Project Boussh: Behind Curtain Number One
by Majick

Major Eripme swore as he looked at the feeds from the helmet cams of Team
Three. Looking over at Captain Namor, he shared a grim smile with his old
friend. Reaching for his comlink, he growled another curse as he realised
the enormity of what he was about to suggest.

Grand Admiral Thrawn stood with his back to the tactical display, staring
intently at the holographic display of the Mona Lisa. Shifting his gaze, he
looked upon a 3D image of Michelangelo's David, then at one of Picasso's
pieces. Not for the first time, he wondered what aspect of Terran
civilisation had prevented them from achieving the truly global culture that
so many of the worlds of the Empire's galaxy easily reached. He wondered if
the extra-terrestrial travel taken for granted in his galaxy, but still in
its infancy here, was responsible.
His comlink buzzed discreetly on his lapel, deflecting his thought process.
He answered with a single word: "Thrawn."
"Grand Admiral, this is Major Eripme. Sir, Team One and Team Three have
both been defeated by one of the boarding teams. I request permission to
deploy the Imperial Guardsmen."
"Why has this become necessary, Eripme? I was led to believe that your men
were capable."
"Sir they are. But this team is led by a Jedi, and is made up of more than
a dozen Noghri."
Thrawn actually paused for a second when he heard this. His prior
experiences with Jedi had shown him a dangerously resourceful aspect to
their personality that normal Rebels lacked. As for the Noghri, one of them
had killed him. While he, as a clone, had not been there at the fatal
moment, he had watched the holos from the Chimaera, had felt his other's
surprise at the Noghri betrayal. It seemed fitting to Thrawn that his newest
guards would destroy their predecessor's in that role.
"Permission granted, Major Eripme. Tell the leader of the Guardsmen that I
want the Jedi alive. Especially as the last one I had seems to have been
mislaid."
Thrawn shut off the comlink, and returned to his studies.

Eripme went to give the order to the Guardsmen, then paused.
"Suit up, Captain," he said, as he walked over to his closet. "We're going
to bring the Admiral a present."
"But the Guardsmen," Namor began.
"We'll collect them on the way. But we will be the ones to bring home the
Jedi. After all, I haven't forgotten what he did to us in Washington."
Namor's eyes gleamed as he thought of the events of the week before. [1]
"I understand, sir. Revenge will be sweet."
The cabinet opened to reveal two gleaming sets of elaborate stormtrooper
armour, lacking only the helmets. Eripme and Namor reached eagerly for their
sets.
"It's time, my friend, to show what true Imperials are made of."

It's difficult to lead troops into battle.
It's more difficult to act covertly in an enemy base.
Mike tried to work out the level of difficulty of covertly leading alien
commandos into battle in an enemy base where the overwhelming majority of
the population was human. The midget monk trick hadn't worked with Team One,
and Team Three had been caught out by a well planned ambush. He suspected
that the Imperial Guard wouldn't be so easy to fool. Regardless of what he'd
said to Team Three's leader, Mike felt nervous about going up against the
best of the Empire's soldiers. Even the Noghri seemed slightly more pensive
than normal. Mike had actually heard one or two of them breathing. He
wondered if they were nervous, hurt, or something else.
Whatever it was, he didn't wish to affront Noghri battle honour, in case it
was the last thing he did.
Up ahead loomed a door to a hangar bay. Mike signalled the Noghri to cover
him while he walked in, reasoning he would have a few seconds of
indifference to scout the bay out.
As he walked towards the door, Mike thought of how quiet the area was.

Eripme and Namor led the silent platoon of scarlet-clad Imperial Guardsmen
towards the docking bay. They had evacuated the area and set silent alarms
to warn them of unauthorised entry to specific areas. The hangar was one
such area.
Barely able to contain their enthusiasm, they unconsciously picked up pace.

