismay. “It goes beyond anything I’ve heard of from them.”

  There was a persistent twitch in Hux’s eyelid. “One would have thought we’d learn not to underestimate them by now.” He drew in a long breath through his nose. “That explains why Dameron would dare put himself and his assets on show like this.”

  “But they have made themselves vulnerable to us,” Vintalli replied, retaining that well-rehearsed, measured tone. “An orbital bombardment could put paid to all of them, with sufficient concentration on the territory around Nabat.” He almost licked his lips at the prospect. They would wipe out the destroyer of the Starkiller, the last Jedi and the Traitor, in one fell swoop.

  Into the bargain, they’d destroy Resistance morale in the area, and break Ryloth to the yoke once and for all. 

  Hux dismissed the idea with a shake of the head. “Our enemies are too clever for that. They would smell a rat as soon as Stolan withdrew. Besides,” he added, and now there was a sour look on his face, “wretches of Dameron’s ilk have a certain knack for escaping situations like this. Did you ever read about Jedha, and the Partisans’ escape? Perhaps the Force really is with them,” he muttered.

  Vintalli spoke his next words with considerable care, dropping his voice. “That might be taken as superstition by some, General.”

  Hux scowled at him. “Failing to take the Force into account would be true foolishness, Vintalli. I’ve spent too much time with our Supreme Leaders to doubt it. Besides, we have a Jedi down there, along with Poe Dameron and the Traitor. The present Supreme Leader will only believe our achievement if we present him with corpses.” He came very close, and Vintalli was reminded that Hux, while not as large and imposing as Kylo Ren, was still a tall man, with a certain domineering presence. “Don’t mistake my words for any concession to the Rebels. The Force’s favour is fickle, and we have the strength to overcome it.”

  Vintalli glanced at the clocks mounted around the bridge. “It might be prudent to wait until morning before beginning further offensive actions or landings.” He was well aware of the aura of fatigue which permeated the bridge at this late hour. “With respect sir, our soldiers are still only human.”

  Hux jerked his head, a grudging concession. “Indeed. But as for dealing with the Jedi and her friends… we have our own contingencies, and preparing to carry those out will take time.” He turned away. “Come with me, Commodore.”

  A turbo-lift took Hux and Vintalli, accompanied by a squad of Stormtroopers, down several decks to one of the storage complexes. As they went, Vintalli wondered exactly what Hux was holding down here, that might trouble a Jedi.

  The First Order had dreamed up a multitude of countermeasures since their formation, and improvised many others. The Riot Troopers were one, though they could only hope to pose a real threat with strength of numbers on their side. There were more specialised units, modelled on Imperial Purge Troopers, though most of those could now be found among Kylo Ren’s own 66th Legion.

  Beyond the Cull Troopers - an overly macabre name in Vintalli’s opinion - there were also the Supreme Leader’s particular… creatures. The Knights of Ren, whom Vintalli knew some officers would attempt to summon if they believed the Regicide was present on a world. By the same token, there were other officers who would have nothing to do with them, preferring the services of bounty hunter clans.

  Hux, he suspected, had none of the above options in mind. He was too proud of the First Order to stoop to employing mercenary scum, as was only right. He also hated the Supreme Leader far too much to contemplate asking him for aid.

  Which left the question of just what awaited them below decks. Searching for the right cue, he inspected the zone icon for their destination. “I was not issued a summary of the inventory for these compartments.” He was curious, of course, but also somewhat uncomfortable at the notion of Hux keeping information from him.

  Hux gave him a look, both reproachful and ever so slightly conceited. “Well, now you will be favoured with that information.”

  As if on cue, a pale man appeared from the shadows. He was dressed in the white of the Science Division, and sported a dark little goatee. “So, Admiral Vintalli is being enlightened, General? Ah, this is gladdening indeed.” There was an unwelcome, slithering quality to his voice. “I do so like to share the news of our achievements.”

  “Deputy Director Hyram,” Hux said, indicating the scientist.

  “Of the cybernetics subdivision?” Vintalli asked. He was careful to maintain a neutral tone, but his unease was only deepening. Hux had placed some of the First Order’s keenest scientific minds about the Unremitting, in secret.

  “The very same,” Hyram smiled, in a way that Vintalli immediately disliked. It had something to do with the way that Hyram’s eyes traversed his limbs, as if he was determining just where he would make the cut and fit a more efficient replacement. “And the General has brought you to see the fruits of our work.”

  A door opened ahead of them, spilling vapour and stark white light over the metal. Vintalli felt frigid air on his skin and flinched. Then, peering into the space beyond, he drew a breath.

  Alcoves lined the chamber, each occupied by an armoured figure, held in place by metal fixtures and dense thickets of pipes and cabling. They were clad in heavy, angular metal plates, which gleamed darkly. Doonium-skinned, Vintalli noted. But more importantly, he knew right away what these figures were.

  “Dark Troopers.” The words left his mouth as a whisper, half-awed, half-appalled.

  “Exactly!” Hyram’s eyes blazed with enthusiasm. “Well, as you’ve shown you’re aware of them, we might as well not drag this out. Technicians, begin!”

  Red-helmeted, obsidian-visored figures emerged from adjoining corridors, trailed by medical droids, and moved swiftly down the length of the chamber. Their fingers ran spider-like over consoles, causing screens to flicker to life while a low thrum filled the air. Gradually, the temperature rose, but Vintalli hardly felt it, so great were his trepidation and awe.

  The Dark Trooper project, in its beginning, had been devised as a means of prolonging the usefulness of veteran Stormtroopers, those who suffered the most hideous injuries. What was left of the soldier in question would become the pilot of an armoured exosuit. Equipped with heavy weapons, they would be deployed as a murderous, implacable elite, crushing anything in their path.

  Owing to its resource-intensive nature, the program had never been the most favoured, and had almost died out after the Empire’s fall. Only the late Moff Gideon’s fixation had kept it going through the lean years. With manpower and expertise at a premium, the Dark Troopers had become combat droids, putting their Separatist predecessors to shame in terms of durability and power. But for all that, they had proven too inflexible to merit more widespread use.

  Vintalli had known that the project was being continued under the First Order, but had assumed it was largely theoretical. Evidently, he had been wrong. And from what the displays were telling him, along with the sounds of mechanical breathing, the project had returned to using human components. Each of the figures around him had once been a man.

  Hux noted the look on his face. “It’s funny, really. Gideon, despite his magic blood obsessions, became fixated on cutting out the organic element.” The General’s skin was even paler than usual; in the chilly, starkly lit chamber, he looked almost vampiric. “He rather lost sight of the project’s purpose. We weren’t supplanting Stormtroopers, we were taking our most dogged survivors and making them viable combatants again. Making them better.”

  “And nothing as inelegant as the old classes,” Hyram added. “We have devised something much more efficient; hence the augmented units among the Supreme Leader’s Cull Troopers.”

  Now that, Vintalli was well aware of. The infamous 66^th Legion, into which all the Cull Troopers were grouped, was known to boast several squads of troopers who’d been severely injured and fitted with high-grade bionics, making them even deadlier than their whole-bodied comrades. The Dark Trooper program, however, had always gone further, leaving its products almost unrecognisable as organic beings.

  “Here,” Hyram continued, “we employ the same principles, only to a much greater extent. And, in one particular case, resulting in a fighter who could contend with any of the Supreme Leader’s own elite. Perhaps even, if I may flatter myself, the Knights of Ren themselves.”

  It was then that Vintalli realised there was another alcove at the end, hidden behind smoky transparisteel. Inside, he could just about perceive an armoured figure. Despite the shrouding darkness, it was clearly tall, clad in armour which seemed more finely wrought than those of the others.

  Hux was smiling, a singularly cold expression. “This, Vintalli, is what I wished to show you. Hyram, when you are ready.”

  Then the barrier was drawn back. Vintalli failed to conceal his gasp. Now there was no mistaking what, or rather who, he was looking at.

  Silvery chromium shone in the hard light. That alone was all the tell Vintalli needed – only one Stormtrooper had ever worn chromium. But it was there too, in the cut of the armour, a certain regal elegance. To remove all doubt, two technicians approached, bearing weapons. One carried a heavy blaster with the same silver finish, the other an augmented vibrospear.

  Vintalli stood aside. “Phasma…” he whispered.

  Outwardly, not much had changed. She was still the same towering figure which had graced posters in every Stormtrooper barracks, and marched across every propaganda screen in the First Order’s domain. At a distance, Vintalli suspected he wouldn’t think her any different from when he had seen her at a parade or on campaign.

  Seen close to, however, there were unnerving differences. A small blaster, presumably retractable, was mounted on the back of each vambrace. The armour enclosed her that little bit more, and instead of the bodyglove that was standard issue for a Stormtrooper, more metal gleamed darkly in the few small gaps. Just how little is left of the woman underneath all this?

  Phasma stirred, jolting Vintalli from his thoughts. It started with a flexing of her fingers. Hux exchanged a look with Hyram, and the science officer quickly tapped in a sequence of keys on his datapad. The manacles which held her arms snapped open. Tendrils of wiring withdrew, armour panels hissing closed over sockets.

  The Captain, assuming she still held that rank, didn’t seem to acknowledge the restraints. She simply came off the upright gurney in a single step, claiming her weapons from the technicians as her feet clanged on the deck. The blaster or spear alone would have been a substantial load for an ordinary person, but Phasma held them both with ease.

  “General.” Somehow, her voice was the most chilling thing of all. This wasn’t a woman’s speech, dragged through a filter. It was a mere simulacrum of Phasma’s voice, electronic in timbre and bleached of all warmth.

  “Captain.” Hux lifted his chin, cold fire in his eyes. “I’ve come to offer you vengeance.”

Chapter Text

  Rose was one of the first to wake, the next morning. Bed rest, she decided, had definitely been the right call. Waking in a reasonably soft bed, curled up with Finn, left her much better able to face the strategy meetings that would most likely dominate the morning. Speederbike raids were… less conducive to that. Either she’d have been too worked up with adrenaline to pay attention, or tiredness would’ve got her.

  That seemed to go for the rest of the Resistance fighters and officers billeted with them. They were bright-eyed and moved vigorously, as Rylothian comrades guided them to the canteens. Kaydel was already up, along with the rest of the Scrappers. Poe’s fighter pilots, as far as Rose could see, were all present.

  From the talk in the canteen – and the fact that they’d slept uninterrupted – nothing significant had changed in the night. The First Order had brought a few more guns down from orbit, along with some additional companies, but hadn’t done much more than expand their encampment. That was welcome news.

  Even Rey, bunking on the Falcon as always, seemed rather refreshed. She and Chewbacca were standing outside when Rose and the others emerged into the pale morning sun. Gial was up on Chewie’s shoulder, blinking in the unfamiliar sunlight.

  “You should’ve come and got breakfast,” Kaydel told her, her tone stopping just short of chiding.

  Rey shook her head slightly. “I woke up hungry, and we had rations aboard. Besides, we had to feed this rascal.” She indicated Gial with a jerk of her thumb. When Chewie growled, she glanced at him and smiled. “I’m sure you could, but one breakfast’s enough for you too.”

  She had a long bundle tucked under her other arm, and now took the opportunity to hand it over to Finn. “Here,” she said. “As you asked. Really looking to make an impression today, then?”

  “Yup,” he replied, pulling away the covering and inspecting the item she’d handed him. It was a vibrosword, the same one he’d been given to fight with in the arena on Magna Leptus. Finn had had the weapon’s hilt reworked, trading the ostentatious gilding and gems for a more sober grip, but the weapon had proved useful in the months since. Out of habit, he drew it fractionally from the scabbard before belting it on. Its blade, made from an ultrachrome-duralium alloy, had a striking lustre. Finn smiled at the sight of it. “We’re meant to be inspiring people, right?”

  Rey nodded. “And that should do nicely.” Then she caught sight of Poe, approaching with a few of the pilots, and her smile broadened. “Hey Poe - and Snap, Karé, Jess.”

  “Morning all,” Poe said breezily. “Commander Numa ought to be with us in just a moment – and ah, there she is.” As they pivoted to salute, Rose saw him lean over to Jess. “Take the others over to the hangar. Get a sense of the place, and make friends with the local pilots. If you need anything, talk to Danwo or Kallie.”

  Jess tilted her head a fraction. “You’re taking Snap and Karé with you?”

  He nodded. “You’ve got this, Captain Pava.” Jess saluted, before rounding up the pilots and departing.

  By that point, Numa was with them. “Commander Dameron, I assume you and your people are ready to get acquainted?”

  “Ready, and eager as you’d like. Sooner we can make good our debt to you, the happier I’ll be.”

  Rose thought she saw approval in Numa’s eyes, and she heard some encouraging grunts and murmurings from the soldiers escorting them.

  They followed Numa through high-walled streets, often narrow and winding, though a few of them were broad enough to get a speeder along on either side. Above and around them, soldiers and workers moved or stood guard. Most of them were Twi’leks, but as Numa had mentioned last night, there were several other species present. All seemed keenly interested in the new arrivals.

  The Scrappers were well aware of the looks they received, be it from Numa’s guards or the dozens of patrols and sentries they passed. Last night, a little before they both dropped off, Finn had predicted this scrutiny, and identified two factors behind it. The Scrappers were both elite and irregular, a combination which could cause resentment. They’re gonna want to see if we live up to our reputation, Finn had said.

  There was seemingly an unspoken determination among the irregulars to make a good impression. The Scrappers marched upright, and moved in lockstep – as much as could be done when they varied so much in height and build. The other officers accompanying them, drawn from regular units, were a little more successful.

  “Commodore Syndulla sent me a full outline of Resistance activity elsewhere in the sector,” Numa said. The words came lightly, but she was sincere enough when she said, “Consider my expectations exceeded.”

  Rose chuckled. “When it comes to giving the First Order grief, Admiral Calrissian bows to no one.”

  They’d been talking about little else over breakfast. Leia had sent them to Ryloth with an assurance that Lando and his companies would run interference in the Gaulus Sector, but they’d been taken aback by just how much disruption they’d caused.

  “I see where he got his reputation,” Numa agreed. “This might just give us time to-”.  Abruptly, with a sharp “Ahem!”, the Rylothian commander sped up and stepped around a corner. Behind her, Rose exchanged curious glances with Rey, Finn and Poe, and they followed.

  They found Numa stood with her hands on her hips, opposite two Twi’leks in civilian clothes, who looked to be somewhere in their mid or late teens. Both had supply crates in their arms, and looked rather chastened already.

  “Cham,” she said, in the same level way Rose’s mother had used – that is, one that implied a great deal of trouble for the person being addressed. “Johlula. What are you doing out here?”

  “Helping,” the boy, said with a sort of hopeful bravado. Rose began to see a certain resemblance in the two young faces.

  “And what was the order I gave about kids helping, Cham?” Numa asked sharply.

  Both the young Twi’leks lowered their heads. “Strictly in shelters.”

  “Ah, so you were listening, Johlula. Maybe you didn’t hear the bit about no exceptions, even for my own kids. Hmm?” As she spoke, her lekku waved in a quick sequence of movements that Rose couldn’t help thinking looked fretful. Her children’s eyes followed those movements, and Rose saw their own lekku twitch, apparently in response.

  “Yes, mother,” they chorused, and beat a retreat so hasty that they didn’t even register who’d been standing behind Numa.

  “Word to the wise,” Numa said, turning back to her charges. “If you possibly can, avoid sharing a warzone with your kids.”

  “Noted,” Rose said, though she couldn’t resist asking, “But you let them up here?” in spite of the raised eyebrow it earned her from Poe.

  Numa answered without rancour. “Only in the shelters. We’re limited for space, and for non-combat personnel. But here we are,” she said, as they reached a solid block of a building, marked out only by the number of guns and soldiers on its roof. “Surface command centre.”

  “And not a moment too soon,” Tannel said, looking up. For a second, the others looked at him in confusion – but then the sound reached their ears as well. TIE Fighters, and other, heavier craft. Stormtrooper transports, entering the atmosphere at a safe distance from Nabat’s guns and gliding imperiously in, to land at the First Order encampment.

  Behind the besiegers’ lines, Colonel Stolan was receiving reinforcements and supplies.

  Two thousand Stormtroopers had been drawn up on the arid plain, sheltered by the camp’s canopy of deflector shields but still in sight of the city walls. Every inspection and new landing aimed to be a disquieting show of strength to the defenders.

  Stolan doffed his hat, to spare himself the indignity of having it blown off as the transports sank down to earth. There were fifty transports, flocking a quartet of black-armoured TIE Reapers and a heavily armoured Echelon shuttle. Stolan was eminently aware of just who was in the lead Reaper, but he still felt a certain frisson as the ramp lowered and his subordinates gasped at the sight of the new arrival. Captain Phasma, in unyielding metallic person, followed by her hulking retinue of Dark Troopers.

  Stolan and his officers kept well back, letting the serried ranks of Stormtroopers take the brunt of the dust swept up by the transports. Soldiers and engineers moved forward immediately as the other transports opened and disgorged their cargo, heavy weapons and equipment as well as more squads. Absolute precision, on a massive scale. This was the First Order personified. He did hope the defenders were watching.

  The Colonel, meanwhile, nodded to a communications officer, who activated a life-sized holo of General Hux. “Our Dark Trooper units have arrived, General,” he said, glancing at the towering form of Phasma. “Are you certain they will be needed?”

  “Yes,” Hux said. “If we want to achieve an expedient reconquest. Given the nature of the Resistance’s reinforcements, it only seems prudent to deploy our deadliest combatants. I want the Traitor and the Jedi, captured or killed.”

  Stolan merely nodded. He’d heard the stories about Phasma. Above a certain rank, everyone had. The mysterious outsider who’d become an exemplary Stormtrooper, and far more than just that. The favour of Brendol Hux and then his son, had put her in the very highest echelons of the First Order. She had become the poster child of the legions, eclipsing even his old favourite, Cardinal.

  Stolan supposed that ascendancy must have something to do with how she eschewed that irksome moralism to which Cardinal had subscribed. Cardinal, the boy plucked from Jakku, had always maintained that the First Order existed to make the weak strong by moulding them in their image. Phasma understood the truth which Stolan lived by: the weak were to be subjugated by the strong. It was a lie that those infirm of spirit could be raised up - just look at Cardinal’s breakdown and his mystifying attack on Phasma.

  No, Phasma perfectly understood what they would do on Ryloth, to these despicable insurgents and aliens.

  So valuable had she proven to Hux, that he had set a deputy director of the Science Division to rebuilding her. Stolan had seen that work with his own eyes, and knew what lay beneath the armour. Not to mention, he’d seen Phasma fight since her resurrection, mostly through cameras carried by Stormtroopers or mounted on vehicles.

  Therefore, he doubted the insurgents had much chance of repelling Phasma, Jedi welp or not.

  The more interesting question was just how Hux intended to deploy her. As soon as the field commanders had made it to their prefabricated bunker, Stolan broached it. “I trust this means that you will permit us to go on the offensive soon, General.”

  “As soon as you are able,” Hux confirmed. “I want the Resistance thrown off balance, and after last night’s…” his jaw worked “…interference, we need to make it clear to the insurgents, who is the stronger side.”

  “A task I relish, General.”

  The look he received was an approving one. “I know, Colonel. In fact, I have a task in mind which will be quite appealing to both of you.” The General’s eyes flicked from Stolan to Phasma.

  Stolan noticed that even as a hologram, there was a cunning gleam in his superior’s eye. “Do I detect a ploy, General?”

  A cold smirk crept onto Hux’s face as he told Stolan.

  In answer, Stolan punched one gloved hand into the palm of the other. He liked these gloves. He’d had them made from the flayed skin of a Togruta dissident, nearly five years ago. Wearing them was a reminder of his superiority, of his intrinsic right as a human to have the whip hand over subordinate species.

  This was what he served for; the chance to remind nonhumans of that, and to punish those who got ideas above their station. So it had been for Mygeeto, the campaign which had brought him to Hux’s attention, and so it would be for Ryloth. First this city, and then all the planet.

  He turned back to the map of the city. Ideas danced behind his eyes. He had to filter out the ones that were merely desires, rather than tactical notions. He considered the field beyond the camp perimeter. The guns, the towering walls, the defenders, secure in the belief that they had covered every angle. But there was one thought which occurred to him, and the more he held it in his mind, the more he liked it.

  He looked back to his superior. “General. Do we still have HALO-capable units aboard the fleet?”

  Hux smiled, the cold, thin smile which Stolan’s more incisive plans brought to his face. “Certainly. Plenty of them, in fact.”

  “Then we will play the Resistance at their own game. A rapid, high-mobility shock attack.” Stolan turned to Phasma, sequences and formations already materialising in his head. “Are there jump packs that will carry your troopers?”

Chapter Text

  The command centre’s heavy doors slid open, and every eye turned to the new arrivals before an officer clapped their hands and ordered that everyone continue to work.

  Ignoring that, Rey surveyed the space before her. Except for most of the staff being Twi’leks, it was much the same as any other such room. Several consoles, screens covering much of the walls, and a command dais in the centre.

  Beside her, Kaydel surveyed the room with interest. “So this is my office now?”

  “For the foreseeable future,” Rey smiled at her. “Just like the walls for us. Hopefully,” she added after a pause, “there’ll be fewer lasers in here.”

  “So long as everyone does their job, yes,” Numa replied briskly. She indicated a console close to the dais. “This will be yours, Lieutenant Connix. Commander Dameron has told me good things about you, so I want you positioned close to the centre.”

  Another impressive show of trust, Rey thought. Not that Kaydel hadn’t earned it; from Eriadu to Morak, she’d proven her ability to guide a unit in difficult circumstances. During a recent raid on Metalorn, she’d managed to steer Rey, Finn and the Scrappers right to the heart of a First Order factory, in the middle of a firefight. Thanks to her, the First Order hadn’t even known they were there until their datacores went down.

  Numa continued, as Kaydel took up her new station. “If I’m not in the room, you’ll be under Captain Ueled'jinez.” She indicated to an older Twi’lek man, who saluted as they turned to look at him.

  Kaydel turned to Rey and Poe, flashing a gentle smile. “I’ll go get acquainted.” Saluting, she stepped away.

  “Commander,” Poe said, as Kaydel headed over to her station. “There was one exchange I saw last night, during the landing op. One of your gunners took out a whole squadron of TIE Interceptors, that otherwise would’ve torn up a whole bunch of our transports.”

  A warm smile crossed Numa’s face. “Ah, I know just who you’re thinking of. Lieutenant Rar," she called out softly. "We have some friends who'd like to thank you.”

  A young Twi’lek woman with indigo skin started slightly at being addressed by her commander. “I… ah,” she stammered. “I am grateful, Commander Dameron.”

  “And your first name?” Poe asked gently, offering his hand.

  “Err… Ezubzina,” she replied as they shook. “It’s a true privilege.”

  “Likewise, and hopefully we’ll get to serve with you more closely while we’re here. For now though,” he said, with a smile at Numa. “We must have a whole bunch of tactical data to work through.”

  “Well,” Numa replied. “You’d be quite right.” She indicated yet another holo-platform. “Let’s begin. This is our strategic situation,” she said, tapping a few keys on a console. An image of Nabat and its surroundings appeared, including the already large First Order encampment situated a few kilometres south of the city. “Seen any maps of the city before?”

  “Leia had me briefed,” Poe smiled. “So these are our six districts, right? All of them making up a city which spans five clicks at its widest, four-point-two at its narrowest.”

 “Nice and compact,” Finn said. “For its size.”

  “The fact that almost all the residential sections are below ground is gonna be handy,” Poe mused. Then he turned to Numa. “Assuming that those districts are secure?”

  “From anything but specialised drilling machines, yes. Our architects don’t cut corners.”

  I doubt anyone would, given the wildlife on this planet, Rey thought. At the same time, her practiced engineer’s eye had already taken in the impressive build quality, and the hardness of the rock surrounding the subterranean city. The Rylothians had chosen this location as much for the geology as its position on the surface.

  “These, I expect, are the primary elevators,” Poe said, index finger poised above one of a dozen shafts running from the surface to the lowest levels. He smiled when Numa confirmed it with a nod, and continued, addressing his own people. “Those will be key objectives. If the enemy can knock even one of them, that’ll cut into our ability to move people and materiel around the city.”

  Rey piped up. “Commander Numa, you also mentioned civilian shelters up here, on the surface. How many, and how close to the walls?”

  “Eleven of various sizes. Most of them are some way back – see these three, close to the command centre. But there are actually four more, close to the wall at the main points of the compass. There’s a lot on the wall to look after.”

  “Crystal clear,” Poe affirmed. “So where do you want our troops, Commander?”

  “I was thinking about the southwest quadrant,” she said. “Same place you’ve been barracked. With the First Order sitting where they are, the southern side of the wall is likely to be where they’ll send most of their attacks, at least initially.”

  “Just like the armour column last night,” Rose added, indicating the trail of wreckage they’d left - it was large enough to show up in the image.

  “Exactly,” Numa said. “You’ve set a high bar with that display.”

  “Why do they have to be next to my companies?” demanded a tall, heavyset male Twi’lek with red skin. He stepped close to Poe, close enough to loom over him.

  “Because that sector’s likely to take some of the heaviest attacks,” Numa responded, fixing her officer with a hard look. She gave Poe a significant look before she turned back to the officers. “As I just said, Captain Juspabo.”

  Captain Juspabo was not mollified by that. His scowl only deepened, and his broad shoulders hunched slightly. “Then we should shore it up with Rylothian soldiers. Troops who are familiar with the city, and care about Nabat.”

  Poe let just a little amusement show, a slight curl of his lip. “I thought you might be glad to have some friends to share the hot spots with you.”

  “I’d rather have some reliable units,” another officer growled. “Not strangers. Right now, the First Order knows Nabat better than your lot. And besides, I know what happened last time you were here. The second the enemy rocked up, you were running.”

  “We didn’t exactly have an army back then,” Finn said sharply. “Now we do.” Behind him, the Scrappers tensed. They kept control – not a single hand so much as twitched in the direction of a weapon – but suddenly they stood more upright and alert. Finn continued, his tone carefully controlled. “Our troops have seen action on a dozen or more worlds. And we’re risking them in defence of this city,” he added.

  “A couple thousand soldiers.” Juspabo’s hands remained on his hips. “Not exactly a New Republic brigade.”

  “Captains, enough.” Numa had her hands on her hips. “The offworld units here have fought a lot of actions and put whole battalions of Stormtroopers in the ground. I’ve seen their campaign rolls and I gladly welcome them here, because we need them. We are all the Resistance now.” She let the silence punctuate that, to make it clear just who was in charge. “You all have your tasks, so I would appreciate it if you’d let me get on with this briefing.”

  Poe waited until they’d moved away from Juspabo before he spoke again. “He was one of the ones you were hoping to tell me about in advance.”

  “Yes.” Numa looked hard at Poe. “Juspabo is the best of my captains in a fight, but he’s proud and impetuous. He’d rather we were the Ryloth Liberation Front again.”

  Poe nodded, filing that information away. “And you?”

  “I meant what I said,” she replied, never breaking eye contact. “Being a strong world doesn’t count for much without friends. We should’ve been there, in the Republic, arguing for a proper stance against the First Order. Ryloth’s voice matters, not least to a lot of the Twi’lek diaspora.”

  Poe nodded. “My own Captain Funnett was saying something similar a while ago. Glad to know that we, at least, are on the same page.” He turned his attention back to the holo on the table. “What are our options for shuttling troops?”

  “We have speeders, that’ll serve. Trains in the sub-levels too, so reinforcements from below can go straight to where they’re needed.”

  “I like that,” Poe said, studying the holo keenly. “And what’s our situation outside the city?”

  “Garrisons in Lessu and Kala'uun, out of necessity.”

  “And anyone we can actually count on to help us here?”

  “Well, their air squadrons will run as many sorties as they can. Besides those, we also have guerrilla units out in the wilds.” There was a searching quality to her gaze now. “You know Yendor, don’t you?” They nodded. “He’s coordinating those units.”

  That was encouraging, on a few fronts. The First Order wouldn’t be sitting unmolested on the plain - not to mention that, as Numa added moments later, “They’ll be exposed to the dust storms as well. I don’t expect it to hurt them, but it’ll get in their way, enough to stop them moving around for at least a day or two, and make them dig a whole lot afterwards.”

  “So all in all,” Poe said, “not a bad place to be besieged in. Lieutenants,” he added to two young officers, one of them an escapee from a New Republic Navy base. “Relay this to our units in the city. Might as well start getting a feel for where they’re being deployed.” The men nodded and took off, while Numa zeroed in on Nabat’s layout.

  There was a lot to take in. Rey watched carefully as Numa identified key defensive points on the walls and within the city, then the transport nodes and shelters. She realised that although she had the surface locations down, it would take at least a week to memorise all the details. And that was even before Numa got onto the storage vaults.

  Luckily, Finn processed it readily. “What are these silos here?” he asked, indicating a point four levels down. “More weaponry?”

  Numa shook her head, a rueful smile on her face. “Those ones aren’t munitions, they’re fireworks and paint. For the Festival of Meifoth… two years ago, before the First Order came and put an end to that. With the way things are going, we’ll be waiting another year at least.”

  “What does this mean for our little squad?” Rey asked Finn, in a low enough voice that it only carried to the Scrappers and Kaydel.

  He leaned towards the display. “I think we’re gonna be firefighting, a lot.”

  “And how’s that different from normal, Captain?” Nyzar shrugged, a frown tugging at his scarred face. “Most ops, we’re in a firefight.”

  Finn shook his head, and gave a dismissive flick of the wrist. “Bad phrasing. I mean, we’re gonna be like firefighters here. The Twi’leks are good, but we’re gonna have to spread ourselves out pretty often. We need to spot the biggest dangers, then jump in and lance those.”

  Nyzar grinned, evidently pleased with that notion.

  Cylarei, however, wasn’t smiling at all. Throughout the briefing, she had been periodically looking up, meeting Juspabo’s burning gaze which never seemed to leave her. Finally, she’d had enough. “Right. What’s your issue?”

  That cut through the chatter in the room. Juspabo blinked, apparently as surprised as anyone else. However, he didn’t look perturbed. If anything, he appeared to have been waiting for this moment. He wanted a confrontation. “You’re Chiss.”

  “Yeah.” She snarled slightly when she said the word, making it half a question and half a challenge.

  “And I’m wondering just why I’m meant to believe that a Chiss is on my side.”

  One of the Twi’leks grunted, confusion knotting his brow. “Isn’t she just some weird kind of Pantoran?”

  “No.” Juspabo got up, shaking his head. “The Chiss, not that many know of them, have worked with the Empire. Heard of Thrawn? The Grand Admiral who helped the Empire take over here? Chiss.” He spat the word.

  Cylarei came to her feet in an unhurried manner, but from the set of her shoulders, she was quite ready for a fight. “So you’re saying that you heard of one particular Chiss, and now you’re looking to fight with the first one you see, even though she’s wearing Resistance colours.”

  Numa stepped forward, face rigid with anger. “Captain, that is enough.”

  Holding up a hand, Cylarei said “I appreciate that, Commander, but I’d rather get this over and done now.” Her burning gaze returned to Juspabo. “I don’t see you jumping to that conclusion about the humans in here. Thrawn was one Chiss, one bloody Chiss. Are you going to judge all of us by his example? When every First Order goon that I ever fought was human.”

  “Well, that’s because the Ascendancy is nice and cosy with the First Order, isn’t it? Nice little non-aggression pact, all’s well there.” Juspabo was now right up in Cylarei’s space. His face was stonily blank, but Rey could feel the resentment in him. “While everyone else’s face gets ground in the dirt, plenty of humans among them. Your kind, though, you exempted yourselves from all that.”

  “And you think every Chiss goes along with what the Ascendancy says? I’ve never seen the place,” Cylarei retorted. She took a step closer to Juspabo. “Want to know where I grew up? Pholtem.”

  As that sank in, a little murmur went through the Twi’leks.

  Cylarei looked grimly satisfied. “Yeah. Pholtem. The same one that got hammered by Enric Pryde, and now has labour camps outside every major city. That’s my home.”

  Not everyone was convinced, however. There was no change in Juspabo’s face, except for a scornful curl of his lip. “Nice speech. Sounds really well-rehearsed. Exactly the kind of lie that a Chiss uses on soft-touch recruiting sergeants before opening the gates to the enemy.” He bared his teeth. “You probably told the ones on Pholtem something similar, before you betrayed them.”

  Cylarei’s composure snapped. “Right!” She launched herself forward, only caught by Rey. “That does it, you-”

  “Cylarei, stop!” Rey shouted. She had to dig her heels in to hold her friend back.

  “There it is!” Juspabo growled, advancing on Cylarei. “Think a Chiss can be trusted?” he demanded, as another soldier grabbed his arm to restrain him. With alarming speed, two sides had coalesced at the centre of the room.

  Cylarei, trying to wrestle out of Rey’s grip, snarled something mostly unintelligible, but the words “right up your…” came through loud and clear.

  “This is what the First Order wants!” Poe was yelling. “Do you know how happy Hux would be if he could see this right now?”

  Another of Juspabo’s men spoke up. “I bet he’s already damn pleased because he’s got a Chiss spy among us-”

  “Quiet, all of you!” The words rang through the chamber, urgent to cut through the hubbub. Everyone looked towards the source of the shout – Commodore Syndulla’s hologram. “If you’re quite done fighting among yourselves,” she began reproachfully. “Something’s happening in orbit. We have First Order cruisers moving into the upper atmosphere. They’re…” she frowned. “They’re not deploying transports, as far as I can see, but – enhance those images!” She called to someone off camera. There was a pause, everyone watching in silence as Hera’s frown deepened. “There are objects falling from the cruisers.”

  “Transports?” asked a Mirialan captain. “Escape pods?”

  “These are too small for that,” Hera said. “But there are a lot of them.”

  Rose was already moving toward the door. Finn came with her, Rey following, and then a few soldiers and officers behind them. Everyone moved slowly, as if not daring to break the hush which had fallen. Even the comms officers relaying this new development to the companies around the city did so in low voices.

  Out into the thin sunlight, where the eerie quiet persisted. It felt like the city was holding its breath. Furthermore, Rey could feel something building in the Force. The sensation of looming violence.

  “I see something,” Rose muttered, binoculars raised as she scanned the clouds. Rey followed her friend’s lead, putting her helmet on and pulling down the visor. For a moment, all she saw were the clouds, but then she spied movement. Objects were falling from the sky.

  “I see it too,” she said. “They look like… people?”

  “Jet Troopers!” someone screamed. That was all the warning they had. The Jet Troopers fired their rocket packs and came hurtling down towards the city, firing as soon as they were in range.

  Rey grabbed Rose and pulled her into cover before the first blaster bolts struck. She risked a glance and saw them; white-armoured figures descending to the ground, impacts cushioned by their thrusters. She snapped off two shots. One missed, the other found its mark and dropped the trooper to the ground.

  “Bastards,” she hissed. “And we so nearly missed it.”

  A Rylothian squad rushed to the doorway, took up position and fired. From the surrounding streets came other volleys, screaming up at the invaders.

  “Commander!” Ezubzina joined them. “The First Order have gunships inbound, tanks too.”

  Finn, Poe and Numa joined them, the Twi’lek commander speaking urgently. “They’ll be going for the rooftop and wall guns. My troops should be able to secure those, but we need fighters in the air if we’re to halt an attack on the walls.” 

  A shout rang out from one of the stations. “Guns out at emplacements Nine through Fifteen!”

  Numa grimaced. “Then we need our guns back online too. If Stolan lands enough transports and gets a beachhead, the fight will be over straight away.” She signalled Juspabo to her. “Take your company to the southwest battery. Finn, escort Poe and the other flight leaders to the hangar, then join him.”

  Juspabo took off, yelling for soldiers to follow. Finn and Poe exchanged a glance, and moved out, taking LM-276, Rose, Ki’rii and Nyzar with them.

  “And me?” Rey asked Numa.

  “You’re with me.” Numa pointed to a holo – one of the gun batteries was glowing a fiery orange. Her finger moved to one of the concourses. “Go via that street, parallel to my units. We need to push the enemy out of this district.” She swivelled to face Ueled’jinez. “Seal the complex! Let no one in! Rey, go!”

  Rey nodded, and then she was off, followed by Chewbacca, Cylarei and Tannel. More Jet Troopers were flitting from rooftop to rooftop, pelting the defenders with blaster fire and grenades. A blizzard of gunfire rose from the streets to meet them. The ambush had taken a vicious toll – the bodies of soldiers were strewn across the concourse. She swallowed her anger, and pressed on.

  Control your passion. Place yourself at the eye of the storm.

  Soon enough, she got a chance to vent it. Three troopers were in her way. They hadn’t seen her yet as they pressed a handful of Twi’leks into cover. They didn’t hear the crackling of Rey’s staff. They did hear the warcry as she leapt – but by then it was much too late. She brought the weapon down on the top of the nearest enemy’s helmet, lashed out to either side, dropping the other two. Another squad came into view, armed with shock-batons. She went straight for them.

  Flitting between Shien and Ataru, she moved in a lethal dance – strike, parry, counterstrike. The first trooper fell before he could even take a swing. The rest, she wove between, swiping and jabbing with her staff as and when an opening presented itself. Another two went down, smashed to the ground.

  Cylarei waded in after her, vibrosword lit and singing with power. So did Tannel, his own sword crackling, and covered by Chewbacca with his bowcaster, they cut, blasted and battered their way through the enemy. From the sound in the streets on either side of theirs, their allies were doing the same thing. Behind them, Resistance troops had gained the rooftops, driving the Jet Troopers back with a storm of disciplined, concentrated bursts of fire.

  Following those volleys, Rey pressed on.

 Stolan looked out at the city through his binoculars, permitting himself an icy smile. Laser fire specked across the city, accompanied by explosions. “General,” he said. “I’m pleased to say your tactic has borne fruit.” The first of his Stormtrooper transports rumbled overhead. “The Resistance have admittedly repulsed several assaults, but the strike force is regrouping and my units are already moving in to support.”

  “Good,” Hux said, his holo wavering just slightly. “If we can’t break them at this point, we will at least bleed them.” He turned fractionally. “Captain Phasma, are you ready?”

  “We are already embarked.” Phasma’s voice was rendered even more electronic by the commlink. “We know our target.”

  “And I will have it flushed out into the open,” Stolan smiled. “We just need an appropriate lure…”

Chapter Text

  Finn’s boots thudded on brick and ferrocrete. He pelted through the streets, blaster raised, he and Poe rounding up knots of confused Resistance fighters as they went.

  Ahead, the First Order strike force was regrouping. The wave of their initial strike had broken on the defences – Finn had killed seven already – but, despite that, it had flowed back into shape. With that hateful First Order efficiency, they’d disengaged from the tougher points and concentrated their attacks on weaker ones.

  Just as ominously, he spotted a number of enemy soldiers whose armour was different to that of their comrades. The make was finer, the helmets sporting a small crest on each side, like the suggestion of ears. Missiles jutted from their jetpacks, and they even flew with a grace which was beyond their comrades.

  Finn grimly registered what that meant. These weren’t just Jet Troopers. They were Supercommandos, taking their name from Mandalorian warrior traditions. The Empire had pillaged vigorously from that world, and found plenty to use. After its fall, the First Order had taken those ill-gotten gains and applied their own advanced technology. So while the Supercommandos didn’t have the Beskar armour of their forebears, they did have a similarly extensive arsenal.

  There was one above Finn now, dousing rooftops with a wrist-mounted flamethrower. Agonised screams ripped from throats. None of them were cut off quickly; the Supercommando seemed to be enjoying this.

  Finn, however, wasn’t going to let him continue. He took aim and fired off a burst which spun the trooper around, and then another that ruptured his chestplate and blew him clean off the roof. Another Supercommando swooped down to retaliate, but LM already had his blaster raised. One of the great advantages of having a combat droid on their side was that with his great strength to carry it, it was a very heavy blaster indeed. Indeed, the noise it made was one Finn associated more readily with the cannons of AT-ST walkers.

  The trooper took the full brunt and was sent spiralling away, fragments of armour trailing after him.

  Finn didn’t give anyone time to get distracted. “Go go go!” He yelled, and then followed Ki’rii as she sprinted along the street. He kept his eyes on the rooftops, trusting Ki’rii to spot any hazards ahead.

  The fighting seemed to be all over the upper levels. The narrow streets rang with the clamour, smoke was billowing from a dozen rooftops. Finn could smell burning, and under that, a reek of ozone from the lasers being discharged.

  More Jump Troopers swooped over them, but didn’t stop. They were moving in the same direction as Finn’s troops – with the Twi’leks responding to the attack they must be heading to the walls. There, they would have their best chance of reinforcements. And also, they would be close to…

  “They’re going for the hangars too!” he growled over his shoulder. The sounds of fighting were loudest up ahead.

  “Almost there,” Ki’rii reported. “They’re fast, but so are we.”

  However there was one who was too quick for her. As Ki’rii turned and shot one trooper, another sprang from a side alley, pistol in one hand and a vibroblade snapping to life as it sprang from his vambrace. Ki’rii ducked the first swing, but he lashed out with the other hand and his gun cracked her hard on the jaw. She went down, and the vibroblade swung around for a finishing blow-

  Finn’s sword caught it. The trooper switched his attention to the new threat and struck at him, but left his flank exposed just as Poe came round the corner, blaster up. A bolt to the side of the head put that trooper down. The rest of his squad, though, were advancing up the street, already firing.

  Finn ducked into cover, dragging Ki’rii with him, bolts lashing through the air just above their heads. Poe, Rose and Nyzar skidded into position, answering the Stormtroopers’ volley with one of their own.

  Finn helped Ki’rii up, checking her face. “You OK?”

  Ki’rii’s face was scrunched up, and a bruise was already showing on her jaw, but her eyes were still pin-sharp. “Teeth are all still there, I think,” she said with a shrug. “So let’s say yes.”

  “Good. But I’m taking the lead for now. Nyzar, at my back.”

  Nyzar nodded. Poe, meanwhile, was inspecting the fallen troopers. “No jetpacks.” His expression was grave. “Finn, we have transports landing troops already.” He put a hand to the commlink at his ear, speaking urgently. “Kaydel, what’s the story there?”

  Finn heard her reply, carried over his own device. “Enemy landed a few transports on the southeast wall. Been repulsed now, but some troops made it out. They’re attacking our main hangar.”

  “Kriff,” Poe breathed, closing his eyes for a moment. When they opened, though, his expression was resolute. “Reroute everyone you can to us.” Then, looking at the others, he pointed ahead with his blaster. “C’mon!”

 Around Rey, the Force was seething. From the moment that the Jet Troopers had made their presence known, it had begun to feel as if it was boiling. Fear, fire and pain swirled like a vile, acrid cocktail. Shutting it out took serious effort, despite the urgency and volume of everyone’s voice around her.

  The area immediately around the command centre was secure, but there was no end to the alerts shouted by those around her. There was still the sound of blasters, and not all that far off.

  She moved to Numa’s side, searching her face. “What next?”

  “I think the First Order have decided that.”

  Rey followed her gaze upwards. “Karabast,” she muttered. There were gunships swooping down, braving the cannon volleys, and she could hear armoured vehicles rolling across the plain. “They weren’t counting on us to dislodge the first wave this quickly.”

  “Maybe.” Numa’s expression was grave. “But with the damage they’ve done on the walls, the next wave might just be able to crack us.” Breaking off, a hand rose to her ear, her face etched with grim concentration. When she turned back to Rey, her voice was tight, as if she were fighting to keep the lid on a geyser of fear and anger. “The bastards hit a civilian shelter. They’re trying to break in.” Without another word, she was off and running, calling squads to her.

  Rey glanced at Chewie, Cylarei and Tannel. She drew a breath, trying not to let the dread in her heart show. No time for fear. Instead, she hefted her staff. “You heard her, let’s go!”

  Finn let his training take over. Run, check every corner. If you see someone in white armour, aim centre-mass. Well, the white armour detail hadn’t been in the First Order manual, but that was practically an instinct for him now. He let everything fall away, even the hatred for how he had been conditioned to do this.

  At times like this, it was easy enough to overrule the part of him that wondered if these troopers could be made to stop and see what they were doing. There were casualties everywhere, dead or wounded. They also found knots of confused and frightened soldiers, pinned down by the ambushers. They fell in quickly behind Finn and Poe, instinctively following the Heroes of Starkiller Base.

  Almost subconsciously, he was steering them to one corner of the square in front of the hangar, where the sounds of fighting weren’t as intense. Poe guessed his intent. “Flanking?”

  “Yeah.” That reply was all Finn had time for. He could hear Kaydel relaying that to other units as he raced on. He could hear the report of massed First Order blasters, a torrent of gunfire directed at the embattled defenders.

  There were already white-armoured bodies at the entrance by the time they got within range, several of them. They’d tried to storm the hangar, only to be beaten back by the pilots and some soldiers. Finn could see Snap among them, holding the line. Still, the enemy had also clearly done some damage; seen through the entrance, two native fighters were in flames, along with a Resistance X-Wing.

  Jess Pava and Suralinda were close to Snap, hunkered down behind a barrier with other pilots and Resistance soldiers, firing back at the troopers around them. Finn had to force himself to go still, holding back while the other units got into position.

  Slotting a fresh power pack into his blaster, he looked at Poe, who nodded. “On your mark.”

  Finn nodded. “Three, two, one – now!”

  LM and Nyzar were first out into the open, unleashing a deluge of heavy fire which ripped through the enemy ranks. Then Finn and the others were moving, firing lighter rounds but with greater accuracy.

  The Stormtroopers responded quickly, but they were being hit on two sides, and then three, as Rylothian squads charged in from the rear. They tried to return fire, but even their discipline couldn’t overcome such an onslaught. The ruthless coordination which the Stormtrooper legions specialised in was now turned against them, and it worked just as well for the Resistance.

  “Clear!” Finn called, when the last trooper fell.

  Rushing into the hangar, they were met by a thoroughly relieved Jess. “Poe! We've-”

 “I know,” Poe told her. “Are any of the pilots hurt?”

  “Couple of grazes, a few burns, but most of our people are good to fly. All Black Squadron are.”

  “Good.” He clapped a hand on his second’s shoulder. “I need every fighter and bomber in the air, ASAP. Lot of enemy transports coming in. Pass that on to Karé, then prime your fighter.”

  “Aye!” She sped off.

  In one corner, Ciael Nelon of Blue Squadron was trying with difficulty to get to her feet. A scorch mark on her thigh showed where she’d been hit.

  Snap tried to halt her. “Ciael, it’s not happening.”

  “I can still fly,” she protested, hissing the words. “I just need… getting in the fighter.”

  Finn looked at Nyzar, who smiled and nodded. “Captain Wexley, think I can assist… hold a little, Ciael.” He crouched down to pick the pilot up. Ciael restrained anything more than a grunt of discomfort, and Nyzar bore her quickly to Blue Four. Snap followed, calling the rest of Blue Squadron to him as the soldiers took their places.

  Poe lingered just long enough to speak with Finn. “We can hold off the gunships, but breaking the attack is gonna take those wall guns.”

  “I hear that.” Finn grasped Poe’s shoulder, looking at him gravely. “Force be with you.”

  “And with you. Shoot straight.” Then Poe was running, BB-8 streaking ahead of him. Beyond, fighters were already taking off from the hangar bay. One unlucky Jump Trooper rose into the path of a Y-Wing, was struck by its prow and sent tumbling out of sight.

  Finn allowed himself a moment of satisfaction, before he activated his comm unit. Numa’s image appeared. “Commander, Poe’s in the air.”

  “Good work, Captain.” Then Numa’s gaze hardened a little. “But we’re nowhere near done. But with the damage they’ve done, the next wave might just be able to crack us. To the walls!” she yelled, summoning her guards to her.

  Rey glanced at Cylarei, Tannel and Ki’rii. She drew a breath, and hefted her staff. “You heard her, let’s go!”

  "So now what?" LM growled.

  Finn pointed toward the wall, his jaw grimly set. “We greet the next wave. Rose.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Tell me you’ve got your toolkit.”

  By the time Rey reached the blocky shelter, it was burning. Civilians were still coming out, their clothes and faces blackened, ushered along by soldiers. Behind them, other soldiers were trading fire with oncoming Stormtroopers around the structure.

  As they drew close, a thundering of engines rose above the din of fighting. “Second wave,” Rey whispered. No sooner had she said it than the blocky grey shapes of Stormtrooper transports became visible, flying in over the plain. Several were speared by cannon blasts and spiralled out of sight, but others came down on the walls.

  So now we have enemy reinforcements to deal with as well.

  Numa was visible but out of earshot, surrounded by Rylothian soldiers. Rey couldn't help but admire her, seeing the brisk way she reimposed order. She barely raised her voice to do it.

  Rey moved to join her. “Commander, what’s our plan?”

  “Cover the evacuation, and hold the enemy here.”

  Even as she said it, however, the commotion within the shelter reached a new pitch, and Rey saw lasers flare inside. People stampeded out.

  A high-pitched sound clawed its way through to Rey’s hearing. Wailing. A child’s voice. Kriff.

  She raced inside, yelling for the others to follow, and swerved around a corner. The rest of her squad lined up beside her as she tried to get her bearings. She could see the source of the crying now – a little Twi’lek girl, cowering behind a bench.

  “Captain?” Cylarei’s eyes were on her, full of worry, before they flickered back to the Stormtroopers entering the shelter. Rey could feel the conflict simmering inside her companion.

  Then a Stormtrooper caught sight of the child. That decided it.

  She gritted her teeth, holstered her staff. “Cover me.” With that, she launched into a sprint, blaster raised, letting the Force aim for her. Three troopers went down. Cylarei didn’t hesitate, and let fly, driving the enemy back into cover and dropping one of them. By the time the rest felt brave enough to show their faces, Chewbacca had a thermal detonator sailing through the air towards them.

  Rey seized that moment to grab the girl and drag her back, still firing as shots from either side ripped through the air around her. There were more troopers coming, trading fire with her squad.

  Underneath the current of violence, she sensed another threat; a chill in the Force. Even as she turned to look for the source, a Flametrooper emerged from a side door, already training his weapon on the weeping girl.

  Rey’s veins were laced with ice, feeling the troopers' intent. There was no hesitation in him. He would pull his trigger in a heartbeat.

  Her reaction was also instant. She flung an arm around the child as the flamethrower roared and fire erupted from it. With her free hand raised, she created a barrier which the flames hit and rolled off, like water on rock. Yet it just kept coming. Growling with the effort, Rey leaned into the attack, but she could only hold it at bay. The heat and the roar washed over them both, the girl whimpering with distress.

  But then, deliverance. An unseen shot struck the Flametrooper’s fuel pack and hurled him away with a roaring gout of fire.

  Rey blinked. Juspabo was coming toward them, with several other Twi’leks. They'd emerged from another alley, cutting across.

  “Still alive, Captain?” Catching sight of something, he fired again. A Jet Trooper plummeted. “Let’s go!”

  Rey caught sight of the distasteful look on Cylarei’s face. “Handle it.”

  Chewbacca roared. They had something else to handle. More Stormtroopers burst out of the smoke, and one came straight at Rey, blaster raised.

  Rey ducked, the shot passing within millimetres of her helmet. Her free hand shot out and the Stormtrooper was hurled into the wall behind him. He hit it with a very final-sounding crack.

  The trouble was, it was only final for him. More troopers burst from a side passage, Riot Troopers with crackling batons this time. Tannel intercepted the first, and Chewbacca blasted the second, but the third dodged around him and came at Rey, baton raised over his head.

  She veered away from the swing. Cylarei stepped in, knocking the baton sideways and counterattacking. But the Riot Trooper caught her sword with his weapon and leaned in, pressing Cylarei with his greater height and mass.

  Rey planted her shoulder in the hollow of Cylarei’s back, dug in with her feet and heaved. With a mingled, groaning yell of effort, they threw the trooper back. His baton went wide. Cylarei didn’t give him another chance, and felled him with a quick diagonal cut.

  The second time, she was ready. A trooper charged in, Cylarei met his attack and before his greater mass could tell, Rey took aim over her companion's shoulder and put a plasma bolt between his eyes.

