Mutiny!

{ The lastest installment in the DT Chronicles. ;o) }

Dara rapped lightly on her commander’s door with the back of her knuckles and waited for the eventual “Come!”
She opened the door and stepped inside, letting the door shut behind her before she saluted. “Sir!”
Rogue, seated, returned the salute informally and gestured to a chair. “Dara. Good to see you. Have a seat and tell me what’s on your mind.”
Dara managed a small smile and perched on the side of Rogue’s desk instead of taking a chair, half-turning to face her commander. Rogue lifted on eyebrow curiously.
“Sir, we need to talk.”
“I’m listening.” His second, so often cheerful and lively, now worried him with her serious demeanor.
“There’s been something that we’ve discussed in the past, and I don’t think you’ve been taking me seriously.”
Rogue looked surprised. Though he and Dara often joked around, he thought he gave her proper credence as the situation warranted. “What are you talking about?”
“This.” And then there was a blaster approximately four centimeters from Rogue’s nose.
“Uh, Dara, if this is a joke….”
“This is what I’m talking about, sir. I’ve warned you this day was coming, and you laughed it off. I told you I would mutiny, and you treated it like a joke.” She shook her head sadly, though the blaster never wavered.
Rogue held very still. A cold, hard knot was beginning to form in the pit of his stomach as he realized she wasn’t kidding. “Dara,” he began.
“No, Rogue, you had your chance. It’s too late now.” She reached over and lifted his blaster free from its holster with her left hand and tossed it across the room. “Just believe that this is for the greater good.” She raised her voice. “Killer! Dog!”
Rogue stared speechlessly as the two men entered the room and moved to stand on either side of him.
“Terribly sorry about this sir,” Killer shrugged, “but orders are orders.”
“Whose orders?” Rogue demanded.
“Hers.” Dog jerked a thumb at Dara and grinned cockily.
“I did warn you, sir,” she said softly, then nodded to Killer and Dog. “I’d rather we avoided violence, Rogue.”
Even had Rogue wanted to resist, the entire situation was too surreal for him to even formulate a plan. Also, Dara still had her blaster, his lay across the room, and Dog and Killer both wore theirs. He stood and looked Dara in the eye. Her lower lip quivered slightly, and she turned away.
“Go,” she said, and Rogue was escorted out of the room. She bit her lip and sat in Rogue’s chair. Moments later, she was joined by Roberta and Tresk.
“Well?” Roberta wasted no time.
Dara’s lip quivered again, and she raised her hand to stifle the giggle that slipped out.
Roberta grinned, her question answered. “Poor Rogue.”
Tresk’s brow furrowed. “I still don’t think this is a good idea. If we get caught?”
“We won’t,” Dara assured him. “Redding has sliced loops into the security holocams covering the route and area of the detention center Killer and Dog are heading for. I supervised his work. I also put in a request for two weeks’ leave in Rogue’s name. It’s been so long since he requested any that it was almost immediately approved. The fact that we’re technically off the duty-rotation right now helped, as well. We’ve all got leave coming, as a matter of fact. The two weeks starts tomorrow, and I can finish his work today. No one will ever know.”
“Except Rogue,” Roberta commented.
“Yes, well…” Dara half-smiled. “I’m sorta hoping he’ll forgive me.” She winked at Tresk, who still didn’t look convinced.
“Is she even here yet?” Allison had appeared in the doorway, and she stood with one hand propped on her hip.
Dara nodded and glanced at her chrono. “Her shuttle touched down an hour ago. Davra and Sean went to go meet her.”
“How long are we keeping Rogue cooped up?” Allison asked.
“Until tomorrow evening.” Dara laughed. “I’ve been telling him to get some rest. Now he has no choice.”
* * *
They were halfway to the Detention Center when Rogue’s mind started to clear and reality set in. The absurdity of the situation struck Rogue: his second-in-command was attempting a mutiny in a fully-staffed NR base. Their squadron wasn’t the only one housed there. Though Rogue hadn’t seen any other personnel since leaving his office, he knew that if he could evade Killer and Dog, he would be able to make it to an occupied portion of the base and contact military police. He wanted answers.
They were heading toward a corridor intersection. Rogue counted the steps, ready to barrel into Dog and run down an adjoining hallway. They drew closer. Rogue tensed, then sprang into action…
…Only to find himself flat on his back seconds later. As he lay there, gasping for air, it occurred to Rogue that his escorts had not been chosen lightly. Dog was the squadron’s unarmed combat expert, was in fact the best in the entire wing. Killer could out-lift anyone on base when it came to free weights. Rogue decided that Dara had expected him to attempt an escape.
“Sorry, sir,” Dog said, leaning casually against the wall. “Nothing personal.”
For some reason, the use of the honorific “sir” infuriated Rogue. He could imagine the mockery that dripped from the word. “If Daramis is giving the orders now, why do you keep calling me ‘sir’?” he demanded angrily.
Killer smiled easily. “Habit?” He reached down and offered Rogue a hand.
Rogue pushed it away, climbing to his feet on his own. Desperate to attract the attention of anyone who could stop this madness from continuing, he lashed at Dog. Though caught momentarily off-guard, Dog deflected the chin-strike easily, diverting the force of the blow to one side. Rogue tried again, a feint-strike combination, but it was ineffective. For what seemed like hours, but in reality could only have been minutes, he tried every trick, dirty or otherwise, to get past Dog. Dog effortlessly deflected each one without retaliating.
Then Rogue’s anger was spent, leaving his exhausted, slumped in defeat. Killer rested a heavy hand on his shoulder and propelled him forward. Dog followed warily. They walked the rest of the way to the Detention Center without further incidents or even speaking, until Dog keyed open one of the cells.
Rogue hesitated, glancing from one man he had once trusted to the other. “Why is she doing this?” Rogue asked softly. “What did I do? After all these years, why now?”
Dog grinned. “Rogue, if I could understand women, I wouldn’t be wasting my time in the military.”
Rogue almost smiled, then looked to Killer.
