GEN Presents:

Casualties of War
By Admiral Kyle Kessler

I had some trouble coming up with a convincing plotline for this story. Now that I'm no longer a fighter pilot, it's getting increasingly difficult to come up with anything interesting to write about. I mean, who wants to read about Vice Admiral Kessler's problems with manpower and Fleet budget cuts, or running out of essential office supplies like paper-clips? Let's face it, you pilots are the ones with the great stories to tell, a desk-bound Vice Admiral's adventures are pretty tame by comparison. Nevertheless, I think I somehow managed to capture the essence of the vast differences between the experiences of an Admiral and a frontline pilot. This story isn't all about combat, however, although there's enough of that in it. It's about loss of innocence, betrayal, duty and retribution. Themes which I suppose are pretty common in the stories of Kyle Kessler so far. Oh well, enough of you seem to be enjoying them, so why change it if it isn't broke?

Oh yes, readers of "A Conflict of Loyalties" and "Smuggler's Blues" will no doubt be pleased to hear that Kerrigan's back.

Prologue

He stood alone on the parapet, oblivious to the winds that howled and shrieked around him. The city stretched away below, shattered and scarred by war. Greasy streaks of smoke scarred the dawn sky, but the guns had fallen silent, save for the occasional crackle of small arms fire. There was nothing to left to fight over now. Only the most obstinate and desperate still resisted the inevitable. He’d succeeded; his work here was done.
He wondered how long the city had stood here overlooking the mouth of the great river delta. Thousands of years in all likelihood, not that it mattered now. The city had stood over this river for a long time, certainly. It’s great curtain walls once reckoned impregnable, but of course, that was a long time ago. Look upon my works and despair, ye mighty. The ghost of a tight, bitter smile flickered over his lips. Nothing built by the hand of men lasted forever.
Suddenly cold, he pulled the folds of the heavy greatcoat tighter about himself with one black-gloved hand, the other burying itself into a pocket. His fingers closed about a trinket of jewellery, but he resisted the urge to draw it clear. He knew what it looked like. He had no desire to look at it again, not now, not today. He considered throwing it away for a while. He could simply cast it into the screaming winds and it would be lost forever, scattered in the rubble that decorated the landscape for miles in each direction. But he knew he never would. He valued his past too much to deny its importance. That was his strength, and his failure.
After a while, he turned to face the anxious group of officers gathered a discreet distance away and signalled that he was ready to leave.

Aurora Prime.

Kessler didn’t like waiting. Not that he was an impatient man by nature, quite the opposite, but his time was precious and he tried to avoid wasting it wherever possible. Fleet Admiral Horn’s waiting room was better appointed than most, but that didn’t make the sense of wasted time any easier to bear. Soft music wafted gently from concealed speakers, playing something banal that he didn’t recognise. It was strange how something as inoffensive as easy listening music had the power to irritate so much. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it. Horn’s secretary looked up once more to check he was still waiting.
"Vice Admiral Kessler, are you sure I can’t get you a refreshment while you’re waiting?"
Kessler grunted, his contemplation of the evils of popular music disturbed. "Thank you, Lieutenant but no. I’d appreciate it if you could turn off this music though."
The secretary frowned, perhaps surprised at his unusual request, but her reply was interrupted by a silent signal from the TIE Corps Commander’s office.
"You can go in now, sir. Admiral Horn will see you now."
About bloody time Kessler thought. Gathering his briefcase and cap he straightened his uniform and strode into Fleet Admiral Horn’s office.
Horn looked up from his desk at Kessler’s arrival and dismissed a Colonel he’d been talking to. Kessler didn’t recognise her, whoever she was. She left with a nod of respect in Kessler’s direction and closed the doors silently behind her.
"Morning, Kess" Horn stood and extended his hand. Kessler shifted the briefcase to his left hand and shook Horn’s outstretched hand.
"Morning, sir. What’s up?"
Horn indicated a low table and two comfortable chairs at the side of the office. Kessler walked over to the table and laid his briefcase down on the surface, then waited for Horn to sit himself before doing likewise.
"How are you finding the new job so far?"
"Battlegroup Commander? Busy, I suppose, but pretty interesting. Now that Rear Admiral Naranek’s back from leave and taken over the Colossus again I obviously have more time to devote to planning ops here at my Headquarters office. It’s not too different to commanding a Squadron, just involves bigger numbers, I guess."
Horn smiled. "That’s a pretty simple way of describing it. Not too many of your predecessors would have described it like that."
Kessler shrugged, picking an imaginary piece of lint from his trouser leg. "It’s the way I see it, and it’s always worked for me, sir."
Horn stood, clasping his hands behind his back and gazing out of the bay windows over the bustling streets of Aurora Prime far below. "You ever wish you were back in the cockpit, Kess?"
Kessler grimaced. It was an old complaint, and one that was all too common in the Headquarters Wardroom Mess. He was surprised how quickly you could get bored of listening to Flag Officers complain about how much they missed starfighter combat. Kessler chose his words carefully. "I’m getting too old for that seat-of-the-pants stuff these days, sir. Flying’s a young man’s game, and I’m not as young as I wish I was anymore."
"But?"
Conceding defeat, Kessler smiled. "But yes. I do miss it."
A broad grin cracked Horn’s face. He turned and sat himself again. "Okay, let’s get on with business." He indicated an ashtray on the table. "Smoke ‘em if you’ve got ‘em."
Kessler smiled appreciatively and snapped open his briefcase, extracting a small wooden humidor. He picked out a cigar and lit it with battered old steel lighter, savouring the taste for a second, rolling the cigar between thumb and forefinger.
Horn watched in disapproval. "Those things will kill you one day, Kess."
"With all due respect sir, I couldn’t really give a good crap."
Horn laughed. "Don’t beat around the bush, Kess. Just say what you mean why don’t you?"
Kessler grinned. "My mother told me that flying TIEs would kill me. The instructors at the Academy swore that flying TIEs would kill me." He shrugged. "I’m still waiting."
Smiling, Horn picked up a pencil-like black instrument and pressed a stud. A holo display built into the table flickered into life.
"This is the Danturi System. It‘s one of the neutral systems, which borders our territory. One habitable planet, one government, one dominant humanoid species. They have a fairly low tech level, but abundant natural resources. They are, however, too far away from our power base to make an annexation feasible. Same story with the Argimiliar system – too close to the Rebs and too far from us to make an occupation workable."
Kessler nodded. He remembered Argimiliar quite clearly indeed.
"Well our gamble paid off in Argimiliar, but we don’t have the inclination or the need to do the same to the Danturi. The Danturi were sympathetic to us rather than the Rebellion, and have been providing material support to our industries, as I’m sure you’re aware. However, Intel have been warning us for some time that a revolutionary movement has been breeding on Danturi Prime. With the Argimillian situation occupying so much of the previous Fleet Administration’s resources, we were forced to ignore the situation and hope that Intel’s Counterinsurgency Ops would be enough to prop up the Danturi government."
Horn pressed another stud on the instrument in his hand, and the holo changed. Pictures of men waving flags and guns from what seemed to be a city wall; reams of battle statistics, facts and figures.
"It didn’t work, then?"
"Correct. A popular revolution broke out three weeks ago, combining a highly organised guerrilla force with several factions of the state military. The government has been imprisoned following a surprise "decapitation" attack on the capital which is now in revolutionary hands. We believe that this revolution was sponsored by our "friends" on the other side of the Minos Cluster, but have no direct evidence to support this." He switched off the holo. "We think one ISD with a Battalion of Stormtroopers should be enough. You get the job. Pick one of your ships and get out there. Crush the revolution and restore the elected government to power. Do it anyway you like, but do it fast. We expect results within two weeks. Much longer than that and the new government will doubtless open negotiations with the Rebellion to ask for protection from us. If we allow that to happen, the shit will definitely hit the fan, and you and I will both be flying garbage tugs for the rest of our sorry lives." Horn sat back in his chair and picked up a cup and saucer, raising the drink to his lips. "Unlike you, I don’t miss piloting that badly."
Kessler blew out a cloud of blue smoke with a hiss. "I’ll need a full Intel brief on the situation."
"Already done. There’s a data dump on the way to your office and Intel is sending a man over to brief you personally. Major Ruegen I believe his name is. He’s pretty good from what I’ve seen of his record."
Kessler snapped his briefcase shut and stood, pulling on his gloves. "Well I guess I’d better get back to my office and start cancelling everyone’s leave." He saluted smartly and left. Fleet Admiral Horn sipped his tea, smiling an enigmatic little smile. Things were looking up.

Battlegroup High Command occupied two floors in the East Wing of Fleet Headquarters. That space was occupied almost entirely by staff offices and civilian support, with a few conference and briefing rooms thrown in for good measure. Kessler’s general staff was almost entirely unchanged from that of his predecessor – Admiral Andurin Piett. Piett had gathered an experienced and very effective cadre of support staff about him during his long tenure as Battlegroup Commander. Kessler saw no sense in messing with a set up that so obviously worked effectively.
His Chief of Staff – Colonel Darius Cherenkov was waiting for him to return. He was an experienced Fleet Officer, and had commanded a Frigate during the Civil War. He’d lost an arm while abandoning his ship during a skirmish with the Rebellion after the Battle of Endor, and had made his way to the Emperor’s Hammer territories thereafter. His unique organisational skills had been rapidly put to use, and he’d moved from one Staff position to another in the two years he’d been serving Grand Admiral Ronin’s Fleet. Kessler considered him indispensable.
Exiting the turbolift, Kessler nodded at the older man and the two marched off to his office.
"There’s a Major Ruegen from Intel waiting for you in your office, sir. He claims he was expected."
Kessler nodded. "Yes, Fleet Admiral Horn just spoke to me. We have a situation developing in the Danturi system and he’s here to brief me before we deploy to contain it."
Cherenkov grimaced. "The revolution there? I saw the weekly security state briefings. Didn’t think it would be long before we did something."
"Exactly," Kessler replied, turning a corner and acknowledging the salutes of a group of junior officers. "Do we have any contingency plans drawn up for this sort of thing?"
Cherenkov nodded, thoughtfully. "Yes, sir. All we need to know is which ISD will be going and we can personalise the battle plan in a few hours. You have a ship in mind?"
Kessler considered his options. "I can’t afford to spare the Relentless or the Immortal from current operations and the Colossus is still undermanned, despite the quality of the their squadrons, so it looks like it’s going to be the Challenge again. You’d better tell Vice Admiral Torres to cancel all leave immediately and start a total recall of absent crews. Get help from the Hammer’s Fist police patrols on Aurora if you have to track down any stray pilots, but get it done fast."
Opening his office door, Kessler paused. "Time is important on this one Darius. The New Republic could move in to support the revolutionaries at any time. We have to begin moving by tomorrow at the latest. I don’t care who you have to take off other projects in order to do it, but do it."
"Understood. I’ll get on it right away."
"Good, now I have another briefing to attend, so if you’ll excuse me…" Cherenkov nodded, snapped his heels briskly together and departed quietly. Kessler opened the door to his office and stepped inside.
His secretary looked up at his arrival. "Admiral Kessler, sir. Major Ruegen from Intel is here to brief you."
A slim, young officer in the uniform of Intelligence Division stood and straightened out his uniform, smiling in a disaffecting manner. Kessler stopped dead in his tracks.
"Hello, Kess" the Major spoke. "You look like shit."
Stunned, Kessler couldn’t frame the traditional reply. An awkward silence hung suspended. The Major waited patiently while Kessler’s secretary sat in confusion.
The Major smiled awkwardly. "You're supposed to say 'Your mother didn't think so Kess."
"Hello, Kerry. Didn’t think I’d see you so soon after Argimiliar."
"I think you’ll find I’m full of surprises, sir." He gestured towards Kessler’s inner office. "Shall we?"

