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Once their objective was secured he’d left Adanar and a small contingent to hold the outpost. With Des in the lead, the rest of the unit marched back to its base camp.

Along the way he tried to ignore the hushed whispers and furtive looks the rest of the company was giving him. Lucia had spread the word of his amazing shooting, and it was the talk of the unit. None of them was brave enough to say anything to his face, but he could hear snippets of conversation from the ranks behind him.

Honestly, he couldn’t blame them. Looking back, even he wasn’t sure what had happened. Des was a good marksman, but he was no sniper. Yet somehow he’d managed to pull off a dozen impossible shots with a weapon he’d never fired before … most of them after being blinded by a flash canister. It was beyond unbelievable. It was as if, when he’d lost his vision, some mysterious power had taken over and guided his actions. It was exhilarating, but at the same time it was terrifying. Where had this power come from? And why couldn’t he control it?

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that at first he didn’t even notice the strangers waiting at their base camp. It was only after they stepped up and slapped the stun cuffs on his wrists that he realized what was going on.

“Welcome back, Sergeant.” Ulabore’s voice was filled with bile.

Des glanced around. A dozen enforcers—the military security of the Sith army—were standing with weapons drawn. Ulabore stood behind them, a deep bruise on his face where Des had struck him. In the background Des could see the two junior recruits he’d left in charge of Ulabore. They were staring down at the ground, embarrassed and ashamed.

“Did you really think those raw recruits would keep their commanding officer trussed up like some kind of prisoner?” Ulabore taunted him from behind the protective wall of armed guards. “Did you really believe they would follow you in your madness?”

“That madness saved our lives!” Lucia shouted. Des held up his shackled hands to silence her: this situation could get out of hand far too easily.

When nothing else happened, the lieutenant seemed to gain some courage. He stepped out from behind the protective wall of enforcers and over to Des.

“I warned you about disobeying orders,” he sneered. “Now you get to see firsthand how the Brotherhood of Darkness deals with mutinous soldiers!”

A few of the Gloom Walkers began to reach slowly for their weapons, but Des shook his head and they froze. The enforcers already had their blasters drawn and weren’t afraid to use them. The troopers wouldn’t manage to get off even a single shot.

“What’s the matter, Sergeant?” Ulabore pressed, drawing closer to his defeated enemy. Too close. “Nothing to say?”

Des knew he could kill the lieutenant with one quick move. The enforcers would take him out, but at least Ulabore would go with him. Every fiber of his being wanted to lash out and end both their lives in an orgy of blood and blasterfire. But he managed to fight the impulse. There was no point in throwing his life away. A court-martial would likely end in a death sentence, but at least if he went to trial he’d have a chance.

Ulabore stepped up and slapped him once across the face, then spit on his boots and stepped back. “Take him away,” he said to the enforcers, turning his back on Des.

As Des was taken away he couldn’t help but see the look in the eyes of Lucia and the troopers whose lives he’d saved only hours ago. He had a feeling the next time the unit went into combat, Ulabore would suffer an unfortunate—and fatal—accident.

That realization brought the hint of a smile to his lips.

The enforcers marched him through the jungle for hours, weapons drawn and trained on him the entire time. They only lowered them when they reached the sentries on the perimeter of the main Sith camp.

“Prisoner for a court-martial,” one of the enforcers said flatly. “Go tell Lord Kopecz.” One of the sentries saluted and ran off.

They marched Des through the camp toward the brig. He saw recognition in the eyes of many of the soldiers. With his