  That gave Rey just enough of a respite to inspect her little charge. The girl had light green skin, revealed by the little tracks of tears in the grime on her face. Rey wiped it away, as delicately as she could, and noted that she wasn’t crying now. “Hello,” she said. “What’s your name?”

  She realised that however bedraggled the girl was, she must look several times worse. Glancing shots had scorched her armour, and she could feel dust sticking to her face. But her presence seemed to have had the right effect.

  “Zeba,” the girl whispered.

  “Zeba, you’re doing really well. We’re getting you out of here.” Rey started moving again, trying to keep the girl from seeing the bodies around them.

  Then a third attacker intervened. This was a Jet Trooper in advanced armour – one of the Supercommandos she’d been briefed on. He dropped down right in front of her as they got out into the open, shouldering Cylarei aside while he raised a blaster pistol.

  Some Jedi, Rey knew from her readings, could use the Force to slow or even immobilise an enemy. She did not have that ability, at least not yet. What she did have, however, was a more traditional method involving her armoured boot.

  She'd never heard such a high-pitched note from a Stormtrooper before. To the man’s credit, he tried to come back up with his blaster still in hand, but Chewbacca’s bowcaster put paid to that.

  A roar of engines drew Rey’s eyes up as a quintet of X-Wings swept overhead and blasted several transports out of the air. “Stiletto Squadron!” Tannel cried, and whoops and cheers momentarily drowned out the sound of fighting.

  Finn did it, Rey thought. Then she remembered the little girl in her arms. “Are you alright?” she asked. The child nodded. “Brave little girl, you are. We’re almost there.”

  Not that the enemy had taken the hint just yet. Riot Troopers pursued them out of the smoke and darkness. Most threw themselves at Rey’s comrades, but a quintet moved straight towards Rey, more coming up behind them. “Engaging hand-to-hand,” growled the sergeant. “Five of us to one of you, Jedi. Like those odds?”

  Rey set Zeba down, ushering her backwards, and drew her staff. She brought it into a high guard position, a Shien stance. “Better than I like any of you.”

  “So this is how the last Jedi dies,” drawled the sergeant, tensing for the swing. “Failing to protect some alien trash-”

  Her staff hit him in the face, so hard that his helmet lenses shattered.

  Rey couldn’t afford to let them take the initiative, not with more troopers already moving to engage. She drove the sergeant back with one strike, knocked his baton to the side with her second, and lashed out with the Force when she struck the third blow. A dozen Stormtroopers were bowled off their feet, smashing hard into walls.

  Covered by her comrades’ volleys, she grabbed Zeba again and raced back to Numa and her troops, where one of the soldiers plucked the girl out of her hands and bore her away to relative safety. Relief flooded Rey, and she let out a breath which she hadn’t realised she was holding in.

  She didn’t get time to savour her victory, however. A moment later, Kaydel’s voice sounded in her ear. “Rey, we have more Stormtrooper transports inbound.” Rey was already moving up the steps when Kaydel added, “There's something else. Three craft, TIE Reapers and a… kriff, that’s an Echelon. Heading for your position.”

  “I see them,” Rey reported. They loomed balefully ahead, the pinions of the Echelon shuttle silhouetted against the pale sun. TIEs whirled close by, dive-bombing the battlements as the Echelon’s cannons thundered too, warding off Resistance flyers. The sight made her uneasy, the feeling redoubled by a nauseous quiver in the Force as the landing ramp of the still hovering Echelon lowered.

  Jets fired in the darkness of the hold. The next thing Rey knew, dark-armoured figures slammed down, far more heavily than an ordinary Stormtrooper would. Stone cracked under their feet, but they didn’t even stagger. They rose to their full height with an unnerving smoothness.

  Then another, clad in chrome, and holding a wicked-looking vibrospear, struck the ground like a hammer, the armoured knuckles of its free hand crunching the stone. Cracks radiated out from the impact as the figure's head rose, gleaming with the distinctive silvery sheen of ultrachrome. The unseen eyes immediately locked onto Rey – her attention could be felt through the Force, a threat in its own right.

  “My, my.” She drawled the words, her voice electronic and grating, but still unmistakably female. “The Jedi, Snoke’s murderer herself.” The spearhead lit up with violet electricity as Captain Phasma drew herself up to her full height. “We meet at last.”

Chapter Text

  “Captain Phasma,” Rey said, warily. Around her it had gone very quiet, the Dark Troopers and Resistance fighters standing with their weapons trained, but unmoving. Wryly, she added, “I didn’t think I’d get to face you.” She tried to show some bravado in the face of this new opponent. “Rather hoped I wouldn’t have to - and besides, it didn’t sound like Finn left enough of you to rebuild.”

  Phasma took a step forward, looming over her. “Oh, there’s more than enough of me to handle you, Jedi.”

  Rey could believe that. She could feel how Phasma had been recreated; her presence in the Force was almost all cold metal, utterly unyielding.

  Beyond that, she felt a change in the Force, like the drop in pressure that runs ahead of a storm’s beginning. “Fire!” she yelled, and threw herself forward, lighting her staff to meet Phasma’s crackling spear.

  Along the way to the walls, Finn had collected enough troops to put together a full company, more or less. True to Numa’s word, the elevators had brought hundreds of soldiers up from below. They had a roughly even mix of Rylothians and outsiders, and now he’d managed to add a handful of engineers, and Ezubzina.

  The artillerist had just finished helping to fix one of the roof turrets when they reached her. She spotted Finn, and shimmied down a ladder to meet him.

  “Lieutenant, what’s our situation?” he asked her.

  Ezubzina’s teeth were bared in a fearful grimace. “We can’t keep the enemy transports back.”

  Listening to the background noise, Finn realised she was right. Now that the sounds of close-quarters fighting had diminished, almost nothing could compete with the thunder of engines. Not even, worryingly, cannon-fire from the walls.

  Ezubzina continued. “Without more cannons working, we’ll be overwhelmed - but if they’re fixed, I can recalibrate them.” She tried to sound confident, but her voice wavered.

  Finn regarded her. There was a fear in her eyes that went beyond that of your typical soldier, and she cringed as TIE Fighters screamed overhead. “Not used to making repairs under fire, are you?”

  “Hell no.” The words left her mouth as a mere whisper.

  Rose stepped up, Ki’rii just behind her, and put a hand on Ezubzina’s arm. “We might be able to help.”

  Finn nodded, and put a steadying hand on Ezubzina’s shoulder. “Point us at those guns. We’ll cover you.”

  Amid the clamour of the command centre, Kaydel felt the sweat start out on her forehead. Half her camera feeds had devolved into a mess of motion and blazing light. Weapon discharges in Rey’s vicinity were up, way up.

  All around her, the command centre rang with shouted exchanges as troops were dispatched to the attack sites. Kaydel had her own charges, however, and she was racing to build up a picture of just what was attacking them now. Now she had it, and she really, really hated the answers.

  One of her radio links came to life with a little chime. Cylarei.
“Kaydel, what’s kriffing happening?” she demanded as soon as Kaydel answered. “Are these-”

 “Dark Troopers?” Kaydel sucked air through her teeth. “Yeah. Where's Rey?”

  A burst of laser fire delayed Cylarei's answer. "She's engaged Phasma."

  Kaydel tried to muster a response, any response to such a blatant impossibility. She'd had the story from both Finn and Rose; there was no way anyone could come back from the fall they described. Just then a new image appeared on her display - only a still, but unmistakably Phasma. “Oh…”

  Poodoo was the first word which came to mind, but it felt profoundly inadequate. The mere thought of Rey clashing with Phasma slid an icy dagger into her chest, and twisted.

  “Oh kriff,” Cylarei rasped. Kaydel glanced at another monitor and saw Cylarei spring forward, pistol in one hand and sword crackling with electricity in the other. One of the Dark Troopers had broken through a barricade and slammed Juspabo to the ground. It aimed its blaster, ready to fire – but Cylarei’s sword came down on the elbow joint, slicing between the armour plates. It didn’t cut all the way through the joint, but sparks and smoke vented from it, the blaster misfiring.

  The Dark Trooper spun to attack the new threat, swinging its fist so brutally that it would have taken Cylarei’s head clean off had she not skidded back, wrenching her sword free. Chewbacca intervened next, a direct hit with his bowcaster striking home - but only staggering the armoured giant.

  But it bought Juspabo enough time to get clear, and he brought a squad of Twi’leks forward with heavy blasters. As one, they poured a volley into the Dark Trooper’s chest, the massed blast bolts hammering into the dark plate so it glowed red-hot. Still the cyborg came on, surging into the tide of plasma, but Chewbacca and the Scrappers added their blasters to the volley. Finally, finally it fell, torso burned out.

  That was all the good news Kaydel could see, however. “Cylarei, they’re close to breaking through on your left. And I’ve lost sight of Rey.”

  She could still see Cylarei, just about. The Chiss soldier had moved on to the next target. “I have a visual. She’s still fighting Phasma.”

  It took an effort to master herself enough to ask the question. “Who's… who's winning?”

  This time it was the Scrapper's turn to pause. “Hard to say.”

  Phasma was quick – much more so than Rey had expected. Her spear moved in vicious arcs and jabs, the strikes landing with staggering weight. And that wasn’t all – there was murderous skill here, a prowess honed over the course of many kills. Is this Stormtrooper combat? She’d never known anything like it when sparring with Finn.

  That was all the thought she had time for. Phasma unleashed a torrent of attacks, all aimed to cripple or kill.

  In response, Rey went on the defensive, and doubled down on the one thing Phasma didn’t have – the Force. She let it suffuse her, and rode its currents to deliver the kind of rapid, spiralling attacks which could keep Phasma’s heavy blows at bay.

  Her movements became pure Form III, using Soresu’s principles of deflection and evasion to keep the full brunt of Phasma’s attacks at bay. She was well-versed in the tactics that went with it, now. Frustrate the enemy. Wear them down. Goad them into making mistakes.

  The trouble was that so far, no such error had manifested. Phasma just kept coming, just as fast, just as strong. Somewhere in the back of Rey’s mind, the question arose as to whether the cyborg captain could even become fatigued any more.

  “We’re not all that different,” Phasma purred, when their weapons momentarily locked. Rey twisted out of the deadlock, aiming a couple of quick strikes at her shins, but Phasma beat off her attacks and drove her into retreat again with a lunge. “Adopting the fighting styles of other cultures, using whatever we can.”

  Rey felt Zeba’s presence at her back. She couldn’t let Phasma near her – she knew, just knew, that this wouldn’t be the first child the other woman had condemned to death. She mustered up a blizzard of deflections and counterstrokes, halting Phasma.

  “We – are – nothing alike,” she hissed.

  “Oh?” Phasma fell back, just a little.

  Rey didn’t pursue her just yet. “I’ve always tried to do the right thing. I fight for my friends. But you… Finn told me what you did on the Starkiller. Traitor.”

  Now that got a response. Phasma stormed forward, laying into her with heavier blows.

  Rey swerved and darted to avoid the spear. With the weight of her staff, she could barely move fast enough to counter, and while the weapon’s shock-emitters made it lethal, its power wasn’t concentrated enough to breach Phasma’s armour. She snarled in frustration. Her Republic for a kriffing lightsaber.

  Phasma launched another jab, aimed at Rey’s throat. Rey brought her staff up to deflect it. But then the spear twisted, and their weapons locked.

  Rey didn’t see Phasma’s intent, but she sensed a sudden threat. She jerked sideways as a blaster suddenly emerged from the cyborg’s vambrace. A second later, and she’d have lost an eye, if not more. As it was, her ears rang, and she had to fight to stay on her feet.

  Phasma’s next attack was instant, capitalising on Rey’s awkward dodge. Rey sensed it through the Force, and darted further away, deflecting the second shot with her staff. She swerved around a vicious jab – Phasma had closed the gap in the blink of an eye.

  She deflected, struck back, was parried, spun out of reach, fended off another attack and finally got past Phasma’s guard again. Rey hit her thigh, hard enough to mar the chromium plate, but missed the sweet spot to damage the joint.

  Phasma snarled, a burst of distortion from her helmet grille, and lashed out with a metal fist. Rey recoiled, so the blow merely glanced off her pauldron. Even so it bowled her over, sending her rolling back as pain flared along her arm, ducking another attack. Reflexes born of scrabbling in Jakku alley-fights saved her as much as her Jedi training.

  Down on one knee, Rey slammed a wall of Force power into Phasma with a bark of effort. It should've sent her enemy flying. The cyborg dug in, however, and merely skidded back a metre or so. With serpentine speed she raised a hand and fired one of her built-in blasters. Rey deflected the shots, but it cost her precious momentum as Phasma stormed back into melee range.

  “The lie about what happened on the Starkiller dies with you,” she growled, hunching her shoulders to loom over Rey. “And then your friend.”

  Black One banked hard, blasting the wing off a TIE Fighter and sending it spiralling down to the plain. Immediately the X-Wing levelled out, striking another TIE before it and the rest of Black Squadron converged, and tore into an advancing quintet of transports.

  Poe was making up for lost time, Finn thought. But just as his friend had said, the fighters weren’t enough to hold back the transports, in the air or on the ground.

  Close to the wall, he paused. “Kaydel,” he said. “We’re almost there. What next?” He didn’t dare ask how Rey was faring.

  “The turrets are your priority. Cannons are out in several places, engineers need covering. I’m shunting coordinates to you now.”

  Finn checked the unit on his wrist, and a holo lit up. Kaydel wasn’t wrong; the shield had held, but the Jet Troopers had been busy. By the looks of it, they’d used both EMP grenades and conventional weapons against the anti-air batteries.

  “We’re on it.” He took the steps two at a time, sword crackling again and blaster raised in his other hand. A Stormtrooper stepped backwards into view, firing at someone out of sight. He heard Finn’s approach and turned to face him. He wasn’t fast enough, however, and took two shots to the chest. A second trooper emerged, but Finn had already leapt and brought his sword down before the trooper could take aim.

  That put him on the wall proper, squads racing up behind him, and he had a chance to take in the full picture. Stormtroopers were moving along the wall, waging a vicious firefight against Resistance troops stationed around the artillery emplacements.

  He yelled for one of the company captains. “Take your men left! Protect the cannons! Everyone else, with me!”

  They made for the nearest battery, the one Kaydel had flagged up for Finn. They passed several Stormtrooper transports, most empty, some aflame. Fallen troopers were scattered along the route.

  A ragged cheer greeted them – there were still defenders holding the battery – but then one of the sergeants shouted “Transports incoming!”

  “Ready yourselves!” Finn bellowed. Rose, Ezubzina and Ki’rii made a start on the guns, aided by other engineers, while Finn got his troops into position around them.

  The stuttering, percussive fury of the cannons filled the air above Finn’s head with emerald light. The boom of each gun was punishing for those who stood beneath them and yet, there weren't enough of them firing. Not nearly enough.

  “Hurry it up!” he called, accepting a rocket launcher from one of the Resistance soldiers. “We need every gun firing!”

  A Stormtrooper transport loomed large in his scope. He fired, and scored a hit on its underbelly. The transport slewed in midair, losing momentum, and that was enough for Nyzar to take aim and land another hit. That did the trick - the craft hit the ground in three pieces and on impact, became several more.

  Finn activated his commlink. “Kaydel, what are our hotspots?”

  Kaydel reeled them off swiftly. “Two damaged elevator entrances, one scanning array not working – but wait, higher priority. Sector three, perimeter wall – we have a cluster of cannons which aren’t firing.”

  “On it. Do the First Order know about it?”

  Kaydel took a moment to reply. “Judging by the transports coming your way, yeah. And not just aerial.”

  The craft came in, TIE escorts sacrificing themselves to keep the Resistance fighters off their backs. Finn took aim and fired another missile as his troops opened up. One after the other, the transports went down – but as Kaydel had said, they weren’t the only vehicles moving in on their position.

  “More kriffing Jet Troopers,” Ki’rii groaned.

  These ones came down with flamethrowers spitting, driving many of the defenders into cover. Worse still, Stormtroopers came charging in on their right flank.

  Finn yelled for one of his squads to engage the flankers. He kept his own attention to the Jet Troopers, who were now coming straight for the guns. One went down to a burst from Finn’s blaster, but then two more closed in, shock-baton in one hand and vibroblades jutting from their other gauntlet. Finn ducked the first swing, swerved a jab from a vibroblade and hammered the butt of his blaster into a helmet. He’d have gone to finish the trooper off, but the second struck at that moment.

  Finn flinched back, not daring to risk his weapon, and fired. The blaster bolts speared into his attacker’s chestplate, point-blank. It was clearly good armour – probably gammaplast like his own – but it couldn’t hold against an onslaught like that. The Jet Trooper fell.

  The second had, by now, fired his jetpack. It had him surging back to his feet in a heartbeat, aiming straight at Finn, but Nyzar interposed himself, vibrosword raised. A quick flurry of blows, and then the trooper fell headless.

  “Thanks,” Finn grunted, raising his blaster to intercept a leaping Jet Trooper.

  “Welcome, Captain.”

  They didn’t get any more respite than that. There was a fizzing explosion off to one side, and Finn wheeled around to see vapour pouring from one of the guns.

  “Kriff.” He sprang up onto the gun platform, firing at the Stormtroopers who’d fought their way onto it. “Rose, tell me that’s something you can fix!”

  Rose had already raced over with Ezubzina and Ki’rii. “Let me check!” she called back. Then, after a pause: “I think so. But we need time.”

  Finn blew two Stormtroopers away before replying. “You’ve got it.” A Supercommando lunged for him with a shock-baton. Finn dodged and ran him through. A shot clipped his left shoulder and almost knocked him off his feet, pain shooting up his arm.

  “Finn!” Rose yelled.

  “It’s alright!” he called back, steadying himself against a rail, bracing the gun against himself and firing one-handed. Though he was only alright because of the armour he wore now, he conceded inwardly. Had he been wearing standard Stormtrooper gear, that would’ve cost him at least his arm.

  Nyzar and LM moved ahead of him, to intercept anyone that might attack their leader. Finn took the moment to look back at Rose and Ezubzina. “Are we nearly online?”

  “Maybe two more minutes,” Ezubzina replied, though her voice wavered.

  There was a roar either side of them, and fresh Resistance troops gained the walls, driving the Stormtroopers away from the batteries. It was a reprieve, but only a temporary one. Another wave of Stormtrooper transports descended, more than before, their pintle gunners firing as soon as they were in range.

  “Return fire!” Finn roared, and heard the cry taken up by other officers. But although a storm of lasers and missiles rose to meet the attackers, only a handful went down. The attackers’ bombardment beat against the shields, heavily enough that they were already beginning to falter. TIEs swarmed so thickly around the transports that they almost blotted out the light, too many for Poe’s fighters to break through.

  “Ladies, we’re running out of time!”

  But at last, there came a triumphant shout from Ezubzina, and the battery blazed into life in full. The enemy wing was ravaged, transports blasted apart and sent tumbling to earth. The attack came apart.

  In the same moment, Rey saw the sudden torrent of fire from the walls. Phasma saw it too, and reacted instantly. She fell back, fighting defensively now as Rey went on the offensive.

  She could win this. If she just found the right angle, the right moment, she could take Phasma down.

  But Phasma hadn’t lost any of her composure, and parried Rey’s staff with that same unyielding strength. Finally she blocked Rey, shoved her back and activated a hidden flamethrower. As with the flametrooper before, Rey called upon the Force to shield her against the blaze. The effort briefly rendered her immobile, and Phasma took advantage – but not to attack. She fired her thrusters, Rey feeling it more than hearing it as her adversary took flight.

  The flames abated. Rey watched as the boost carried Phasma into the open bay of the Echelon shuttle, the Dark Troopers following her – though they left two of their own behind, finally cut and blasted down.

  “You’ve got a stay of execution, Jedi!” Phasma called mockingly, as the ramp closed. “Nothing more!”

  Around the dark and jagged craft, other transports flocked, just taken off from the walls. With TIEs flocking defensively around them, and Resistance craft nipping at their heels, they retreated.

  Only then did Rey allow her tiredness to show, leaning on her staff and breathing heavily. She also felt oddly cheated, in a way that wasn’t entirely Jedi-like. The fight, by her estimate, could have gone either way, but now they were left with a stalemate. When she looked up again, Chewbacca had reached her, gruffly enquiring if she was alright.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah. Thanks, Chewie. And you?”

  Chewbacca thumped his chest, and told her he was just fine. Then something drew his eye, out across the plain. He pointed and growled.

  Tannel saw it too. “Is that smoke?”

  It was indeed. Black and grey plumes were rising from the enemy lines. It looked like several sites had been hit.

  “Kaydel,” Rey called across the commnet. “What's happening out there?”

  “Explosions in the enemy camp,” Kaydel answered. “Looks like… rockets?” She called something indistinct. After a pause, she came back to Rey. “Yendor’s units, I’m told. They struck a bunch of  targets – supply blocks, one of the airfields. Stolan’s gonna be too busy searching for threats on his own turf to throw anything at us now.”

  “Yendor always was a wily one,” Rey murmured. It probably hadn’t done much material damage to Stolan’s positions, but it would buy the defenders the rest of the day.

  Juspabo had come into view. As Rey watched, he approached Cylarei with a certain amount of caution. Upon coming within reach he halted, and spread his hands in a gesture which stopped just short of I surrender. “My apologies, Corporal Verest. I... made an assumption about you, back in the command centre, and should’ve known better than to do so.”

  Cylarei shrugged, and shook the hand he proffered. “You’re hardly the first.”

  “Even so, you’ve proven me wrong, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t say so.” Juspabo held out a hand. “We are all the Resistance, right?”

  She shook it. “We are all the Resistance.”

Chapter Text

  Vintalli could guess the calculations Hux was making. On the one hand, if they put out the call that Dameron and his captains were here, they'd soon have sufficient forces to crush Ryloth underfoot.

  On the other hand, that meant ceding potentially an enormous potential advantage to Kylo Ren. Multiple advantages, in fact. Ren would be sure to take charge. The prestige of killing the Resistance heroes would go to him, and most importantly, he would have the “Regicide”. The Jedi girl Rey had been condemned by Kylo Ren himself for the assassination, and she was also the only person who could confirm or deny whether she had really murdered Supreme Leader Snoke.

  Whether that was true or not - Vintalli had his suspicions - was largely academic. Give the girl enough time with First Order interrogators, or the esoteric methods Ren could call upon, and she’d confess to anything. Which would make Hux’s path to the throne all the more difficult.

  So Hux, plainly, was choosing to take the risk. Vintalli supposed he couldn't disagree; what was good for his superior was good for him. Even if he were inclined to take Ren's side instead, his association with Hux would have tainted him. And then there was also the matter of Ren's sorcery and unnerving coterie of Knights. Vintalli was a believer in the First Order, but very much in the sense of embodying the rule of strong, rational men. On at least one of those criteria, the throne’s current occupant fell short.

  Kylo Ren was a persistent itch for the rationalists among the First Order’s leadership. There was a sense that men such as Palpatine and his acolytes had played a significant role in the hubris and fall of the Empire, but then there seemed to be no easy way of extricating the regime from the hands of sorcerers. The First Order had been founded by Generals, Admirals and Moffs and yet, well before Vintalli had been given his first command, Snoke had already emerged and made himself comfortable on the throne.

  And now they had Snoke’s acolyte, and a plausible regicide to boot, in his place. Kylo Ren was a warlord, plunging into battle after battle. What kind of man was that to govern a Galaxy? He would likely burn it to the ground instead.

  Admittedly, Hux would not have been Vintalli’s ideal choice to replace Ren. He wasn’t that much older than the Supreme Leader, perhaps too used to conducting war at a distance and certainly prone to hubris. Still, he was an able strategist, he had pedigree as the son of Brendol Hux, and he was suitably ruthless.

  After today’s frustrations, Vintalli knew that ruthlessness would be inflicted upon the Resistance in full.

  Hux finally spoke, eyes still fixed on the surface of Ryloth. “The Resistance have endured again.”

  Stolan, his image wavering slightly, frowned before he spoke. “The assault came reasonably close. No meaningful error was made by the strike force.”

  “I am aware,” Hux said tersely. He sounded all the more frustrated by that – he had no failing within reach that could easily be corrected. “The Resistance’s defence has turned the knife, so next we bring the hammer to bear.” There was the merest lift of his eyebrow as Hux regarded Stolan. “I assume your camp is back in order, Colonel.”

  “It is. I am forced to admit that the enemy’s strength in the wilderness was… underestimated. I respectfully request reinforcements to hunt for them, and to deter further attacks.”

  “Granted. They’ll be sent tomorrow – under cover of the next attack.” Hux laid both hands on the console, arms straight as he leaned towards Stolan’s image. “Have you identified any particular weaknesses in the city?”

  “None of any real significance. We could keep hitting the gun batteries, but they’ll be wise to another assault like today’s. Moreover, Captain Phasma’s duel with the Jedi, while it undoubtedly shook the enemy, was inconclusive.” Stolan stroked his chin. “I recommend that we conserve all jump assets for a phase of the campaign which we are sure will be decisive.”

  Vintalli gave his opposite number a searching look. “Implying that we can’t expect a decisive phase for some time.” He wasn’t used to anything resembling hesitancy from Stolan.

  Sure enough, the colonel looked reluctant to say it. “Given what we have seen, that-” Stolan’s  jaw worked “-is my conclusion. Had the Twi’leks not so assiduously cleared away or destroyed the mining equipment, I would advocate a concerted effort to breach the city from below, but…” He turned over his empty hands, scowling.

  “Unless…” Hux said quietly. Both Stolan and Vintalli turned to look at him. “We have no mining equipment to hand here, but even with the Resistance running interference it shouldn’t be too hard to acquire suitable units.” He turned to Vintalli. “Admiral, we must have our people in nearby systems identify possible options. Send transmissions, obtain any information you can. I will remain on station while that is in progress." Next he turned back to Stolan. "Colonel, for now, prosecute the siege as you see fit. Both of you are dismissed.”

  “Sir,” Vintalli and Stolan chorused, and as the latter’s hologram winked out, Vintalli set to his task.

  “Crew!” Hux shouted, stalking back to the viewport. “I want a broad channel to the surface. We have a point to make to those wretches.”

  The Resistance, meanwhile, were busy dealing with the aftermath of the day’s assault. There was rubble to clear, weapons to sort and repair, wounded to tend to – and bodies. The Jet Troopers and Supercommandos had left plenty of those.

  Rey had chosen to help with the clear-up, leaving Juspabo to deal with matters on the walls. Here her Force powers could be most useful, lifting rubble and detecting people who'd been buried. She’d raise up a collapsed roof or wall, and Chewbacca, Tannel or Cylarei could dart in and retrieve whoever was underneath.

  Gradually she was feeling herself begin to tire, but she could go a while longer and it let her ignore her aching limbs for a bit. It didn’t require too much talking either, so she was free to contact Kaydel and assure her that she was in one piece. The trickier bit was playing it cool, both in terms of talking about fighting Phasma and feeling the need to speak with Kaydel so soon.

  Finally, the work also kept her from having to look at too many of the dead. Here and there, however, she recognised a face. Resistance fighters she’d battled alongside on Onderon, Morak and Malastare, even a couple of ex-gladiators from Magna Leptus. The First Order’s surprise attack had exacted a vicious toll.

  That was how they found Finn and the rest of Scrapper Squad. Nyzar and LM-276 were kneeling by a dying comrade, saying a few quiet words. The fallen soldier was horribly burned, barely able to speak. Finn stood nearby with Rose, and they moved over to hug Rey and Chewbacca. Both of them looked like they’d been through the wringer.

  “Oh thank the Force,” Rey murmured. “You made it through.” Around them, the Scrappers exchanged similar sentiments

  “I’m more relieved that you did.” Finn eyed her cautiously, and Rey shot him a tolerant look as she realised he was checking her for any sign of injury. She checked her urge to say something; her friend had grounds for being concerned. “I heard over the comms. You really fought… I mean, Phasma’s back?” It took a visible effort for him to row back, and focus on one issue at a time.

  “In a manner of speaking.” She would have said more – probably remarking on his scorched shoulder plate – but then there was a shout, someone calling her name. Rey wheeled at the sound. A Twi’lek couple were running towards her, though they drew up short when they saw her face. The man had Zeba in his arms.

  “Captain Rey,” said the woman. “We lost track of our daughter when the shelter was attacked, and when the soldiers brought her they said that it was you who’d retrieved her… I don’t know how we can thank you enough.”

  “It’s fine,” Rey said, smiling gently at both of them. “I’m just glad your daughter is alright.” She knelt to greet the girl. “Now Zeba, keep close to them.”

  Zeba nodded, and then said “Stay safe.”

  Rey gave her a little smile. “I’ll do what I can.”

  She turned away from the reunited family as they moved off, and found Numa watching her, a curious smile on her face. “Commander, it looks like something’s amused you.”

  The Twi’lek commander shook her head. “Just glad to see a Jedi tradition being carried on.”

  “A tradition?”

  “Well, maybe not a tradition.” A twinkle had found its way into Numa’s eye. “Just a kindness which I remember, and which I expect Zeba will too. Walk with me.”

  They set off together, heading back to the command centre, the rest trailing behind them.

  “I expect they’ll be down in the lower levels from here on out,” Rey said, still watching Zeba and her family until they were out of sight.

  Numa nodded. “Full war footing from now on.” At that, she put a hand to her commlink. “Relay these orders to every unit in the upper levels. Gather the enemy corpses and strip them,” she instructed. “Salvage everything we can. Every gun, every detonator, every intact piece of armour gets inventoried and made ready. Oh, and repaint the armour.”

  “And what about the bodies?” Finn asked, his brow furrowed.

  Numa turned her grim gaze on him. “We have bio-recyclers for our underground farm zones, which produce fertiliser. The enemy dead are going in those.” Rey quickly suppressed her distasteful expression, but she wasn’t as quick as Finn and Numa was too sharp to miss it. “We use them for our funeral rites as well. It’ll be perfectly respectful.”

  Rey still felt somewhat uncomfortable, but then, Ryloth was a harsh world. This was probably what people would’ve done on Jakku, had they had the resources for it. She put it out of her mind. “So what now?”

  “What now” turned out to be what Poe and Kaydel called admin. All the lead officers were to be debriefed, their reports analysed to see both how the Resistance units had performed, and what they’d learned about the enemy’s capability. At least Scrapper Squad had acquitted themselves admirably.

  Finn’s mind remained on Phasma, as they made their way back into the middle of the city. “Dark Troopers make a nasty kind of sense. One of the Empire’s most ghoulish initiatives, brought back with First Order tech.”

  “Hopefully they have too many projects,” Cylarei said, her red eyes narrowing. “That was part of the Empire’s problem, they couldn’t pick a few superweapons or next-gen war machines, so they had a hundred different programs all burning resources while department heads squabbled.”

  “Ironically,” Rey said, “Kylo Ren and Hux seem smarter in that regard. There isn’t even any sign of them trying to build a new Starkiller or even a Death Star, they just keep putting together more and more TIEs and Star Destroyers.”

  Engines whined overhead, and she looked up to see Black Squadron descend, their craft seemingly undamaged. That buoyed her spirits, until a wing of battered Deathseeds followed.

  “Any idea what our fighter losses were?”

  “About ten, out of a few hundred,” Rose said. “Not bad going, I guess, but we took a lot more casualties on the ground. Hopefully Kaydel can clue us in a bit more.”

  She was waiting for them – along with Poe, still in his flightsuit and reviewing the data with her. Finn was the first to speak. “Poe, I don't know if you've heard…”

  “Kaydel filled me in. So our favourite bad attitude in silver is back.” Poe stroked his chin. “That might worry me even more than Stolan.”

  "Seriously?" Rose asked. "Not sure I could picture anyone worse than Stolan."

  “Yup.” Poe’s expression was grim. “Stolan's smart and brutal, but Phasma… she always had a way of finding weak points. She’s less predictable. At least,” he said, the old gleam returning to his eyes, “I hear you all fought well. Numa looks about as pleased as she can be, but she is gonna want those reports and so am I. Rey, Finn-” he pointed to a couple of lieutenants sat at computers “-off you go.”

  The debriefings were reassuringly quick and to the point – Numa’s officers knew which questions to ask. Rey also felt that bit better, knowing that this went towards building up a bigger strategic picture for the siege.

  Then a shout came from one of the communications consoles. "Commander Numa!" The operator waved her over. Poe followed, bringing the others in his wake. “There’s… a signal,” the Twi'lek said.

  Her blue-green features darkened as she scanned the screen. “First Order?”

  “Seems so. Broadcasting on every frequency.”

  One of the Rylothian captains appeared in holographic form, flickering in front of them. “There’s something happening over on the First Order lines,” he called, worriedly. “I think you’re going to want to see it.”

  Numa looked hard at him, before turning to one of the technicians. “Get us a visual, on the screens.”

  One was quickly acquired. Initially, it was difficult to say what the First Order were up to, beyond a number of engineers fiddling with a device of some sort. Still more puzzling, it didn't seem like a weapon. But then a hologram, a towering one, flared up and resolved itself into the face of General Hux.

  “Oh great,” Rose said. “I thought getting up close on the Supremacy was bad enough.”

  “Resistance dregs!” The hologram shouted, the sound ringing loudly in the command centre. It also echoed outside, and they knew it would be reverberating across the plain. “I suppose some congratulations are in order,” Hux said. “You killed a fair number of my soldiers. That’s not something easily done by anybody. But do you notice how that fails to perturb me?”

  Rey glanced at Numa, and saw that her jaw was set, the rigidly controlled anger on her face just the same as Finn’s, stood the other side of her.

  Hux continued: “There is a simple reason for that: I have many, many more Stormtroopers whom I can send against you, who will not hesitate when the order is given to advance. There are plenty of armoured companies – I haven’t even begun to deploy our walkers. Whereas you… how many soldiers can you really afford to lose? How many fighter craft? And how many of the useless civilians? I could probably break your resolve with collateral damage, alone.”

  Rey found herself scanning the people in the room. Plenty of them looked tentative, even frightened, but just as many looked angry or scornful.

  “Come down from your big ship and face us then!” a Mon Calamari officer bellowed. “If you’re feeling so certain!”

  That drew a welcome laugh from the assembled rebels, loud enough to drown out what Hux said next.

  “…will be met with clemency for the civilians, and any surrendering soldiers will be given a merciful sentence – one decade in a labour camp."

  "Can we shoot that thing?" Poe murmured to Numa.

  She replied without taking her eyes off the holo. "That shield will shrug off any gun of ours."

   Hux snarled on. "Keep fighting, and when the city falls, the population will be decimated and your combatants annihilated. That is your ultimatum.” The hologram vanished.

  Poe turned to one of the communications officers. “Get me a channel, city-wide.”

  “Sir.” As he worked, the Twi’lek muttered, “Hope you’ve got something good to answer that.”

  “We’ll see,” Poe winked, picking up the receiver. “Defenders of Nabat! Can I just stress, today, victorious defenders of Nabat!”

  A murmur arose in the command centre at his words. 

  Poe grinned, nodding encouragingly. “That’s right. Hux is safely up in his big, armoured ship, because of how hard, and how smart you all fought today. He sent Jet Troopers, Supercommandos and gunships and you sent them running!”

  That drew a shout - from Rey, Finn, Rose, Kaydel and all the rest.

  “The First Order have numbers and weapons, no doubt, but we have spirit, compassion and our wits. Can’t just make those in a factory, huh? They talk about their unity, like the only way you achieve that is grinding people down and making them run like machines, but I see just as much unity here. All of us stood together, we came to each other’s aid, and we drove the First Order back!”

  Casting an eye at the camera feeds, Rey saw troops on the walls and elsewhere in the city, hands raised.

  “We are unbroken! We are united in defence of this world!” Poe punched a hand up into the air. “For we are all the Resistance, and we will not yield!”

  Applause broke out, both on the screens and in the command centre. Rey joined in, letting out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding in. Poe’s speech had done the job, for now at least.

  As Poe was speaking, another transmission was travelling well beyond Ryloth; Hera Syndulla’s broadcast of the situation on the world, and her request for reinforcements. It reached out across space to Resistance ships and bases.

  On one of those ships, a frigate named the Enlightened, a captain brooded on his bridge. He was a tall, broad man, his dark hair cut short. He held himself apart from the bustle of the bridge, eyes boring into the darkness beyond.

  His troops were accustomed to this from their leader, and so they didn’t bother him when the latest transmissions came through. When they realised what they had received, however, an imposing Trandoshan approached him.

  “Sir,” murmured the reptilian lieutenant. The words came with what meagre softness a Trandoshan could give them. "You might wish to see this."

  "Thank you, Thrasst." A datapad was quickly handed over and scrutinised. The captain weighed the news in his mind as he spoke. “Hux and his Legions on one side, Dameron and his own troops on the other. A sizeable campaign, indeed.”

  “There’s more, sir. If you scroll."

  The officer drew a sharp breath. "Phasma?" That single name had him feeling suddenly, uncharacteristically unsteady. He wanted to sit down, run a hand across his scalp in disbelief. But that would not be conducting himself as an officer, so he settled for an epithet: "Void's teeth."

  Now he saw exactly why Thrasst had brought it to him.

  "Yes, sir, reportedly restored to operate as a Dark Trooper.” The Trandoshan looked quizzically up at him, expecting a reply. “Captain? What do we do?”

  But his superior might as well have been miles away. He drew his broad shoulders up, muscles tensing.

  “I should have known.” His hands curled into fists, knuckles white. She lived. The one who had destroyed him… lived.

  Then he turned to the other names. Poe Dameron. Hera Syndulla. Rey. And most of all, Finn. His jaw clenched as he regarded that one in particular. It, more than anything, settled the matter. He felt the pull of that name, and hers. It was as if history had folded into itself, over and over until it became a black hole. Was there any way he could resist that pull?

  “Captain?” the lieutenant growled, clawed fingers tapping against one another. Even without turning to look, the captain could tell simply by the sound. “I apologise if I presumed. The original assault plans are still laid down. We can keep to those.”

  “No, Thrasst.” The captain turned to him, nodding gravely. “You were right to bring this to me. This is, by far, the one battle that matters most right now. We go to Ryloth.”

Chapter Text

  Speech in Nabat’s barracks had a particular character. It was a steady murmur, not quite weary but hinting at the onset of fatigue. People were working hard to stave it off.
   Kaydel felt it, or at least its onset, as she made her way through the passageways, threading between campfires where people clustered. Gial stood on her shoulder, his big eyes even wider than usual. Kaydel supposed these were the most people he’d ever seen off base.

  “Alright, little guy?” Kaydel reached up to tickle him under the chin, and smiled when he purred back. “Good. Now,stay up here and don’t wander off. Can’t have you getting too close to any Lothcats or Tookas.”

  All sorts of troops were mingling; locals and outsiders sitting together as they shared food and drink. A day’s fighting had done more to unify them than a month’s talk would have ever achieved. That, Kaydel supposed, was something to take heart from.

  Close by, Jess Pava and some of her fellow pilots sat with a few of the soldiers. Her little astromech came trundling over to Kaydel, greeting her with a bweeeoo.

  Kaydel bent down to meet her. “Hey, BA! Taking good care of my paint job?”

  BA-9 made an apologetic noise and tilted a little, exposing a little scuff on her glossy black shell.

  “Aww,” Kaydel said sympathetically, petting the little droid. “Well, you and Jess find me early tomorrow, and we’ll spray over that so you’d never know it happened. Hmm?”

  A happy pa-da-boop was her answer.

  “Cool. Gotta run, but I’ll see you then.”

  BA-9 went back to her owner, drawing Jess’s eye to Kaydel. She smiled at her, and then directed a sly look towards an archway. Kaydel’s eyes followed. Hallis was stood in the shadows with a young Twi’lek pilot. The two of them looked just a little furtive, in a way that tempted Kaydel to watch further. But she had places to be, and Jess would surely fill her in on gossip tomorrow.

  Besides, tonight seemed to be a night for telling stories.

  Some way off, Kaydel could hear the mix of rumbling and hooting that was Chewbacca holding forth. Normally the Wookie only spoke briefly, but now his growls and yodeling rolled out at length, rising and falling in pitch. It had a hair-raising effect.

  “At that,” a protocol droid’s voice followed. “There came the most powerful wave yet. Tracked droid tanks, Super Battle Droids in ranks five hundred wide and twenty deep, and their hulking, hovering tanks. The Grand Army was beaten back, Master Unduli sent into retreat, and even Chieftain Tarful feared that the defenders would be undone. But then he came…”

  The droid sounded almost rapturous, and if Kaydel’s grasp of Shyriiwook was any good, Chewbacca was much the same as he carried on.

  “He was small of stature, even to a human or Twi’lek – and quite tiny to a Wookie, of course. But swift and strong, wielding his lightsaber so that he was like a hurricane of green light. Yes, Master Yoda had, at last, taken the field…”

  Kaydel had heard this story a few times before. Chewbacca dwelt on that battle often, though he rarely told the sad story of what had come after. Fifty years later, it was still raw for him – even when there wasn’t the danger of dampening the mood. To Kaydel’s knowledge, Chewbacca had only spoken of it directly to Rey. Kaydel herself had heard it second-hand from General Organa.

  Finn and Rose were sharing a chair at the edge of the crowd which had gathered around Chewie. “Boo,” Kaydel whispered to them, fishing three foil packets from her bag and handing them over.

  They turned, and Rose smiled brightly up at her. “Aww, cheers Kaydel.”

  “No worries. Keep Chewie’s warm for him, won’t you?”

  She left them, musing that at least Finn had something to distract him from his ruminations. Finding out Phasma, who’d shaped him for so long and whom he thought he’d killed, was alive after all… well, that couldn’t be an easy shock to take.

  On a happier note, he seemed encouraged by being around soldiers, not least Ezubzina. The Rylothian artillerist looked buoyed up, her eyes bright. Though perhaps that was just relief to be alive.

  At the next campfire, where she found Poe and a few of the other pilots, the Liberation of Lothal was getting yet another retelling.

  “Lothal. Ah, now there’s a name to conjure. A world where despair turned to hope, and victory was wrested from the hands of Thrawn himself.” The speaker was a middle-aged Dowutin, one of the captains. His voice was a low rumble, like falling stones that echoed off the stone around him as it became a rough chuckle. “Of course, I wasn’t a Rebel back then. I was only a street urchin.”

  BB-8 spotted Kaydel and chirped happily, wobbling on the spot. That alerted Poe, who turned and accepted the proffered bundle.

  “The Scrappers get theirs already?” he asked.

  “Nyzar and LM took care of that,” Kaydel replied. “They still like being able to do favours, after all that time being cooped up.”

  “Good stuff. Sit for a bit? Someone found out that I can play a hallikset,” he grinned, indicating an elegant instrument, propped up against his knee. “Thinking I might have a go at the Ballad of Wroshyell Akeeata.”

  Another battle on Kashyyk, Kaydel thought. “The one about Cal Kestis and the AT-AT?”

  “Yup. The Partisans were hard bastards, but they had good tunes. Reckon you’ll stick around to listen?” But then he saw her expression, and chuckled knowingly. “Ah. Priorities. Well, I think you’ll find her a little over yonder.” He pointed, an amused look on his face.

  The soldier was still telling his tale as Kaydel thanked Poe and moved on. “But I remember the night that the Spectres infiltrated the city to rescue our now Commodore Syndulla.” He leaned forward, and so did his audience, drawn in close. “I saw Kanan Jarrus, up on the fuel silos, holding back the blast until his people were clear. I saw Pryce, though I didn’t know it right then, lose a war because she wanted so badly to kill him. From that day on, I believed in the Jedi. Because I saw how much they scared the tyrants.”

  The low hubbub swallowed Kaydel again. More accounts, more of the names she’d either grown up hearing, or learned from her time in the Resistance.

  Even Commander Numa, who sat cleaning her blaster with Cham and Johlula beside her, seemed to have a story. “I don’t remember much of him fighting, because I was so little and the clones kept me from the worst of it. But I remember seeing his face,” she said to the small huddle of people around her. Tannel and Ki’rii were visible among them, though they didn’t even notice Kaydel, eyes fixed on Numa. “It was the first time I’d seen a human with a beard. I also remember that he had sad eyes, sad enough to make you think he was much older than he looked. But there was so much kindness in his face. You didn’t even need to see it, he seemed to glow with it…”

  A little way past that group, someone was recounting a more recent battle, one that Kaydel herself had witnessed. Unable to help herself, she stopped to listen.

  “…an’ that was when I saw her. At first I only caught glimpses, so she was this blur of white, green and grey.” Then there came a chuckle from somewhere behind the Aqualish’s big, gleaming teeth. “Next thing we knew, though, Stormtroopers were going down, quicker and quicker. Then we had our view. I’d heard the vets talk about electrostaffs and hadn’t believed it, how hard they strike. You might not either, but then she’s in front of your eyes, staff crackling all electric-blue. An’ everytime it hits, a Stormtrooper goes rocketing…”

  Kaydel had to tear herself away this time, but she managed it. She was looking for the woman in that story, not the tale itself.

  After another minute of searching, she happened across Cylarei, sitting with a mug and a book outside her billet. She glanced up as Kaydel approached. “Looking for the captain, Kaydel?”

  Quirking an eyebrow and adopting a mock-severe tone, Kaydel said, “You say that like you know which of our captains I’m after, Corporal Verest.”

  There was a pantomime of decorum which had become an odd little custom among the Resistance. Discipline held them together - Kaydel, to her shame, had once failed badly at that along with Poe - but they had to remember that they were people, not programmed as the First Order would have it. 

  The Chiss woman’s red eyes flashed with amusement - not just at the joke, but at Kaydel’s deflection. Which, of course, she saw through. Cylarei had that uncanny perceptiveness which seemed common to all Chiss. Kaydel guessed she couldn’t really hold that against her. Even if she could feel herself turning red as a result.

  Cylarei forestalled the remark which Kaydel was still forming in her head. “With respect, Lieutenant, and joking aside, I was a New Republic commando and pilot. We’re trained to spot patterns. Added to which, I’ve spent a year around you and Rey...”

  Kaydel rolled her eyes and made a theatrical display of grumbling, causing Cylarei to titter. “OK, you got me. Seen her?”

  Cylarei winked and pointed to some steps, which led up to the wall. “She went up alone, but I’m sure she’ll appreciate the company.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And now you’ve got to buy my silence.”

  That deserved a half-joking hard look. “Put it on my tab. I think you’re up to five drinks now, if you can handle all that in one go.”

  “Only when we’re off this world, and I’m sure you won’t try and get me wrecked on Rylothian cocktails.” The Twi’leks’ reputation as being frivolous and decadent was libel, to be sure, but they knew how to make a wicked beverage, and honed the art with the kind of dedication Mandalorians put into metalwork.

  “I’ll consider it.” Chuckling, Cylarei waved Kaydel away.

  Now she was away from the campfires, with just the starlight illuminating the plains beyond the city. That, and the lights of the enemy encampment, not quite far away enough. There were soldiers moving around on the battlements, cradling blasters in their arms as they paced. Kaydel watched them, scanning the silhouettes until…

  Ah, finally. Rey was up on the battlements, standing a little apart from the sentries. She kept quite still, elbows on the stone and chin on her linked fingers, gazing out at the plains. “Hi Kaydel,” she said, before turning to look at her.

  Is that the moonlight, or was that an actual twinkle in her eyes?

  “Hey.” Kaydel stepped onto the parapet, hesitant. “Not sure I’m ever gonna be used to you noticing me before you see or hear me.” She’d noticed Rey’s abilities growing over the last several months, as the Jedi trained and earned experience in battle.

  Rey favoured her with one of those delicate smiles, the sort which said she was going against all her instincts to let her guard down, but Kaydel was worth it. It was one of the most flattering things Kaydel had ever known. “You’ve got a very… bright presence, Kaydel. Like musical notes played on a Batanga, you know?”

  Kaydel raised her eyebrow a little, not used to hearing such a flowery turn of phrase from Rey, but smiled back. “Thanks, Rey. And yeah, I know what you mean.”

  She was tempted to enquire if Rey had a musical simile for any of the others, but even after greeting Gial the other woman seemed to have other things on her mind. There was a distant look in her eyes as she turned to gaze out across the plains. “They’re telling stories about me again.”

  “True ones.” Kaydel eyed her carefully. “Flattering, isn’t it?”

  Rey frowned, taking a few seconds to reply. “Is it, but it makes me nervous too. Hearing myself talked about, just like Master Skywalker, Ahsoka Tano and Kanan Jarrus. It’s…” She exhaled slowly, and Kaydel felt a little pang at seeing her anxiety. “It’s a lot to live up to.”

  “It’s a sign of how much good you’ve already done.” Kaydel gripped Rey’s shoulder and gave her a gentle, hopefully reassuring shake. “Makes me think of the difference between us and the First Order. They don’t give their soldiers stories to tell. They’ll be in barracks, same routine, same rations, acting like machines instead of people.”

  “And we’ll never be that,” Rey said, with some feeling.

  “Never,” Kaydel affirmed. “But I’m not just here for a pep talk.” She pulled a warm bundle of foil from the bag in her other hand, and held it out to Rey. “You should eat.”

  “Hmm?”

  “And get some sleep too.” Kaydel gave Rey a look. “You’re looking a little worn down, Rey. Which stands to reason after duelling Phasma.”

  Rey, naturally, made to shrug it off. “The Force-”

  “Can counteract the effects of hunger and fatigue, but it can only patch over those effects.” Kaydel said the words in a schoolgirl’s singsong manner. She had read a number of the old tomes Leia kept around, along with a couple that Rey had brought with her from Ach-To. At this point, she could parrot some extracts quite smoothly. “Sooner or later, a Jedi must remember that he or she is still flesh and blood.”

  Rey scowled, but only half-heartedly. “I can’t believe you used the actual Jedi texts against me.”

  “Yes you can. You said it yourself, I’m resourceful and surprisingly cunning.”

  Gial chose that exact moment to squawk and launch himself into Rey’s arms. “Whoah! Alright rascal, I’ve missed you too. Err, can I?” she said to Kaydel, holding out one hand while she ushered Gial up onto her shoulder.

  Kaydel grinned and handed the parcel over; grilled and spiced Rycrit meat in a wrap with peppers and other, less familiar vegetables. Rey unwrapped it, inspected it fleetingly and then tucked straight in, taking a big bite of the wrap. “Mm, that’s good. Like, even the wrap itself is tasty, let alone what’s in it.”

  “Rylothian cooking. These people do things with spices and herbs that’d shame the best chefs on Dulathia.” Mouth full, Rey nonetheless raised an eyebrow. Kaydel smiled and elaborated: “I dabbled a bit when I was younger. Londresen, where I studied, had this place that did Rylothian cuisine. I got a taste for the stuff, and learned to make a few dishes myself.”

  “But compared to the real thing?” Rey prompted expectantly. It came with the most miniscule hint of a raised eyebrow, which still managed to tickle Kaydel.

  “Oh, doesn’t even come close.”

  Gial let out a quiet but plaintive mraap, causing Rey to look quizzically at Kaydel.

  “Don’t listen to him,” Kaydel answered, rolling her eyes. “He ate a whole Fleek Eel spread already.” She looked down at the Porg. “Didn’t you, Gial?”

  Another mraap was all the response they got.

  Kaydel arched an eyebrow, and put her hands on her hips. “I got it out of a tin and put it in a bowl for you.”

  Gial fell silent, and Rey laughed. Kaydel let out a little chuckle of her own. They fell quiet again, as Rey put away the rest of her meal.

  As she did, the clear tones of a hallikset rang out somewhere behind them – Poe had started up. The old Rebellion song he’d talked about, one Kaydel had first heard as a child. Then a strident, rather inebriated voice rose to join Poe’s playing. “An' ouuuutta the green, 'stride a miiiighty machine…”

  Rey nearly sprayed her last mouthful over the wall, she laughed so hard. Kaydel hooted with mirth, leaning on the taller woman to steady herself.

  “Oh kriff,” Rey chuckled, when they both petered out. “Please tell me that no one’s singing about me like that just yet...”

  “Not to my knowledge,” Kaydel said. “Not so far, anyway.” Reluctantly, she pulled away from Rey. It really didn’t help that the other woman was so very easy to be attracted to, but she didn’t dare let on any more than she could help.