Mike stared in awe at the sight that greeted him. An unpopulated hangar,
stuffed to the gills with two squadrons of sleek TIE fighters. Mike wondered
how many ships Thrawn had brought to Terra with him, and why these weren't
being committed to the defence of the Admonitor. Turning around, he keyed
the hangar door open, allowing the Noghri to enter. Quickly they moved from
ship to ship, setting explosive packages. Mike dashed with them, quieting
his internal horror at the destruction of so much high performance hardware
with the thought of what it would be used for, if left undamaged.
Eventually, all 24 fighters were set for detonation, and Mike met with
Ahkrak to check all the connections were complete. Ahkrak summoned Tajat,
the Noghri explosive expert, who confirmed all the mines were set, and ready
for remote detonation as soon as they were away.
Mike stared at the pad he held, when a shimmering in the far corner of the
hold caught his eye. Looking up, he noticed a reflective curtain positioned
near the wall. He remembered assuming it was another fighter when he'd run
past it earlier, and had thrown a mine at it from several metres away. This
time, with Tajat backing him up, he walked towards it for a closer look.
Ahkrak, meanwhile, collected his team in preparation for departure from the
hangar. He clipped the detonator to his bandoleer, ensuring the switch was
locked off, and stood waiting for Mike and Tajat to return. It was then
that the sentry Noghri, the youngest of the brethren, hissed at him.
"Someone comes," the sentry, Decras, reported. "Many men, military walking
pattern."
With a gesture, Ahkrak arranged his men into position. Drawing his two long
bladed knives, he stood five metres in front of the door, his arms folded,
the curved blades of his knives arcing up towards his head.

Mike heard the sounds of movement as he and Tajat reached the curtain.
Looking around, he noticed Tajat looking back the way they had come. The
Noghri was visibly straining to rejoin his brethren, so Mike ordered him to
investigate that while he looked behind the curtain.
Drawing his blaster, he made sure the setting was on stun, and waited until
Tajat was away before he advanced on the curtain. For the first time, he was
able to see himself in full battle garb. The hood, a last minute addition,
hid his face surprisingly well, and the trenchcoat, as ever, looked
wonderful. He flexed his fingers, feeling the retracted steel spikes
pressing against his forearms. He'd yet to use them in combat, and hoped he
wouldn't have to. There was, he reluctantly allowed, a certain desirability
to a weapon that can't be taken from you easily.
Grabbing part of the curtain he pulled it back.
Then the explosion hit.

Standing at the hangar door, Eripme unshipped the personal mortar he'd
requisitioned from supply. Ordering the hangar doors opened slightly, he'd
poked the barrel through. The weapon wouldn't damage the fighters within,
but any living being caught in the blast would know about it.

Ahkrak knew his position as leader of the Noghri contingent demanded a
certain bravery on his part. Even so, when the barrel of a weapon poked
through the doors, and he recognised it as an anti-infantry mortar, he
decided discretion was the better part of valour, and dived to one side. The
weapon seemed to fire in slow motion, with the cartridge landing where he'd
been standing scant moments before. Then it exploded, and Ahkrak felt the
blast wave hit him as his graceful leap was rudely interrupted.

The hangar bay doors slid open fully, and smoke grenades sailed through the
air, spewing great clouds of white smoke into the hangar. The Imperial
Guardsmen moved silently in their wake, firing short bursts from their
pistols at anything their HUD's registered as body temperature.

Tajat flung himself into the smoke, with his brethren all around him. He
heard the grunt of one as he was hit by a laser blast, and mourned silently
for the loss of a warrior. As explosives expert, he threw small charges in
the general direction of the invaders, before he was blasted into darkness
as well.

Eripme watched from the rear as his biomonitor kept track of the Guards'
life signs, as well as those of their foes. With a grim satisfaction, he
watched as the red markers gradually overwhelmed their hard fighting foes.
With only a few Noghri left alive, the smoke from the grenades began to
fade. Eripme looked up in delight, searching for the body of the Jedi.
Beside him, Namor watched eagerly, waiting to be released into the fray by
his friend.

Above them both, Decras the sentry moved into position for an attack.
Coiling his powerful legs behind him, he pushed off the handrail of the
gantry, and dropped onto Namor's shoulders. A swift slash with his knife
opened a deep cut across Namor's back and, standing on the downed Captain's
wounded body, he bought his knife up to Eripme's throat.