Kessler sat at his desk and regarded the Major balefully. Ruegen, for the most part seemed blissfully impervious to Kessler’s piercing gaze or the uncomfortable silence.
"So that’s the name you’re using this week is it? Ruegen?"
The major smiled. "Actually, Admiral, that’s my real name. You simply knew me under one of my cover identities while you were enjoying your retirement."
"So what do I call you? Kerrigan or Ruegen?"
"Call me whichever you prefer, sir. Or simply call me "Major". I’m quite used to responding to all three." That insufferable smile again.
"Major, are you deliberately trying to piss me off?"
Ruegen’s mask slipped for a second. He appeared momentarily not quite so self-assured. "Actually, sir; I’m trying to get this briefing over with as quickly as possible so I can get out of here before you invent some charge you can have me shot on."
For the first time, Kessler noticed a thin sheen of sweat on Ruegen’s forehead. The man was genuinely terrified, notwithstanding his attempt to project an air of insouciance.
"I don’t understand, Kerry. Why send you to brief me on the Danturi situation? Especially given our…awkward history."
A bitter laugh escaped Ruegen’s lips. "I believe Fleet Admiral Horn personally requested that I be the one to take over Intel’s side of the operation."
The pieces were starting to come together now. Cheers, Horn. That’s one I owe you. But Kessler had never been the vindictive type. He regarded Ruegen for a long moment, then sighed. "Relax, Kerry. I’m not going to have you shot. You were only doing your job."
Ruegen seemed to wilt with relief. "You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that, Kess."
Kessler stripped off his gloves and discarded them carelessly on his desk. Opening his humidor, he picked out a pair of cigars and threw one to Ruegen/Kerrigan. Then followed this by passing over his lighter. Kerrigan’s face blanched a little when he saw it.
"Yes, it’s the same lighter. But I’ve had your tracking device removed since we last spoke."
Kerrigan produced a strained smile. "You don’t believe in giving a guy a break, do you, Kess?"
"Only where it’s deserved, Kerry. And that’s "Admiral" or "Sir" as far as you’re concerned. Only my friends call me Kess. You surrendered that particular right when you set me up to take the blame for your sabotage on Argimiliar and left me to die."
Kerrigan chose not to answer. He quietly returned the lighter.
Kerrigan glanced about the office. Paintings of various ships decorated the walls, but directly behind Kessler’s seat was a large framed portrait of a young woman in a purple ballgown. A young officer cadet stood proudly at her side. "Who are the happy couple?" he asked, curiously.
Kessler’s eyes seemed to turn to chips of green ice. "None of your damn business, Major. You came here to brief me, so get on with it. I’ve a war to plan in case you’d forgotten."
Kerrigan stubbed out the cigar hastily and got to his feet, fumbling for his briefcase. "Of course, sir. My apologies." He withdrew a file from the case and presented it to Kessler. "Here’s the relevant information on revolutionary dispositions that we’re aware of. We’ve penetrated their ranks pretty effectively and have a fairly accurate picture of what they’re capable of putting onto the battlefield." Kessler flicked through the file, idly scanning the major salient points.
"The Danturi are a comparatively primitive civilisation. They hadn’t developed space travel before the Empire stumbled across them during Palpatine’s reign, but despite their homeworld’s abundant natural resources, they were judged to be too far out on the Rim to make occupation worthwhile. Of course, that situation changed drastically after Endor and our occupation of the Auroran system and the surrounding systems. However, as you know, Danturi was still too far away from our power base to risk annexing the system outright... "
"A bit like the situation in Argimiliar you could say?"
Kerrigan fumbled with his papers for a second, unwilling to meet Kessler's eye. "Similar in some respects, but not all, no, sir."
"No, Major. Not all."
After as brief pause, Kerrigan continued. "Nevertheless, the Danturi themselves are a warrior race, and respect our strength and political system. They have been most generous in their material assistance to our cause, and Fleet Command judged it far better to have them as our willing allies than as our unwilling slaves. With our help, they’ve been trained and equipped to a level where they’re at least able to resist any Rebel invasion long enough for us to come to their aid. However, the risk of subversion from within was always a pertinent factor, and while the majority of our resources have been tied up policing the border with the Minos Cluster, we’ve been stretched pretty thin trying to cope. Our counterinsurgency cells picked up warning that a revolution was likely, but we were unable to predict exactly when. Three weeks ago, we found out the hard way."
Kerrigan cleared his throat and coughed, glancing at the carafe of water that lay on Kessler’s desk. Kessler ignored him. Nervously, Kerrigan continued.
"Their starfighter corps has been subverted by revolutionary insurgents, but they have no capital ships, a few old transports and a total of only one Wing of obsolescent TIE/ln’s stationed on a single Class A orbital platform. The majority of the pilots remained loyal, especially after the TIE Corps advisors assigned to train them were executed, so while they have a few fighters, they have pitifully few pilots to operate them.
"Their have no real Airforce worth mentioning, and what few craft they do have are totally outclassed by even Rebel Y-Wings, so our TIEs should have no problem. They also don’t have much of a surface Navy, since they’ve been united under one leadership for so many generations that they simply didn’t need one.
The Army is a different matter. They’ve retained a modestly large army based around a strong tank corps…"
"Tanks?"
"Primitive armoured vehicles. Crew of three or four, single main armament firing an explosive projectile, although a lot have been upgraded to blaster cannons. Tracked rather than repulsor driven. Detailed description on page twenty-three"
"Okay, continue."
Kerrigan wiped his brow. "Since the army surrendered to their forces last week after the guerrillas took the capital in a surprise assault, the revolutionaries now have access to substantial, if antiquated, military equipment. Luckily, the majority of tank crews were loyalists, so when we come storming in, they should be quite happy to switch sides again."
"What about their leadership?"
"The former government is mostly imprisoned in the capital awaiting trial for "crimes against the people". However, the Minister for Industry managed to escape the defeat and is currently sequestered in the mountains to the west of the city with a small group of loyalist infantry. We’ve persuaded them to sit tight and wait for us to arrive. That way, in the event that we’re too late and the imprisoned politicos have been executed by the time we show up, we can use him as a titular head of state until such time as a proper government can be set up."
"What about the revolutionary leadership?"
"It consists of a Triumvirate of politicos, they’ve started setting up a power-sharing executive but it’s early in the proceedings yet. They’re concentrating on letting their General root out the last pockets of loyalist resistance before they begin the process of setting up government. We think they’re waiting for the Alliance to come waltzing in and do all the hard administrative work for them."
"Who’s this General? You mean they haven’t led the revolution themselves?"
"Hardly, sir. The three leaders are political ideologues, they’d have trouble organising an explosion in a munitions factory. They’ve been campaigning for change through normal political channels for years, but no-one took them seriously. They’re clowns. This General of theirs is another matter entirely. He knows his business. All we know about him is what he looks like and his name – It’s supposed to be General Scipio, but given that we have absolutely no idea who he is or where he comes from, we suspect he’s a Rebel agent provocateur."
Kessler picked up a still holo and passed it to Kerrigan. "Is this him?"
Kerrigan studied the picture for a second. "Yes, sir. That’s our friend the General."
Kessler stared at the picture of the man who had seemingly engineered the entire revolution on Danturi. He was about Kessler’s age, with a nose that appeared to have been severely broken at one point in his life, and a scar running the length of one cheek that distorted his upper lip into a permanent sneer.
"Okay, Major. You’ve got a day to get your bags packed. Join us on the ISD Challenge by 1200 hours tomorrow."
"Sir? But I.."
Kessler didn’t look up from the picture. "You’re my Intel expert, Major. You’re coming with us, and I don’t recall giving you a choice in the matter. Dismissed."
Kerrigan shut up. Standing, he retrieved his case and saluted. Kessler remained engrossed in studying the picture of the probable Rebel agent, an unreadable expression on his face, seemingly oblivious to his presence. Kerrigan stole one final glance at the framed portrait hung behind the desk before he excused himself. Yeah he thought. They look like a very happy couple indeed.

Coruscant

It was something of a tradition at the Imperial Naval Academy to hold a ball on the first day of the summer term. It was, of course, mandatory for first year Cadets to attend, but upperclassmen had the option of declining. It was also a tradition to send out invitations en masse to the young ladies of the various nearby nursing and art colleges. Such invitations were usually readily accepted. Unsurprisingly, very few upperclassmen ever exercised their privilege.
Coruscant was pleasantly warm during the summer months. Actually, climate control ensured that Coruscant was pleasantly warm all year long, but it was naturally warm during the summer months at the Capitol, so formal evening wear for ladies tended to be on the.. revealing side.
Cadet Kyle Kessler didn’t have the option of declining to present himself at the Academy Summer Ball, but that was a problem he wasn’t about to write any complaints over. This year, his first at the Academy, was his first major social occasion in Coruscant society. The second son of a reasonably high-ranked Stormtrooper officer, he'd learned how to handle himself in polite company at an early age, so social niceties held few terrors for him. His sidekick – Cadet Heflin, however, had no such experience.
Manny Heflin, Cadet Second Class, was the eldest son of a modestly successful shipping agent. Most of his formative years had been spent dodging classes and spending time with the pilots and engineers at his father’s shipping yard. From an early age, he’d had few doubts that one day he was going to be a pilot. Commercial flying, however, had soon paled. After long, lazy days listening to stories of the Clone Wars from the older pilots employed by his father, Manny had decided that one day, he too was going to be a starfighter pilot. His father had few objections, it was always useful to have an Imperial Officer in the family after all. Of course, a youth spent working on hyperdrive transmissions and trading insults with ex-smugglers wasn’t the ideal way to prepare a boy for the niceties of being an officer and a gentleman; so to say that Manny was nervous about the Summer Ball would be like saying a Tauntaun was nervous about an invitation to a date with a Rancor.
Kessler and Heflin complimented each other well. Kessler was shy and withdrawn, with impeccable manners and excelled at theoretical subjects. Heflin was boisterous and exuberant, had the social grace of a dog in heat and was gifted in engineering and practical skills. Strangely, the two had become friends within days of joining the Academy.
Right now, however, Manny Heflin was terrified, and Kess couldn’t blame him. All the cadets knew that while ostensibly a social occasion, the Summer Ball was also an opportunity for the Instructors to see how the cadets performed in polite company. Gentlemanly conduct was still a topic you could get kicked out of the Academy for underachieving in, and the Upperclassmen made a sport of seeing how many errors they could trick you into making. Kess had drilled Manny mercilessly on dance and etiquette for weeks, and was convinced that Manny could pass muster, if only he’d relax.
"Stop sweating!" Kess ordered.
"I’m trying!" Manny replied. Reaching up with a white-gloved hand, Manny attempted to tug nervously at his collar. Kess swatted his hand away.
"You’ll stain your glove, here…" He passed his friend a napkin, which Manny gratefully used to mop his brow.
"Thanks, Kess."
The ballroom was filled to capacity. A band from the Imperial College of Arts was playing a foxtrot, and the floor was crowded with young men and women. Here and there, an Instructor wandered the floor, seemingly at random, eagle eyes alert for any evidence of impropriety.
Manny took another gulp of his punch. Kessler eyed his glass nervously. The punch supplied at these occasions was reasonably alcoholic. It was another test of a Cadet’s restraint to see if they could resist the temptation to get roaring drunk. Manny was on his third glass, despite Kess’s warnings to take it easy. Looking up, Kess spotted Major Creel approaching. Creel was the Freshman Senior Instructor, and had a well deserved reputation as an evil son of a bitch. For some reason, he’d taken a liking to Kessler and Heflin, a fact for which they were eternally grateful. There was a chair in Creel’s study which it was rumoured was upholstered with the skin of a Cadet who’d once sworn at him. They were fairly sure it was nothing more than a story, but fairly sure wasn’t the same as positive. Wise cadets took extra care not to upset Major Creel. Pleasing him was impossible, merely not upsetting him was a daunting task.
"Kessler, Heflin. Not dancing, gentlemen?" Creel observed.
Before Manny could stutter out a reply, Kess drew himself to attention and replied: "Sir, no sir."
Creel frowned. A frown from Creel was usually sufficient to cause the average cadet to soil his uniform in anticipation of the tortures that were sure to follow. Kessler and Heflin, being his "favourites", knew that they had one chance to erase the expression from his countenance.
"Sir, I mean, not yet, sir." Grabbing Manny by the elbow, Kessler dragged his friend towards the dancefloor without looking back. Being Creel’s favourites wasn’t all peaches and cream. It also meant that he took a greater than normal interest in your activities, which was far from good news.
"Kess, I can’t dance!"
"Yes you bloody well can! Unless you’d rather spend the rest of the Summer Term on Creel’s "most wanted" list?"
Manny moaned something incoherent, but Kessler ignored him, dragging his friend through the crush of bodies on the floor.
Reaching the far side of the dancefloor, he straightened his uniform for him and fixed Manny with a piercing gaze. "Listen up, Heflin, and listen good. You can dance, and what’s more you will dance. You did okay in practice and you’ll do fine now. Don’t argue, Creel’s still watching us. Just remember – you’re the gentleman, so you lead. Your partner will follow you, so you can’t get it wrong. Just don’t mangle her toes and you’ll do okay."
Manny nodded helplessly.
"Okay, go get ‘em Tiger!" Turning Manny around, he gave him a gentle shove in the direction of the waiting ladies at the bar, praying he didn’t take the opportunity to help himself to a little Dutch Courage on the way. Turning to look for a suitable target himself, he scanned the row of tables nearest him. He was acutely aware of Creel’s penetrating gaze on the back of his neck as he looked for a dancing partner. Then, he saw her.
Years later, Kessler was still never able to say exactly what it was about her that drew him to her so totally and utterly. She wore a simple, royal purple, off the shoulder ballgown and tiara; long, red hair tied up in an elegant fashion and long, purple gloves. Around her neck was a gold necklace bearing a small gold locket. She sat alone, hands together in her lap, a barely touched drink at the bar by her side.
Self-consciously checking the crowd for rival suitors, he crossed the dancefloor and approached her, his stomach doing somersaults.
She regarded him with a calculating look. He suddenly felt very conscious of the line of his collar, wondering if his hair was in disarray or his boots scuffed.
"A little young for an officer, aren’t you?" Her accent was strange, musical somehow. She wasn’t a native of Coruscant, that was certain, yet he was entranced by the lilting tone of her voice.
He flushed, immediately disarmed by her casual observation. She smiled apologetically and it seemed to him that he’d been bathed in the morning light of the dawn sun. Marshalling his wits, he cleared his throat.
"Cadet Kessler at your service, my lady."
She extended her arm graciously with the same amused smile and he took it gratefully, bowing his head and kissing the offered hand with just the correct amount of decorum. She seemed to approve. "And I am Lady Kayta Cantor, mister Kessler. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"I would be pleased if you would allow me the honour of the next dance?"
Still that enchanting smile continued. "It would be my pleasure, Cadet Kessler."
Unable to believe his luck, Kessler led her to the floor as the band struck up a fresh waltz. Lady Kayta Cantor? Nobility? Or was it just a figure of speech? Certainly her manners were impeccable, perhaps it was true?
Bowing, he took her hand in his and slipped his free arm around her back as the dance started. He hadn’t realised he’d been staring until she spoke.
"You really must tell me what you find so fascinating about my eyes, Cadet Kessler. It isn’t polite to admire a lady unless you salve her vanity by at least telling her about it."
He blushed again. "Forgive me, my lady. It’s just that I’ve rarely seen such a striking combination of red hair and emerald eyes" he stammered.
She laughed, apparently genuinely amused. "I’ll bet you say that to all the girls."
Gradually, Kessler found himself relaxing in her company. "No, really. Although I suppose I should admit that we don’t see many women at the Academy, and growing up in an Army base tends to have the same effect."
"Well you’ll find that this particular combination is quite common in my family, Cadet Kessler." They danced on for a while, enjoying each other’s company and the rhythm of the music.
"It wouldn’t be impertinent for you to address me as "Kayta", by the way. I get weary enough of "My Lady" at home without wishing to hear it repeated here on Coruscant."
Definitely not from here, then. And probably nobility too.
"I’m honoured…Kayta. My name is Kyle."
She nodded, satisfied, and rested her head on his shoulder. His heart leaped.
Presently, the dance ended. With the utmost regret, he disengaged from her arms and bowed dutifully. "It was a pleasure, Kayta. Perhaps later?"
Again that enchanting smile. "Perhaps, yes." With a swish of cloth, she turned and disappeared into the crowd.
The band struck up a foxtrot and for a moment he simply stood, stunned, until an dancing Upperclassman irritably ordered him to make way. Cursing his lack of attention, he spied out Manny helping himself to the punchbowl and fought his way through the press of dancers to his friend’s side.
"Hey Kess. Drink?"
"Manny, pinch me, I think I’m dreaming."
Puzzled, Manny did as ordered.
"Am I dreaming?"
"You seem fine to me. A little drunk perhaps. You sure you haven’t had more than one glass of this stuff?"
"Did you see her?"
"Who?" Manny’s confused look slowly evaporated as realisation struck. An impish smile played across his lips. "Kess – are you in love?"
"I think so. Not sure, really. I don’t think it’s ever happened before…"
Manny chortled gleefully. "Where is this hot chick? Is she dancing?" He craned his neck to scan the dancefloor. He appraised Kessler’s befuddled face carefully.
"Feel sick?"
"Yes."
"Dizzy?"
"Yes."
"Stomach’s doing high-G turns?"
"Yes."
"Yeah, you’re in love. Don’t worry though, it’s curable."
"I don’t want to be cured."
"Yeah, that’s the problem with love. A lot of people assume it’s a physical disease because it has physical symptoms. Wrong. It’s a mental affliction, and the first thing it attacks is your common-sense glands."
"Manny, get me a drink."
"That’s my boy! Alcohol – the only guaranteed antidote to love. Even if it doesn’t cure you she’ll ditch you because you stink of booze." He poured out a large glass and placed it into Kessler’s numb hand, then peered closely into his friend’s beatific face.
"Shit, Kess. This is the worst case I’ve seen in a long time." He poured out another glass. "I recommend you start drinking heavily. Doctor’s orders."
Kessler accepted the offered glass without a second look, smiling bashfully. "Her name’s Kayta. Kayta Cantor." He mused happily for a while as Manny demolished his drink. "Lady Kayta Cantor."
Manny happily ignored him and helped himself to another glass of punch.
"See you later, Manny. I’m going to find her."
"Whatever. Good luck."
"Thanks."
Weaving through the crowd, Kessler steered himself in the direction of the spot at the bar where he’d first seen her. Sure enough, she was there, in the same seat. However, she was talking to another Cadet. Kessler recognised him dejectedly. Cadet Niles Darrian – not a Starfighter Corps Cadet, but in training to be a General Naval Officer. A likeable enough Cadet, for an Senior. Handsome, rich, charming; a young man on the fast track to success. All the things that Kessler was not. Suddenly depressed and feeling very young and foolish, he tried to look the other way, then noticed Kayta detaching herself from Darrian’s company with a practised grace. She waved over to him and excused herself graciously, then threaded her way across to the dancefloor to Kessler’s side before Darrian could protest.
"Ah, there you are, Kyle" she said, a little too loudly. "Where have you been?"
Surprised, but delighted, he muttered something about being called away by an Instructor as she guided them both onto the dancefloor. Looking over his shoulder, it was hard to miss the glance of pure hatred that Darrian shot in his direction. A Senior was a dangerous enemy for a Freshman to have, but he was too happy to care.
They danced again for a while, and Kessler eventually summoned the courage to ask her what that had all been about.
"I’m very tired of his type, Kyle. Smooth, witty and terribly assured of themselves. I came to Coruscant to get away from that kind of thing."
"Forgive my impertinence, Kayta, but what exactly brings you to Coruscant?"
She gazed into his eyes for a second. "Such an innocent honesty… I can’t tell you how refreshing I find that…" She paused reflecting for a while, as if considering how far she could trust him, before continuing. "I’m here studying music at the Imperial College of Art. My family sent me here from Corellia to acquire an education." She smiled again, seeming to find something amusing in that. "And you?" she asked. "Apart from being an officer cadet, what else lies in your past, Cadet Kessler?"
He shrugged, a difficult manoeuvre while dancing. "My father’s a Lieutenant Colonel in one of the Regiments of the 1st Stormtrooper Shock Legion. I grew up here in the Capitol on a military base."
"Strange, I expected you to be junior nobility at least from your manners."
He cocked his head questioningly. "Does that disappoint you?"
She smiled again. "No, not at all. It’s just unusual."
"Well, father always thought it was important that a good Stormtrooper Officer should be able to conduct himself correctly in polite company, so he started on us young."
"But you’re patently not a Stormtrooper officer cadet…"
"No, but I am a great disappointment to my father. I hope to become a starfighter pilot."
"A family rebel?"
"I’d be careful how you use that word around my father, but no. I’m simply following in my brother Gaius’ footsteps. He’s the one who broke our father’s heart."
"Kyle, you presume too much. What makes you think I’m ever going to get to know you well enough to meet your father?"
Laughing at her wit, he found himself relaxing in her company.
"Well you never know, I might get lucky?"
She declined to answer, but he didn’t think she would have objected.
Presently, the evening drew to a close, and she had to leave. Reluctantly, he escorted her to the cloakroom.
"Forgive me if I’m overreaching my bounds here, Kayta; but will I see you again?"
She looked up into his eyes, that enchanting smile playing across her lips once more. "Yes, I rather think you will. Thank you, Kyle. I had a wonderful time." Taking his hand in hers, she reached up and kissed him lightly on the lips, then stepped into the waiting aircab and was gone.
Lifting his hand to his lips, ruefully, he discovered that she’d placed a card in his hand, bearing her name, address and number. Reverently, he slipped it into his tunic, then turned on his heel to find himself face to face with Cadet Darrian.
"My quarters, tomorrow after dog-watch sports. Bring some cleaning gear." Without another word, he turned and stalked out.
Kessler sighed. If slopping out for a few months was the price he had to pay for meeting and making an impression on a girl like Lady Kayta Cantor, he was happy with the exchange.

