...and it is all about him. He is not an executioner. He is a soldier. He is an Imperial officer. Yes! The war became his work. Yes! Murder became his trade, his way of life. He was born for it. Somebody must do this terrifying dirty work. His life gave an opportunity for somebody out in deep space to be alive, to see the beautiful sunrise, to love, to have a family and to know nothing about the war. To know nothing THAT REALLY IS. He paid for it with his own life. He paid with his life for somebody's happiness and he never regretted it. He didn't know any wavering on the battlefield. He didn't write the nasty denunciations. Never. The honor of officer and elementary human dignity didn't allow him to do it. Even when he was asked to do it. The"witchhunt"already had began in the Imperial army. The requests were very insistent. He refused. He refused the baseness even when his own life was put on the card. He refused to do it again when unprecedented bright opportunities appeared in front of him. Only a few words with his signature- that was the price. But it was the price of somebody's life. He refused. Many years ago his father told to him: "Just remember- you can lose everything in your life, but you can be the honest man even in hell. And nobody will take it from you." He remembered it forever. The elegant and aristocratic Needa said about him: "He has the soul of a murderer. But he is ours. He belongs to us. He is our flesh and blood. He will die for us. We will die for him." And immediately the face of Admiral Piett appeared in his memory-- the man who was intelligent, quiet, but clever and dangerous as a werewolf: "Our 'Iron Max' isn't afraid of the bloody spots. He is afraid of the 'dirty spot' on his uniform." His faithful old friends were absolutely frank. And they were absolutely right. In his private life he could forgive the small insults. It is good for a man to forgive a few small insults. But he wouldn't forgive cowardice and baseness. Neither from himself, nor from others. It was the truth too. He was absolutely merciless in this way. Not all of his colleagues were so scrupulous...

He loved the Imperial Army-- which was his life and his religion-- with the tenderness of the first and last love. This love was tearing apart his heart. That is why not a lot of heart warmth remained for the other people around him. His soldiers were his family. He gave to them everything he had-- his life, his knowledge, his experience, his defense. Everything was given to them. And the soldiers adored him. Only Admiral Piett and Captain Needa had the same authority. Even Lord Vader was forced to admit it.

During a short but incredibly cruel battle he was captured by Rebels. Death didn't meet him that day; it must have gone around another way. He was alive and the Rebels were going to send him to a tribunal and execute him like a military criminal. When the news reached the Imperials who had survived the battle, their faces turned black. But nobody said a word. Words were unnecessary here.

The raid on the Rebel base was incredibly quick and indescribably audacious. Nobody was able to believe that sixteen half-alive,terribly wounded and burned Imperials could do that. But they did. They burst on the base like a lethal hurricane. They killed everybody who was so unfortunate to be on their way in that moment. They turned the base into the fiery hell and disappeared without any trace. He disappeared with them.

Only the dead bodies of Rebels and the smouldering ruins gave evidence that it was reality. He learned the details of his liberation later-- the Imperials couldn't endure the humiliation of their beloved general. The throats of few Rebels were pulled out with teeth. Human teeth... The boys obviously were in not sentimental mood. The captivity of "Iron Max" WAS NOT A SMALL INSULT for them.

He is free now. But the pain of defeat and terrible humiliation is still with him. The Rebels already paid a good price for it. And he will make them pay much more. They will pay HIS price.

Soon there will be new battles. New death-- for all of them-- for Rebels and Imperials. There are many chances for it. But he and his soldiers are still alive. And their life will be a fitting requiem for all Imperials- soldiers, captains, generals, admirals, moffs-- for all of them, who left and never will be back. He wears his uniform with great pride. He is not a lousy mercenary without any honor and conscience! He was a soldier, he is a soldier, he will be a soldier of the Empire forever. If fate condemns the Empire to defeat-- it is not his fault. He did everything to protect it. He will go to the end. Even if that end will be awful for him. He asks nobody to go with him. He will go alone. It is his way. Only one thing he will ask from his fate-- to have a chance to take a couple of Rebels with him. It will be his last request. Any other words are unnecessary here. "The die is cast".

LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!!!