Nine years, six months, and eight days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-four years, six months, and eight days after the Great Resynchronization.
There is nothing more tedious than standing guard duty on board an orbital defense station. Monotonous routine, broken only occasionally by the droning of the intercom: the commandant reminding all personnel, over and over, of their vigilance and the supreme importance of their work for the management of Kuat Drive Yards in protecting the planet Xa Fel — the primary supplier of hyperdrives and navigation equipment for starships built in the shipyards of Kuat, as well as for other projects, like the orbital repair workshops.
This pompous drivel had grown thoroughly tiresome.
Because the garrison of each of the four Fire Star-class stations understood perfectly well — to defend facilities like Xa Fel, far more than four outdated stations, bought somewhere by tight-fisted company bean-counters and a couple of Golan-class stations, were needed. A fiction, not a defense. No, the officers, of course, said they were all part of the company's grand plan, but listening to that propaganda got old. So much so that a couple of people had quit, breaking their long-term contracts and leaving the stations on the next available free freighter. They simply didn't return from their shore leave on the planet.
It wasn't a common occurrence, but it wasn't rare among ordinary workers either. It happens when someone's nerves give out. And how could they stay calm when nothing was happening around them... Absolutely nothing. Tedium, in a word.
And tedium, in turn, breeds idleness. And right now, the members of the duty shift in the station's control center were ready to logically follow the chronology adhered to by any duty shift: move from the 'idleness' stage to the 'mediocre performance of work duties' state.
Nothing ever happens here anyway, and the civilian traffic of inbound company freighters and lone ships was controlled by the OCCs on the surface and both Golan-class stations. The Fire Stars and their crews on Xa Fel's orbit were nothing more than extras. Incredibly bored extras...
The beings dozing in the control center were roused by the voice of the junior officer in charge of the scanning systems.
"Uh-h-h, guys," his intrigued voice rang out. "We have a ship."
"The Xa Fel OCC will handle it," came the immediate command from another officer.
"It's not a civilian," the scanner officer's voice was tense. "An Immobilizer 418-class interdictor cruiser. It came out of hyperspace a minute ago."
"Range to us?" A faint spark of interest in what was happening appeared among every being in the control center.
"Twenty-five units," the artillery officer reported. "It's not moving..."
"Maybe something broke?" someone suggested.
"Like its IFF transponder?" said the senior watch officer, approaching the terminal receiving data from the suddenly appearing ship. It just didn't look like the ships they'd seen here before. It couldn't be classified as a starship arriving to buy needed equipment at the local branch of the company's retail division. "Is the ship registered in our fleet?"
"Our" meant, of course, the armed forces of Kuat.
"The interdictor cruiser has activated its gravity well generators!" came the excited and simultaneously frightened voice of one of the watch standers!
"How many?" the senior officer tensed.
"As always — two," came the reply. Nothing new, really — the Imperials had built ships with four generators for projecting artificial gravity, but in practice, only two were ever used. The instances where all installations were employed could be counted on one hand. "Gravity cones are being projected to our left and to the right of the neighboring station, and the Golan above the northern hemisphere... Sir, this is definitely not our ship now... Two Interdictor-class Star Destroyers! At a distance of one hundred units to the left and right of the interdictor cruiser! Deploying artificial gravity fields near the other two Fire Stars!"
"Battle stations!" the watch officer ordered. It looked like a very rich pirate had dropped by to plunder the cargo transports. But they'd miscalculated — there were still weeks until shipments were scheduled, and the manufactured hyperdrives were in the warehouses. "Ready the guns — fire on the Star Destroyers to screen against their fighter wing! Activate deflectors! Destroy that ship! Launch aviat..."
"Sir!" came the hysterical cry of one of the officers. "More ships!"
"Identify them!"
"Four Imperial I-class Star Destroyers have appeared beyond the range of the orbital defense station guns! They're holding in the 'blind zones'! Engaging the defense stations at maximum range! Only the Golan in the southern hemisphere and the Fire Star on the far side of the orbit are not under fire!"
"Get in touch with Kuat immediately and alert them!" The senior officer smiled. "Well, the time has finally come... Boys, today we destroy that Imperial task force that's been bleeding the New Republic! Now, while they're trying to break through our shields, our ships are already on their way to help us! The enemy clearly intends to raid Xa Fel and make off with Kuat Drive Yards' hyperdrives. But they won't succeed! Fighters and bombers are already launching from the surface!"
"All fighters and bombers have been scrambled and are moving to intercept the Star Destroyers!"
"We'll crush them before the main line forces even arrive and..."
"An Acclamator II-class assault cruiser is next to us, and a Victory I-class Star Destroyer is next to the Golan in the northern hemisphere! Range ten units to the enemy!"
"Two Imperial I-class Star Destroyers have surrounded the right-hand Fire Star! Range ten units!"
"An Imperial II-class Star Destroyer is next to the Golan in the northern hemisphere!"
"Multiple contacts — corvettes! Corellian design! CR90s! Our fighters are under fire from enemy light forces!"
"That's a lot..." the senior officer said. "Well, no matter, our turbolasers will start switching to pri..."
"SIR!!!!" came a hysterical scream that could rival an ultrasound. "Proton torpedoes, sir!"