Eventually, he found Manny again, refusing to give up the dance with a pretty young woman who seemed slightly the worse for drink. Smiling to himself, Kessler watched them lurch around the rapidly thinning dancefloor, although whether this was due to Manny’s ineptitude at dancing or his partner’s drunkenness was open to debate.
Spotting Major Creel doing the rounds of the floor, Kessler picked himself up from his seat and tired to intercept Manny before he got himself into trouble.
"Manny."
"Hey, Kess. Say "hi" to Lizzy."
Kessler bowed slightly to Manny’s incoherent companion. "Hi, Lizzy."
She mumbled something unintelligible in return.
"Manny, Creel’s coming. Get her sat down or get her out of here." Acknowledging Lizzy, he apologised. "Sorry, ma’am. No offence."
"Mister Kessler, Mister Heflin" came the gravelly voice from behind Kessler’s shoulder. Turning smartly, Kessler brought himself to attention.
"Good evening Major Creel, sir!"
"I see you’ve made the acquaintance of my daughter, Mister Heflin. Perhaps you’d care to explain why you’ve allowed to get herself into this state?"
Kessler’s only regret was that he was unable to see the expression on Manny’s face without turning around.

Aurora Orbit

"Admiral on deck!"
The Stormtrooper honour guard came to attention with a crack of booted heels on the steel deck as Vice Admiral Kessler disembarked from the Shuttle. Vice Admiral David Cantor Torres saluted briskly with a broad grin and waited in front of his assembled Wing Commander and Squadron Commanders for his Battlegroup Commander to approach.
"Morning, Kess. Welcome back to the Challenge."
"Hello, David. Is the ship ready to move?"
"Would you expect anything less?"
Kessler grunted in acknowledgement. "I guess not." Looking over Torres’ shoulder, he nodded briefly at the various commanders of the ISD Challenge’s starfighter squadrons. "Okay, let’s get this ship underway. We’re stopping at Caridda to pick up some troops on our way. We don’t have much time."
Shouts of protest rose from the pilots gathered behind Torres. Grinning he turned to look at them over his shoulder. "Shut up, you bumfaces. Kess wouldn’t dream of spoiling your welcome!"
"Well, you see, sir, the guys wanted to have a little party to welcome you back" he explained. "We were wondering if you’d care to join us in the Officer’s Mess for dinner tonight?"
Kessler stared at Torres blankly. He didn’t appear to have heard a word he’d said. "I said: ‘Let’s get this ship underway’, Vice Admiral. Meet me on the bridge with Major Force." Without waiting for a reply, he walked past the startled group of officers and marched off towards the nearest turbolift.
Major Corran Force stared amazed at his retreating back. "What’s wrong with him?"
Several pilots began to mutter beneath their breath. Sensing trouble, Torres raised his voice sharply. "All right ladies and gentlemen, you heard the man, move it! Sergeant, dismiss your platoon."
Turning to his bemused Wing Commander, he cleared his throat. "Come on, Corran. The Bridge awaits."
Shaking his head, Torres stalked off towards the turbolift after Kessler. He’d known Kessler for years, serving with him for a while as a fellow Squadron Commander right here on the Challenge before Kessler became Battlegroup Commander and he became Commodore. Any other officer would have been furious at being treated so rudely in front of his own crew, but Torres knew Kessler better. In fact, the whole flight crew of the Challenge knew Kessler better. He’d been the most senior Commander in the Wing for the better part of six months before getting promoted to the Admiralty, and the men and women of Wing X respected and trusted him. They deserved better from him than the rough treatment he’d shown them today. Torres intended to get to the bottom of it, but privately.

The Bridge was a hive of controlled activity. Kessler stood impassively in front of the bridge windows, hands clasped behind his back. For a second, Torres was reminded of the classic pose that Lord Vader had routinely assumed whenever he was on the bridge of an ISD, then the feeling passed.
Aurora Prime floated serenely to starboard. Somewhere out there, the ISD Colossus cruised on patrol, looking for trouble.
Torres turned to Major Force and indicated that he should wait, then crossed the bridge to stand behind Kessler. Curled around one black-gloved fist, he noticed that Kessler was holding a golden pendant.
"Kess, the ship’s ready to depart at your command."
Without turning, Kessler gave the order. "Make it so, David."
Torres turned to address the Deck Officer in the Ops Pit. "Lieutenant, set your course for the Platform Declaration, Caridda System. Prepare the ship for hyperspace, best speed."
"Aye sir, course laid in and set." An alarm rang throughout the ship, warning the crew to prepare for superluminal travel. Crewmen moved to occupy their positions and the view from the windows swung around to show deep space ahead. In the distance the SSSD Sovereign hove into view.
"Vice Admiral Kessler, sir. Incoming message on holo from Fleet Admiral Kramer."
Kessler turned to acknowledge the communications yeoman. "I’ll take it here, Chief."
The projected image of the Commodore of the Sovereign flickered into life. Kramer was sitting at ease in his command chair on the vast bridge of the Fleet Flagship.
"Morning, Admiral. Just wanted to wish you good luck and a safe voyage."
Kessler nodded. "Thank you, sir. Be sure and look after Aurora for us until we get back."
Kramer’s image smiled. "I think we can manage in the meantime. Bring that old crate of Torres’ back in one piece now. Kramer out." The image faded.
The Deck Officer stood from the Ops Pit and announced: "All stations report that the ship is ready in all respects for hyperspace, sir. ETA at Platform Declaration is 02:33 hours."
"Very good, Lieutenant. Engage the hyperdrive."
With a barely perceptible shudder, the ISD Challenge leaped to lightspeed. With a final glance at the coruscating blue streaks of starlight rushing past the Bridge, Kessler finally turned to face Torres.
"Your crew have seen the Intel brief I sent ahead?"
"Yes, everyone’s aware of the situation."
"Major Force has had a chance to go over the contingency plan?"
"He’s reviewed it and prepared a Battle Plan. All that’s left is for the pilots and Commanders to be briefed."
"Okay, David. Battle briefing in Wing Ops for all pilots in ten minutes." He tucked away the necklace and turned to leave.
"Kess…"
Kessler stopped and turned, puzzled.
"Kess, what’s going on?"
For a second he seemed genuinely startled. Then the mask of iron composure slammed down again. "What do you mean, David?"
Torres thought carefully about how to frame his reply. "Look, speaking as your friend, I’m concerned. Your behaviour is not what I’ve been used to, and your treatment of me in front of my crew earlier was, well… pretty rude. Everyone knew you as the most approachable, friendly and experienced Squadron Commander in the Wing when they last saw you. The change since you made Vice Admiral is pretty shocking. Colonel Kessler would never have acted like this in front of men and women who trusted and respected him. What’s happened to Vice Admiral Kessler?"
Kessler blinked a few times, staring blankly at something a few feet off to the side of the Commodore’s head. Torres began to wonder if he’d heard him.
"Briefing in Wing Ops in nine minutes. Don’t be late." Then he calmly walked to the turbolift, ignoring the bemused Major Corran Force.
Frustrated, Torres could only stare at his back, fuming silently. Major Force walked over to his side.
"So what the hell is his problem, Boss?"
Torres simply shook his head. "Beats me, CoFo. Beats me."

