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Reactor Room
Heat Shield Generator #1
Tartarus, Hades

Three hooded figures sprinted across the platform, skidding to a prone position as the security camera swiveled in their direction. As soon as it moved away, the three jumped up, and ran over to the controls, the thick viewports looking out over the reactor that powered one of Tartarus’ two heat shields. The trio worked quickly, setting the explosives around the terminals. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!” Two guards leveled their weapons at the saboteurs. “For the glory of the PLA!” As they shouted, one of them reached within his jacket and depressed a button. Within a second – before the guards could react – the explosives went off, destroying the console as well as everything within 300 meters.

Above, in the sky, the atmosphere seemed to shimmer as the only thing keeping the inhabitants of the city alive suddenly fell to half power.

Forest Clearing
Dardunel Forest
Sheran, Ashtar

Two hooded figures sat down on a fallen tree stump in the clearing, three kilometers due west of Sheran, the capital city of Ashtar. “Well, are they coming to pick us up?” One pushed his hood back to reveal a young Zabrak male, his face covered in tribal markings. “I hope so. I’d hate to think that we did all of that for nothing.” The second pushed back the hood to reveal a Human, possibly Correlian, female. “No kidd-“ “Alright you two, hands in the air and stand up slowly.” The two looked at each other in surprise before doing as ordered, slowly turning. Behind them stood a lone, armed brigand – a surprising sight, this close to the city. He grinned a lecherous grin as he bound both the Human and the Zabrak, pushing the Zabrak to the ground. He turned to the female, his sick grin widening. She contorted her bound hands around behind her, searching, grasping for… there it was. As he lunged at her, she depressed the control that had been in the small of her back.

The clearing and the forest for a dozen kilometers around them – all the way up to the city wall – burst into flame, thick black clouds of smoke billowing up into the air.

Auxiliary Control Room
Shale Oil Refinery
Horus, Osiris

A lone hooded figure sat at the main terminal of the back-up control room for the entire refinery, furiously trying to hack his way through the security. Outside the room, guards banged on the doors, trying to get through the barricades he had set up behind him. He knew he only had a few minutes left before they’d get in, and he needed to complete his task quickly if he hoped to escape. There! Finally, he had managed to crack their codes. His fingers flew over the keyboard, the commands to install the initiate the virus quickly tapped into the keyboard. His work done, he stood and pointed the slugthrower he had grabbed from beneath his jacket at the window. He fired twice, the glass shattering. Crawling out onto the ledge, he surveyed the path he would need to take to climb the two stories to the roof, where a PLA ship was supposed to be waiting to take him to a hero’s welcome. Nimbly jumping up from the ledge, he grabbed on to the ledge the next floor up, trying to find purchase on the wall. Just as he was about to jump and grab the edge of the roof, he lost his footing. Surprise painted his face as he lost his grip on the roof and he fell backwards, plummeting hundreds off feet into the ocean below.

The virus, however, did just as it was instructed, and alarms sounded as the hundreds of holding tanks storing oil went through their emergency release protocols, hundreds of thousands – if not millions – of barrels of oil quickly dumping into the pristine waters of Osiris.

A new report has been received from the Setii System Moff It can be viewed HERE

Situation Room
ISDII Immortal
Hyperspace

Farrin sighed and rubbed his face, the lack of sleep over the past two days visible in the lines of his face. The briefing to the Fleet Commander had been brutal, as expected, and the Supreme Director of Intelligence had been, as usual, fairly useless. The man knew too much and shared too little, it was obvious. Looking down at the holoterminal on the table, he paused for a moment as he composed himself. After a few seconds had gone by, he initialized the messaging functions, his fingers deftly flying over the interface.

"TO: SMF-SETII; SMF-PHARE
FROM: GMF

NUN UNDER ATTACK; TIGERS CLAW MUTINY; HOSTAGES TAKEN. RECC AGAINST IMMEDIATE ACTION. RECC NOTIFYING GGS. BEGIN PREP FOR ACTION. RAISE SECURITY; RISK OF REBELLION HIGH. GMF ETA TO ULLYR: 15 MINUTES."

