Gunnery Sergeant Jegora awoke to an insistent, high pitched beeping. He ignored it for a few minutes, hoping it would cease, but to no avail. Finally, after several minutes of listening to the annoying squeal and unable to return to sleep, Jegora rolled out of bed, intent on throwing whatever had woke him up. To his disgust and surprise, it was his datapad.

Stumbling over to his small and unimpressive desk, Jegora quickly grabbed up his datapad and hit a random button. As expected, the datapad immediately jumped to life, the screen painfully bright and displaying a message marked ‘Urgent’. Suppressing a groan and wondering what was so urgent as to wake him in the middle of the night (on his day off, no less), Jegora toned down the brightness of the screen and began to read.

As he read the blood slowly drained out of his face, leaving his features pale and drawn. He finished the message, sat the datapad down, and simply stood there. His eyes were distant, emotionless, his shoulders slumped. Any of his regular acquaintances would have been astonished to see Jegora in such a mood. Never a man to show his emotions in any way, shape, or form, to see him in such a vulnerable state would have been something to remember.

After a long moment of doing nothing, not even thinking, Jegora came too. He had things to do. One glance at the chrono on the wall told Jegora that it was just past 0200 hours. According the message, he had to report to Captain David Zort for further instructions. Doing his best to put the contents of the message out of his mind, Jegora quickly went about his business. The first thing up was a shower, then a shave, and then two packing jobs. The first consisted of clothing, fairly simple and standard garb that was common anywhere in the galaxy. The difference was that Jegora’s clothing was interwoven with armorweave threads, a modification that had cost him a hefty lump of credits but would now prove quite useful. The message had said pack light, so Jegora included only two sets of the reinforced clothing. The second bag was larger than the first, and what it carried was slightly more illegal.

The message had told Jegora to come heavily armed with non-Imperial gear. Inside the larger broken down into their base components, a M66-SD submachine gun and a StA-52 Light Assault Rifle taken from his personal weapons locker rested peacefully. Both were ‘slugthrowers’, projectile weapons. While the slugthrowers were more expensive and less efficient than their blaster counterparts, they generally had more knock-down power, greater penetration ratios, and were more durable. They were also heavier, but Jegora barely noticed the extra weight. A man who ate barbells for fun, he had never had a problem carrying his weapons. Lying next to the two weapons were two M4 Bullstopper pistols and four percussion grenades. In a side pocket were two sheathed combat knives, and in yet another pocket he carried ammo for all his guns. Conveniently the pistols and the submachine gun all fired a 9mm cartridge, although the assault rifle shot the bulkier 5.56mm slug. Jegora packed two clips for the submachine gun, two clips for each of the pistol, and two clips for the rifle. He also threw in a box of twelve gauge shells for the rifles shotgun attachment.

On his belt Jegora wore a worn-looking M3 revolver and yet another combat knife. The revolver appeared to be a show-gun, not really useful, but the double action trigger made it more than serviceable in combat. Satisfied that he had packed enough weapons to see him through the initial stages of whatever was to come, Jegora sat back and waited for the appointed meeting time to come.

As he sat there, waiting, Jegora’s mind wandered back to the message. He was still having a hard time processing the contents, and he knew that the upcoming mission would be the hardest he had ever faced. He also knew it had to be important for command to send him on this particular mission. He would just have to do his best.

The designated time approached, and Jegora figured he better get going. He rose and left his room, locking the door behind him. He turned right, down a hallway, and then proceeded to follow the directions he had been sent. After a few minutes of mindless walking, Jegora managed to find the Captain’s office tucked away in some sub-level of the base Jegora had never even knew existed. He approached the door marked “Captain Zort”, and gave a quick knock. There was a muffled, “enter” from within, and the door slid open. Jegora stopped, amazed.

Before him wasn’t an office but a hangar. There were only four men present. One was an officer, who Jegora assumed was Zort. There was also a mechanic, doing a final tune-up of the Firefly-class transport sitting before him. The third man was older than Jegora, and was wearing unassuming clothes. He also carried two duffel bags. Starting to get a bad feeling, the gunnery sergeant quickly approached the officer and more or less demanded answers.