Coruscant

Life at the Academy passed in something of a blur over the next few months. It transpired that Kayta was a member of the Diktat of Corellia’s Royal House, although distantly in line to the throne. Kyle’s own income paled in comparison to the resources at her disposal, but she lived frugally, sharing an apartment off campus with two other students, and seemed not to care that he could rarely spare the time or the money to see her or treat her as often as he would have liked.
His mother, Alicia Kessler, was delighted that he’d met a woman, and thoroughly approved of Kayta. Weekend leave from classes was often spent at the Officer’s Married Quarters in the Legion’s downtown barracks complex, where she spoiled the young couple mercilessly. His father was away on duty with his regiment, somewhere on the Outer Rim, yet once he heard the news, he did send a short message offering them both his best wishes. Kyle’s younger brother, Devin, who planned to follow their father into the ranks of the Army, seemed infatuated by Kayta’s beauty and wit. To her credit, she took it gracefully and treated his devotion like that of a younger brother.
In short, she had no problem dazzling the Kessler family.
Despite Manny’s predictions that it would never last, they continued to see each other. By his second year at the Academy, he was finally permitted to move out of barracks and take private accommodation if he could afford it. Kayta was in favour of the idea, providing her family didn’t find out. Kyle was desperate to vacate the barracks as soon as possible, partly because Cadet Darrian’s dislike of him had turned into open hatred, but mostly because he simply wanted to spend more time with Kayta.
Thanks to her generous allowance, they were able to afford a modest apartment with a service droid to take care of housework. The two were deliriously happy.
His studies suffered, obviously. Whereas he could have been an exceptional student, he merely scraped through as average. Manny missed his company, and made him promise to include him and Lizzy Creel, with whom he was continuing a highly secret romance, whenever Kess and Kayta planned to go out for a night downtown. Luckily, Kayta and Liz became fast friends.
All was not perfect, however, as Cadet Darrian, now an Honour Student in his final year, was going out of his way to make Kessler's life a misery. Upperclassmen had the right and the duty to exercise control and discipline over the junior cadets, but the system was wide open to abuse. Kessler endured Darrian's ill treatment stoically, however this only served seemed to incense Darrian further. Flight Training was one of the few occasions when Kessler could get away from him for any length of time, and he looked forward to it immensely. It was perhaps for this reason that he did better than average.
Flight Training was conducted in orbit on the Class B Orbital Platform Apollo. Once theoretical basic combat manoeuvres had been mastered, the Cadet class was transferred en masse to the Apollo to begin practical Flight School. Manny, of course, excelled in all respects, but Kessler enjoyed the freedom of flight more than he would have dreamed possible too. They flew standard TIE/ln's under the watchful tutelage of Senior Instructor Colonel Ravage. Ravage was a grizzled combat veteran with one eye, the other having been lost during ejection from a crippled fighter. He'd accepted an instructors post in preference to being invalided out of the Navy, and had a tough, no-nonsense approach. The cadets loved him.
Today was Weekly War day. Every week before weekend leave was granted, the instructors would run a mock battle in order to assess how much of the week's tuition had been absorbed by the various classes. Kessler's Bravo Company was scheduled to take part in an attack on Gamma Company, who were assigned to defend the Apollo. Colonel Ravage led the briefing.
"Morning, Cadets. Today's War involves a simulated attack on an orbital platform. You pukes will be on the attacking side, Gamma Company will be defending. You'll be expected to demonstrate all the subjects taught this week, including deceptive flying. Make full use of the environment out there. Gamma will be at alert five in the hangar, with the exception of two pilots out on barrier patrol and two pilots doing routine checks on shipping. Remember that a Class B Platform is only capable of launching two TIEs at a time. Take advantage of this or you'll regret it. For the purposes of this exercise, the Apollo's defensive armaments will be disabled, but you'll still be expected to practice a co-ordinated assault on her defences once you've neutralised her Starfighter cover. Finally, anyone who gets his ass vaped by those Gamma Company assholes will be cleaning the heads for a week, so don't let me down ladies." Stepping down from the lectern, he turned to another instructor. "Lieutenant Tanbris, they're all yours."
"Thanks, sir." The deputy instructor for Bravo Company took the lectern, and pulled out a Flight Roster.
"Okay, listen in. When your names are called, remember your assignments and report to the hangar to get suited up. Corrigan, Bailey, Fisk and Laramie. You're on area denial. Get moving. Kessler, Heflin - you sorry pukes are advance scouts. Remember what you learned yesterday, and get your asses down to the Hangar. Bradley, Horn...."
Manny elbowed Kessler in the ribs. "That's us! We're the point men.. whoohoo!"
Kessler got to his feet with a wry grin. "True, that means we're in the thick of it for longer and stand more chance of getting toasted, and I'm really sick of cleaning the Old Man's heads."
Manny looked disgusted. "Come on, Kess. You don't think any of those stuck-up Gamma pukes are good enough to take me out, do you?"
"It's not you I'm worried about."

The Apollo Flight Ops Officer had given clearance for the exercise to begin ten minutes earlier, but no-one wanted to rush straight in. Better to wait a while and let the picket fighters get nervous and starting to jump at shadows. There was a lot of traffic in the area, and the two TIEs assigned to shipping inspection were having a hard time covering them all. The majority of Bravo Company was out of range of Gamma's limited sensors, waiting for the moment to strike. Kessler and Heflin cruised the perimeter, looking for an opening in their patrol pattern. The training company TIEs were equipped with ion cannons rather than blasters, but Kessler and Manny had cut power to weapons in order to appear like a pair a of cargo tugs at long range. They were also forced to keep their speed low in order to keep up the deception Manny was the first to spot the opportunity.
Switching to tightband comms in order to not give away their position, he hailed Kessler's fighter. "Over there, sector four, two kilometres. That Container Transport, you see it?"
"Yeah, I see it."
"Gamma's pickets just did a flyby and are heading over to sector two to intercept that Bulk Freighter. It looks like the Transport will be passing within half a klick of the Apollo. If we burn rubber we can make it."
"Deceptive flying?"
"You bet. Our thermal signatures might give us away on the way there but this is the best chance we're going to get for a while. You up for it?"
Kessler checked his MFD and did a quick calculation to estimate the time required to cover the distance to the CTRN.
"We’re going to have to accelerate to get there in time. If we stay at this speed we’ll be well within ID range before we make it into cover. Want to take the risk?"
"Does Darth Vader wear a silly hat?"
Kessler chuckled. "Lead the way, hotshot."
The two TIEs accelerated slightly and changed course to intercept the CTRN. Gamma Company were not allowed to use the sensors of the Apollo for the purposes of the exercise, they were forced to rely on the sensors of their fighters. There was a good chance that the four TIEs on patrol wouldn’t notice the speed or course change.
Three tense minutes passed without incident as they crept closer to the cargo vessel. Then they were in cover and safe from detection for the moment.
Waiting for the CTRN to reach it’s closest point of approach to the Apollo, they suddenly developed a problem.
"Kess, those two patrol fighters just changed course, they’re heading this way. Checking vector now….yes, they’re heading straight for us. You think they spotted us?"
Kessler checked his own display. "No, they’re still at cruising speed. I think they probably just realised how close this CTRN is going to pass to the Apollo and they’re going to check it out again, just to be on the safe side."
"Either way, we have a problem."
The two fighters would be on them in a minute and a half. Kessler and Manny were weaponless and would be sitting ducks when they arrived. If they began charging their ion cannons now, the energy spike would give away their positions instantly, the two fighters would know there were hostiles in the vicinity, only increase speed to intercept, the Apollo would begin launching reinforcements and the other two picket/inspection fighters would vector to intercept too. Options were getting limited.
"Kess, I’m starting to power up the ions."
"Wait! I have an idea, follow me."
Nudging the joystick gently to port, Kessler’s TIE drifted slowly through the gaps in the lattice frame of the Container Transport. Matching speeds, he took up station half a dozen metres ahead of the main engine pod.
"Get in here, Manny. The engine flare should camouflage our weapons signatures so we can charge up, and even if they do spot us, they’ll think twice about shooting in case they hit the civilian ship."
"Kess, are you sure this is legal?"
"I’m sure my guns are charging up and yours aren’t."
"Good argument." Manny carefully manoeuvred his TIE to take up a holding pattern next to Kessler’s and set his weapons to full recharge, carefully matching speeds at the same time.
The seconds ticked by and the two Gamma Company fighters narrowed the distance. Range to the Apollo was down to two klicks, the two TIEs were less than a kilometre away and closing rapidly. It was time to make a decision.
"They’re going to detect us at any second, Kess. We’re just going to have to make the most of it. We should be close enough to make a run for the Apollo before they launch a second wave."
"Okay, on my mark, drag left and engage bandit designated Gamma 3. I’ll take Gamma 4. Three, two, one, GO!"
Forced back into his seat by the sudden acceleration, His fighter shot clear of the Transport’s superstructure and cannoned directly onto an attack vector on the closest TIE. Kessler was the first to admit that he wasn’t a particularly great pilot. Manny could fly rings around him, and frequently did. But there was one space combat subject in which he excelled and at which he was acknowledged as being the best in Bravo Company – marksmanship. Kessler rarely missed a shot.
He swept his fighter round in a narrow corkscrew and barely noticed the incoming fire heading in his direction, then squeezed the trigger as his flightpath led his crosshairs over the target for a fraction of a second. The Gamma Company TIE slowed to a halt as it’s engines and power systems stuttered and died.
"One down, Manny, talk to me!"
"Can’t get a lock, this guy’s good… too close now, I’m in a turning war."
Kessler cursed, every second they delayed increased the likelihood of Gamma getting another two TIEs launched. Manny could probably take the guy in a dogfight, but turning battles took time, and that was a luxury they simply didn’t have. He checked his MFD for a quick tactical picture. Pulling his TIE around into a tight turn, he barked instructions into the microphone. "Drag left and hold a steady course for a few seconds."

"Roger that!"
Manny swerved left and levelled out, going to full speed to put some distance between himself and his attacker. The enemy ship followed him around and overcorrected, taking an extra half second to steady his course, then opened fire on Manny’s tail. Approaching from a high deflection angle, Kessler waited for him to commit to a pursuit course and let rip with a short precise burst. The startled pilot never knew what hit him. The entire engagement was over in seven seconds.
The rest of Bravo Company had now gone active and were charging into battle in a tight combat formation, some six kilometres distant. The other two picket ships were heading back towards the Apollo in a hurry, rather than face all ten TIEs at once. Kessler and Manny were just within gun range of the station when the first reinforcements launched.
Kessler locked on instantly, without giving his target a second to get clear of the Apollo’s flight deck and fired. The enemy ship shuddered and died as ion particles smacked into its hull, hanging helpless in space. Without giving it a second glance, he switched to target two and fired again, striking it a glancing blow that was enough to drastically affect it’s performance and handling. Manny didn’t require a second invitation, his next shot struck home and finished the job. In another few seconds, they were taking up covering positions over the Apollo’s launch bay. One of the disabled TIEs was blocking one of the launching rails, restricting the rate of Gamma Company’s reinforcements to one ship per minute. Tactically, they were as good as dead, but there were still two picket fighters closing in, and quickly.
"Kess, those two bandits will be in range in fifteen seconds. I think one of us needs to get out there and delay them, our boys are thirty seconds behind them."
"You going to stay here and cover the Flight Deck?"
"I think it’s the best plan."
"Okay partner, good luck."
"You too."
Kessler went to full speed and flew on an intercept course. It didn’t need saying, but Manny’s shooting was notoriously poor. He was unmatched at close range manoeuvring, but his distance shooting, to put it mildly, sucked. Kessler stood a better chance of taking out the two TIEs in a long range gunnery duel, while Manny could easily handle enemy ships launching one at a time at close range.
Slowing down to 50% throttle to reduce the closure rate, Kessler switched to single shot fire mode. At 1.7 kilometres range, he began to fire wildly, weaving slightly to produce a narrow cone of ion shots. He was rewarded to see one of his shots strike home and cause slight systems damage before he was forced to manoeuvre violently in order to avoid a barrage of incoming fire. The two enemy fighters split to flank him after exchanging shots, and he knew he was in trouble. Picking the undamaged ship as the more dangerous of the two, he throttled up and turned to face him, ignoring the second ship, which was closing on his tail. He settled on an intercept course with bandit one, who, seeing his wingman on Kessler’s tail, turned to lead him away into his partner’s field of fire. Refusing to take the bait, Kessler pulled a high turn to return his attention to bandit two, just in time to avoid a barrage of shots from the rear. Bandit one, realising his trap had failed, changed course similarly, and bandit two held onto Kessler’s tail doggedly. Sooner or later, one of them was going to get lucky. Kessler checked his MFD again, Bravo Company’s spearhead flight of two TIEs were two kilometres away, they’d be in range in fifteen seconds. Realistically, Gamma Company had lost the fight, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t take Kessler’s ship out of the equation to console themselves. He just hoped he could delay the inevitable for a few seconds more.
Then it happened. Bandit two’s probing fire from the rear struck a solar panel and he felt performance suffer immediately. Bandit one finished the job with a concentrated barrage of ion cannon fire that left his joystick limp in his hands. It was all over, but it seemed that between them, Kessler and Manny had done enough to guarantee victory. Bandit one and two didn’t have time to celebrate, as the leading elements of Bravo Company were now in range and shooting furiously.
"Bravo Company this is the Platform Apollo. Stand down your attack, we surrender unconditionally."
Waiting for a tug to reach him with his systems shot out, Kessler didn’t hear the call that ended that week’s War, but with the surviving two TIEs of Gamma Company now heavily engaged by four Bravo pilots, the result was a foregone conclusion.