Bridge
ISDII Tiger’s Claw
Phare System Defense Platform Nun

Vice Admiral Jax Zelos stood behind his communications officers as the Directorate Battlefleet popped from hyperspace ten klicks from the Platform Nun. “Comms, flash message to all ships: Fighter screens to be launched immediately, all ships sound battle stations.” “Aye, sir,” the junior comms officer responded, his voice still a little shaky at the prospect of actually going into battle. In the ship as well as in all others in the Fleet, klaxons sounded their cry as pilots initialized their engines and gunners began searching the area for their targets. To Zelos’ surprise, however, the area was clear.

“Comms, anything from Nun?” “Negative, sir. Even the distress signal has stopped broadcasting.” The Vice Admiral narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow, unsure for once in his life about what exactly was going on. “Helm, all ahead full. Comms, flash message to the fleet to ready troopers for boarding the platform.” A set of “Aye, sirs,” was his response. Suddenly, the junior comms officer gave a slight jump in surprise, bringing Zelos’ attention fully to him. “Sir, incoming message from Nun!” The lieutenant paused for a minute as he read the message, a look of confusion spreading across his face. “Well?” inquired the Vice Admiral. “Sir… well, I’ll read the message verbatim, sir: ‘Directorate Battlefleet, this is the Phare Liberation Army. We have rigged this station to blow, and have taken hostages. We have the support of many high-ranking and powerful members of the Directorate. Our demands are simple: we want the Farrin Xies, the false Duke of Aurora and supposed Grand Moff of the Directorate, removed from power immediately. To achieve our goal, we have a little surprise for you…’” The comms officer, as well as the rest of the dozen officers aboard the bridge, turned to Zelos.

Just as they did, shouts and blaster fire were heard outside the blast doors leading to the bridge. The two stormtroopers guarding the bridge turned to the door just as it opened, red flashes of blaster bolts striking them quickly down. Two dozen heavily-armed stormtroopers, their armor painted navy blue, ran onto the bridge, weapons leveled at each of the officers. One, his blue shoulders striped with gold, strode over to Zelos, a DL-44 blaster muzzle pressed into the aged Vice Admiral’s forehead. “Vice Admiral, the PLA has taken control of your vessel. Send a message to Xies that we want to discuss this latest situation with him.” More and more of the blue-hued troopers were running into the bridge, some setting up E-web repeating blasters. They were obviously in for the long haul. Zelos turned, slowly, to the junior comms officer – who was now a blubbering mess – and ordered the young man to send the requested message. After a few violent prods from the butt of a trooper’s blaster rifle, the officer did as he was told. The Vice Admiral hung his head in shame as he was led with the rest of his officers to the corner of the bridge, where each man was handcuffed and gagged. I was supposed to retire today, he thought.

Situation Room
ISDII Immortal
Hyperspace

The four men each sat silently, their thoughts in four different directions. Farrin’s thoughts rested mostly on the fact that he simply couldn’t understand what could possibly affect the heavily armed Phare defense platform. Exactly what was he about to find in about thirty minutes, when the Battlegroup came out of hyperspace? Each man’s thoughts were disturbed by the chime of the intercom. “M’lords, urgent message from the Directorate Battlefleet.” The commodore of the Battlegroup and the Grand Moff both responded, much to the other’s annoyance, to send it through. It read:

“Phare Liberation Army has Nun and Tiger’s Claw. Rqst meeting with GMF. Hostages taken.”

The silence once again permeated the air as the four men took in the message, broken as all four spoke at once. “How could they?” “Phare Liberation Army?” “The Tiger’s Claw? Never!” “Silence, all of you!” Farrin brought his palm down hard on the table, the other three quickly quieting. “To take control of both the Tiger’s Claw and the platform would require a lot of troops as well as someone extremely powerful and influential in the Directorate to help them. Get the SDIR back on the line, we need to discuss this latest development with him. First… I need to speak with the Fleet Commander, alone.” He figured it was time to let the Grand Admiral know of this latest failure on his part, something he certainly didn’t look forward to.