“Explain. Now. I want answers, or I go nowhere,” he said, turning his gray eyed gaze on the captain. His eyes were particularly disturbing at the moment, dead and lifeless, but the officer seemed not to notice.

“The Corps requires your services, Gunny. This isn’t optional. You’re here to do a job, and that’s that. I assumed you were professional enough to get the job done despite the situation. Perhaps I was wrong?” the captain replied. Jegora calmed down instantly, stung by the questioning of his professionalism.

There was a long, tense silence. Finally the older man cleared his throat and stuck out a hand. “Verk,” he said tersely. Jegora turned his eyes to the soldier, causing him to flinch slightly but otherwise stand his ground. Finally Jegora sighed, and relaxed. He shook the offered hand.

“Jeg,” he said, trying and failing to put a little emotion into his voice. He turned back to the captain. “So, what’s the deal?”

The captain nodded his approval at the change in Jegora’s tone, then proceeded to explain the situation. “SOCom have reason to believe that a terrorist cell on Corellia is planning to attack the Vast Empire. Unfortunately, Corellia is a closed system to us. I need you to lead a small team of four troopers to Corellia and figure out just what in the hell is going on. Verkur here will be your second in command.”

The captain said it all so calmly that Jegora had to stare at him. He was talking about leading a four man squad into enemy held territory to discover and possibly neutralize an unknown threat. It was suicide. And apparently Special Operations Command wanted Jegora to lead the mission.

For all his concerns, though, Jegora could think of only one thing to say. “Why me?” he asked.

The captain’s eyes, which had been to this point cold and callous, softened slightly. “You know the area, and you have a reputation for getting the job done, and I figured it would be a chance for you to take care of some other matters.”

Jegora instantly understood, and warmed to the Captain. Nodding, he turned to his new second in command. “Where are the other two?” he asked sharply.

“Already aboard the ship, sir,” he answered right away. Jegora nodded again, then spoke again. “We leave in ten minutes. Everyone have their gear?”

Verkur nodded. The captain glanced at his chrono and gave a small smile. “Very good, then,” Zort said. “I’ll be off. Good luck boys. The Firefly is yours, bought two days ago. From the moment you lift off, you’re on your own. Understand?”

Both the enlisted men nodded, and the Captain smiled, this time openly.

“Get going.”

Verk opened his eyes and rolled over in his bunk. After taking off and heading into space, Jeg said that had at least two to four days of nothing before they reached Corellia. Verk wanted to get some extra sleep so he headed to his quarters and passed out for a few hours. Looking out of the porthole and into space, Verk watched the stars pass them by, each one a possible planet blinking back at him from millions of light years away.

Yawning, Verk sat up on his bed pushing the sheets aside and cracking his neck. Raising his left hand he ran his finger tips over his new cybernetic chest plate, a memory of the attack he had barely survived on his way back to Tadath. Pushing the dreadful thoughts to the back of his mind Verk stood and walked over to his duffel that had held his clothes. Pulling on a pair of loose sweats, a pair of socks and shoes and a clean tee over his head, Verk left his room and went to find the others.

Verk found his three companions in the common room of the Firefly. The common room felt welcoming. It was warm, the floor was carpeted, and there were a few couches and seats, as well as a holo projector and a dejarik chess table. Rave and Faux were conversing on a couch while Jeg was off by himself, staring at the blackness of space through a view port. Rubbing the back of his neck Verk walked over to the caf machine and poured himself a cup, adding some cream and a few sugars. He poured Jeg a cup and then walked over to his team leader.