“She said it was for the greater good,” he shrugged.
“Whatever that means,” Dog said cryptically, then shoved Rogue—not too hard—inside the cell. The door shut before Rogue could turn.
Rogue sank onto the sleeping platform and rested his head against the wall. He had seen the cells before, had even been inside one, but never as the intended occupant. It offered new perspective on how bare and hopeless the cells were, perspective he could have lived without.
His only hope now were the security cameras. Surely the security detail would notice that he was occupying the cell, or investigate the scene he had made by attacking Dog. It could only be a matter of time before they released him and someone would explain matters to his satisfaction.
In the interim, Rogue began to sift his memories of the last few weeks, searching for something that could have prompted such uncharacteristic behavior from Daramis Mcejo.
* * *
Daramis Mcejo settled into the chair at the head of the conference table, the chair that Rogue normally occupied. She felt odd that Rogue had been cooling his heels in a cell for the past three hours, and that he thought it was on her initiative. That wasn't entirely untrue, but it wasn't for the reasons that Rogue would be guessing.
She shoved those thoughts aside and looked around the table at her fellow conspirators. Davra sat next to her, leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, looking for all the world as if he were napping. Killer sat on her other side, and Tresk next to him. Dog and Sean were laughing loudly over a ribald story. Roberta, Allison, and Redding were discussion the day's training sessions and cheesecake. Jon sat one chair removed from everyone, managing to remain an aloof, bored loner while still part of the group.
Daramis cleared her throat to get their attention. After a moment, the side conversations died down.
"I'm sure everyone knows by now that Phase I was a huge success. Rogue currently resides in cell--" she glanced at Dog.
"32-C," he supplied.
"Thank you. Cell 32-C, and he is probably going stir-crazy by now. Fortunately, none of our highly irregular activities were noticed, courtesy of Redding's slicing skills." There was a smattering of applause, and Redding jumped to his feet and bowed.
Dara smiled and waited for him to sit. "The welcoming committee reports that our guest arrived intact and in high spirits. She's settled into the guest quarters and is fully supporting both Phases." She glanced at her datapad. "How are we coming on Phase II?" She looked at Roberta.
"So far, so good, Daramis. We'll be ready to go at 1800 tomorrow."
"We have permission?"
"As much as we've asked for," Roberta said dryly, and that prompted laughter.
"What the general doesn't know won't hurt him," Dara replied. "Rogue's leave goes into effect at 0600 tomorrow morning. I've managed to file all his report and finish the paperwork he didn't know he had, and I also posted a Do Not Disturb notice on his office and his quarters. He's off-duty in twenty minutes, so I think we can safely say that no one will notice his absence.
"For those of you who have reservations about this mad scheme, rest assured that you will not be implicated." She glanced from face to face, but they all seemed largely supportive. "I'll need status reports by noon tomorrow. Dog, Killer, you should be in place by 1750. Everyone else, meet no later than 1800. Allison, you're in charge of our guest tomorrow--answering any questions, showing her around, making sure she eats, and so on." Allison nodded, and Dara looked at her datapad again. "Am I forgetting anything?"
"Shuttle reservations?" Roberta asked.
"Made at 1300 today," Davra supplied.
Sean leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Dog tells me that Rogue kicked up quite a fuss earlier, Daramis. How can we be sure that he'll come with his escort quietly tomorrow?"
Dara frowned. "Ideas, anyone?"
"He really wanted to know why your sudden change of heart," Dog mentioned. "Perhaps if we told him you would explain, he'd be curious enough to avoid any more scenes?"
"All right. Do it. Anything else, people?"
Tresk raised a hand. "Do you really think Rogue will forgive us?"
Daramis grinned. "I think he will. But we should certainly be prepared for some sort of revenge."
"Well, that certainly eases my mind," Tresk deadpanned.
Amid the laughter that followed, Dara stood. "You all know what to do. Incidentally, attached to the approval for Rogue's leave was permission for two weeks leave for most of the rest of us."
"Most?" Allison raised an eyebrow.
"Well, I have some things to take care of for Rogue, so my leave will only be ten days, starting four days from now. Jon, you were approved to attend the advanced demolitions training, so you'll only get a week."
Disappointment and excitement fought for predominance on the teenaged demolitions expert's face, and excitement finally won out.
"And Dog, the general was hoping you'd volunteer to do some unarmed combat instruction for the new squad, but that's completely your choice."
"I'll think about it," Dog yawned.
"The rest of you, leave begins after Phase II ends. I'll see you all tomorrow."
Daramis excused herself quickly and was halfway to her quarters before Allison caught up with her.
"Daramis, I just thought of something."
"Yes?"
"No one outside of our squadron knows where Rogue is, right?"
"Right."
"None of the duty officers, none of the guards, no one in the detention center?"
"Right again."
"Then, who's going to bring him meals?"
"I am, of course. Did you think I was going to make Rogue eat prison food?"
"You?" Allison blinked.
"Well, everyone else is so busy with other preparations..."
"Of all of us, wouldn't Rogue be most upset with you?"
"I suppose so."
"And you're going to his cell alone?"
"That was the plan..." Even as she said it, it occurred to Dara that perhaps it wasn't the wisest idea. "Okay, so maybe not. Who, then?"
"I'll do it."
Dara considered. "Are you sure, Allison? You're already playing hostess tomorrow. Will you have time?"
"I'll make time," she said decisively.
"All right. I was on my way right now. The cook in the officer's mess is saving a plate for me."
"Is it all right if I pick it up instead?"
"It should be. Any questions, tell them to buzz my comlink."
"Yes, ma'am!" Allison saluted and ran off.
Dara crossed that task off her mental to-do list and continued to her room.

