DARK FORCES

　Kyle Katarn didn't want to die. Not for the Emperor, not for the Empire, and not for anyone else. The realization brought color to his cheeks and Kyle was grateful for the glossy white armor that protected his body and concealed his features. The men around him were real stormtroopers and, if it weren't for his helmet, would have seen the fear in his eyes.
　Of course that's what the Omega Exercise was for - to test cadets in battle and see what they were made of. Those who completed their missions with a satisfactory score would receive their commissions and graduate from the Imperial Military Academy at Cliffside on Carida. Failures like Kyle would serve in the ranks. An honorable occupation for anyone but a cadet. Maybe the Rebels would kill him before he could embarrass himself. A rather unusual wish for a cadet to make.
　A pair of TIE fighters made the third of three consecutive runs, declared the asteroid "clean," and vectored away. The assault boat, just one of hundreds of support craft carried aboard the Star Destroyer Imperator, shuddered slightly and dumped speed as the pilot fired his retros. It required skill to match velocities with an asteroid and AX-456 was no exception. Maybe the pixel pixies back on the ship knew why the Rebs chose 456 for their relay station and maybe not. Not that it mattered much. A ride is a ride - and the pilot went where they told him to.
　The sun broke over the planetoid's horizon and activated the polarizing filter in the pilot's face mask. He checked course and speed, pushed the nose down, and chinned the intercom. "We are three repeat three - to dirt. Check life support and prepare for insertion."
　Frightened though Kyle was, he'd been trained for this moment, and reacted without thinking. "Systems check - top down. Katarn green."
　The names came in order, starting with his second in command, Sergeant Major Hong, followed by the members of squads one, two, and three. Everything checked, leaving the entire outfit "green and clean."
　Kyle tried to report, heard his voice crack, and tried again. "Cadet Leader Katarn here - all systems green. Ready for insertion."
　"Roger that," the pilot replied matter-of-factly. "Atmospheric decompression commencing now. Thirty to dirt."
　Kyle chinned the command freq and gave the appropriate orders. "Decomp underway. Thirty to dirt. Lock and load."
　The stormtroopers sat on bench-style seats with their backs to the bulkheads. They brought their assault weapons to the vertical position, aligned power paks with receiver slots, and shoved them into place. Forgetting to do so was the kind of thing greenies did and got killed for.
　Kyle checked to ensure that his power source was "locked," verified the "full load" reading, and released the safety. The cadet carried a side arm as well. But he knew better than to check it. Not with fifteen seconds remaining.
　Time seemed to slow. Lead filled his stomach and he was unexplainably sleepy. What was the quote? The one carved into the mantel above the fireplace in Cliffside's ceremonial dining room? Something about how cowards die a thousand deaths...? Then, before Kyle could count how many times he had died during the last few hours, the assault boat hit. It bounced once, twice, and stuck. Like the first landings he had attempted, only better.
　The port and starboard hatches opened and the squad leaders led their men into hard vacuum. Hong stood between the hatches with his back to the cockpit. He had a small body and a big voice. "Move it, move it, move it! What the heck are you waiting for, Briggs? An engraved invitation? Get out there and kill some Rebels!"
　Kyle felt an ice-cold hand grab hold of his stomach, forced himself to stand, and wondered when the fighting would start. The Rebs should have reacted by now, should have opened fire with everything they had, but nothing had happened. Why? Or, better yet, why not? Maybe the rumors were true. Maybe the optimists were right for a change. Maybe ninety percent of senior missions were walk overs.
　The hand released his stomach for a moment and Kyle shuffled towards the bow. Gravity was tenuous at best, and even though the entire platoon had spent two days in a prestrike acclimation tank, it took time to adjust. Hong snapped to attention. "Troops deployed, sir - no sign of opposition."
　Kyle wondered what was taking place behind the dark gray lenses and white armor. How much did Hong know? Did he have any idea how frightened his commanding officer was? How close to crumbling? There was no way to tell. But one thing was for sure, Hong's opinion would weigh heavily when his final score was tallied. Assuming he got that far... Kyle knew the proper response and delivered it in the calm, matter-of-fact style favored by Cliffside's instructors. "Thank you, Sergeant Major. Let's get on with it."
　"Yes, sir."