  Rey gave an exaggerated sigh of relief, and took a swig of her drink. “Well, it sure is a bloody sign that I need to hit the hay.” She gave Kaydel a small glance, a minor concession of victory. “Walk back with me?”

  Kaydel accepted with a magnanimous little nod. Rey smiled shyly back at her, almost certainly aware of the triumphant look Kaydel was concealing. Then they made for the Falcon, leaving the musicians to their raucous story.

Chapter Text

  There was still something novel to Finn about the way that his limbs could betray him now. During his days as a Stormtrooper, he’d wake and come straight off the mattress, bolt-upright. It had even been the case aboard the Raddus – conscious and immediately fighting his way off the bed.

  The thing was that nowadays, he tended to wake up with Rose next to him or in his arms, and a second set of instincts which argued with the soldier’s ones. They said we can take another minute, just another minute – or two. Hell, go for five…

  Her medallion was hard beneath his palm, warm with mingled heat. It would be very, very easy to spend the whole morning taking in little details like that. Another minute?

  Noises outside. Quite a way off, actually. As he listened, they resolved into impacts – turbolasers beating on the city’s shields. Such was the First Order’s idea of a ‘good morning’ to their enemies.

  It gave him some necessary perspective. “That’s our alarm clock,” he whispered to Rose.

  She made a little grumbling noise, holding tightly onto his forearms. “That’s the morning I hate.”

  He nuzzled against her neck. “Same thing, ‘til we drive them away. C’mon, our friends need us.” He tugged just a little, and she let him go. “But,” he said, pulling on his clothes. “We’ll have the biggest damn lie-in when this is over.”

  Rose reached for a garment too. “Promise?”

  He leaned down to kiss her cheek “I promise.”

  Rey was already limbering up when they reached the mess hall, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She was also rolling her shoulders and grimacing, as Kaydel emerged from another door and approached her.

  There was concern in the comms officer's eyes. “You alright, Rey?”

  “Yeah.” Rey gave a slight nod. “Just, you know how it is. The first couple of full days in armour really cane. Train all you like but…” She shrugged, wincing slightly. “The human body has its limits. Especially when a Dark Troopered Phasma-” she grunted “-punched you on that shoulder.”

  Kaydel gave her a look. “Well, if your shoulders hurt, you’ve just gotta ask me for some soothe-gel.”

  “I had some of my own,” Rey replied. She continued, with a slightly rueful tone. “It helps, but it can’t blot out all the aches.”

  Finn was about to say something, to break up yet another round of will-they-won’t-they, but Nyzar beat him to it. “You’ll get there, Captain,” the ex-gladiator said. “I know, mine are Zabrak shoulders, but practice gets you there. We’re not that different.”

  “Except you’re twice my size,” Rey retorted.

  “Then I’m sure he needs breakfast even more than me,” Finn said drily, moving past them. Chewbacca loudly agreed, and followed.

  He found the mess hall busy but not thronging, people moving unhurriedly through. After grabbing a tray of food, he led them to where Poe was sitting back in one of the chairs, watching them with an amused look on his face.

  “Morning everyone. Trust you’re all recovered from yesterday?”

  They all replied to the tune of “More or less,” before Finn asked about the situation outside the walls.

  “No real movement out there just yet,” Poe mused, toying with a strip of toast. “Added to which, as Leia predicted, there’s no sign of further enemy forces coming to the sector.”

  “The joys of First Order politics,” Rey said, smiling wryly. “Our heads are a way for Hux to fend off Kylo Ren’s attention. More than that, we’re a prize, so there’s no way he’ll share us.”

  “A way to the throne,” Finn said, his expression grim. “If the rumours were true, back when I was a Stormtrooper, he’s always wanted it.”

  That got him a raised eyebrow from Poe. “I thought he was one of Snoke’s true fanatics. From those speeches, he seemed to worship the bastard.”

  Chewie rumbled disparagingly about the trustworthiness of men like Hux.

  “Fair enough.” Poe shrugged. “I just thought, even by First Order standards, Hux was a believer.”

  Rey pursed her lips. “I… got glimpses from Kylo, when he tried to force his way into my mind, which suggest otherwise.” She paused, finding the words. “Little fragments of memory. I’ve only been able to figure them out over time.” Her eyebrow quirked with amusement. “Ironically, Kylo suspected Hux of being out to depose Snoke.”

  A little murmur of surprise went around at that. Poe, however, looked thoughtful. He tapped his chin with one finger and said, “But he needs to convince other generals and admirals to support him. So if he can claim the victory that Kylo wants most of all, the one he failed to achieve at Crait…”

  “Then it’ll boost his legitimacy,” Rose finished. “And that means that we have a chance of wearing out his forces here and elsewhere.”

  “All the same,” Suralinda interjected. “Could do without the bombardment.”

  Finn laughed at that, though his amusement was limited. Suralinda was right; the sound never quite went away, even with all the people talking in the canteen.

  This is so very Hux, he thought. Keep hitting them. Never let them forget that we’re out here.

  “Any sign of Phasma?” he asked Poe.

  “She’s off in the scrub, it seems.” He saw Finn’s puzzled expression and clarified, “Meaning the wilds. Our friends out there have reported some sightings, and one skirmish already.” Poe’s expression confirmed Finn’s worries. “Yendor is being pushed hard. Seems the enemy are also hunting for civilians, for hostages or to slaughter."

  Next to him, Rose spoke in a quiet voice “That’s what worries me most, the enemy getting to ordinary people. If we lose Ryloth, they could end up like Paige and I.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to see it happen to these people too, after everything the Empire already did to them.”

  Finn felt a twinge in his heart, and put his arm around her.

  Rey too moved over to Rose, and laid a hand on her back, nodding. “Ryloth isn't about to become another Hays Minor. Not on our watch.”

  “Nor a Kerothime,” Tannel piped up. Then, glancing at Cylarei, he added. “And it won’t be a Pholtem either.”

  “And to make sure of that,” Poe added as he finished clearing his plate. “We’re going straight to the hangar after this.”

  Poe had already been up a couple of hours, and was glad to be on the move now. He signalled the rest of Black Squadron and they fell in behind the Scrappers, bantering away with alacrity. Their minds all seemed to be on the previous night.

  “So Hallis... how’d things go with that strapping Twi’lek man?” Jess grinned, arm in arm with Suralinda. “What was his name? Aval?”

  Hallis harrumphed. “His name’s Uval, if you have to know.”

  “Present tense,” Suralinda noted, her journalist background showing through. “So this is an ongoing thing?”

  “Well, he was quite handsome,” Jess chuckled.

  Poe turned to face them, walking backwards as he regarded them with a raised eyebrow. “Ladies, play nice. Just because poor Hallis gets billeted next to you two and has to hear all about your love life… yeah, I think you see the point.”

  Behind the three women, C’ai let out a rumbling chuckle. “Lucky I’m such a heavy sleeper.”

  “Unless the First Order decides on a night attack and you sleep through the claxon,” Poe shot back. “At least so far, they’ve done us the courtesy of a daytime offensive.”

  This time, the heavy doors were closed. The sentries gave Poe a nod, and let them through.

  Blue Squadron were among those already in the hangar, along with Numa. They were being shown the facility’s motley assortment of repair droids.

  Snap’s attention was on a trio of small, bipedal droids, with domed heads and single lenses. “Pit droids?” he asked curiously. The little droids heard – they whirled to face him, snapping to attention and saluting.

  “They’ve branched out,” Numa smiled. “We call them the Wrench Crew.” She noted the pilots’ quizzical expressions. “Think about it. Who’s better at quick, thorough work? Like the sort our squadrons might well need.”

  “Hard to argue with that,” Snap said. “So long as they get along with our astros.”

  “You approve of them?” asked one of the Rylothian techs. “Normally people pull faces when they see our little guys.”

  Snap shook his head, and gave the Twi’lek a broad smile. “Believe me, I'm no stranger to changing up droids myself.”

  Poe wore a look of sudden mirth, and he adopted a crowing voice as he shouted, “My name is Mister Bones!” The veteran pilots burst into laughter, prompting confused looks from everyone else.

  “Was that the incident with Terex?” Trig Funnet asked Jess.

  Jess grimaced. “One incident with Terex.”

  As they were speaking, BB-8 rolled up to one of the droids, BA-9 trailing behind, and greeted it the same way he would any other droid. He chirruped, eager to make friends. It greeted him rather less politely, nudging him to see if the little ball droid would indeed roll back. His good nature overcome, BB-8’s response was to extend an arm and prod the other droid sharply on its lens.

  Unfortunately, no one had told the young astromech about what happened when you ‘tapped the nose’. The pit droid immediately compacted itself, causing BB-8 to squeal in panic.

  “BB-8, it’s alright!” Poe tried to reassure him, but BB-8 was running circles around his feet, babbling in horror as BA-9 followed, also attempting to calm him down. Finally Poe stepped into his path, stopping the little droid in his tracks. “No, you haven’t killed him. Look, he’s… see?” He gestured to two pit droids, which were now de-collapsing their fellow.

  BB-8 made a low noise, which sounded like a sigh of profound relief. BA-9 sidled up next to him, making a boo-ip that seemed to stand for a gentle I told you so. From the Falcon’s ramp, R2-D2 gave the droid equivalent of a mildly exasperated eyeroll.

  “And with that resolved…” Poe bounded atop the nose of his fighter. “Everyone! Form up, and listen up!”

  A hush descended on the hangar. Pilots and crew snapped to attention.

 “We did a good job yesterday, and the First Order aren’t gonna stand for that,” Poe said. “You’ve all seen the bombardment, and our intel says that when it ends, the First Order are dropping a whole bunch of air raids on us. So, squadrons, today you are our main line of defence beside the shields.”

  Snap came forward. “We know the city pretty well now. Primary shield generators are over in the city centre and cover the whole diameter. Secondaries are inside that bubble and embedded in the walls for good measure. Now, the First Order can get inside those shields with their craft, but thanks to everyone’s efforts yesterday, the wall guns are still mostly intact – or indeed they’re intact again now,” he said, nodding to Rose, Ki’rii and Ezubzina.

  Poe took over again. “The First Order will be trying to destroy those guns. Burst the shield, smash the cannons hard enough that we can’t do anything to fix them. So our job is to hold them off, and we’re gonna do this in shifts.”

  Karé came forward. “We’ll rotate on and off, one wing in the air and two on the ground. I’ll take one, Captain Wexley another and of course, Commander Dameron will lead the other. An hour’s flytime each go. When the time comes to take over, you will be signalled in, squadron by squadron.”

  Poe nodded, but his eyes had hardened. “Now, I want you to understand this. We aren’t going for anything spectacular today. We’re gonna hold the bad guys off, and keep our people on the ground as safe as we can. When you get the signal to come back, you come back. You will not pursue a retreating enemy any further than the primary shield. If a wingman bails onto the plain, speeders will be sent to retrieve them and their astromech – you will need to keep doing your job up in the air. Understood?”

  “Yes sir!” came the answering shout.

  “That’s what I like to hear. We have officers coming round who will sort you into your wings for this op, please hold still until then. Fly well, fight well,” he finished, and jumped down. “Rey, you’re with us.”

  “Understood,” she beamed. “Crew’s ready to embark.” She gestured at Chewbacca, Rose, Tannel and Cylarei, before she was reminded by a plaintive sequence of beeps from R2-D2. “Sorry. With R2 aboard, we’ve got a full flight crew.”

  Finn coughed next to her. “Though I’d rather not be left here on the ground.”

  “I know, bud,” Poe said. “But I can’t risk you and Rey in the same ship right now. Besides, we need good officers on the walls as well, and Numa requested you and Rose.”

  That helped soften the blow. “Fair enough,” Finn conceded.

  From that point, it was the same well-rehearsed routine – albeit with the grim knowledge that out on the plain, First Order pilots would be doing the same things. Still, Poe put it to the back of his mind until he was in the air, his captains checking in one by one.

  He had three of his own squadrons – Black, Violet and Silver – and four more of Deathseeds, plus one extra craft.

  “Millennium Falcon, standing by,” Rey said, and Poe felt his spirits lift at hearing her.

  “Just how we like it.” He looked toward the horizon; TIEs were starting to swarm towards the city. “So as we’ve discussed, keep it tight. Hold the enemy back, give our gunners room to work. First wing, away!”

  It was the very opposite of the audacious raids with which he’d made his name, though he also found himself reminded of the Starkiller attack. There, his squadrons had fought a vicious grind, and now here they were looking to inflict the same on the First Order.

 Everything came down to the arithmetic of keeping enough fighters in the air and guns on the walls to hold off the enemy craft, and the bombers which loomed bulkily among their more slender brethren. Left unchecked, those could swarm and saturate a target. Whole cities had died that way; Sundari on Mandalore perhaps the most infamous example. It was imperative to stave out that fate for themselves.

  Mercifully, it mostly worked. Waves of fighters and bombers came at them, but the Resistance craft held them off, thinning out squadrons and steering them into the sights of gunners below.

  So they held, and thinned out the enemy wings. The First Order were relentless, however, and it was a constant battle to keep them back; at times, the Resistance fighters were the ones being pursued. You had to watch out for your comrades, and get the enemy off their backs.

  “We’ve got some optimists closing in,” Suralinda sardonically reported.

  “I see ‘em,” Poe said. He watched them in his rearview screen, one eye still on the battle in front of him.

  These attackers needed to be dealt with swiftly. He chose a quick solution.

  “Closing Fist, on my mark,” he ordered. “And… now!” He slammed his joystick forward, and with BB-8 squealing in his ear, threw his fighter down into a loop. To either side of him, the rest of Black Squadron did the same, flipping around to come around behind their pursuers and vaporise them with a crossfire of lasers.

  Without pausing for even a moment to celebrate, Poe was seeking new targets. Na Funnett and Violet Squadron were picking apart a bomber flight, Souel had Silver Squadron moving to head off another. Then he saw an incoming wing of fighters which no one was marking yet. He set course to intercept, Black Squadron following in his wake as the cityscape whipped by beneath them.

  Before they could even get into range, however, a quintet of Deathseed fighters swooped on the approaching TIEs and scattered them. Four of the TIEs were shot to pieces. The fifth, in its haste to escape, ran straight into Poe’s sights. He took it out with a single shot.

  “Nice flying!” Poe called across the comm. “Captain Aoroh, I like your style.”

  “From you, Captain Dameron, that’s the biggest compliment.”

  Poe accepted the praise with a chuckle. “You know, I grew up hearing about Deathseeds,” he said. “Quite a thing to see them in action - I get why you guys are proud of them.”

  Aoroh laughed, and spoke a few words in his native tongue. “Daki kor bril plee ch'sei, et serva kor petalku jehsa tol aolan.”

  “Uh, my Rylothian isn't quite up to that. What does it mean?”

  “Seed the wind with death,” Na interpreted, “and watch the petals of flame unfurl.”

  BB-8 shunted Poe a little missive on his display, the binary equivalent of a raised eyebrow. Poe smiled gently. “Very poetic,” he told the others.

  He might’ve said more, but then BB-8 chirped and highlighted the timer on his console. At the same time, Snap’s voice issued from the speaker. “Black Leader, time to swap out. My people are coming up now.”

  “Roger that, Blue Leader. First Wing,” Poe said, now on an open channel. “Wait until Second engages, then pull back. No exceptions, no stragglers. We do this together.”

  His captains signalled their compliance, with varying levels of willingness. Na, in particular, sounded like she’d rather have stayed out a little longer.

  Still, when Snap’s fighters got into range, they disengaged as one and flew back to safety. No losses – yet. The first hour’s fighting had been clean.

  But then, as Poe reminded himself, that could all change in a blink of an eye.

Chapter Text

  Down below, Finn was restless. He was too busy to idly watch the murderous dance unfolding above his head, but not quite busy enough to blot it out. Three hours had passed, and he could see nerves starting to fray in the soldiers and workers around him. Half his job was distracting them, keeping them too occupied to start fretting.

  He found himself wondering, at the back of his mind, how this would be for the Stormtroopers out on the enemy lines. That was where he’d always been intended to end up; out on the front lines, bringing the enemy to their knees.

  Or maybe he’d be one of those hunting out in the wilderness for Keldor’s troops. There were still shell clusters occasionally appearing, sailing out of the surrounding forests and hills, occasionally breaching a shield blister. As far as he could tell, though, the skirmishers’ main function had been to draw Stormtroopers away from their siege lines, to be ambushed either by the irregulars or the local wildlife.

  But they’d have to contend with Phasma, perhaps the deadliest Stormtrooper ever to wear the armour. Even in the Civil War there’d been Sergeant Kreel and his elite squad, and… actually, Finn wasn’t sure if there was anyone else who might qualify. No one else even came closer to Phasma, except maybe Captain Cardinal, who’d trained him as a young child.

  He’d imagined that he had put an end to her. A small enough thing, as much the result of luck as skill and quick thinking… but still, a victory. The completion of his journey from Stormtrooper to rebel, the capstone. Phasma surviving couldn’t undo that process, much less the things he’d done and the ways he’d grown since then, but suddenly there was a sense of a gap, a void.

  And, of course, the looming threat that Phasma embodied, deadlier than before, reinforced with all the technological power the First Order could give her. Fast and strong enough to stalemate Rey…

  "Captain?"

  Finn looked up, feeling a little guilty for his reverie. One of the Rylothian soldiers stood opposite him, looking slightly nervous.

  His duties during an air raid turned out to mean a lot of showing his face around the sector, saying some reassuring words, but mostly listening. This was going to be one of those latter cases.

  “Yes… Ructi, isn't it?” The Twi'lek nodded, gratitude showing in his face. “You've got a question?”

  Ructi looked a little nervous. “Aye, and stop me if this is disrespectful.”

  So this is about the First Order, Finn thought. He kept silent however, and motioned for the soldier to continue.

  "Well, you know the First Order, sir. And I never understood… why do they hate us? I mean, why did the Empire? We fought in the Clone Wars, on the Republic’s side. So why come down so hard on us?"

  Finn thought for a moment, stroking his chin. He could see Juspabo stood nearby, watching thoughtfully. “The instructors always said Ryloth exemplified how only control from the centre could be counted on. Rylothians must be shielded from outside threats, but also their own ‘willfulness’.”

  Ructi snorted. "Makes us sound like children."

  Nodding, and letting his distaste show, Finn said, "If you ask me what I think it really was, Palpatine and the likes of Tarkin were keeping a careful eye on who could stand on their own two feet.”

  Understanding dawned on the young Twi’lek's face. "So they could weed us out later.

  “Anyone that could make a stand with the Republic could make a stand against the Empire. Hell, that was probably part of the plan from the start. The Clone Wars identified or discredited potential troublemakers, and weakened almost all of them."

  “The speciesism was already there, too,” Rose added. 

  “High Human gutkurr-poodoo, am I right?” Ki'rii said, to a murmur of amused agreement.

  Rose soon looked serious again, however. "A lot of people in the Imperial hierarchy were going to revile you guys no matter where you stood in the war. And plenty were quite ready to use any prejudice they could exploit."

  "And now the First Order has fifty years of indoctrination behind them," Finn added. "In which time, nonhuman people have been fighting against oppression…"

  Ructi finished for him. "And that just proves their point, in their minds." He paused. "So how do we beat that?"

  "By proving them wrong," Finn said with a smile, gripping the young soldier’s arm. "By having people of all species stand shoulder to shoulder, refusing to sink to their level, and winning." A squadron of Deathseeds streaked overhead, and he watched them go. “Just like our friends up there.”

  Almost as soon as Black One had touched down, Poe was leaping from the cockpit and moving to assess the state of his fighters. Luck and skill – both his and BB-8’s, for which he was sure to thank his astromech – had brought him through unscathed, but the same couldn’t be said for everyone else.

  Mechanics and droids flooded the space, dancing some kind of chaotic waltz with the pilots who were still adjusting to being back on solid ground. Fuel lines were secured, damage assessed, and repairs swiftly begun.

  Poe noted a lot of work being started already. His wing’s second rotation had been considerably rougher than the first. Even Jess, in her nimble A-Wing, hadn’t avoided some trouble.

  He and BB-8 wove between two astromechs and around a Bessalisk engineer to reach her. “Testor, what’s the trouble?”

  Jess kept her eyes on the interceptor at first. “Something in the… wiring? BA, what do you see?” She gave Poe a look, and jerked her head. “Hallis needs a hand more than me. BA and I’ve got this.”

  Poe moved on, and found Hallis under her fighter. “What’s giving you grief?”

  “Boost thruster won’t kick.”

  “Thought you hated that thing,” Poe laughed, crouching down to take a look.

  Hallis scowled. “I do, but I still want it to work. Swapping out a few fuses should do the trick, but you’re better at that than me.”

  Just then, the Falcon’s door opened, letting out a troubling cloud of smoke. Chewbacca and Tannel appeared, carrying what looked like busted cylinders of some sort. Both the Wookie and Bothan had soot in their fur.

  Poe didn’t leave his work, but he did open a comm channel to Rey. “Uh, Scrapper One, what’s going on in there?”

  Her reply was a muffled, somewhat irate growl. There was swearing in the background, from several people.

  “Come again, Rey?”

  There was a pause before Rey spoke again – clearly this time. “Sorry, I had a Vemok Spanner in my mouth. Chewie’s gone to grab the components we need, but if you can send some droids our way, I’ll appreciate it.”

  BB-8 turned and asked trillingly for Poe’s permission, and shot off towards the Falcon as soon as he had a nod. Poe was moving to inspect another squadron, but he heard a pleased-sounding noise from Rey which said she’d seen the new arrival.

  “So what’s the damage?” he asked Rey.

  “TIE Interceptor, caught us a glancing blow. Nearly blew out an engine feed.”

  “Right.” Poe thought for a second. “Say, does that mean I win the argument about who’s the best pilot?”

  He could almost hear her shrug. “We’re a bigger target.”

  Poe shook his head. “Fair enough. That fire is out already, right?”

  “Yeah, R2 handled it. Those bloody interceptors really had an attitude, didn’t they? Ah, great stuff, Cylarei.” There was a pause, before she addressed Poe again. “I think it’s fixed, but I’m gonna cycle the air in here before we head up again. Anyone else need a hand out there?”

  Poe looked around. “I’m sure C’ai will be grateful. He’s having trouble with a torpedo launcher.”

  “On it.” Rey appeared moments later, only sparing him a wave as she jogged over to C’ai’s fighter.

  Next to Poe, Hallis grumbled as she worked. “I really hoped we’d be able to rest when we were on the ground.”

  “Well,” Poe said to his youngest pilot, with an apologetic tilt of his head. “That’s why we never assume anything, or underestimate the First Order.” Then something boomed outside, and he felt a slight tremor underneath him. “Oh, I hate being right.”

  “Captain Finn!”

  Finn was already running, one hand to his earpiece. “Commander Numa.”

  “The shields above battery 1-K-2 are straining. We need you there in case they break.”

  “I hear you.” He yelled to the squads around him and leapt into the speeder, Nyzar and LM-276 leaping in behind him and Rose. The other troops piled into additional transports and followed.

  The enemy was well aware of the faltering shields. As they closed on the battery, they could see the fire from TIE Fighters and Bombers intensifying, a torrent of green light. Then with a snap, the battery’s shields gave out and a spout of fire rose ahead of them.

  Shielding his face, Finn swore. Then the speeders were slowing and he was jumping down, running as soon as he hit the ground.

  He found the central gun a heap of twisted, smoking metal, along with another next to it. “Two turrets destroyed, one damaged,” he reported.  Rose and Ki’rii got straight to work on the shield generator, as he continued. “I need portable cannons brought up here. Manual, automated, whatever you’ve got.”

  “But what do we do now?” one of the soldiers asked.

  “Now?” Finn laughed, hoping he sounded devil-may-care and not deranged. “We plug the gap.” He carried on before any of the soldiers could voice their evident doubts: “Come on! Heavy weapons, form up! I want that repeater.”

  It was handed over, and Finn let out a growl of satisfaction as he hefted it. It was an FWMB-10K, the First Order’s go-to heavy blaster rifle. He’d picked it from yesterday’s captured weapons, and for good reason.

  Not that he’d planned for the precise reason to be TIE Fighters and Bombers. Infantry didn’t go toe-to-toe with craft like that. It just didn’t happen. But here they were, and the Resistance squadrons in the air were flagging now after an hour’s constant fighting. Exceptional circumstances called for extreme measures.

  And now there was a bomber wing coming directly at them. Their escorts were blocking the Resistance fighters, and nothing else was going to hold them back. Their cannon blasts were already pummeling the shields that Rose and Ki’rii had sparked, sputtering, back into life.

  “Fire!” Finn yelled, and his troops followed his lead, guns blazing. “Continuous fire, c’mon!”

  They were risking overheating their weapons, pushing them hard even while the remaining cannons boomed around them. He saw the fiery wounds opening up on the bombers, saw the flickering of the abused shields as they neared collapse…

  But then the defenders’ volley hit home. The lead bomber’s wing axis blew apart, the two halves of the craft smashing into the bombers either side of it. The remaining pair of bombers pulled out of their attack run. Even then, one still fell prey to fire from Finn’s troops.

  Finn breathed a sigh of relief as he finally allowed his blaster to cool, and a whine of repulsors brought some more good news – Ezubzina, with the cannons he’d asked for. “Yes! Set ‘em up, set ‘em up!”

  “More bombers!” LM-276 called. Two squadrons had just slipped through the net, though at the cost of several other bombers shot down. If the destroyed cannons were intact, they’d have been shot out of the sky already, but personal blasters, even heavy ones, just didn’t have the range.

  “Kriff,” Finn muttered. Then he raised his voice, shutting out his own fears. “Form up again! Fire on my command! Ezubzina, I need those cannons set up and firing solutions set!”

  She started to protest, eyes fixed on the incoming bombers. “But I-”

  “We’ll hold them off.” He kept his voice steady, just as he’d been taught. “You just get those guns working!”

  That shook the artillerist out of her panic. Ezubzina turned to the turrets, while Finn raised his blaster and took aim at the lead bomber. Everything else fell away as the distance narrowed.

  “Fire!” he roared, and again bolts whipped across the gulf, smashing into the oncoming bombers. The first of them went down, but this time there were too many to destroy in one go, and the cry of “Overheated!” rang out around him. Finally, Finn’s own weapon gave an electronic whine of protest, the internal systems forcing a cooldown and shutting it off before the overheating could turn disastrous.

  It was a necessary failsafe. You were taught about overheating, about the tolerances of heavy portable weapons which didn’t have the active cooling systems of their static counterparts, but even in many veteran Stormtroopers, it was easy to get lost in the roar of the cannon. 

 Still,  Finn growled in frustration. He reached for his rifle, for all the good that would do against something that big. The bombers filled his vision now, pummelling the shields. Any more and-

  A shout of triumph which could’ve been Ezubzina or Ki’rii sounded behind him, and a blizzard of fire whipped overhead. Finn ducked down, clapping his free hand to an ear, but even then it was almost deafening. The bombers were struck and shredded like paper, strips of metal whirling away as they spun out of control and plummeted to earth.

  More good news followed: Resistance craft in blue, red and orange. Poe’s squadrons had rotated out again, and fresh units replaced them. Now they converged with a howl of thrusters, cutting into the attackers. Stricken TIEs spiraled away, carving new gouges into the plain below. 

  “There’s our reprieve,” Rose said, echoing Finn’s thoughts as she took hold of his arms. “We’re saved for the moment.”

  He turned and kissed her. “We still needed your work there. And you did good too, lieutenant,” he said to Ezubzina.

  The blue-skinned Twi’lek grinned shakily, and saluted. “Happy to help, captain. What now?”

  Finn glanced up at the dogfights overhead. “We get back into cover, and await the next call for help.”

  It wore on for almost another hour before Hux’s staff thought about relenting. As darkness slid across the surface below the Unremitting, creeping toward Nabat, the First Order commanders weighed their options.

  "Should we pull them back, General?" Vintalli asked Hux, gesturing at the casualty icons. They'd steadily climbed all day. It was about in line with projections, but the expected damage to Nabat fell short of what Hux had hoped for.

  Hux's expression was sour, but he acquiesced. "Yes. Relay the order to Colonel Stolan.'' As an officer complied, he muttered to Vintalli, "This grows ever more vexing.” He called up another holo, a meteorological projection. “We have dust storms only a day or two away, forecast to last at least a week, and no substantial wounds dealt to the defenders."

  "Not yet, sir." Vintalli kept the relish out of his voice, for the most part. "We do, however, have some progress made on requisitioning assets for a tunneling strike, and I have identified others which might make a surface attack more viable." He did allow some pride to show at that.

  Hux’s gaze grew more intense. “I was just about to query how your endeavor was progressing.”

  “I’m pleased to report that we have hit upon something which may just win us this city.” Vintalli produced a datastick, and slotted it into a console. A blocky structure appeared, in holo form. Despite the small image, it was clearly huge. “Surveyors chanced across these on Aaloth and requisitioned them.”

  Hux nodded approvingly. Then he spoke to Vintalli again. “Aaloth… a Twi’lek colony originally, was it not?”

  “Originally. Then the Zygerrian Alliance took it over-” and here Vintalli’s lips twitched in amusement “-using a domestic revolt as pretext. The Twi’leks handed the world over to them, and the Zygerrians turned it into the mining world it is today.”

  “Then Ryloth’s own sins and mistakes will come back to roost,” Hux smiled. “As fitting as I could wish. Perhaps the Rylothians will learn from the example of their predecessors”

  Vintalli nodded. “Retrofitting the assets will eat up some time, but both should be at your fingertips in just four weeks.” An adjutant handed him a dataslate with a murmur, and Vintalli proffered it. “These are the proposed modifications.”

  A greedy light appeared in Hux's eyes. "Show me."

Chapter Text

  Weeks had passed since the frantic Jet Trooper assault and the initial flurries of bombers. Now the invaders and defenders alike settled into an uneasy routine, punctuated by artillery fire and interspersed with occasional surprise attacks, as both sides probed for weaknesses.

  Now, that routine had itself sputtered out, for Ryloth’s infamous dust storms had begun rolling in from the desert. They swept over Nabat, driving civilians inside and testing the soldiers’ resilience. The First Order encampment often became invisible, and only the muffled reports of artillery indicated that they were still out there. After a while, those died away too, the dust so thick that it swallowed energy blasts and left great gobbets of glass on the plain, glinting among the wreckage.

  Even Rey, well used to sandstorms from Jakku, had been astonished by these tempests. They had raged with all the fury that legend claimed, carpeting the city and the surrounding area in sand. Fighting in such conditions was almost impossible; Numa told her that historically, wars on Ryloth had always paused for storm season. For the most part, digging and sweeping to keep the streets clear had taken the place of combat.

  Still, when the storms abated, the fighting was every bit as fierce. There were new stories being told around the campfires and in the mess - Black Squadron scoring ten kills apiece within an hour, Finn taking on three Riot Troopers and smashing them clean off the walls, Yendor’s guerillas taking out a whole artillery battery before melting away into the wilderness.

  The landscape around Nabat stood mute testament to all that fighting. It's starting to look an awful lot like Jakku out there, Rey thought on the fourth morning of the third week. Wreckage was strewn across the plain, fighters and gunships having joined the vehicles which they’d destroyed in that first night attack. Most were half-buried by the storms’ residue, as well as the scattered bodies of Stormtroopers, still encased in their armour. No Man’s Land had taken on an appropriately eerie aspect.

  Occasionally, a Stormtrooper would be left wounded in No Man’s Land, the only survivor of an artillery strike or a clash of patrols. When it got quiet enough, you could hear them screaming. The Resistance always attempted to retrieve their injured - the Scrappers had carried out rescues themselves - but Stolan wouldn’t lift a finger for his own stricken soldiers. So they’d stay there, and if you looked with macrobinoculars they might be visible, writhing in the dust, their pain and despair bleeding into the Force. The Resistance, unable to justify risking their people for an enemy, had reluctantly taken to mercy killing. If a dying Stormtrooper was spotted, Rey called for a sniper, and waited for the Force to tell her that the man’s suffering was over.

  Rey supposed she should take heart in the difficulty that it would cause the enemy if they tried to traverse those heaps of scrap en masse, but the unease in her heart wouldn’t abate. This was another statement of just how many resources – and lives – the First Order was willing to spend in order to subjugate Nabat. Nothing angered Hux and his underlings like defiance, it seemed.

  Beyond Nabat, a different routine was going on uninterrupted. Resistance squadrons and companies elsewhere continued to wage their hit-and-run campaigns further toward the Mid Rim, carving away slivers of strength from Hux’s reinforcements and resupply. To the amusement of all, three carrier vessels full of TIEs had arrived in-system under the Resistance flag, their craft given new colours and flown by former Carrida Academy cadets.

  Alas, the invaders' blockade made it impossible to bring in the terrestrial vehicles and heavy artillery captured in other raids. It would’ve been nice just to put more guns on the roofs in Nabat, but there was no way haulers would get through the enemy cordon now. As for the guerillas outside, they could only use the most portable artillery for fear of being slowed down. To Rey, that meant that the void actions could easily be an abstract matter, something she knew of but offered frustratingly little in the wyay of tangible benefit.

  Look beyond yourself, she thought. The Force binds everything. It binds us to our allies out there, all in the same fight.

  Footsteps intruded on her ruminations, but they came with a welcome presence in the Force. “Shoulders feeling better yet?” Kaydel asked, appearing with a flask in her hands.

  Rey looked at her and nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Good.” Kaydel’s smile was short-lived though, as she surveyed the grim vista. “Remind you of Jakku much?”

  “Kriff, you’re in my head,” Rey said, letting her voice drift close to a laugh.

  “Repaying the favour?” Kaydel winked, with a small smile. Plainly she was thinking back to when Rey had helped her work through her guilt over the Raddus mutiny.

  Rey chuckled now, though her amusement died as she turned her eyes back to the grim vista. “There’s one thing Jakku didn’t have, though. Niima Outpost pointing guns at me.” The First Order encampments had spread laterally, ultimately encircling the city, and the perimeter was marked out with cannons at regular intervals.

  The profile of the encampment had changed too, as they dug trenches and raised sturdy prefabricated walls. As well as Keldor’s skirmishers, the enemy had had hard lessons meted out by the wildlife – the arrogant assumption that their firepower could keep anything out had been proven quite mistaken. On the sixth day of the siege, an offensive had been violently thrown off by an incursion of hulking Lyleks. A swarm of the insectile predators had broken through the line, the carapaces of the largest beasts repelling even cannon fire.

  The result had been spectacularly grisly, the initial cheers of Resistance fighters giving way to groans, swearing and more than a little retching as the carnage unfolded. Either side of Rey, Finn and Kaydel had fervently murmured their gratitude for Nabat’s redoubtable construction.

  It had been even more ominous to see the attack repulsed. Phasma and her Dark Troopers had stalked into the fray, pulverizing the Lyleks with heavy weapons while Phasma’s spear plunged through chitin again and again. There had been a grisly elegance to it, the poise of a seasoned hunter. An apex predator to quell even Ryloth’s deadliest denizens was the unwelcome thought which had come to Rey.

  When she mentioned that to Finn, he had nodded grimly and said, “That was always Phasma’s thing. When you watched her, you started to believe the propaganda.”

  After that attack, the First Order had fortified their encampment, building a ring of steel around Nabat. That had bought the Resistance some respite, though Stolan had continued to launch air raids and bombard the deflector shields. At least Poe’s squadrons and Hera Syndulla’s, sweeping down from orbit, had been able to strike back when the First Order brought reinforcements. When transports descended to the siege lines, they’d be attacked from above and below. A number of them had joined the wreckage on the plain.

  More ominously, behind the prefab walls there were also now jamming arrays visible among the lines of turrets and artillery. They made it difficult to send out or receive communications. Hera, with her ship's powerful transmitter, could still reach the city, but anyone operating in the wilds might as well be on the other side of the planet. Yendor’s forces were somewhere out there, they had to assume, but there was no way of knowing how many guerillas he had or where they were, beyond the occasional explosion on the far side of the enemy base.

  Rey glanced up at the Unremitting and its escorts, the morning sun still gleaming on their undersides. They just hung there, like a guillotine blade suspended over the city. It reminded her of Jedha, in the old pictures she'd seen of the Imperial occupation.

  Finn said that Hux had liked to refer to historical events in his rhetoric. No doubt he was well aware of the echo of Jedha, and rather pleased about it.

  “Doesn’t do to stare for too long, Captain!”

  Rey turned in the direction of the call, making a quizzical face. Numa was walking towards her.

  “Perhaps not, Commander,” she conceded. “Still hard to take your eyes off it, though.”

  "True. I wish we had the weapons Cham had used once, when I was young," Numa said. "He crippled the Emperor's own Star Destroyer."

  "We'd need more than that for Hux's Super," Rey pointed out, jerking a thumb at the Unremitting to underscore her point.

  "I know. But a Rebel can dream, can’t she?”

  Rey would have agreed, but she was interrupted by the sound of TIE engines. Following the sound, she saw fighters speeding away from the Unremitting, towards the horizon. “What’s that about?”

  “Probably reinforcements, of a sort.” Numa shrugged apologetically. “We’ve only just started to spot them ourselves, and contact with Keldor is still spotty. Some smaller companies have opted to jump their ships straight into low orbit and send out transports. Then they go to join Commodore Syndulla’s fleet, or just quit the system – covered by our own vessels, or fighters stationed in Lessu and Kala’un.”

  Rey listened in silence, forming a suspicion. “Do I detect an impending assignment?”

  Numa, to her surprise, chortled a little. “Your instincts are right. We have a small fleet due this afternoon. They’ll link up with units from Kala’un, before breaking through the First Order lines.”

  Finn appeared with Rose, a skeptical look on his face. “With some assistance from us, I suspect.” When Numa acknowledged it with a nod, he asked, “Any word on who it is?”

  Juspabo stood nearby, his arms folded. “Nydark Company. Guessing you’ve heard of them then?” he chuckled when a murmur went through the group.

  “Mostly what sound like wild rumors,” Cylarei said. “You think any of it can be true?”

  He smiled at her – unthinkable a couple of weeks ago. “Seeing the bunch of you has shifted my understanding of what’s possible for Resistance fighters.”

  Nydark Company were a legend, in which it was hard to sort truth from wild invention. They had emerged during the chaos following the Hosnian Cataclysm and Snoke’s death. The First Order had moved to annex the Core and great swathes of the Mid Rim, only to suddenly face galvanized defenses and insurgencies. 

  Nydark Company were something adjacent to the latter, a small roving band of highly capable fighters led by a man named Archex. Over two years, they had ranged across the Galaxy, mostly systems far from any Resistance battlefront. The result was that their deeds were filtered through rumor and hearsay, not to mention First Order attempts to suppress news of any setbacks inflicted on their regime.

  “I’ll take that,” Rey said. “Let’s wait for Poe to catch us up.” Poe had alighted on the morning meal as a chance to regularly check up on his flight officers. The fighter squadrons had been the busiest of all, except for when the storms hit.

  “I hope they live up to their reputation,” Kaydel said with feeling. “We could do with another edge.”

  Stolan, too, was ruminating on the current state of the conflict, as he proceeded along the airfield. He was finding it all irritatingly static.

  The Rylothian climate wasn't the worst he'd experienced, but it was certainly not a friend to the First Order. Sandstorms had stymied their advance several times, leaving parts of the encampment half-buried and slowing down its expansion.

  Worse, however, were the beasts, even for a man raised in the hunting culture of Eriadu. Although the satisfaction of taking a heavy blaster and killing a pair of Lyleks would stay with Stolan for a long time yet, the inconvenience far outweighed any enjoyment. The last time his tacticians had run their calculations, a thirtieth of the casualties were solely due to wildlife. 

  Those weren’t the only attacks to come out of the wilderness. The Rylothian forces hadn't entirely cast off their guerrilla methods. At irregular intervals, Stolan's troops would find themselves the targets of hit-and-run attacks or booby traps. At least he had Phasma and her Dark Troopers to send in pursuit – he was certainly grateful to General Hux for their presence.

  He was also grateful to Vintalli for the Admiral’s successes in finding new weapons for a frontal assault. If Vintalli was correct, then all Stolan needed to do was to sit tight, chip away at the defenses and make sure his new assets arrived intact.

  "Colonel!" The shout came from a Stormtrooper captain. "We have a patrol returning, with prisoners."

  Stolan and his retinue followed the officer to the nearest gate. Several squads were already gathered there, surrounding half a dozen Twi’leks.

  "Raiders from outside the perimeter," a sergeant proudly announced. “Some got away, but not all of them were quick enough. Do you want them interrogated?”

  “It won’t do you any good,” one of the Twi’leks spat. “Even if we told you where Keldor was, he’d still wipe your squads out first-”

  “Enough, scum!” The sergeant delivered a vicious kick to the Twi’lek’s flank, doubling him up, and then a few more for good measure. "Damn wretched tail-heads," he finished.

  That drew Stolan's attention. "Why do you call them that?" he asked.

  The sergeant looked at him. "Is this a test, Colonel?"

  "Just a question, sergeant. Why do you call this creature a tail-head?"

  It didn’t seem that the man had ever been asked that question before, to judge from the fractional tilt of his head. "A simple pejorative, sir. Reminds the men of the alien's place."

  "A worthy intent," Stolan nodded. Then he held up a finger. "But a flawed one. For there is another name by which we might call this species and know it to be inferior, is there not? Hmm?"

  Silence answered him, tinged with nervous uncertainty. 

  "Twi'lek," he said, lingering on it in a way that made the word unpleasant and slimy to the ears of those around him. "A name that marks them out as inhuman, and thus, lesser. We don't require childish nicknames when we can simply use the name and recognise all the vile decadence it conveys." He roughly grabbed the lek of one male, examining with distaste the fatty ridge of the brow. "See them - near-human, to coin the phrase, allegedly so close to our perfection and yet falling so utterly short. Shot through with alien deviousness, covetous of a status they will never deserve. They represent the same deviant tendency which overthrew High Human Culture before."

  "High Human?" The lead Twi'lek raised his head to meet Stolan's gaze, and snorted through the blood trickling from his nose. "I see only the lowest of the low here, Colonel. Our friends and allies in the city, whom you call traitors to your species, they stand higher than you ever will."

  Stolan snorted, and smiled. Then he drove his boot straight into the prisoner's gut. The Twi'lek folded over on the ground.

  “We won’t bother interrogating these,” he declared. “The Twi’lek is devious by nature. Most likely these prisoners would give us false information, the better to lure our soldiers into traps." He turned towards the city. "I have a far better use for them in mind.”

  That use quickly became apparent to Rey, Kaydel and Numa. One of the gates on the First Order’s inner wall had opened – just the one.

  Kaydel glanced at Rey, and saw that her brow was just as furrowed. “That… doesn’t look like an offensive,” Rey ventured.

  Kaydel grabbed her binoculars and added, “Stolan doesn’t seem the sort to lead from the front. So I wonder what this is about.”

  Their parapet rapidly filled up with officers. “What am I looking at?” Numa asked, a frown etched on her turquoise features.

  Kaydel spoke up before she could get second thoughts. “I see Phasma, Dark Troopers, Stolan and what looks like prisoners.”

  “Looks like… oh, karabast,” said one of the Twi’lek adjutants. “Commander, those are some of Keldor’s militia.”

  The group had come to the edge of the First Order shields. Stolan looked in their direction, raising a hand in mock-salute. Then he spoke into an unseen microphone, and his voice blared from several points along the walls. “I’m sure that all of us, on both sides, find ourselves deprived of diversion at this time. Therefore, I propose a game. It's very simple; any creature should be able to grasp it.” He turned, and addressed the prisoners. “Run for the gates. Anyone who reaches them alive will be allowed to enter Nabat. A temporary stay of execution - assuming that you can run like true rebels,” he added derisively as his men thrust the captives forward. “Your time starts now.” He leered up at the defenders “Ten, nine-”

  The prisoners, however, had other ideas. As one they got up, some helping their fellows, and turned to face their captors. Rey exchanged a glance with Kaydel, tension drawing tight around her ribs. Even Stolan seemed taken aback.

  "The Force is with the Resistance!" one of the prisoners barked, loud enough to carry to the device Stolan was using.

  "And we are all the Resistance!" cried the rest.

  Phasma was the quickest to overcome her surprise. She leveled her gun and fired a volley into the first Twi'lek's chest, and again when he dropped to the ground. The Dark Troopers followed suit and lit their prisoners up, guns blazing for several seconds after the fighters had fallen.

  After that, there was a lengthy silence. The only sound was the echo of those shots.

  "But the Force was not, evidently, with those particular wretches," Stolan chuckled, evidently over his disappointment. “This is what awaits all of you, should you fail to comply with our demands. Think about that, while you stew behind your walls.” He turned, and strode back to the gate.

  Nabat’s defenders were left with an unpleasant silence. The prisoners’ defiance had made up a little for the hurt of what they’d just seen, but it was meagre comfort next to the blow Stolan dealt to their morale.

  Finn turned to Poe and Numa, and said, “I really hope you have some good news for us, after that.”

  Poe didn’t quite manage a smile, but he nodded. “We do – conditionally, but we do.”

  “And the condition?”

  Numa gave the barest hint of a wry smile. “It relates to tonight’s mission.”

Chapter Text

  The intrigue which Numa had planted in the defenders’ heads about Nydark Company, Finn found, was enough to keep minds off the grisly spectacle on the plain. Besides a few mutterings of “Damn them to the Nightlands,” there was little mention of the executions.

  Indeed, that seemed to be Numa’s way of dealing with the situation all through the city – except for the guards on the walls, a task was found for seemingly everyone, himself among them.

  That was good. It would keep everyone busy, and make them feel useful. Besides, the Millennium Falcon still needed some attention after the recent dogfights. No structural damage remained, but the old ship had gone from smuggler’s rustbucket to a symbol of the Galaxy’s hope, and it didn’t hurt to keep it looking good. Added to that, there was always a need for more food, ammunition and medpacks brought up from Nabat’s underground vaults. When another dust storm whipped itself up later that day, their efforts moved almost entirely beneath the surface.

  That helped too. The First Order wouldn’t be able to cause any hassle today, and it would obscure the bodies of their victims out on the dust. If they couldn’t be retrieved, at least they’d have something of a burial, courtesy of Ryloth’s climate.

  Later on, however, Scrapper Squad were called to a briefing. This wasn’t held in the command centre’s main chamber, but a small briefing room, a few levels below ground. There, they found a suspenseful hush, the attendees all taut with anticipation. Even when they greeted the Scrappers and stood aside, they did it quietly. Poe and Numa stood with a glowing holograph of Hera Syndulla, several company captains including Juspabo, and a handful of squadron leaders.

  A few of them – though notably not Juspabo – looked sidelong at the Scrappers. Still, no one was going to argue with the Resistance’s one Jedi keeping her retainers close.

  Finn nodded as they moved aside. “So we have new friends?” He asked the question without a preamble.

  Hera’s response was just as direct. “A fair few, it seems. Most notably, Nydark Company are coming to Ryloth.” She didn’t trouble to hide her smile at the reaction of the various captains – with the exception of those who already knew, everyone seemed to rock back on their heels a little. The Nydark’s mystique rivalled even that of the Jedi and the Trooper Who Turned, Finn reflected.

  “Truly?” one Rylothian captain said, his voice a rapt whisper.

  Hera looked a trifle amused, but nodded. “We’ve got the codes to confirm it, transmitted by Archex himself. So they’re inbound with several other ships.”

  “A sizeable force.” Juspabo enthused.

  “Aye. Trouble is,” Hera said, indicating the holo laid out in the centre of the room, “Hux and Stolan have invested the city too heavily for us to perform another massed landing at the city itself. They’d be shot to pieces. That means they’ll either be going to Lessu and Kala’uun, or landing out in the wilderness.”

  “And your fleet can cover for them,” Finn surmised. “But I don’t see how we can help unless…” The realisation hit him. “Mother of moons. They’re gonna try and break through the enemy lines.”

  Rose, at his side, followed up immediately. “How’s that going to work?”

  Numa laughed softly, and spread her hands to indicate the assembled officers. “With your help, we trust. A simultaneous strike on the inner wall.”

  Rey tilted her head, considering. “Might be worth it to meet the famed Nydark Company.”

  “Finally we can find out if all the stories are true,” Finn said, letting just a little scepticism seep into his tone.

  Ki'rii snorted. “Can't be. That raid they're meant to have carried out on Kuat, for one. Flat-out impossible.”

  LM-276 shrugged, with a whir of servos. “We’ve run similar missions.”

  “Yes, but we also have a Jedi.”

  Rey smiled, but held up a hand. “Let’s pause that chatter.” She regarded Poe and Hera in particular. “What’s the plan for getting them down to lines in the first place? Commander Dameron, you’ve been rather quiet so far.”

  At least she’s too tactful to say ‘uncharacteristically’, Finn thought. In the early days, with Rey  slightly wary of the ebullient pilot, that might not have been the case.

  Poe conceded her point with a little nod. “My part will depend on how long the current dust storm lasts. For what it’s worth, we’ve identified a number of landing points for our allies that shouldn’t be affected. The Nydarks and the rest will disperse between those.” 

  That would also have the benefit of concealing their numbers from the First Order. Every advantage had to be seized and held on to.

  Poe raised a hand, signalling a change of tack. “If the storm dissipates, Snap and I will lead diversionary bombing runs against a number of points along the First Order lines. Realistically we don't expect to profit much from that in terms of damage done, but it should at least have the enemy's minds on those locations."

  Yendor took up the thread. "Guerrilla companies will meet the new arrivals at several prearranged points, well away from the siege lines. We’ll then guide them toward Nabat."

  "The better to evade Phasma," Finn said, approvingly. Yendor’s people would be quite capable of a stealthy approach. "But she’s still going to be a threat to any assault on the lines."

  But Yendor simply nodded. "That has been taken into account. Spoiling raids will be launched ahead of the main column's arrival, and that should draw Phasma out." He smiled crookedly. "We've also located a Lylek nest which we can lead her forces to. Should make a nice mess."  

  And at minimal risk to his own troops, Finn thought. So long as they get clear in time.

  An appreciative murmur went through the group. Lyleks, the saying went, were a menace you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy, though Phasma was undoubtedly causing a rethink for plenty of Ryloth’s defenders. There were plenty of people in here who’d be very keen to see her plunged into a nest. Perhaps that was a pit even she wouldn’t come back from…

  Business trumped wistful reveries, however. "We'll send two waves," Numa said, stepping to the front. "Captains Finn and Rey will head the first one. If worst comes to worst, I want our Jedi at the front. Captain Juspabo, that means you'll have their backs."

  "Understood," he affirmed.

  Numa smiled, the expression tight and fleeting. “We’ve got demolition charges which should do for the gate, but deploying them is a tricky proposition. No way of setting them discreetly, and if you’re already under fire, that’s gonna make it difficult to get out of range when they blow.

  Rey gave a little ahem. She did it quietly, but all eyes turned to her. "If it comes to it," she ventured, "I might be able to force the gate. Pun not intended," she added hastily.

  Juspabo frowned. "You're…" he said, evidently trying to find the right balance of respect and scepticism "...capable of that?" There were a fair few raised eyebrows around the room.

  That said, there were also plenty who didn’t look at all sceptical, and the Scrappers stepped up close to their Jedi. "I can believe it," Numa said.

  A few eyes flicked to Hera – if anyone here knew what first-hand a Jedi Knight could do, it was her. She smiled and nodded.

  Not wanting to be outdone, Finn cleared his throat. "I've seen her do it."

  The colour rose in Rey’s cheeks, but she looked pleased with the show of support. Chatter started up again, the sceptics finding themselves encouraged to start believing that little bit more.

  Numa stilled the muted hubbub. “Then getting Captain Rey close is the first priority. Which means moving quickly but quietly, small groups coordinated from the command centre. You’ll have some cover from the wrecks by the walls - use it. Juspabo’s squads will take more heavy weapons, we have missile launchers in the armoury…”

  This was the pattern Finn had come to recognise in both Poe and Leia’s briefings – clearly Numa favoured it too. Set out the position, hear and answer any other arguments, bring it all back together and close down the discussion, sending everyone off to tackle the job.