Colonel Ravage entered the briefing room and conversation died instantly. He mounted the podium and activated the holodisplay, showing the dispositions of Bravo Company prior to the attack. Turning the room of jubilant pilots, he cleared his throat.
"Unfortunately, due to Cadet Heflin and Cadet Kessler’s innovative deceptive flying techniques, we were unable to assess how the rest of you would have performed under today’s situation. Good work to Cadets Fisk, Bailey, Laramie and Corrigan in taking out the picket element with good teamwork. The rest of you, sorry it was so boring, but you can thank misters Kessler and Heflin for that."
Fixing Manny and Kess with his gaze, he continued. "As for you two, first of all, it is highly dangerous and strictly illegal to pull a stunt with a Container Transport like you two clowns did today. The captain of that Transport has transmitted numerous complaints about your reckless flying that you can both have the pleasure of replying to personally before you even think about weekend leave."
Manny fixed Kess with a quick "I told you!" look, before returning his attention to his dressing down.
"Furthermore, it constitutes a serious navigational hazard to fire upon and disable a starcraft while it is in the process of docking or launching, Mister Kessler. Had the fighter in question been attempting to land when you shot it in such close proximity to the Apollo, it would doubtless have crashed and the pilot been killed. I hope my recommendations are getting through to you, gentlemen?"
"Sir! Yes, sir!"
"Good. Because apart from that, you two showed great teamwork and ingenuity in accomplishing what you did today. The trick with the Container Transport is actually an old one, but we don’t teach it here because it’s dangerous as hell. If I ever see any of you hotshots pulling a stunt like that again while you’re on the Apollo, you’re grounded, understood?"
The room rang with a chorus of "Yes, sir".
"But for today, let’s just say I’m impressed enough to forget it ever happened. Kessler – excellent shooting today, as usual, but you really need to spend more time in the sims, your dogfighting still stinks."
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
"Heflin – two shots on target today from a total of fifty-one fired. That’s less than four percent accuracy. Do you practice being this bad?"
"Sir, it was suppressive fire, sir."
"Nice try, Heflin, but I don’t have a sense of humour. Two hours in the simulators on the gunnery range before you get shore leave this weekend, and you’d better get over fifty percent accuracy or you can keep trying until you do."
Manny groaned. "Yes, sir."
Ravage nodded with a satisfied smile. "Okay, gentlemen. Enjoy your weekends, the first shuttles are leaving in one hour. Dismissed."

Kessler caught the following shuttle after drafting an apology to the captain of the CTRN Mandalore Star. Within an hour, he was home and opening the door of the apartment he shared with Kayta. Calling out her name as he entered, he was greeted by a puzzling silence. Shrugging, he locked the door behind him. She was probably in a late lecture at the College.
He raided the kitchen for a cold drink and walked to the lounge, his bag slung over his shoulder. That’s where he found her, sitting curled into a ball on the floor of the lounge, one eye closed with an ugly black bruise.
The glass dropped from nerveless fingers as she looked up at him and he saw the full extent of the damage that had been done to her face. Strangely, she didn’t appear to have been crying.
"Kayta… what.."
"I’m sorry Kyle."
He knelt by her side and took her face gently in his hands, careful not to touch any of the bruises. "Who did this to you?"
She averted her face and began to shake slightly. "No-one, it’s nothing, Kyle."
"Kayta – who did this?"
In a thin, wavering voice, she began to speak. "I was out with Lizzy last night at a club and we ran into a group of off-duty cadets. A few of them tried to chat us up, but we brushed them off politely, of course." She drew in a shuddering breath of air before continuing.
Later, when we left and Lizzy had taken a cab home, one of them followed me as I was walking home. He.. he wouldn’t take no for an answer."
Her eyes finally began to glitter as tears welled up. "I’m sorry. I know I should have taken a cab too."
"Kayta, please – who did this."
She lowered her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"It was Niles Darrian."
Kessler’s memories of what happened next were fairly vague afterwards. He could clearly remember taking a transport to the Academy bar and thinking murderous thoughts on the way. He could remember Kayta begging him not to go, but after arriving at the bar itself and finding Darrian laughing with his drinking buddies, what followed was mostly unclear. He could vaguely remember a jagged bottle, glistening with fresh blood as the MPs dragged him from Darrian’s crumpled and bleeding body, but the actual attack itself evaded recall.
There was a Court Martial, of course, and when Darrian’s father’s expensive lawyers turned up, Kessler remembered thinking that it was all over. But as the sworn testimony of Major Tal Creel’s daughter Lizzy was introduced, and the family physician of the Royal House of Corellia arrived at Coruscant to deliver a personal explanation of the extent of Lady Cantor’s injuries, the mood in the Court appeared to change. Eventually, Kessler was found guilty of a relatively minor charge of Conduct Unbecoming an Officer and the Assault with Intent to Kill charge was thrown out. Darrian, after recovering from his injuries, quit the Academy on the condition that he not be prosecuted by Corellia, and Kessler served a month in Barracks Detention before being released to resume his classes.
Things had of course, changed by then. He still loved her dearly, but the foolish idea that she’d somehow been "tainted" by Darrian’s attack persisted. Intellectually, he knew it should make no difference, but he couldn’t help feeling that things had changed. As for her, she wasn’t an idiot, she could sense it too.
They were having dinner one evening when she broke the news that she was cutting short her degree course to return to Corellia to convalesce. He didn’t put up a very convincing argument, and she didn’t mention when, if ever, she would be returning. Dinner ended awkwardly, and he slept poorly that night, cursing himself for a fool.
The next day when he returned home from the Academy, she was gone. He found a note on the table in the lounge with the simple message: "I love You." Draped over the note was a golden locket on a gold chain, engraved with the Corellian Royal Crest. Opening it, he found a small portrait of her, wearing the dress she’d worn to the Academy Ball.

He left the apartment shortly afterwards and moved back into the Academy barracks until the completion of his training. Seven months later, he received a simple message from Corellia informing him that Lady Kayta Cantor had given birth to a healthy boy, named Mazzic. There was no return address.


Hyperspace

A low murmur of conversation flooded Wing Ops as the pilots of Wing X waited for the briefing to commence. Major Corran Force looked questioningly at Vice Admiral Kessler, who nodded once, indicating that he should begin. Force mounted the podium and cleared his throat, the noise subsided.
The holodisplay mounted into the overhead projector flickered into life and a map of the Danturi system appeared.
"Squadron Commanders, pilots; tomorrow we arrive in the Danturi system and we’re going to be going to action immediately upon our arrival. The system has virtually no space-based defences and our initial target will be this orbital platform in a geosynchronous orbit over the planetary capital – Danturi City."
The view zoomed in to show a Class A orbital platform.
"The platform was the base for the small Danturi Starfighter Corps, consisting one Wing of TIE/lns. The crews were being trained by a small group of TIE Corps advisors. Intelligence informs us that these advisors have been executed by the revolutionaries."
A low rumble of discontent rose from the crowd.
"Keep it down, people. You’ll get your chance tomorrow." He swept his eye around the room until the last rumblings of discontent had subsided. "Anyway, there is a small possibility that the insurgents have trained starfighter pilots, possibly mercenaries, of their own. Even so, we anticipate no serious opposition for the Platform…"
Lieutenant Colonel Callista raised her hand.
"You have a question, Calli?"
Typhoon Squadron’s veteran Commander nodded. "Is there any possibility that the Rebellion may have reinforced the revolutionaries?"
Major Force shrugged. "Good question. We don’t know, to be honest, but intelligence that we’ve getting from our agents would appear to confirm that this is not yet the case." He turned to address a Major from Intel standing next to Vice Admiral Kessler. "That’s substantially correct, yes, Major Ruegen?"
"As far as we can tell, correct, yes."
"Okay. All the same, keep your eyes open for trouble. Next, the system has no planetary shield, ground based ion cannon or turbolaser defences, so the plan is to bring the ISD Challenge in from hyperspace right on top of them. The Challenge will conduct a point-blank range turbolaser bombardment of the platform to destroy their shields, then finish them off with ion cannons. At the same time, Thunder and Typhoon Squadrons will launch to cover the Challenge in the event of fighter support being required, and will escort the Hammer’s Fist Assault Transports in their capture of the platform. We’ll be embarking the 3rd Battalion of the 1st Auroran Shock Legion again when we arrive at Caridda in eight hours."
Various smiles broke out among the assembled pilots.
Major Force grinned. "Yes, the same guys whose fat we pulled out of the fire back at Argimiliar II. They can all buy you drinks after we wrap this thing up. Next…" He pressed a stud on the control wand and the view zoomed in to show an orbital view of Danturi City.
"Tornado, Cyclone and Typhoon Squadrons will be sent ahead to take out the capital’s defences, then fly air cover for the AT-ATs and troops who will be following you down in the landing barges, escorted by Inferno Squadron."
"Once the capital has been secured, all Squadrons will rotate two at a time on patrol duties. One in orbit, one in atmosphere above the city. We anticipate that the entire operation will take less than two hours." He switched off the holo. "Any questions?"
Captain Corran Horn – commander of Tornado Squadron, raised his hand. "Two hours? Isn’t that a little optimistic? Aren’t we talking about a full-scale planetary invasion here?"
Vice Admiral Kessler interrupted. "I believe Major Kerrigan here can answer that question."
Startled, Kerrigan looked up. One or two pilots looked surprised at the mention of the name. The Major cleared his throat and explained.
"Yes, sir. The fact is, the actual forces at the disposal of the revolutionaries are not very impressive. What they’ve accomplished, they’ve accomplished through tactical innovation and superior utilisation of available resources. Since they captured the capital, they’re effectively holding the government to ransom, waiting for the Rebellion to come in and prop up a new government. If we can wipe out their command structure and trap and destroy what forces they have in the capital, the vast majority of the Danturi military will mobilise in our support." He stepped back to Kessler’s side, but couldn’t help notice that a couple of the pilots were looking at him strangely since Kessler had mentioned his cover name. Of course, this was the ISD Challenge after all. Kessler had been forcibly re-enlisted and busted down to Flight Member directly after Argimiliar, and assigned here. He’d spent a good few months back in Wing X, his old stomping ground, before getting a freak promotion to Battlegroup Commander. Doubtless he’d told the story of what had happened to him while he was retired on Argimiliar II, and that probably included the story of his double-crossing, rat-fink, son of a bitch former partner – Dev Kerrigan. Better known now of course, as Major Carlist Ruegen of Intel Division. Kerrigan grimaced. Kessler had a lot of friends on the Challenge, things could get very difficult here very quickly unless he was careful. Lost in thought, he realised he hadn’t been paying attention to the briefing. Vice Admiral Torres was speaking now.
"…and despite our overwhelming technical superiority, I don’t want to see any of you bumfaces getting complacent out there. The Danturi missile defences are just as capable of taking you out as a turbolaser turret is, so don’t get cocky." Apparently finished with his pep-talk, he turned to Kessler.
"Sir, any comments?"
Kessler shook his head.
"Okay, Squadron Commanders report to Major Force tomorrow morning with your Squadron Task Order proposals. That’s all people, dismissed."

Kerrigan soon found himself with very little to do, so he decided to go for a drink. His temporary quarters were located right next door to the Pilot’s Mess, which, he reflected, probably wasn’t a coincidence. The noise from the bar was pretty intrusive, and it wasn’t even late yet.
Pausing in the doorway, he scanned the room, looking for familiar faces. He recognised the pilot the Wing Commander had addressed as Lieutenant Colonel Callista sitting at a table by the bar, laughing with a group of other officers whom he failed to recognise. She seemed to be quite at ease with the mixed bag of Lieutenant Commanders and Captains that were drinking with her. Wing X seemed to be a pretty informal place, he relaxed.
Nodding in a friendly fashion at various pilots who looked up at him as he passed, he approached the bar and got the attention of the barman. He ordered a Chaquila and turned to lean against the bartop and sip his drink while checking out the crowd. The doors hissed open and he noticed Major Corran Force enter in the company of another Lieutenant Colonel whom he didn’t recognise. The other man was middle-aged, had the typical grizzled look of a seasoned combat veteran and was dressed in his flightsuit, which seemed to be the norm for pilots on the Challenge, rather than the standard uniform which seemed to prevail in other Wings.
Force and his companion ordered a pair of drinks, then noticed Kerrigan standing alone. Smiling, Force motioned him to join them. Kerrigan accepted gratefully.
Force made introductions. "Major Ruegen, this is Lieutenant Colonel Manitsas, Commander of Inferno Squadron. We all call him "Manny", feel free to do the same."
Manitsas shook Kerrigan’s hand. "Pleased to meet you, Major."
Kerrigan grinned. "Thanks, the name’s Carlist Ruegen, but everyone usually calls me "that shithead from Intel." The two pilots laughed. "Of course, if you’re feeling polite you can call me Carl."
"Okay, Carl. What do you say we go join Calli and the rest of the Wing X Posse over there?"
glancing over at Callista’s table, Kerrigan agreed.
Manitsas made the necessary introductions, and soon they were drinking sociably. In retrospect, Kerrigan realised that going for a casual drink with Vice Admiral Kessler’s former Wingmates was probably not the most sensible course of action he’d ever embarked upon.
Captain Melluish of Cyclone Squadron had been watching Kerrigan curiously ever since he’d joined them. After a few minutes, he spoke.
"Major…Ruegen, is it? Funny thing, but I can’t help remembering that Kess referred to you as "Major Kerrigan" during the Wing briefing."
Several of the other pilots paused in their talking and drinking. Captain Horn of Tornado Squadron in particular seemed interested.
Kerrigan began to get that sinking feeling. Nevertheless, he tried to brazen it out. "Well yes, Vice Admiral Kessler knew me as Kerrigan under a false identity I used during an Intel Op some time ago, that’s all. I guess old habits die hard." Gazing around at the stony faces of the hitherto friendly pilots around him, he tried one final tactic. "Is it my turn to get the drinks in?"
Captain Horn pressed the question. "How long ago, exactly? A few months? Say… around the time of the Argimiliar incident?"
"Umm…I really couldn’t say. Classified I’m afraid. I’m sure you understand."
Several of the pilots present were exchanging ominous glances. Kerrigan hadn’t survived in Intel this long by not knowing when it was time to cut your losses and get out.
Lieutenant Colonel Manitsas nodded slowly. "You know, Major, I thought I recognised your face when I saw you. You’re the same Kerrigan who was on the news for having helped Kess evacuate those wounded Stormtroopers from Argimiliar II, aren’t you?"
Kerrigan deigned to answer.
Horn continued the line of questioning relentlessly. "That wouldn’t be the same Kerrigan who shafted him when he returned to try to locate the survivors and left him to take the blame for the sabotage of the Rebel facility there, would it?"
Kerrigan stood nervously, at about the same time as several chairs were pushed back and numerous grim faced pilots got to their feet.
Lieutenant Colonel Callista prevented the situation from getting out of hand. "As you were, boys. Major Kerrigan here was just leaving, weren’t you Major?"
"Yes, ma’am, actually I was." He beat a hasty retreat.
Kerrigan slept poorly that night. Not that his conscience was troubling him. Rather, the noise from the Mess next door made sleeping almost impossible. At one point during the early hours of the morning, he risked getting up to look into the Mess to ask the Steward if it was possible to turn the music down, but the place was deserted. Someone had, however, moved the jukebox to the bulkhead adjoining his cabin, turned up the volume to maximum and programmed it to play a repeating selection of music all night.