　Kyle stepped out of the hatch first, followed by Hong. Dust fountained up around his boots and fell in slow motion. The ground was rugged and almost universally gray. Impact craters marked the spots where meteorites had slammed into the surface. They provided excellent cover and the troopers took advantage ofit. The assault boat crouched on a rise where it could lift quickly - or offer fire support if called upon to do so. The whole thing looked like a text-book scenario, which added to Kyle's confidence. Maybe, just maybe, he would survive.
　Kyle, more from curiosity than bravado, remained standing. The electrobinoculars provided magnification and range as he scanned the enemy base. The installations included a comm dish, a boxlike structure, and a landing pad. They had a raw, improvised look. The pre-mission simulation had portrayed the constructs as only fifty-percent complete, but that data was two weeks old, and the Rebs had been busy since then.
　The purpose of the facility, and others like it, was a matter of conjecture. Intel's best guess was that the Rebs were trying to establish a network of relay stations that could pass intelligence and psyprop broadcasts from one sector to another. All part of the battle for the hearts and minds of the civilian population.
　Not that it made a heck of a lot of difference. Whatever the purpose, Kyle knew that what he saw on the surface didn't say much about the rest of the complex. No, based on the intelligence gathered by an Imperial probe droid, there might be as many as a hundred Rebs living and working beneath the surface. Especially during the construction phase. So where were they? Was the situation a walkover or a trap? He turned to Hong. "Send the scouts. Tell them to keep a sharp eye out. This place is too darned quiet."
　Hong, who privately agreed, thanked the gods of war for a greenie who had some brains, and gave the necessary orders. "Dobbs, Trang, Sutu... take a look. Somebody built that dish - find 'em."
　The scouts, each from a different squad, cursed their rotten luck and low-crawled forward. Ribbons of slowly falling dust spiraled up around them and marked their progress. They knew that made them easy meat for a sniper, had there been one to shoot at them.
　Kyle scanned the area. The stars were smears of distant light. The crags, those that had survived, stood as they had for thousands of years. In spite of the fact that everything looked normal - it didn't feel normal - and that was what bothered him. Both because he'd been trained to make fact-based decisions, and because the feeling was so strong. Someone, something, was watching. That's the way it felt. But the reports said otherwise.
　"Trang - lots of tracks - nothing else. Over."
　"Dobbs - ditto. over."
　"Sutu - looks clear. Over."
　The fear was back and Kyle swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. "Sergeant Major - the second squad will blow the lock, one will provide cover, and three will follow me."
　Hong nodded. "Yes, sir. You heard the Cadet Leader, Sergeant Morley. Let's get cracking."
　Based on information provided by the probe droid, demolitions charges had been prepared in advance. They had been placed and were ready for detonation by the time Kyle arrived.
　The entry was a massive affair built to withstand a meteor hit. Two magnetic demo charges had been attached to the metal faceplate. It was a standard prefab affair set into quick-drying permacrete and controlled via numeric key pad. The straight-ahead "here-I-am" vid pickup located next to the frame had been blinded with spray seal, as had the tiny pinhead lens hidden into the right-hand sidewall. Very sneaky. How many more existed? And where were they located?
　Morley spoke with his characteristic drawl. "She's ready to blow, sir."
　Kyle looked around. The troopers assumed it was one last check prior to giving the order, but he knew the action for what it really was. As earch for an excuse, any excuse, to scrub the mission. None presented itself. The hand took hold of Kyle's stomach, sweat prickled his skin, and his voice sounded thick. "Take cover - detonate on my command."
　The stormtroopers pulled back and found cover. Kyle stepped around the corner of the building, took a deep breath, and gave the order. "Now."
　Morley triggered the remote and an eruption of dust signaled that the charges had been detonated. This was the moment Kyle had been dreading, when he would step through the hatch and take a blaster bolt in the chest. He wanted to speak, wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words. His movements were jerky, like those of the toy soldiers his father had fashioned for him. Miniature robots that marched this way and that, saluted when they saw him, and tripped over irregularities in the workshop floor.
　Suddenly, without remembering how he had arrived there, Kyle was inside the hatch. He had no more than entered when Morley brushed past him, slapped another charge against the inside door, and hollered "Duck!" The "sir" was an obvious afterthought.