A new report has been received from the Phare System Moff It can be viewed HERE

Bridge
ISDII Tiger’s Claw
In orbit of Aurora Prime

Vice Admiral Jax Zelos stood aboard the bridge of the Imperial Star Destroyer Mark II Tiger’s Claw, his hands clasped behind his back as he pensively stared out the viewport. The Claw’s sister ship, the Exe, and the entire rest of the Directorate Battlefleet were arrayed in front of him, shuttles with fresh crews and supplies speeding from the ships back to the surface of Aurora Prime, the crown jewel of the Emperor’s Hammer Territories shimmering blue and green below him. The Battlefleet, which had been in port for a week, was just about done taking on supplies, and Zelos knew it was just about time for his plans to move forward.

 “M’lord Vice Admiral Zelos, I’m receiving an urgent distress signal from the Phare System Defense Platform Nun.” The junior comms officer who nervously trembled in the presence of the gray-haired and venerable commander and was barely three months out of the Naval Academy, held a piece of flimsiplast that had printed from his station moments ago out to Zelos. A hardened and experienced commander, the Vice Admiral didn’t share the fear that the younger officer visibly felt as he read it, twice, before setting it down. After a moment and a sigh, he looked back up at the younger officer. “Acknowledged, Lieutenant. Signal Grand Moff Xies that I’ve ordered the Fleet to the Phare System to respond. I’m sure he’ll want to talk to Prower about what in the hell is going on out there.” The comms officer saluted smartly, met by a nod from the Vice Admiral, and then turned to do as ordered.

“Helm, set course for the Platform Nun in the Phare System, ready jump to hyperspace.”

“Aye sir, jump to hyperspace in thirty.” The helmsman, himself an experienced sailor, had the steadiest voice in the entire Fleet in Zelos’ opinion. He had served with the man before under heavy fire, and every shouted command was met with the same, even-keeled response. It was reassuring, to be sure. “She’s ready for the jump, sir, on your order.”

“Helm, commence jump.” The aged Vice Admiral clasped his hands behind him again as the stars streaked by in the viewports. The reason that the Directorate Battlefleet had been orbiting Aurora Prime was simple… Zelos had completed his last voyage and was to be retiring next week. The changing-of-the-guard ceremony was supposed to be within the next two days, where he would meet his replacement. Well, he mused, retirement will have to wait.

Distillery
Grand Moff’s Personal Estate
Aurora Prime

Grand Moff Farrin Xies, Duke of Aurora and Headmaster of the Dark Brotherhood’s Shadow Academy, lounged peacefully in a hammock strung between two huge oak trees outside the main bunker of his personal distillery. Inside, huge numbers of small barrels held what, Farrin hoped, would turn into wonderful (and profitable) whiskey. Outside, however, the Grand Moff snoozed, enjoying the shady respite from the midday heat. His staff were under strict orders to not bother him until after dinner when he vacationed out to his estate, and so it was with a great amount of dismay that he opened his eyes to see his executive assistant, clad in what passed for casual attire for him (a pair of khakis and a button-down shirt), coming to him in a speeder from the sprawling estate house. Farrin wouldn’t let the man ruin his vacation, so he continued to lounge even as his assistant dismounted and walked quickly over to him.

“Regyal, what could you possibly want? I’m trying to take a nap.” Regyal bowed slightly, his ebony skin glistening slightly from the sweat of the day. “Apologies, m’lord, but I have two urgent dispatches.” The assistant handed over a datapad to the still reclining Grand Moff. “The Platform Nun in the Phare System has broadcasted an urgent distress signal and Admiral Zelos has rerouted the Directorate Battlefleet to Phare to respond.” Farrin groaned, rolling out of his hammock. “You people really know how to ruin a vacation, y’know that?” “Yes sir.” Farrin shook his head as he hopped into the back seat of the speeder that had brought his assistant with the bad news. The driver quickly brought it back around, accelerating back toward the house. “Regyal!” Farrin shouted to be heard over the din of the speeder. “Notify the Commodore of Battlegroup IV, Auroran Home Guard. I’ll need him to take us to Phare. Get Yaro and Defast aboard the Immortal as soon as they can get there, and get me into contact with Miles Prower. I need to find out what the hell is going on.” The assistant nodded, mentally filing away the jumble of orders. As soon as the speeder pulled up to the estate, he jumped out and took off at a dead sprint for the bunker that served as the communications nerve center whenever the Grand Moff vacationed there. Farrin stepped out and walked into the house to inform his wife that their vacation was to be cut short. The way that Regyal figured it, the Grand Moff had the much worse job at the moment.