Captain Corran Horn found Kessler on the bridge in the early hours of the morning. He hadn’t been actively looking for him, but now that they both seemed to be in the same place at the same time, he judged that now seemed to be as good a time as any to have a gentle probe to try to determine what was bothering him so. The Vice Admiral seemed deep in thought, and Horn coughed politely to attract his attention before interrupting. Kessler looked around, startled, then relaxed when he saw who it was.
"Hi, Corran. Didn’t see you come in. I must be slipping in my old age."
"Hi, Kess. We arriving at Caridda soon?"
Kessler indicated the blue nimbus of hyperspace visible through the bridge windows. "Yes, not much longer now and this place will be crawling with Stormtroopers again."
"General Donner coming with us this time?"
"Yeah, Rueban will be along for the ride."
Horn grinned. "All the Argimiliar crew together again? You’d think someone had planned it this way."
Kessler smiled a tight, cold smile. "Yes, funny how things work out. Take Major Ruegen for example…"
Horn snorted in derision. "We already worked that one out, thanks. Manny recognised him from the newscasts. Your little "slip of the tongue" giving his name away during the briefing was just the icing on the cake. Not very subtle, Kess."
Kessler conceded defeat gracefully. "Well, you know me: All the subtlety of a ton of bantha crap."
"True. I was forgetting." The two men spent a moment or two staring out into the expanse of hyperspace.
"He came into the Mess earlier, you know? I think he was looking for company."
Kessler winced. "You didn’t hurt him did you?"
"No. Calli let him go unharmed."
Kessler looked surprised. "Wing X must be losing it’s touch."
Horn laughed. "Well, she’s a Lieutenant Colonel now, she’s got more to lose. Andy and Mell were ready to feed him his own teeth, though."
"That’s my boys!"
A Chief Steward appeared at Kessler’s side with a steaming cup of java. Kessler accepted the cup gratefully and sipped appreciatively. "Thanks, Winter. Oh, Corran – would you like one?"
Horn eyed the delicious liquid, and agreed that he would, in fact, like one. Providing it didn’t cause too much trouble for the chief. Chief Steward Winter shortly returned with another cup.
Horn sipped at his drink, eyeing the departing Chief curiously. "Who’s that? I don’t remember seeing him before."
"Who - Winter? He’s on my staff, he came with me from High Command on Aurora. He looked after Piett before I was Battlegroup Commander. I think he may have even looked after Rapier and Starrett too."
"Before my time I’m afraid." He sipped at the java again. "The Chief makes a damn good cup of java, though."
"Yeah. It was strange at first, being waited on hand and foot, but you get used to it after a while."
"I’ll bet!"
Horn studied Kessler’s face closely. For the moment he seemed more like the Kessler of old – cheerful, approachable, friendly. He wondered what had happened to turn him into the stranger who’d arrived on the Challenge that morning, and what it would take to trigger that change again. He decided to take a chance.
"Kess, are you okay?"
Kessler lowered his eyes, for the moment unable to meet the concerned gaze of his former Squadron mate. "It’s just some ancient history, Corran. Nothing to worry about."
"Easy for you to say, Kess. A lot of people were pretty hurt by your brusque demeanour today."
"I know."
"Torres in particular."
"I know."
There was silence for a while, broken only by the chirps and clicks of the bridge systems. Horn could feel his chance slipping away, but for once, couldn’t find the words necessary to communicate his intentions. Then he was overtaken by events.
"Admiral Kessler, sir. Arrival in the Caridda system in twenty seconds."
Kessler quickly acknowledged the warning from the Officer of the Watch and shrugged apologetically at Horn, then returned to the bridge command chair.
"Sound the Damage Control alarm."
"Aye sir!" A klaxon blared throughout the ship and Damage Control teams ran to their stations, preparing for the unlikely eventuality that the Challenge may have miscalculated its hyperspace vector and reappear in normal space in the path of something solid.
"Ship is at superluminal exit velocity in three seconds."
"Standby for realspace."
With the same barely perceptible shudder, the great mass of the Star Destroyer burst into normal space-time, streaks of luminance bleeding rapidly into pinpricks of starlight outside the windows.
"All engines full reverse, slow to sublight cruising speed."
"Sublight cruising speed, aye sir."
The ship slowed rapidly to it’s customary speed and the onrushing globe of Caridda slowed it’s headlong approach. Visible as a speck of light on the cusp of the planet’s nightline, the Orbital Platform Declaration, headquarters of the Hammer’s Fist Stormtrooper Legion winked on and off, navigation lights running.
"Communications Yeoman, open a channel to System Control."
"Aye, sir. Channel open."
"Platform Declaration this is Vice Admiral Kessler aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer Challenge. We request permission to approach for a scheduled troop transfer."
"Roger Challenge. You are booked to take up holding sector twelve. The 3rd Battalion is ready to begin embarkation at your convenience."
"Understood, Challenge out" and with that, Kessler turned to address the Officer of the Watch. "The ship is yours, Lieutenant. Take us in slow and easy."
Horn, realising he'd missed his window of opportunity, threw at casual salute at Kessler on his way out of the bridge. Kessler merely nodded , he had that look on his face again.

Ord Mantell.

"Name?"
"Lieutenant Commander Kessler, 131st Tactical Squadron, Wing XXV, ISD Devastator."
The Fleet Trooper Sergeant checked his list and ticked off a name from his roster. "Did you enjoy your leave, sir?"
Kessler shifted his bag from one hand to the other and smiled. "Yes thank you, Sergeant. But I have to admit it's good to be back. Leave can get boring after a few weeks."
The Sergeant nodded, grinning. "I know what you mean, sir. Well, the shuttle's boarding now, go right ahead and stow your bag. She'll be taking off any minute now."
Kessler slung his bag over his shoulder and walked on through the checkpoint. It was true, he was happy to be back. He strode up the Lambda class Shuttle's boarding ramp and scanned the passenger compartment for a spare seat.
"Kess, you old pirate! Over here!"
Looking for the source of the shout, he was happy to spot Commander Manny Heflin waving at him from the back of the shuttle. Waving in recognition, he eased his way up the aisle to sit next to his friend, and Squadron Commander.
"Hey Manny. Enjoy your leave?"
"Does Darth Vader wear a silly hat?"
"I'll take that as a "yes" then" he laughed. "I noticed you stopped saying that when the Dark Lord himself was onboard last year. What happened? You weren't actually intimidated were you?"
Manny fixed him with a look of disbelief. "Me? Afraid of a Dark Lord of the Sith?"
"Sorry I asked, smartass."
Manny nudged him and pointed at a flashing warning light. "Seatbelts, Deadeye."
Kessler quickly strapped himself in as the boarding ramp swung closed and sealed with a hiss. The shuttle lifted gracefully and the pilot added power as she tilted back and climbed to rendezvous with her mothership.
"So," Manny continued. "Where'd you go for leave? Home?"
"What, Coruscant? Are you kidding? I only had two weeks, not two months! It takes two weeks just to get to Coruscant from Ord Mantell! No, I went to Tal Shiba and spent a week in the casinos."
Manny chuckled. "Last of the big-time high rollers, huh? Does this mean you can pay me back the cash you owe me now?"
Kessler snorted in derision. "Fat chance! I lost everything but my boots. And anyway, I don't owe you any money, you crook!"
"Can't blame me for trying."
"Want to bet?"
"Bet? Didn't you learn your lesson on Tal Shiba?"
"Touché. Did I call you a smartass already?"
"Many, many times."
Grinning happily, Kessler leaned over to look out of the viewport. There weren't many sights that were still capable of taking his breath away, but the sight of an Imperial Class Star Destroyer was one of them. The ISD Devastator filled the view, cruising slowly through her holding pattern high in orbit over Ord Mantell. Numerous small vessels: shuttles and transports like this one, flickered about her, ferrying crew and cargo to and from her cavernous hangar bays. A pair of the brand new TIE Interceptors passed close by, dagger-like solar panels catching the light of the systems' morning sun.
"Wow. Now that's what I call a fighter!"
"What?"
"Over there," Kessler pointed. "Two Interceptors on patrol." Manny craned his head to see, but the moment had passed.
"You think we're going to get any?" Kessler asked.
Manny shook his head. "Nope. Word from the Wing Commander is that those stuck up pricks in Wing XXIV are getting them all. There aren't enough to go around apparently."
Kessler sighed. It was a shame, but all the same, he'd grown fond of his beloved TIE/ln. He'd even named her "Kayta." He was pretty sure only Manny understood the significance of the name.
In no time, they had been sucked into one the Devastator's principle docking bays and were disembarking onto her gleaming steel deck. The bay was busier than usual, even for a ship with a crew returning from a leave period. Crates of war materiel were stacked six deep and enlisted men were hard at work getting them stowed in weapons bays and storerooms.
Spotting a Major waiting for the crowd of returned crew from the shuttle, Kessler began to get a premonition of impending trouble. Something was definitely up.
Clearing his throat, the Major called them all over and began taking names, checking off each crewman against his clipboard.
"What's going on, sir?" Kessler asked. "Are we mobilising for something?"
The Major had obviously heard this one countless times before that day. "All I'm at liberty to say is that all planet leave is cancelled and there's a full recall in force of all absent crew. The Captain will be addressing the crew once everyone's aboard. You bums were almost the last load, so you shouldn't have to wait too long to find out. Now move it people, you're blocking the munitions bay."
The group of crewmen dispersed and Kessler and Manny gave each other a long, hard look. "You think this is it? We're going operational again?" Manny asked on their way to the turbolift.
"Looks that way, but this is too rushed to be normal. Some man-sized shit is about to hit the fan would be my guess."
Reaching the launch bay they shared with the 132nd, Kessler was greeted by Quartermaster Sergeant Roskov, who ran the Squadron's supply section.
"Welcome back, sir. Can't stop, busy stocking up the munitions bay, but I thought you'd like to know a message arrived for you from Coruscant a day or two after you left" he shouted in passing, arms full of tools.
Startled, Kessler paused to think. Coruscant? My mother? He made his way to the deserted Squadron Lounge and checked his mail rack. Sure enough, a message slug lay tucked at the bottom of the rack. He picked it up and sat himself down at the nearest reader, inserting the slug into the loading slot.
The screen flickered and his mother's face appeared in the monitor. Alicia Kessler had aged badly since his father's death in action two years ago, yet he was surprised to see her looking so obviously animated. She seemed excited about something, he fervently hoped it was good news. After the loss of her eldest son Gaius in a training accident on Caridda, and her husband Marius's death recently, he felt she could use some good news for a change.
"Hello, son. I hope you're looking after yourself. I'm well, as always, and your brother Devin sends his regards from his latest posting. He can't say where he is, obviously, but we're used to that by now. Kyle, I have some wonderful news for you, but I can't tell you myself. There's someone here who wants to speak to you. Let me put her on..."
Puzzled, but with a rising sense of excitement, Kessler waited patiently while his mother cleared the monitor.
"Hello Kyle..."
Kyle Kessler felt his world dropping away from under him. He was simply stunned to the core of his being. For a good few seconds he could only stare, mouth hanging open, at her emerald green eyes and luxurious red hair. Lady Kayta Cantor didn't seem to have changed even slightly in the twelve years since he had seen her last.
Recollecting his wits, he rewound the message and played it again.
"Hello Kyle, I suppose it was wishful thinking of me to assume you'd be here on Coruscant when I arrived. I really should have sent a message ahead first, but my life is in such an uproar at the moment that I must admit I'm not really planning things well these days." Nervous smile. "Your son, Mazzic is on Corellia with my family and is a fine, healthy boy. I'm...I wanted to say I'm sorry for never getting in touch with you for all this time. You deserved to at least know how your son was doing, but I don't know... I suspect that part of the problem was that after Coruscant you weren't sure exactly whose son he was..." Downcast eyes, regret, sorrow. "Kyle, I want you to know that I never stopped loving you. I know it's presumptuous of me, but it's how I feel. If there's any way I can make things better between us, I'm willing to try. I'll be waiting here on Coruscant for your reply. Hope, sincerity. "I love you, Kyle."
He sat quietly, eyes shining with tears for a few silent minutes, struck dumb with the intensity of the emotions that surged through him. She's sorry? She's sorry? Forgive me, Kayta...what have I done to you?
Stumbling to his feet, he cleared the display and ejected the message slug, then went looking for Manny. He found him in the Squadron Admin office. Manny instantly knew that something was wrong.
"Manny, I have to get home right away."
"What’s wrong, Kess? Is it your mother?"
"No, she’s fine. It’s Kayta."
Manny’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. "Kayta Cantor? From the Academy?"
Kess nodded emphatically. "She’s waiting for me at home. Manny, I have to get home!"
"Shit, Kess; you know as well as I do that all leave’s been cancelled. I can’t let anyone leave their posts until we know what High Command has planned for the Devastator." Manny’s face formed a picture of agonised indecision. "I’m sorry, you know I want to let you go, but I can’t." He reached out to grip Kessler’s shoulder supportively. "I really am sorry. I know how much she meant to you…"
Kessler dropped his eyes to the floor, realising the futility of the situation. As much as he may have wished otherwise, he was an Imperial Officer, and duty came first. He felt his heart hammering at his chest and took a deep breath.
"I’m sorry, Manny. Look, you know you can rely on me to lead my Flight professionally through whatever operation is planned. Just promise me you can spare me for a month once the ship gets back from wherever it we’re going?"
Manny nodded, relieved to have found some compromise that could help relieve his friend’s anguish. "You have my word, Kess. In the meantime, why don’t you use my office to draft a reply to her? It’s private there at least."
He gave a grim smile and nodded, seeming to collect himself. "Okay, thanks, Manny, I’ll do that." His mind in a whirl, he shut himself into his Commander’s Office to compose his thoughts. He had a lot of thinking to do.
Later that day, a message was transmitted from the ISD Devastator to the nearest relay station en route to Coruscant. As it was addressed to a civilian destination, it took low priority under the sudden increase in military data traffic, and was delayed accordingly. At roughly the same time, the ISD Devastator broke orbit over Ord Mantell and proceeded to a rendezvous with the ISDs Immortal and Avenger. The three ships then proceeded to join the Imperial Fleet massing around a small moon in a relatively obscure system by the name of Endor. As history would record, the name Endor would not remain obscure for long.