  So it was that he came to be down by one of the smaller gates the following night, one hand resting on the hilt of his sheathed vibrosword, watching a mix of Resistance squads form up behind the Scrappers. Rylothians and offworlders alike were among the first wave, a testament to how much they’d integrated since the siege began. Finn had a company of local troops, callsign "Brazen", and another made up of humans, Duros and Pantorans. They were the survivors of an assaulted New Republic academy, and answered to "Spearhead". Both units were proven, at this stage, and Finn was glad to have them beside him. 

  Beyond the walls, the last of the dust storm was blowing itself out. Hopefully, that had disguised the incoming reinforcements. The First Order hadn’t made any visible move against them. With any luck, that meant the newcomers had been assumed to be moving towards one of the capitals, not Nabat.

  The fight in orbit hadn’t been much more than a flurry, barely glimpsed through the dust clouds. A couple of dozen craft had streaked through the air, threes and fours heading in different directions. No ships had been lost on either side in orbit, though Finn supposed that just having more vessels on their side was a win.

  Now was the time to put all that from his mind, however. Now, they just had to focus on the job in front of them.

  “Sure about the sword?” Rose said, taking his free hand.

  He leaned in close to her. “Yup. More discreet than a shock-baton, out in the dark, and more effective too.” Certainly the case, when one couldn’t afford to switch on a power field. He continued: “Poe said we might find some Stormtroopers out there, I’m treating it as a certainty.”

  “You know better than most.” She turned to Rey, who’d been speaking with Kaydel before the pretty lieutenant headed back to the command centre. “Guess for once, you’ll be glad not to have a lightsaber.”

  Rey took a moment to reply, one eyebrow quirked. “I suppose so.” She arranged her poncho carefully, limbering up.

  They spoke quietly; everyone here did. The lights were out at ground level, the better to disguise any movement out of the city, and that added to the mood among the assembled soldiers. All along the wall in this district, other squads would be preparing much the same. Two hundred soldiers, ready to venture into the dark. It was hushed enough that when Finn’s commlink chimed, they all heard it.

  He thumbed an acknowledgement key, pulled his helmet on and quickly checked the fit.

  Nyzar exchanged a look with LM-276, and growled softly. “Like being back in the arena tunnels, waiting to step out onto the sands...”

  The comparison made Finn pause a moment. “I wish that didn’t fit so well. Still,” he forced a smile. “Lords of the red sands, right?”

  The big Zabrak and droid nodded.

  That got Finn smiling in earnest, just briefly, before he heard the low grind of gears behind him. Turning to face the gate, he watched it open just enough to let two people through, shoulder to shoulder. As if sensing the thought, Rey stepped up next to him, staff held in both hands. Up above them, soldiers on the walls looked down and saluted in silence.

  Finn returned the gesture, and his squads did likewise. Then they moved out into the murk of the night, advancing towards the siege lines.

Chapter Text

   What would Leia do? was a question which weighed increasingly on Poe’s mind, the more time he spent in the command centre. It rang especially loudly now, as he watched Finn, Rey, Rose and the others creep towards the enemy lines. Then he tore his eyes away from the screens.

  If he was literal about it, he could quite easily think of answers to his question. Review the data, reassure subordinates, chastise Poe if he looks impatient and chide 3PO for looking fretful . But Numa was already doing a good job of the first two, he couldn’t very well chastise himself, and there wasn’t even a protocol droid in the place.

  His commlink chirped. Poe looked down and smiled. So he did have the next best thing to himself – Jess Pava, watching on the walls and clearly growing antsy. “Poe-”

  “Forget it, Jess,” he said. “I can’t risk my best pilots. Doesn’t matter how well you shoot on the ground. I'm likely to need you in the air soon.” And I need this line clear for when the shooting starts , he though. He stroked the stubble on his chin, reflecting that this was another experience Leia must have had too many times. Everyone had to play their part, but a younger Poe had struggled to sit still and wait for his moment.

  Fortunately, he didn’t need to press the matter with his lieutenant. While Jess huffed, she conceded the argument and left him to make another round of checks, just as Kaydel got his attention. “Finn requests authorisation to move closer.”

  Poe held up a cautioning hand. “Tell him to wait. We need confirmation that Phasma’s engaged at Point Fifty-Eight.” Yendor had launched a diversionary attack a reasonable distance away, but that meant it would take time before they knew whether the bait had been taken. “I want to be sure she’s occupied before we send our friends out.” Numa was fielding similar requests from other units, ordering them to hold the line.

  Kaydel clearly agreed. He could see her jaw working a little with worry, as she turned back to her monitor, away from him. “I think we have something.”

  The image of Yendor appeared in front of them – or at least that of his head and shoulders, hunched in a way that suggested he was crouched down. “Nabat, we have sighted Phasma. We’ll keep her busy, as much as we can.” Before they could reply, his holo winked out.

  “Force preserve them,” Poe said with feeling, as several of the Twi’leks around him made warding gestures. He pointed to Kaydel. “Give the Scrappers their go-ahead.” Then he went over to Numa.

  “Second phase is on.” He said it clearly, for the benefit of those around him, then carried on in a lower register. “Don’t think I’d ever appreciated how long ground ops could run for, before I took on command roles.”

  She nodded, and spoke quietly. “Cham Syndulla made a point of preparing me for that when I was younger. He used to talk about the Perilous operation.”

  “How so?” Poe said, curiously. Old General Syndulla’s gambit was a legend, told in hushed voices. He’d overheard Numa talking with Rey about it, the day of the raid on the siege lines. In the earliest days of the Empire, before they’d even finished phasing out Clone Wars-era tech, the Free Ryloth Movement had struck at the Emperor himself on the Star Destroyer Perilous , nearly killing him and Darth Vader. It was the kind of blow Poe dreamed of launching against Kylo Ren and Hux… though he remembered too that the attempt had ended in failure, and at a cruel cost.

  Numa’s expression was hard to read, but her voice carried a certain weariness. “About how much of that was waiting and looking. You have to hold the stakes in your head. It all depends on keeping your nerve.”

  Poe nodded. It seemed to him that his fellow commander appreciated having someone of her rank, whom she could entrust with her doubts. Just so long as he kept his voice down, and didn’t let those doubts spill out to their subordinates.

  He also made sure to keep his tone solemn. “Syndulla was a hell of a leader, taking on the whole Empire like he did. Though it’s not like you stand in his shadow, yourself. Kicking the First Order out, holding your own here.”

  Numa exhaled slightly, the merest suggestion of a modest laugh. “Cham didn’t need the whole Rebel Alliance backing him. I, however, could never have done this without General Organa’s backing, and your help.”

  “Hey, it’s mutual.” Poe turned his attention back to the screens, bringing the old roguish grin to bear. “And that’s how we’re gonna get through this. Shoulder to shoulder.”

  The Rylothian and non-native troops were indeed moving in lockstep, advancing stealthily across No Man’s Land.

   No Twi’lek’s either, Finn grimly ruminated. The poor visibility only made the landscape around him more ominous, all cratered earth and mangled metal. And the corpses of Stormtroopers, here and there. They looked like broken, discarded toys in their armour. Except, that is, for those whose suits had broken or whose helmets had come away. Then there was no disguising the truth. Mummified, eyeless visages stared forlornly from the shadows, and lipless mouths howled silently at the passing rebels.

  The reek of decay hung in the air. It was faint, mingled with smoke, but just strong enough to bother Finn. Those who died out here would be left as desiccated husks within days, baked by the harsh sun, unless their bones were picked clean by avian scavengers.

  Finn wondered if that was also why predators kept throwing themselves at the First Order lines. There was a buffet out here on the plain, just waiting for them. Somehow, Finn doubted that the desiccation would really deter any really determined carnivore. Rylothian predators seemed like the sort to crunch down everything, bones and all.

  He forced himself to keep his eyes forward. Think of that as another reason not to wind up a corpse out here. Despite that, he couldn’t help but reflect on how this also was the narrow strip of Ryloth which the Twi’leks actually deemed habitable. Great swathes of the planet were truly inimical to life.

  Again, he remembered all the lessons on 'subhuman' species, and shook his head. He doubted many human cultures would've made it to spacefaring, had they started out here.

  Scrapper Squad crept through the murk, picking a path between wrecks or clambering over them, where necessary. At least we've got plenty of cover, Finn thought. Tough cover too, for that matter.

 Behind and on either side of them, other squads were doing the same. Most were Rylothian, all had proven their ability to move quickly and quietly.

  Occasionally he caught sight of the units on their flanks, exchanging a brief flurry of signals. All's well. No opposition. And on one occasion, Juspabo signed, Minor opposition, resolved.  

  Finn acknowledged it with another gesture. He still had to remember to use Resistance sign language - he'd been taught the First Order’s almost as soon as he could speak Basic, and it was near-reflexive for him.

  "Hold up," Rose said behind him.

  Finn turned to her, tilting his head quizzically. "What is it?"

  She pointed to a crashed transport. "Downed TIE Reaper, off to our left. Looks pretty intact. Could have mortars inside."

  Finn quickly weighed their options - any such weapons could be useful, but they were working to a timetable. "Mark it on the tactical display," he decided. "One of the squads behind us can check it out."

  He’d learned to trust that they would. The Rylothian Resistance was a well-oiled machine; the result of three generations spent battling invaders. Although, as Rose had astutely pointed out, the tradition went much further back than that, to when the Twi’leks had fought back against slavers like the Zygerrian empire. Just as well, when they were undertaking an attack as audacious as this.

  Further out from the city, moving ahead of their fellows, they stopped happening across corpses. The First Order must have deemed it safe enough to retrieve them from, at this distance. Or it was worth the hassle, to recover equipment.

  The night was still hot, exacerbated by the dust-laden winds still blowing across the plain. Finn wiped his goggles, adjusted the scarf over his mouth and nose, and tried to focus on the cover that the weather provided. They didn’t just need it to disguise them from the enemy on the walls.

  There were Stormtrooper patrols out here; he could see faint tracks now between the wrecks. They were probably recent, but already fading with all the dust falling from the air. Moreover, the heat of the night made infrared a touch-and-go thing.

  The Scrappers had other ways of detecting the enemy, however. "Five coming this way," Rey said softly. So they pulled into cover.

  Judging by the Stormtroopers’ grumbling, Finn’s former comrades were just as unhappy about their surroundings as him. He felt the familiar pang in his chest, but he overruled it. He couldn’t afford to worry about those who could have been like him, when he had all these people who already were on his side, and were relying on him.

  Rose gave him a questioning look – even with her goggles on, he could tell. Finn responded with a reassuring nod, and then tensed. vibrosword held ready.

  “I really don’t know which I hate more,” one Stormtrooper growled. “Being under the Resistance guns, or out where some Gutkurr or whatever else might come eat me.”

  One of his fellows snorted. “You still haven’t made your mind up about that? Even after those Lyleks busted in and tore up a company? I’ll take the Resistance any day.”

  It was the kind of talk that couldn't help but remind you that there were people under the armour. Finn's pulse picked up a little more.

  “Still might have enemy patrols around here,” a third trooper ventured.

  The second shrugged, scoffing. “Just means I get to beat a tail-head’s brains out every now and again. You oughta try it. Catch one, get the head against a metal edge – we got plenty of those out here – and just pound with the butt of your blaster. Takes a while, but then you hear that crunch …”

  Finn felt Rose flinch next to him, and Ki’rii bared her teeth. He also saw Rey’s hands wringing her staff.

  “Feels good,” the trooper finished, and Finn could hear the smile in the man's voice. He felt his gorge rise. Well, there went all thoughts of hypothetical comradeship. And not a moment too soon.

  The Stormtroopers’ filter-gritted speech became louder, as the Scrappers drew closer. “I want to do it to everyone in that city. Show them the Resistance are talking druk about keeping subhumans safe.”

  “Trash gotta learn,” said another, his voice a derisive sneer. Finn tightened his grip on his sword, and gritted his jaw.

  One of the Stormtroopers had looked down at last, and found the Scrappers’ tracks. He tensed, blaster rising fractionally. "Here, are those one of ours or-"

  He never got to finish his question. Rey’s staff whipped out of the dark and came down on the back of his neck. With a sharp crack, he went down.

  The next trooper didn't even manage a full syllable of alarm before Rey struck again, so hard that his helmeted head snapped right around. At the same time Finn, Nyzar and Tannel had sprung out, swords plunging home. It was quick, clean and quiet. 

  Without a word, the Scrappers moved the dead Stormtroopers out of the way and stripped them of what weapons they could easily carry. The detonators were especially prized. Finn cleaned his sword as best he could – with First Order snipers probably on the walls, lighting their weapons would’ve been far too much of a risk. As he’d said to Rose, that was the whole point of bringing the sword and not a shock-baton.

  The downside of that was that the weapons couldn’t cauterise the wounds they made. That meant more mess.

  He put the thought from his mind and asked Rose to report the contact. Notifications of other brief clashes came back to him. In no case had the alarm been raised.

  Then they carried on, now careful to avoid the spotlights on the walls as they came within range. The turreted wall loomed out of the darkness, some parts starkly lit and others almost lost in shadow. The gate stood ahead of them, and this close to the shields, he could feel static prickling over his skin. 

  "Close as we're gonna get," he said, more to himself than those beside him, though he saw Rey nod. Then he activated his commlink. "All squads, report when you're in position."

  One by one, they checked in. Rocket and grenade launchers were primed, suitable points of cover identified. As Finn had earlier noted, there was plenty of it. 

  He'd have happily taken another few minutes to get everything perfect, but he knew that the Stormtroopers they'd killed would be expected to check in before too long. If they were to retain their element of surprise, they'd have to act now. So quietly, he gave the order: "Fire."

  He saw the first rockets take flight, mere specks of light. In addition to those, there would be grenades on their way towards the First Order camp.

  When they detonated, the response was almost immediate. Sirens rang out, Stormtroopers appeared on the parapets, and the shooting started. Red and blue blaster bolts shredded the night, and glowing orange gouges were scored by the hundred on rock and metal.

  But the Resistance’s advantage of surprise told, and here, in this limited engagement, they had the advantage of massed fire against the enemy. At least they had that edge for the moment – but only until the First Order rallied and brought their greater numbers to bear. For this gambit to work, the Resistance had to act swiftly.

  As the fire from the walls abated, Finn led his units forward, covered by Juspabo’s and the other companies. Mortars joined the fizzing hail of blasters, quickly set up by Ezubzina, and explosions bloomed inside the walls.

  Under all that, they sprinted, some blaster bolts still pelting the terrain around them. One or two soldiers went down. Finn suppressed the jolt of pain which flared in his heart, and forced himself to keep his eyes forward. He could mourn later - if he didn’t keep his focus, there’d be a lot more Resistance casualties.

  Rey led the charge, her staff lit and spinning even as she ran. Blaster bolts rained down on her, but her defence sent them flying back at her assailants. Even if they didn’t hit their mark, it could disorient the Stormtroopers and make them an easier target for someone else.

  After what felt like far too long, they were finally at the gate. Finn had his squads form up, all on one knee, blasters up. “Our turn to cover you,” he told Rey. “Ready?”

  “Yeah.” She was also kneeling, eyes already closed. Her staff lay inert on the ground, and she raised her empty hands.

  Some soldiers pointed their blasters at the gate, but Finn’s eyes were turned towards the walls. There were still more Stormtroopers racing up to the parapets, all desperate for a chance to snipe the Jedi at their door.

  The Scrappers let fly, pinpoint shots striking any white helmet which came into view above them. Behind and around them, their comrades’ volleys continued.

  He heard Rey growl as she took the strain, the noise soon building to a guttural roar. A shriek of rending metal answered her cry. The gate buckled, sparks erupting from the mechanism as she prised it messily open.

  “Does that look good?” Poe asked Numa, trying to keep the uncertainty in his voice to a minimum.

  Numa’s eyes didn’t move from the console. Her face was fixed in a grim frown, though she replied, “As good as we could hope for. The gate is open!” she declared, raising her voice to a shout. A cheer went up – elated, but not triumphant. Numa spoke more quietly to Poe. “Juspabo’s troops are now engaging.”

  “Squadrons are beginning their launch sequence,” Kaydel reported.

  “Then that’s the first wave’s cue.” Poe opened another channel. “Finn, that’s good work so far – now get your people forward.” With those understated words, he sent his friends into the jaws of the beast.

Chapter Text

  “Roger,” Finn said, his tone clipped. Then, he raised his voice. “Forward units, advance! Take the breach and hold it!” A yell rang out behind him, and as the Scrappers broke into a run, their comrades simultaneously exploded from cover. They advanced through the broken gate with more fighters surging up behind them, all firing.

  They burst into the ingress point, the more experienced fighters already shooting out the glaring floodlights which had snapped into full life. Sirens were blaring, and not even the growing roar of blaster fire could drown them out. Finn could just about hear himself when he yelled for someone to shut the things up.

  Bite and hold. One of the primary First Order doctrines, it had been a mainstay of Stormtrooper tactics since the earliest days of the Empire if not the Grand Army of the Republic. Finn had fought this way scores of times, maybe even hundreds, during his training. Several times now he'd done it whilst leading Resistance units, and those had been much more than exercises. All of which was to say that he knew the drill inside-out. You hit hard and fast, scouring enemies from every nook, and then dug in while they were still reeling so their counterattack could be met and broken.

  That said, using it against an enemy with superior numbers was another matter, and much more precarious. The First Order would bring their advantage to bear before long, and if either Resistance force was too slow, they'd be caught out in the open and destroyed.

  Finn's troops were well aware of the danger and moved rapidly, keeping pace with him. Even Phasma, who'd watched over several of Finn's training exercises, would have grudgingly commended the way he was handling it – had they stayed on the same side, and were she not busy killing other rebels only a few kilometres away. Or Lyleks instead. Force willing, Lyleks.

  Rey charged ahead of him again, her staff a whirl of electric blue. She drew blaster bolts like nothing else, but batted them away. More than a few hit Stormtroopers, and even the battle-hardened soldiers of the First Order seemed to take an involuntary step or two back when she closed with them.

  They were right to do so – but they weren’t quick enough. She hit like a comet, making straight for the Riot Troopers. Her every blow sent an enemy flying, often colliding with a few others. Just a second behind, Nyzar and LM waded in either side of her, weapons blazing now. The ex-gladiators were deadly warriors in their own right, and besides their skill and experience, they were incredibly strong. More than one Riot Trooper was simply smashed aside by an almost casual blow, armour and all.

  That brief respite gave Finn a chance to take stock, as Resistance soldiers raced into the space and someone finally silenced the crikking sirens. The trouble was, of course, that the Stormtroopers and their officers perfectly understood how an attack like this worked, and therefore they knew exactly how to repulse it. Stolan and his underlings would already be examining the data, drawing conclusions and devising countermeasures.

  The first thing they would try, Finn knew, was to try and dislodge the Resistance from their newly won positions. But behind the initial reinforcements, he knew, they would be preparing larger forces to move out and flank or even enclose the attackers. Stolan would see the opportunity here, as well as the danger, and would aim to capitalise on them swiftly.

  These hazards had already been discussed and planned for. Nonetheless, Finn felt a chill run through him.

  He turned to the troops around him, and began issuing orders. Some soldiers he set to guarding the ground where they stood, others he sent up onto the parapets. And then there was the matter of seeing what the enemy had left for them to use.

  “Autoturrets!” he barked, pointing to a stack of long metal cases. A number of Stormtroopers were clustered around them, racing to open them and activate the guns inside.

  The Scrappers didn’t give them a chance. Even as other Resistance fighters took aim and fired, they sprinted across the dirt, blasters up. Rey tore along at Finn’s side, even pulling ahead as they drew close.

  There were more Riot Troopers among the enemy around the turrets. Rey drove one back with her first blow, intercepting a swing from another trooper before switching back and flattening her first target.

  “There we are,” she said, a grim smile tugging at her mouth as she regarded Finn. “Four autoturrets, good to go.” She turned to a sergeant. “Get two of these to the other side! We’ll use the others.”

  Rose and Ki’rii hastened over, seeing immediately how the guns could be used, and started setting them up. Finn directed a squad to cover the two women, and if he was lucky, shield them from view. Then he moved forward.

  "I want detonators!" he yelled to the soldiers around them. "Get me mines, demolition charges. Anything explosive we can use!"

  The former were grabbed and brought to the lines forming within the breach. The latter two kinds of explosive were hurriedly stashed along the walls. Finn urged his squads on. Just out of view, Stolan's troops would be regrouping, evaluating the threat, devising a counterstrike. They'd come quickly, aiming to steal back the initiative.

  It was no surprise that when they hit, they did so on both sides, almost simultaneously. Now came the really hard part.

  Poe winced as the lights of battle intensified on the screen. He could tell just from the glare of blaster bolts, his friends were fighting a two-sided battle now. In addition to that, he spied other gates opening either side of the breach and Stormtroopers pouring out. A hundred metres, and the Resistance raiding party would be surrounded.

  Fortunately, using Finn’s insights, they’d put countermeasures in place for that. Back in the city Numa gave an order, and clusters of Rylothian fighters, concealed in the rubble, sprang their own ambush. Scything waves of blaster fire and arcing thermal detonators hit the would-be pincer movements. Juspabo’s troops continued to hold position behind the gate, bolstered by the mortars and rockets Ezubzina directed.

  Poe whistled out loud at the firestorm facing the enemy. Here was the fabled wrath of Rylothian freedom fighters. Not that he’d doubted it, but well, damn.

  “They forget that this is our world,” Numa hissed. “No one knows it like us. And that counts for a lot, no matter how many or how powerful the First Order may be.”

  Poe eyed her with just a little wariness. She was right - and void's teeth, it was deeply satisfying to see a Stormtrooper advance checked.

  “I hope so,” Kaydel said from her nearby station. Her voice had that tautness which said she was working hard to rein in her anxiety. “Because our friends are about to have a lot of company.”

  Finn was hunkered down in cover, firing steadily at the oncoming Stormtroopers, when the bad news got through to him.

  “Jet Troopers coming on your right!” Poe barked in his ear, over the comm.

  Finn relayed that to Ki’rii, who turned her turret skyward and cut the night to ribbons with searing rounds. One of the five Jet Troopers was swatted from the air. The others wheeled to evade, firing back. People went down. Finn barely flinched away from one shot, feeling its heat as it passed his face. Two more Jet Troopers fell prey to snap fire from Resistance infantry, but one hurled down a grenade which killed a knot of soldiers, before Ki'rii caught him with another blast. Finn hit the last, smashing his jetpack and sending him careening into the wall.

  Another squad of Jet Troopers came into view, dispersing as Ki’rii fired again, joined now by Rose on her turret. This time, forewarned, their aim was precise and devastating. A cheer rose from the raiding party, as the remaining Stormtroopers went down. The Resistance had been hit hard, but they'd stood their ground.

  However, the whine and the warning chimes of an overheated blaster cut through that cry. “Gotta let ‘em cool down,” Ki’rii reported grimly, already turning from the turret and casting around her for something to use, while Rose checked the power pack. Then she saw a container, out of reach, and snapped her fingers at a soldier. “There – that’s coolant! Bring it here!”

  They couldn’t do so quickly enough for Finn, as he scanned the murk ahead. Stormtroopers were equipped for these conditions. Their helmets had thermal imaging, though the rebels let off flares to foul it. They had vehicles for rapid movement within the walls. 

  And most importantly, they had walkers. A booming rang out in the murk ahead of them, a disquietingly fast rhythm. "Scout walkers!" Finn roared urgently. Three pairs of red lenses, glowing like demonic eyes, pierced the gloom, presaging the emergence of tottering shapes clad in dark metal. Finn called for the mortars, and they let fly. Two AT-STs were hit, leaving only one, but the pilot seemed undaunted. It was firing before it even came into view, lobbing crimson bolts of plasma at the Resistance troops. Then it was visible and charging across the dirt. 

  AT-STs running had always been comical to Finn, especially in the giddiness of his escape from the Supremacy. Now, however, the incongruity just made it more alarming. The walker came at them far, far quicker than it looked able to, firing all the while. The ground shook with every blast, and unlucky rebels were hurled screaming through the air. One of the mortar crews was hit, gun and gunner alike vaporised. 

  "Rose!" Finn called, more urgently, but she and Ki'rii were already responding. An angry torrent of bolts ripped through the air and raked the walker's forward armour, before Rose trained one gun on its leg joint. It blew apart, and with a groan of overburdened servos, the walker collapsed.

  "Got you a roadblock too," Rose said proudly.

  "Very thoughtful," Finn said, smiling just for a moment. Then he was giving orders again, repositioning his people to take advantage of the obstacles formed by the fallen AT-STs. While he moved between squads, Rey and the other Scrappers stayed in place, waiting for the next attack.

  It proved a brief wait; there had been Stormtroopers following close behind the walkers. Finn and the others dived behind the nearest wreck, listening to blaster bolts glance off the armour.

  Their allies outside were hitting the walls hard - one blast on the other side caused dirt to fountain up and rain down on them and those close by, pattering on their helmets. Finn peered cautiously at the gates. “They’ll be in before too long. ‘nother couple hits like that, the gate will fall.”

  “But we’ve got to keep the enemy off ‘til then.”

  “Those are the orders.” Finn glanced at her, trying to look lighthearted. “Can I get a shield and shoot favour?”

  There was a fierceness to the grin Rey shot back at him. “Just say please.”

  As it was, she only waited for his nod. She sprang into the open, staff flaring and whirling. He advanced in her wake, firing almost constantly. That drew every Stormtrooper’s guns to the two of them, long enough for the autoturrets to be cooled again. When Rose and Ki’rii fired again, the enemy went down like bowling pins.

  They’d use this momentum to plant the explosives they’d got hold of. So they moved forward, Finn lobbing a thermal detonator towards the next wave of Stormtroopers. “Drive ‘em back!” he yelled, struggling to be heard over the cacophony that was Rey, fending off a blizzard of shots. “Set charges along the walls!”

  Other officers took up the cry, and the Resistance guns blazed with renewed fury. Juspabo’s companies had come up behind them; Finn could hear the other captain’s blunt roar despite the din around him.

  Above that immediate din, he heard the screams of TIE engines, and the answering boom and whoosh of Resistance fighters. He couldn't tell which squadrons in the dark, but almost immediately they were there above his head. The ferocious aerial dance began, but Finn couldn’t spare a glance even as stricken craft and debris plummeted down to smack into the earth.

  Unless one comes down near us, it's just noise. For now, any Resistance pilots who ditched would need to fend for themselves. More Stormtroopers raced into view, and Finn and his crew ducked as blaster bolts needled the air around them.

   Two hit one of the autoturrets behind Finn. Rose swore.

  “Rose, what’s up?”

  The angry hiss from her told him everything he needed to know, even before she said, “Gun’s wrecked.”

  Finn let out a frustrated breath in lieu of the curse. There wasn’t anything he could say in response – Rose and Ki’rii already knew to grab the power packs, if they could be salvaged, and to keep the other gun firing.

  One of the turrets on the other flank was hit, its power packs rupturing. A Twi’lek gunner staggered back, screaming, sporting burns on his face and lekku. Juspabo roared for a medic, who appeared and spirited the wounded soldier away. More injured were being dragged back from either front line, and as if scenting blood, the First Order pressed harder.

  Finn could almost feel it, the scales of advantage trembling. At the moment that he sensed the balance tip, he called for his troops to pull back. Once they’d retreated far enough, he gave the order for the explosives.

  When the numbers didn't allow for overlapping blaster fire, it was deemed prudent to do the opposite; hit the enemy with chaotic, disorienting attacks that would throw off their response. The Resistance embraced it fervently - and they were good at it.

  Explosions pulverised whole squads of Stormtroopers, taking out dozens at a time. Some were left exposed, taken out by fire from the rebels, and others still were crushed beneath falling sections of wall and scaffolding. Behind Finn came a series of booms, and he knew Juspabo had enacted the same ploy.

  It bought them precious time to regroup, and for the injured to be carried to relative safety. But it couldn’t last long.

  In minutes, the battle was renewed. Red and blue blaster bolts snapped through the dusty air like hornets, sizzling as they met dust particles and burned through them. Earth and scrap fountained upwards where they struck. Clearly, the First Order had decided damn the constraints, they were throwing everything they had at the attackers. There were Stormtroopers emerging out of the murk to either side of them, firing at anything which looked like a target. The pincer was squeezing hard.

  Worse, however, was yet to come. Heavy treads boomed on their right. Finn saw wide eyes and bared teeth, and called for the soldiers to hold. Sergeants took up the cry, and the tremor of fear was stilled - just about, and just in time. Tottering shapes became visible in the murk, red lenses burning. More kriffing AT-STs. And to make matters worse, a column of Stormtroopers prowled in their wake, like lesser hunters trailing apex predators.

  Finn’s troops turned their remaining heavy weapons on the walkers, as the first bolts and missiles struck their lines. Cover was stripped away. Soldiers fell, or went flying. Screams rang out. One AT-ST succumbed to streams of coordinated fire, but there were four more behind it; striding imperiously closer, killing with every shot. And all the while, the Stormtroopers were coming up behind.

  “Still got those missiles, Juspabo?” Finn radioed.

  Juspabo’s reply was typically blunt. “Get down!”

  Finn relayed that order and threw himself flat. The others followed, diving into cover as the volley split the air above their heads. A rocket struck the lead AT-ST and blasted the top of its blocky head off in a gout of flame. Then another was hit, its leg joint rupturing under a series of impacts, metal screaming as it tore. It went down in a lurching, crashing pirouette. And another, swaying from the blast of a glancing rocket before another sent it reeling into a prefab bunker, embedding itself.

  Finn came straight to his feet, pouring fire into the nearest walker that remained standing. It kept firing for a full ten seconds, despite the firestorm which hit it now. Finally, flames burst through the red viewports, and it crashed to the ground.

  Which, Finn wryly thought, just leaves several hundred Stormtroopers. Because here they came now, flowing around the ruined machines like a river of white betaplast, no longer seeming to care what losses they took.

  This couldn’t go on much longer. Even if Finn and Juspabo’s units somehow held out, Phasma would be on her way here, with that grim retinue of Dark Troopers.

  “Any time now, Nydarks,” Rey growled beside Finn. “Any time now…”

  And mother of moons, her prayer was answered. A vast roar shook the ground beneath their feet, an explosion shattering the rear gates as the flames soared upwards.

  No sooner had those died away, then the soldiers were advancing through at a run. For a moment, Finn was wary of a trick, but soon he made out nonhuman silhouettes, a whole array of them. That was all the proof he needed.

  Even if he had required more, the advancing troops didn’t hesitate in unloading their blasters into the ranks of Stormtroopers. Despite their sheer volume, the enemy reeled, though several squads of Riot Troopers still broke through to engage Juspabo’s squads hand to hand. That was when he took a hand.

  The man seemed to come out of nowhere. He was powerfully built, well-armoured and carrying a heavy, augmented shock-maul. And the way he moved… Finn had watched hundreds, even thousands of soldiers fight during his lifetime. None came close to this man except for Phasma. He snapped from one shot to the next, each one made with a sniper’s precision. He only stopped to parry the Riot Troopers who came at him, before flattening them with his counterattacks.

  Hundreds of soldiers ran up in his wake, racing into the mass of wrecks. Finn knew they would fan out from here, some circling around to other, smaller gates as they took full advantage of the available cover.

  But he still had a job today, and kept his focus on the enemy. “Come on, come on!” he roared at the oncoming troops. “Spearhead and Brazen Companies, hold until they’re all past us, and then pull back!”

  Still firing, they began a slow fallback. It was a vicious test of nerves, holding in the face of intensifying fire and resisting the urge to join the others in running for the relative safety of the wreckage. But he kept them there, buying time for the newcomers while Rey whirled her staff to deflect shots. He dropped to one knee, soldiers around doing likewise or lying flat to minimise their profiles.

  Finally, everyone was through. When Finn gave the order, his company disengaged entirely and pelted back towards the city, blaster bolts snapping at their heels. 

  Now they were covered by Juspabo’s squads, deterring all but the most enraged pursuers, while the First Order guns hurled fire after them haphazardly. Finn thought with satisfaction that their targeting systems must've badly knocked about. He heard a shout, probably from Ezubzina, and a plasma mortar hurled livid payloads at the enemy, sending them diving for cover. With that respite and another burst of speed, they were within Nabat’s shields, out of the enemy’s reach. Even the most zealous Stormtroopers stopped short of No Man’s Land, unwilling to brave the city’s guns. Finally, Finn allowed himself to relax – and to feel the strain in his muscles.

  Kaydel’s voice sounded in his ear. “Nice work, guys. I can confirm that Kendor’s squads have pulled back from the fight with Phasma’s. Kendor himself seems to still be in one piece.” As Scrapper Squad marched towards the open gate, she added, “Let’s get you back into the city, and we can make some proper introductions.”

  "They've got 'em through!" Kaydel shouted, her eyes wide and shining. On the tactical display, the Resistance icons had broken away from the siege lines, streaming back towards Nabat.

  Poe echoed it, and around him a full-throated cheer rang out from the command staff. He grinned, feeling a warm swell of relief in his chest, but kept his focus. "Let's stay sharp now, gotta bring them home. Squadrons, keep it tight but start pulling back."

  "I couldn't say it better," Numa smiled. She straightened up, finally letting the tension out of her shoulders. "Come, let's go receive our new guests."

Chapter Text

  Stolan arrived too late to take a hand in the fighting, able only to watch the enemy's retreat while First Order units broke off their pursuit. The overzealous ones had chased too far and been brought down by fire from the scrap heaps and the walls of Nabat. There would be bodies and equipment to retrieve, come the next sunfall.

  For now, sunrise was creeping up. There would be no sense in retiring to his bed now, especially with all the disruption caused here. Therefore, Stolan had decided to make up as best he could for his absence the previous night. First of all, he had to set teams of Stormtroopers and engineers to repair the various instances of damage around the breaches. There would need to be extensive repairs, thanks to the munitions which the enemy had appropriated and detonated to such potent, infuriating effect.

  Second, he had his officers examine the performance of units during the skirmish, and assign punitive duties to those who had fallen short and failed to pay with their lives. Their lives were effectively forfeit – they just wouldn’t realise it. Sooner or later, however, they’d be placed in the front line or entrusted with a sacrificial gambit or some sort.

  There was still ample confusion, which Stolan needed to quell. At least he had now heard back from the site of the other attack, the one which had led Phasma’s units out to be mired in battle with a whole nest of Lyleks. A nasty little ruse by the insurgents.

  At least the hive was destined for destruction now; a small but commendable step towards winnowing Ryloth’s biosphere. The First Order would need to wipe out all megafauna before long, making the world fit for mining on the immense scale their industries demanded. 

  Stolan could see it now; there were several worlds like that under the First Order’s control. The excavators and the extraction crawlers, dwarfing even the First Order’s mightiest war machines, pulling down mountains and sifting the rubble. The massed ranks of slaves in their shadows, flanked constantly by warding Stormtroopers, delving for Ryll spice and other resources which had to be obtained by hand. Dust and smog would throttle whatever was left of the ecosystem, and Ryloth’s final execution would be carried out by the slow grind and the tearing-out.

  From those acquisitions, the fruits of conquest, the engine of future victories would be built. Ores would be refined and forged into starship hulls. The betaplast armour of the Stormtroopers aboard those ships would be made from the oil deposits. Ryll and Glitterstim would be used to produce medicine, which would keep them fighting. Organic life would be mulched down and processed to feed the hungry armies. Or turned into fertiliser to be used on other worlds - whichever was more useful.

  Stolan would probably only witness it when he came back to behold the fruits of his work in between campaigns. His place would be to take those armies and set them to further conquests, claiming more worlds to be made useful. He would earn the rank of general for himself - Supreme Leader Hux’s most loyal servant.

  So Phasma’s extermination of the Lyleks was welcome. But as consolation for the failure to destroy multiple Resistance units, especially a band as notorious as Nydark Company, it was miserably insufficient. 

  Archex, the Nydarks’ captain, had been identified from several images taken during the battle. Stolan’s tacticians had passed the information on, and an unwelcome picture had come into view. Behind those walls, there was now another Resistance cell with a litany of crimes against the First Order. Sabotage missions, thefts and ambushes. 

  “Colonel,” a lieutenant said, approaching him. This one didn’t look bedraggled or beaten-up, which meant he must be coming from the headquarters. And that meant news from the fleet.

  Stolan barely resisted grinding his teeth. “Inform General Hux that I will be in contact imminently. In the meantime,” he followed, raising his voice to a roar, “can anyone get me Captain Phasma?”

  Captain Phasma was currently occupied. She was also up to her knees in dead soldiers, slathered in alien gore, and coldly furious.

  She was not, to be clear, angry about her soldiers dying as such. That was, in large part, the function of a Stormtrooper. Their lives were to be expended for tactical and strategic gain. The issue was that these deaths, along with no small amount of equipment, were being spent on winning the wrong battle.

  The most loathsome thing about the guerrillas’ ploy, to Phasma’s mind, was that even when it was revealed, when the comms flooded with alerts about the siege lines under attack on one side and now two, she couldn't just withdraw.

  Part of that was due to a disruption to communications; the Resistance had scattered little jamming devices around the ambush area, small enough that none had been found initially. They must have activated them when Phasma engaged. Between that and the subterranean confines of the Lylek nest, her unit hadn't realised for some time that they'd fallen for a ruse.

  But the other side of it had been the sheer intractability of the Lyleks they were fighting by that point. Lyleks had a bestial strength which even Phasma found impressive. One could kill a dozen Stormtroopers quite easily. A whole nest, stirred up, could wipe out entire companies. This especially large hive had already swallowed several squads.

  Rock and dirt had been coated over and cemented with secretions, giving them a dull, oily sheen and trapping heat. In the bigger chambers, the ceilings were so high as to be lost in the gloom and the noisome vapour which steamed up. The tunnels, however, were hideously tight, able to accommodate creatures which readily walked on walls but much less hospitable to Stormtroopers. Especially when the Lyleks used that wall-walking ability to strike from above.

  The frequent close confines also made it difficult to line up the headshots which were the only sure-shot way of killing the great soldier-beasts outright. Likewise, they hampered the Stormtroopers’ ability to form up and deliver massed volleys. They had to act in two ranks, the first dropping to their knees while others fired over their shoulders. It worked, but it also slowed the advance down. They’d spent as much of the battle holding ground as gaining it. Inefficient, Phasma thought.

  That was another irksome necessity. Phasma had expended entire companies before, to guarantee a smooth withdrawal or to effect a diversion, but here, her hands were tied. The First Order could ill afford further losses, and at this point in the campaign, they needed wins. They needed to see Phasma crush enemies under her boots and to follow her into the fray, to victory.

  So, even as the Rebels withdrew, Phasma fought her way deeper into the nest. Ichor and other filth coated her, fouling her gleaming armour and the glossy black plate of the Dark Troopers. The Stormtroopers who followed were similarly begrimed, though they weren't slathered in it like the elite were.

  Bones were everywhere, some crushed underfoot, some sticking out of the walls where they were in the process of being mortared into the structure. Some belonged to Rylothian animals, while some were noticeably human or at least humanoid. Here and there, First Order armour was also visible, and even one Imperial Stormtrooper helmet in one corner, somehow not entirely engulfed.

  Her commlink buzzed – someone had finally got a line to her. “Captain, the Colonel is requesting to speak with you.”

  “More giants!” called a sergeant, somewhere close by. Dismayed yells followed, swiftly cut off by the angry barks of squad leaders.

  Those were the truly massive Lyleks, the ones that could even pull down a scout walker and dismember it. The Stormtroopers met them with heavy weapons fire, battling desperately to keep out of reach. Phasma and her Dark Troopers were the only ones who dared get close.

  “Convey to Colonel Stolan,” Phasma rasped, “that he will have to wait.”

  To Hux’s eye, Stolan looked fittingly unhappy, though he had been able to adequately explain the failure to contain the enemy. Vintalli, undoubtedly glad to have someone to shoulder the weight of Hux’s considerable displeasure, looked more sanguine, but only a little.

  Hux meanwhile, was simmering. It was perhaps worse for having no obvious failure to punish. An acknowledgement of Resistance skill and experience could only go so far to alleviate a sense of failure.

  “Damage done to our encampment, and the besieged city reinforced,” Hux rasped. “Aside from more rebels who will be slain when Nabat is taken, I see little upside to this.”

  Stolan drew himself up. “We have at least cleared one sector of the wilderness of dangerous flora. The guerrillas under the Rutian Twi’lek known as Yendor can no longer conceal themselves there, and we can position units to strike the guerillas from that location. I will deploy assets accordingly-“

  “If I give permission,” Hux broke in. Stolan eyed him for a second but bowed his head. “And I do – I just require that to be understood.”

  “Absolutely, sir,” both Vintalli and Stolan said. The big man’s jaw clenched with discomfort, before he bowed his head in contrition.

  Hux lapsed into silence, regarding the drab orb before him. Peculiar word to use, drab, for a planet so volatile and violent. But just like the natives, Ryloth’s appearance was deceptive.

  “Wretched world,” he muttered. He felt as though he’d bitten into fruit he knew would be sour, and found it rotten as well.

  “And a world of wretches,” Stolan said, venting some of his anger.. “Not worth the trouble of colonising for humans. The Twi’leks would be welcome to it, if they weren’t getting between us and the Ryll.”

  And persistently, at that.

  "Of course," Hux mused, "there is the additional annoyance that not one spy has remained in Nabat. It should've been easy enough; the Twi'lek race has an inherent element of treachery. You just have to look at the Aaloth Coup, or how Ryloth's rulers once cut deals with the Zygerrian slave empires. But no, the actions of the spies who delivered this world to us meant that once we took over, the collaborators were largely on show."

  Which had meant a multitude of targets for the Resistance. A number of the First Order’s Twi’lek servants had been captured and made to inform on their new masters. Not even under duress: the Resistance avoided that sort of thing. They just promised the kind of mercy that the First Order would never give, and inevitably, hatefully, that would be enough to loosen tongues. Others, fearing death or capture, had simply run away. A few had stood and fought, and thus earned their deaths.

  "There must still be some on the surface," Vintalli protested.

  Hux offered him only a look of withering scorn. "If there are, they are either dead or in hiding, having not attempted to contact us. Or worse yet, imprisoned, and spilling every secret they have to save their skins.”

  That was probably the majority of their native agents. The Resistance’s pathetic fondness for clemency had its little advantages. And, of course, that inherent Twi’lek streak of treachery.

  It really just seemed to sum up everything about the campaign so far, to Hux. It ought to have been easy enough, yet at every stage, things had gone against him.

  Void’s teeth, Hux longed to just be done with it all. Done with the Twi’leks and every other alien for which the First Order was forced to make allowances. Scrap the pretence, get rid of the collaborators, just put every nonhuman neck under a boot with a blaster at the back of their head and a Star Destroyer in the sky above them. A Dreadnought, even. A Death Star. Kriff, Hux yearned to have Starkiller Base back.

  He’d started dreaming about the accursed thing, the accursed, glorious thing, and the power and acclaim it had brought him. Night after night, he trod the frigid ferrocrete and stalked the control centres, Phasma at his back – Phasma, not yet broken and rebuilt. He had audiences with Snoke, the Supreme Leader’s faith and trust in him affirmed. All the while, he dreamed of the power that would thunder up from beneath, ripping through the air and up into the darkness beyond. It would rip through the very fabric of hyperspace until it found its target. Nowhere would be safe.

  Hux couldn’t claim to have devised the great weapon; he hadn’t even been born when the first plans were laid. But he had played his part, overseen its completion, and he had been the one to give the order. By his word, all the Hosnian System had burned in a matter of moments.

  Nothing had ever felt as pure and right as that, in Hux’s entire life. He had felt the violence of caged starfire erupting from its cage of rock, metal and forcefields, as fundamental as anything Kylo Ren had ever experienced in his sorcerous tutelage. Hux hadn’t just had the promise, he’d tasted perfection.

  He wasn't exactly powerless now, granted. The Unremitting, Snoke’s last promised gift to him, was one of the most powerful ships the First Order possessed. Only Kylo Ren's own Subjugator, also promised by the late Supreme Leader, was as potent. He had an enormous army of Stormtroopers and, courtesy of the scientists under Hyram, the Dark Troopers. 

  But if the war had taught him anything, it was how precarious a situation could be despite the power one commanded. And he could ill afford visible losses. There were people other than Ren who would be watching out for any sign of weakness.

  And now here he was, his baleful gaze alternating between one miserable planet and a little fleet, both of which defied him. He could yet crush the former and obliterate the latter, given time.

  And if they could do that, then he’d have the resources of Ryloth to exploit, and he would have shattered Resistance morale in this sector and beyond. Throw in captured enemy databases and personnel, ready to be bled for secrets, and the conquest might be worth trouble after all.

  The reverse was also true, of course. If Ryloth shook them off, impossible as that was, the Resistance would have its own foothold in the Outer Rim, as well as a propaganda victory. Hux’s siege of the planet had left a long, inviting chain of supply fleets, well-protected but still relatively isolated. Exactly the kind of situation that barbarian raiders thrived in - and the Outer Rim had plenty of those, Resistance-aligned or not.

  This was why the First Order’s advance into the frontier regions had been so piecemeal in the first place. Not after Snoke was assassinated and Supremacy destroyed, taking with it a dozen Star Destroyers, to say nothing of all the personnel and machines aboard them.

  He was feeling the effects of that too, waiting on Vintalli's siege-breaking solution to be sourced from a mining world because the First Order’s own factories were busy churning out line vehicles.

  If it had just all gone to plan, they wouldn't be in this situation. There would be no Resistance, nothing for the dissatisfied to rally around. Just a compliant Galaxy, brought swiftly to order. Every world's rulers would understand that their survival lay in enforcing their new regime upon their subjects, and so the lessons of obedience would be handed down from level to level of each society.

  If everything had gone as it ought to, of course, the entire Galaxy would quake with fear of the Starkiller. D'Qar would be ashes, just like the Hosnian System.

  At the very least, Ryloth ought to have been where the Resistance's weakness told, as they fled and left their allies to fall under the boot. Here, the First Order should have demonstrated that no one could credibly oppose them.

  But here they were now, with Hux fighting a lonely war above this benighted world while most of his compatriots fought to bring the Core and Mid Rim to heel. An entire Stormtrooper legion was currently engaged on Coruscant, where low-level districts had become warzones unto themselves. 

  Meanwhile, Kylo Ren undertook whatever strange missions his occult obsessions led him to. It kept him away, for which Hux was grateful, but he didn't like the notion of Ren growing in power. He disliked the proof of it even more.

  All the more reason to press things to a swift and decisive conclusion on Ryloth, he thought. If he could only get his hands on the Jedi, the Traitor and the rest, he'd make them howl out the truth which would set the whole First Order against Kylo Ren. See what help the Dark Side can offer you then.

  But the future couldn’t just be willed into being. It had to be seized, by the wits and will – to say nothing of resourcefulness. On which note…

  “Admiral?” Hux asked, turning to Vintalli. “Have we any indication of when your siege-breaking ruse will be ready?”

  “One week, sir.” Vintalli made a clear effort to meet his superior’s eye. He knew the strain on the First Order supply lines just as well as Hux. “The situation will remain tenable until then. And after that, we will have broken Ryloth, and be able to take from it what we need.”

  “I look forward to it.” Hux stepped away, scrutinising the world now instead of the holos. “I rather think we should take Nabat for our new capital, afterwards. Let the Twi’leks be governed from the place where they were made to submit once and for all. Any survivors from the city will be among those sent to work the mines.”

  “The sooner the whole world is sterilised, the better,” Stolan growled.

  Hux replied without turning. “Not before time. Ryloth is a useful world in its wildness. The cleansing of its fauna will be the making of Stormtrooper battalions, and the untapped riches of the Brightlands and Nightlands… well, they will be both a resource to plunder and a means of execution.”

  Vintalli hadn’t fully considered that. “We will require tens of millions of slaves a year, to harvest all of that.”

  Now Hux turned back to his subordinates, smiling. “We’ll have those, before long. If we can just take control of this planet, and with it, the sector.”

Chapter Text

  Nabat’s streets echoed with the whine of descending starfighters, the metronomic shuffle and thud of booted feet, and cheers of weary elation - the latter interspersed with barked orders, officers keeping the troops moving. Finn allowed the hubbub to envelop him, finally letting himself feel how weary he was.

  The Rebels were heading up through the city, a few peeling off to take wounded comrades to the medbays. Medical crews had been stationed at the gates, and every now and then a stretcher team or speeder would pass them. Finn kept up a steady pace, heading straight to the command centre.

  He wasn’t quite up to talking yet, except to accept and return congratulatory remarks. Rey started forward to greet Kaydel, who herself had rushed ahead of Poe and Hera, when they reached the square in front of the headquarters.

  “Stolan’s gonna be spitting fire!” Kaydel grinned, embracing Rey. “Did you see what Ezubzina’s mortars did to their base?”

  “Only a little,” Rey admitted.

  “Lotta dust and fire in the way,” Rose said, a smile shining through her tiredness.

  Finn laughed and said, “I can guess, though. Must’ve torn the place right up.” He hugged the lieutenant as well, before breaking off to speak with Juspabo and Ezubzina, letting Rey have all Kaydel’s attention.

  Juspabo was clearly buoyed up by the night’s activities, enthusing about how they’d finally managed to hit the First Order in return. Finn agreed, and thanked him and Ezubzina for the covering fire. “Not sure we’d have managed the retreat so well without you,” he said. “They came at us hard, the second they knew what was going on.”

  “We scared them,” Juspabo grinned. “They didn’t think we were strong enough to go out and hit them.”

  “That’s not likely to be repeatable.”

  The Twi’lek shrugged. “Maybe not, but we’re that bit more daunting now, and besides, we’re stronger in here because of that raid.”

  He moved on, Ezubzina following. Now Finn had time to speak with the others, and discreetly study the Nydarks’ leader. When he turned, however, the man had taken off his helmet, and was scrutinising him right back. Finn stopped in his tracks, and his greeting died in his throat.

  The man had a broad, plain face, but there was a certain severity to his eyes. His hair was short, a military cut. He had a beard, and his face was tanned where once it had been pale, but Finn recognised him nonetheless. There was no way of mistaking that visage, and the realisation thundered in his head like a detonation.

  Tired as he was, his heart kicked into a rapid rhythm, sending a cold surge of adrenaline through his limbs.

  Those around him noticed. “Err, Finn?” Rey asked, right as Rose grabbed his hand and whispered “What’s wrong?” The Scrappers tensed, and it rippled out to the other troops.

  Finn didn’t speak. In truth, he wasn’t entirely sure that he even could right now.

  The leader of the Nydarks came closer. Between his stature and presence, he drew eyes towards him without even trying. And when he spoke, his voice was even more familiar than his face. “Greetings, FN-2187, and thanks for the assist. Though I understand you’re going by ‘Finn’ nowadays.”

  A murmur went through the assembled Rebels, undiluted by the friendly and familiar tone. Finn’s old number was well known, but for anyone to call him by it was unthinkable. Unless…

  Some kilometres away, Phasma emerged from the gory ruin of the Lylek hive, where a lieutenant brought her a holo recording. She and her Dark Troopers stepped away from the entrance, making way for a steady stream of slime-spattered Stormtroopers, many of them wounded. The Resistance had led them into a savage fight.

  Apparently the lieutenant found Phasma even more intimidating now; he held the holo device in trembling hands. Phasma supposed that was understandable - she was wearing the ichor of a dozens Lyleks, and the ashes of several more. Her armour was pitted and scarred, though none of the Lyleks had managed to do any serious damage. The Dark Troopers were also largely unscathed, standing as grim and resolute as ever despite their grisly coating.

  Still, it didn’t excuse a display of weakness from a First Order officer. That would need to be dealt with soon.

  She spared a look towards the First Order siege lines, finding that she could pick out the fires there even from this distance. The officer beside her looked dazed. Then she issued a terse instruction: “Report.”

  That shook him out of his stupor. “It was sent by Colonel Stolan,” he stammered as he got the holo working. It showed the fighting in the camp, the fighting which she had been lured away from.

  “Are we to engage?”

  "N-no Captain, I merely-"

  He was cowering now. Phasma put her helmet very close to his face. "Do you want some Rylothian scout to see an officer of the First Order quivering and stuttering? Stand straight and make a proper report. Why am I not being ordered back?"