Rogue paced the cell, agitated. He had soon learned that it was five steps long and three wide, and he had discovered that after he had concluded that no one was paying attention to the security monitors
His chrono read 1400, and he was sick of staring at the same four blank walls. The night had passed uneventfully; any other time he might have even said it had been peaceful, but he was too uptight to appreciate the lack of interruptions. Consequently, it had taken him a long while to fall asleep, and then he didn't sleep very deeply. Time had been crawling all day, with only meals brought by a silent Allison to mark its passage.
Rogue had given up trying to find a cause for his predicament. He had relived every decision, every conversation with Dara, every joking comment, everything he could remember from the last two weeks, and could find nothing that would explain mutiny. He concluded, much to his dissatisfaction, that he wasn't as good at gauging her moods as he had thought, and that perhaps he had said something in a joking manner that had been grossly misinterpreted. There was simply no other explanation.
From there, he had tried to recall if there had been any indication from the rest of the squadron. He remembered a few furtive glances, a couple of conversations mysteriously hushed when he entered the room, but nothing that could have hinted at a betrayal of this magnitude.
His chrono ticked away the numbers as the day passed. Rogue tried to distract himself with mind games and puzzles, but he would always return to constructing scenarios that would get him out of this mess.
He had spent what seemed like an eternity in that cell, the silence weighing on him almost as much as the forced solitude, wondering how his absence had gone uninvestigated for almost a solid twenty-four hours, when the door opened. he turned, expecting to see Allison bearing food, finding instead Killer and Dog framed in the doorway, blasters at their sides, but otherwise empty-handed.
"What, no binders?" Rogue asked, sarcasm edging his voice.
"We were sort of hoping that you would come quietly this time," Killer said.
"Why would I do that?"
"Because," Dog said lightly, "Daramis wants to see you. She wants to explain things to you, make you understand what this is all about and why it happened."
Hope surged through Rogue. If he could speak to his normally level-headed second, he was certain he could make her see reason. Perhaps this had been a gigantic misunderstanding. If he could just talk to her....
Rogue straightened. "Then let's go."
As they walked through the maze of corridors, Rogue once again noticed that the area seemed oddly deserted. Any other day, a five minute walk would have brought him into contact with a minimum of ten beings. They walked for several minutes, without seeing anyone, not even a droid, before Rogue realized where they were heading.
Killer and Dog stopped outside the officer's mess. "She's in there."
Rogue was confused. "Why here?"
"Ask her."
Rogue shook his head and keyed open the door. The interior was dark, but he stepped forward.
The moment he was through the door, lights blazed, the sound of music swirled around his ears, and he could hear people yelling, "Surprise!”
He threw himself back against the wall, reaching for the blaster that wasn’t there before he could curb the instinct. He gazed around, dumbfounded and speechless, at the festive decorations, the elaborate refreshments, the “Happy Anniversary” banner, and the sheer number of people filling the room.
Then Dara stood next to him, grinning sheepishly. “Happy Anniversary, sir.”
He blinked, then blinked again. Then he shook his head. “Everyone was in on this?”
“No. Everyone was in on the surprise, but only our squadron knows about the mutiny.”
“Then why didn’t—“ He stopped. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
Dara laughed. “I’ll fill you in on the details later, sir.”
Rogue looked at her speculatively. “You know I’ll never forgive you for this.”
“Why don’t you decide that after you see your present?” Dara moved aside, and Rogue saw the most beautiful sight he had seen in months.
His wife walked through the door.
Sean appeared at his elbow, murmuring, “I believe it’s Dog’s job to drool, Rogue.”