Caridda

"Rueban, good to see you again." Vice Admiral Kessler smiled warmly at Major General Rueban Donner as the ageing warrior descended the boarding ramp of the Assault Transport and strode out onto the deck of the ISD Challenge.
Reaching out to grasp his hand, Donner shook his head ruefully. "I heard it but I didn’t believe it. So they made a Vice Admiral out of you, Kessler?"
"Well I was getting too old to fly fighters anymore, they had to find something useful for me to do."
"Bullshit, Admiral," Donner retorted good naturedly. "I’ve got twenty years on you and can still force march thirty miles a day. If you’re too old to warm the seat of a Defender with your ample ass, there’s something seriously wrong with the TIE Corps!"
Kessler smiled, conceding the point. "Ample ass?"
"Well, all due respect, but you are TIE Corps, not Hammer’s Fist." Donner clasped his hands behind his back. "So, you have a little job for us, I understand?"
Indicating that Donner should follow him, Kessler led him to the turbolift. "Yes, General. The Hammer has a little problem in the Danturi system that your boys may be able to help us with."
Donner gave a wolfish smile. "Solving problems is what we do best, Admiral."
"Okay, I can’t stop to chat. Have to get some sleep before we brief your officers tomorrow morning, but I thought you may be interested to know that we have an Intel Officer along for liaison."
Donner frowned. "What’s unusual about that?"
Kessler assumed an air of nonchalance. "This one’s name is Major Carlist Ruegen."
Donner raised one eyebrow in a remarkably understated expression of surprise. "You don’t say?" He pondered for a second or two.
"Everyone around here just refers to him as "Kerrigan" though. I’m sure you understand."
"I’m sure I do. I’d like to meet the good Major myself, if I may. I haven’t really had the chance to thank him personally for Argimiliar yet."
"I’m sure that could be arranged, General." The turbolift doors hissed open. "Your quarters, have a good night’s sleep. I’ll arrange to have Major Ruegen report to you privately once the briefing’s over. I’m sure you both have a lot to catch up on."
"You’re a nasty son of a bitch, you know, Kessler? You’d have made a good Stormtrooper."
Kessler smiled. "Coming from you, General, I’ll take that as a sincere compliment. Sleep well."
Donner chuckled softly to himself as he entered his quarters.

Endor

"Tallian, break left! You’ve picked up an A-Wing! No, break LEFT!" Lieutenant Commander Kessler swore violently as his wingman disintegrated in a fiery mess, but there was little time for recrimination, and even less to avoid the volley of fire from the arrow-like A-Wing interceptor that flashed like a knife through the fading conflagration.
Everything was rapidly turning to shit before his eyes. The combined firepower of twelve whole Fighter Wings had been unable to prevent the Rebel fighter assault from penetrating the defensive screen and gaining access to the Death Star’s interior. Fighters from Wing XVI had followed them in, and were doubtless now battling desperately to prevent the Rebels from reaching the battlestation’s reactor core. Kessler was fervently grateful he hadn’t been forced to go in with them. Surviving that kind of hellish, tight, enclosed dogfight involved odds that he had trouble contemplating. Things were not, however, much better out on the defensive perimeter. Of course, the word "perimeter" was pretty much a euphemism now. The battle was raging without mercy pretty much everywhere. The new Rebel A-Wings were proving deadly even against the vaunted TIE Interceptors, and Kessler’s Fighter was simply outclassed in every sense of the word. For once, overwhelming numerical superiority didn’t seem to be quite as overwhelming as it had always been in the past.
Looking about desperately for friendly fighters, he savagely threw the joystick around in an attempt to throw off the aim of his pursuer. Matters weren’t helped by the desperate cries of pilots in deep trouble coming in over the Wing Tactical net.
"I’ve got one on me! I can’t shake him!"
"Break, break, you’ve picked one up!"
"Any unengaged pilots – fall back to Sector 12! We have to support our capital ships"
"Help me! Please, someone get this guy off….."
An emerald green volley of laser fire flashed past his port quarter and momentarily silenced the shots of the A-Wing on his tail as it’s pilot broke off to nurse his shields and avoid further fire. Casting about for the source of the friendly fire, he finally heard a familiar voice on his Squadron’s comms channel.
"Kessler, this is Manny. Your little Rebel friend has gone to look for easier prey for now. Come about to point oh-four-five by one-three-oh and form on my wing. The Devastator’s in trouble, we’ve been recalled to support her."
Swooping around onto the designated course, Kessler spotted his Squadron Commander and the two remaining pilots of the 131st Tactical Fighter Squadron. "Got you, Manny. Thanks for swatting that guy off my back. That must be the first shot you’ve landed on target in six years!"
"Stow the bullshit, Kess. I don’t have the time. Open up your throttle all the way boys, it’s four kays back to the Devastator and it’s hostile territory all the way. Close up your formation and stay with me, watch for enemy interceptors."
Grimacing, Kessler formed up as ordered. Flashes of light, both small and large illuminated his instruments as men met their deaths violently in the cold embrace of space. The scale of the slaughter was beyond belief. They outnumbered the Rebel Fleet by a factor of twenty, but the Rebels simply would not give up. Their almost suicidal ferocity had broken the back of the first fighter assault and was now, unbelievably, carrying the fight to the Imperial capital ships deployed in a screen around the battlezone.
Beads of perspiration collected under Kessler's helmet and ran down his nose as the lonely group of four fighters piled on the speed and hurtled back towards their mothership. It didn't need to be said, but aside from being required to defend the capships from the assault that was massing in Sector 12, all of them would far rather be closer to friendly turbolaser fire than out on a limb in the middle of the no-man's land that was the battlefield around the Death Star. He also had other things to worry about. He'd learned that his younger brother, Devin Kessler, was assigned to the garrison on Endor, guarding the shield bunker. Having witnessed the Rebel attack on the Death Star first hand, it was obvious that the bunker's security had somehow been compromised, and his concern for his brother - a Lieutenant in command of an AT-ST platoon, was mounting.
There was little sense of the contempt that had previously characterised the Navy's opinion of Rebel military capabilities any more. Whatever disdain Imperial officers had lavished upon their Rebel opponents was rapidly being replaced with a healthy respect, and in many cases, outright fear. It was all falling apart, and far too quickly. There was little trace of the meticulous sense of discipline and order that had been the defining quality of Imperial military operations in the past. Endor was chaos, the ball was firmly in the Rebellion's court and they showed little sense of willingly giving up the initiative.
His reverie was quite abruptly broken by a blinding flash from behind that illuminated the battlefield in all visible frequencies. Shocked by the obvious size of the explosion, it took him a moment to realise exactly what had happened.
The Death Star... The Emperor...

His radar blanked out, fried by the overwhelming burst of electromagnetic energies released in that single, cataclysmic blast. Shocked, and flying blind, he took a moment to realise that one of his wingmen was drifting out of his flight profile, obviously preoccupied with absorbing the implications of the staggering loss that the Imperial forces had just suffered. If he hadn't been stunned himself, Kessler might have had the wit to shout his warning earlier. As it was, he was too late.
"Manny, look out! Break right! Break right!"
Imperial starfighter tactics relied heavily on what were known as "wolfpack" combat techniques. Exploiting the vast numerical superiority that the Naval TIE Fighter Corps enjoyed over their Rebel enemies, their pilots were trained to attack en masse, in tightly controlled formations. These tactics ensured that devastating volleys of fire could be brought to bear on targets from fighters that were in most respects, inferior to Rebel ships. It was a technique that relied not only on flying skill, but precise instrumentation that brooked little margin for error when flying in such tight formations. Without that instrumentation, the rate of pilot error increased exponentially.
The errant TIE Fighter collided with Commander Manny Heflin's lead ship and the two fragile craft were annihilated instantly. In all probability, Manny never knew what killed him.
Debris from the blast took out Kessler's remaining wingman too, and while he frantically tried to pull his own ship clear of the danger zone, he felt his hull, shudder with a heavy concussion. His cockpit canopy shattered, opening his craft to vacuum, and in an instant, his suit's life support systems kicked in, giving him two precious hours of endurance. Shaking his head to clear the ringing in his ears, Kessler tried to come to terms with the magnitude of his loss.
In that instant, he realised that he'd simply had enough. His instrumentation was out, he didn't know where the nearest enemy or friendly ships were, and his fighter was crippled. He had to get to safety fast.
Desperately scanning space around him, he spotted a heavily damaged ISD turning about in an apparent retreat from the battlefield. He had no idea what ship it was, but it wasn't Rebel and it was the closest one he could see with the naked eye. Killing power to his weapons, he opened up the throttle all the way and navigated manually towards it. By some freak of chance, his radio was still operating normally, so he switched to the Distress Channel and sent out a hail.
"Unidentified Imperial warship in Sector Twelve, this is Lieutenant Commander Kyle Kessler of the 131st Tactical Fighter Squadron, ISD Devastator. My Squadron is wiped out and my ship is heavily damaged, I'm declaring an emergency and requesting immediate clearance for a priority landing, please acknowledge, over."
"This is the ISD Challenge, you are clear to land in the main docking bay. I'm sorry to have to tell you, pilot, but the ISD Devastator has just been lost with all hands. The Captain is ordering a retreat to the Outer Rim, we'll be making the jump to lightspeed in two minutes. If you can't make it to us in that time, we're going to be forced to leave without you. Good luck, pilot. Challenge out."
Nursing every ounce of speed he could from his crippled fighter, Kessler later reflected that he only wished his first glimpse of the ship that he would spend most of the remainder of his TIE Corps career on, could have been made in more fortuitous circumstances.