Verk walked up to Jeg, stopping a few feet behind him and to the side. “Mind if I join you?” Verk asked. Jeg looked over his shoulder, “No.” Jeg turned back to looking out the view port. Verk stepped up next to Jeg and held out his cup of caf. “You’ve been up for awhile now. Here.” Verk held the cup out, offering it to Jeg. “Thanks.” Jeg grabbed the handle of the cup and took a sip of the hot liquid. Taking a sip of his own cup, Verk stole a quick glance at Jeg.

The two stared out the view port at the hues of purple and green floating amongst the blackness and dotted with white. Finishing his cup of caf Verk looked at Jeg, then back out the view port. “You alright, you seem a bit tense.” Verk asked. Jeg sighed then spoke. “I’ve been better. I haven’t been home in six years, and now…I’m fine. Did you want something?” Placing his cup on a nearby table Verk smiled. “Well I just woke up not that long ago, and seeing as how we are going to be on this ship for at least four days, we need to do something to pass the time.” Jeg turned to Verk and raised and eyebrow. “And what did you have in mind?” Verk turned and motioned for Jeg to follow. Curious to what was going to happen, both Faux and Rave followed as well.

The four troopers walked into the cargo bay, which was relatively empty since they wouldn’t really be need any vehicles or other large pieces of equipment during the mission. A few plasteel crates of food and other essential supplies were neatly stacked along one wall while the mule sat strapped down in the center of the room. The cargo bay was colder then the common area, causing a few goose bumps form on the back of Verks neck. “I was this when we came aboard.” Verk said motioning to the mat in the corner. Jeg smiled. “You want to spar then huh?” Verk nodded. “We need something to do for four days, so for the first why not spar?” He said smiling back at Jeg. “Alright then, lets get started.” Jeg said.

Verk stepped onto the mat the squishy material was slightly cold and felt good as it conformed to Verks feet. Jeg stepped onto the mat across from Verk. Even though he was younger then Verk, he was a lot bigger. Verk was thin, his muscles honed for speed, not for bludgeoning the brains out of someone. Feeling a bit constricted, Verk removed his shirt revealing his cybernetic chest plate as well as his scars from the surgery and the explosion. Jeg blinked, and gave a slight grunt his eyes flicking from Verk’s face to his chest plate and back again. “Have a bad day?” he asked, his voice laced with dry sarcasm. “You could say that.” He replied. A gasp drew his attention away from Jeg and in the direction of Faux and Rave, who had her hands over her mouth. Fauxs’ jaw was wide open.

Turning his attention back to Jeg, Verk raised his hands. Jeg grinned and pulled his shoulders back, the bones in his neck and shoulders cracking loudly in the empty room. Jeg stood a good four inches above Verk, that and he was double his size. Jeg took the stance of a boxer, loose and ready, fists clenched. Verk took his own stance, spreading his feet and bending his knees slightly, his fingers bent in a bit as well.

Taking a deep breath, Verk waited to see if Jeg would make the first move, when none came, he took a step forward, in came Jeg. The beast of a man charged in, lunging at Verk with a sweeping right hook. If it was not for Verks training, and the speed he gained from that training, that right hook would have broken his neck instantly. Verk jumped to the side, his speed getting him away from Jeg swiftly. Damn. He’s a big boy indeed. I’ll have to keep away most the time or I’m screwed. Using his speed and the fighting style of the Echani, Verk darted up to Jeg, stooping quickly and arching a kick to his right side from behind. That made Jeg mad. With the adrenaline pumping things were going to get good, as well as dangerous.

Jeg dropped his arm, trapping Verks leg. With his left hand he grabbed Verks leg, spun him, and tossed him to the other side of the sparring mat. Verk stood shakily. Shaking his head he cracked his neck. In a full out sprint, Verk darted at Jeg, dodging the mans massive arms by ducking, dropping to his knees launching three quick jabs to Jegs stomach, then rolling to the side and jumping back away from the him. The fight went on and on. Even as Verk tired, he was amazed that Jeg never seemed to. Verk had landed several good hits on Jeg. Hits to his ribs and legs, but Jeg also landed his own good hits, which Verk felt every time he moved. His side was bruised, and his left arm had a twinge. It was also getting hard to breath.

