Galaxy: A STAR WARS Collection

ARC

Republic Assault Ship "Determination"

21 Years Before the Battle of Yavin

. . .

The sound of their armoured boots on durasteel reverberated throughout the hangar bay of the Republic Assault Ship.

From behind the t-shaped visor of his helmet, he watched as troopers turned their heads one by one until he could feel their gazes being drawn to the trio of ARCs as they descended the Nu-class Shuttle's boarding ramp. It was the same look he'd had when he first saw an ARC trooper.

It was as if the presence of an ARC demanded their attention.

ARC troopers were still an uncommon sight in the Grand Army of the Republic, even after being at war for a little over one standard year. Very few troopers had been initially trained as ARCs and, up to this point, even fewer had achieved the position through promotion. Prior to becoming an ARC himself, Raze had only come across two ARC troopers in his career as a soldier, neither of which he had seen again after their mission had been complete. Once he had idolised them and now he was wearing the prototype armour available exclusively to ARC troopers.

It was a surreal feeling.

They were greeted by a man standing a few metres back from the bottom of the ramp. He was an officer wearing the distinctive olive-green uniform of the Republic Navy. Judging by the rank plaque worn on the officer's left breast, he wasn't just an officer but was in fact an Admiral. The Admiral's appearance was clean and tidy, his outfit crisp and his boots polished. He kept his light blonde hair short and his chin was as if it had been freshly shaved. He greeted the trio with a nod. "Welcome back, men," he said in his slick voice. Without waiting for a response, he held out his hand in which sat a holo communicator. "I was asked to meet you on arrival. The General wants to speak with you."

A small blue hologram stood on the device in the Admiral's hand.

The hologram figure displayed a human that was of average height with a rather fit build, his arms folded across his chest. He had dark hair that was greying around his temples, and was standing a few centimetres tall – it looked as though he'd received a shock from a power socket. His hair was complimented with stubble that was more than a few days old. His eyes we're tired, exhausted even. The few plates of armour he wore that covered his arms and lower legs were accompanied by a combat robe that distinguished the man as a Jedi, one Raze was particularly familiar with.

The trio stood to attention.

"General Deymas." Crest was at the forefront, standing slightly ahead of his two comrades, Raze on his right side and Flash on his left.

"Boys," he replied with a nod. His voice was deep and gravelly, familiar. "It's nice to have you back."

"Good to be back, General," Flash said.

"Unfortunately," he started with a sigh, his shoulders dropping, "you aren't going to have time to enjoy being back. You're going to be down here with us planet-side ASAP."

"What's the mission, General?" Raze asked.

"The 419th are dug in deep and have been for just over two weeks. Every time we make ground on one front, we lose on another – we take one step forward but then we get pushed one step back. We're running out of time and options." He paused, though briefly. "The plan is for the three of you to get around them and take out their leader by any means necessary."

"Assassination?" Crest asked.

"It doesn't need to come to that. If you can find a way in and capture him, we can force them to surrender. If that's not the case..." He let the words trail off but the meaning was heavily implied.