  There were some definite advantages to her new form. Not that she had lacked for intimidating qualities before - unless restrained by a Wookie - but her bionics augmented them by an order of magnitude. Let FN-2187 try and find the guts to mock her now.

  For now, she managed to wring a coherent answer out of the lieutenant before her. “The fighting is over.” He quailed at the look Phasma turned on him, though he just about avoided cringing, and hastened on, speeding up the playback. “Colonel Stolan thought you ought to see this.”

  Phasma took it from him, silencing the coward. Later she would file a recommendation with Stolan that he be marked as morally deficient, and dealt with accordingly. Put him in the line for the next attack, somewhere natural selection could do its work and weed out a little more weakness. For now, though, she turned all her attention to the holo.

  The focus in the image had shifted. A single Resistance fighter was picked out now, though Phasma would have marked him even if he were in the margins, for the way he fought. His pace, efficiency and ferocity were all superlative. “The Colonel has noticed patterns in the enemy officer’s technique, Captain,” the man told her. “It appears to resemble-”

  “I see it, Lieutenant.” Phasma didn’t spare him a glance, though she made a mental note to add a charge of impertinence. Her mechanical eyes remained solely on the translucent figure as he struck down and blasted one Stormtrooper after the next. “First Order combat training.”

  Stolan had been astute. This was an interesting development. And the more Phasma watched, the more a realisation stole up on her. She knew this fighting style. Not simply as the First Order method, but something much more specific than that.

  Other memories swam up from the depths. She remembered combat in a dozen theatres. Grudging comradeship, replaced in time by seething rivalry and suspicion. Finally, sudden, murderous, righteous betrayal.

  And of course, she remembered red armour.

  Had Phasma retained the capacity, she might have felt as though a cold and pitiless hand had taken hold of her heart. But she had no such capacity any more - her hands were the cold and pitiless ones now. All that was left to her was the certain knowledge that a man who despised her, another man who might possess deadly truths about her, was serving the enemy.

  “You,” she rasped. Now she turned her head to regard the officer, and he shrank back. “I will contact Colonel Stolan directly. That-” she stabbed a finger at the image “-is a more dangerous enemy of the First Order than he knows.”

  Finn started moving before he was even away if it. He jerked his shoulder, dislodging Rose’s hand, and stepped forward, blaster snapping up and whining with the build-up of power. He levelled it straight at the man. “Captain Cardinal,” he growled.

  This time, there was gasps. Around him, Finn sensed a ripple of movement, either blasters being raised to shoulders or the hesitation of those who felt the impulse, but decided against it. He kept his eyes forward, his gun steady.

  The big man spread his hands, motioning for his troops not to respond in kind. All the while, he watched Finn closely. The man seemed to register some surprise, but took his vehement words with a maddening equanimity. “It’s Archex, nowadays.” He kept his expression neutral, but there was a shrewdness to his gaze which Finn didn’t remember.

  Every eye was on him now. Without that, Finn might have fired already – at least a warning shot. He stepped closer to Archex, and growled, “So now would be a good time to explain why we should trust you.”

  Numa’s voice rang out. “Who’s pointing guns in my city, without my permission?” Other blasters dropped.

  Inwardly, Finn cursed, as Numa came into view. He hadn’t even noticed her or Poe arriving. But now they were here, a hologram of Hera Syndulla snapping into being alongside them. The ranks of Resistance fighters parted. Scrapper Squad were suddenly out in the open, and quite isolated.

  “Finn, you know this man?” Rey said. Finn could hear the tension in her voice, and he could feel her gaze burning into his back. Down at Poe’s heel, BB-8 echoed Rey’s quizzical tone.

  She would’ve gone on to say “How?” but Poe was quicker. “I know the name ‘Cardinal’, even if I don’t know ‘Archex’.” He stepped up next to Finn, looking at him sidelong. “One of Brendol Hux’s senior instructors.” He scrutinised the big man. “And one of the architects of the new Stormtrooper legions.” He grimaced. “This complicates things.”

  Archex regarded him, eyes calm as ever, though he lowered his head just a little. Shame, perhaps? Then he looked to Numa. “Perhaps I should have conveyed this to you before we arrived, Commander, but I didn’t wish to taint my company in your eyes and… my shame was too great.” His eyes had dropped to the stones, but they were hard, defiant, when he met Numa’s gaze again. “I was Captain Cardinal of the First Order. My apologies for the…” His jaw worked. “For the lie of omission.”

  “Well, it’s one we can understand,” Rey said pointedly, suddenly appearing next to Finn. She reached out to gently push his blaster down. After a moment, he relented, and let it fall.

  Numa spoke next, her voice flinty. “I’ll be honest, I’m not delighted to be kept in the dark, even if I do understand the motive.” Finn glanced back; her head was slightly tilted, an appraising look on her face. “Commodore Syndulla has at least verified your ship’s ident, and we’ve confirmed the identities of several of your lieutenants.”

  Archex’s Trandoshan lieutenant cleared his throat. “And we’ll vouch for our captain.”

  That was enough for plenty of people, but not for Finn.  This man had been a key component in the machine which had tried to shape him into a weapon. The training, the lectures, the incessant drills… for the first few years he could remember, the Crimson Trooper had been at the very heart of that.

  This provoked an anger in Finn which swelled like an oil-fire. Here was one of the people who'd helped create the armies which now blasted so many worlds into submission, and had done it with child slaves.

  "Good people died to bring you here," he snarled. "Good rebels. So I wanna know," he carried on, stepping closer, "why it was worth their lives, to bring a Stormtrooper into Nabat."

  That was a definite provocation, and he probably should have known better. But his blood was still up. They’d fought too hard tonight, and too many soldiers had been hurt or worse.

  "You just saw me cut down Stormtroopers." The words were delivered with a studied neutrality, but Archex put plenty of weight into them. It stirred a ripple of acknowledgement in the surrounding people. “Plenty of them.”

  Finn, however, didn't relent. "I've seen First Order officers spend lives readily enough,” he said, motioning with his blaster to reinforce the accusation. “Thousands for a victory. Hux would trade a regiment for a way into this city in a heartbeat, Stolan likewise.” He flexed the fingers holding the blaster barrel. “I've seen your old comrade Phasma do it."

  Now that got a reaction - an angry hiss from the Trandoshan. Several emotions flickered across Archex's heavy features. Offence was one, swiftly quashed, but did Finn also spy amusement in that mix?

  "Easy, Thrasst," the big man told his lieutenant. “All of you,” he added, to the soldiers at his back. Impressively, given how fierce they looked, they all complied.

  Silently, Finn noted that the man's accent had changed. It was rougher, no longer clipped with First Order discipline and briskness.

  If it was a ploy, its effect was limited. Rose scowled next to Finn. “We know what kind of people lead the First Order. And we know where they get their soldiers – like the ones you trained.”

  That, more than any military feat, was what Archex was really known for: shaping the First Order’s armies. The Empire’s recruitment model had died out slowly, as the Imperial Remnant carried on the bloody campaigns Palpatine had initiated in the Unknowns. Under that regime, soldiers were recruited or conscripted, their initial battles serving as the last stages of training and examination. What remained of the Imperial Army, the drab-liveried grunts, had been steadily ground out and used up if they didn’t desert. Their veterans had donned the white armour as their battalions were depleted, until there were only Stormtroopers.

  But the new breed had been ushered in by General Brendol Hux, father of Armitage. They had been taken from their parents as infants - it was Hux’s boast that his soldiers were not so much trained as programmed. And for over a decade, there had been a red-armoured Stormtrooper, an officer who was acclaimed by the regime as everything their soldiers should aspire to be. Thousands of future soldiers had come up under his tutelage, Finn among them.

  Until, that was, the day that he suddenly vanished. No information had been gleaned from the First Order, giving the impression that one of their preeminent soldiers had ceased to exist.

  And now he stood here, in Resistance colours no less. It beggared belief.

  “I was one of Brendol’s first initiates,” Archex admitted. “Back before the Stormtrooper program evolved into its final form.”

  “Meaning the stolen children?” Rose prodded, her tone accusatory enough that Rey flinched.

  Poe darted her a sharp look. “Whoa,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “Easy, Rose.”

  Disbelief and a hint of anger mingled on Rose’s face. “You are gonna let that slide?”

  Finn saw the merest twitch of Poe’s arm as he resisted raising the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I just don’t want to pick a fight with our reinforcements. Not when we’re all this tired.” He gave Finn a long look too, and nodded approvingly when he let his posture ease a little.

  “No, she’s right to bring that up.” Archex’s lip twisted with bitter amusement. “Stars know that I think about that plenty myself. How I let myself be fooled...”

  Now Rose looked truly incredulous. “You didn’t know?”

  He offered her a grim smile. “To Brendol, I was a useful idiot. Or rather, I was a boy from a hardscrabble world who’d never been given anything without a hefty price tag. And Brendol’s price… well, he had a way of not making it seem like one.” His eyes moved to Rey. “Might amuse you to know which hardscrabble world that was.”

  “Actually,” she said. “I think I can guess. It was Jakku, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes indeed. Though, same place might be a stretch.”

  Rey leaned forward, just a little. “Where on Jakku?”

  “Fort Yuda.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “I’ve barely even heard about that one.”

  “Exactly. For what it’s worth, Niima did get talked about. Rich pickings, they said, for the brave. And that was years before you were scavenging.” Before the Empire’s last stand carpeted the world with broken ships, Finn realised.

  “Well,” Rey said, pride overcoming her usual modesty. “If you climbed high enough.”

  Rose and Finn cleared their throats in unison, then stopped awkwardly partway through. Finn studiously ignored Rey’s smirk. “We should probably stay on track.”

  But the mention of Jakku had changed something. The atmosphere had shifted, the tension ebbing. It was small, but palpable. Even to Finn – or perhaps most of all to Finn – it registered. Like Phasma, Archex had often felt like he had been made as much as raised, moulded into the perfect expression of First Order discipline.. It was disconcerting in the extreme to suddenly imagine him as a boy, someone who had once had a home.

  "I believed that our recruits were rescued," Archex said. "Just as I was. But then a Resistance spy revealed that to be a lie, and now, here I am. Offering my services."

  All eyes turned to Numa. For a moment, she was silent. However when the words came, they were careful and deliberate. “We have ex-Imperials serving with us now. Wedge Antilles and countless other pilots defected from Imperial academies to the Rebellion. I remember Alexsandr Kallus, who started out in the ISB and ended up risking his life to stop them.  And you've all heard about Inferno Squad. Every one of them saw the atrocities that the Empire committed, and they chose to set themselves against it despite knowing the dangers involved.” She came close to Archex, scrutinising him intently before lifting her chin. “I say we let him stand with us. Commodore Syndulla?”

  Hera, who’d smiled knowingly at the mention of Kallus, nodded. “I say the same.” With a nod to Archex she said, “I’ve studied Nydark Company’s campaigns. They’ve got a long, documented trail of hard-fought actions against the First Order. They’ve got my vote.”

  Finn knew what was coming. He squared his shoulders, kept his face perfectly neutral, as Poe turned back to him. He did that for his friend’s sake, and for that of the Resistance.

  “I need everyone to hear this and understand,” Poe said, though it was perfectly apparent that his words were meant mostly for Finn. “Nydark Company is vouched for. We’ve already seen them fight and bleed for this city already. They will stand with us, and we will permit them to do so.”

  Numa nodded. “For now, I want you all to disperse, and get some rest. We are all the Resistance, no matter our pasts.”

  But now, Finn thought, as Rose took his hand and the group headed back to their barracks, that was going to be rather harder to remember.

Chapter Text

  Light but persistent clouds gave the day a wan, washed-out quality. It fit the mood; both sides were worn out after the night’s combat, the Resistance too wary to celebrate. While the First Order worked to restore the damage to their base, the Resistance had weary sentries on the walls, resting as much as they dared.

  Poe rubbed his eyes for, at a guess, the fiftieth time. Most of the captains had gone to bed – he’d sent Kaydel too, and even BB-8 was recharging – but he hadn’t managed to crawl away just yet. There was too much to process in the aftermath of the raid.

  The mood in the city was odd now. The elation of a successful mission hadn’t gone away as such, but the tension between Finn and Archex had cast a pall over it. Poe couldn’t blame his friend – Force knew what was going through his friend’s mind – but the headache persisted all the same. He had more work to do, building bridges with the new arrivals after a distinctly inauspicious start. At least the earlier episode with Juspabo had given them practice.

  He supposed he could blame Archex’s secrecy to an extent, though as Rey had pointed out, the shame of having served the First Order was easy to understand. So was the impulse to conceal that history.

  For now, though, he had to marvel once again at the fortitude of the two female commanders. Both were older than Leia, but their vigour seemed undimmed, their focus still sharp. If he was honest, he felt a lot worse than the two of them looked.

  "It could have been a lot messier," Numa reasoned, her lekku waving a little as she shook her head. "No one seems to have lost anyone directly to Archex, or rather to Cardinal. That makes things a lot easier."

  “I’ll say.” Poe remembered all too well how it had gone with certain ex-Imperial recruits for both the Resistance and the Rebel Alliance. History could cause a whole lot of trouble. “Funny, how much easier that is to bury when it’s all abstract... except for Finn, of course.”

  Hera, as projected, was sat in her command chair. “I shudder to think how much baggage we’ve got to pick through there.” She leaned back. “You did well with him, in that confrontation.”

  “Thanks. I’ve, uh, learned a few things about defusing recently.” There was still a guilty twinge when he was reminded of Crait – especially given that Hera had been a contemporary of Amilyn Holdo. Quite possibly a friend. At least Hera didn’t seem to hold that against him.

  She’s dealt with guys like me enough times, he reminded himself. And I'm on my best behaviour. 

  “I think it’s still worth keeping someone with Captain Archex for now,” Numa said. “Pairing up on watches. We needn’t be paranoid, but it’s still worth being cautious. The Empire’s hooks often sank deep, and I can’t imagine it’s any different with the First Order.”

  Poe could almost see her weighing the implied question in her hand. How far should they separate the Resistance captain and the Stormtrooper he had been?

  Of course, he knew that people could turn away from the Empire, and often become its most dogged enemies. The examples Hera had cited had only been a small fraction. One of Poe's boyhood heroes had been Lyndon Javes, who defected after Endor. His mother had talked about flying with Javes plenty of times.

  This was an uncomfortable reality of his new station, which he’d first dealt with during that first stay on Ryloth, after Crait. There were some concerns you had to hide from those beneath you for morale’s sake. You might need to worry about them, but you couldn’t afford to have everyone fretting.

  Hera concurred with Numa's sentiment. "It's like untangling a knot of brambles, when that happens. And we need the troops to see that we're aware of the potential danger, even if we don't think there's a risk."

  "Alphabet Squadron memories?" Poe queried, curiosity seeping into his tone despite himself. Alphabet Squadron had been a collection of misfits, two of them ex-Imperials, who had fought the infamous Shadow Wing after Endor. They were hardly the Galaxy-wide legends that Rogue or Ghost Squadron had been, but to those who knew, theirs was a fascinating tale. And Hera knew it better than almost anyone else.

  The older Twi'lek woman gave him a wry look. "Survive this siege, Poe, and you'll get the whole story." Then, her expression softened. “How’s Finn taking all of this?”

  “Well, Rose will get him to lie down and actually rest a bit. That’ll help. Beyond that…” Poe stroked his now heavily stubbled chin. “Too soon to say. He’s mentioned Cardinal a few times before. Nowhere near as often as Phasma, but it’s safe to say there’s some of that history at play...”

  “Well, talk to him tomorrow. In the meantime, I have some current events for you. Transmitting-” she held up a finger “-now.”

  A miniaturised Galaxy filled the space above the holoprojector, Hera now relegated to a smaller image. She pointed to the angry red trails that criss-crossed its expanse. “The enemy’s latest moves.”

  Poe circled, studying them. “Mostly as we expected… except for that.” He pointed at one region, where the thickest concentration of red lines speared into-

  “Hutt Space?” Numa didn’t care to hide her incredulous tone.

  “Yep. All available intelligence says they bombarded Nal Hutta for a whole night. The cartels have been decimated, at the very least.”

  "Is there no nest of wasp-worms that Kylo Ren won't kick?" Poe marvelled, taken aback by the Supreme Leader's audacity. “They must’ve, I don’t know, sent someone to kill him. Can't imagine why else he'd take a risk like invading their turf.” The Hutts might not be a conventional military power, but there was no way they’d take this lying down. They had all manner of unconventional ways to strike back at an aggressor, but that hadn't put Kylo Ren off.

  Hera shrugged. “In some regards he’s been remarkably restrained – like you said, nothing out of the ordinary anywhere else. But whatever happened with the Hutts, it seems he’s taken it personally.”

  “Or he just got cocky after Coruscant finally fell,” Poe murmured, but his gut told him that wasn't right. The Supreme Leader was smart – much more so than he was often imagined to be. Still, make an attack on his person or pride, and any notion of restraint would vanish. He looked over at Numa. “Commander, you’ve been up longest and I don’t think we’re looking at anything more . I can handle it from here.”

  “Don’t be too late to bed yourself.”

  Numa retired to her quarters, while Hera continued. “We just have to hope it ends up being a proper quagmire for the First Order. Kylo can’t be seen to go in, kick everything over and then leave, however much he’d like it. For which, thank the Force. It’s one of the few things that lets us predict him, and those who serve him.”

  Poe felt like he was about to get a lesson, and immediately felt a little more awake. “I thought you’d already know that from fighting the Empire.”

  “That was quite different,” the Twi’lek woman said, shaking her head. "The Empire’s rise was overseen by old men, working to a plan which went back centuries." Hera elaborated: "I devoured all the reputable books on Palpatine and the Sith, after historians and journalists got access. Leia and I both did."

  Poe nodded. "She's mentioned it. Do you believe the whole thing about Sidious just adopting the Palpatine identity? I read a book once by one of the Bar’leth Savas, who suggested that he didn’t even come from Naboo originally."

  "I've never fully decided, though it always interested me that the scholars, journalists and anyone else who poked around Sheev Palpatine's origins wound up dead. However," she reproached him, "you're derailing me."

  "Sorry," Poe said sheepishly.

  Even through the distortion and blue shimmer of the holo, Hera's expression had the sternness of a veteran Academy instructor - which of course she was, along with everything else. She brought her hands together with the same briskness. "The First Order, as they are now, are not at heart old and patient like Palpatine and his circle. They’re the children of the Empire, who were promised that all this-" she gestured to a star-chart projected next to her "-would be theirs, only to have it taken away. Or they’re the grandchildren, growing up in exile and raised on ambition and spite. They want it all and they want it now."

  “Hux is just the same," Poe said, remembering that the young Hux had been on Jakku after Endor. "Which is kinda funny; he and Kylo are so alike, but I can’t imagine them hating anything more than one another.”

  “Often the way.” Hera stifled a yawn. “Well, I’m off to catch up on sleep too now. Hold the fort, Poe, but no longer than you have to. And keep an eye on Finn.”

  “Aye aye to both, ma’am.” Poe saluted, and Hera’s holo winked out, leaving him to his thoughts.

  Having snatched a few hours of sleep, Rey settled for meditating. It helped, the current of the Living Force rushing in to sweep out the anger, fear and pain of the fight.

  There was a lot of that going around. The siege had the world marinated in that. In the sea that was the Force, the First Order’s presence was like an oil slick, maliciously released. Rey could feel their hatred, corrosive hatred, seeping in. It was an almost constant challenge to keep herself from being affected.

  Passion, yet serenity, she repeated to herself. Emotion, yet peace. Chaos, yet harmony.

  Rejuvenated, she turned to some of the Jedi holocrons she’d been given. There were lessons in these, on processing the emotions of combat and, most valuably, the strain of ongoing hostilities.

  In particular, Rey listened to those by Shaak Ti, the striking Togruta Jedi Master. Ti had been the kind of graceful blademaster Rey aspired to be, one of the finest practitioners in the Ataru school. If someone could master the Aggression Form and still exude this serenity, they must be onto something.

  She spent a good hour letting Ti’s meditations permeate her consciousness. The woman’s voice was warm even through the device, with a mellifluous Shilian accent. You didn’t hear many sounds like that on Ryloth just now.

  Still, her thoughts turned back to her own Master. Was it ever like this for you, Luke? From what everyone tells me, it wasn’t. The stories about you are all chases, daring raids and infiltrations. Did you ever live for weeks with the Empire’s guns pointing at you?

  Luke was yet to answer. Rey sighed, accepting. No rushing the Force and lost souls.

  She cast her awareness a little wider, seeking a particular soul. Let’s have a look at you, Archex. His emotions were impressively guarded, even by soldiers’ standards, so she could only get an impression. Still, she didn’t find any darkness. There was anger, but it had a righteous quality to it, and was directed entirely at the enemy beyond the walls. That, Archex didn’t conceal.

  Rey found herself disquieted, and wondered briefly at her own reluctance to trust the man. That would require some work.

  Rose had opted to distract herself, finding duties to keep her occupied while Finn was busy. Everyone else in Nabat seemed to have the same idea; a hushed sort of busyness pervaded the city.

  Nydark Company, if they weren’t all in their bunks, seemed to be keeping a respectful distance, waiting to be made properly welcome. She saw some squads of newcomers around, but for the most part, those appeared to be other units who’d joined up with Archex’s forces when they arrived on the world.

  Rey would be on morale-boosting duty, speaking to injured soldiers in the infirmary along with the civilians. She tended to leave them alone, but more than a few were keen to speak with the Jedi they’d heard so much about. So she’d indulge them, briefly, until she felt able to press on. Rose didn’t envy her that pressure.

  Poe had finally slunk away to get some rest. Kaydel was probably still sleeping – otherwise Rey would have just happened to drop by the command centre, or Kaydel would’ve gone to find her. Finn was occupied in the armoury and probably best left to his thoughts for now, but Rose found Chewbacca and Ki’rii, and together they did some much-needed maintenance on the Millennium Falcon.

  Pilots of various squadrons and engineers moved around them, but here too, the mood was rather subdued. R2-D2 trundled down the ramp to offer his services, and whistled questioningly. Rose filled him in, and he offered some encouragement: in his experience these things blew over sooner or later. Rose nodded politely and did her best to believe it.

  It was a struggle to keep it in mind, however. Finn's sudden, cold fury last night kept coming back to her. It disquieted her, how quickly the change had come over the man she loved.

  He was, of course, within his rights to be angry at the sight of the man. Archex represented the machine that had worked so hard to shape him, to render him an unquestioning soldier. The kind of man who would cull a village of innocents without missing a step.

  But Archex was known. There were documented, verifiable acts of defiance to his name. Just look at the soldiers who follow him. They believe.

  She should've caught him this morning, woken up that bit sooner and talked with him, but she’d had work to do before she even got to the hangar. LM-276 had come away from last night’s action with quite a lot of damage, and some parts which needed changing over. Ki’rii was the better droid mechanic, but she still needed Rose’s help to get him back in fighting shape quickly. Although, with so many of their spare parts being salvaged, it still took a while to test the replacement components and ensure they were to LM’s satisfaction.

  On the plus side, that meant that the droid could join them in the hangar. Plenty of heavy things needed moving around the hangar, which made him and Nyzar very handy to have around as shattered parts were removed and new ones brought to be inserted. Slowly but surely, the Resistance squadrons returned to full fitness, while the pilots did likewise.

  “Wish they could’ve brought some fighters down with them,” Nyzar remarked when he had a free moment. “Repairing these is all well and good, but once they’re shot down proper, there’s no easy replacement.”

  “They’re probably most useful up above,” Ki’rii said. “Then they can zap enemy reinforcements out of the sky – splat goes the dropship before it gets near us. Honestly, I’m grateful for whatever we get down here.”

  “Assuming the reinforcements can be relied on,” the Zabrak growled ominously. Rose frowned pointedly at him, but deep down, she shared the same worries.

  Late in the afternoon, Rey came to join them, via the nearest canteen, and arrived with a few drinks.

  “I bring caff,” she announced, to muted rejoicing, and enquired with LM about how he was doing. More quietly, to Rose she said, “Are you OK? That set-to can’t have been fun for you.” 

  “Yeah,” Rose said, keeping her voice low. “Overall I’m OK, but, mm, unsettled.” The cause didn’t need explaining.

  Rey was tactful enough not to get into it straight away. Instead, she asked about what they’d done already, and suggested what to tackle next. In fact, she held her tongue on the subject of Archex until they moved onto helping with Black Squadron’s fighters.

  “Have you seen Finn like that before?” she eventually asked. Her voice was taut with worry. “Because I haven’t.”

  Rose shook her head, her frown deepening further.

  Kaydel appeared, also curious about Finn’s reaction. "He's always so controlled," she said. "Guess something about that really shook him.”

  “He’s talked about Car-” Rose just caught herself and coughed. “About Captain Archex before,” she corrected. “Not sure if he’s mentioned him much to you guys. Archex doesn’t seem to loom as large as Phasma does.”

  “A good sign?”

  Rose bit her lip. “Maybe. He says everyone remembered Archex more fondly than Phasma, but that’s not exactly a high bar. And even if he was gentler with the recruits than she was, he was a true believer in the First Order.”

  Rey looked pensive. “Maybe he was mistaken.” Seeing Rose’s expression she added, “But that’s obviously a hard sell.”

  "I think Commodore Syndulla had a point," Kaydel ventured. "Redemption was nearly as important to the Rebellion as hope. I mean, you said it. Finn came over to us, didn't he?"

  Rey wanted to offer them both some hope, but bitter experience made her cautious. "He wasn't with them as long as Archex was," she said. "And I thought Ben Solo could be redeemed once, remember?"

  As she often was, however, Kaydel provided the voice of reason. “Maybe the best thing to do is start talking to the people who follow him?” she suggested. “Keep your distance from Archex himself, but build some bridges with the Nydarks. I doubt he could’ve tricked all of them. And maybe, if Finn talks to some of them too…”

   Rose, now on her back under one of the A-Wings, hummed thoughtfully. “That could work. And… aha! Jess, BA-9, I think I found your problem circuit.” She waved the pilot and her astromech over, and the three of them studied the wiring she’d exposed.

  BA-9 twittered curiously, leaving off with a questioning bweeoe?

  “Yeah, you’re right.” Rose patted a panel. “My guess is that when that got knocked out of alignment and you rerouted the power, it pushed this one just a little too hard.” She quickly removed it, and made room for Jess and BA-9 to get a proper look. The astromech let out the equivalent of an aha.

  Kaydel was grinning, Rose could hear it in her voice. “Feel better for fixing things?”

  “Uh huh.” Getting back to her feet, Rose said, “So, how would we start building these bridges?”

  Kaydel glanced at Rey before she replied, a little smile lighting her face. “Well, it’s getting to dinner time. So let’s start by washing off that oil, heading for the nearest canteen, and asking to sit with some of the new arrivals.”

Chapter Text

  "This, at least, connects some dots," Hux eventually said when he was told of Phasma’s deduction. He inhaled through his nose, pausing as if it were distasteful to even speak the name. "Archex. All this time, we had simply assumed the fool was rendered down for protein paste years ago, and here we find him leading one of the most persistent Resistance cells."

  "An oversight by the disposal teams," Phasma answered. Her fight with Archex had been aboard the other’s Star Destroyer. Plainly, she was not about to be held accountable for failures by menials, much less ones she hadn't commanded herself. 

  That had suited Hux just fine, assuming he’d known what Phasma had done. It wouldn’t have helped for Snoke to know that his favourite was murdering her contemporaries. That could have seen her unseated, and led to someone like the late Commander Pyre, less beholden to Hux, being elevated in her place.

  If Phasma hadn’t informed Hux, then… but that notion was absurd. She was the exemplary soldier for the whole Stormtrooper Corps, a living monument to the First Order’s power, discipline and adamantine will. Hux knew her better than anyone else, and he’d never suggested that her allegiance might waver.

  Vintalli watched them both, the general and his enforcer, studying them and gauging the situation.

  The revelation didn’t exactly please Hux, but it plainly intrigued him. Some part of him seemed to be amused by this turn of fate. “So one of our great failures has somehow come back to irritate us.”

  Vintalli cautiously ventured a remark: “Ryloth seems to have a way of collecting irritants.”

  That drew a low murmur of agreement from the bridge officers, though they averted their eyes when Hux looked sharply across the space. Vintalli’s face tightened as well; this was a testament to what the planetary siege was doing to morale. Discipline would not be allowed to ebb like this.

  "Would that we could just kill it now," Hux hissed. "Were it not that we still need the world to remain habitable, for a time, I'd order the fleet to turn it into another Nacronis or Fedovoi End. A costly undertaking, but impossible to halt once the planet's death is set in train."

  Vintalli waited patiently, letting his superior fantasise. He did not necessarily approve of it himself, but it was better to let Hux vent his irritation. Then they could soberly return to Vintalli's scheme, the opportunity he had chanced upon. It was not far from bearing fruit, and they would need to plan extensively for its execution. They’d want Stolan and Phasma’s expertise, their… particular gifts for the application of force, for that.

  It would pay off in time. He just needed patience.

  In Nabat, the Resistance were making their own plans. New units meant new watch and patrol patterns, there were reports from Yendor to digest, and on top of that, Numa had a job in mind for the Millennium Falcon.

  “Unless I’m much mistaken,” she smiled. “It still works as a freighter, doesn’t it?”

  Chewbacca ululated his acknowledgement.

  “Then I would like you to act as a smuggler once again, Captain Chewbacca. Setting course for Lessu, taking on weapons and ammunition.”

  Finn frowned, arms crossed. “I thought we were set to hold out indefinitely.”

  Numa shook her head, lekku waving a little. “We have reinforcements, but we still need supplies. Everything but food – the fighting’s been more demanding than we anticipated.”

  Glances were traded, along with mutterings that confirmed the issue. Rey swapped a quick look with Chewbacca. “How many freighters will we be, and what kind of escort will we have?”

  “Black Squadron, plus two of the local detachments,” Poe said. “We’ll send two freighters on top of the Falcon, the most heavily armed we have. Once we’re close enough, Lessu squadrons will join us.”

  Finn noticed that his friend was still taking his cues from Numa, much as he did with Leia. The Crait mutiny cast a long shadow, and weeks into this role, Poe continued to act as a subordinate commander rather than someone who shared Numa’s rank.

  But perhaps Finn was being too hard on his buddy. Poe wasn’t the one who called this city home, after all.

  He did notice how keen Poe was to get up in the air again. He wasn't flaunting his eagerness, but to those who knew him, it was clear that he relished a brief period of diminished responsibility, serving merely as Flight Leader.

  He turned his attention back to the conversation, which had become about the logistics of the mission. Half of Scrapper Squad would embark on the Falcon, leaving him in the city with the others. Chewbacca would be among those flying – Finn imagined that would help both her spirits and Rey’s. Ezubzina would go along to help them pick what they needed most, bringing her artillerist’s knowledge to bear. And so would Rose.

  Finn wasn’t particularly thrilled about that last detail, but at least she would be in the hands of the three pilots he trusted most. Which she was sure to remind him of as they moved through the hangar, towards the waiting ship.

  “Everything primed?” he asked her.

  Rose grinned. “Come on Finn, it’s me. Of course she’s ready.”

  “Just gotta check.” He leaned in, and she sprang up on her toes to kiss him. “Keep yourself and the others safe, right?”

  “Will do. And you,” she said, tapping his chest. “Talk to Archex. I think it’ll do you both good.”

  Rey pulled on her flightsuit and belted herself into her seat with a certain amount of trepidation. She’d got used to at least flying within sight of the city, and she chided herself for it, but at the same time she knew the challenge they were taking on. The Falcon was one of a few craft which would take on supplies from Lessu, while others would go to Kala’unn. That would split the enemy’s attention, but it only went so far towards alleviating the risks involved.

  At least being exposed in the Falcon wasn't as alarming a prospect as it had once been for Rey, and not just because her piloting skills had come along since then. She, Chewbacca, Rose and Ki’rii had gone extensively over the Falcon’s systems, somewhat thinning out the mess that came with a ship having whole strata of modifications. Nothing in the Falcon was fighting anything else for power now.

  Just as importantly, they'd bolstered its abilities both offensive and defensive. Both turrets were restored, they had front-mounted cannons and Rose and Ki’rii had sourced some auxiliary weapons which packed their own distinctive punches. The Millennium Falcon was a warship now.

  Chewbacca rumbled fondly about the work Rose and Ki'rii had done on the Falcon's arsenal.

  "Aww, thanks Chewie," Ki'rii's voice piped over the comm. “She’s a pleasure to work on. And after all, we’re just building on what you and Captain Solo did.” She had been very tickled when she learned about how those modifications had scandalised Lando Calrissian, thirty years ago.

  A lot more work had been carried out since then. It was unlikely that any Corellian freighter had ever been so powerful as this one was now, and to Rey’s great pride, they’d preserved its legendary speed. Not that it looked much better, to Rey’s eyes. "Do you ever think about getting it all shiny again?" she asked Chewbacca.

  He growl an accusation instead of properly answering, which made her chuckle.

  "Hey, Lando offered to show me the pictures. I didn't even need to ask." There was a pause. She conceded: "Alright, I would've asked if he hadn’t. But come on, don't you ever want those gleaming floors back, and a nice paint job?"

  Chewbacca made a well, I guess sort of noise.

  Rey smiled at him. "I think I'd like to see it that way. She's your ship, though."

  He made a contemplating rr-rr in his throat.

  She regarded him with surprise. "I never thought it was up for debate. Unless we manage to keep Kashyyk safe, and you settle for good." Smiling, she added, “I’m sure you’ll be itching to see Lumpawaroo.”

  "We can talk ownership later," Poe’s voice gently broke in.

  "We got distance to cover for now," Jess added.

  Chuckling, Rey replied "Roger that. Tannel and Cylarei, ready on the guns?"

  "Affirmative."

  “Ezubzina, comfortable back in the hold?”

  “Yes, Captain.” Ezubzina was aboard at Numa’s recommendation, to help judge which munitions would be most useful. She still seemed a little awed at being aboard this famous ship, but her voice was that bit steadier as she reported, “All belted in.”

  Rey smiled, turning back to the comm. "Then we're ready for your signal, Commander."

  As soon as it came, Chewbacca brought the thrusters to thunderous life and the Falcon lifted from the hangar floor.

  “Shields up,” Rey called. Ahead of her, Black Squadron took off, and a squeeze of the accelerator had them following on their tails. “Brace for combat!”

  They had maybe ten seconds before the enemy realised who was in the sky. They had another ten before the enemy came into range, an advantage brought by careful monitoring of the TIE patrols. Still, it was only a short respite, and soon TIEs were vectoring in, more rising up into the sky beyond.

  “Covering squadrons,” Poe called, “forward!”

  Orange and Violet Squadrons leapt ahead, hurling missiles at the enemy while two Deathseed squadrons and their respective freighters fell in just behind Black Squadron and the Falcon.

  Chewbacca fired the Falcon’s own missiles, and Tannell and Ki’rii started up on the cannons. Nine TIEs were smashed in a matter of heartbeats.

  There were many more behind those, and despite the advance squadrons’ work, the Falcon’s ships were soon working hard to ward off the blizzard of green energy as well as anti-air fire from below. Another squadron – Blue, this time – cut in and swiped several enemy fighters from the air. “Punch it!” Rey called. Chewie fed more power to the thrusters and they blasted out of range, their allies keeping pace though they left trails of fire in the air.

  She also noted the cripped X-Wing in the rear scopes, spiralling to earth but ripped apart by enemy fire before it could crash. She felt Ezubzina and Rose flinching without seeing it, and winced herself. Chewbacca, meanwhile, had seen more than enough wars to take it in stride.

  “Keep on,” Poe’s voice sounded in her ear. “Let’s make this worth it.”

  The mood lightened as the convoy raced across the landscape, leaving their pursuers well behind.

  “Remember when I doubted your skills?” Rey asked Poe.

  He chuckled. “I remember getting a little shirty. Though you’re right, I was talking way too much about my crashes back then to really inspire confidence.” A moment’s pause. “When did I win you over?”

  “First time we flew together, I think. Enyg Belt?”

  “Ah. Hectic day.”

  Rey shook her head. “And yet you still sound wistful.”

  They flew on, and got to talking about the progress of the campaign.

  “You know,” Suralinda said, “This whole situation is pretty ideal where public relations are concerned. A siege, overwhelming odds, Resistance fighting on the battlements, a Jedi saving a cute kid in one battle… I couldn't make up a more perfect story."

  "This is the journalist in you talking, I assume," Rey said.

  "Yeah. Sorry if that sounds flip."

  "It did a little," she answered sternly. She still didn’t quite know how to handle the Squamatan pilot, even if she was Black Squadron.

  Jess cut in, a conciliatory note in her voice. "Rey, Sura has a point. We're fighting to spark hope. Think of it like… maybe story is the wrong word."

  "Or it's the wrong definition of story," Suralinda offered, moderating her tone in line with Jess’s. "Story doesn't have to mean making up events. It can be about deciding what they mean."

  "Which also goes for those Jedi stories," Rose added quietly, from behind Rey.

  Rey smiled, and softened her voice a little this time. “So what should they mean?”

  “That there are still people this Galaxy can put its faith in. So long as we win here.”

  That seemed fitting enough to Rey. This mission, after all, was a high-stakes trust exercise. Trust the pilots around them to get to Lessu. Trust the others in the city to get them back to Nabat. And trust Hera Syndulla’s squadrons, up in orbit, to harass the enemy wings who'd otherwise be sent after them by Hux and Vintalli.

  Tie up the TIEs, Rey punned inwardly.

  She found herself gazing at the landscape below, scraps of knowledge from her Clone Wars research rising to the surface. “Look,” she said, pointing. “Jedi Master Ima-Gun Di made his last stand in that canyon down there. And this valley is the route Obi-Wan Kenobi led his troopers down to retake Nabat.”

  “Eyes on the sky as well, Rey,” Poe chided her gently. “We’re only safe when we’re back to base.”

  Rey duly obliged, focusing on the horizon. “Aye aye. Just so long as base is safe.”

  She could easily picture Poe’s warm smile as he replied: “Have some faith in Finn. And besides, you saw how Archex fought during the raid. It’s hard to picture anyone getting past him.”

  “Do you think Finn will be alright with him?” Rose asked, after Poe closed the link.

  Rey took a moment to think about her answer. “We’ve staved off an actual fight between them, and Finn’s smart. I think they’ll be able to talk - it’s just a matter of where that talk leads.”

Chapter Text

  Finn was leaning cautiously over the parapet, watching the flyers disappear over the horizon, when Archex found him. Ryloth's walls were high enough that a sniper who got inside the shields ought to struggle for an angle on anyone up here. Added to that, Resistance night patrols repeatedly combed the perimeter, Finn himself having been on several. Nonetheless, the enemy still sent camouflaged Scout Troopers occasionally, so the danger could never be discounted. At least for now, it looked safe.

  He’d watched the Millennium Falcon and its escorts vanish over the horizon, the knot of worry in his stomach lessening, though it didn’t fully abate.

  "He's coming over," Cylarei said airily. Finn, as he had several times, wondered if she was uniquely good at keeping a level tone, or if that was just a Chiss talent.

  He watched her red eyes flick back to the point over his shoulder. "I'm aware." 

  "You want us at your back?" The light tone remained, but there was seriousness under it.

  He sighed. "I appreciate the sentiment, but that's not what we need right now."

  Cylarei might have protested still, but Nyzar and LM-276 chose this moment to approach and steer her gently away.

  That left Finn alone with Archex. Exactly where he didn’t want to be.

  He’d been actively avoiding the man for days now. He had gone about it in ways that looked good and deniable, but his conscience knew full well what he was doing, and he wasn’t proud of himself. It felt foolish, childish even - hadn't he felt under the same suspicion when he was travelling with Rey? Hadn't he even lied about to Han Solo, who had notoriously deserted from the Imperial Army?

  Yes. Yes he had. Still, it hadn't spurred him to try and bridge the gap, so now shame welled up in him alongside the trepidation. 

  It would've been one thing had it just been another Stormtrooper who'd turned. To a greater or lesser extent, there'd have been common ground there. With Tam Ryvora - admittedly a former volunteer instead of a conscript, but still someone who'd been low-level before seeing the light - he'd been able to make the approach himself.

  But with Archex, Finn found it was quite different. Captain Cardinal had loomed in his mind throughout his training, almost as large as Phasma. Both officers had been held up as exemplars of what a Stormtrooper could be, not to mention a long list of victories against enemy powers in the Unknowns… and against insurgents too. Finn had left it unspoken for fear of harming morale and cohesion, but he couldn't help wondering if soldiers here had lost comrades because of Archex.

  That was another difference. Neither he nor Tam had killed before defecting. Admittedly Archex's ledger was, in theory, wiped clean. That was how it had worked during the Rebellion. Besides, the identities of his own people were verified, and the other units he'd led to the city were proven Resistance fighters.

  And still, the frustrating reluctance had stayed with Finn. Right up until Archex sought him out.

  Finn didn’t turn yet but he heard him coming, recognising the heavy tramp of his boots. The Scrappers straightened, Finn’s wariness carrying to them, but he bade them stand down with a gesture. Cylarei, though she kept her distance, held his gaze with her red eyes, features darkened by a wary expression. Finn nodded, and she turned away, Nyzar and LM following her. He, meanwhile, looked around at the newcomer.

  Archex watched them go with a neutral expression. His face remained impassive as his eyes alighted again on Finn, except for the sight creasing of a frown. "Captain Finn." There was a bottle in his hand, which he proffered. “You look like you could use a top-up.”

  "Captain Archex," Finn replied. He took the bottle – Ryloth was a thirsty world on which to stand guard. “Thanks.” He considered his words as he drank, and decided on honesty as the best course of action. “I should've come to you sooner.”

  The other man shook his head. "There's no sense in forcing or rushing these things. Still, as the only two known Stormtroopers to renounce the First Order, I should think we’ve got a lot to talk about.” A rueful look stole over Archex’s face. It looked odd on this man. Finn put it down to how certain Archex had always seemed. “Besides which, Finn, I’d like to have your trust, rather than just being free of your suspicions.”

  That found a mark inside Finn. He remembered when he’d first met Rey, and the look in her eyes when he’d said he was Resistance. The immediate trust, when he’d feared being found out as a Stormtrooper… yeah, he understood where Archex was coming from.

  Not long after Crait, Leia had taken him aside, and they'd talked about the murkiness that often attended a war like this.

  Leia had known immediately what he was thinking, and straight away she’d had just the words for the occasion. Your real shining heroes like Luke or Jyn Erso, she’d said, they're not as common as anyone would like. Just as often you'll find those fighting alongside you are tarnished. You might find that I was the one who fought for their pardons. Then she smiled, perhaps a touch wistfully. Look up Alphabet Squadron, Finn, and you'll get an idea.

  The comparison had somehow slipped his mind. He’d heard the stories, of course. Yrica Quell, Chass na Chadic, Wyl Lark, Nath Tensent and Kairos were, some said, a more accurate sample of Rebel heroes than Luke, Han and Leia. Even more so, they said, than rough-edged heroes like Poe's parents.

  Still, reading up on them at length and quickly coming to focus on Quell, Finn soon saw the lesson Leia had wanted him to learn. He also got why Commodore Syndulla had spoken up so readily for Archex.

  So he got it. The parallels were laid out. Why, then, had he shied away, even after seeing Archex's sincere care for his soldiers?

  Well, nothing to do now but make up for his error and just listen.

  Archex was circumspect. “Let me see. FN-2187… good soldier, team player – but never popular, if I recall. Even as a kid, before Phasma got hold of your cadre.”

  Finn’s instinct was to brush it off, to be modest. “No one’s perfect.”

  “Maybe.” Archex glanced around him. “But these people all seem to like you pretty well, which suggests that the First Order was the main factor there. Tall Bachani Syndrome and all that, I guess, fostered by our – that system.”

  The hesitation, coming two years after Archex had defected, startled Finn. He found himself wondering just how deeply the other man had been enmeshed in the First Order.

  “You were a true believer.”

  “Because Brendol Hux took a boy from a starving, sandblasted world,” Archex replied, “and showed him only the most prosperous parts of the First Order, telling that boy that he would be protecting it. Not for my eyes, the ugly bits. The slave colonies and the breeding programs.” He broke off, scowling. “Of course, I knew they were there, but from that distance, I could fool myself and keep believing.”

  “And you fooled us as well, up until you weren’t there anymore.” Finn frowned, and took a sip of water. He looked out again at the enemy fortifications. He could just about see some Stormtroopers, and that set his thoughts running on a little further. “I wondered about you, you know. Phasma ate up your limelight, but the way you seemed to just vanish? That was something else. Not even a denunciation before you went.”

  A grim, rumbling chuckle welled up from Archex’s barrel of a chest. “Did they mention an attack on Phasma?” He saw Finn’s expression, and snorted, shaking his head. “Hmm. I don’t suppose they had any good way to spin it.”

  Finn tilted his head, studying the bigger man with even more interest than before. “Sounds like a good story.”

  “There's a bigger story than that. One that I ought to tell you,” Archex said. “Told to me by a Resistance spy, years ago. The one for which I, to my shame and with clumsy brutality, tried to torture Vi Moradi for, but which she used to open my eyes. The one that... broke me.”

  He told tales in the way that a soldier might, Finn thought, but not quite on the manner of Resistance soldiers. There was a lingering rigidity, an uncertainty around how to approach a story which didn't serve to glorify or ram home a moral. In the hands of the First Order, after all, any story had to be propaganda on some level to have any worth.

  This story was not that. It was the peeling away of a facade, and a man's realization that his entire life had been spent in furtherance of a lie.

  And of course, the story was about Phasma. It took in Vi Moradi, a Resistance spy Archex had captured and interrogated, General Brendol Hux, and a number of Passanan tribal warriors. But at its core, it revolved around Phasma. The warrior beneath the model soldier’s shining helmet, and the vile deeds she had likewise disguised.

  "Her own niece?" Finn asked faintly, at one point. “But she was still a kid.”

  "Hardly the first child whose death she had caused, or the first of her kin. But it was perhaps her coldest, and most calculated."

  “So you turned then?”

  “I wish. No, I still thought I could get her cast out, and so I went to Hux. I thought he’d thank me for exposing the woman who murdered his father.” A grim pause, and Finn knew where he was going. “How little I knew – he’d had her commit the crime. Still, I didn’t quit. I went after Phasma myself, tried to kill her, and lost. I’d have bled out and gone to bio-processing if not for Vi.”

  “So everyone at the top thought Captain Cardinal was dead.”

  Archex looked at him seriously. "He was, though I didn’t realise that for quite a while.” He shifted his weight and stared out over the plain. “Vi let me stick with her, and it took me a while to appreciate how badly I needed that. She taught me how to walk without marching, and other little ways to blend in with the societies we wandered through. Even then, the fact of all this…" he indicated his scarred face and prize-fighter's bulk. "Let’s just say, I made discretion more challenging for Vi than I had in the past.

  "We roved around the Outer Rim and some Mid Rim backwaters, the kind of places at threat from the First Order. Small missions, sowing disruption. I'd never be much of a spy, but I could fight and I made a good saboteurs. We pitched in on some disputes where we could make a difference, and that started changing things too.

  "First, I saw the kinds of people whom we used to descend on in our gunships. I'd had impressions before but now I saw them outside those scenario. They didn't want saving or need guidance, they just wished to be left alone.

  "The second was that we started collecting accomplices. Vi had worked alone most of her career, but I guess much involvement led to us being in situations where we wanted allies. Often, when the dust settled, they'd need to get offworld. The First Order weren't averse to sending a kill-squad or bounty hunters across the border for a troublemaker or two.”

  Finn looked at the more grizzled members of Nydark Company around them. Following Archex’s lead, they were talking with the Scrappers and local fighters. His eyes lingering on the Trandoshan lieutenant. “I’m guessing Thrasst was the first.”

  “Him and a few others, during a mission on the Glavis Ringworld.” Finn, who’d heard vaguely of a fierce clandestine conflict on that massive station. “Whole warren of low-lives, some serving the first Order and some biddable.” A wry smile cracked his face. “A handful of others, it turned out, could be talked into doing the right thing.

  “From there, we kept gaining people, though we lost a few as we went. Vi held off telling the General about me, and then one day, the Hosnian System was gone. We were well and truly at war, and so Nydark Company was born. The very opposite of the army I’d been raised to command, irregular and autonomous. And much better.”

  Finn regarded him quizzically. “I guess it threw some things about the First Order into perspective.”

  “You’ve no idea.” For a moment, Archex looked weary, in a way Finn couldn’t ever remember seeing before. "You know the old adage? Good soldiers follow orders." Archex pursed his lips. "Amazing, what four little words can imply. Good soldiers don't care who the order comes from, except that it comes from above. There is no why, there is only what and how. And most of all, no room for objection."

  “You objected, eventually.”

  “Only to Phasma being set higher than me.” The bigger man shook his head, eyes seeming to see well beyond the enemy lines and the forest. "I acted out of base ambition, mixed with a loyalty I'd never been imaginative enough to question. When she gave me that deathblow, all I felt was despair. It took a long time for Vi to get me to see the light, and find something positive to fight for." He’d turned back to Finn, and now his gaze was searching. "But how about you?"

  Finn smiled, eyeing his boots for a moment. "This is gonna come out goofy, but in a way, I think the Force just got hold of me. My unit happened to be on the Finaliser when Kylo needed a rapid strike force for Jakku, and that as the nearest shop. I was on my second combat action, no kills yet, and one of the other rookies died in front of me. Slip, he was called. We weren't meant to use nicknames, and I think to some of the other troopers, that was its own way of saying he didn't deserve a place in the company."

  Archex nodded gravely but said nothing.

  Dwelling on the raid stirred up another memory in Finn, one he hadn't examined in years now.

  "Phasma once made an example of him, made a whole speech about his… deficiencies, she called them. If someone like him fell, we were meant to walk right past him and carry on."

  A distinct look of guilt had Archex’s jaw tightening. "I think I remember something about that in the files. Collegiate to a fault might've been the phrasing.”

  That sure sound like the First Order. Unity was all well and good, but the strong were expected to rise and the weak to be cast down. A Stormtrooper served to make his unit stronger, but Brendol Hux’s design didn’t allow for camaraderie, much less troopers covering for deficient comrades. Finn had been told as much, and towards the end, deficient had almost always meant Slip.

  "I'd never been able to shake the sense that Slip was in this in the same way I was. He hadn't chosen this, and he didn't choose to do badly. Not that I could ever say that out loud." He paused, breathing in slowly. "Then I saw him in the dust, bleeding out, and every other trooper must moving past him, like Phasma had taught us. And I knew I couldn't do that. I couldn't kill for that system."

  A sorrowful sort of jealousy stirred in Archex’s eyes. “Would that I’d been wise enough to think the same way.”

  Finn tilted his head, halfway to a shrug. “It’s not as if I went straight to fighting for the right side. I kept running, but the Galaxy seemed to keep dragging me back to the middle of things. But it wasn’t just events, it was people. Like you had, with Vi. And when Rose led me to Canto Bight, I saw… more than that. I saw that the First Order don’t just kill. Top to bottom -”

  “They use.” The look on Archex’s face was raw. “And the soldier they raised highest was Phasma, who was quicker to use people than anyone else. There was no one she wouldn’t sell out, but  Brendol Hux, knowing that, made her into the Stormtrooper everyone was meant to look up to.  And now she's back.” He gave Finn a long, hard stare. “Leading the new Dark Troopers.”

  “They’ve changed her. She’s enhanced, dangerous enough that she fought Rey to a stalemate.”

  “Then it’s lucky she’s facing all of us together, right?” Archex extended a hand towards Finn.

  Finn, for his part, was taken aback by just how much that lifted his spirits.

  In the command centre, Kaydel had been keeping half an eye on a screen that showed Finn and Archex. After a while, she found some excuse to go speak to Finn about something, just to see the two up close.

  Without meaning to, she’d found herself studying the two men, and the similarities between them. Mostly she found them in the ways they moved, taut and economical by default. It hadn't been any more apparent with Finn than most soldiers, up till now, but with Archex beside him it was unmistakable. 