Rogue abruptly shut his mouth, then was moving toward his wife, wrapping her in a warm embrace. He was faintly aware of cheering and “awws” in the background.
After an appropriate amount of time had passed, just before the onlookers grew embarrassed, Dara coughed lightly.
“Sir, that’s not all.”
Rogue drew back slightly, lost in his wife’s eyes. “This is plenty, Daramis.”
“Oh. Well, then, I suppose we can get a refund on these shuttle tickets to Hapes. And you won’t be wanting this two-week leave.”
Rogue’s jaw dropped again, and he turned slowly, not believing his ears. Friendly laughter rippled around the room at his _expression.
Dara smiled innocently. “Will you forgive us now?”
Silence hung in the air for a double handful of heartbeats. Then Rogue drew his wife close again, laughing. “You just might have earned my forgiveness. But beware my revenge.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, sir.”
And the music played.

Mission Accomplished

“Before we begin, you need to know that this mission is strictly volunteer. If you don’t feel comfortable with it, I’ll understand.” Commander “Rogue” Garcia paused, waiting for the surprised murmur to fade.

His second-in-command, Daramis Mcejo, glanced at him questioningly. He gave her a reassuring nod, then looked at the rest of his command, judging their reactions.

Jon, his teenage demolitions expert, looked bored. But that was no surprise; he always looked bored, even when he was setting hair-trigger explosives. Roberta had a datapad close to hand, ready to take the notes she would need for her quartermaster duties. His two snipers seemed relaxed, though Tresk looked curious and Jeff “Killer” looked suspicious.

The newest member of Rogue’s detachment, Redding, piped up. “Sir, why—“

Rogue cut him off. “Hear me out, soldier.” Redding was fresh from the academy, and his curiosity often overpowered his good judgment. But this was an informal briefing, and Rogue didn’t want to be too hard on him.

Redding flushed and nodded silently.

