Star Wars: An Imperial Officer

Luthan clenched his teeth as he watched his opponent's fighter complement overwhelm his own in every field. He had put his Arquitens and Corvettes front and center, hoping for them to strike at the Imperial rear.

Their Interdictor, Ton-Falks, and Lancer-class frigates.

But they were quickly halted by close to 300 TIE Fighters, eight Carracks, two Arquitens, and two Nebulon-Bs.

Although outnumbering their opponents in terms of warships—fourteen to twelve—it wasn't enough to make up for the fighter advantage the Imperials held.

"We can still halt the boarding procedures and deal with the Victory," Nyxi said from behind him, as Jarik commanded the boarding process. Sadly, they had gained zero foothold, and the Imperials were holding well enough. But he knew it was only a matter of time.

"It's too late. The battle now relies on Jarik's boarding. If he succeeds, then the enemy fleet won't be capable of facing us," Luthan said, though he doubted it would be that easy. He realized he had gotten overly greedy. Had he attacked in a more strategic manner, the Imperial fleet would most likely have been shredded by now.

Luthan knew he had made a mistake, but he also knew the world was not over yet. He still had a chance. So, with that, he began issuing his own chain of commands.

"Focus firepower on their Corvettes. Ignore the Relentless. I want as many Carracks taken down as quickly as possible."

Meanwhile, on the lower levels of the ship, Jarik stood in the temporary command base, which had been set up in one of the various rooms aboard. Alongside eight other individuals, he commanded the boarding party consisting of over 4,900 troops.

"E1 remains at a standstill."

"So does E2."

"E3 is in a similar situation."

"E4 won't be breaking through anytime soon."

"E5 has gained some traction."

"E6 is pushing forward."

"E7 is locked down."

"E8 is struggling."

The officers reported as they fought at their respective entry points, brawling with the Imperial defensive formations, which were surprisingly tight.

Luckily, Entry Point 6 seemed to be pushing the Imperials back. That was the entry point where the elites of the Black Tomb had been deployed, so it made some sense.

"Dispatch reinforcements to that entry point, and tell all commanders to increase their pressure. We don't want them diverting any reinforcements toward E6," Jarik commanded before standing up from his seat.

"Captain Oulian, you have command. I shall take to the field," Jarik said as he walked out of the room.

Once he did, he came face to face with four Zabrak warriors—tall, muscular individuals wielding shields and vibroswords. They were the finest among Jarik's command.

"Follow me. We shall take to the field once more."

Captain Lux was struggling. He had been specifically dispatched to what was designated as Entry Point 5—to fight while severely undermanned.

Unlike the other seven breaches, Number 5 was critically lacking in personnel. This had been a strategic move by Catcher to reinforce other locations, placing Lux in command due to the Major's deep trust in his second-in-command.

Lux had been creative—positioning turrets, heavy troopers, and rocket launchers in various positions. He used the nooks of the hallways to his advantage, creating multiple dead zones.

And it was working. Lux had set up multiple fallback positions. So although they were being pushed back, they were forcing far more casualties onto the rebels than they were suffering.

Lux was playing the long game. He had full trust in Captain Aaron and his strategic ability. Lux gave no consideration to the idea of losing. He trusted his Captain, and he knew it would serve no good to entertain such thoughts.

Whenever they were about to be overrun, Lux ordered a strategic retreat, using grenades and other heavy weaponry to cover the fallback.

It resulted in casualties every time—but Lux preferred a steady casualty rate over a single, high-loss clash. And like that, Lux and his men continued their bloody defense, refusing to give up a single inch to the rebels without heavy losses on their side.

Senior Lieutenant Varen Harrex, meanwhile, was struggling far more than Captain Lux. He had been given command of the sixth breach and was under relentless assault by rebels of far higher quality than their affiliation suggested.

Varen leaned against the wall of a nook, pistol in hand, peeking lightly around the corner. The rebels were steadily advancing in organized formations, not even blinking as dozens of their comrades fell under the concentrated fire of a turret.

That turret was the only thing keeping the defense alive, Varen realized, turning toward the Stormtrooper squad behind him.

"Take up D19 and D20, and hold it at all costs. Those rebels must not gain a position to fire on our turret," Varen shouted at the sergeant, the man barely hearing him over the continuous laser fire from both sides.

The sergeant nodded, and Varen brought his comlink to his mouth to coordinate with the entrenched forces.

"Covering fire in three, two, one—now!" Varen spoke into the comlink before ushering the nine men forward, E-22 blaster rifles in hand as they rushed toward Defensive Positions 19 and 20.

Terror filled Varen as he saw laser bolts cut through each and every one of them—only the sergeant made it to his position. The rebels had somehow placed a heavy gunner in clear sight of the reinforcements, Varen realized as he peeked again.

He spotted what seemed to be six men with heavy repeating rifles, setting up a fortified position under rebel attack cover. In that second, Varen knew he couldn't hold this position any longer.

"Prepare for an organized retr—" he began into his comm, but was interrupted by a hand clamping onto his shoulder. Startled, he turned around.

He found himself face to face with seven Stormtroopers, led by a man wearing an orange pauldron—the mark of Imperial Special Forces.

"Belay that command, Lieutenant," the man said.

Varen's gaze shifted to the squad in sheer amazement at their unique equipment.

Each trooper wore standard white Stormtrooper armor, but each bore distinct customizations. The man closest to the sergeant wore a coat and hood over his armor, hiding the upper half of his body. Another wore reinforced plating on his left shoulder and had knife holsters across his chest and waist. His left arm was made of pitch-black metal.

The third man was massive—over a head taller than the sergeant. His armor had been custom-fitted and reinforced. He carried a massive rocket launcher on his back, a modification Varen had never seen before.

Behind him stood a man in nearly standard armor, with little customization—except for an unusually advanced wrist control and an antenna protruding from his helmet.

At the very back stood two individuals with twin tubes connected to their helmets. One wore a simple Stormtrooper uniform except for the tubes, and carried a pair of blaster pistols. The other had red markings on his armor, a backpack, and what seemed to be a flamethrower.

The more Varen looked, the more he realized who had come to his rescue.

SCAR Squadron.

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