Calros stood silently before the massive blast doors, clad in his newest uniform—that of a Rebel officer. It still felt strange against his skin, like a borrowed identity not yet broken in. The fabric was newer, cleaner, without the grit or smell of home. Yet it bore the weight of a thousand expectations.
He was currently stationed on the planet Vharos, a remote and largely unknown world nestled deep within the Unknown Regions. It was a forgotten place—untamed and unclaimed, with nothing but harsh terrain and stubborn weather. But to the Rebel Alliance, it served a specific purpose: the training and integration of 276,000 Vireenians into their military forces.
It was a staggering number. A mass exodus of survivors, refugees, and displaced souls, all of them now looking to the Rebellion for direction—and to Calros Ren for leadership.
He had been summoned before the Rebel High Command, though the reasons had not been disclosed. Still, he had his suspicions.
Several days had passed since their escape from Imperial captivity, and Calros had spent every waking moment organizing the chaos that followed. The Vireenians, with no real military infrastructure of their own, needed structure—discipline—purpose. And Calros, whether he had asked for it or not, had become their general in all but name.
Fortunately, the Empire had kept detailed records of the Vireenians during their captivity. Names, age, work assignments, psychological profiles—even biometric scans. It was brutally efficient, but the information had proven useful. Background checks, demographics, and headcounts were already done, though Calros found the method distasteful.
He had established a basic chain of command through volunteer enlistment. Anyone could request to be considered for an officer role. They would be tested thoroughly—mentally and physically—before they were granted rank. Surprisingly, very few Vireenians pursued command. Most preferred the simplicity of soldiering. But enough came forward to fill the necessary roles.
The rank structure was intentionally simple, stripped of the pomp of old regimes. It began with Private, followed by Private First Class and Private Second Class. Then came Lance Corporal, Specialist, Sergeant, Staff Sergeant, and Master Sergeant. Above them stood the Warrant Officers, then commissioned ranks: Second Lieutenant, First Lieutenant, Captain, Major, Commander, Colonel, Marshal—and finally, General.
The unit structure mirrored classic military doctrine. At the lowest tier was the Squad: nine troopers led by a Sergeant or Staff Sergeant. Four squads made a Platoon—36 soldiers—typically commanded by a Second Lieutenant or Warrant Officer.
Next came the Battalion, composed of four Platoons and led by a First Lieutenant. It was the smallest formal tactical unit in the Vireenian army. Above that stood the Brigade—2,304 personnel led by a Captain. Four brigades formed a Division, totaling 9,216 troops, commanded by a Major or Commander.
Then came the Corps: 38,864 strong and led by a Colonel. The Corps was the Rebellion's largest flexible tactical unit, capable of independent campaigns. The Alliance rarely deployed more than a Corps in any single engagement.
Beyond that were Army-level formations. An Army consisted of 147,456 soldiers and was commanded by a Marshal. Finally, there was the Army Group—comprising two full Armies under the leadership of an Admiral. The 7th Army Group, consisting of just under 300,000 personnel, was the largest force the Rebellion had ever attempted to organize. And Calros had been handed its reins.
A deep breath. The blast doors opened.
Inside was a wide command chamber centered around a massive HoloTable. Rebel High Command sat around it in a half-circle, holographic readouts casting pale blue light onto their faces. At the center sat Mon Mothma, her expression unreadable—equal parts warmth and command.
Calros stepped forward.
Mon Mothma, Chancellor of the Rebel Alliance, addressed him first. Her gaze was sharp, unwavering. "Calros Ren, you have been brought before us to discuss your future within the Rebel Alliance—and the future of your people."
Calros met her eyes. Her presence was commanding, and though he didn't show it, he had to suppress the urge to flinch. There was a reason she held sway over the entire rebellion. Since the death of Bail Organa and Leia's shift to field work, Mon Mothma had taken full control—not just politically, but militarily. Even Admiral Ackbar, the rebellion's foremost strategist, deferred to her authority.