Rogue’s gaze fell pointedly on the eighth chair that was noticeably vacant. He could see in his peripheral vision that everyone followed his gaze, except for Daramis, who watched him carefully.

“You all know that we lost Dog three weeks ago.”

“At the end of the mission with the botched intel,” Dara grumbled. Her comment was needless. The events were still all too fresh in their memories.

They had been slated to investigate a rendezvous point between known smugglers and Imperials, in an effort to trace the Imperial supply line. It should have been a routine assignment, but there had been much more firepower than intel had predicted, as well as two capital ships that weren’t reported. To top it all off, it seemed as if they had been expected, and Dog had gone out in a blaze of glory. Though he mourned Dog’s loss, Rogue had considered it a statistically low casualty rate, considering the odds.

“Exactly,” Rogue confirmed.

Before he could continue, Killer cut in. “Revenge mission?” he asked eagerly.

Rogue shook his head and met disappointed stares. “Better than that,” he said. “We’ve been piecing together bits of information gathered from various sources, and it’s been all but confirmed that Dog is alive and being held in a detention center on Brialt.”

Hope flared in Roberta’s eyes, then dimmed. “Sir, this is impossible. People only come back from the dead in Rogue Squadron and holovids. We all watched Dog’s fighter burn.”

“We saw it burn, yes. It never exploded.”

“But we couldn’t raise him on the comm,” Tresk pointed out. “And his life support systems were gone.”

“The flames would have destroyed both,” Rogue agreed, “but he was wearing his flightsuit, and we were in atmosphere, as thin as it was. Life support was not vital. Also, this pilot—who obviously wasn’t named in Imperial transmissions—was apparently picked up minutes after his engines caught fire. Remember the cruiser that moved between us and Dog? We never saw his fighter go down.”

There was absolute silence for two pairs of heartbeats as they absorbed this information.

“We are going to get him, sir?” Dara’s voice was soft and dangerous. The realization that one of their own had been enjoying Imperial hospitality for three weeks without their knowledge made her furious. Killer reached over and squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“Well, that’s what we’re here for. It won’t be easy. It won’t be pretty. There’s a chance that we’re wrong. Volunteers only, and no hard feelings if you opt out.” He gazed around the room and was pleased and not at all surprised to see every hand in the air, though Demolitions still looked bored. “All right. Let’s hammer out a plan.

“The Brialt Detention Center isn’t the Imperials’ biggest, which should make our job that much easier. It is adequately defended with both air- and ground-based defenses. This is going to be of necessity swift and sneaky.” He touched a button on the arm of his chair and a holoschematic of a military complex sprang up in the middle of the briefing table. “That’s the BDC.” He paused, letting them study the building for a moment.

“I’m still working on our apology for launching this mission, so—“

Redding raised his hand. “Why an apology?”

Dara answered for Rogue. “Risk seven soldiers on an attempt to rescue one who may or may not be alive? In this case, it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission. We just hope that we’re successful and that they decide to retroactively sanction this.”

Rogue nodded. “Dara, Redding, Tresk, you work together and find a way to get in, get Dog, and get out intact. Roberta, Killer, Jon, same thing. You’ve got one hour.” He turned his attention to his datapad as his people separated themselves into groups and started their quiet, earnest discussions.

After two hours of mashing together the results of the two planning groups, slicing off the excess bits, smoothing out the rough areas, and hashing out the questions of supplies, Rogue decided they had a workable, if not perfect, plan.

“Redding, I need you to make sure we don’t get pulled for duty while we’re gone. Can you handle it?”

“Yes sir!” The eager young slicer saluted crisply.

“Okay. We’ve got three groups: Meet’n’greet, Hide’n’seek, and Getaway.

“Meet’n’greet: Killer, Redding, and myself. We make a lot of noise. We draw attention. We kill Imps. We try not to get killed ourselves.

“Hide’n’seek: Dara, Jon, and Tresk. They search the compound, they avoid imperials, and they find Dog. Dara will head up that group, Jon will blow up anything that gets in their way, and Tresk will provide cover fire and any medical attention that Dog may require.

“Getaway: Roberta, and partly Redding. She stays with the transport, monitoring communications in the hopes that we’ll be warned before the Imperials do anything drastic. Redding stays with her for the first ten minutes in order to slice into the BDC’s computer mainframe and locate Dog. Any questions so far?”