"Huh?" the senior officer didn't understand. "What? From where?"
"The Acclamator! They've turned their bow towards us and launched proton torpedoes! A continuous stream of torpedoes, sir! Impact in... thirty seconds!"
"They're not the only ones who fired," came the sepulchral voice of the officer in charge of scanning systems. "The Victory I fired a broadside of anti-ship torpedoes into the Golan that was exchanging fire with the Imperial. They're maneuvering, bow-on to the station's flank... Another salvo... Maneuvering, starboard side... And another... And now the aft launchers..."
* * *
"Damage on deck seven!"
"Blast doors have sealed! Atmosphere leak contained!"
"Forward deflector power has dropped by a third! Compensating with aft deflectors!"
"Fourth salvo from launchers complete," the executive officer reported. "Tubes sixty-one through eighty are empty and reloading!"
"Begin maneuvering," Captain I-Gor ordered, watching as eighty anti-ship missiles, leaving long, smoky exhaust trails behind them, streaked toward a Golan-class orbital station. Proton torpedoes would have been more convenient, of course, but... you can't always get what you want. And the destruction from them would have been too severe. "Coming to a combat course. Navigator! Mark the locations of the planetary anti-air defense systems for the gunners!"
"Targets marked!"
"Clear the port-side launchers!" I-Gor commanded.
"Tubes one through twenty have fired!"
"Three interceptors shot down!"
"The enemy is laying down heavy suppressive fire!"
"Port deflector power is dropping!"
"One gunship has destroyed an enemy bomber!"
"Proton torpedo to starboard!"
"Neutralized!"
"Evasive maneuver!" the commander of the Crusader said. "Instruct the escort to expand the defensive sphere! Interceptors, hold at medium range! Are the forward launchers ready to fire?!"
"Reloaded!"
"Salvo on secondary targets!" I-Gor commanded.
"Tubes are locked! Firing! Launchers twenty-one through forty..."
"Continue rotation! What about the starboard launchers!?"
"Reload complete!"
"Fire on tertiary targets!" I-Gor cast a glance at the tactical display. And there... On the schematic showing the enemy's anti-air defense points on the planetary surface, concentrated in the projection of the 'blind spots', a fiery inferno was unfolding, consuming weapons, buildings, beings... Anti-ship missiles are terrifying weapons. Their effectiveness isn't much different from proton torpedoes, but their speed... It's higher. And their directional blast effects, designed to penetrate ship armor and destroy the contents of the decks, are exactly what's needed for pinpoint surface bombardment. What idiots were the ones who, when modernizing the first-series Victories, added ion cannons and removed the launchers... And how right Thrawn is when he says that Star Destroyers of this type were too quickly relegated to the second line. Just think about it. The New Order, for over twenty years, nearly thirty, has considered representatives of alien races unworthy of serving in the Imperial armed forces. And only Thrawn, who looks only vaguely human, sees how much of value the Empire has baselessly left in the past...
"Aft launchers are empty," the executive officer reported. "All ground targets in the 'Aurek' landing zone have been neutralized!"
"Shield power restored!"
"Damage contained!"
"Hangar deck: commence landing operations!" the Crusader's commander ordered. "Inform the Grand Admiral of our success. What about the Golan?" he asked, suddenly realizing he had completely lost sight of the fate of the station his ship had attacked at the very beginning of the operation.
"It's burning," the executive officer said, with poorly concealed satisfaction, pointing to the orbital defense platform whose deflector shields had already collapsed under the first salvo. "The Chimaera is finishing off the remains."
"We are moving to rendezvous with the flagship and proceeding to bombard targets in the 'Besh' landing zone," Captain I-Gor said, allowing himself a restrained smile.
As a ship commander, he was obliged to project composure. Even if, inside, he felt like yelling from the sheer satisfaction of such a magnificent beginning to the Xa Fel operation.
* * *
"The interdictor cruiser and the interdictor cruisers have deactivated their artificial gravity generators and are moving to rendezvous with the fleet," Captain Pellaeon reported.
"Remind them not to get involved in the battle," I said, stroking the ysalamiri scruff. The lizard lifted its head, looked at me with an injured expression, then bared its teeth. It met my gaze. Blinked, momentarily covering its beady eyes with scaly lids. Put its head back on my lap. Good. No need to be offended. It's just my nerves.
I'm still on edge this whole time. At least the first part of the plan worked — the 'northern' Golan lost most of its guns on the side hit by the Crusader's anti-ship torpedoes. And now the Chimaera, pouring fire on the station from all guns, protected from the enemy's frantic fighter wing attacks by its own fighters, interceptors, and Corellian corvettes, was making a 'tour' around it, coming into firing range on the side of the damaged Golan's flank. I had no desire to trade shots with the operational turbolasers of an orbital defense station. Why, if you can destroy it quickly, simply by capitalizing on the success our Crusader achieved?
The Chimaera's broadside artillery salvos found fertile ground in the destruction wrought by the Victory, tearing out the station's insides, vaporizing chunks of armor, internal bulkheads, and triggering one internal detonation after another. 'Skinning' a prize through an existing wound is much faster and easier than trying to pick at its 'hide' somewhere else.