　The inner charges exploded with a flash of light. Morley jumped up, shoved the heavily damaged slab of metal to one side, and swore as a blaster bolt bounced off his reflective armor. An ambush? Kyle's worst fears had been realized. A wave of self-pity swept over him. He had joined to get an education, not die on some asteroid. It wasn't fair. Or was it? After all, no one had forced him to attend the Academy, he had chosen to do so - and the men were waiting for an order. Four years of hard, rigorous training kicked in. "Contact! Two grenades - one concussion - one high-explosive."
　The words were no more than out of Kyle's mouth than two grenades sailed through the door, exploded, and threw shrapnel in every direction. Morley passed through the hole first, followed by Kyle, Hong, and the members of squad two. Suddenly, Kyle was faced with the harsh reality of what war does to people. He swallowed to keep his breakfast down and looked ahead.
　The next lock, a backup in case a meteorite destroyed the first one, opened automatically. Kyle entered ready to fire. The second door was closed and there was little doubt as to what waited on the other side. "Second squad? Heavy weapons to the front - pack the lock."
　Two stormtroopers, both armed with blaster cannons and the power modules necessary to operate them, took up positions in front of the door. Ten additional troopers filled in behind. Hong slapped a button and the door cycled shut. Kyle clenched his teeth. "First rank, prepare to fire - second, third, and fourth ranks, rifle salute."
　The rifle salute, normally rendered to officers while under arms, forced the second, third, and fourth ranks to hold their weapons in the vertical position and guarded against an accidental discharge.
　The hatch slid open, the first rank fired, and reeled as the fire storm hit them. The first line of stormtroopers died within a matter of seconds, quickly followed by at least half of the second. Not without cost, however, since there was little to no cover in the room beyond, and the Rebels were exposed.
　Kyle felt anger replace the fear that had very nearly paralyzed him, fired his weapon, and yelled encouragement. "Come on, men! Take them out!"
　Kyle stepped out of the lock and shot a woman through the chest. She fell in slow motion and the cadet felt shock course through his body. This was a person, not a target - and the realization froze him in place. He felt a terrible sense of remorse, and stood frozen while Morley clutched his faceplate and fell over back wards.
　The Rebel who killed Morley was little more than a boy, but he was old enough to take a life, and Kyle shot him through the chest. The words came from deep within and boomed through the command channel. If his men thought them strange they had no opportunity to comment on the matter. "Morley was a person, too!"
　The battle raged on. The Rebs were a diverse bunch. Kyle saw men, women, and a scattering of aliens, some of which he recognized and some he didn't. They came in all colors, shapes, and sizes and fought with weapons as varied as they were. Kyle saw blasters old and new, plus some low-velocity projectile weapons, and at least one pre-Empire vibroaxe of the sort used to board enemy starships. It was an ugly weapon and cut through Imperial armor as if it were constructed from paper. Hong shot the axeman through the head, shot him a second time just to make sure, and led the charge that secured the room and fifty feet of passageway.
　With that accomplished, Kyle took a moment to assess the situation. A quick count revealed that the platoon had suffered thirty percent casualties, with the second squad being nearly all killed, the third having lost two men, and the first, which had passed through the locks last, almost untouched. So much for the walkover theory. If this was the Academy's idea of easy, it was a wonder that anyone survived to graduate.
　A hand touched Kyle's arm. He turned to find a medic standing beside him. He had a blaster burn along one side of his helmet and other people's blood on his arms. "How 'bout the Rebs, sir? Give 'em aid or put 'em out of their misery?"
　Kyle knew what ninety-nine percent of his fellow officers would say: put them out of their misery. He couldn't bring himself to give the order though - not in cold blood. He looked around. The floor was littered with bodies. "Our people come first, the Rebels after that. Military intelligence will want to interrogate the prisoners."
　The medic nodded respectfully and hurried off to inform his team. Hong appeared, removed his helmet, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. Hong wore his hair high and tight but allowed himself a carefully tended mustache. If he was worried he gave no sign of it. Kyle wasn't absolutely sure, but he thought he saw respect in the other man's eyes, and felt some pride trickle into his chest. He realized that in spite of the fact that the fear remained crouched in his belly, he controlled it, instead of the other way around. The cadet removed his helmet and held it in the crook of his arm.
　"So, Sergeant Major, our instructors taught us that when things go south, and we need advice, we should ask for it. What do you think? Should we pull out? Or press ahead?"