No one ventured any comments, so Rogue continued. “An analysis of BDC’s defenses shows a heavy reliance on TIE fighters, but mostly human guards. They haven’t had an infiltration in twenty years, and their defense commander attributes that to his performance, but in reality it’s due to the fact that there hasn’t been an attempt in twenty years. We will, of course, be exploiting his overconfidence.

“Dara’s group studied observations on the guards’ patterns and discovered that there is a service entrance that is only guarded by one trooper for thirty minutes just before local sundown. Every other entrance is guarded by at least three troopers, with more patrolling the perimeter.

“Meet’n’greet will open fire on the back door, doing our best to make it look like we’re it, all the while drawing the Imperials’ attention away from that service entrance. Hide’n’seek will neutralize the guard and enter the compound. I figure we can hold the guards’ attention for ten, maybe fifteen minutes on the outside, and that will hopefully be enough to get Dog out.

“Hide’n’seek will rendezvous with Roberta, and then we will disengage. We’re hoping Roberta can provide enough cover fire that Meet’n’greet can board and we can be in the air and on our way before BDC can scramble their TIEs.”

Killer raised his hand and Rogue acknowledged him with a nod. “What’s to stop them from scrambling their TIEs the minute they know we’re there?”

Rogue hesitated before replying. “The defense commander is very proud of his ground troops. He’s issued statements to citizens concerned about the aerial damage TIE fighters are noted for that the TIEs are and will be a last resort.” He glanced around. “Look, we’re not kidding ourselves here. This is a risky mission, built on maybes and hypotheticals. Even if we pull it off, we could all be staring at a court martial for taking the initiative. This won’t be easy or clean. Again, if anyone wants out, I’ll understand.”

No one moved.

He waited for a handful of seconds, then smiled grimly. “Roberta, can you get us a transport?”

“Already done, sir. I had Redding reroute a small Corellian transport that was scheduled for routine maintenance.”

“Excellent. All right, people. Get in your teams and hammer out the details. Let’s make sure we get out of there alive, come what may.”

Waiting is the hardest part, Daramis thought as she sat back in her seat and tried not to fidget. They were in transit to Brialt, and Dara’s nerves were on edge. She had twice had to prevent herself from snapping at Redding for his ceaseless, nervous chatter, and now decided that she should devote her energy to cleaning her blaster. The methodical, habitual motions eased her mind slightly.

She snapped the charge back into her blaster and slid it into its holster. A hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped, twisting halfway around in her seat and consciously not drawing her blaster. Killer grinned down at her sheepishly and she relaxed.

“Sorry,” he said, dropping into the seat next to her.

“No, it’s okay. I’m just a little tense,” she admitted.

He touched her hand. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked, worry coloring his tone.

She met his eyes. “Yes,” she said decisively. “I will be fine.”

“If you say so.”

They sat silently for a long time, lost in their separate thoughts.

The sound of a loud buzzer jerked Rogue from his reverie in the cockpit. An automated voice announced that the countdown to reversion to realspace was three minutes. Rogue activated the intership comm.

“The clock is about to start, boys and girls. Take your positions. Reversion in three minutes.” He could hear the muffled activity as his team scrambled to prepare. In a way, transit had been all too long, but in another, it seemed to have taken no time at all.

Rogue could feel the familiar knot of excitement tinged with fear forming in his gut. It had been his pre-mission companion for ten years, and he wouldn’t have felt comfortable without it.

Brialt was something of a backwater world—one of the reasons the Imperials had chosen it to house a medium-security detention center—and the Corellian transport had no problem slipping through the security on the night side. They kept a low profile as they flew to a position half a klick away from the BDC, just outside of immediate scanner range.

Rouge assembled his team. “Chronos synchronized? Comlinks functioning? Blasters charged, extra clips tucked away?” The checklist was routine, but completely unnecessary. His people were good.

After determining that everyone was good to go, Rogue turned to Redding. “Slice into their systems. Let us know what you find.”

Redding saluted and took a seat in front of his computer, immediately oblivious to the world around him. Rogue jumped out of the hatch, not bothering with the ramp, and the others followed suit. Without a word, they split into their assigned groups and moved toward the BDC. It was dusk, and the light was fading fast. Each of the infiltrators had night vision goggles for navigation on the return trip.

