You land your sleek, immaculate TIE Fighter in the hangar bay of your ship, its laser cannons still hot. The rest of your squadron gathers around, high-fiving and embracing. It was a good day for you all. You got four of them today - Rebels, or pirates, or traitors, or whatever. You're a young, hotshot, hard-drinking, hard-partying pilot. You're the pride of your squadron ever since you completed training. As TIE pilots we are like space janitors, cleaning up all sorts of trash across the galaxy. But quickly, you hear the deck officer bark attention. Your Wing Commander, a grizzled old veteran of the Galactic Civil War, is on deck.

Your squadron forms to attention and your Squadron Commander salutes. "Great work out there today, pilots. You have made your ship and your squadron proud," your Wing Commander says. He turns to you, making eye contact, and beckons to you. "Lieutenant, a moment of your time, if you would." He beckons your Squadron Commander to join as well, and the three of you huddle up in a quiet corner of the hangar bay. A mouse droid skitters across your flight boots. You glare at it angrily.

"Lieutenant, you are the top pilot in your squadron and one of the top pilots on this ship. A new command position has opened up, and your Squadron Commander thought of you," says your Wing Commander. You raise your eyebrows, not quite getting the point. "Lieutenant, I want to offer you command of your own squadron, of eleven other Imperial sons and daughters. But first, we must send you back to school..."

At the Naval Command Candidate School, you truly see that the TIE Corps embraces all walks of life. Young, hotshot pilots. Crusty vets who decided to finally answer the call. Humans and aliens. Men and women and...whatever that thing over there is. Everyone nervous, everyone eager to make a good impression. NCCS is a rough course, and not everyone will pass it. Everyone is assembled in a large lecture hall, a semi-circle with a large podium and hologram projector at its head. As the door opens, everyone hushes and sits down. Colonel Zekk Terrik, in full dress uniform complete with medals and lightsaber, takes the podium. He has short, cropped black hair and a noticeable scar on his chin, but it's one of those handsome scars that made for a good party story and drew the looks of lovely Twi'lek women.

"Greetings, pilots, my name is Colonel Zekk Terrik and it's my job to make you into leaders, starting now. Forget everything you thought you knew about leading. I already have. If you pass this course, you will be responsible for leading eleven other Imperial men, women, and aliens into combat. We do not want your pilots to befall the same fate as Alderaan did in that tragic mining accident; those TIE Fighters are expensive. You'll be the ones to send a Holonet transmission to their parents, or spouses, or children, when they die. This job is not for the faint of heart, or for the weak. You are the Empire's strength. We do not accept defeat. Any questions?"

A doe-eyed, fresh-faced Lieutenant in the front row raised his hand.

"None? Good. Now if you will please open your books to page one, we will begin."

Continue to II. Introduction - So you want to be a Squadron Commander?