Cobra Squad

One month after the rescue of the Redeemer…
Admiral Vess stood on the bridge of his star destroyer, the Eidolon, looking out at the planet below. System patrol craft carried out regular manoeuvres, and civilian traffic moved through designated flight lanes. He appreciated quiet moments like this; when the pieces were waiting to be moved, before the other players even knew how far the game had already progressed. That was the key. Too many, even in the Empire, waited to be told when to start. Victory lay in preparation. In knowing the enemy’s moves, not merely before they made them, but before they even knew they had to.

He heard the clip of Commander Daelus’ boots on the floor. She walked with a predictable canter – just a moment out of step with formal marching protocols. A sign of her desperate need to display her loyalty and adherence to duty. If she could rid herself of that compulsion, she might make a truly fine officer one day.

“Admiral,” she said. Her footsteps stopped and her boot made a quiet squeak as it slid along the floor when she stood to attention. When Vess turned, she was already holding her salute. He nodded to her.

“At ease, Commander,” she said.

Daelus handed him a datapad before holding her hands behind her back. “Wing Commander Bey has completed inspection of our new complement of fighters and pilots. He seems pleased, and has noted a few stand-out officers he recommends for squadron lead positions.”

Vess scanned through the report on the datapad. “Good. Approve his recommendations and tell him I want all squadrons on a 4-shift patrol, changing every 8 Imperial standard hours.”

Daelus frowned. “Are you expecting at attack, Sir?”

“No,” Vess said. “But this region needs a show of force right now.”

“I thought our intelligence briefs reported growing agitation among the populace.”

“You are correct,” Vess said, handing back the datapad. “And as per Grand Moff Tarkin’s instructions, we will show them what they stand to face, should they become disruptive.”

“I worry it might tip them over the edge, Sir.”

Vess studied Daelus’ eyes. They twitched at the sides. She was breaking protocol, questioning his orders like this. Good; she was learning, and curious to learn more.

“The difference between a tactical and strategic situation, Commander, is that strategy plays out over a much longer timeframe. The Tarkin Doctrine is harsh at times, but it has proven effective so far.” He grinned. “Besides, it’s important for our troops to experience as many varied scenarios as possible. Putting down inferior forces looks easy on a datapad, and a Stormtrooper’s mental conditioning is superb, but there is no substitute for direct engagement. You might call it a ‘callusing’ of the mind.”

“Yes, Sir,” Daelus said.

There was movement behind Daelus, and a figure in a TIE pilot’s flightsuit and helmet walked onto the bridge.

“You’re early, Captain,” Vess said to the newcomer. Daelus stepped aside and the pilot saluted them.

“Just eager to get back in the air,” his voice came through the helmet’s vocaliser. “With all due respect, Admiral.”

Vess nodded. “At ease, then.”

The pilot took off his helmet and held it under his arm. Daelus swallowed and took a breath. The left side of the pilot’s face was disfigured – torn and re-sown, flesh pale and waxy where it had been badly burned. The skin of his eye pulled back and down, with a matching deformity marring the side of his mouth. The scars vanished down his neck, behind his flightsuit collar.

“Commander Daelus, I don’t believe you’ve been formally introduced to Captain Bishop Cade. I’m assigning him to head up Cobra Squad, our new spec-ops unit.”

“A pleasure, Captain,” Daelus said.

“Commander,” Cade said.

“Are you ready to take the fight back to the rebels?” Vess asked.

Cade smiled, though only one half of his mouth moved properly. “Absolutely, Sir.”