Two hundred meters away from the BDC, the two teams parted company: Rogue and Killer headed to the back door, and Dara’s team slipping through the shadows to the service entrance. Dara could just barely see the form of the guard when Redding’s voice came through the speaker in her ear.

“The pilot is being held in cell AD-587. Take the first left and go all the way down the corridor. Section AD will be the last entrance on the right.”

Dara double-clicked to confirm reception and give permission for Redding to join his group. She glanced at her chrono and waved Tresk and Jon forward. They had four minutes from that double-click to get into position before Rogue and his boys started the party.

They found cover behind a large pile of debris and scrap metal. Dara counted down the seconds, pausing to say, “Demolitions, get ready to take out that door. Quietly,” she added, and resumed her count.

Precisely on cue, Dara heard blaster fire and war cries. Lights flashed, and an alarm sounded. Dara raised her left arm, waited five seconds, and clenched her fist. The three of them ran forward in a low crouch. The guard had moved a few steps away from his post and was craning his neck as if to see what all the fuss was about. He never knew what hit him.

Demolitions set a shaped charge next to the door, took two steps back, and covered his ears. Dara glanced around impatiently, starting a little when the explosive blew the door inward.

“I said ‘quietly,’ Demolitions,” she hissed as she moved inside, scanning the corridor with her blaster.

Demolitions shrugged, grabbed his gear pack, and followed Dara and Tresk.

The corridors were empty. Dara concluded that it was either a wing that wasn’t used much, deserted after dark, or that the Meet’n’greet group was doing an excellent job. They moved through the hallways quietly, pausing every few moments to listen.

Section AD was clearly marked and Dara led her group into it, acting as point man. Only once did they hear footsteps, and those sounded to be heading the opposite direction. Dara could hear Tresk murmuring cell numbers under his breath.

Dara skidded to a stop in front of one of the cells. “Demolitions, knock on the door, but not too loudly.”

Jon dropped to one knee and pressed a special lock-demolishing device—his own invention—to the door, then moved back.

“Three—two—one—“ The charge exploded, leaving the lock in shreds.

Dara pushed the door open easily and stepped into the small room. Dog lay on the narrow cot, his hands tucked behind his head. He looked only slightly the worse for wear—there were untreated burns scattered across his face, arms, and neck, and his right eye was swollen and discolored. He seemed otherwise intact as he sat up, swung his legs over the side of the cot, and presented his wrists in one smooth motion.

“What took you so long,” Dog complained. “I expected you last week.”

Demolitions muttered something under his breath and Dara glared at him. She produced a thin wire about the length of her index finger and inserted it in the binders that restrained Dog’s wrists.

“Demolitions had a hangnail,” she quipped. “We couldn’t mount a rescue operation until it healed. Nice shiner, by the way.” She twisted the wire deftly and the binders released.

“Compliments of the duty officer. I don’t suppose we have time for me to return the favor?” Dog stood, rubbing his wrists. He accepted the blaster Tresk handed him.

“Sorry. Our window of opportunity is very narrow. But if we run into him on our way out, I won’t stand in your way.”

“It’ll have to do.”

“Are you two finished chatting?” Jon asked irritably.

“Chill, Demolitions, or I’ll give Redding your job,” Dara said mildly, leading the way out of the cell and down the corridor.

All was clear until they turned into the corridor leading to the service entrance.

“Halt!”

Dara risked a glance over her shoulder and saw an Imperial officer with four stormtroopers at his back. “Go!” she shouted, and sprinted towards the exit, the others hard on her heels.

Blaster fire scorched the air all around them, and Dara felt a tug at her left sleeve, but ignored it. One by one, they jumped through the exploded door. Dara stepped to the side, leaning against the wall. She was vaguely aware of the blood starting to trickle down her arm.

“Go!” she ordered the three men, who had paused beside her.

“But—“ Tresk started to protest.

“Now!” she ordered through gritted teeth.

Tresk nodded and set off at a dead run for the cover of the trees, Demolitions and Dog following.

The five Imperials burst through the door moments later, caught sight of the three men, and started after them, blasters blazing. They hadn’t noticed Daramis.

Dara grimly raised her blaster and fired at their unprotected backs, dropping the officer and two stormtroopers before they knew what was happening. They turned, bringing their weapons to bear on her, and Tresk picked off the last two. Heaving a sigh of relief, Dara jogged to catch up.