Danturi

"Approaching hyperspace exit co-ordinates in two minutes, sir."
"Acknowledged, Lieutenant." Vice Admiral Torres replied, then turned to check that the Battlegroup Commander had heard the report. Kessler simply raised one black-gloved hand from the viewport at the front of the bridge without turning around. Torres sighed again. Okay, if that's the way he wants to play it... Major Kerrigan, standing by Torres's side remained silent.
Turning to Major General Donner, he cleared his throat. "Your troops are ready, General?"
"In all respects, Admiral. If you'll excuse me, I'll get to my Transport."
"Of course, General. Good luck."
Donner grinned as he buckled on his helmet. "I think, Admiral, that you're going to find that it's not us who'll be needing luck on our side."
Torres laughed. "Perhaps we should have just signalled ahead that the 3rd Battalion was coming? It might have saved us the trouble of preparing an invasion."
Voice amplified by his gleaming white helmet, Donner's reply was typically sardonic. "I don't think so, Admiral. I need the exercise." He saluted and left the bridge.
The Deck Officer looked up from the Ops Pit and reported that the ship was ready to exit to realspace. Torres gave the necessary orders and in moments, the ISD Challenge was in the Danturi System, bearing down at an alarming rate on a lone Orbital Platform.
Turning to Major Force at the Wing Ops station, Torres nodded once. Taking his cue, the Major began to issue his orders. "Thunder and Typhoon Squadrons - clear to launch. Bay controllers - get those transports into action."
"All weapons systems online, awaiting your command sir."
"Acknowledged" Torres replied. "Open fire with all turbolaser batteries on that Platform. Switch to ion cannons once you've knocked out their shields."
The withering firepower of an Imperial II Class Star Destroyer was quickly brought to bear on the Danturi platform, as hordes of Assault and Stormtrooper transports cleared the Challenge's docking bays and swept towards their targets. It's shields began to buckle almost instantly.
The Lieutenant in charge of the ship's sensor crews called out to attract Vice Admiral Torres' attention. "Sir, enemy ships in sector three!"
"I need more information than that, Lieutenant!" Torres growled.
"Sorry, sir. Sensors are showing a Frigate and several fighters powering up their shields. We can't tell yet if they're preparing to engage or retreat."
Kessler spoke contemptuously. "They're Rebels."
Torres demanded confirmation from the Sensor controller.
"Yes, sir. The fighters have been identified as X-Wing class. They're probably Rebel ships."
"Let them go, Torres. One frigate and a handful of fighters?" Kessler spoke in curiously dead tones, still facing out into space. "They must be stretched thinner than we thought or they didn't think we'd be able to fight for this system. Either way, they're not our concern. That man on the surface is what we're here for."
Torres exchanged a puzzled glance with Major Force. That man on the surface? Shrugging, Force relayed instructions to his Squadrons.
"The Platform is disabled, sir. Assault Transports are boarding now."
"Sir, I have the Platform Commander on comms. He offers an unconditional surrender."
"What a surprise. Very good, tell him we accept. If he offers no resistance to our troops his crew will not be harmed" Torres replied. Pleased with such an early success, Torres turned to address Kessler. "Sir, shall I give the order to begin launching the planetary assault?"
For the first time, Kessler turned to face the crew of the Challenge. "Negative, David. There's been a change of plan. Order your gunners to conduct an orbital turbolaser bombardment of the Danturi capital, but be sure to instruct them not to hit the capitol building. I want it left standing."
Silence reigned supreme, broken only by the quiet noise of the bridge instrumentation and the chatter of radio traffic.
"Are you having trouble understanding me, David?"
Torres was on dangerous ground. The chain of command was quite clear, but he was equally conscious that their mission was to liberate the Danturi, not destroy them.
"Sir, our orders..."
"I couldn't give a shit what you think our orders are, David. I'm your Battlegroup Commander. Carry out my orders or I'll replace you with someone who can."
Burning with humiliation, Torres swallowed back his angry reply. His temper had gotten him into trouble with High Command on a number of previous occasions. This wasn't going to be one of them. If Kessler wanted to face a Tribunal of Inquisitors upon their return to Aurora Prime, that was his concern. "That won't be necessary, sir."
He turned to face the speechless Gunnery Officer and relayed his instructions. "You have your orders, Commander. Fire when ready." He then turned to address Major Force, ignoring his expression of horror. "Signal our squadrons to standby, Major. They won't be needed for the moment."
With that, he swallowed his pride and turned to receive fresh orders from the Battlegroup Commander, but Kessler was once again staring impassively into space, a small golden necklace wrapped around his fist.

Coruscant

Kessler picked over the rubble quietly, looking for some trace of life, which he knew he would never find. The base of the 1st Coruscant Shock Legion had been totally obliterated during a day of vicious fighting, including the officers' married quarters, where he had been born and lived most of his formative years. He knew they were gone, but some part of him clung to the hope that they had been evacuated and somehow survived.
After fleeing Endor, the ISD Challenge had arrived in deep space on the Outer Rim, safe from pursuit. News from the frontlines was patchy, but it was clear that insurrections were breaking out on most major worlds, and the day of Palpatine's Galactic Empire was over. The Captain had decided that with his ship so heavily damaged and with his starfighter complement so badly mauled, they could do little to offer immediate help to the Imperial cause. They needed repairs and reinforcements, and until such were available, any defiance they could offer would be an empty gesture at best, suicide at worst.
Picking over his options, the Captain had decided to make for the Aurora system. It was neutral territory, and was equipped with the closest repair and construction yards that were capable of servicing a ship the size of an ISD. Upon arrival, they were all relieved to find that the system and it's outlying territories had been annexed by one of the Empire's few surviving Grand Admirals, and the Challenge's crew happily submitted themselves to his command.
Kessler had other priorities, however.
Realising that the newly forming Emperor's Hammer Strike Fleet needed every qualified combat pilot it could lay hands on, Kessler deigned to request leave to return to Coruscant. Instead, he went AWOL and signed up as a co-pilot on the first available transport leaving the system. It took him two months to work his way to Coruscant; signing up as co-pilot, deckhand, even cook on a variety of ships that each took him a little closer to his goal. On the way, news had arrived of the massive Rebel siege of the Imperial Capital, and whatever hope that remained to him had slowly died. By the time he'd arrived, it was all over. Coruscant, the jewel of the galaxy, lay firmly in Rebel hands, and the day of the New Republic was dawning.
Now, scavenging for traces of a former life in a pile of ruin that had once been his home, Kyle Kessler slowly acknowledged that he was the lone survivor of the Kessler family. Everything he had ever fought for, everything he had ever dedicated his life to preserving, everyone he had ever loved, was dead and buried. He had nothing left.
He fully intended to take his own life at that point. He was drinking himself insensible in a bar in the commercial district that night when a chance encounter with a group of drunken Rebel soldiers let slip a snippet of information that became pivotal in changing the entire course of his life. He discovered that the commander of the Rebel regiment that had been responsible for the assault on the base of the 1st Shock Legion had gone by the name of Niles Darrian. It could have been a coincidence, of course, but the next day, Kessler sold the gun he'd bought to shoot himself with and boarded the next transport offworld. Within a month, he was wearing the uniform of the TIE Fighter Corps of the Emperor's Hammer Strike Fleet.

Danturi

The intense fury of an orbital bombardment from an Imperial II Class Star Destroyer was something that had to be seen to be believed. Fortifications that had stood for millennia were obliterated in an instant, rivers were vapourised, sending massive gouts of superheated steam billowing for miles in all directions, boiling alive those who were unfortunate enough not be killed in the initial bombardment. The destruction was on a massive, but localised scale. Throughout the rain of fire, one structure weathered the storm, a single towering edifice that stood in the centre of the ruin, wilted, but untouched by the fury.
Onboard the ISD Challenge, the bridge was silent once more. During the lifespan of the Emperor's Hammer TIE Corps, such bombardments had rarely been authorised. The fledgling military organisation was deemed not strong enough to be able to afford such demonstrations of brutality. It was preferable to colonise uninhabited worlds, or capture weaker inhabited ones by ground assault. The Emperor's Hammer was still reliant to some extent on the goodwill of it's neighbours, so this type of concentrated destruction was rarely called for, for political, if not military reasons.
The communications yeoman on bridge watch cleared his throat to attract Vice Admiral Torres' attention. White-faced, Torres, indicated that he should make his report.
"Sir, I have the Danturi ruling Triumvirate broadcasting their surrender on all frequencies."
Torres nodded, grateful to have an excuse to stop the slaughter. "Gunnery, cease firing. Yeoman, signal the Danturi that we accept their surrender."
"Ignore that order Gunnery Officer" Vice Admiral Kessler instructed quietly. "Continue firing until every last stone in that city bar the capitol building has been levelled. Yeoman, close all frequencies."
Torres stared numbly at Kessler's back, his hands clenching and unclenching in impotent rage. Presently, the gunnery officer reported that the bombardment was complete.
Kessler finally turned to face the bridge. "Yeoman, signal the Danturi that we are sending down a delegation to accept their surrender and will meet them on the roof of the Capitol. Make it clear to them that I expect their military leader - General Scipio, to be present. He is to be unharmed and held under arrest to be turned over to Major Ruegen of Intel for interrogation. Major Force, have a shuttle prepared to take us to the surface. Tornado Squadron will escort us down. Instruct Major General Donner that he may begin landing his troops to clear up any pockets of resistance."
He walked the length of the bridge to face Torres and smiled for the first time that day. "Come with me, David. There's someone I want you to meet."

The Danturi delegation was waiting as ordered on the rooftop landing pad of the Capitol as the Lambda class shuttle made its approach. Six TIE Defenders swept the area for trouble as they powered in to the rendezvous, although none was expected. The city was a smoking ruin.
Torres sat thin-lipped and staring straight ahead, oblivious to the presence of Kessler at his side. For the majority of the journey, Kessler had been watching him carefully, idly playing with the piece of jewellery in his hands. Presently, he spoke.
"Do you remember your cousin Kayta, David."
This line of conversation had not been what Torres expected. Hesitantly, he nodded.
"Did you know that she had been raped and beaten by a cadet at the Academy by the name of Niles Darrian?"
Confused, Torres stuttered a reply. "I..I knew that she'd been assaulted while you and she were together on Coruscant, yes. But I didn't know the name of the man responsible, or that rape was involved."
Kessler nodded. "I daresay it wasn't something that the Cantor family wanted made freely known. She was royalty after all, and could one day have possibly produced an heir to the throne..."
The two men sat quietly for a while, Torres trying to work out why Kessler would bring up such ancient history at this point.
Abruptly, Kessler spoke again. "I found out the name of the officer in command of the Regiment that killed both my mother and Kayta while they were in refuge in our home on Coruscant too. It may just have been a coincidence, of course, but his name was Niles Darrian too."
Torres found that he didn't have an answer for this particular revelation.
"Were you fond of Kayta, David?"
Torres swallowed, hard. "Yes, I was actually. We were close as children, more like brother and sister than cousins. She used to stick up for me when my brothers picked on me, actually. She always had a story to cheer me up with and never made fun of my wish to become an Imperial Officer." He looked puzzled. "Kess, what has this got to do with anything? She's been dead for four years..."
The shuttle landed with a low whoosh of braking thrusters and the boarding ramp descended. Stormtroopers filed down the ramp to take up covering positions on the rooftop. Torres could clearly see a nervous-looking group of Danturi politicians gathered in waiting for the official surrender and handover of prisoners.
Unbuckling his seatbelt, Kessler stood and pulled on his greatcoat. "Do you have your sidearm with you, David?"
Torres nodded.
"Good. Bring it with you." Without another word, he exited the shuttle.
Confused, but with a mounting sense of anticipation, David Cantor Torres drew his DL-44 blaster pistol and joined Major Kerrigan in following Kessler out of the shuttle. It was bitterly cold outside, and the morning sun was very bright, in stark contrast to the dim illumination inside the shuttle.
Standing in the middle of the group of afraid Danturi was a man in manacles. He had the look of an experienced warrior about him. He stared at Kessler without fear. His nose appeared to have been broken at some time in the past, and he bore a savage scar that distorted one side of his face. The sneer that this produced was probably not all cosmetic.
The spokesmen of the group of Danturi revolutionaries began to offer their surrender, but Kessler merely raised a hand to silence him, continuing to stare at the manacled soldier for a while. Holding his blaster, Torres began to feel a little foolish, and a little sorry for the terrified Danturi politicians.
Eventually, Kessler broke the silence. "General Scipio, I presume?"
The man nodded.
"You don't recognise me, do you, General?"
This appeared to confuse the man. For the first time, his face registered something other than contempt.
Ignoring him for the moment, Kessler turned to address the Danturi. "Your unconditional surrender is accepted. You are all under arrest and will be taken under guard aboard my command ship and placed in detention until such time as the rightful government of this system is restored to power, whereupon you will be returned to your people to stand trial for your crimes. Do you have anything you wish to say?"
There were some anxious glances between themselves as the three Danturi politicians conferred amongst themselves for a second; then, the bravest of the three spoke up.
"We must protest at your brutal subjugation of this defenceless city and it's occupants! By whose authority do you impose your orders upon us?"
"Don't waste my time with your bullshit. This city was heavily defended by your revolutionary guard, and its civilian occupants have long since fled to the hills. Everything that the Empire has done here has been done in my name. I am Vice Admiral Kyle Cantor Kessler, Battlegroup Commander of the Emperor's Hammer TIE Corps, and you sorry pieces of shit are under arrest. Sergeant, take them away."
Three Stormtroopers levelled their rifles menacingly and escorted the suddenly very quiet Danturi away to the shuttle. Torres's attention was, however, on General Scipio, who seemed to have drained of all colour at the mention of Kessler's name.
Kessler turned to face him again. One look at Scipio's face told him all he needed to know. "Ah yes, you do remember me now, don't you?"
Scipio began to shake uncontrollably. In a thin, reedy voice he began to beg. "Kess, it was a long time ago, I was young and foolish. I...I was drunk!"
Ignoring him, Kessler turned to Torres and Ruegen. "David Cantor Torres, I'd like you to meet Niles Darrian. Do what you like with him." With dead eyes, Kessler walked over to the parapet and surveyed the wrecked city below.
Over the screaming of the wind, he vaguely heard Ruegen's shouting above Darrian's pleas for mercy that he was needed for interrogation, then he clearly heard a single shot, and all was quiet once again.

He stood alone on the parapet, oblivious to the winds that howled and shrieked around him. The city stretched away below, shattered and scarred by war. Greasy streaks of smoke scarred the dawn sky, but the guns had fallen silent, save for the occasional crackle of small arms fire. There was nothing to left to fight over now. Only the most obstinate and desperate still resisted the inevitable. He’d succeeded; his work here was done.
He wondered how long the city had stood here overlooking the mouth of the great river delta. Thousands of years in all likelihood, not that it mattered now. The city had stood over this river for a long time, certainly. It’s great curtain walls once reckoned impregnable, but of course, that was a long time ago. Look upon my works and despair, ye mighty. The ghost of a tight, bitter smile flickered over his lips. Nothing built by the hand of men lasted forever.
Suddenly cold, he pulled the folds of the heavy greatcoat tighter about himself with one black-gloved hand, the other burying itself into a pocket. His fingers closed about a trinket of jewellery, but he resisted the urge to draw it clear. He knew what it looked like. He had no desire to look at it again, not now, not today.
He considered throwing it away for a while. He could simply cast it into the screaming winds and it would be lost forever, scattered in the rubble that decorated the landscape for miles in each direction. But he knew he never would. He valued his past too much to deny its importance. That was his strength, and his failure.
After a while, he turned to face the anxious group of officers gathered a discreet distance away and signalled that he was ready to leave.

The End

© (copyright) Paul Lee Charlton. All Rights Reserved

Close