The Infiltration

[will_marx 0]

The shimmer of the transporter effect cleared from Marx’s view. The polarized lens provided only a limited field of vision, and left vulnerable blind spots. “Team Two, this is One. Report.”

“Team One, Two; all secure. Proceeding to target area. Out.” S’Tark replied, in that coldly logical voice of his.

“Alright then,” Marx said, as he looked around the hold they materialized in. Crates lined the walls from deck to overhead—whiskey from Corellia; Glitterstim spice from Kessel; looted artifacts from the now-dead worlds of Alderaan and Camaas; Jedi paraphernalia dating back to the Great Purge. “Looks like someone has his own little black market going.”

Reaching into a rather nondescript satchel, Marx pulled out a half-dozen or so small objects, each no bigger than a pack of cigarettes. “Sar’Major.”

“Sar?”

“Before we go, let’s leave a small token of our esteem. Just as a back up.”

“Aye, aye sar!” You could hear the smile in Jackson’s reply, even if you couldn’t see it because of the helmet. The Sergeant Major quickly had the three squad leaders detail out several Marines, and rapidly placed the charges where they felt would cause the most damage. As the last of the Illudium PU-36 Explosive Space Modulators (Another quality ACME-brand product!) set, the detachment formed up into a nice parade ground column of two formation and left the cargo bay…

 

…and right into an Imperial Navy commander. “Is the Admiral’s storage secure, Lieutenant? The bridge recorded a power surge coming from there within the past few minutes.”

“Yes sir,” Marx replied, giving the commander his best “I respect your rank, but you’re otherwise scum” tone. “The area’s secure.”

“Very good, Lieutenant.” The commander started to leave, but paused and turned around. “What’s your unit and operating number?”

Marx though very quickly. “THX-1138, 501st Legion, sir.”

“Vader’s Own?” Marx gave a perfunctory nod. “Carry on, then.” The commander continued to walk down the corridor.

“Shall we continue, Sergeant Major?”

“Certainly, sar,” Jackson replied. “How’d you know that?”

“Pure bluff, Sar’Major. Pure bluff,” Marx replied with false bravado. Inside his helmet, the sweat was trickling down the back of his neck.

“Team One, this is Two. Packages in place, returning to Tango. Out.”

The large blast doors leading to the bridge cycled open, revealing the command center of the Imperial flagship. The view out the triangular transparent steel viewports was breathtaking. Blooms of fire could be seen coming from the Arcadia’s position as TIE fighters were turned into short-lived balls of plasma. Two men were standing just aft of the crew pit, near the Admiral’s seat, and an almost imperceptible growl emanated from the Marines was aimed at the one wearing the stark black uniform of Intelligence.

Varen turned around. “Yes, what is it?”

“Admiral, I’ve received orders from Imperial Center that the Federation infiltrator is to be brought to Lord Vader for debriefing,” Marx said, keeping the bluff up. His voice was muffled by the helmet’s built-in voice modulator.

“And you are, Lieutenant?”

“Lieutenant Burke-Hälter, 501st Legion.”

“Odd, I don’t seem to recall any troop shuttles arriving.”

“We’ve been here the entire time, Admiral.”

“Nor do I recall receiving any transmissions from Imperial Center, or Lord Vader recently. I’ll have to contact Lord Vader for confirmation.”

“My orders are verbal, Admiral, from Lord Vader himself,” Marx replied, keeping the bluff going. “You do know what happens to officers that don’t follow orders, Admiral.”