Rogue reached out and dragged Redding farther into the trees. He knew that they couldn’t hold the Imperials much longer. The element of surprise was long gone, and with it went the confusion among the Imperials. Their Academy training was starting to kick in, and the return fire was less random and scattered. They meant to flush Rogue and his men out, and didn’t seem to mind if they burned down the forest while doing so. Rogue could only hope that Daramis had found Dog and was on her way out of there.

He watched Killer out of the corner of his eye as he calmly chose each shot before squeezing the trigger. More often than not, he hit his mark. Killer, a seasoned warrior, was a stark contrast to Redding, who only had been in a handful of live combat situations. He sometimes had problems keeping his cool.

Static hissed in his earpiece, then Roberta’s voice came through loud and clear. “Fall back, sir. We’re on our way.”

Years of experience kept Rogue from letting out a whoop of delight. He knew it wasn’t over yet. He caught Killer’s eye. “Looks like we’ve overstayed our welcome,” Rogue said, moving back.

“Yes, sir,” Killer replied, firing another shot. “They say you should never be the last to leave a party.” He nudged Redding, and they both retreated farther into the trees.

A few more meters and the three men turned and broke into a dead run, counting on the trees to block Imperial fire. Rogue heard a dull thud and slowed down. Redding stumbled back a pace from a tree, clutching his forehead. He looked dazed. Rogue stifled a grin and caught the younger man’s elbow.

“C’mon, soldier. Move it!”

They passed through the trees a moment later and into a clearing where the Corellian transport waited for them, ramp extended.

“There’s a sight for sore eyes,” Killer gasped, running top speed toward it.

Rogue wholeheartedly agreed, but did not spare the breath to respond. He hurried Redding up the ramp after Killer and turned him over to Tresk. Rogue heaved a sigh of relief as the ramp retracted and the sublights kicked in.

He entered the cockpit, expecting to see Roberta at the controls. A grin split his face when he saw Dog sitting in the pilot’s seat, maneuvering the ship out of the forest and into the air. Rogue dropped into the gunner’s seat behind him.

“It’s good to have you back, Dog,” he said, bringing up the weapons display.

“The feeling is highly mutual, sir.”

“Any pursuit?”

“So far, so good.”

Rogue kept an eye on the scanners as Dog sent the ship hurtling through atmosphere, towards the comfort of space and the safety of hyperspace. By the time he saw the squadron of TIEs lifting from the BDC, they were too far away to be considered a danger. Rogue leaned back in his chair.

“You all right, Dog?”

“Fit to fly, sir.” He grinned cockily through a split lip.

“Good. Take us home.”

“Will do,” Dog said to Rogue's back as the commander walked back into the main cabin.

Redding held a cold pack to the large lump appearing on his forehead. Rogue knew that the young soldier would take some ribbing for running smack into a tree, and smiled at the thought. Everyone else seemed all right, except for Dara. She sat in a corner, expressionless, clutching her left arm. Tresk stood over her, frustration plain on his face, and Killer stood a step away.

“Killer, tell your girlfriend to let me take care of that arm,” Tresk said, exasperated.

Killer shrugged. “You think she’d listen to me?”

Dara firmly shook her head in response. Rogue came over to stand by her.

“Dara.”

“I’m fine, sir.”

“No, you’re not. ‘Fine’ doesn’t have blood leaking between her fingers.”

Dara glanced down and grimaced, but did not move.

“Let Tresk treat it, Daramis. That’s an order.”

She glared at him, and he winked at her. With a sigh, she removed her right hand and extended her left arm to Tresk. “Fine,” she huffed.

“Attagirl,” Rogue said, squeezing her right shoulder. “I’ll even let Killer hold your hand while Tresk works.”

She smiled and did not protest. Killer took the seat next to her and obliged.

Rogue staggered back as the ship jumped to hyperspace. Roberta was hovering over Redding, thoroughly embarrassing him with her motherly attentions. Tresk was peeling away the fabric of Dara’s sleeve as Killer distracted her. And Dog was in the cockpit.

“Mission accomplished,” Rogue remarked to no one in particular. He smiled. “Mission accomplished.”

*Mission Accomplished stars a few of the late night regulars from DT*