  First Order programming went deep, it seemed. Down to the level of muscle memory. Default was definitely the right word; it was something they lapsed back into. Right down to the businesslike way they ate when rations were dropped off.

  There was a certain curiosity, though, to the way Archex took his first bite. "You know, I scorned the idea of proper food when Vi told me about how the Resistance fed their troops. I said to her that after my time on Jakku, living on rats and birds, healthy rations were all I needed. Flavour just sounded like more New Republic decadence to me."

  "That's where you and Rey differ," Finn told him. "Though then again, she grew up on rations instead of rats."

  "As you did." Archex frowned, at if another thought were just on the verge of being spoken. A guilty thought. Seen close to, for all his solidity and stoicism, it looked like he was being gnawed upon by his regrets.

  Kaydel’s discomfort jolted her into speaking. “It’s kinda crazy to me, that someone like you would be on our side in this.”

  Archex blinked, and turned his head to look at her. His expression was stony now, perhaps a challenge. She had, after all, just challenged him.

  She pressed on. “There were rumours from years before I signed up. Cardinal, the Crimson Trooper. Maybe not the most brutal – that honour probably went to Pyre – but the most dedicated after Phasma.”

  A coarse, barked laugh broke from Archex's mouth. “You had some bad jokes circulating too. Phasma, the most dedicated… kriff, they made you swallow that too.”

  “Oh, we know better now,” Kaydel broke in. “After she gave up the Starkiller's shields.”

  Archex turned to look at her, and then back to Finn. “Truly?”

  Finn shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought it’d work. But a Wookie’s a great leveller. Got the muzzle of a blaster under the rim of her helmet, and suddenly that unyielding front just… fell down.”

  By the looks of it, Archex had digested it more quickly than most. Kaydel had to remind herself that based on what she’d heard, this was just another of her crimes to him. For her and most people in the Resistance, it had been the first inkling that Phasma wasn’t wholly devoted to the First Order.

  “You’re lucky you got her and not Pyre,” Archex was telling Finn. “The man was a brute, and a fanatic. He really would’ve taken that blaster bolt.”

  Finn nodded. “So I learned from Tam Ryvora – but that’s another story. Point was, one real push and down came those shields.”

  “Surprised you don’t use that for propaganda more often.”

  “Well, we’d thought she was dead.”

  “And,” Kaydel interjected, “our people were focused on the whole Kylo Ren murdered Snoke thing, for all the good that did. So far, the truth doesn’t seem to matter all that much where the enemy are concerned.”

  “It will,” Archex replied, and he laid his gauntleted hands on Finn and Kaydel’s shoulders. Now she thought she saw the man whom a young FN-2187 must have revered. “Truth takes a while to take root. We just have to show the enemy are liars in other ways – starting with the lie that they can’t be stopped. You’ve helped put some big holes in that already,” he smiled. “And if we can drive Hux off Ryloth, then that’s one more.”

Chapter Text

  The Millennium Falcon and the rest of its formation shot towards Lessu, hugging the ground so they almost skimmed the tops of trees when their path overflew forests. Throughout, Rey wondered at how many biomes Ryloth held, and how hostile they all were to its people.

  Still, when Ezubzina came into the cockpit, swapping seats with Rose, her elation was infectious. “I’ve missed getting to see my world like this,” the Twi’lek woman said.

  “It’s astonishing to look at,” Rey agreed.

  “Offworlders often ask, is it only the Ryl that keeps Twi’leks here?” Ezubzina said, warming to her subject. “It seems so hostile to them. And they’re not wrong. But what they don’t understand is that this world made us. And it’s as tough and beautiful as our people. Yes, it’s hard to live on so much of this world, but it’s ours, and when I see someone else come in, thinking they can just beat it into submission?” Glancing around, Rey was startled to see Ezubzina’s normally anxious expression replaced with something much steelier. “It’s not their world to use as they like. They have no right to any of our homes.”

  That got her a chorus of agreement from everyone. Inwardly, Rey wondered about Jakku. She’d never cared for the world, but it was easy to imagine the First Order there, both salvaging the masses of raw material that the wrecks represented and exploiting the people who scraped a living off the Empire’s graveyard.

  She turned to Chewbacca. “I guess you’re back to smuggling for a day. Do you ever miss it?”

  He answered no. He much preferred serving the Resistance. Furthermore, didn't she remember the state in which she'd first found them? 

  "Ah," she said, now recalling the two of them manning a lumpen heavy freighter with only Rathtars for company. "Point taken."

  Used to have a bigger crew, Han had said, and like much of that one mad day, too much had happened too quickly for her to really parse it. She did think of Takodana every now and again, and the brief sense of peace and vibrant life she’d known there.

  Her thoughts seemed to keep drifting offworld, now that they were out in the open. She’d have liked to resupply from the fleet, if only to see Commodore Syndulla again. Her face still reddened when she remembered how she’d once spent a whole afternoon quizzing her about Kanan Jarrus, Ahsoka Tano and Ezra Bridger. Maybe it’s best I’m not getting within reach of her. She’s got enough hassle on her hands.

  Besides, getting past Hux’s blockade was a far more daunting proposition than any terrestrial barrier. Poe’s caution was well justified. Commodore Syndulla’s net wasn't quite watertight, as was to be expected given the sheer numbers Hux could deploy. Three times enemy squadrons dived on them from above, sending the fighters scrambling to intercept while Tannel and Ki’rii peppered the attackers with cannon blasts. Each time they left a trail of shattered craft on the earth behind them, the enemy pursuing them to the bitter end.

  “Stars’ end, they hate us,” Rose marveled the second time. “Kylo Ren must be offering fancy armour to whoever brings us down.”

  Chewbacca growled.

  “Wants us alive?” Ezubzina sounded perplexed, though Rey was too busy to look around and confirm it. “Doesn’t feel like that right now.”

  “He’s right,” Rey grunted, sending the Falcon jinking right and taking out a TIE with the missile launchers as it sped past them. “They’re aiming to bring us down, but not to destroy the Falcon outright.”

  Rose waited for a quiet moment to remark, “Damn, you’re good.”

  Despite the ongoing dogfight, Rey’s heart lifted just a little at that. “Thanks.” Then she focused again.

  Despite sensor-jamming devices to hide them from the enemy fleet’s scanners, they still hit the odd roving TIE or First Order ground patrol. They snuffed them out quickly, but it forced Poe to alter their course each time, just in case an enemy pilot had identified them to his commanders. For a brief time, they’d feared that one of the other freighters would have to set down after a glancing hit. Fortunately, the astromechs aboard had kept the ship ticking over. R2-D2’s work had been confined to keeping the ship’s computer cooperative, but Rey knew how easily that could change.

  The final attack harried them right up to Kala’unn, where Deathseed fighters raced to join them and destroyed the last of the TIEs, before falling into formation with Poe’s units. Even then, Rey’s sense of worry only began to abate when their objective came into view, barring one further obstacle. Lessu, isolated on a great mesa, was difficult to reach, but the First Order had still done their best to surround it.

  There was no mistaking the city. Lessu’s peak shot upwards from its mesa, a startlingly steep pinnacle that had Rey wondering if it had been weathered into that shape or carved by the people. Outwardly most of the city stood on the mesa, or along the flat ridges further up, but Rey knew that most of it was actually within the peak. Just as with Nabat, the unyielding climate had obliged the Twi’leks to seek refuge behind the barriers of rock. The pinnacle of Lessu was warrened, she knew, concealing most of the city’s volume beneath the stone. There was more access via hangars than the single plasma bridge, now blocked by another First Order siege line. 

  “Ironic, really,” Ezubzina said. “The Separatists built it to control the city. Now it helps the Twi’leks keep enemies out.

  Rey nodded. “And the conditions must be far more exposed out here.”

  “Good.” It was remarkable how much vehemence Rose could put into a single word.

  There was an impressive firefight going on around the city, almost all TIEs and native Deathseed fighters. Black Squadron formed an arrowhead around the Falcon, the other squadrons doing likewise with their charges.

  Poe broke in. “Lessu air control have acknowledged our codes, stand by for destination marker.” A hangar was indicated on Rey’s console, and Chewbacca immediately began prepping the landing gear.

  “We’ll follow your vector,” Rey said, with Chewbacca rumbling his agreement.

  Lessu’s squadrons were good – as the newcomers swept in, they opened up a gap in the First Order formations which Poe’s flight promptly shot through, sweeping into the open hangar. The gunners and the fighter pilots were sure to take a few shots as they passed, and a handful of TIEs plummeted flaming into the chasm.

  They came in fast, breaking hard to enter the hangars in a controlled manner. As arranged, however, the attendants had cleared space for them, and as they set down, mechanics sprang out to surround their craft.

  A commander with an impassive face met Poe as the latter climbed down from his X-Wing, and a quick exchange of salutes followed before the group were being led along corridors and down lifts to the great depots.

  “And I thought Nabat’s were huge,” she murmured to Rose.

  “These might be the biggest I’ve seen anywhere,” Rose answered. Her eyes had rarely seemed wider.

  The vaulted ceiling was almost lost in the gloom, reminding Rey of Star Destroyer flight decks, though they stopped short of the Supremacy’s frightening vastness. Loader machines stood almost as tall as AT-ATs, ready to grapple with the stacks of containers which stretched towards the half-seen ceiling. Ezubzina stepped up next to Rey, her teeth gleaming in a bright, sharp smile.

  “We could really spoil the First Order’s day with some of these,” she told Poe, who shot her a pleased look.

  “Just what I wanted to hear.” He grinned up at the stacks, hands on hips. “Let’s start shopping.”

  The local crews insisted on doing the loading work for them, though Chewbacca stayed to supervise with Ki’rii once the munitions had been picked. The dockers said it was the least they could do. That meant the convoy had a few hours in the city, which, probably inevitably, were spent meeting and greeting while Poe met with the top brass.

  It was only then that Rey realised the novelty of her presence had rather worn off in Nabat, because here it came back at full blast. Here, people were everywhere wishing her luck or imploring to know if the Force truly was with them. Rey told them the line Leia had given her, that if they held true to one another, so would the Light. Others told her of loved ones out in the wild, though she could never give any news beyond confirming that the guerrillas were still harassing Stolan.

  She was glad to have Rose and Kaydel around. Her friends were far better at these interactions than her, even if Rose always referred to the experience as “doing talking.” If Rey found herself truly caught off-guard, one of them could dart in and provide the right words. If in doubt, she asked questions, seeking to understand this new corner of a world she was fighting for, and which she’d seen so little of when she first came here.

  She didn’t just learn about Lessu either. More than a few of the Rylothians who spoke with her were from villages and towns that had been abandoned, either for the siege or when the First Order had started turning settlements into installations. If we win, they said, we'll have our homes back. It was a mark of how much the invaders had already taken.

  Later she said to Rose, "In some ways it's been easy to forget, cooped up in Nabat, that we're fighting for a whole world."

  "And more than that," Rose replied. "If this subsector holds out, it protects a whole bunch of worlds that'll build ships for us."

  “You make it sound like an investment,” Rey said, surprised.

  The other woman shrugged. “It is, in a way. And we’ve got to believe it after Crait. If we do good, and stand up for others – if we do that and win, then other people will see it’s worth it.” Then her expression darkened. “So long as we prove the likes of Phasma wrong, anyway.”

  Rose and Ki’rii were called away to assess some of the new equipment, leaving Rey with Kaydel, the two of them gently fending off Twi’lek children fascinated by the pretty lieutenant’s braided hair. Eventually, they were gently dissuaded, though Kaydel seemed very amused by the whole thing.

  Rey could’ve stayed there a long time. The Force around the children was bright, a far cry from the constant swirl of worry which she felt in Nabat, at best. It gave her a welcome break from the war, and she found herself imagining a time after the fighting, when she might be surrounded by Jedi Younglings. That was a daydream to truly get lost in.

  Before long, however, they were called back to the hangar, the loading all but completed and the convoy refuelled. That banished the pleasant daydreams, even if Chewbacca was looking distinctly pleased when the others arrived.

  "Must be like old times for you," Poe said to the Wookie. "Just taking on supplies, no one shooting at you."

  Chewbacca looked at him sidelong, and pointed out that the very first job he and Han had done together had involved blaster fire. As had the second.

  One thought struck Rey as they readied for takeoff again. "I didn't see the same mass of festival wares we've got under Nabat. Is that hidden further down?"

  Ezubzina smiled. "Used up, actually. One of the guards told me they blew through it all on the day, in front of the First Order. Big show of defiance and it covered a sabotage strike on the siege lines. As an added bonus, it stopped them flying any bombers for a bit."

  Pity they didn’t have any left to distract from the Falcon’s departure, though she stopped herself from saying anything. Besides, Kaydel was looking rather downhearted at having to leave the city.

  As they moved through the hangar and tramped up the boarding ramp, Rey looked at her, lingering surreptitiously. "You must've felt even more confined than me," she murmured. "Stuck in the command centre all this time."

  Kaydel did her best to shrug it off, not quite enough, and Rey put a hand on her shoulder. "Maybe. But honestly, I don't think I'll truly stop feeling penned in until the First Order gets kicked offworld. I mean," she gestured, "it's not like we're getting out in the open except for when we fly. Not while they’re still out there."

  Twenty-three kilometres to the south, Phasma was hunting. What she hunted varied day by day, and even hour by hour sometimes. For example, this day had started with chasing down Resistance fighters, only for a pack of ravening Gutkurrs to intervene.

  She marched unhurriedly towards one of the hunched-over beasts, firing pinpoint shots until her heavy blaster bolts seared right into its skull. Then she pivoted and discharged a volley into another beast’s open jaws.

  Had the scum lured the predators into their pursuers’ path, as before, or had the opposite occurred? Both were plausible – but then so too was the possibility that the beasts had heard fighting and thought it meant easy meat.

  Phasma was very much aware of the irony.

  Ryloth was a vicious world. But Phasma had been born of Parnassos, and ranged right across that world. She had forged a path across the collapsing Starkiller Base and slain alien giants on Luprora. In short, she was not easily denied an objective. 

  The flamethrower on her wrist gouted, inciting squeals from the Gutkurrs and igniting the drier vegetation around her. She saw how the fire shrouded her, and used it. She stormed through the blaze, suddenly exploding out of the flames. Parnassos had taught Phasma that anything could be a weapon, and while she had left the world behind, the lesson had carried her to victory time and time again. 

  And of course, she was a weapon in her own right. Hide which could withstand blaster bolts yielded easily to the strength with which she hewed and thrust. A blow from her metal fist could stun or even kill, and the blasters in her vambraces fired into weak points - eyes, mouths. All of it driven by peerless killer instincts, First Order training, and decades of brutal experience. The squads around her fought ably, and the Dark Troopers dealt out a gory toll, but none came close to Phasma.

  Another Gutkurr came close, this one a huge female with armour that shrugged off even her blaster fire. So Phasma holstered the rifle, activating her flamethrower again to keep the beast at bay, and drew her spear.

  Perhaps the beast sensed her intent – it broke recklessly through the wave of fire, roaring. Phasma stepped quickly aside, drawing the spear back, and as the Gutkurr turned and its jaws opened, she rammed the point into the roof of its mouth.

  A sudden hush descended on the forest, broken only by the clipped, distorted voices of Stormtroopers and the deeper growls of her squad.

  One Scout sergeant approached Phasma. He had a shock-baton in hand, and one side of his armour was coated in dark blood. “Captain, we’ve found another trail. Looks like the insurgents were trying to draw our attention away from them.”

  Phasma didn’t just take his word for it. Even in the Scyre, with the warriors trained by her own hand, she always made sure to look for herself. No one’s eyes were as sharp as hers.

  On this occasion, however, she suspected the trooper was right. “All this trouble and they couldn’t even shake us off,” she gloated. “Form up on me and advance. Whatever they were trying to hide is now the target.”

  It was satisfying to put her old tracker’s instincts and skills to use. As they followed the trail up into a steep canyon, Phasma began to suspect that the Resistance forces had been seeking something as well. This didn’t look to her like a withdrawal to familiar terrain. The enemy had discovered something out here. That was… interesting.

  The Resistance sentries, a mix of Rylothians and offworlders, exclaimed with shock when she came into view, along with those soldiers who had kept up with her. Some cried out again, in greater dismay, when they got a proper view of what she’d become. Then the flamethrower came out, her spear came into play, and dismay became an entirely insufficient word.

  It was satisfying to evoke such fear. It was even more so to kill with impunity. The Twi’leks were especially spirited, and they fought with some skill - wretched as inhumans tended to be, Phasma could respect tenacity like this. Still, it only delayed the inevitable. They had no heavy weapons they could bring to bear, so she shrugged off the attacks and slaughtered them.

  The only thing which disquieted her was the hope that stirred in her heart. Such an emotion was always irrational, but this time it was particularly so. With each rebel band she engaged, she felt a yearning that among them, she would find the Jedi and the Traitor. She banished the thought almost as soon as it arose - they were quite unable to get out here, even if they wished to - but she could never stop it from arising.

  It wasn’t anything personal with the Jedi, at least. It would be quite the accolade to do away with her, but Phasma didn’t see any personal stake in the fight. They’d fought once, to a stalemate. She was confident of her ability to kill the girl, but she’d no intention of risking her life for the pleasure.

  FN-2187 and Cardinal, or whatever he was now – Archex, apparently – were another matter. Their continued existences were black marks against her, even if no one was aware of those failures. Secrets had a way of getting loose. Like the one that FN-2187 carried, the other failure which she had already killed to conceal. The word of a Resistance fighter, a traitor no less, shouldn’t carry much weight. She’d made a similar calculation when she went back to Parnassos one last time, seeking Siv and her child but finding no trace. They might be out there still, but they were just a lone savage and her child. Easily disregarded.

  But things had changed in the First Order. Without Snoke presiding over the regime, divisions were close to boiling point. If FN-2187’s knowledge got out, and if it spread widely enough, some in the hierarchy might choose to believe it. Hux’s enemies would seize any chance to do in his enforcer.

  There was no chance of finding any of her primary targets here, and she knew it. They were all too valuable to put outside the walls, prone to attacks from the wildlife besides anything else. It hadn’t escaped Phasma’s notice that the guerrillas were overwhelmingly indigenous. Her own experience of Parnassos meant she knew why – you could train a soldier and immerse them in information, but there was no substitute for the instinct that a feral land like this bred into its denizens.

  There was an understanding, whose absence Phasma still saw at times in the Stormtroopers she commanded. They fought well in the wilds, unwavering even in the humid hell of the Lylek nest, but their training was overwhelmingly meant for combat against other soldiers. Monster-hunting was something they could do reasonably well, but hardly an arena in which they thrived.

  So they relished combat like this, the chance to display their human superiority and the primacy of their advanced weapons and tactics. As did Phasma. Nothing these rebels had could really threaten her, and she took full advantage of that, striding into the open and dropping them with single shots from her blaster. Her Dark Troopers followed, almost as impervious as her, their volleys similarly pitiless.

  Phasma was enjoying herself. For all that the Dark Trooper bionics and armour imprisoned her, they bolstered her power more than anything else. It was a shift as fundamental as the first time she had handled a blaster, the first time she’d put on Stormtrooper armour. It let her deal out pain and death pitilessly, and so she did.

  It was over quickly enough – the Stormtroopers had fanned out and created a perimeter to halt any escapees, but the enemy remained in place and that made the task shorter. As the bodies were dragged out of the way, Phasma gazed upon the find which they had died to protect.

  The canyon itself was filled with smoke, but as she advanced, she saw a space which must have been carved out of the rock. It went a long way back, and to one side she could see a slope. Crates lay here and there, along with picks and laser cutters. A mine.

  With her bionic eyes, Phasma soon spied a row of cylindrical vehicles against the far wall, covered with heavy metal plates. Their prows were a mass of drills, saws and laser cutters, which made their purpose clear, as if there could be any doubt. Mining craft, hidden from any airborne observer by the steep, rearing walls of the canyon. The Resistance troops had attempted to destroy as many as they could; two lay in smoking ruins, and three others were damaged. But that still left a dozen more, along with all the spare components. And all of them big enough to fit two squads of Stormtroopers.

  Phasma regarded it, feeling cold satisfaction. She summoned her engineers, and set them to examining the machines. "Can they be made to work?"

  After some brief deliberation, one came forward and, inclining his head, said "Yes, Captain."

  Had she still been capable of it, Phasma would have smiled. As it was, she simply commanded, "Get me a link to Colonel Stolan, and General Hux. Now."

Chapter Text

  The siege flared up again as the bombardments resumed, interspersed with attempted infiltrations which were halted either in No Man's Land or, in a few alarming cases on the walls. Fighter and bomber squadrons clashed indecisively above the city, while Yendor's guerillas were beset again by hunting companies of Stormtroopers.

  Phasma was only visible on occasion, glimpsed with her Dark Troopers, returning to camp. Reports of their brutality filtered back over the comm from outside the lines, with grim regularity. They could be eluded in the tunnels and deep forests, but every time they struck, they took lives. Added to that, their being withheld from fighting at the city was a grim reminder that the First Order hadn’t chosen to commit everything yet.

  Finn was especially conscious of that threat, but it seemed to him that Archex might be even more so. The man would invariably appear on the walls if Phasma was sighted, keeping pace and glowering down at her. Once, Phasma had seemed to sense him and stare back. Finn could still recall the charge in the air.

  After a long several seconds, Phasma had turned away, disappearing into one of the prefab buildings.

  “She’s still in there,” Archex had muttered. Finn hadn’t known quite what to say, and ultimately opted to stay quiet, eyes on the enemy lines.

  More often, though, Archex would be constantly animated, in the way he often had been on the Absolution. He’d talk to squad leaders, soldiers and support staff; brief exchanges which made them feel noticed, and broke up the tedium. He didn’t discriminate between his own troops or anyone else.

  Finn thought he might be getting used to the sight, though then again he would still get caught staring. This time, Rey came up and nudged him. “Still adjusting?”

  “Kind of,” he said. “Mostly, I’m feeling that bit better about how we’re doing here. At the same time, though, I’m wondering just what’s coming at us next.”

  Elsewhere in the complex, Poe was dealing with the steady creep of losses. He faced his assembled pilots – or at least, those on day shift. He would have to address the rest later, and give them the same grave new he was delivering now.

  “Grey Squadron’s depletion, especially with the loss of Captain Zoltan, has left me no choice but to dissolve the unit.” He saw twinges of pain cross a number of faces. “I always hate doing this, but it’s necessary, so Grey Two will go to Red Squadron, and Four to Orange.” He eyed the two remaining pilots, and his squadron leaders. “Any comments? Objections?” None came. “Good. Flight leaders, I’ll leave it to you to integrate your new wingmates, but you know where to find me.”

  He expected to hear from one of them later. Captain Bastian had been leading Red Squadron since before the Skywalker map was even found, and could be expected to handle additions to his unit. Te’Uma, however, had taken on her first command mere days after the war began, fresh out of the Iridonia Naval Academy just like Na Funnett. She was cooler-headed than Na, and her unit had taken losses in previous campaigns, but Poe would’ve hesitated to load this responsibility onto her if he hadn’t already done this with other, more experienced leaders.

  He conferred with the Rylothian squadron leaders too, asking for updates on their reorganisation and checking up on their state of mind. While they were still formally separate, no one contested his overall command in the air.

  “Still your least favourite part of the job?” Kaydel asked him. She was tapping information into a datapad, ensuring that communications for a given wing or squadron would reach the right craft.

  Poe turned to the woman he considered near enough a sister. “Very much so, Kaydes. Every day, I have to sit down and look at exactly who we've lost. Hate it.”

  “Well, we’re still dishing out way more damage than we’re taking,” she said, clearly hoping to encourage him. “Local squadrons included, even if their tallies are a step below our crews’.” She said that last bit a little pointedly, aiming to steer him away from self-doubt.

  He nodded. “Which would make me happier if we didn't need our ratios to be this good. We can't afford to slip.”

  A while after that, he took himself off on a tour of the hangars, BB-8 rolling alongside him, and asked Snap to come with them. Every space was busy, but here it was noisy and the occupants were all attending to their work, and that made it easy to talk there.

  A great many repairs were going on around them, for a great many craft needed tending to. The Resistance had excellent fighters and interceptors, not to mention their crews, but so did the First Order. Even the older marks of X-Wings were remarkably tough and agile ships, but the TIEs boasted almost unmatched killing power, and their crews were fierce and hardened too – particularly with a commander like Hux, who could take his pick of veterans. In truth, were it not for the protection of the anti-air guns, the defenders would have lost much more and taken far fewer enemy squadrons.

  Poe looked grimly at Snap. “I don’t feel like I was ever trained for this at the Academy. I mean, Wedge did his best to explain it and so did L’ulo, but I don’t feel like any of the other instructors even wanted to consider the idea of losses. Or maybe that was policy from up above. We were trained for routine patrols, not how to process losses and keep fighting.” He leaned on a U-Wing, exchanging a look with a mechanic to be sure he wasn’t in the way. “How does it look to you, Snap?”

  "About as good as it can be right now, though the attrition's biting." The bigger man scratched his chin. "All this stuff of having to fold whole squadrons. Everyone gets the reasoning, but it still hurts."

  It was all the worse because a few of their squadrons were still benched. Poe glanced up at a quintet of imposing B-Wing bombers, belonging to Cyclone Squadron. In contrast with most of the craft in this hangar, they were virtually unscratched. So far, the enemy hadn’t put anything in the field big or dangerous enough to risk these precious B-Wings against. But that meant Cyclone Squadron were the exception to the rule.

  Poe nodded. "Added to that, we've never really operated under siege before.” A cluster of astromechs approached, whistling a request to access the U-Wing. Poe nodded and moved on, Snap following. “We rotate people off-duty, but what is there for them to do?" He gave Snap a meaningful look. "I don’t know how much we can get their heads out of the cockpit, and stop them burning fuel up here.” He put a finger to his temple. “I've got a few officers on my radar for that."

  Snap grinned as they ducked under a suspended X-Wing. "You mean Trig?" It wasn’t surprising that he’d thought of her; her assignment to Poe’s command had come with a gentle caution from her previous commander. “I’m sure there are a few you’re concerned about, but let’s be honest, she’s top of the list.”

  Again, Poe conceded the point. “Na’s first experience of battle was the First Order sweeping into Iridonia. The fleet she was in barely escaped. No wonder she's dead-set on hanging on here.” Poe gritted his teeth. “If it all goes wrong, I don't know if I'd be able to get her to retreat.”

  Snap took a moment to respond. "I get that. You look at her and worry that you're looking at the second coming of Chass na Chadic."

  Poe chuckled ruefully. "Try a little closer to home."

  "Ah." After a moment, the bigger man shrugged. “I suppose that fits too. A rather younger Poe, though.”

  Poe couldn’t hold his friend’s gaze, instead watching engineers talk a local pilot through the modifications to their fighter. Lots of parts had needed to be replaced, some with salvage, others with the supplies from Lessu and Kala’unn. “Does that sound dumb? Or is this just me coming back to myself too much?”

  He was leaning quite a bit on Snap here. Back when they were in the Navy, Snap had been wont to talk about his plans to step sideways into instructing like his stepfather Wedge, given a few years. He was already mentoring younger pilots, Jess among them, looking to get himself ready for the transition. But then things had got worse with the First Order, and they’d taken those fateful leaves of absence to answer Leia’s call. Snap’s aspirations had been left with the New Republic Navy.

  Still, he was one of the best people to talk to about this. Being that bit older than most of Poe’s friends leant a helpful perspective, which he brought to bear now. “The buck stops with you, Poe, so to me it’s good that you’re thinking like this. Back before, you wouldn’t have done so.” He smiled gently as they moved on. “Wedge told me once that you could split Alliance pilots into three main groups. Most were the type who were just there to do the job and survive, if they could. Then there were the Clone War vets - or those who just came up early in the war, like him and Hera – who dealt out the biggest share of kills. They’d been honed, and learned judgement as well as zeal. And then there were what he called the gladiators.”

  Poe frowned – not out of confusion, as he could easily imagine the type of daredevil pilot being referred to – but out of recognition. “Which was me, and now fits Trig pretty well.”

  “Then we have to keep her occupied, so she doesn’t just ruminate, as well as keeping her in check when we’re in the air. You learned. So can she.”

  BB-8 agreed with Snap.

  “Right. Any idea how we do that?”

  “Training, maintenance duties and entertainment, for all our pilots. I’m sure Numa can help you find something.”

  “That sounds good,” Poe admitted. “Just gotta make sure it doesn’t tie me up in knots, keeping track of her and the others,” Poe sighed. He took another swig of caff, then realised there was only another gulp left and drained the cup. "Best I can say is that Hux must feel under pressure too, with our friends running interference everywhere else. He can't afford to sit up in orbit and slowly tighten the screws."

  "That could go either way."

  Poe sighed. "I know. We just have to find advantages where we can, pal."

  Snap agreed and departed, leaving Poe with his thoughts. Force, he’d actually be glad when the fighting broke out again. It would mean getting up in the air again, away from the really complicated stuff, however briefly.

 Sokka Kest Connix, Kaydel’s brother and Poe's then boyfriend, had joshed him about that once.

  You can't go getting too senior, he'd chuckled. One day out of the cockpit and you'll go crazy. A danger to yourself and anyone under you! He'd winked, rendering the words merely playful. You're made for throwing loops and blasting things, Poe.

  So I should just leave commanding to my better half? Poe had playfully shot back.

  Sokka’s eyebrows had shot up in amusement. I wasn't going to say better, just… the sensible one. I mean, you're a better pilot than I'll ever be. Better kisser too.

 Poe’s arms had looped around Sokka’s shoulders. You wanna bet?

  Force, he hoped Leia was right about how people drifted into the Luminous. He reckoned Sokka would be proud to see him performing like this, even if he’d have also seen Poe’s low point on the Raddus. Still, that was easier than pondering just what he’d give to have Sokka back.

  Besides that, Sokka had been right. Poe would dearly love to just fly again, and let his problems shrink to the size of a dogfight. Proud as he was to be a leader, the weight of responsibility never seemed to leave his shoulders.

  Poe let out a sigh, before turning to answer BB-8’s twitter of concern and assure his droid that he was alright. “Let’s get going, buddy,” he said, beckoning the astromech on. “Work to do.”

Chapter Text

  Hux was trying to spend less time looking at Ryloth. He had withdrawn to one of the tactical chambers, where he was having data on Vintalli’s ploy collated. He had enough to begin building his strategy, but less than he was accustomed to.

  Hux knew the key statistics on just about every machine in the Imperial arsenal, as well as in-depth analysis of how they operated in battle. He could factor in, to an extent, the impact of something unfamiliar on the enemy, but still, he’d have liked to be more certain. Vintalli had persuaded him to take a hell of a risk.

  Might be worth it just to get away from Ryloth and the unchanging vista it presented. Every time he ventured out, there it was, framed the same way by geostationary orbit with only a minor shifting of the terminator. There were the Brightlands and there were the Nightlands, where they always were, and what a horrible singsong cadence that insinuated into his head. Neither of those zones could support civilisation, which only served as a reminder that the First Order was being resisted by a relatively slim band of the surface.

  Void, this is a tedious bloody world to besiege, Hux cursed inwardly. Did you feel this way about Jakku, Father? You must have done. At least I was distracted from the tedium, trying to stay away from you.

  Sheer boredom drove him to poring over every scrap of news which came to him. As a result, he knew just how many honours others were gaining, which he might have enjoyed instead. Parnadee’s crushing armoured offensive on Sullust, Windrider’s seizure of Cyclor and its valuable shipyards, and victories won by Pryde and others in Kylo Ren’s assault on Hutt Space. All glories which might have been Hux’s instead.

  And then there were the damage reports. The precisely detailed accounts of just how many resources he was being cost by marauding enemy fleets or even mere squadrons. Hux felt a dull throb somewhere just under the crown of his head as he scrolled through the reports and learned about the latest outrage. Resistance forces in one system had damaged an escort, destroyed two cruisers and then seized a third, driving off or spacing the troops aboard. Two bomber squadrons had swept out of a ship graveyard to cripple a Star Destroyer and send the convoy it guarded fleeing back to Arkanis. 

  Even more galling was the incident in which two civilian hauler crews had responded to an incursion by mutinying against the First Order personnel aboard their ships. One had disappeared with the Resistance, the other had been taken back with only a handful surviving. Hux had commended the commanding officer's sentence for the mutineers: penal labour on Kessel, for the rest of the miscreants' lives. It gave him a chance to daydream about how one day, Ryloth would serve the same purpose. They would turn it into a place where defiance was punished, not incubated.

  Vintalli was perhaps more fortunate than his superior. He had his own subordinates, a more hands-on role in managing the fleet and, of course, the evergreen distraction of having to anticipate Hux’s moods. Today, his superior’s footfalls said “vexed” even before Vintalli turned and called for the customary salute.

  He tailored his greeting to Hux’s emotional state, sticking to what was relevant. “Welcome back, General. No change here for good or ill.” Gauging Hux’s expression, he chanced a question. “Has there been word from the Supreme Leader?”

  Hux scowled. “Not directly, except for commands that any available fleets join the new offensive.”

  Vintalli would have folded his arms, but that would have been a failure of discipline, so he merely frowned. Ren was all over the Galaxy, it seemed. First in the Mustafar system, next Coruscant, then dashing off to the Deep Core and now, plunging into open war with the Hutts. The upshot of which was that Hux and his people wouldn't have to worry about the Supreme Leader's attention for some time, but also that every other General not already engaged elsewhere would be moving in support of Ren's fleet.

  Vintalli wondered what had sparked it. Kylo Ren was many things, but he didn't seem stupid to Vintalli.

  He was, of course, deeply objectionable, especially as a leader of the First Order. The son of a lifelong traitor and an Imperial Army deserter, an adherent of some obscure religion, surrounded by those strange Knights? Any one of those should make his legitimacy tenuous.

  The momentum of conquest was going a long way to keep him in place, which made it all the more bemusing that he would disappear from the front. It was like the mysterious absences of Darth Vader which Imperial admirals and Moffs had recorded from time to time, accompanied by the peculiar acolytes who lingered around the Emperor’s enforcer. Just like Ren had his Knights.

  That was probably it. Ren’s occultism, which produced such terribly real results. It must hold the reason to his recent meanderings. And such a power as that could be of interest to the Hutts, or an ally of theirs.

  From what Vintalli could discern, one of the corsair fleets which the cartels sponsored had fought against Ren’s forces, possibly even attacked the Supreme Leader himself. So the hitherto theoretical campaign against the Hutts was suddenly made very real, and a priority to boot. And all while the Coruscant siege was slowly burning away, consuming lives and materiel.

  At least it gave the besiegers of Ryloth a free hand. That was something to be grateful for. Victory would be theirs, and theirs alone. And Hux wanted that badly, as a means to both securing his own position, and to reaching higher. He might not articulate that last part, but it was plain to see.

  "I assume you saw the Empire Day broadcasts?" Hux's voice, never warm unless he was loudly angry, would rival tibanna gas for chilliness. 

  “Sadly hard to miss, General.” Lots of pomp and adulation which pointedly didn’t include them. Not to mention a networking opportunity missed, while the Supreme Leader consolidated his control. He dared whispering a bit of treason: “At least we didn't have to bow and fawn over the Usurper, I suppose.” Success: a smile tugged a little at the side of Hux’s mouth. Vintalli continued, trying to find something to take heart from. "Kylo Ren knows to fear you, sir. He's trying to sideline you."

  "He is succeeding. And we’re helping him by not winning here." Hux ground his teeth. "Gallius Rax, a man favoured by Palpatine himself, recognised my qualities when I was just a child. He gave me subordinates. Men such as me, that's who he and Sloane intended to carry the Imperial legacy to glory again. Not… that. It ought not to be. We shouldn’t be having to scrape for the resources to do our job."

  Vintalli restrained himself from replying. We are scraping because we aren’t telling Ren about who we have pinned down here. But again, that is only necessary because we can’t trust our own master to keep us alive. Hux knew all this, of course, but it would be crass and unhelpful to say it out loud, especially on the bridge.

  Vintalli studied Hux from time to time, and the impression he got never changed. A young man, burning with ambition. Granted, Vintalli himself was only a few years older, and he wouldn't think to call either Hux or Kylo Ren a boy, as some did when they thought themselves safe from being overheard. But there were ways in which Hux's relative youth manifested, here or there. Not least a very distinctly youthful perspective on strategy, a tendency to take any setback personally. 

  Vintalli did his best to offer a more measured perspective, as much as a First Order commander could reasonably be restrained - especially now, when so many worlds went to their knees for the returning rulers of the Galaxy. These were heady days, and it would be all too easy to assume their momentum was unstoppable, if not for barriers like Ryloth.

  Patience, he told himself. I have found the means and we are bringing it here. Nabat’s resilience is just an illusion.

  Stolan had much the same thought just then, though he wasn’t thinking of the same means. He was looking at a holo-scan of the mining machines Phasma had located.

  “And the Resistance don’t know?”

  Phasma, projected next to the other image, seemed composed as ever. “All indications are that they had only just come across the site. There are no survivors from that unit.”

  “As I would expect from any officer.” Stolan eyed the vehicles again. “How many troops will they carry?”
  “Twenty regular troops each, if modifications can be made.”

  “That will require some secrecy.”

  “It will be worth it.” Few beings indeed would be permitted to speak so boldly to Stolan, but he was willing to indulge Phasma. “With these, we can strike the enemy where they are most vulnerable,” Phasma said. “The soft targets which the Resistance are so petrified of losing – their civilians.”

  “Whom would you recommend to lead such an operation?” Stolan asked.

  “Myself.” Phasma seemed to have anticipated his surprise. “I don’t know much much Hux has told you about me, but believe me when I say that no one is better-suited to such a mission. Send me, Colonel, and I will wreak a slaughter in the very heart of the city.”

  For the first time, Stolan fancied that he detected relish in her voice. “The soft underbelly,” he said. “We can secure the means, and it will pave the way for the General’s scheme.” He turned to a lieutenant. “Contact the Unremitting.” As the man ran to obey, Stolan turned back to Phasma. “Expect reinforcements shortly. I’ll get you everything you need, just as soon as I have the general’s authorisation.”

  Hux leapt on the opportunity with a speed which was almost disquieting to Vintalli. Troops were reassigned quickly, their departure disguised as routine patrols. It had to be a small detachment, few enough to fit in the mining transports.

  That would limit the potential for the kind of violence Stolan wished to enact. Terror would be the likely limit of it. Perhaps they could strike at the city’s reactor, but Vintalli had his doubts about that. Granted, there was also a certain amount of… personal investment in his own scheme, but he believed in that scheme for good reason.

  Well, his chance would come. He was certain of that.

Chapter Text

  Days came and went, along with more night shifts than Poe was thrilled about, going over strategy in the command centre. Both were still punctuated by the siege guns. Even now, as he headed down the steps, he felt a rumble of artillery under his feet. They also meant there was much more light than he appreciated this time of night: strobes of lurid green and livid red painting the buildings above him, and the underside of the thickening cloud cover.

  Stolan observed the morning hate all right, but his spite stretched to a noon, evening and midnight hate as well, plus a couple of irregular dead-of-night bombardments for good measure. Nabat’s shields could take the punishment, and so far its people could handle the strain too, but Poe knew that here and there, nerves were beginning to fray. Something else to worry about.

  The city was quieter at night, now. He heard the sounds of music less and less, and hadn’t managed to borrow a hallikset for days now. Rylothian and off-worlder mingled with the ease of established comrades, but the shared mood was sombre. He’d have to arrange more distractions, and make sure the officers under him were keeping track of their people’s emotional state. And at the same time, proper rest had to be balanced against vigilance.

  Logistics were playing a far larger role in his life than he was thrilled about, making sure they still had enough resources to replace damaged wall guns, stock the hangars in case of a sustained battle and so on. They’d started sending units out on salvage missions at night, scavenging components from destroyed vehicles on the battlefield around the city.

  That kept Rey, Finn and Rose busy. Poe, however, couldn’t justify setting foot outside the walls, much as he’d have liked to share the risk - and to just get away from the big picture for a while.

  At least it meant he got to spend time with Numa and, via hologram, Hera. He got to absorb their insights, and even earn some compliments from them. It was still kind of head-spinning to have living legends praise the pilots and soldiers he led.

  “I’ve been watching the holos of them fighting. Quite a display, over the weeks.” The image of Hera sat back in her seat, smiling enigmatically. “You know, lots of people talk about Rey as a new Luke, but I also get some asking me if she’s not more like one of my rascals.”

  “So is she more of an Ezra Bridger to you?” Poe said. “Or a Sabine Wren?”

  Hera shook her head. “Neither, far as I’m concerned. She’s her own person and a damn good one. And besides, we don’t need to make our new heroes match the old ones. Rey has enough pressure on her.”

  “Even if the old ones are appreciated.”

  “And the new-old ones.” Now Hera’s eyes had turned serious. “Archex, Poe. What do you make of him so far?”

  Poe stroked the stubble on his chin. “To tell the truth, I was hoping to get your opinion. You’re right about his loyalties. He’s too honest to be a plant.”

  Hera raised an eyebrow. “Honest how?”

  It took a second for Poe to find the wording he wanted. “Finn has the same thing - he’s bad at lying with his face. Besides, you don’t send people like Archex to be spies. People like him fly straight. Nothing in his record suggests he did anything but move forward, moving up one battle at a time, one accolade at a time.” He put a hand firmly on the desk. “Man was a dedicated soldier - a true believer, you might say - until the truth about Phasma broke his conditioning.”

  Hera was still looking sceptical. “A truth he found out by scheming, Commander, and going behind his superiors’ backs.”

  “He could barely bring himself to do that. His first resort was to go to a superior, and then to attack her. No subterfuge, no exploding grenade belt or sabotaged hyperdrive. None of that.” He caught himself. “Tell you what, I had Kaydel fire off some requests last night. I’ve got Vi Moradi’s report on the defection right here and can shunt it to you, if you want to read it. It’ll back up what I say; Archex doesn’t have it in him to be a spy. Certainly not one who kills soldiers on his way to a mark.”

  Because that was the break point, as described in Moradi’s report. A model officer, the proverbial brother-in-arms and father to his men was confronted with the realisation that the First Order’s “finest” were murdering their own. As if killing their comrades wasn’t enough, they killed their kin. Sons killed fathers, Phasma her niece - and that had been the epitome of underhand sabotage. 

  “I’ll have a perusal.” Hera had her arms folded, and was tapping an elbow with one finger. “There is precedent for what you’re describing, I’ll admit. Iden Versio and Del Meeko. I only met them once or twice and can’t say I knew either well, but Leia herself vouched for them, and their record speaks for itself.” A frown plucked at her lips, and Poe knew what she was thinking of. Two more New Republic heroes who’d been lost to the First Order’s malice.

  Poe felt that sentiment even more acutely; he actually had known the Versio-Meeko family well, enough that Zay Versio was like a younger cousin to him. Iden and Del had been noble people. They were the kind of example which could persuade him to put his faith in a man like Archex.

  Kaydel, who’d stayed on duty for a bit, was looking expectantly at Poe when he turned to nod. Now her fingers cascaded over the keyboard. “Data package sent, and the encryption keys are… also with you now, Commodore.”

  “Thank you.” Hera frowned, though she refrained from saying anything until Poe had dismissed Kaydel. She put her hands on her hips. “This feels just a little transactional though, Commander. What are you after?”

  "Advice.” Poe went on before the look in Hera’s eyes could turn into a gentle chastisement, of course he didn’t need to barter for that, and so on. “I'm trying to make out whether we're achieving our objectives, other than the immediate ones," he confessed. "I'm finding it a lot, to pull all the data together and…"

  He trailed off, inviting Hera to speak. She really knew about piecing together the information on a wider campaign, from the first real assembly of the Rebel Alliance to their repeated growth, scattering and regrowth, right up to the Empire's shattering.

  Of course, she saw his intent immediately. "You'll find your answer in the logistics, Poe. Which is to say, they're coming together. She keyed in a command on her console, and on Poe’s display, a network of systems lit up. Hera pointed to several in turn. "We have fuel refineries and depots, mines and factories, able to work because we're keeping the First Order from the door." A sorrowful look crept across her jade features. "Well, us and the Resistance units in so many other theatres."

  Poe nodded. It was still easy to let the scale and intensity of this campaign blot out everything in the wider war. There were others, much closer to the Core and thus in greater danger of being overrun.

  So he nudged himself to make an effort. "Any word from Naboo? Coruscant?"

  "Yes to Naboo, but no such luck with Coruscant. All we really know is that the First Order remains engaged there. Kylo Ren hasn't yet been able to move any extra fleets to quell it - yet."

  That would be as vicious a struggle as any out on the frontier, Poe reflected. In his youth he had poured over books and holos about the post-Endor conflict on Imperial Centre. He could still summon the images now, clear and vivid as a holofilm. Visions of battles waged across bridge networks and dockyards, or down in tunnels where the only illumination came from blaster fire. It was only too easy to imagine the same struggles playing out now, the First Order refighting their forebears' battles.

  And most likely, this time they'd win. Coruscant was too important, too big and central, for their rule there to keep being challenged. They'd want to be able to parade an orderly metropolis, just like the ironclad Throne Worlds they'd built in the Unknowns.

  Kriff, this was a punishing load to hold in your head. It was enough to make part of him wish he'd stuck with being a captain. Small units, focused missions, like Mom in Starlight Squadron and Dad with the Pathfinders. 

  But times changed. Kes Dameron was now overseeing intelligence ops, the Hosnian Cataclysm having dragged him out of a widower's retirement. As for Shara… Poe lowered his head a little. So long as I'm flying, she's not all gone.

  "Poe?" Hera shattered his reverie. 

  Damn. "Sorry," he said sheepishly.

  Hera shook her head. “It’s alright. We’ve almost gone over enough. Hand over command for now, tinker with your X-Wing if you need to, and then get to bed.”

  Cracking a weary smile at last, Poe saluted. “Aye, ma’am.”

  The lights in the cabin were low, and Rose's breath was hot on Finn's cheek and neck. Her crossed arms rested lightly on his shoulders.

  “Neither of us have been awake enough for that in a while,” she panted happily. It brought a hot surge in his chest, where his heart was gradually easing back down to resting.

  Kriff, it hadn't felt this good to exert himself since they'd arrived on this world.

  Finn kissed her, and could feel her smile. “I’ve missed it.” They snuggled together, but he could see from Rose’s expression that she had more on her mind than just relaxing together. “What is it?” he asked, brushing her fringe back.

  “I hadn’t managed to ask about how things went with Archex yet.”

  “More pressing matters, I guess.” She giggled at that, but there was no way she’d let him dodge the question.

  Finn paused, weighing up his answer. “I know, logically, that he’s with us. But there’s still a big part of me which struggles to believe it.”

  “You've met Tam Ryvora. She turned back.”

  Finn remembered Tam well. The young pilot had been overawed by Finn, for that matter, when they first met. He'd helped his fellow defector to process her worries, but somehow, it seemed that none of that carried over to this situation.

  Now she had put the question to him… “This is different. Tam turned back, and she was never a Stormtrooper. She hadn't been given a number instead of a name. Archex came from the same place as me, more or less. He was raised as a Stormtrooper, and after Jakku, it must’ve seemed like an improvement to him. Brendol Hux made him into a true believer, yet he’s here with us now.”

  "And that messes with your head."

  “Lots.”

  "Do you believe in second chances?" Rose asked. Finn looked incredulous for a moment, but she held up a hand. "Please, love, I'm not questioning for a second that you should've had one. But outside yourself, do you really believe?"

  He sighed. "I guess I have to. But however many of the old Rebels started out in the Empire, I thought I was the first Stormtrooper to bail on the First Order. And Cardinal - kriff - Archex… he wasn't just a trooper.” Finn’s voice was quiet, but brimming with intensity as if he might shake himself to pieces if he untensed even a little. “He moulded us, did everything to turn us into obedient soldiers, and handed us over to Phasma when we were old enough, so she could make us into killers. Even with all the cadets that neither taught directly, which of course was the vast majority, it was Archex’s simulations, refined by Phasma, which they trained in. For days, I couldn't look at him without seeing the red armour. Like I was on the Absolution again.”

  “But wasn’t he a kid once as well?” He looked back at Rose, and she touched his cheek. “They stole him from Jakku, just like they stole you. Maybe he didn’t think that for a long time. But from Vi Moradi’s report, and from what he said to you, he opened his eyes to the truth. Deep in it as he was, he got out.”

  Finn shook his head, wondering despite himself. “I can’t imagine how that would feel. I was… so lost, when I was outside. Don’t know what I would’ve done if the Resistance hadn’t taken me in.” He closed his eyes, letting his head drop, but when he looked back at Rose, they were bright again. “Guess that’s your answer, Rose. I believe.”

  “So, sir,” Thrassk said, “how do you think that went, meeting with Finn?” One scaly eyebrow rose, the expression ironic. “Beyond him not shooting you, that is.”

  Archex smiled at his second-in-command. “I think we’re well past the point where we have to worry about that. He might even warm to me, given time. I can only hope so.”

  “Might’ve helped if Vi was here.”

  Archex nodded. He missed Vi Moradi, and wished he could still consult her. It certainly would’ve helped to arrive with someone in tow who’d been Resistance before the war began, and had links to General Organa herself. But he shook his head and said, “This is our kind of mission, not hers. I did actually make contact with her, while we were on our way here. She told me I ought to stand on my own feet when it came time to meet Finn.”

  The Trandoshan looked sceptical – as well he might, given how that meeting had almost gone – but didn’t press the point further. “Sounds like the deserting Stormtrooper turned into a proper idealist.”

  “More quickly than I did,” Archex smiled ruefully. “Try speaking with him. He’s a good kid. They all are, if I’m any judge.” I am accustomed to judging youths, he thought, and suppressed a wince as a twinge of guilt ran through him.

  “They give you hope.” Thrassk grinned. “The keystone of every rebellion, is that right, Captain?”

  Archex nodded. “But mostly, it’s a very specific hope, tied to Finn.”

  Thrassk knew where he was going with this. They’d talked about it enough times. “He’s only one defector, Captain. That’s an awfully thin thread.”

  “But you know I have to believe it’s possible. And Finn means that it is. If one Stormtrooper can get free of the conditioning, then there’s a chance that others might turn as well. At least some of the damage I caused can be undone. And if I’m really lucky, I can play a part in that.” He glanced at the window. “This isn’t a bad world to make a stand on, you know. It’s wild and harsh, but it feels so unlike a First Order world.”

  Thrassk nodded. “It’s not ruled by metal.”

  That made Archex smile again. “A world that isn't ruled by metal,” he murmured. “Can you believe I'm saying that, Thrassk? I was so glad to live in that metal world, for so long. Now, every day I wake up and look across the plains to the enemy lines, and I see that metal world in its little outpost over there. I think about Phasma, who’s now more a part of it than ever, and I wonder what she’s thinking.”

  Phasma's thoughts, at that point, were of irritation. She’d been on guard duty too long, kept away from the hunt and the kill. Hux had probably expected something like this, and instructed Stolan to keep her active, keep her in motion. The discovery of the tunnelling craft, however, had changed that. It was all much too important to risk the Resistance even glimpsing it.

  In particular, irritation that despite all her efforts, she had been put in a position to be used by her masters, even more clinically and ruthlessly than she had others. What would Rivas, KM-8713 or TN-3465 say? Phasma could imagine them in some imagined afterlife like those of tribal myth on Parnassos, grimly approving of her fate.

  Her metal fingers tensed. The last laugh would not be theirs. She was Phasma. Others were expended, not her.

  She had an out, of some sort. It was far off, but she deemed it within reach. The Empire, and through it the First Order, had hung onto much of the cloning data from Kamino, and could put it to a great many uses. Organs could be grown and grafted. If she just held on, kept what was left of herself intact. She would find opportunities and use them. Her strength would be truly hers again, free of any reliance on mechanics or cyberneticians. Her free hand clenched, with a whine of servos, and Phasma glanced down at it. She might have this body adapted, however. Powered armour could be made to work, and she did enjoy this mechanical might.

  A distant prospect, to be sure, but she’d come from a world condemned by radiation and civilisational collapse and risen to one of the highest positions in the First Order. Ruthlessness and calculation had brought her this far. She could ascend again, and higher, if she found the opportunities.