Suddenly Jeg stopped his fist mid arch of his swing. He blinked and breathed in through his nose, and his face scrunched up in puzzlement. Verk was taken aback by this sudden change from a fast paced fight to a dead stop. Breathing deeply Verk questioned, “What’s the mat…” he was cut off as the ship shook violently.

Verk turned to Faux and Rave, pulling his shirt on at the same time. “Go do a quick sweep of the ship and make sure everything is hidden and in place. We don’t need any delays, especially from the NR.” The two troopers nodded and headed out of the cockpit. Verk turned back to watch as their ship was pulled closer to one of the Mon Calamari ships. Sighing Verk took a seat in the co-pilots chair. “So, what do we do now?” Verk said, turning to Jeg. Jeg just sat there starring at the ships, making no motion to answer Verks question. Verk turned his attention back to the looming ships ahead.

“Everything is secured Sir.”Faux said as he and Rave entered the cockpit. “When we dock with the ship, let me do the talking. If they ask, we are private contractors hired to move supplies from the Core to Comar IV. We are returning back to Corellia to get the second half of our pay.” Jeg said to the group as he stood and made his way out of the cockpit. Verk, Faux and Rave followed Jeg through the ship to the cargo bay.


---Command deck of the Mon Calamari escort cruiser Yulan---

“Captain, we have the ship in our tractor beams. The ship will be onboard momentarily.” The small Mon Calamari said saluting the human NR Admiral. “Good. Send a few squads down to the docking bay. Be sure to have the ship locked in place with the magnetic clamps. I will be down shortly.” The Captain replied as he watched the small craft disappear beneath the larger ship he was in command of.


---Aboard the Firefly---

The four Imperial troopers stood motionless as they waited for their ship to dock with the Mon Cals. The ship shook for a moment as the ship was gripped by the magnetic clamps of the NRs ship. Once the Firefly stopped shaking Jeg walked over to the airlocks controls. His fingers danced across the panel, the airlock opening and the loading ramp extending. Jeg stepped away from the console and walked over to stand next to Verk.

New Republic troopers stormed up the ramp in two lines and into the Firefly. Parting at the top of the ramp, the two lines separated and formed a ring around the four man team. Since they were not suspected of any crime yet, no one raised their weapons. Verk scanned each trooper. His gut was in knots as he restrained himself from bursting out and killing off a few of the troopers before he was killed. The circle parted for a second as the Captain of the ship entered. “Captain onboard!” One of the NR troops called. Every soldier snapped their heels and saluted. “At ease men.” The Captain said, waving a hand at them.

“Who is the captain of this ship?” The Captain asked. Jeg stepped forward. “I am.” The Captain looked Jeg over. “May I ask what brings you and your crew all the way out here?”  The Captain looked to the rest of the so called “crew”. “We are private contractors hired to move supplies from the Core to Comar IV. We are returning back to Corellia to get the second half of our pay.” Jeg said. The Captain frowned and motioned for one of his troops. “Take a few men and search the ship. Nodding the soldier sped off followed by several others. Jeg reached to his pocket, which drew the attention of the NR troops. “Don’t move!” One of them shouted as he raised his blaster, followed by the rest of the ring.

“I have credentials for me and my crew.” Jeg said. The Captain glared at Jeg, and nodded. Jeg reached into his pocket and pulled out their papers and handed them to the Captain. Taking them the Captain looked them over quickly and frowned. At that moment the small search party returned. The SL whispered to the Captain who frowned even more. The lines in his forehead growing deeper, looking up at Jeg he smiled an evil smile. “Well, it would seem everything clears. You have to forgive me. Protocol with the increased terrorist activity.” Jeg nodded. Nodding in return the Captain turned on his heel and left the small craft, followed by his troopers.

---Command Deck of the Yulan---

“Send a message to Comar IV requesting if they have received any replies of late, and track them.” The Captain said to one of his troops as he watched the small craft speed away from his ship.