Simple logic, based on knowledge from my past life, came in handy here too. Although, it's only logical — who would build an entire space object, including its decks and bulkheads, entirely out of armor? That's an enormous expense. And the first law of capitalism is maximum profit with minimum expense. Or something like that. I'm not an economist, I don't have to know everything.
"The assault cruiser has damaged a Fire Star," Pellaeon said, receiving a new report. "The 'Kresh' and 'Dorn' landing zones are conditionally clear thanks to the bombardment by the Inflexible and the Relentless..."
"'Conditionally' is not of interest to us, Captain," I reminded him. "Send our bombers to attack the Golan. It's time to end this duel."
"Aye aye, sir," Pellaeon acknowledged, issuing the appropriate orders. "If only we had more Victories..."
"Agreed, Captain," I said, watching on the tactical monitor as the other six Star Destroyers of my fleet began executing the previously transmitted orders.
The idea was simple, and unfortunately, it wasn't mine.
If interdictor cruisers can pull ships out of hyperspace, why couldn't they serve as course correctors for the ships of our fleet? One such ship exits hyperspace, activates its generators, transmits the deployment vector to the ships in its group — and they emerge into realspace at the designated point. Without the slightest deviation from course, as would happen if the jump were made using standard methods. With the latter, unfortunately, despite thousands of years of use, there was still the danger of 'scatter' among ships relative to their initial position. Thus, two ships that broke the light barrier from points a hundred kilometers apart could materialize at the end of their journey either a couple of kilometers apart or a thousand kilometers apart. A matter of blind luck and the navigational skill of the ships' navigators. And let's be honest — my fleet was not blessed with navigational geniuses. Unfortunately, that's the usual situation among current Imperials.
Thanks to the Interdictors and the Immobilizer, my fleet was able to materialize exactly where it needed to be — the Crusader and the Chimaera on either side of the Golan, instantly splitting the attention of its crew between two targets practically under their nose. And while under normal circumstances they could have relied on their shields holding out against turbolaser fire for a very, very long time, the eighty anti-ship missiles from Captain I-Gor persuaded them otherwise.
That was why the Victory I, capable of spitting twenty missiles at the enemy from each of its four sides — both flanks, the forward, and the aft hemispheres — was 'dealing' with one of the two most combat-capable stations. Meanwhile, maneuvering, spinning in place, Captain I-Gor could fire all eighty missiles in a single salvo in a short period of time. Some of them were undoubtedly shot down by the station's gunners and defense systems, but the rest got through. And they did their job, instantly reducing the Golan's combat effectiveness by an order of magnitude. After which the Crusader moved on to neutralizing the anti-air defenses in the first of the 'blind spots'. Judging by the fact that the Star Destroyer was already moving alongside us, and taking into account the report received from them, they had accomplished their task, and now the first wave of the landing force — a regiment of marine shock troopers — was already forming a beachhead, drawing the full attention of Xa Fel's ground forces. Help wouldn't reach them anytime soon — first, they needed to 'clean' the 'Besh' point using the Crusader's gunners. A delay of a dozen minutes. Is that critical for the landed troops? Not entirely. But losses will be heavy, without a doubt.
But it's necessary. Those are the shock troopers from Colonel Selid's 'GeNod' project. I'm not sure of these beings' loyalty. So, getting rid of them while simultaneously achieving a certain result — that would be the right thing. Immoral, unethical, but right now, it's not a dilemma between the 'greater and lesser evil'.
Pellaeon is absolutely right — it's terribly unfortunate that I don't currently command more Victories. Their missile launchers are a weapon to be reckoned with.
For lack of anything better, I had to use the Acclamator II to attack another station. Yes, it doesn't have eighty launchers, just two. But they're designed for firing proton torpedoes at maximum rate of fire. Given the modest number of torpedo tubes, the assault cruiser was bombarding a Fire Star, far less resilient than a Golan. Staying outside the station's own proton torpedo range, the cruiser easily withstood the fire from its laser cannons, continuously pelting the enemy with proton torpedoes. Most of them were destroyed by the Kuat crew, but the result was evident — the station was losing its combat effectiveness with every hit.
According to Pellaeon's estimates, both the Golan we were attacking and the Fire Star under the Acclamator II's fire would hold out for another ten minutes. That was enough time for the Crusader to clear the 'Besh' landing zone. And then the Chimaera's hangars would disgorge landing craft carrying the 501st Legion.
But that was just the external view of the situation.
Meanwhile, the invasion operation was unfolding, transitioning from 'phase one' — 'arrival' into 'phase two' — 'orbital suppression of ground resistance.'
The Death's Head and the Stormhawk, having pinned another Fire Star from both sides, staying outside its proton torpedo launchers, hammered the station's shields with hurricane fire, allowing the superiority of their own small craft over the enemy fighters from that "star" to deal with the light forces, distracting them from the bombers that were raining one salvo of proton torpedoes after another onto the station. Of course, these were mosquito bites, but targeted ones. The station's laser cannons were certainly dangerous, especially when their number exceeded a hundred, but they were aimed at medium-class ships, which had not sought to close with the station itself, preferring to follow orders and protect the Star Destroyers ever since their hyperspace jumps had been interrupted by deployed interdictor cruisers and the Immobilizer 418 with cones of artificial gravity.