  There was one in front of her now. A whole lot of them, the machines around which the technicians and droids swarmed. These that could deliver her to the very depths of the besieged city, and the kind of kills for which Hux would be very grateful indeed. And both Huxes had known how to reward useful loyalty. Cardinal had taken an age to learn that distinction, but life on Parnassos had seen to it that Phasma understood long before she came of age.

  It helped that Stolan had seen the potential value of her find immediately. Multiple scout and Stormtrooper units had been set in positions which were just loose enough that the enemy wouldn’t recognise what they were doing. Meanwhile, more units were being allocated to the infiltration mission, carefully hidden from view by camouflage drapes and strewn vegetation.

  Phasma rarely got to watch. It would draw suspicion if she wasn’t seen to be coming and going from the siege lines, and striking out into the wilds. She had to admit there was sense in that, and also that her engineering knowledge met its limits with the mining craft. Her possessiveness around the ships was irrational, and anyway, she wanted to add to her kill-count. Every enemy death was another point in her favour, and each one brought her a little closer to the kills she really wanted.

  Killing the Traitor and the Jedi would be, if not the thing that earned her a new, real body, then substantial steps towards that goal. So too could Archex’s death. Privately, Phasma reflected that the deed itself would be almost as satisfying as what it would earn her. The man who had been Cardinal should have died on the Absolution. The man seemed to have trouble staying dead.

  Which, of course, could be said of Phasma herself. She would have to be thorough, this time.

Chapter Text

  The Force mirrored a growing tumult in the weather; the days were growing darker as the cloud cover thickened. Anger and hatred came boiling up from the First Order siege lines. This morning, it had taken Rey several minutes to centre herself.

  She’d always seen it as a sea, centred on an island. Perhaps that was because the Force had always called her to Ach-To, or the world had imprinted on her. Either way, whenever she sank into the Force, waters closed over her head, and the push and pull of the currents spoke to her in place of its voice.

  They moved irregularly, coiling with treacherous strength around her. The disquiet was, she knew, an intruding phenomenon. It wasn’t like the vibrant flow of wind and tide she’d first felt on Ach-To, the violence which had its place in the balance. It wasn’t the echo of violence either. This was… Rey tensed. It was like the pressure that came ahead of a storm.

  No wonder the phrase “boiling up” had come to her so readily. The enemy’s bile mirrored the way that great cyclones start, heat feeding the vortices and creating something ever-more violent. From her island vantage, seated on the meditation stone, Rey could see the clouds starting to rise, emerging over the horizon.

  A sudden awareness of her physical surroundings intruded, drawing Rey up through her layers of focus, letting the island fall away. She became aware of several presences – one of which was close by, and heading toward her. Luckily, it promised to be a soothing one.

  Out of politeness, she waited for the knock. As usual, she’d felt Kaydel’s approach before the other woman opened the door. “Morning Kaydes,” she smiled, getting up.

  “Hey.” Kaydel gave her a one-armed hug, setting down a cup of tea with her free hand. “Meditation again, I see. Still taking a break from melee drill?” she asked, nodding to where Rey’s staff stood in the corner.

  "I have to conserve my strength, as someone wise told me a week or two ago," Rey said, prompting a gratified smile from Kaydel. "Besides, I'm putting in plenty of time with my staff as it is."

  "Yeah. Your, uh, Shien must be getting a real workout."

  "And the Ataru, when the Riot Troopers get close." Kaydel’s interest in the Jedi was always welcome to Rey. Apart from anything else, she could talk to her about the way the Force felt, and have it make some sort of sense. She was free to describe the tumult and the sour quality of violence – and, when Kaydel prompted her to look for it, the still-present flicker of hope.

  There wasn’t enough of that right now.

  General Hux didn’t think in terms of hope. The word had too many connotations with the kind of scum he wanted to eradicate, and it didn’t feel forceful enough for a First Order officer. A First Order officer – the future Supreme Leader, no less – did not rely on hope. He had his will, and his intelligence, and would use those to get what he wanted, rather than hoping.

  The holos which glowed around him were a testament to that, a star system in miniature dancing to his directions. His intent and scheme, arrayed in light.

  There hadn’t been any danger of the ploy being derailed. Too much work had gone into it already and the projections made its success a certainty, so Phasma’s discovery had simply been incorporated into it. The result was that two days later, the First Order invasion force was waiting for Vintalli to give the word, and bring his war-winning weapon to the surface.

  “I trust we are prepared?” Hux asked him, though the question mark was really just a formality.

  “We have an ETA. They’re just two hours out now.”

  “Tell Phasma to begin,” Hux ordered Stolan.

  “Aye, sir!” The colonel saluted, before his holo winked out.

  This was what Hux needed. Concrete action instead of hope. If he trusted to hope, he’d be at the mercy of Kylo Ren.

  “This will be my victory,” Hux breathed, quietly enough that only Vintalli heard. “My achievement, and not his. And certainly nothing to do with what the Force might will.”

  Finn couldn’t speak for what the Force was doing, but the rising humidity and the thickening clouds felt to him like the planet was mirroring the state of the siege. The sky above Nabat was already taking on a leaden hue, and he wasn’t surprised to be called to a meeting where the atmosphere was similarly tense.

  “I’m afraid we’ve got worrying news from the hyperlanes.” Poe called up a holo which showed a mass conveyor, at least as long as a Star Destroyer and much bulkier. “The enemy are bringing these ships over from Druckenwell.”

  “Druckenwell?” Rose asked, speaking for most of those present.

  Kaydel and Numa both made to speak. With a small smile, and inclining her head, the commander gave way to Kaydel. Kaydel visibly swelled with pride, just a little, but maintained a businesslike tone. “Heavily industrialised world in the Doldur Sector, coreward from here. Not as big as Kuat, but pretty big. The Separatists used it back in the Clone Wars, and when the Empire took over, things carried on much the same.”

  “Even under the New Republic, that was true,” Numa interjected. “The foundry corporations served private concerns, the odd system-scale military. We know there were plenty of worlds that didn’t join in with demilitarisation, and those were good customers for Druckenwell. Now, however,” she said, her gaze lingering on the holos of Hux’s ships, “they’re back to business as before, once the First Order have installed their own management.”

  The invaders had many, many corporate friends, but they didn’t trust the manufacturers who had only served the New Republic or its constituent worlds. As a result, when they seized worlds with strong manufacturing bases, they’d take pains to preserve the infrastructure, but almost always hand over the running to their own people.

  Finn couldn’t really blame them when he thought about it. The Resistance had been energetically stealing First Order ships since the fightback began, sometimes with the cooperation of those in charge. Long before that, Incom had designed the X-Wing and U-Wing under the Empire’s very nose, and even though their assets were seized, the Empire struck too late.

  He could, however, begrudge the enemy their expansive industrial base, and the awful cost to the people who laboured on their ships. “Do we know what their present to Hux is?” he asked.

  Numa’s lekku trembled a little as she shook her head. “Resistance spies and Hera’s scouts struggle to get anywhere near a world as important as Druckenwell. We can only surmise it is something mechanical, that it is to be effective against this city, and to achieve that effect, it will need to be landed.”

  “Then it’s gonna have to get past our squadrons,” Poe said. “I’ll take point in the air, and I want the Falcon up there with us, but we have to assume there’ll be a ground assault too, just to minimise what we can throw at their landing.”

  Finn saw eyes flicking toward him and Archex. Both of them nodded.

  Numa sighed. “Well, if they want to throw some men at our walls, it would be rude to refuse. Finn, Archex, Juspabo – will you be able to handle that?”

  All three

  “To your stations.”

  The officers trooped out, wishing each other good luck as they went. Finn was quiet, reflecting on how smoothly they were all working now. Everyone had taken the news in stride, ready to meet the new offensive and blunt it. By now, Finn knew he could trust the ability of every fighter in this city.

  So why did he feel unease prickling at the back of his neck?

  He considered it briefly, and then he realised. That would be Phasma. She’d been out of sight for days, longer than before. Perhaps she was hunting – he couldn’t imagine what else she’d be doing – but not being able to see the danger set his teeth on edge.

  But he couldn’t afford to worry about what he couldn’t see right now. The enemy would be coming for them now, out in the open. That needed his focus.

  "All squadrons and escorts report readiness," Vintalli said. As Hux had demanded. Syndulla's ships weren't to be given an opening.

  Grand Admiral Sloane herself had tutored him and his classmates on the formations to be used for this, the patterns which gave as little warning as possible, in case your enemy was sharp. She had said you should always assume your enemy was sharp.

  Not that the Grand Admiral had ever confirmed it, but Hux had always believed there was some humbling incident behind that instruction, some bitter lesson Sloane had had to learn. He further suspected that the enemy commodore might have been involved. Worming his way into the archives, once, he'd found a mention of Syndulla's “Ghosts” and a lapse by an Imperial officer. The name wasn't Sloane's of course, but there were plenty of dots, and joining them made a pretty clear picture.

  Hux was not going to join her in getting caught out. The assumption had to be that the Resistance knew something was inbound, even if the stratagem’s nature had been kept away from prying eyes. The precautions had been extensive – only slave labour used in the work, all contingents eliminated once the work was done, having the military escorts on patrol detail all through the construction. It was airtight. 

  “Hyperspace wakes detected!” called one of the sensor officers, reeling off the numbers and disposition of the incoming ships. All as expected, but Vintalli still had the crew training scopes on the emergence point, with gunnery crews on standby.

  A momentary flurry of flights showed, several kilometres away, before Hux discreetly released the breath he had been holding. His war-winning assets were here, sheathed in armoured hulls lit up starkly by the cold starlight. The macro-haulers all bore scars from weapon impacts, but nothing severe. Hux looked at them and deemed the damage - and of course the lives of crew members and pilots spent in the course of their voyage - quite worthwhile.

  “Proceed with the landing operation as planned,” he said. “By the time the Resistance know what is happening, Phasma will have her spear in their guts.”

  Poe was back in his X-Wing for the first time in days. Before now, that had been something of a relief. Sure, it was life-or-death, but in those moments his responsibilities shrank back to the scale he’d been used to before.

  Now, however, the stakes had been ramped up. He and his pilots constituted the main line of defence against this new threat, and they still didn’t know what it actually was. On top of that, they would be facing a redoubled TIE assault.

  “All units,” he comm’d, “report in.” The various squadron leaders in the first rotation duly did, along with Rey, checking in from the Millenium Falcon.

  She had more to say than just that, however. “Commander, there’s something uneasy in the Force. I want to say it’s just the enemy reinforcements, but… I can’t be sure.”

  Poe suppressed a surge of frustration. Leia had always told him that the Force worked in peculiar ways, and it took long practice to read it with any real certainty. Rey couldn’t be blamed for her inexperience, especially when circumstances she put most of her effort into learning how to fight using the Force. But void’s teeth, what Poe wouldn’t give for a Jedi who could tell him something more than mere forebodings.

  Best to stick to factors he could actually influence. Starting the launch sequence, he took an update from Kaydel. “Commodore Syndulla reports that the enemy mass-conveyors have released bulk landers, ten of them behemoth-class.” That meant combat walkers, AT-ATs or even AT-M6s, but Poe could tell that Hera wasn’t done. “And there are… others. Eight of them. Must be the ones our recon people identified.”

  Poe clamped down on a sharp retort. "Lieutenant, I need clarity. What are the others?"

  He heard Kaydel take a breath, to steady her nerves. "Massive transports. Not a pattern I recognise, but they’re bigger than behemoth.” Considering that, she was doing well to keep her tone level. “Heavily armoured according to Commodore Syndulla; her squadrons couldn’t destroy or disable any.”

  “Armament?”

  “Not much, but a hell of a lot of escorts.” Of course. He could hear Kaydel’s anxiety and frustration mingling in her voice. “I'm sorry, that's all I can get right now."

  Poe gritted his teeth, then activated his repulsors and thrusters to rise from the hangar floor and shoot out into the sky above Nabah. “Then I’ll have to find out in person.” Then he saw the TIEs massing, forming into several attack vectors. He also spied TIE Reapers and the blockier shapes of regular Stormtrooper transports, ready for an assault on the walls. And, in a typical display of Hux’s malicious cunning, to split the attention of the Resistance pilots.

  “Haven’t seen this many TIEs for a bit,” Jess commented.

  “I’ll say.” Poe forced a grin. “So imagine how pissed they’ll be when we take down those landers anyway.” That got the chuckling he’d hoped for across the inter-squadron comm, enough to lighten the unease he knew his pilots would be feeling. BB-8 twittered as he rolled his shoulders, flexed his fingers. “Let’s drop the First Order’s new toys on Stolan’s head.”

  “Just as soon as we clear the air a little, anyway,” Rey said, as anti-air fire from Nabat began to blaze up into the air, and the enemy wings swept into contact.

  Finn was inside. He’d rotated out of the line along with Rose, Ki’rri, Nyzar and LM-276, but instead of heading to get food and drink, he’d made for the command centre, the others trotting in his wake to keep up.

  Now they were at the door to the command centre, they collared him. “What is it?” Rose asked, her eyes full of worry.

  He took a moment to reply, still gripping his blaster tightly. “There’s something we’re not seeing. Don’t know what or how, but there’s something.”

  Her frown was a puzzled one. “I’ve never known you to act on nothing but a feeling.”

  “I’m not acting just yet,” he said. “Just wanna get some data, like a good technician.”

  She snorted a little at that, and shot him one of the small smiles he cherished.

  Inside the command centre, he met only with confused looks, assurances that nothing unusual had cropped up on any sensors, and half-jokes that there was enough fighting going on upstairs already, thank you very much, no need to go imagining more. Captain Ueled'jinez asked, a little more seriously, if Finn felt quite alright.

  Finn had a strong sense that he should just nod, accept it and get back to the walls, but the nagging misgiving was like an itch inside his skull. He was about to reply, with rising irritation, when a voice called out. “Commander, Captains! I’ve got something you ought to see.”

  Numa’s head snapped around. “What’s that?”

  A lilac-skinned technician gave her a worried look. “Seismic sensors are flaring, in the northeast quarter.” Her hands skittered over the keyboard, enhancing, layering patterns. “It’s not an earthquake.”

  Kaydel looked up from her station. “Are we getting any tectonic reads from elsewhere?” she asked, before a guilty look crossed her face and she went back to work.

  “Nothing,” replied the technician.

  “The hell is…” Finn trailed off, leaning over the technician’s shoulder. She was right – they were going haywire for that sector, and nowhere else.

  “Don’t know,” she said, not looking away from her screen yet. One large signal became several, and those were still hardly small. “Megafauna, maybe?” the technician tried in desperation, turning at last to Numa.

  “Is it even possible for them to dig their way through?” Finn asked the commander.

  “No.” Numa stepped close to him, face drawn. “No animal can get that close, or get through the outer walls. Connix-” Kaydel’s head snapped up “-maintain a link to Captain Finn.” Her eyes settled on Finn. “I don’t know what it is, but I need you to go down there.

  “On it.” He was already moving, breaking into a run as soon as he passed through the doors. “Come on!” he barked to his companions, and set off for the nearest elevator.

Chapter Text

  Hera Syndulla had long since trained herself not to recoil from the flicker of laser cannons out in the void, even if they were coming her way. A long military career had seen to that. Nor did she flinch when a nearby vessel took hits – in fact, it took a pretty brutal impact to her own ship to dent her composure. No hit had done so for a long time.

  She could still wince at what these particular flickers and explosions signified, however. There weren’t enough of them, and that told her that Hux’s careful deployment had done its job.

  Hera’s squadrons had attacked fiercely, assisted by long-range fire from a handful of her fleet’s ships. They had hit the haulers hard after they came into range, but the escort ships and an outsized swarm of TIEs had kept them from doing more than superficial damage. Hera’s squadrons had outclassed them - her pilots always did, though the power disparity between a modern X-Wing and TIE wasn’t what it had been when she flew the Ghost. 

  Hux had committed at least four wings to the fight, including Interceptors and the new Dagger variant. Unless Poe and his own units could intercept the mystery cargo in-atmosphere, Stolan was going to get his delivery.

  Well, there was nothing Hera could do about it now without risking her own units. She tapped a button on the console before her, summoning the image of her son. “Jacen, break off now.”

  “Falling back now,” he said. In the flickering holo he looked disappointed, but he covered it up quickly and promptly enacted her order, gathering up his questions before the Ghost led them all racing back. Hera felt a minor blush of pride at her son’s level head. He’d had time to cultivate it, of course. He was older than Kanan had been when-

  No distractions. No old griefs just now. She muffled the thoughts and spoke again to Jacen, plus her other squadron leaders. “Report once you’re inside the shields. Keep those formations tight, don’t get tempted to go back.”

  “Copy. Wouldn’t want to cheat Poe of his hunting.”

  That earned a muted chuckle across the channel and around Hera, so she let it pass without any remark. Jacen knew the score, and was doing his best to leaven the mood. Everyone knew Poe and his squadrons would have a similarly hard time going up against those transports. Behind the humour, Jacen would be grinding his teeth, wishing he’d been able to do more to alleviate his friend’s struggle.

  Hera knew the lure of such thoughts. She tried not to focus on things she couldn’t influence, instead monitoring her son’s return flight. Hux didn’t send much of a pursuit after the sortie, instead devoting his spare fighters to escort the transports, but in the circumstances that just fed her worries. He’s willing to spend an awful lot of TIEs to get these assets to the surface. She regarded the holo display grimly, noting the tally of kills her units had claimed. And two frigates beside.

  Numa’s wavering image appeared in front of Hera. She already looked strained, and hands moved in and out of the picture, armouring the commander. No way that could be a good sign. “Hera, I’ve got your message; my people are relaying it to Commander Dameron. But there’s something else – can you see anything unusual around the First Order lines, or behind them?”

  Frowning, Hera shook her head. “Not with this cloud cover, but we’ve had eyes on the siege lines all this time and there’s nothing unusual that we could see.” Hera’s brow furrowed in unease as she surveyed her opposite number. That made her expression a mirror of Numa’s. “What’s happened?”

  “That’s the worst part of it,” Numa said, her voice low. She accepted a blaster rifle, clipping its lanyard to her chestplate with one hand. The other gripped the weapon tightly. “We don’t know yet.”

  Deep down in the city’s underground levels it was cool, and normally Finn would have welcomed this reprieve from the surface humidity. Now, however, he felt uncomfortably enclosed.

  Ki’rii’s golden eyes scanned the ceiling pensively. “And once again, we’re underground during a battle. This is becoming a bit too regular for me.” No doubt she was thinking back to Crait, among other tight scrapes. She glanced sidelong at Finn. “Are we sure this is the level? I mean, assuming we know what we’re looking for at all.”

  “Does seem to be this level,” Rose said, eyeing a seismic scanner she’d borrowed. “Though I can’t be sure yet.”

  “I just know it’s this one,” Finn said, not sure how he could be so certain. There was a tremor underfoot, but he couldn’t tell just how close it was. His certainty came from somewhere less tangible. Ki’rii shot him a look which he caught out of the corner of his eye, but she moved on in step with him.

  Other soldiers were falling in, including some local engineers with datapads and more advanced scanners, who hastened to join him. A Rylothian NCO spoke for them.

  “Sergeant Nethimil, Captain,” he said, saluting.

  “What’s the word?” Finn asked.

  “Scanners confirm something incoming. We think there are multiple objects,” the Twi’lek told him, lekku quivering as he shifted his weight. “Not sure what.”

  Rose pressed him. “What seems likely to you, if not animal life?”

 Nethimil gestured to another local soldier, this one an engineer.  “Well, there are mining sites in the general area.” The Twi’lek was nervous, evidently thinking hard. Finn had the sense he was resisting the urge for his eyes to dart everywhere. He visibly gathered himself, and addressed Finn again. “In theory you could retrofit some mining craft to act as weapons, even transports. Perhaps the enemy found some that we missed, or brought here without us seeing. But sir, I just can’t be sure-”

  He was right, as it turned out. But from the way it started, it seemed to Finn like the enemy had sent some sort of burrowing missile to them. The houses, offices, shops or whatever else they were, built into the outer wall, burst apart. The rear walls shattered, bringing down the ceilings which then exploded outwards too. People vanished in the storm of fragments, their cries lost to the roar – not just a roar of debris, but a roar of engines, topped off with a shrill chorus of shrieking from drills and rock-saws.

  Finn rocked back on his heels, throwing up an arm to cover his face as the wave of dust swept out to either side of him and debris pattered off his armour. He grabbed Rose with the other, and felt the other Scrappers bunch up either side of them, LM stepping in front to put his armoured bulk between them and the onslaught. Finn looked out from behind the droid, risking a peek into the clouds of dust. That was when he saw the first machine surge out of the gloom.

  At first, all he caught was a thicket of spinning blades and drills, still spitting chunks of rock and ferrocrete and spraying dust. Then its full length came into view, a cylinder of heavy armour plating. Seven more followed, all of them tearing and gouging explosively into the city at intervals.

  Some of the machines kept coming, smashing into other buildings. People vanished beneath rubble, or under the armoured tracks, with hideous screams cut horribly short. There were sprays of blood, metres long, left on walls. Dust was everywhere, blinding, choking.

  But most horrifying of all was the realisation which now sank in. This section of interior wall, over a hundred metres across and a hundred below ground, had just become a second front in the battle. Finn stumbled back, trying to call the nearby units together, to get any civilians back behind the line he was trying to form. He could just about hear others, in amongst the cacophony, bellowing the same orders.

  It did little good. The Resistance troops were still reeling when blast panels levered open with the growling of servos, and Stormtroopers leapt out. Then the real killing started.

  Rey knew that something had gone wrong, without any help from the comm. It hit her like the shockwave from an explosion. Without any warning, there was suddenly terror boiling up from the depths of the city, so sudden and so potent that she recoiled, the Falcon faltering in its manoeuvre as she flinched.

  Next to her, Chewbacca growled sharply as a TIE Dagger nearly got too close. Impacts on the the Falcon’s shields juddered both Rey and her copilot in their seats. A curse from Tannel also hissed in her ear.

  “Sorry,” Rey breathed to them both, struggling to get the words around the hammering pulse in her throat. She fought to regain her focus, unloading with the prow cannons as she tried to get free. The Falcon slewed to one side, giving Tannel his shot from the belly turret. The Dagger’s triangular wings spiralled earthward, but Rey felt little relief. Kriff kriff kriff. Breaths issued through her gritted teeth like steam leaving some kind of overworked machine. None of this was very Jedilike, but she needed to get clear long enough to think and speak.

  Unsurprisingly, Poe was already on the comm. “Captain, what’s going on? Comm’s blowing up here, something going on under the city. I haven’t got time for-”

  “Poe,” Rey interrupted, forgetting rank in her urgency. Something had clarified for her, amid the tumult far below. “I need to get down there. It’s Phasma.”

  Poe didn’t hesitate, but she heard the frustration in his barked retort. “Permission granted. Go!”

  Ducking into cover, Finn had a moment to take in the situation. He didn’t find much to like.

  Just to start with, he couldn’t see much. Many of the lights had gone out when the First Order had broken in, and even as Finn stared up at the vaulted ceiling, beyond the roofs of buildings, more went out. The emergency lights which ostensibly replaced the mains gave only spotty coverage, often flickering; the enemy were probably severing power conduits as they came on. Worse, smoke was rising to blot out even those.

  Poor as the visibility was, the state of the troops around Finn worried him. The Scrappers had escaped serious harm, but it looked like everyone but Rose had cuts and bruises under their coat of dust. Nyzar and LM’s heavy armour was scorched, and Ki’rii’s helmet had been winged by a plasma bolt, a smoking trench running along one cheek guard.

  Plenty of the Resistance troops around them had been less lucky. The regular soldiers must have been easier to identify in the murk, because the Stormtroopers had targeted them first. Finn could see bodies from the alleyway where he’d taken shelter. He didn’t know how many soldiers had died so far, but he’d guess several dozen at least. He wasn’t ready to think about civilian casualties.

  Where the hell had these machines come from? How had they made their way so far under the plain and avoided detection? What had been missed? The Resistance hadn't seen the First Order ferry anything down except for soldiers and standard military vehicles, and Yendor hadn’t reported any mining machines out in the wilderness. 

  Those were questions which could haunt Finn for the rest of his life, but if he didn’t focus now, that life would be measured in seconds. He clipped a torch to his blaster, then looked to his squad, hardening his expression. “On my mark.” He counted off three seconds with the fingers gripping the barrel of his blaster, then lunged back toward the enemy.

  Rounding the corner meant that suddenly, the sounds of gunfire and screaming were much sharper.

  It took him a moment to realise just who he was shooting at. Definitely the enemy – the stark white armour made that clear despite the poor light – but after the first target went down, another came forward, raising a thick betaplast shield. Finn’s next shot took a chunk out of it, as did Ki’rii’s, but neither the man behind the shield, who raised his own gun.

  Time seemed to slow. That weapon didn’t have the typical round barrel of a blaster rifle. It wasn’t a single barrel of any shape. Instead, it was a cluster of serried rectangular openings.

  Recognition flashed through Finn’s mind. He seized Ki’rii and pulled her back into cover, thudding into Nyzar and LM-276 as the enemy pulled his trigger. There was a crack and rasping scream from the gun, and a blizzard of razor-sharp metal, glowing electric blue, sang through the air where they’d just been.

  “Karking flechettes?!” Ki’riii exclaimed, her blue face paler than usual. Her pupils were huge amid the red of her eyes, fixed on the marks scored in the stone. Some gleamed, marking where the metal shards had become embedded.

  Finn knew what that meant, and the shields. Now, glancing out from behind the wall, he saw a subtly different pattern of armour in the front ranks to the regular Stormtroopers behind them, the plating heavier and marked with navy blue. “First Order Marines,” he breathed. These were assault specialists, trained and equipped to both lead and repel boarding actions in space battles, and armed with those horrific flechette launchers for close-quarters fighting. Trust Phasma to repurpose them with this kind of cruel cunning.

  They were coming up fast, readying grenades to throw. Finn roared to LM-276, who ducked out of cover first, his heavy repeater roaring to life and spraying left to right. Finn followed its arc with his blaster, mowing down Marines who’d been knocked off-balance. Nyzar did the same, while Ki’rii and Rose sent their own grenades sailing overhead, detonating among the enemy ranks and hurling them away.

   The Scrappers were out in the relative open again, but the Stormtroopers were already regrouping, and within seconds they were withdrawing, pursued by the sinister flight of flechette rounds. They found more of the Resistance, hunkered down behind any useable cover.

  “The hell do we do, captain?” one sergeant asked, teeth bared in a desperate grimace.

  Finn ejected a spent power pack. “We get everyone back,” he said. Reflexively he returned the pack to his belt, to be recharged later on. “Civilians to the stairwells. Get them the hell out of here.” He slammed a new pack into place. “Everyone with a blaster digs in. Is there a store here? If so, bring up the repeater cannons!”

  “We’ve got them!” came an unexpected voice, not just over the comm but close by, behind Finn.

  He turned. “Commander?”

  Numa was coming towards him, surrounded by Rylothian soldiers. “Archex is disentangling himself from the fighting up top, Rey’s coming back down from the air battle.” That didn’t sound ideal, but right now, Finn wasn’t going to argue. “Until then, I thought I’d step in.”

  Numa’s soldiers advanced past Finn, going steadily, confidently. The repeater turrets were brought up as promised, engineers setting them in place. The sight of them did a lot to steady Finn’s nerves; those weapons picked a ferocious punch, enough to knock any infantry unit he knew of right off their feet.

  He took stock, feeling the tension in his chest ease a little. The Scrappers, along with the other survivors of the initial attack, were drawing a breath, replacing spent power packs and grabbing new weapons.

  “They made a good show,” Numa growled, “but unless they’ve got something very special up their sleeve then-”

  A triple-flicker of heavy repeater beams speared out of the murk, punched through several soldiers in front of Numa and hurled the Twi’lek nearest her screaming into a wall.

  Everyone dropped to their knees, firing bursts but not seeming to hit anything in the murk. The enemy returned their fire tenfold, and Finn’s world shrank as the Resistance positions were swallowed up by explosions of dust.

  “Hold!” Numa called. Undaunted, she kept firing, inspiring those around her to hold their ground.

  Sighting along his blaster, Finn saw a bright light. Something luminous. No, he realised, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t glowing; instead it gleamed amid the smoke, incredibly reflective. Now he could see it moving, and it was advancing at a steady pace. A march, confirmed by the heavy tramping which rose out of the gloom now.

  “Dark Troopers!” came a yell from ahead of him.

  “Shit,” Ki’rii spat, and even as the Resistance repeaters opened up, Finn realised that there the enemy had one infantry unit whose resilience he hadn’t considered. Red light erupted out of the smog, tearing into the newly placed turrets even as those started to fire, and everything went to hell.

Chapter Text

  The Resistance fighters and interceptors were hunting well. The enemy were bringing down a lot of Stormtrooper transports ahead of the bigger ships, and for all the TIE fighters they’d arrayed against the Resistance, Poe and his squadrons cut through. Multiple wings of fighters were at work above the plain, both his own units and the Rylothians.

  It felt easier than it should, even as the superstitious voice in Poe’s head muttered that you should never let yourself think that. The First Order seemed to be holding back most of their fighter strength, keeping it close to the bulkier transports still nearing the atmosphere. The gunships and other smaller landers did their best to weave, trying to evade rather than trusting their escorts to fend off attackers.

  Of course, this was the First Order, and this was Hux. Stormtroopers might be a valuable resource to him, but with an army as large as he had on the ground, he must be willing to expend them. He had, after all, left huge numbers to die on the Starkiller Base, instead prioritising any hardware that could be retrieved.

  Poe got all of that. Still, the quiet questioner in his head was asking: Why? This assault was way out of proportion to the enemy attack on the ground. What was worth losing so many craft and pilots? What was in the immense haulers, hidden behind the clouds?

  Trig Funnett seemed less burdened by such thoughts. “Have that!” she yelled, as her weaving fighter blew apart three TIEs. Her squadron followed suit, spraying laser fire as their leader’s yell filled Poe’s ears. “How do you like that Twi’lek dancing, you thugs?”

  Poe very nearly said something reproachful, but she kept control of her pilots. Violet Squadron came back around, tight as ever, never seeming to rest their trigger fingers. Just as well, given the swarming enemy.

  Kaydel’s voice in his ear: “Commander, the bulk landers have reached the atmosphere. You’ll probably detect their entry in a moment. Still not sure what they are.”

  Poe might have pressed harder, but at that moment ten TIE Daggers dived out of the clouds and set an attack vector for Black Squadron. "Just keep working on it," he told Kaydel. Then he switched to the incoming message from Blue Leader. "I see them, Snap. Let's get these bastards."

  That served to keep him busy for a few minutes, until the Daggers were dealt with. Briefly untroubled by enemy craft, Poe craned his neck upwards, scanning the sky overhead. At first, he thought he was watching the clouds themselves moving, but then he felt the shockwaves of enormous objects entering the atmosphere. The enemy closed again, stealing his focus, but the next time he won respite, he saw them.

  First there was a red-orange glow behind the clouds, then several. BB-8 made a low, apprehensive noise in his ear.

  A second later, something slab-sided ploughed into view, grey and massive as the clouds themselves, filling much of Poe’s field of vision. Then another, further off, which he could identify as some kind of bulk hauler. And another.

  "Druk," spat Suralinda. Poe wasn't inclined to disagree.

  They must have been titanic, even before the First Order got hold of them and welded on extra plating, as well as adding guns and shield generators more suited to a frigate. Now they didn’t seem to fly so much as pummel their way through the air, pillars of fire blazing beneath them to keep the colossal ships in the air. There were other transports around them, these ones recognisable. The enemy shipped combat walkers in those.

  In a sane world, they would be the focus, larger than anything else. Now, however, they were demoted to the second rank, made small beside the truly big beasts.

  “What are those things?” asked Hallis, sounding horrified and awestruck.

  “Walker transports?” Souel posited, his voice a low, humming crackle.

  But Poe shook his head. “These are too big, even for that.”

  Jess and Suralinda posited command centres and artillery emplacements, but Poe didn’t think that could be right. It didn’t fit with the way the First Order had set things up here.

  Snap sounded as grim as Poe felt. “They actually make the walker-haulers look small.” He didn’t have time to elaborate, as Blue Squadron were drawn into another dogfight.

  Poe wouldn’t have much longer to study the new targets. Like Kaydel, he didn't recognise the pattern. The analytical part of him, the one that ran like a tactical droid's subroutine, sifting his knowledge for clues to the latest problem, started up. The rest of his brain dedicated itself to responding – not least keeping his people under control.

  Souel growled, his rebreather turning it into a terse buzz. “They look tough.”

  “Doesn’t matter a damn,” Trig broke in. “First Order wants these on the ground, we wanna stop that, ergo we blow them all the way to the Nightlands if need be.”

  Despite her small size, Trig was capable of truly remarkable fury at times. Sometimes, Poe thought, she could almost be taken for the second coming of Lourna Dee, the legendary Nihil pirate.

  In other circumstances, Poe might have smiled at the thought. Right now, however, it took everything to fight the sense of a vice closing around his chest. He did not need her fiery spirit overcoming her now. “Keep it frosty, Trig,” he said, forcing himself to be the calming voice, then opened the channel wider. “All squadrons, regroup. Those transports are now the priority targets. Kaydel, I want those bombers up here, right away.”

  The decision had been made to keep the bombers in the hangars, primed to launch. Every second they were in the air, the First Order’s airpower would be concentrated on the valuable craft. Poe had to preserve as many as possible. These massive new craft demanded every missile and bomb the Resistance could lob at them.

  The enemy were already moving to hem the defenders in, and keep them away. Poe directed BB-8 to prime the acceleration, fast as he dared in-atmosphere.

  “Get in close,” he said. “Violet and Silver, stick with us. Snap, Karé, take your wings in too.” He was just about aware of them, two arcing spearheads, one above and to his left, the other below and off to the right. By then, however, Poe’s world was shrinking, his focus narrowing and sharpening.

  The air around the new behemoths was thick with TIEs, a seething swarm of metal wasps with blazing cannons for stingers. So Black Squadron turned their weapons on those first. Silver Squadron were obliged to do the same - they loosed a few missiles toward the nearest lander, but most of those were swallowed up by the sheer mass of fighter craft. Only a couple actually struck the transport's hull, most detonating several metres out or further. The thick armour was scarcely damaged at all. The same couldn’t be said for all his fighters. Silver Four came apart in fiery splinters, while Hallis took a glancing hit, cursing and slewing to avoid a killing strike until one of Violet Squadron took the offending TIE out. Further out, he saw momentary bursts of fire - TIEs being destroyed, true, but also Rylothian fighters.

  But Poe had gleaned a few things from that exchange, almost subconsciously. The swarm of TIEs were compensating for a relatively meagre number of turrets mounted on the massive conveyors. They appeared to have been built onto them, rather than built into the structures from the start. And while their armour was heavy, the lines didn't suggest a military design.

  Industrial, he thought. What the hell has Hux turned into a weapon here?

  Out loud, however, he spoke with more certainty. “Let’s carve these things open, see what they’re carrying. Kaydel, deploy two bomber squadrons to attack from above, three more to follow my wings in and hit the sides.” Needless to say, fighter escorts would be needed for all of them. “Captain Aoroh has command of the defence. Black, Silver and Violet Squadrons…” He tightened his grip on the joystick, bracing for the acceleration burst. “With me!”

  Phasma strode implacably through the carnage, leaving a trail of corpses behind her and driving a tide of screaming civilians ahead of her. Fire from a turret-mounted repeater jolted her, but it wasn’t enough to even make her stagger. Her return fire reduced it to smouldering splinters and killed the gunner.

  To either side of her were her Dark Troopers, marching at the same murderous pace and laying down incessant volleys. Such unflinching hostility would surely earn all the lengthy commendations which Hux loved to use, to set an example to the rest of the rank and file.

  Phasma had, as part of her early education in the First Order, been given numerous testimonials by notable Stormtroopers. These had demonstrated just what kind of soldier Brendol Hux intended her to be. There was one, Sergeant Kreel of SCAR Squadron, whom he'd been especially fond of using as an example, a standard every soldier should aspire to emulate.

  Phasma could see why; Kreel's aptitude and dedication were remarkable. But the latter quality had always struck her as demonstrating a servile attitude she had no interest in emulating. Besides that, she thought Kreel's analysis of the Rebels was somewhat off.

  Kreel had been obsessed with what he saw as the hypocrisy of the Rebels. He insisted that their idealism was just a front for self-interest. Phasma disagreed. The Rebels, and their successors, were utterly wedded to their beliefs - and that was what made them contemptible. They tried to spit in the face of all sense and self-preservation. It would be their ruin.

  And they really did care about those they fought for, at least in a smaller, more intellectual way. That was why they were still digging their heels in, falling back as slowly as possible and firing doggedly back from whatever cover they could find.

  On the surface, that showed strength, but Phasma knew it was brittle, with abject weakness lying beneath it. They cared far too much. You could break their resolve fatally, if you made the right example. The Death Star had very nearly worked, after all.

  Phasma was about to do something similar, albeit on a smaller scale. Starting with a knot of soldiers who had failed to find cover. She levelled the heavy blaster she carried and discharged a fresh volley, lancing through bodies and generating more plumes of dust when her blasts struck the walls.

  The Resistance must’ve thought their defences would hold off any invader. They’d got over their shock, and that had given them false confidence. Phasma decided, with a certain offended feeling, that they hadn’t understood just how deadly she and her elite were.

  There was one here who did, however. She’d glimpsed him just before her units had destroyed the turrets. He’d disappeared in the smoke and dust after that, but he wouldn’t have gone far.

  “Come on, FN-2187,” she said, picking new targets. “Where are you?”

  Rey took a moment as she brought the Millennium Falcon in to land, just long enough to comm Kaydel. “Kaydes,” she rasped, unclipping her belt, “what the hell’s happening down there? Do we keep going? I don’t-”

  She didn’t know what to do, almost paralysed by the knowledge of the massive immense craft that the enemy were bringing down. Bringing the Falcon back down, with all its firepower, might’ve been a serious misstep. She could feel the same anxiety from the others behind her in the main body of the ship, and from Chewbacca in the next seat.

  But Kaydel didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Phasma’s down there, with her Dark Troopers and more. We’re rotating troops to link up with you now. Archex is ahead of you. Beyond that, I don’t know what’s happening, but it can’t be good.”

  “Kriff.” She signalled to Chewie. Then she was in the hold, snatching up her staff. “Arm up and move out!” she yelled to the others. Then she set off at a run, out of the ship and then the hangar, making for the nearest lift.

  She let Kaydel take care of the comm situation, transferring the signal to the little unit in Rey’s helmet. It let her put all her concentration into driving her feet faster, and calling on the Force to add to her pace. At this point she knew the layout of the upper levels well enough to know which lift was nearest, but she still allowed Kaydel to guide her, trusting her to know if one thoroughfare was busy or blocked, with troops or wreckage. There was always a danger of that – despite the fighters whirling up above, she could feel the shaking underfoot when a TIE bomber got through.

  The promised reinforcements fell in squad by squad, all of them radiating even more worry than the Scrappers. “Captain Rey,” one sergeant asked, “what’s going-”

  Chewbacca cut him off with a roar. Rey couldn’t have put it much better. The soldier fell silent, and all Rey heard were hurried breaths and thudding footfalls.

  That was welcome. It was hard to know if she’d find the right words to inform everyone and put them at ease, let alone actually string them together and get them out while she kept running. Poe had taught her, early on, that the best thing for a battlefield leader to do in times of stress was to say as little as possible. Keep it sparse, exude nothing but focus because that was what your troops needed from you.

  So Rey locked into that need. She had to get herself, and all these comrades, to the lifts. They needed to get into the fight.

  Those were close now. She could see the doors, just next to a broad stairway.

  “Wait wait wait wait!” Kaydel’s voice was sharp and frantic with urgency, bringing Rey to a skidding halt. “Not the elevators. If the enemy hit the power lines, it could stop them partway.” A ragged sigh hissed over the comm. “I’m sorry, I should’ve said earlier, it’s just so-”

  “You’re busy, I get it,” Rey said, hoping she sounded understanding and not brusque. She sucked air angrily through her teeth as she eyed the stairs, leading down and out of sight. “Sometimes, though, I really hate how often you’re right.”

  Finn slumped against the wall, finally finding the time to draw breath into his scraped-raw lungs and think. For an indeterminate time, he’d been running on pure instinct. Numa and Rose were opposite him, the others behind them where they’d fallen back into another narrow alley. Around him, the din of battle reverberated from every wall.

  The enemy must have had more transports behind the first wave, or perhaps they’d brought soldiers down through the tunnels those things had bored, if that were possible. But there was no time to ponder possibilities. There was barely enough time for Finn to breathe between volleys, to duck before another enemy drew a bead on him or to shoot a trooper before he took out one of the Scrappers.

  “This is-”

  “Bad,” Numa agreed, slotting a fresh power pack into her blaster. Then she was up and firing again. Finn did the same, but despite the demands of survival, the tactical imperative to acquire a target, take the shot, drive another enemy back into cover to give an ally a chance to get clear, down the next target, there was no mistaking the situation in front of him. “I won’t argue about that. But we can hang on,” she growled. “Rey and Archex are on their way down. We just have to hold until then.”

  Fresh strength flooded Finn at that. He thought of Rey fighting alongside him again, the Scrappers reunited, and Archex’s own formidable brought to bear. Let’s see Phasma try to get through all of us then. He met Numa’s burning gaze, and nodded.

   They ducked back out and resumed firing, the enemy barrage faltering slightly as attackers ducked into cover. A handful of Stormtroopers were dropped – Finn drew a bead on one and shot him between the lenses of his helmet. It wasn’t the line of heavy cannons they had had before, but even against Phasma, they should be able to slow the advance down. That would buy time for reinforcements to get down here.

  Phasma’s new, synthesised voice rang out, quite audible despite the cacophony of fighting. “Where are you, FN-2187?” It was enough to make Finn falter for a second; he saw others hesitate too. “Is the other traitor with you? No… I get the feeling that it’s just you over there. Still afraid of me, I take it?” There was a pause, maliciously drawn-out. “Not without good cause.”

  That was when Finn saw Phasma’s answer to their defence. The front rank of Stormtroopers suddenly parted, and a blocky and elongated shape erupted out of the dust clouds, crunching through debris. He didn’t know just what vehicle it was, though he thought it might be one of the civilian transports, or maybe a security car. It was difficult to tell with the thing already in flames as it hurtled towards them. After that, it became wholly impossible to identify it, because the enemy had loaded it with explosives.

  Finn didn’t know that from looking, but he knew this could only be bad news. “DOWN!” He hurled himself on top of Rose and Ki’rii, bearing them to the ground and back behind the corner. Nyzar grabbed Numa and swept her after him, LM-276 hunkering down behind them.

  The tram, or whatever else it was, slammed into the wall close by and detonated, shredding masonry and pouring out fire. The explosion roared out and took all sound with it. And just like that, they no longer had a viable defence.

  Finn smacked into the wall, feeling breath escape his lungs without hearing it, his head ringing with a noise which felt alien while nothing seemed to reach his ears. He saw nearby soldiers caught by debris or suddenly aflame, mouths distorted by silent screams. Numa lunged back into sight, signing frantically before shouldering her blaster and firing again, out into the mess of smoke and dust. Finn gritted his teeth and joined her. Sound bled back in gradually; screaming seemed to be coming from everywhere. 

  The First Order units were already moving. Phasma came into view again, flanked by her looming escort of Dark Troopers. All were firing, shrugging off what the Resistance soldiers threw at them.

  Finn’s blaster stopped spitting. He let it fall slack, going for his pistol and unloading that too. A First Order Marine went down, chestplate full of smoking holes. Finn ducked a shot he wasn’t sure he’d seen coming, and blew that attacker off his feet. Another winged his shoulder guard, almost sending him to the ground, but he caught himself and fired back again. He was aware that he was screaming, less because he could hear himself than because he could feel his lungs emptying, clenching fistlike to hurl his anger out into the dust and smoke. 

  The pistol ran out, but then Rose was next to him, swapping out the power pack in his rifle for a fresh one, then taking the pistol as Finn opened fire again. That was better. It still wasn’t enough.

  All around him, Finn could feel the fear setting in. It was there in the grimaces which stretched desperately, the triggers being held longer than they should, the shots going wide from blasters in shaking hands.

  “Hold your ground!” Numa yelled over the din, her words just about registering to Finn’s brutalised ears. “Stand and-”

  But Phasma had already taken aim. A blaster bolt struck Numa in the shoulder, spinning her around. With a short, strangled cry, the commander collapsed.

Chapter Text

  “At them!” was a fine thing to yell in battle, but it didn’t really capture what it meant for Poe and his squadrons to reach the enemy’s massive hauler craft. On the holo, Kaydel watched their hurtling, twisting progress through the enemy swarm. TIEs flocked between the Resistance pilots and their targets, seeking either to throw off their attacks or kill them outright. Black Squadron veered, dipped, jinked, fired constantly and still barely fought their way through, as did the rest. When they did, they faced the cannons built onto the transports themselves.

  Black Squadron came through just about intact. The other squadrons simply didn’t – everyone else lost someone, at least someone. Some followed Poe and his fighters in striking their targets, but others couldn’t even get close. Kaydel felt her grimace deepening. Two squadrons were already down by half, hastily merging for fear of being picked apart entirely. The glowing blue formations which represented the Resistance craft to Kaydel were rapidly thinning, and however many red dots the enemy shed, it didn’t seem to have much effect.

  “Gold Six is gone!” was just the latest, but one of the most wince-worthy. Y-Wings, with their heavy torpedo payloads, were among the craft they could least afford to lose. Their best shots at keeping out whatever was in those damned bulk landers.

  Kaydel’s eyes were drawn to one of the little holographic symbols, which showed a fatally damaged starfighter spiralling toward earth. The icon told her that it was one of Silver Squadron’s. With a surge of relief, she saw the flicker of symbols which signified the cockpit detaching, and the sudden appearance of an ejector seat’s parachutes. That pilot might just make it back to the city.

  Her elation only lasted for that split-second, before she saw TIEs closing in on that escapee. The icon winked out. Nausea took over from Kaydel’s momentary hope. Hux’s goons were going after people who couldn’t hope to fight back. Kaydel saw more of the enemy adopting that tactic, streaking low across the plain and spewing laser fire. She wrenched her eyes back to the fighting around the transports.

  Leia had told them all about seeing the Empire fire on escape pods, and so the rational part of her wasn’t surprised to see the First Order do likewise. She herself had been aboard one of the Raddus’ shuttles as the Supremacy picked them off above Crait.

  Still, even as this distance, the feeling part of her felt horrified shock, and boiling anger in her stomach. And all she could hope for was that the pilots would avenge their comrades, and pour all her focus into the part of her which was all thought.

  But there was worse, during a brief lull, when she turned to the channels which broadcast from below, and tried to raise Finn. The techs had restored the connections, but the result was a storm, half static and half screaming. Neither Finn nor Rose’s voices were discernible, nor any of the officers descending to the lower levels. In truth, she couldn’t make out a word from anyone, but clearly things had gone hideously wrong in the lower levels. The communications officers all knew that, even before the static and screaming were swallowed up by shooting.

  The core of the Resistance defenders had fallen back again, spiriting away their fallen leader. The collapse had happened too quickly for them to empty the civilian shelters on this level, and not all those caught out in the open had managed to keep behind the soldiers. The result was a stampede, and a massacre, for in their wake the First Order advanced, dealing with those left behind. Phasma wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Phasma had always disliked Twi’leks. True, she had never had any fondness for nonhumans of any sort, even those few on her homeworld. But there was something offensive about Twi’leks in particular. 

  The species just didn't seem to fit its harsh world. They were too garish, too associated with softness and decorative functions in wider Galactic society. Phasma knew that wasn't an accurate impression; she'd killed enough Twi'leks to know they could fight like devils, and Ryloth wasn’t all that different to her own homeworld. Yet the impression had persisted. Perhaps it was their colours. Such a variety of vivid hues, amid this environment, reminded some part of Phasma of the Arratu on Parnassos with all their florid fabrics. That took her mind back to the Arratu arena, and that just made her want to kill.

  Fortuitously, she had a plethora of targets. In particular, targets which the Resistance had believed to be safely outside her reach. It meant that, as much as she was able in her machine-bleached state, she was enjoying herself now.

  “This is just another hive extermination,” she told her troopers, felling a knot of running civilians with a volley. “Just another cull.” She fired a burst into a wounded Twi’lek’s chest, and marched on. “The only difference between this and the Lylek colony is that these animals are easier to kill.”

Her next victim staggered, his lekku waving this way and that. Those appendages were another source of irritation to Phasma, unvaryingly striking her as strangely, irksomely impractical.

  "Captain," called a sergeant, interrupting her thoughts. “Hostiles and civilians in a bunker to our right!"

  Phasma didn't break her stride. "Ready flamethrowers," she told two Dark Troopers, her own emerging from her vambrace with a mere thought. To the one nearest the door she said, "Break it open."

  Black metal fingers ripped into the metal, before the trooper hauled the door aside and the rest flooded the opening with fire. The screams were instant, and lingered, until she ordered thermal detonators hurled in as well. That made it a quick job.

  "I hope you can see this, Cardinal," she rasped. "I hope you can see what your children have done for me."

  "Captain?" The sergeant was still at her elbow.

  She turned to him. "We must keep striking the enemy's morale. We need to make this hurt." She turned to face forward again, and thrust up a gleaming fist. “Advance!”

  The carnage was all around Finn now, a nightmare of shadow and flames. There was nothing even resembling a line, as the First Order tore into soldiers and civilians alike. The only way to go was backwards. The enemy had come on too fast, blazing with hatred, without losing their formation. Spearheads plunged deep into the mass of Resistance soldiers and civilians.

  The Scrappers and the units around them had held out long enough for Numa to be hauled away, but too many soldiers had died even in that effort. Either side of them, things had got even worse as formations came apart and the enemy rushed into the gaps. Now his squads were almost engulfed, and as they tried to fall back they were hit repeatedly on their flanks.

  Finn yelled and shoved others ahead of him, but too many fell behind. The First Order came down on the stragglers in a tide of brutality. A Twi'lek soldier went down, smashed to the ground with a Riot Trooper's cudgel and finished off with blaster butts. Another got a combat knife in his gut. Marines discharged their weapons point-blank, into and even through the defenders. Blood slicked the floor in places where flechette rounds had done their hideous work. In the wake of the advance forces, Flametroopers doused buildings and people indiscriminately. 

  This was the true face of the First Order. Like the Empire before them, they presented a polished, mechanical aspect which was almost bland in its impersonality. Yes, they were violent, and unapologetically so, but they were precise and economical. It was how they had tamed great tracts of the Unknown Regions. They were civilised.

  Were they hell. In the lower levels of Nabat, the shiny betaplast mask had slipped, and what lay beneath was the kind of barbarity they'd denounce in any other culture. Finn had seen the records of their conquests, out in the Unknowns, and he knew that the cruelty here went beyond anything displayed by the cultures destroyed by the rising First Order. This was the savagery which had levelled alien kingdoms across the uncharted stars for three decades, while the First Order waited for the day when they could do the same to the wider Galaxy. At the heart of the regime was an apex predator’s savagery, or perhaps that of a trained attack beast, overlayed with advanced technology and drilled discipline which only empowered that monstrous aggression. All the First Order existed to do, when you got to the heart of it, was to kill and devour.

  And they were winning. Just as Finn’s night raid weeks ago had overwhelmed the guards at the gate, now the enemy were doing the same, but in far greater strength. This was no brief occupation, but a surge which could take them all the way to the reactors which powered the city districts. Maybe even further.

  As if the sights and sounds of fighting weren't enough, the comms network was bombarding him too.

  “-coming out of the walls! They're coming out of the crikking-” a burst of static or gunfire “-in swarms!”

  “Where's the sarge, where's Nethimil?” Surely that was the last survivor of Nethimil’s unit. Finn hadn’t even seen the officer since the initial breach.

  “The sarge is gone, I don’t see any officers, just get the kriff out of here!”