　Hong's already high estimation of the young officer's ability went up a notch. He knew from sad experience that nine out of ten of Kyle's peers would have been too proud to ask for advice. "I say we call for reinforcements, then press ahead, sir. The Rebs have got to be hurting, and I'd hate to use up even more lives breaking in all over again."
　The advice made sense and served to validate Kyle's instincts. He nodded, chose the correct tac frequency, and spoke into his wrist com. "C-1 to R-1. Over."
　He heard the crackle of static followed by the pilot's voice. The signal was scrambled in both directions. "R-1 here - go. Over."
　"I need a sitrep, One - any activity out there? Over."
　"The Rebs sent some coded comm traffic, C-1 - and I've got a feeling they have backup on the way. Over."
　Kyle winced at his own stupidity. He'd been so scared, so stupid, that he'd forgotten the comlink. "Grease the antenna, R-1 - and tell the Imperator to send some reinforcements. We took thirty percent casualties getting into this place, and there's no end in sight. Acknowledge. Over."
　"Burn the link and call for backup," the pilot said calmly. "Got it. Hang in there, C-1. Out."
　Kyle looked at Hong. "All right, Sergeant Major. Enough goofing off. Move 'em out."
　Hong grinned, popped a salute, and did an about-face. "Okay, people, you heard the Cadet Leader, let's finish what we started. First squad first, third squad second, second squad hold." The few surviving members of the second squad, most of whom were wounded, watched dully as their comrades entered a large underground passageway. Three heavily armed troopers led the phalanx, with Kyle and Hong immediately behind.
　The corridor was wide enough to accommodate heavy equipment, and the walls bore the marks left by the mole miner used to create it, plus some not very original graffiti regarding the Emperor. Blood left by the wounded and two widely separated bodies gave mute testimony to the fact that the Rebels had suffered heavy casualties as well.
　Side tunnels branched left and right. Some of them could accommodate humans, while many couldn't. The function of the passageways wasn't clear, and Kyle didn't care, as long as the Rebels didn't launch an attack from one of them. He sent scouts down the larger ones and waited for the all clear before continuing on. A quiet trip mostly, the silence broken only by their footsteps and the sound of his own breathing.
　So it went for a kilometer or so, until the ground shook, and Kyle heard a loud cracking sound through his external comlink. It came from behind and the cadet turned in time to see the tunnel collapse.
　Suddenly, without knowing how he knew, Kyle glimpsed the future. Where the well-lit corridor had been he saw only darkness and the flash of energy weapons. The words tumbled out of his mouth. "Hit the dirt! Low-crawl forward!"
　The orders made no apparent sense, but if the Imperial stormtroopers knew anything, it was how to obey orders, and they did so to a man. Kyle's vision, and the resulting order, saved many of their lives.
　The moment the lights went out, the Rebels opened fire through hastily drilled holes. The fire, most of which passed over the stormtroopers' heads, splashed against the opposite wall. Kyle, knowing a frontai attack was on the way, elbowed forward. They needed cover, any kind of cover, if they hoped to survive. His helmet light wobbled across the back end of am uch-abused crawler, and the alternating black and yellow stripes that covered the bumper. "Take cover behind the crawler! Prepare to engage!"
　The words were no sooner out of Kyle's mouth than the Rebels dropped grenades through the weapon apertures. The explosions came two seconds apart and were followed by the screams of wounded men. Hong, his voice harsh, remonstrated those who cried out. "The tac frequency is intended for verbal communication. Use it that way."
　It seemed as if the mission had turned into an unending nightmare, where everything that could happen did happen, and was immediately followed by something even worse.
　The lights flashed on and the stormtroopers fired as a wall-to-wall line of droids rolled, hopped, glided, and lurched in their direction. Kyle recognized a pair of heavy-duty construction droids, a spidery freight loader, two A-types, and a forlorn R2 unit, all condemned to an electromechanical suicide mission. None of the machines were armed, or programmed for combat, but they were bulky and provided cover for the Rebels behind them.
　Blaster bolts flashed out and struck stormtroopers where they lay. One of them tried to stand and staggered as the Rebs cut him down. The range was short, too short to fire grenades safely, but Kyle saw no alternative. "Grenades! Front and rear."