The Overlord of Captain Brandei, the Inexorable under Captain Alexander Mor, the Relentless of Dorja, and the Bellicose of Avan were now conducting orbital bombardment on four more landing zones — Kresh, Dorn, Esk, and Forn — destroying their anti-air defenses. Yes, a landing would also take place here — according to intelligence, the production of hyperdrives was divided among different districts. That is, different types of the equipment we needed were in different warehouses.
Destroying the infrastructure of Xa Fel made no sense — it would only anger Kuat Drive Yards and set them hunting for me. The loss of product and the destruction of the air defense and orbital defense systems were acceptable losses for the corporation's economy and military power.
But wiping out the industry — and especially the industry vital to the entire business of Kuat Drive Yards — that was precisely the grounds for a vendetta that would put a target on the backs of me and my subordinates. If it didn't push Kuat squarely into the arms of the New Republic.
I doubted the latter, of course. Kuat Drive Yards was a corporation with many millennia of history and continuous development. And for most of its existence, it had been in its own sector, sharing the name of its home planet, in complete control over everything that happened. Even when part of the Old Republic, they had ignored all restrictions placed on interstellar ships. The Galactic Empire had certainly knocked the arrogance out of them and introduced more control — but that was just for show. You can't embrace the unembraceable.
Of course, if Palpatine had wanted, he could have subjugated the Kuat sector and installed his own cronies there. But something told me that would have turned into a military campaign too costly for the Empire. With a completely unpredictable outcome — even if the Kuat family didn't have tens of thousands of warships in its arsenal (or maybe they did, but just didn't advertise it), the build quality and armament of their starships were far superior to, say, the Trade Federation, which had one of the largest armed fleets in the galaxy.
So, this operation should conclude without major problems or consequences for me and my fleet from the Kuat family and their private band of mercenaries.
At least, I hope so.
I glanced at the chronometer. Fifteen minutes had passed since the operation began. The landing force from the Crusader had reported the capture of a beachhead. Excellent.
Time flies. If we didn't finish suppressing the defense systems and capture what we needed within the next hour, we would have to withdraw — otherwise the enemy could arrive at any moment. And who would arrive — a fleet of Star Destroyers or a Kuat eight-kilometer Star Dreadnought of the Mandator type — only God knew.
Star Dreadnought Mandator II-type (Kuat)
But, according to my information, the higher powers had left this galaxy.
And a very long time ago at that. And they clearly had no intention of returning anytime soon.
* * *
The Relentless, having fired its engines, aimed its wedge-shaped bow toward the planet's surface.
Chaos of battle reigned around the Imperial Star Destroyer.
Fighters and interceptors, locked in combat with their opponents from Xa Fel's squadrons, fought on, supported by Corellian CR90 corvettes. Every now and then, miniature supernovas bloomed, signifying the destruction of one ship or another. But not a single one reached the triangular hull of the destroyer — the intercepting fire and the pilots' skill were reflected in the effectiveness of countering the enemy.
The expectation that the Kuati would send their less experienced pilots here was not justified. The Relentless's air wing, like the small craft of the other Imperial ships, fought against professionals of their craft. They were inferior in flight training quality, but not by much.
Dorja was not the most beloved commander in the fleet. And he himself knew very well that he was not greatly loved by the crew of his Star Destroyer. But something stronger bound them — discipline.
Everyone on board the Relentless, from the lowliest cabin boy to the first officer, knew that their captain was a space wolf seasoned by experience. He demanded much, but never beyond measure. Stern, but fair.
They might grumble about his harsh demands and constant training alarms, but today that training paid off like never before. While on the Bellicose of Captain Avan nearly all TIE fighter pilots had been lost, the Relentless's air wing remained almost at full strength. And they fought the enemy successfully.
Those who criticize Imperial fighters are fools who don't understand that crew training is the key to victory. And during the mission on Garos IV, Dorja had managed to train his people thoroughly.
He had interpreted Thrawn's actions in sending his destroyer to control the resource extraction for the stealth systems exactly as the Grand Admiral had stated. He set aside his personal pride and prejudice toward the Grand Admiral himself and toward Pellaeon. And he did what he had to do — he safeguarded the hybidium extraction and ensured its uninterrupted supply. Properly using the time he had.
And now he was demonstrating the result. A magnificent result.
"Third-priority targets have been assigned," came the voice of the senior gunner.
Captain Dorja allowed himself a smile. Turning, he looked at the now-silent officer.
"Fire," was all he said. Why launch into long discussions and pompous speeches? They were at war, and the crew's task was to destroy the enemy and carry out the commander's orders. He had given the order and...
Streams of green plasma, appearing from the outside as thin beams of energy, rushed toward the surface, burning away any resistance from the defenders.
They had already swept away the air defense systems around the landing zone near the finished product warehouse. And now, while the gunners practiced firing at stationary targets, from the Relentless's hangar, transport ships with landing forces poured in an endless stream to the planet's surface, sending ever new Marine units toward their objective. There, they could close in with Xa Fel's defenders and demonstrate to the latter the training of the Imperial Stormtrooper Corps.