Mike had charged back towards the hangar door when the explosion had
occurred. He'd been in a perfect position to be hit by one of the smoke
grenades, and had been blinded and nearly suffocated by the billowing smoke
clouds. Staggering back, he'd slumped behind the shelter of one of the
TIE's. Now, the effects of the smoke waning, he leapt into the fray, only to
be clubbed in the throat by one of the Imperial Guardsmen. He dropped,
gagging, to the floor, and watched as the trooper shook his arm to restore
feeling, and then drew his force pike. Unable to move, Mike choked as he
tried to breathe, but continued to stare at the Guardsman, unwilling to
flinch in the face of death.
The Guardsman swivelled and triggered a burst of energy from his pike. The
bolt slammed into Decras, lifting the young Noghri clean off his feet and
hurling him hard into the bulkhead. Eripme paused to rub gingerly at his
throat before turning to face the fight again.

Except fight was no longer a valid description. Caught unprepared by a foe
wielding superior armaments and with better preparation, even the most
warrior-like of the Noghri had been beaten. The last of them struggled
futilely in the grip of one of the Guardsmen, suspended by his throat
several feet off the deck. The surviving Guardsmen moved to form a ring
facing the captive, stepping carelessly over the broken and twisted
carcasses of the slain Noghri.
Eripme paused briefly, a look of disgust on his face.
"The vaunted Noghri... Why, I could beat you on my own, and certainly the
men who fell to you before now should be ashamed of themselves." He turned
to address the Guardsmen. "Pick up the Jedi, and be careful. I wish to
interrogate him."
As the Guardsmen moved off, the one holding the Noghri aloft stared at
Eripme.
"Oh, put him down," Eripme snapped, stalking off to supervise Mike's
handling.
The Guardsman stared after Eripme for a moment, before tightening his grip
on the Noghri's throat, crushing the windpipe, and letting the limp corpse
crash to the ground. Then he stalked over to where Eripme and his fellow
Guardsmen had formed a ring around Mike, lying against the hangar door.

"This is the best the New Republic has to offer? A child and a few feeble
Noghri?"
"I was man enough for your soldiers in Washington," Mike rasped. "Just ask
the captain over there."
"Oh, I know all about Washington, 'Jedi'," Eripme spat. "I was the officer
in charge of that fiasco, and you killed my men. Tell me, where are your
Force abilities now?"
"As dead as you'll be..." Mike managed, before his throat hurt too much to
continue.
"Pathetic," Eripme spat, kicking Mike in the ribs.

Ahkrak's eyes flickered open weakly. He drew breath, only to feel the
stabbing pain in his chest warn against such drastic action in future. His
blurred vision began to resolve itself, until he could make out the scene of
carnage that greeted him. Noghri and Guardsmen lay scattered across the
hangar floor, but there were many more Noghri then there were Guards. He
knew his brethren, weakened by captivity, poor food, and lack of water, had been
beaten. But there was breath in his lungs, and enemies to defeat, and if it
took his life, he'd have vengeance over the murderers of his people.
His hand slithered painfully over his chest as his eyesight gradually
improved. Now he was able to make out the ring of tall red figures, and
trapped inside the ring was a prone black figure.
His hand clasped the detonator for the mines, and he saw a flash of white
inside the ring as well. He and his brethren had been tortured during their
captivity, and he had developed a particular distaste for torturers
everywhere. Especially those who enjoyed it.
Though not the explosives expert for the mission, he knew the capabilities
of the mines they'd placed. Packed with explosives and sharp metal strips,
they'd not only explode, they'd throw shards of metal in all directions.
As he eyed the prone black figure, Ahkrak hoped the shrapnel wouldn't hit
him. He was fairly sure it wouldn't.
Ahkrak realised he couldn't feel his legs, or anything below his chest.
Blackness began to nibble away at his vision, and his arms began to feel
unduly heavy. With the breath rasping in his lungs, he summoned the strength
of his departed brethren to open the cap on he detonator.
As he watched, white-clad shouted at Mike, and drew his leg back again, to
act as an exclamation mark for whatever point he was making. Ahkrak knew, as
he pressed the button, that he had a point of his own to make.
His was a full stop.