　The robots staggered and came apart as the grenades exploded around them. A stormtrooper's head flew off. Bloods prayed upward. No longer protected, the Rebels fired, and backed away. Furious, the surviving stormtroopers stood and met fire with fire. The Rebs turned and ran. The Imperials continued to fire. The sight made Kyle sick, and he was just about to order the firing to stop when the last man fell. His body skidded all the way to the durasteel door.
　Kyle had given up all hope of capturing the facility. He had to focus on salvaging what remained of his first command. And there wasn't much to save. The platoon was down to Sergeant Major Hong, twelve effectives, and two walking wounded. A retreat was unrealistic. To backtrack they'd have to pass the weapons slots, and, assuming they made it all the way to the cave-in, tons of rock blocked the way. No, their single remaining hope was to blow the door, and search for another way out. Unless reinforcements had arrived - which would change everything.
　Kyle called R-1, heard nothing but static, and tried again. Same result. Maybe the additional thickness of rock had blocked his signal, maybe the assault boat had been forced to leave, or maybe just about anything. It hardly mattered. All he could do was work with the information at hand and hope for the best.
　Kyle looked at Hong. "There's no going back, Sergeant Major. Tell the men to scavenge for power paks - drag the droids forward - and blow the door."
　Hong nodded soberly. "Yes, sir. They're gonna be waiting for us, sir."
　Kyle nodded as he surveyed the rough-hewn walls, the blood-splattered floor, and the remains of his first command. The strange part was that the mission had been far worse than even his worst imaginings - yet the fear had disappeared.
　Kyle looked around and saw that his men had taken up positions to either side of the door, while Corporal Givens placed a magnetic demo charge against the control panel. Givens made one last adjustment to the charge and turned. "Any time, sir."
　Kyle nodded. "Thank you, Givens. Spread out, men, stay low, and prepare to fire. They'll be waiting for us. And remember - make every shot count. Power paks are getting hard to come by."
　Except for the droids small enough to drag forward, there wasn't a whole lot of cover in the passageway. Still, the Imperials took advantage of what there was, and Kyle gave the order. The blast blew the control panel out of the wall. Sparks arced, an electrical fire started, and the door whirred open.
　The Rebs were waiting all right, and opened up with everything they had. A barricade of sorts had been erected and the usual odd assortment of men, women, and aliens had taken refuge behind a makeshift wall of cargo modules, cable reels, and furniture.
　Kyle noticed as he aimed and fired that these particular Rebels seemed less disciplined than those they had encountered before. Some had a tendency to fire in a wild, undisciplined manner, others carried second-rate weapons, and at least two or three were frozen in place.
　Were they noncombatants then? Men and women who had been pressed into service out of desperation? They had numbers on their side, however, plus much better cover. Three of his troopers died and the rest moved forward. The Rebels held for a moment, wavered in the face of incoming fire, and broke.
　The stormtroopers continued to fire and Kyle knew he couldn't allow a massacre. His voice boomed over the command channel. "That's enough - hold your fire."
　Hong turned in Kyle's direction. Even though he couldn't see the noncom's expression, the cadet could sense the frown on his face. Kyle found an excuse and ran it out. "We need to conserve our ammo, Sergeant Major. Most of the stuff the Rebs left won't do us any good. Come to think of it - let's use their oxygen for a while."
　Hong nodded and turned away. Kyle gave a sigh of relief, waved the men forward, and followed the handwritten signs. They read "Comm Center" and led him past what smelled like a cafeteria, a series of cavelike storage rooms, down a businesslike corridor. The rough-hewn walls supported an electronic message board and a hodge-podge of printouts. One announced a birthday party for someone named Blim Shahar, and another cautioned base personnel to conserve on water.
　Kyle surprised himself by having the presence of mind to scan the bulletins with the tiny battle holocam built into his helmet. The military intelligence geeks would be thrilled, and, in the unlikely event that he survived, the instructors would award him some extra mission points. Collateral documentation was just one of the thousand things an infantry officer was supposed to remember and take care of.
　A maintenance droid chose that particular moment to poke its nose out of a side passage, saw the Imperials, and gave a squeak of alarm. The droid had already engaged reverse gear, and was in the process of backing away when an energy bolt splashed the rock behind it. Hongs voice dripped with sarcasm. "Thanks, Dendu. You wasted a shot and missed the target. The Emperor would be proud."