Dorja looked at the tactical display.
His turret artillery had already silenced about a hundred enemy firing points, literally vaporizing them along with their crews and the patches of terrain that were hit.
He tracked his gunners' actions precisely, noting that while they hit their targets most of the time, they still had a tendency to miss.
"Senior gunner," he said. "Upon return to base — four additional training sessions with the personnel."
"Sir?" There was surprise in the gun commander's voice.
"Turret fire effectiveness is at sixty-seven percent," Dorja said. "Thirty-seven percent of shots miss the target. An unacceptable margin of error for our ship."
"It will be done, Captain."
And there was no doubt that Dorja's answer was the absolute truth. He had long since taught his subordinates not to lie. And he had instilled in them maximum compliance with given orders. There was no need to even monitor the execution of his will in the future. Everyone on board the Relentless knew it was better to complete the assigned task than to try to weasel out.
"Landing status," Dorja demanded data.
"Complete at sixty percent," came the response.
"Speed it up," the commander of the Relentless ordered, continuing to contemplate the flashes of green fire and yellow-orange explosions on the surface of Xa Fel.
An excellent operation. Even if this wasn't Base Delta Zero, which all worlds that betrayed the ideals of the Galactic Empire without exception deserved, it was still a very tangible subtle hint of thick circumstances for Kuat Drive Yards. They should come to their senses and return to the fold of the Empire...
Perhaps someday, with the same filigree ease, they would take Coruscant as well.
Familiar captains from Imperial Space were saying that the Imperial Ruling Council was considering appointing Grand Admiral Thrawn as the new Emperor.
Well, hand on heart, it was worth noting that this alien... wasn't bad.
But to lead the Empire... No, what nonsense. War — that's what Thrawn handles best.
Let him do what he does best and not go where he isn't welcome.
He'd stay safer.
* * *
A supernova appeared near the starboard side, momentarily blocking everything in view. Even my eyes hurt from what I saw.
Funny as it sounds, I'd rather have looked at welding than this.
"The Golan station has been destroyed," reported Captain Pellaeon. "Captain I-Gor reports completion of the missile barrage against ground targets. All targets destroyed."
Wonderful. And my eyes feel like a hundred welders are frolicking with their torches.
It seems I've found a weak point in Chiss physiology.
"Proceed with landing the troops," I said, my voice steady despite wanting to cover my eyes with my hand. Instead, I maintained my composure as if nothing had happened. "Send the Crusader to support the assault cruiser." Judging by the fact that the mangled Fire Star-type defense station was still snarling, the cruiser wasn't really coping with its task. Yes, it simply didn't have enough launchers to achieve the same result as the Crusader in such a short time. And even the Interdictors and the Immobilizer 418 sent to support it hadn't fundamentally changed the situation. Unfortunately, I had to concede that the Acclamators as combat-capable ships in modern conditions, even after upgrades, were no longer relevant. Well, the Empire had used them as armed transports, universal landing ships. So, there was no need to invent something new. The facts spoke for themselves. "Situation report."
"The Bellicose reports it has lost fighters and three starboard turrets," said Gilad. "Against Captain Avan, at least a hundred enemy fighters..."
"Send him corvette reserves from sectors where enemy forces have already been suppressed," I said. The spots were beginning to fade. Good.
"The Death's Head has taken two proton torpedo hits from enemy fighters. No critical damage; Captain Harbid's destroyer continues the battle. He has already suppressed air defense forces in his sector."
"I expected nothing less. What about the other ships?"
"All strictly according to plan," Pellaeon stated. "Only on the Overlord did the enemy manage to destroy one of the deflector shield generators."
"Monitor the situation," I ordered, tracking how, in front of the Chimaera's bow, Lieutenant Kreb's TIE interceptors from Black Wing squadron — machines little different from the others aboard my flagship — were dealing with a pair of Kuat-built fighters, spinning through various maneuvers. Easily, effortlessly, as if on exercises.
This despite the fact that Lieutenant Kreb was actually a TIE fighter pilot. He and the pilots he had selected from various squadrons on the Chimaera had only mastered the TIE interceptor before our flight to the Sluissi Hegemony, where they made their debut. Anyone knowledgeable in flight would confirm that this individual's speed of retraining without loss of combat effectiveness was... incredible.
"Captain Pellaeon," I addressed the commander of the Chimaera. "See to it that after this battle, Lieutenant Kreb is entered into the Mount Tantiss program as one of the priority donors for the Pilot Corps."
"Yes, sir, Grand Admiral," said Gilad. "Sir, we are registering the approach of six enemy squadrons. Two from the Golan South station, four from the Fire Star on the opposite side of the planet."
"The Inexorable is closest to them," I threw a glance at the tactical panel. "Inform Captain Mor to deal with the uninvited guests."
"It will be done, Grand Admiral," Pellaeon stated, listening to a whispered report from Lieutenant Tschel, who had hurried over to him. "Especially since the Inexorable has already landed its troops and captured the warehouses with fourth-class hyperdrives. As it turns out..."