Bridge
ISDII Immortal
In orbit of Aurora Prime

“Attention on deck!”

The officers and crew of the ISDII Immortal, head of the Auroran Home Guard’s Battlegroup IV, snapped to attention as the Grand Moff entered the bridge, his Admiral’s uniform crisp under the silver cloak of his office. His focus immediately came to Rear Admiral Beauregard T. Quinten, one of Farrin’s least favorite people in the admiralty of the TIE Corps. Unfortunately, the Rear Admiral was the person he’d have to settle with, with the Directorate Battlefleet already en route to Phare. “Beau, it’s a pleasure to see you, as always.” The Commodore of the Battlegroup scowled and, skipping pleasantries, snarled, “M’lord Xies, what can the TIE Corps do for the Office of the Grand Moff this time?” For the love of the Dark Side, I really can’t stand this man, Farrin thought to himself. Sighing, the Dark Jedi followed the Rear Admiral to the situation room attached to the bridge, the two guards who had been following Farrin posting themselves outside at the doors.

Situation Room
ISDII Immortal
In orbit of Aurora Prime

The three current members of the Ministry Council – Grand Moff Farrin Xies, Minister of Communication Defast Insite, and Minister of Education Yaro Altor – and the commander of the Immortal, Rear Admiral Beauregard Quinten, sat around the mahogany table in the center of the situation room, their attention focused on the holoprojector in the middle of the room that displayed, in three-dimensions, the current Supreme Director of the Intelligence Division, Mors Auctor. With the exception of the four men and the image of the SDIR, the room was completely empty. Farrin sipped at his water, trying to process the information the master spy had just given to the them.

“So what you’re telling me, Auctor, is that you have absolutely no idea what’s going on in the Phare System or what happened on the Nun platform three hours ago? It could be pirates. It could be rogue elements from Phare. It could be rogue elements from Setii. Basically… the Intelligence Division doesn’t have any clue what’s happened or what’s about to happen.” There was a pregnant pause before the SDIR nodded, causing Farrin to throw up his hands in exasperation. “What’s the ID’s motto? ‘The eyes and ears of the fleet?’ I’m glad you’re useless at that. Let us know when your agents uncover more information.” Farrin angrily closed the secure connection, the holoprojector flickering off as the lights came back up in the room. Quinten, who had been idly toying with his bushy red mustache, was the first to break the silence in the room. “Well, what now?”

All eyes shifted to the Grand Moff at the head of the table. Taking a long gulp of his water and counting backward from ten in order to regain his composure, it took a second for him to answer. “Now we go to Phare.”

There are currently (there might be more eventually) three different sections of the Directorate-wide competition: the run-on, Empire at War and SW: Galactic Battlegrounds, and fiction. More information on each can be found at the above links. Each event has awards for 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place listed; there will also be awards for the top two individuals as well as the best overall planet.

Coming up on Sept. 3rd, I will have been GMF for a year, and we'll be throwing a party. I promise cake and punch. Don't celebrate too hard, though, as next week will mark the start of the next Directorate-wide competition, entitled The Betrayal of Phare. What's the title mean? What's gonna happen? Tune in on Monday to find out...

The Emperor's Hammer Operations Officer has informed us that he will be closing recommendations for the prestigious Commendation of Loyalty on the 21st of August. The Commendation of Loyalty is awarded twice each year - on our Founding Date (Jan. 7th) and the Fleet Commander's Birthday (Aug. 21st) - and a set number is awarded per subgroup - in the case of the Directorate, 3. I encourage you all to submit recommendations for this prestigious award. All recc's must go to the Fleet Commander (GA Astatine - fc@emperorshammer.org), the Executive Officer (SA Cyric - xo@emperorshammer.org), the Operations Officer (AD Gilad Pelleaeon - ops@emperorshammer.org), and myself (gmf@emperorshammer.org).