Calros couldn't help but think of Commodore Rysell. Something about the man had always unsettled him—not out of fear, but respect. Rysell seemed to understand the inner workings of the Rebel command as if he had grown up alongside them, studied them, mimicked them. He knew how to predict their choices, maneuver through their bureaucracy. It was thanks to him that Calros had made it this far. Not by luck. Not by desperation. But through carefully measured steps.
Mon Mothma continued. "It is clear that your people are willing to fight. But the question remains—who will lead them? These past days, we've observed your willingness to assume command. Your people, however, seem reluctant to take on such roles. So we must ask: what are your motives?"
A hush settled over the chamber. Calros took a second, then spoke.
"You misjudge me if you believe I have ulterior motives," he began. "My goal, my dream—my desires—they are no different than those of my people. If anything, mine may burn brighter."
He met Mothma's gaze fully now.
"I appear calm, perhaps even indifferent. But deep within me, I burn with the need to avenge my family. If I could, I would gladly remain a foot soldier. But my time on Vireen taught me that waiting for others to carry your burden is a gamble I can no longer afford. It is not a matter of distrust—it is a matter of certainty. I trust myself more."
He took a breath, letting a small flicker of emotion slip past his stoic mask.
"I can achieve more in command than I ever could with a rifle in hand. It is more stressful, yes, and more isolating. But I made this choice knowing full well what it cost. I will carry that weight—because someone must. My cause, my pain, my purpose—these are not burdens I place above my people. They are what tie me to them."
The silence was heavier this time, lingering.
Then Leia Organa clapped. Others followed—briefly, but sincerely.
Mon Mothma inclined her head. "I believe I speak for the entire council when I say you are more than fit for your station. Congratulations, General Calros Ren. You are hereby appointed commander of the 7th Army Group."
Calros gave a slow, measured nod. The title barely registered. He was already thinking about what came next.
"But this is not the end of it," Admiral Ackbar said, voice raspy but firm. "Instructors have already been dispatched. We expect your Army Group to reach standard readiness within four months. You will also receive formal command training. Do you believe this timeline is realistic?"
Calros considered the state of his people. Many were survivors, not soldiers. But they were motivated, disciplined in their own way—and furious. Fury made excellent fuel.
"Yes, Admiral. The Vireenians are more than capable. We will meet your expectations. We will exceed them."
Ackbar nodded in approval.
General Jan Dodonna leaned forward next. "Let me be clear on your assignment. The 7th Army Group will serve as a siege force. You are to be deployed after space superiority has been achieved. Your forces will lead planetary assaults and secure ground objectives. You will be spared most naval duties—but you will face the brunt of surface combat."
Calros's jaw tightened. It made sense. What else could the Rebellion want with nearly 300,000 troops?
But a question lingered. "What vessels will carry us? I'm not aware of any Rebel ships with the capacity to transport that many personnel."
The Council turned toward Admiral Ackbar. He tapped a sequence on the HoloTable, and a new projection materialized—a large Mon Calamari cruiser with sleek curves and modified bulk.
"This is the MC80 Star Carrier," he explained. "A refitted MC80 designed for maximum personnel transport. Most cargo sections have been converted into barracks and sleeping quarters. Armaments have been reduced to basic orbital bombardment capabilities and defensive turrets. Hangars remain operational."
Text and schematics scrolled across the hologram.
"Each vessel can carry 130,000 to 150,000 troops, in addition to a full crew complement. You will be assigned two: Liberation and Honor of Vireen."
Calros gave a slow nod. "I believe they will serve us well."
Mon Mothma stood, signaling the end of the meeting. "You are dismissed, General Ren."
He turned to leave, but Leia's voice stopped him. "May the Force be with you."
Calros glanced back, then gave her a respectful nod.
The doors closed behind him.
He had been given an army.
Now he had to make it mean something.
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