"Interesting," I glanced at the chronometer. Nineteen minutes had passed since the operation began. According to plan, this was supposed to happen only ten minutes in. "Request information on what happened." I wanted to know how exactly Captain Mor had achieved such successes. "Send an Acclamator to their landing zone — let them begin loading the hyperdrives. Have the Overlord change its disposition and finish destroying the first station — too much time has been wasted on its destruction."
Not listening to Pellaeon's response, knowing he would carry out the order, I immersed myself in thought.
Fourth-class hyperdrives — the very ones installed on the Type II orbital repair workshop that floated in orbit around Tangrene. Those were exactly what we needed for capturing the equipment at the Hast shipyards. One could say the minimum plan was essentially being fulfilled.
The first of the necessary finished product warehouses had been captured. This was... incredible. And significantly ahead of schedule. A rather pleasant surprise. But if I had learned anything in the months spent in this blue skin — nothing in this galaxy came cheap.
Captain Mor had clearly done something out of the ordinary.
"Sir," Captain Pellaeon appeared beside me. "A message from Lieutenant Jade on the Nemesis. Relayed through the outpost in the Pakuuni system and the communications station in the Chasin system." The Chimaera's commander sounded puzzled. Understandable — this was too elaborate a method of communication for a routine report. I had to assume the former Emperor's Hand's communiqué was not filled with ordinary details. "Encoded... Your code cylinder is required."
"Decrypt and deliver it to me immediately," I said, handing Pellaeon the chrome cylinder needed to decrypt secret dispatches, which stored a one-time code for just such occasions. If anyone tried to use it again, the security service would be well aware of the presence of a "rat" among the crew. And crushing a "rodent" was a trivial matter.
Mara Jade knew perfectly well that a military operation was currently in full swing. Without details, of course. But the fact remained.
If she had resorted to such an elaborate method of information transmission, which was also not the most prompt, then the message truly contained something important.
And all I had wanted was to attack a planet and acquire hyperdrives... What had gone wrong again?
* * *
"A new order received from the Chimaera — counter the arriving enemy reinforcements," reported the first officer.
Alexander Mor wiped beads of sweat from his forehead. Beyond the Star Destroyer, battle raged — the Inexorable's air wing was finishing off the enemy fighters attempting to escape. And they were doing so successfully, despite losses among the TIE fighters.
Of the three squadrons, only half remained intact. Another dozen machines with varying degrees of damage were now in the Star Destroyer's repair shops. The mechanics hoped to return them to service as soon as possible. Pity that this method wouldn't help resurrect the TIE bombers — all twelve had been destroyed during the raid on the air defense systems nearest to the finished product warehouse.
"Send the interceptors," he ordered. "And two Corellian corvettes. That should be enough. What about the landing force?"
"Resistance suppressed, air defense systems completely destroyed," came the response. "Losses are forty-seven percent of the total Marines stationed on the destroyer. Over a thousand wounded have already been received from the surface. Two landing shuttles are out of action and are currently being repaired. There is reason to believe they can be returned to service shortly."
"Good," said Alexander. A pair of shuttles was nothing. There were plenty of landing craft aboard an Imperial-class. Especially since all forces were on the surface now.
All that remained was to destroy the enemy fighters.
Oh, how it made him want to howl that the ships of Thrawn's fleet didn't have enough strike craft. And they had to use various "substitutes." For example, TIE bombers as assault ships for the quick destruction of enemy firing points...
"I'll have to point this out to the Grand Admiral," Alexander thought, watching a group of enemy fighters approach his ship from the forward hemisphere. They didn't last long — the anti-aircraft artillery worked properly and as it should — the enemy flew a few units before scattering into a pile of debris, useless for completing the assigned task and completely harmless to an Imperial Star Destroyer.
Mor would have a chance to speak with Thrawn personally. The Supreme Commander would definitely ask him a "couple of standard questions." For instance, who had advised Captain Mor to send bombers on assault runs and land the Marine vanguard when the enemy's air defenses had not yet been suppressed. Ah... how they needed the Alphas... But the Imperial Ruling Council had deliberately removed the Xg-1 assault gunboats from the ships transferred to Thrawn's operational command. Well, of course. Expensive toys. And most importantly, very valuable for their effectiveness in destroying ground targets.
However, let Thrawn ask questions. He had counter-questions — for example, why he pretended not to know about the existence of assault gunboats. And didn't even try to acquire them for his ships. No, well, it was obvious. He used a "Mark II" as his flagship, and such ships weren't part of its standard complement.
Hutt... is he afraid of meeting the Grand Admiral and answering for his actions? No, he's not afraid. He did what was necessary to achieve a quick result. Thrawn might be a genius strategist, as they say. But not a tactician. And it's not for him to dictate whether a ship commander's independent actions are appropriate or not... It's his own business how he commands his ship in battle. That's what the regulations say...
Alexander closed his eyes. Slowly exhaled.
Yes, he was making excuses to himself.
He was falling apart. He just hadn't slept — since receiving Thrawn's orders, he hadn't closed his eyes, developing his own plan of action. A swift strike instead of the methodical siege Thrawn was imposing. And as a result, he had completed the task assigned to him literally within twenty minutes of the operation's start, while the other ship commanders were still marking time.
"Begin execution of the new task," Alexander ordered. "Inform the escort corvettes. Execute."