  It was hard to resist the icy trickle of fear which all those yells or screams provoked. It’d be easy to give in, be the prey animal to the enemy’s predator and just flee.

  The memory sprang out at him like a blaster bolt out of the murk. Just like that, he was back in the training simulator, hunted by simulated Geonosian warriors through the tunnels of a digital hive. Their cadre age had only been eleven or twelve, and the platoon had splintered at the onslaught as the aliens came from all sides and above.

  The instructors had pushed them especially hard that day, probably intending to take them to the breaking point. At some point the simulation had overridden their rational minds; the battle had become real, and the terror had taken hold of all of them.

  Archex's words had carried over the voice channel when all seemed lost. "Put yourselves back together! If your comrades are panicking, halt them and calm them! You are trained to bring order to the Galaxy, so you can damn well bring order to your own formations! It’s that or defeat!"

  It was the kind of emphasis on comradeship that Phasma's regime buried under aggression and pure obedience. But Finn had dragged that wisdom up for the depths now, and he grasped it tightly.

  What could he use? The terrain. Phasma had picked this level because it provided access to the reactors. The approaches had been designed to make them as defensible as possible. That meant tight, angled passageways, mimicking trenchworks. On either side, the streets were similarly tight.

  Finn could use that. He switched his own comm to broadcast on all Resistance frequencies. "Hold your ground!” Before anyone could say anything, he ploughed on. “Find positions you can defend, and dig in."

  Someone protested. "Captain, we have to fall-"

  “Keep falling back and we're gonna run out of places to retreat to!” Finn responded. He punctuated the point with another volley at the oncoming enemy. Two Stormtroopers went down. “I need squads to form up on my position! Hold your ground” he bellowed again, drowning out those still panicking. Others took up the cry. At first it was just the Scrappers, but that was plenty when it was roared out in Nyzar’s booming voice and LM’s metallic roar. No one could rival those two old gladiators when it came to delivering a war cry. Finn began to hear it from other throats as well, making it into a mantra. 

  That felt better. He had control again. When he refocused, the clamour of battle became a firebreak of sorts. It distracted Finn’s mind from the unknowable big picture. He confined his questions to the tactical, demanding intelligence from the other forward units.

  Answers came. How many? Only a few companies. What composition? Well, that was the bad news - Phasma and her Dark Troopers, backed by a mixed force. Stormtroopers, Flametroopers and Riot Troopers, with the Marines spearheading the attacks.

  Through the howling and jabbering over the comm, one thing became very clear – they were advancing fast everywhere, not just where Finn could see them. Containment was faltering, failing completely in places.

  So it became about interception, not just reinforcement. There were, however, reinforcements again, and the Resistance began to regroup once more. Someone had realised the danger before anyone else, and started redirecting squads to flank the attackers. The Twi’lek soldiers had seized on the solution. Quickly applying their knowledge of the city, they led their offworld allies to the best chokepoints. Right now, Finn was following their lead, focusing on fighting and keeping morale up.

  The enemy, momentum stalled, were testing their chokepoints. He suspected it was only last until Phasma caught up to her faster vanguard units, but for now, things were still hot. One squad nearly broke through, Finn coming face to face with a Riot Trooper sergeant who bulled at him, lashing with his shock-baton. Finn went for his vibrosword, and the two of them traded blows, dust whirling around them as it caught the electric light from their weapons.

  Finn had come a long way from his fumbling efforts with a lightsaber, even if the vibrosword was much heavier. He deflected the first volley of attacks, the baton rolling off his defences, never giving ground. But the trooper was fresh, motivated, bursting with hatred. When Finn threw him back, the man bellowed, the sound twisted by his helmet grilled, and came on again. Finn blocked, but his opponent put more weight behind the weapon, and as Finn managed to turn him, he lunged in for a crunching headbutt.

  Even with his own helmet in the way, Finn saw stars. Somehow he kept hold of his sword and rolled away from a two-handed blow which cracked the floor. The next blow came at head height and took a chunk out of the wall.

  But by then Finn could see straight. Ducking to one side, he drew his blaster and fired. His attacker slumped, a smoking hole in the centre of his chest.

  Another Riot Trooper was already coming his way, but Nyzar interposed himself, knocking the man off his feet and then ramming his own vibrosword down. He wrenched the sword free, then turned to Finn with an apologetic look on his face. “Sorry I couldn’t reach you sooner,” he said. “The enemy came thick and fast.”

  “Still coming,” LM grated. A blaster burn was still smoking on his left shoulder, and the joint ground and spat sparks when he moved.

  Finn didn’t have time to query the droid’s physical state. With the weltering fire coming their way, he just had to trust in Arakyd Industries’ robust designs. At least it didn’t seem that LM’s gunnery was impeded, as he hefted his heavy blaster.

  From cover, they all took aim and let fly with their blasters. Stormtroopers fell by the dozen, surely taking chunks out of the incursion force, but not enough to turn them back. Too many of them were moving up and too swiftly, racing remorselessly past fallen comrades.

  There again was the hateful cruelty which was all the worse for how disciplined and clinical it was. The civilised masters of the First Order had programmed their Stormtroopers to pass a mortally wounded comrade by, if it meant killing another enemy.

  He channelled his disgust and anger into something useful. “Grenades!” Finn yelled, and they were sent sailing out into the enemy ranks. Still not enough. The enemy continued to advance, and enemy fire was creeping steadily closer to their positions. Over the comm it was worse. Multiple units on their left were crumpling, and others on their right. Finn could hear cut-off units dying.

  But now boots were drumming behind them, and blaster fire snapping overhead. Finn spared a glance, seized by fears of a pincer attack, but it was Archex he saw racing toward him out of the smoke, Thrasst and the other Nydarks right behind their captain. Several more soldiers were already blazing away, having climbed onto roofs and other vantage points above and to the rear of Finn’s people. So far as Finn could trust his still-ringing ears, the same manoeuvre was being carried out to either side.

  Once the rest of Archex’s troops got to the front, their blasters snapped up and the Stormtroopers met a redoubled storm of plasma. Grenades arced over the heads of the first rank too, and ripped holes in the surging enemy squads. Stormtroopers were thrown high, cartwheeling away in flames. Next thing Finn knew, the newcomers were enveloping the initial, battered defenders. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a wall had been thrown up between them and the enemy. Suddenly, the ground beneath Finn’s feet felt solid again.

  Archex’s hand landed on his shoulder. “What do we have?” the man enquired in a terse growl. “Marines in the lead?’

  “Yes, with flechettes. Plus Flametroopers bringing up the rear.”

  Archex nodded, grim but resolute. “A cunning deployment, but make no mistake. We can match them.”

  “And Phasma?” He didn’t try to mask the tension in his voice. Things were no longer in freefall, but they were still on the edge of disaster.

  The other man didn’t let his resolve waver for a second, at least not outwardly. “We’ll turn her back. Rey’s on her way down, and in any case…”

  More Resistance troops came up, heavy blasters and grenade launchers carried on mechanical suspensor harnesses. A fearsome array of firepower, more than Numa had been able to bring previously. Finn marked the satisfied smile on Archex’s face. The man had no need to finish his sentence.

  “We draw the line here,” Archex ordered, and his words were like metal bolts slamming home even as he ejected a spent power pack and punched another into place. He lifted his blaster again, eyes blazing as if his very gaze might burn through the oncoming foe. “They will come no further.”

Chapter Text

  Poe vented his fury on the transports’ turrets, Black Squadron following him and pouring fire onto the guns to clear a path for the bombers. They rolled to avoid the ensuing explosion, Poe already picking the next target. Silver Squadron went to follow, but were driven off-track by TIE Daggers. Poe had to send Blue Squadron after the pursuers.

  Violet Squadron were already engaged with the marauding TIEs, keeping them off Gold Squadron – it seemed like the best use of Trig’s fiery temperament. Poe remembered Wedge Antilles’ remarks about “gladiators” among the pilots. So I put her in the ring. It brought a fleeting smile to his lips, before the next X-Wing was hit and his mirth was ripped away.

  It was all too like the Starkiller raid, except against a moving target. Multiple moving targets.

  No, not just that. You’ve got bombers. You’ve got more fighters. You’ve got more experience.

  He forced his mind back to the task in hand. “Get in amongst them!” he ordered. “Give the TIEs less space to play in.” That, and they’d limit the point gunners’ ability to target them. Just so long as they could keep themselves between moving objects, evade enemy fire in that constricted space and keep up their own attacks.

  They could do it. Hell, there weren’t any other options.

  “See any openings, buddy?” he called to BB-8. The astromech had taken charge of the scanners, trying to find weak points on their targets as Poe cleared out their defences. Everyone else’s droids would be doing the same, as much as possible.

  “Noon high, noon high!” Suralinda cried as TIE Daggers appeared overhead, stooping on them through the narrow gap between transports.

  Poe hissed – he hadn’t expected them to be that bold. Then he was snarling with effort as he rolled, fired one of his repulsors to boost off the wall of metal that was the nearest transport. It was the kind of manoeuvre he’d only make alone, or with Black Squadron. They alone, of any unit in the fleet, were able to figure out what he was doing fast enough to mimic it. Even then it as close, as Suralinda’s swearing attested. On his starfighter’s console he saw her take a hit, but didn’t get a chance to take in any details.

  “Shields holding, Sura?” Jess asked urgently.

  “Yeah.” It was a growled reply. Suralinda would probably have kept on, talking about how someone would get dusted for that, but already they were coming up behind their attackers and lining up shots for their reprisals. Poe toggled his canons to alternating fire, swapping concentrated killing power for a constant stream of shots. One man’s overwhelming swarm was another man’s target-rich environment.

  So Poe hunted. He cut the wings from a TIE with a stream of red, then sliced across another and sent it howling up and to the side. It collided with a wingmate, and the debris swatted another TIE on the way down. Black Squadron followed Poe’s lead, and they carved out some breathing room.

  “Snap!” he yelled, using the squadron leaders’ channel. “Find any weaknesses your side?”

  “Only where we smashed some cannons,” his friend reported. Snap sounded strained – to all intents and purposes, Blue Squadron were in a whole other battle of their own right now. Multiple other wings were dispersed through this part of the battlespace, the better to identify a vulnerable hauler. For all the efforts of Jacen Syndulla and his pilots in orbit, though, none of the scarring Poe saw on these cliffs of armour suggested serious damage.

  He dodged more fire – BB-8 really didn’t need his attention split by Poe taking damage – and dealt out more in return. Most of the bombers were being held back, or directed to hit the walker-carriers instead for the moment. Those were a known quantity, and the Resistance knew their comparative weaknesses by now, but Poe knew he was losing time to inflict a meaningful hit on Stolan’s mystery package. Worse still, he was losing fighters. Every minute, another was shot down, or turned back with severe damage or depleted munitions.

  BB-8 whistled in his ear, then followed up with a rapid-fire blurt across the command frequency before Poe could even reply.

  “Everyone clear on that?” Poe said, not querying the information. He trusted his droid and besides, he was low on time.

  “All clear” came back to him from various mouths.

  “Good. Hit ‘em hard.”

  The astromechs had found the vulnerabilities they needed. Black Squadron whirled onto an attack vector.

  Rey and her fellows took the stairs without slowing, plunging into darkness and acrid smoke, and as they went, Kaydel’s caution proved well-founded. At least two of the lifts had been immobilised by a loss of power, leaving the occupants to try and clamber the rest of the way. It hurt visibility too, with whole levels illuminated by blood-red emergency lighting or not at all. Worse, as they reached the level under attack, they found Stormtroopers moving up to intercept them.

  “Cover!” Rey called, igniting her staff to block the blizzard of shots which came her way. Above and behind her, the others dropped to their knees, firing over the rails while Rey occupied the enemy’s attention. Stormtroopers fell, clattering back down the stairs, and that thinned their ranks enough for Rey to get in among the rest and send them tumbling after their comrades.

  Ataru principles looked like the best way to go about this fight, relying on mobility and momentum, at least until they linked up with Finn and the others further down. Rey had put her enemies off balance and now she fought to build on it, pressing forward and down. The enemy didn’t seem to have expected to be met with real opposition this soon, though Rey tempered that thought with caution. She hadn’t got near the most dangerous invaders yet.

  Those were getting closer, causing more destruction with every step. To Rey’s senses, the Force resembled a blizzard, a vortex of terror and pain. Not that far below her, Nabat’s most vulnerable - Twi'lek children, parents, the elderly and infirm- were being hunted.

  She plunged into that fear just as she did into the acrid, stinging smoke on the breached level. Most of the lights were out here, and the fires threw out more fumes than glow. Those conditions daunted her, and only fed the terror of those under attack.

  Worse still, she could feel the triumphal rage of Phasma’s Stormtroopers, who had created this vision of hell and took pleasure in it. It was the pleasure of being vindicated in prejudice, of being loosed to wreak violence upon vulnerable prey, believing oneself to be right in doing so. Rey tasted bile. They were bringing the Dark Side with them into this place.

  It took immense effort to rein in her own anger as it surged up in response. It strained against the leash like a harnessed Reek, but she fought it down. She delved deeper, chasing the root of her fury. She cared for these people, so she would cling to that. She would shield them, and she would not become a vessel of hate, like those who came against her now.

  That made her defences airtight, allowing her to centre herself in the determined calm which Soresu demanded, winging Stormtroopers with deflected blaster bolts. Then she was on them, breaking suddenly into Ataru’s rapid cadences and smashing a path through their formation as she loosed her urge to halt them, to deliver the Force’s verdict on their dark deeds.

  This time, the enemy were ready for her. Riot Troopers came forward, shields pushing bullishly and shock-batons swinging down, the Marines right behind them. Rey swerved and deflected the blows, then hammered back, Ki’rii drawing her own baton and striking alongside her. The others had fanned out, firing in support. Rounds snapped over Rey’s shoulders. Betaplast chunks flew from shots and strikes. They pattered off Rey’s shoulders, reminding her that she wasn’t in full armour, just what she’d had time to pull on  over her pilot’s undersuit. Her squad, and her skill, would have to be her protection.

    Another Marine lunged in close, gun levelled at her face. Rey thrust her staff upwards, catching the barrel with its haft. She heard the bark of release and the razor scream of the filaments, felt them shred the air right above her head.

  Mercifully, more comrades were drawing close. Blue flashes suddenly backlit the troopers in front of Rey, then others were coming from the sides and now enemy soldiers in her line of sight were being dropped.

  The clouds parted to show dusty and battered soldiers, who now parted to let a tide of civilians through. Rey and the Scrappers hastened down off the stairs and made way, then moved on. Shaken though the soldiers were, they all fell in line immediately, now they had a Jedi to rally too.

  “Kaydel,” Rey tried on the comm. This time, she got an answer.

  “Rey, thank the Force. Captain Archex is moving ahead of you, came down the northwest stair.”

  Long years of navigating shipwrecks and fortifications had taught Rey to memorise terrain, and she’d made sure to do so with Nabat. Already her mind was sketching routes to where Kaydel had pinpointed Finn and Archex, along with the other reinforcements. But more immediately, it was guiding her toward the nearest sounds of blaster fire, bringing her around on the flank of a Stormtrooper squad at a spring none of them saw coming.

  The first they knew of it was her staff blazing into electric life and sending the sergeant flying, trailing armour fragments. The next man was sent the same way by a shot from Chewbacca’s bowcaster. The third went down under Rey’s hammering overhead blow before he could even bring his blaster to bear. Another lunged with a shock-baton, only to be smashed to the ground by Ki’rii. The rest fell to blaster bolts and the Scrappers’ melee weapons.

  There were more squads beyond, encircling a knot of Resistance soldiers and the civilians who cowered behind them. They’d been alerted to the newcomers’ arrival, and their guns were already swinging around. “Cover!” Rey yelled, bringing her staff up to bat away shots while the others sprang behind what shelter they could find. To add to all their misfortunes, the shadowed and smoky conditions meant that an electrostaff drew the eye even more than usual.

  Luckily, the soldiers behind them were catching up, and now they opened up on the enemy as well. Some went down, but most made ground, darting between points of cover to fire and pitch grenades at the enemy. The trapped soldiers, suddenly finding themselves with a chance of salvation, redoubled their own efforts.

 The enemy didn’t retreat a single step. No surprise, when so many of them wore the heavy armour of First Order Marines. More than simply programmed soldiers, these would be fanatics, full of the aggression demanded for their role.

  Reaching them meant weaving through volleys of blaster bolts, and when Rey closed in they came to meet her. There was a captain with them, black-armoured and with a command cape swirling in the fire-born winds, and he lunged at Rey with a vibrosword.

  He was quick, and his greater bulk gave him more strength. But she’d fought deadlier bladesmen than this. Rey turned aside the first attacks, then caught his sword, shoved upwards, sent it and the man’s arm reeling away before hauled her staff down again. It crunched into his helmet and he staggered. Rey pulled the staff back and hammered it into the visor. Head lolling on a broken neck, he went down.

  Again, again, Rey cursed the loss of the old lightsaber, but she had no time to dwell on it. All she could do was fight on with the tools at her disposal.

  She sprang up, wheeling the staff around, calling upon the Force to rise higher than the enemy would expect. It carried her over the first rank of Riot Troopers and their raised batons, and brought her down like a thunderbolt on the head of the sergeant behind her. She swung away from a shot, spinning her weapon in an arc which blazed and hurled enemies away. It flattened most of the front rank she’d vaulted, and the rest were cut down by Resistance volleys as they staggered back.

  Rey sensed that. She couldn’t afford to spare a glance, except for the briefest look of acknowledgement shared with Cylarei as the Chiss commando came up on her flank, vibrosword flashing with firelight and its own electrical flicker. Next thing she was accelerating again, further into the mass of the enemy and driving them away from the enemy.

  “Up on the roofs!” yelled a Twi’lek sergeant, storming up behind the Scrappers with a squad at his back and then enveloping them. “Hold this position, we need the civilians out!”

  By then, Rey and her companions were beckoning to the people who’d been trapped.

  Two young Twi’leks emerged from the smog and tangle of people. Rey recognised them – Numa’s children. Recognition brought a lurch of renewed worry. “Cham, Johlula!” she called.

  They turned to look at her. “Captain Rey,” Johlula stammered. The two looked as bewildered and frightened as anyone else, more so if anything. But she had their attention, and she could use that.

  She crouched down in front of them, putting her hands on their skinny shoulders. “You two want to help? Grab everyone you can and move towards those stairs, get ‘em up to the next level. Stairs, not the lifts. Stay behind us!”

  Their heads bobbed. “Yes Captain!”

  Rey spared a glance as the two children shot away. Two people less to worry about, for now. Hopefully more, if the children were quick.

  Advancing into the darkness, her staff a fierce yet small light, Rey fought on.

  Black One veered between TIEs until, finally, an opening presented itself. Poe roared as he let fly with his remaining proton torpedoes. They – and those launched by the rest of Black Squadron – whipped through the air and struck the cracked armour plating on the hauler, going off in a ripple of explosions.

  It was a good hit, but the real blow was dealt by Gold Squadron’s Y-Wings. Their barrage smashed through the armour plating and most of the torpedoes detonated within. Fire and molten metal fountained. One whole half of the hauler’s side sheared away, the whole thing smashing down to earth.

  Normally there would’ve been whoops and cheers across the comm, but instead the mood was pregnant with the pilots’ need to know what they’d just shot down. Poe felt it most keenly of all, stealing every downward glance he could. If the smoke would only clear, they’d be able to see what was left of the cargo.

  “What the hell’s in these, to armour the haulers so much?” C’ai asked.

  “Damn big, whatever they are,” Suralinda said. “Big and blocky, I’d guess.”

  Poe restrained a tetchy remark about how many things that description could cover. In any case, the notion of a jibe died in his throat, as he finally beheld the hulking wreck below, and the thing it had carried. “Mother of moons,” he whispered. He knew exactly what it was.

  Had it just been on the ground, it could’ve been mistaken for a building. Even in its ruin it was massive; bigger than any walker, all sheer angles and slabbed metal plating. Suralinda’s guess had been right on the money.

  Straight away, Na was on the comm. “Commander! Commander, do you see it?”

  “I do,” he replied, grimly regarding the wreckage below for another moment before he turned his attention back to the battle. Moreover, he knew what these were now. “Ore-crawlers.”

  They were looking at the remains of a mining vehicle as large as a building, designed to strip every last shred of metal from a planet’s soil. They weren’t quite as vast as the Shu-Torun machines Leia and Chewbacca told stories about, but even wrecked, they were intimidatingly huge. Given time, they would plane entire continents flat. More to the point, much of their great mass was armour, and they had immense capacity.

  The other captains mostly made confused noises, but to Poe, it made a horrible amount of sense. Ore-crawlers were designed and constructed to withstand eye-watering levels of force, and if modified as Poe suspected, could carry hundreds of First Order soldiers each. They would be like the siege towers of some primitive world, set against the curtain wall of Nabat.

  Poe yanked his mind back to the here and now, bringing his squadron and Green’s bombers around, back under the cover of Silver and Red. The TIEs had renewed their onslaught in the wake of the first hauler’s destruction, pressing the Resistance wings harder. For all the fury they’d brought so far and the damage they’d done, the defenders’ position was becoming impossible.

  Kaydel was fielding queries and urgent missives from a dozen places at once. The enemy had landed Jet Troopers up on top and were bringing in gunships, and Juspabo was busy dealing with the intruders. Kaydel directed them as best she could, pointing them to each site as it was hit and identifying enemy units as she caught them, if she could catch them. If the First Order caused real damage to a hangar, that could be crippling for Poe’s squadrons. And every soldier who fell now was one less for when the enemy unloaded whatever they were bringing planetside.

  Next to her, Ezubzina was directing a number of the city’s anti-air guns, lining up shots and trying to thin the mass of craft descending on Nabat. She was working the flipside of Kaydel’s task, all her efforts put towards minimising the strength Stolan could call upon. Every telling strike reduced the odds for tomorrow, just a little.

  Of course, that long-term thinking only really applied if Kaydel ignored the reports coming on from elsewhere, and what was happening among the First Order siege lines. Stormtroopers were being mustered, not just to guard the sites where the ore-crawlers would be landed and roll out of the transports, but to board them. If the subterranean attack did its job, Stolan clearly meant to start a mass assault.

  Thinking about Phasma, down there in the depths, almost paralysed Kaydel with fear, even before she considered that Rey, Finn and Rose were down there now, out of reach along with Chewbacca and the other Scrappers. It was strangely numbing, like a blade rammed into your flesh but which you couldn’t feel. You knew the attacker would be working it, trying to tear up something vital. Above all, Phasma would be aiming for the city’s reactors; any second Kaydel expected the power to fail for one system or another. That wouldn’t be fatal straight away, but with the enemy massing outside and the surface levels of the city already under assault, it could start a cascading collapse.

  She shook herself physically, drew in a deep breath and used it to focus. Then she was putting her breath into snapping out new messages. “Hangar One, jet troopers coming up on your position, right of entrance estimate thirty seconds, second squadron right behind…”

  She kept any thoughts of Rey at the very back of her head.

Chapter Text

  Rey whirled, shot and hammered her way from one patch of cover to the next, a growing trail of soldiers behind her. Twi’leks and offworlders alike rallied to their Jedi, though whether that was faith in the Force, or eagerness to have some of the Resistance’s deadliest commandos at their head, she decided not to wonder. The example of the Scrappers had sparked anew the courage of those fleeing the ambush, and encouraged who’d followed them to relieve the defenders down here.

  Still, despite the weight of troops behind her, Rey had to fight hard, and she felt difficult choices pressing in as she neared the heart of the fighting.

  She found survivors here and there, dug in, but too often they were surrounded by the bodies of those who hadn’t made it. In other places, she found nothing but the dead heaped together, soldiers and civilians alike. It was only getting harder to hold back the malignant snarling of the Dark Side at the back of her head, telling her to repay these monsters in kind for all the hurt they had inflicted. She fought it, shunning the temptation to turn the enemy’s own hate back upon them.

  She was a Jedi. She was here to protect those she cared about, not to deal out destruction in hatred. Whether that was Jedi wisdom of something Rose had said, she couldn’t recall. In any case, she’d cling to it.

  Seeking tactical guidance – at least there, she might be able to get some advice – she contacted Archex. “Captain, we’re here and have engaged the enemy. Moving to join the frontline units.”

  The reply came with scarcely a moment of deliberation. “Negative. Get to the district reactor instead.”

  Rey could scarcely compute that. “What?”

  A series of heavy, crackling impacts rang out across the comm before Archex responded. “Phasma will be looking to flank us or break through, then sever the sector’s power supply. The troops guarding the reactor are already reporting contact. It has to be your priority.”

  “Archex,” Rey protested, dropping rank in the heat of the moment. “If I don't reach those squads, they'll be slaughtered!”

  "Listen to me," the older man insisted, and his tone was adamantine. "You can't save them and reinforce the guard at the reactor. If it goes down, the city falls. You know what you have to do. Uphold the mission, protect the city."

  Finn spoke in a voice which suggested he wanted to grind his teeth, but had reined himself in. “Rey, he’s right.”

  A frustrated sigh hissed from between Rey’s teeth as she cast around for an idea. “What if we get ahead?” she asked. “I can flank Phasma, take some of the heat off our units around the reactor. We can threaten her directly. That could delay a full attack on the reactor.” She hoped that would be enough.

  Archex had pulled Finn back just a little from the front when Rey made contact. They still took their own intermittent shots, but for the moment, they were letting the others do most of the fighting.

  That in itself was a mark of how much Archex had stabilised the situation. The enemy were still moving up, closer to their position, but plainly the bulk of the invading force was trying to work their way around. Other Resistance units were moving to intercept, though Archex was loath to give the enemy an opening here.

  Next to the captain and looped in on the comm, Finn had heard the whole exchange. Now he spoke up in support of his friend. “Rey’s right. She’s got the other Scrappers, she can hit them where they're most vulnerable,” he told Archex. “If she can break through, she can attack Phasma’s escape route.”

  And there was the factor which Rey had left unspoken. She wasn’t just a threat, but a lure. The one remaining Jedi in the Galaxy was a prize and then some. Capturing or killing her would make the career of the lowliest soldier.

  Archex exhaled; with all the fighting down here, any amount of thought took real effort. Finn himself couldn’t spare a glance from his own fight, full of targets as the area was. Still, he thought he heard something of a smile under the terseness in Archex’s voice. “Yes, that could work.” He switched channels. “Rey, proceed to intercept. Confirm when you’re engaging and we’ll push forward as well.” His voice turned into a growl, and he didn’t hide his eagerness. “We might actually have a shot at her.”

  Over the comm, Rey seized on that. “If nothing else, we can throw her off balance.”

  There was a growl of acknowledgement from Archex. He loosed another volley, taking two onrushing marines off their feet before he spoke again. “I don’t think we’ll kill her down here, but we get her to retreat.”

  “Right now,” Finn interjected as he shouldered his own blaster, “that’s good enough for me.” He looked at Archex. “I wanna take my squad and some others, and hit her flank from another angle.”

  Concern vied with the caged fires of battle-fury in Archex’s eyes. “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve had worse odds,” Finn told him. “We’ve got our breath back, thanks to you. The Dark Troopers can’t move all that fast in here, without their rockets. And like you told me, Phasma’s no true believer.”

  Rose nodded, slotting a new power pack into her blaster. “If we throw off her momentum enough, that’ll send her into retreat.”

  Archex looked at them both. “Then what are you waiting for?”

  Up in the air above Ryloth, good enough didn’t really exist. Poe was all out of torpedoes, confined with his squadron to running support for those bombers still unloading ordnance into the sides of the haulers. And even within that limited role, he was horribly aware that he couldn’t do enough.

  Gold Squadron, what remained of them, had long since dropped away, shadowed by Silver Squadron and others in an effort to get them back to Nabat alive. So had the Rylothian bombers. 

 The B-Wings of Cyclone Squadron had taken over, bringing their composite-beam lasers to bear on the haulers’ armour. Those craft were incredibly potent, and had been hoarded carefully, waiting for a suitable opportunity or a sufficiently big and dangerous threat. Now they had it, the pilots were making up for lost time. Poe saw the glowing slashes they cut along the steely flanks of the enemy giants, but even then it took multiple passes to get through. And every one of those passes exacted a toll, another bomber damaged or destroyed.

  For all that, the gains were pitiful. Only one more of the biggest haulers had gone down, under ferocious, concentrated attacks from all sides. Even then the Resistance had paid heavily, with two whole squadrons of fighters lost and several others savagely reduced.

  Poe was running low on options. Gallingly so. Seeking anything he could leverage, he tried the command centre below. “Kaydel, can we range any of these ships with the surface-to-orbit cannon?”

  Her voice was filled with disbelief. “You're asking-”

  But Poe was too busy preserving lives, taking those of the enemy and somehow clinging to his own for rhetorical questions. “Fire on a target in-atmosphere, a fraction of the intended range, stupid to ask – yes I'm asking that! Can they do it?”

  Ezbubzina's voice broke in before Kaydel's shock wore off. "We will try, commander."

  Poe closed the channel. That was the best he could hope for, and there were a lot of TIEs trying to kill him. He responded in kind, hoping that his allies below would be able to do something to alter the situation up here.

  Still, he wasn’t actually expecting the moment when, a few minutes later, Kaydel opened a cross-squadron channel and yelled for them to clear a whole section of the airspace. No one was, so Poe had to echo the command. “Black Squadron stick to me, tight as you can!”

  The other squadrons did the same. Cannons blazing away on full auto. Fighters spiralled, carving escape vectors through the swarm of TIEs. The enemy seemed taken by surprise, unsure what was happening. Poe wasted no time. “Trajectory is clear of friendlies!” he barked to Kaydel.

  Kaydel must have signalled to Ezubzina, because the next voice Poe heard was the artillerist. “Firing!”

  “Everyone, brace yourselves!” Poe yelled.

  Next thing, the air around Black Squadron convulsed, as something bright and furious cleaved through the air above his fighter along with every TIE in its way, until it found its mark – one of the landers.

  The heavy armour which held out against starfighters and bombers had no answer against a plasma projectile meant to gut Star Destroyers. It seared all the way through the transport. Molten metal erupted from the far side, tracing an arc up into the heavens, stretching away towards the horizon. What was left of the ship slewed violently before it broke into three large fragments, each entering a terminal plunge with a shower of debris following them. Its contents spilled with far greater force than the previous landers they’d brought down – the cannon had badly mangled the ore-crawlers as well, before the ground finished them off along with the lander.

  Trig, it seemed, was getting her wish. The anti-orbital cannon very nearly did blast its targets all the way to the Nightlands.

  But it was the only shot they were going to get with the big gun, and now the fighters were dangerously close to the anti-air emplacements below as the landers sank toward their destination. This fight was only going to get more costly for Poe’s squadrons.

  Phasma’s vanguard knew they were on a tight timeline, outnumbered by the Resistance forces in the city, but they were sure of their superiority. They had been trained all their lives, given the finest arms and armour. They were with Captain Phasma herself – even if their leader, slowed by her Dark Trooper bionics, wasn’t by their side just yet. Even without her, they would crush the enemy between them and the reactor. That would start a cascade of system failures, crippling the defenders. They would win glory for this, elevation. Perhaps even names.

  They would not fail. Certainly not against the Twi’lek soldiers they’d backed into corners, there to be finished off with grenades, flamethrowers and the razored storms of flechette volleys. Which was why they were taken so unpleasantly by surprise, when the Jedi came hammering into their ranks like a thunderbolt.

  Rey was ricocheting, trusting momentum to keep her alive as much as she did her companions. It propelled her staff through every strike as she veered between Riot Troopers, scattering them. Cylarei and Tannel were only a step behind her, vibroswords constantly cutting and stabbing even as their blasters spat plasma. Behind them, Chewbacca and the other soldiers kept up a steady barrage while medics raced into the boltholes of the suddenly rescued squads.

  Not that they were out of danger. At least one of the enemy had a missile launcher, and had brought it to bear. Rey saw the flare and, acting on instinct, caught the projectile with the Force. For a second she fought for control, before she spun it round and sent it shooting back into the enemy ranks.

  It went off more violently than she’d reckoned with, however. Perhaps it hit another missile or a demolition charge, a force multiplier for the blast, but a fist of fire punched up into the high ceiling and brought of masonry chunks down on the heads of the Stormtroopers. Those not incinerated or hurled away were simply flattened. Rey threw up a barrier against the shockwave, flinching as she took the shockwave, and those around her lurched back. Mercifully, that seemed to just be from shock.

  “Crik,” said Cylarei, then looked at Rey and shrugged. “Well, that’s one way to hold them up.”

  Rey was already moving, free hand moving to her comm. “We’ll go around.” She opened a channel. “Finn, slight change of route.”

  “Got it,” Finn told Rey. He redirected his squads with a chopping hand, then led them on a route which wound through the side passages, sighting down his blaster through the smog.

  Now that the shock of the attack had worn off, he felt as though he was rushing back into the raid on the Jakku village, though this time he was on the other side, and firing in anger. He'd seen First Order cruelty plenty of times in battle by now, but this particular fight brought those memories blazing to life. It was all so very Phasma. Go for weak points the like of which the Resistance could never dream of striking.

  It felt good to be running forward again, even if Finn’s feet were propelling him headlong into the fire. The Resistance had taken some measure of the initiative. He was running into the fire, but he was doing so with a contingent of fresh reinforcements to back him and the Scrappers.

  Added to that, they had surprise. The First Order hadn’t expected the Resistance to rally as fiercely as this, and not this soon, even after Archex had halted them. The Stormtroopers Finn sprang out at reacted quickly, but not quickly enough.

  At least, that was how it went with the scattered units in the side streets, and the first enemy squads when they broke onto another thoroughfare. There were others, to either side, and after the initial raking volleys it was a matter of dodging into cover, and a more measured exchange of fire. The vanguard was broken off from the units behind them, hit on both sides.

  “I see the Jedi!” came the cry from his right.

  “Then don’t let her down now!” Finn yelled back, still not sure if he dared hope yet. “Keep firing!” He unloaded his blaster into the oncoming Stormtroopers. “And don’t hit our own people!” he hastily added.

  Rey saw the enemy backlit by blasterfire, some Stormtroopers turning to face the Resistance at their rear. She spun into cover, drawing her own pistol and firing rather than wade into potential crossfire. The foremost of her followers skidded to a kneeling halt, allowing the soldiers behind them to fire over their heads.

  It wasn’t often Rey had a chance to hit the First Order with overwhelming firepower. She didn’t waste it, and nor did Finn’s people on the far side.

  None of the Stormtroopers conceded. With fanatical rage, they kept firing until the last was cut down. Rey winced at that, but then she thought of the slaughter they’d already committed, and how much worse they would have done had they not been stopped. She pressed forward.

  The Scrappers were reunited. The green of Finn’s armour was almost lost under dust and scorch, as was Rose’s, and it looked like they’d all caught a glancing shot or two, but they were still standing, still grimly determined, and Rey and Finn fell into lockstep as she accelerated past the soldiers in cover.

  Quick looks to either side and behind told Rey that their shared squad had all pulled through. That was a miracle in itself, and reunited, they were far deadlier. Phasma would rue her failure to reduce them.

  “Surviving?” she asked Finn, sparing another look for her friend’s battered appearance.

  “As always.”

  “So just about?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Rose?” Rey asked over her shoulder.

  “Likewise.” Rose managed to put a degree of humour into it.

  “And everyone else?”

  A barked chorus of ayes sounded.

  Rey grinned. “Let’s keep it that way.”

  A roar went up as she passed another band of holdouts, the cheering of soldiers who hadn’t dared believe they’d have cause to cheer again. Rey felt the swell of hope in the Force like a kindling fire, even as they bore down on a strike force of invaders and the Stormtroopers withdrew behind a wall of riot shields. It gave her fresh strength, and that carried her into a flying leap which brought her staff down on a First Order Marine before she swept the rest of his squad from their feet, betaplast fragments spraying in their wake. The rest of the Scrappers had formed up behind Nyzar and LM-276, their charge covered by fusillades from the squads behind them. The two gladiators struck the shield walls like twin torpedoes, and Cylarei and Tannel piled in behind them, vibroswords blazing and snarling, slicing and stabbing. Their arcs didn’t create the same swathes of destruction as Nyzar or LM’s did, but with their greater speed, they were quite enough for the Riot Troopers. And then came Ki’rii, shock-baton in one hand and pistol in the other, and Rose and Chewbacca, whose bowcaster blasted over the heads of those in front and made cartwheeling ragdolls out of Stormtroopers.

  Finn had followed Rey into the press, and the duo protected one another as they advanced. Other Resistance fighters were piling in now, either with their own melee weapons or batons taken from the enemy.

  “Drive them out!” Finn was calling out now, his sword crackling as he matched Rey’s pace. “Drive them out!”

Chapter Text

  Phasma’s advance was stalling, and her situation was growing precarious. The defenders hadn’t managed to hurt her, but her units were thinning out and that brought the risk of them concentrating fire on her ever closer.

  Archex, damn him, had moved a lot more quickly than she’d expected, the Jedi too. Phasma had a suspicion that the latter was the main reason for this adverse change. There were stories about Kylo Ren’s abilities to sense unseen dangers. Phasma had given it little enough credence, but then she had rarely served up close to the now-Supreme Leader. The Jakku raid had been a rare instance.

  Perhaps that scepticism came from her world of origin. Parnassos had had its share of stories about wizards and wind-weavers, just one of whom could have made a tribe supreme right across her home continent, but she’d never believed them. Hell, few people had. Life was short on Parnassos, and therefore the generations were many. Not once in any of those short-lived cohorts had anyone been known to exhibit the talent, so the world’s inhabitants gave it as little thought as they did the stories of sky-sailing vessels and light-throwing weapons. They focused on what was tangible and attested to, for very little could be trusted on their poisoned planet.

  Bitterly, Phasma thought she ought to have given more credence to the power of the Force after joining the First Order. Even if she’d known little of Snoke or Kylo Ren, there was the obsessive need which the high command had felt to destroy Luke Skywalker. They’d started the war ahead of schedule because they so feared the Resistance finding the Jedi Master. It stood to reason that Skywalker’s apprentice would have acquired some of the same dangerous abilities.

  This might also be Hux’s influence at play. Hux hated Kylo Ren and thought little of his abilities. He didn’t care for what he knew of Ren’s powers – or maybe it was a defence mechanism, scorn for what the general didn’t understand.

  She silently cursed her oversight. Besides anything else, she had learned the power of starships and blasters after she left Parnassos. She’d been too caught up in physical things, too certain of the advantage technology gave her. Perhaps too confident, after stalemating the Jedi. And that was one-on-one, not with her backed up by the rest of her squad. Let alone with Archex in the fray as well.

  Phasma wasn’t back within reach of the main enemy yet. There were still isolated knots of defenders and she killed those as she found them, moving towards the front established by faster combatants. Something had stiffened their resolve, though, and she was having to move more gradually, letting her reinforcements envelop her unit.

  She should have had Hux fit her with servos which would let her run, rather than being lulled by the promise of simple durability and brute strength. True, she’d never cared much for being in the death-or-glory charges. They tended to interfere with survival, and there was no shortage of Stormtroopers ready to do the dying; the shield of disposable idiots was ever-replenishing.

  Just how many had Phasma sent to their demise over the years? KM-8713 was the only one she could actually remember as an individual, besides UV-8855, once Frey of the Scyre Clan. The rest just merged into a faceless mass, identical in their armour. Fools, who’d bought the lie of Phasma wholesale.

  Still, she wanted the option of speed back at least, however strong she was. If she’d had that, she could have broken through already. She could have cut down the enemy who’d left her in need of rebuilding, sent the reactors cycling down and left the city naked to Stolan’s artillery.

  The thought also occurred to her that speed would also be helpful if she ever needed to retreat.

  She would have to request improvements to her bionics, when this was done. Assuming of course that Hux hadn’t decided she needed some weaknesses built into her new form. But more immediately, she would have to decide if this offensive could be sustained, and whether she could survive it.

  Now, unwelcome news was reaching her of a Resistance counterattack on the flanks. The damned Jedi had engaged the advance units in one sector, halting their assault on the reactors, and the Traitor had apparently joined her. If the First Order line broke, they might even pose a threat to the transports.

  Temporary though their reprieve would be, it rankled with Phasma. This wasn’t how the Galaxy was meant to work. Rescues in the nick of time, warriors holding out with nothing but hope… all of that belonged to children’s stories. That was all so Ryloth, she reflected. A world of ridiculous, colourful creatures, where Jedi and rebels won victories against all the laws of probability.

  Phasma had of course considered the possibility of retreat. She’d known the risks, and she certainly wasn’t about to die for Stolan’s early victory. Now she was starting to seriously consider if the time had come to act on that contingency, and how to go about it.

  An officer approached her, the commander of the Marine contingent. There was only one other officer of his rank down here, and that officer was back with the transports. “Captain, squads Seven and Twelve have engaged the enemy relief units. We can’t be sure they’ll hold.”

  “And the Resistance’s main force?”

  “They’ve started to push back. The reactor taskforce is routed, and another group of enemy reinforcements has engaged our other flank.” Phasma paid particular attention to the man’s tone. The Marines were fanatical even by Stormtrooper standards, but with so much going awry, this one actually sounded worried. “They’re going for the transports, confirmed.”

  Phasma weighed this carefully. If the assault on the reactors failed, then there could be no extraction from the air. She’d expected that when planning the assault; she’d traded guarantees of reinforcement for surprise, and for the glory of Nabat’s sudden collapse. Stolan had made the same calculation and taken the same gamble, eager to storm the city ahead of Vintalli’s schedule. But the Jedi’s sudden presence and the Resistance menacing the transports, those were unpleasant surprises. Especially as, down here, her supply of disposable idiots was strictly limited.

  And Stolan wasn’t here to face the consequences of the gamble down here. It was Phasma who was fighting down in the depths, with those particular enemies closing on her.

  Cardinal, Rey and FN-2187. Two of them, the traitors, had come intolerably close to killing her, back when she was solely flesh and blood, and the Jedi had put up a stern challenge despite Phasma’s new abilities. Their duel could have gone either way. Put all three of them together, with their best people moving in to support, and the fight could be close-run indeed.

  Phasma didn’t need that. Besides, the incursion had done a fair amount of damage. The Twi’lek commander wounded, maybe dead. That was one objective fulfilled, even before the dead enemy soldiers and civilians were taken into account. She wouldn’t face censure for falling short, under these circumstances. So she turned to the commander, speaking briskly. “Deploy two blocks east from here and call all vanguard units to your position, then hold. My units will relieve those facing the Jedi, and then return to reinforce you. We’ll catch the Resistance in a pincer movement and destroy them.”

  The officer eyed her silent, imperturbable Dark Trooper escort as if seeking a second opinion. If he truly was, he got none, and accepted their tacit agreement with Phasma. “Understood, captain.” He saluted and moved off, bellowing at his subordinates, exhorting them to greater heights of valour and fury. That left just Phasma and the Dark Troopers.

  Phasma didn’t stop to watch this display of perfectly programmed courage. Nor did she mourn the lives that were about to be unknowingly spent, enabling her withdrawal. She turned – and made for the transports.

  Rey and Finn, with Rose and the others at their backs, clawed their way toward the breach. It was gruelling and bitter fighting, and every bout saw Resistance troops go down, but they made dogged progress.

  They didn’t know what was going on up above, except for a couple of immense impacts which made the floor shake beneath their feet. At a guess, Poe’s squadrons had managed to bring down one of those immense transports. One more setback for the invaders.

  After a while, someone from headquarters managed to get on the comm – not Kaydel, but at least someone from up top, and bringing good news. Further reinforcements were descending to join them, and Archex had begun to slowly push back against Phasma’s main force. The captain herself hadn’t been sighted on the frontline since Finn and Numa’s improvised line had crumpled.

  “She might be retreating already,” Rose ventured.

  Rey shot a questioning look at Finn. She’d felt ice creep into her veins at the thought of confronting the cyborg again, and she wasn’t sure she dared to hope they could just drive Phasma out and bring an end to this assault. “Would she?”

  Finn took a moment to think, jaw working briefly. “She’s got form there,” he replied. “Phasma’s not one for last stands. If we make enough of a ruckus, I think we can scare her right out of here.”

  By now, they could see the tunnelling machines now, resolving out of the smog and shadows. They were ugly and imposing things. But right now, with only a small guard of Stormtroopers, they were vulnerable.

  The Resistance took cover and paused just long enough for Rose and Ki’rii to grab their quadnocs and scrutinise the machines. “Where are we hitting them?” Finn asked.

  “Anything that propels them,” Rose advised. “Tracks look like the softest targets.”

  “Drills and saws too,” Ki’rii said. “And of course, if the enemy left the doors open...” White teeth flashed mischievously amid the deep blue of her face.

  “Everyone hear that?” Finn called, and met with a chorus of assent. “Right.” He reloaded his blaster, checked the grenades on his belt. “Anyone who has or sees a thermal detonator, put it to use now!”

  This once, they threw caution to the wind and sprinted. Blasterfire filled the air, and while Rey’s staff whirled, it couldn’t bat away every bolt. Soldiers went down, spun around or punched off their feet by blaster volleys, but it got them in among the transports. Grenades were jammed into tracks or hurled through access hatches. In one or two instances, they met with screams. Then they exploded.

  More smoke billowed. Within seconds, three of the machines were fully ablaze. Rey flicked aside as a Stormtrooper, wreathed in fire, staggered from a doorway and collapsed. She reached out with the Force, and felt a wave of grim relief when she detected no life in him. Whatever atrocities the trooper might have committed, that wasn’t a fate she’d wish on anyone. Especially not when she remembered that the dead man would have been conditioned all his life for this purpose. He’d never had a choice.

  But she couldn’t spare another second to think about that. There were more transports to deal with, and more enemies.

  Finn twitched away from shots, but several almost winged him, and he heard screams from those who were less lucky. He dodged between whatever scraps of shelter he could get, the Resistance troops moving forward and leapfrogging each other under mutual covering fire.

  Those Stormtroopers left guarding the transports had adjusted, recognising their grim new situation. Now they drew together behind whatever cover was to be found, defending the remaining transports with suicidal determination. At least, most of them did. Others, caught away from the machines, were making directly for the tunnels. Finn understood their thinking; if they couldn’t protect their transports any further, they could at least clear the way for an escape on foot.

  Well, if it gets them out of the city, fine. He and Rose laid down a fresh volley, Chewbacca too, driving them fully into the breaches.

  He hit his comm. “Captain Archex, where are you?”

  “Moving slowly, but closer to you,” came the reply. “We’ve got enemy units boxed in. No sign of her, though.”

  “Noted.”

  Rose rapped on his shoulder guard. “Got two Rylothian companies on another channel. They’re moving up now, the First Order are retreating ahead of them.”

  “I see Phasma!” Cylarei shouted.

  A second later, Finn saw her. As far as he could see, the enemy captain’s armour was still quite intact, but much of the gleam was lost under dust and char. While she brought the heavy cannon in her hands to bear on the Resistance, raking their positions, and her Dark Troopers did likewise, she didn’t slow. Her squad moved, swiftly as their lumbering bulk would allow, for the surviving machines. Behind them, Stormtroopers fought on and died, caught by vengeful shots from their pursuers.

  Seeing a chance, Finn gave a yell. Scrapper Squad charged from cover, their bolder comrades sprinting in their wake. Rey went directly for Phasma, but the Dark Troopers had their weapons up and blazing. Rey wove between what cover she could find, firing back with her pistol. That accounted for a couple more Stormtroopers, but it did little more than scorch the already black armour of the Dark Troopers, and left no mark on Phasma.

  Three of the Dark Troopers lit up heavy shock-batons, detaching from Phasma’s unit and lumbering toward Rey, who took her staff in both hands. Finn pelted after her, wrenching out his vibrosword, and Nyzar and LM came along too.

  The two gladiators closed with one Dark Trooper, barrelling it away from Rey. That left her with two to face. She dealt with that by evading more than deflecting, spinning out of reach of one and hammering her staff against a joint, trying to keep one opponent between her and the other.

  Still, the Dark Troopers were lamentably tough. Finn could see that Rey’s strike had done damage, but she had only slowed the cyborg, not hobbled it. He closed the distance, bringing his blade around in an arc which sizzled and sheared through the armour of one arm. Not a deep cut, though, and now he was scrambling to get clear of the other Dark Trooper as it lurched menacingly into range. Finn ducked a swing of its baton which would’ve taken his head off, saw it bring up its other hand to fire its blaster, and swung for that. He didn’t destroy the weapon, but the shot went wide. Metal fingers flew.

  He heard Rey yell his name, and rather than look, he threw himself to the side. Something huge and crackling past through the space where he’d just been, then came for him again. He turned in time to see Rey send the blow wide. The Dark Trooper she’d been fighting must have seen a chance to swat the traitor and gone for it. It was a reminder that for all their bionics, these weren’t coldly logical machines. There was real, possibly insane, hatred burning behind those red eyes.

  Finn didn’t give himself any longer to think about that. Darting around Rey, copying her tactics from earlier, he thrust forward with his sword again. This time the blade bit deep into a joint, and the Dark Trooper let out a kind of grinding ground, which told of wounded servos.

  Its undamaged comrade surged forward, and Rey and Finn circled together, using their immediate opponent as cover. “Keep him busy?” she ventured after a moment.

  “Can do.” He regretted those words almost as soon as they moved, she going one way, he the other. He dodged two colossal swings, but the third was only warded off by a volley of blaster fire, which slammed into the Dark Trooper and sent it stumbling. Little enough damage, but enough combined impact could stagger these things. Good to know.

  Finn judged the angle of fire, tried to keep himself where the shooters wouldn’t have to risk hitting him. Behind him, he could hear Rey yelling out, and the heavy fizz-crashes which said she was striking hard. He couldn’t spare a look there yet. He just kept moving, evading where he could and deflecting when he had to, fighting not to lose the sword when he did so.

  It tried to fire its gun again, but this time he was ready. He slid sideways, swung up and cut deep into the barrel of the weapon. It almost cost him a broken neck, but as he skidded back, he saw the smoking mess he’d made of the gun. If his enemy wanted him dead, it would have to be done by hand.

  Now the Resistance’s blasters were beginning to have some impact. The Dark Trooper’s armour was becoming battered, even cratered, orange-edged holes showing here and there. Finn went for those with the point of his sword, and twice he was rewarded with a burst of smoke and sparks.

  A roar behind him, electronics giving what voice they could to mad fury, then a sharp and guttural shout from Rey was punctuated with another strike of her staff, and crash like a falling building. One Dark Trooper down. Rey didn’t waste a second, speeding in to assist Finn.

  “The leg!” was all he had time to say, but she understood. When the Dark Trooper swung again, Finn threw all his strength behind the sword and knocked it wide, then threw himself sideways to avoid its battering ram of a fist. But in its fervour to get at him, his enemy had let Rey slip out of reach. Too late it looked for her, and she was already attacking, spinning her staff before bringing it crunching into a knee joint.

  The metal giant lurched, falling to one knee. Finn sprang up on a boulder-sized chunk of debris, turning his sword point-down, and rammed it into an opening between the neck and the armoured carapace. Coils of electricity erupted around the blade. The Dark Trooper spasmed, and then the angry red coals that were its eyes went dark. The monstrous second life of a First Order soldier ended.

  Finn looked up from his grisly handiwork, breathing hard. He saw that Nyzar and LM had finished off their opponent, though not without LM taking his own share of mechanical damage. The armour of his left arm was badly mangled, and an ugly grinding noise suggested the joints or servos beneath had taken some punishment too.

  Beyond the Zabrak and the droid, however…

  “Phasma!” Finn retrieved his sword, gave Rey a momentary look, and then they were both running through the smoke and dust, toward the burning machines and the hole they’d torn in the wall.

  Phasma hadn’t stayed to watch her Dark Troopers die. She hadn’t even broken stride, as she moved toward the tunnels, and even now, as they came within sight of her, she simply vanished into the gloom. The last few squads of Stormtroopers formed a wall of white betaplast, selling their lives for her to get clear. Their volleys sent Rey and Finn diving for cover once more, held off at the last moment.

  “But we made you flee,” Finn growled, as he watched her go. He slumped against a piece of broken masonry, blaster still held level. “Dank ferrik, but we made you flee today, Phasma.”