　A pair of light-duty doors blocked the way. They rolled into the walls at Kyle's approach. He prepared to fire but saw nothing more threatening than some gray equipment racks. Moving cautiously, weapons at the ready, the troopers entered the room, turned to the right, and were confronted by an amazing sight.
　The Rebels, about fifteen or twenty of them, stood with their backs to a wall full of monitors and related communications gear with their hands in the air. Kyle, who was ready for anything but a surrender, struggled to cope. He checked to make sure the Rebs were covered, removed his helmet, and used his forearm to smeart he sweat across his brow. What would he do with prisoners? They outnumbered his team and would be difficult to herd around. No, the more expedient solution was to kill them, trash the control room, and get out while the getting was good. Especially with more Rebels on the way.
　As Kyle considered the feasibility of what amounted to mass murder, his eyes drifted across an oval-shaped face. Something, he would never know exactly what, caught his attention. The girl was abou this age, perhaps a little younger, dressed in a flight suit. She had dark brown eyes that matched the color of her hair and seemed to draw him in. It was peaceful there, yet centered, as if her whole being was focused on something he couldn't see.
　At that precise moment, a spark leapt the gap between them, and she, like the first person he had killed, crossed the line from variable to person. Not only that - Kyle knew she had experienced something as well . He could tell from the way her eyes widened. He felt his heart beat a tiny bit faster. He knew then that he couldn't kill this young woman - or the others, either.
　Sergeant Major Hong brought Kyle back to the present. His voice came over the command frequency. "Look! Up on that monitor, sir! I don't know who that ship belongs to, but it ain't one of ours. Let's grease the Rebs and get the heck out of here!"
　Kyle looked, saw a freighter settle into place, and watched dust shoot upward as a ramp touched the ground. It didn't take a genius to know that Reb reinforcements were on the way. His voice was surprisingly strong, and because his helmet was off, the prisoners heard it too. "Negative on greasing the Rebs, Sergeant Major. There's been enough killing today."
　Hong turned. Even though the cadet couldn't see his eyes through the visor, he could feel their intensity. The voice was like steel. "With all due respect, sir, the Rebs wasted two-thirds of your command, and will kill even more of our troops if you let them go."
　Kyle shook his head. "The answer is no. You heard my orders, carry them out."
　Hong nodded stiffly. "Yes, sir. Under protest, sir. Jonsey, pull the memory mods from the transmitters, Haku, set some charges. We don't have much time."
　Kyle looked at the monitor, saw space-suited Rebs flooding out of the freighter's cargo hatch, and wondered how R-1 had fared. Had the assault boat escaped? Were Imperial reinforcements on the way? The questions were academic as far as he was concerned. If he survived the next few hours - and that was a mighty big if - he'd be court-martialed for allowing the Rebs to live. A punishment he very likely deserved.
　Kyle looked at the girl, saw the thanks in her eyes, and nodded. She at least was well worth saving. The helmet smelled of sweat as he pulled it over his head. "All right, men, clear the room, and let's find a place to hole up. Reinforcements are on the way."
　Kyle had no idea if his words were true. But he knew the men needed to hear them. He waved the Rebs to the far end of the room, waited for his team to back out through the door, and followed. The moment they were clear, he yelled "Detonate the charges! Follow me!" and sprinted down the hall. He felt rather than heard the explosions. The Rebs had plenty of time to take cover and he hoped they had. Especially the girl.
　For reasons he wasn't entirely sure of, Kyle had identified the cafeteria as the best place to hole up. He skidded to a stop, stuck his head around the door, and confirmed the room was empty. "All right, men, stack some furniture in front of that door, and check for exits. It's time for lunch."
　The joke got a chuckle as Kyle had hoped that it would, the stormtroopers stacked tables against the door, and secured the airconditioning ducts. Once that was accomplished, he allowed them to take turns ransacking the coolers, and offered an overnight pass to the trooper who made the most outrageous sandwich.
　They even made one for Kyle, and the Cadet Leader had removed his helmet to eat it when a crawler-mounted drill bit broke through the back wall. Kyle barely had time to pull his helmet back on before Rebs poured through the hole and opened fire on the stormtroopers. Hong and four or five more died within the first five seconds of combat. Kyle swore, turned, and fired. Something hit his helmet, he fell, and darkness rose all around him.

AX-456

Dark Forces
Soldier for the Empire
P.30-44