"Aye aye, execute!" the first officer responded, relaying the order to the junior officers in the combat control room.
"Beginning maneuvers!" the helmsman warned. "Course three-five-eight. Acceleration at three and two."
The deck jerked underfoot, but no one thought of falling — the usual engine boost, which everyone on board the Inexorable had long been accustomed to.
The nearly two-kilometer-long gray triangle of the Star Destroyer, emerging from the planet's gravitational shadow, headed toward six enemy squadrons approaching from the southern hemisphere of the planet Xa Fel.
The TIE interceptors, attesting to their speed superiority with the sparks of their twin ion engines, reformed into combat formation on the fly, splitting into pairs — leader and wingman — and rushed forward to be the first to engage in the battle of small craft.
The four Corellian CR-90 type corvettes, attached to the Inexorable for the duration of the operation, maintaining cruising formation — one ship in each of four sectors: upper and lower hemispheres, right and left flanks of the Star Destroyer — illuminated the impenetrable darkness of interstellar space with the boost of their own engine complex, moving forward toward the designated target.
The shots of the corvettes' rapid-fire cannons glowed red, mixing with the green flashes of the Inexorable's artillery plasma shots — the enemy had come into assured kill range.
And immediately began maneuvering — no one wanted to die. However, by the third salvo of the Imperial Star Destroyer's turret artillery, the fire of the Imperial TIE interceptors' rapid-fire cannons joined the bacchanalia of the space scrapheap that the small craft battle had become.
The local engagement became part of the general rout of the security forces of the planet Xa Fel.
The twenty-second minute of the operation was ticking by, and the orbit of the main hyperdrive supplier of Kuat Drive Yards had finally turned into a "disco."
However, there were no takers to get caught in the "light show" beams here.
Though, for the most part, that didn't depend on the participants themselves.
Even in small battles, "big guns" decide the outcome. And the Imperial I-class Star Destroyer had plenty of those. And every gunner dreamed of making his mark and demonstrating his high training.
They had already "trained" on ground targets. Time to move on to "practical exercises in space."
Target practice against fast, maneuverable small craft is filed in the Imperial Navy artillery training program as "Exercise Ninety-Four." But right now, it's the number one thing on every gunner's mind.
* * *
"Nose deflector is down to fifteen percent!" came a voice from the pit.
Morgot glanced at the tactical display. The green hemisphere at the front of the Imperial Star Destroyer's triangular silhouette had been glowing a stable orange ten minutes ago. Five minutes ago, it had dropped to red when shield levels fell to forty percent.
Now it was burning crimson, heralding that the invisible energy barrier protecting the Stormhawk had dropped to critical levels.
"What's the status of the Fire Star?" he asked.
His ship, alongside Captain Harbid's Death's Head, had flanked the orbital defense station, using their vessels' design advantages to concentrate Turbolaser and Ion Cannon fire on the single enemy. A tough one, despite its moral "obsolescence."
Like many other planetary defense platforms, Fire Star-class stations boasted excellent survivability. Armor thicker than a ship's, placed in the most critical sections of the station, along with powerful protective field generators, made it a "punching bag."
If the main generator failed, a backup generator inside the "box" could create a protective field nearly as powerful. And that was precisely what the two Imperial destroyers were fighting, relentlessly hammering the deflector sphere surrounding the Fire Star, salvo after salvo, while receiving fire from almost one hundred and fifty laser cannons in return. Too weak to collapse the ships' shields in one go, but with a high enough rate of fire to wear down the main defense of the Imperial Star Destroyers over time. Unfortunately, both the destroyers and the station had the same weapon range. The only difference was in the weight of a salvo and the quality of the guns. Turbolasers and Ion Cannons versus rapid-fire laser cannons, dangerous only to small craft and medium ships, which were wisely keeping their distance from the station.
Most orbital defense stations of this type had long since been decommissioned, now serving only in the governments of remote or poor star systems that couldn't afford more expensive and technologically advanced defense systems. Many had long been converted into trading or customs terminals.
But not these ones. Kuat had pulled them from somewhere and brought them here. Apparently, the company's management hadn't even bothered to bring them to full combat readiness. Standardly equipped with maneuvering thrusters, the Fire Stars in orbit of Xa Fel weren't even trying to change their position, just absorbing damage and snapping back in practically powerless malice.
Positioned ten units from the Fire Star, both ships remained outside the hurricane fire of the proton torpedo launchers these orbital fortifications boasted. Unfortunately, the "Imperials," unlike the Crusader, lacked their own launchers, preventing a quick end to the battle.
"Station deflectors at fifty percent," came a report.
"Hard to port," Morgot ordered. "Alert the Death's Head of our maneuver."
Presenting the station's numerous stinging attacks with the starboard side meant taking the port side's turret artillery out of the fight. But in that case, the ship would remain intact for a long time. Yes, the number of barrels aimed at the enemy would decrease, but the broadside batteries would enter the fight instead. So the reduction in firepower would be negligible.
"Captain Harbid reports he is mirroring the action, presenting his port side," came a new report.
"Do not let up on the bombardment," the Stormhawk's commander ordered.
"Message from the Chimaera, sir!" the comms officer reported.
"Report!"
"The Grand Admiral is sending the Crusader to us to suppress the air defenses of Xa Fel," he said. "We and the Death's Head are ordered to continue engaging the station."
"Damn," the first officer grumbled, appearing nearby. "Our pair is the only one that hasn't dealt with its objective. We definitely won't make the designated time."
"Then again, our destroyers haven't taken any damage at all, aside from shield depletion," interrupted Astorias, whose single calm and extremely eloquent look was enough to rein in his subordinate.
Unable to bear the visual challenge to his personal dignity, the first officer turned away and headed towards the senior artillery officer, clearly intending to give him a piece of his mind. Following an old military tradition, the "charge of morale" would be instantly passed down the chain of command and would heat up the gunners, who were already working hard at their cannons.
Standard practice. Nothing new.
Morgot turned to look at the tactical display. His primary concern right now wasn't his own ship. He needed to understand the overall progress of the operation. So, most of the Star Destroyers had already successfully suppressed or were finishing off the enemy's anti-air defense positions. Consequently, they were moving on to landing troops.
The Death's Head and the Stormhawk still had time until the limit set by the Grand Admiral. Only half an hour to destroy the enemy's defense system. Too little, considering how tough a nut Astorias and Harbid had cracked. However, Thrawn had already adjusted the plan considering the changes — the anti-air defenses in the landing zones for these two Star Destroyers were already being successfully suppressed by Captain I-Gor on his Crusader.
Judging by the fact that this particular Star Destroyer had already entered the lower atmosphere without any apparent caution, either I-Gor had grown incredibly bold, or he believed in his impunity. Either way, his tiny destroyer was spewing dozens of anti-ship missiles, which, thanks to their homing warheads, were turning the enemy's defensive forces into scrap before any landing barges or shuttles even appeared in the atmosphere.
Even without special equipment, you could see the oceans of fire that the Victory-I was raining down on the heads of Kuat's troops. They commanded respect — at least for not having run yet. They were standing their ground to the last.
True Imperial steel. I wonder how many of those now being destroyed by Grand Admiral Thrawn's forces had been soldiers and officers of the Galactic Empire's Armed Forces who switched sides to the corporation after the Battle of Endor and the death of Emperor Palpatine?
There were many. While stormtroopers continued to serve their commanders without question, naval, army, and especially pilot officers — who considered themselves the "cream of the crop" were perfectly aware of their own treachery when they went to work for the leadership of Kuat Drive Yards.
Morgot had identified distinct Imperial techniques in the enemy pilots' actions at least seventy times — techniques taught to pilots in the relevant academies. This only visually confirmed his suspicion: Imperials were fighting former Imperials.
Then again, the latter were traitors.
That was probably exactly why Morgot felt absolutely nothing as he watched his pilots and gunners destroy the enemy.
No pity. No hesitation.
Before them were not former comrades — only enemies.
"Station shields are down to three percent!" the first officer brought unexpected news.
"How?" Morgot asked.
"The generator exploded," the first officer said, a grim anticipation in his voice. "A few seconds and..."
Another salvo of Turbolasers landed on the station's armor. Good, thick armor.
But not enough to withstand such a hurricane of fire.
A chain of internal explosions ran across the station's battery deck after a direct hit, exposing the Fire Star's vulnerable interior.
"Turn the bow towards the enemy," Morgot ordered. "Maximum rate of fire into the breaches. Order the hangar crew: begin landing operations. Aviation is to escort the barges and shuttles carrying the marines."
"Yes, sir!" the first officer said, clearly pleased with the turn of events.
It felt like the deputies of Star Destroyer commanders were the ones most celebrating their crews' successes. Which was logical, considering that the XO was responsible for the entire crew's training.
And today, every member of the Stormhawk's crew had performed their absolute best. Just had to finish the job...
Sixteen seconds after the shields fell, the third Fire Star of this battle exploded, destroying the few escape pods that had jettisoned into space an instant before in a flash of flame and the subsequent shockwave.
The Stormhawk unleashed its fury on the surface, burning the meager resistance of Xa Fel's population along with its defenders.
And the landing shuttles were already touching down near the finished product warehouses.
Class-two hyperdrives for combat ships of the cruiser class were now in the hands of Grand Admiral Thrawn's subordinates.
All tasks set by the Supreme Commander for the fleet were completed in twenty-seven minutes and thirteen seconds.
Now it was up to the Stormtrooper Corps.
* * *
Running his eyes over the lines of Mara Jade's report, I barely refrained from a contemptuous sneer.
Can't. Under no circumstances can I take this individual at his word.
Moff Disra.
That sly... damn it all? How much I want to let loose with some strong language, confirming the idiom that in the armed forces, they don't swear, they use technical terms. Which greatly reduces order transmission time and increases their comprehension by subordinates.
But not in this universe. It's not accepted here. The regulations don't allow it. Nor does Thrawn's authority — eternally calm, deliberate, prepared for anything.
So, Kaine, according to the Moff, is weaving a conspiracy against me. Disra intends to use this to take his place. And he's making his further intentions unmistakably clear — to re-divide power among the Imperial Remnants, splitting them between the two of us.
Well, he's certainly not lacking in ambition. Considering the fact that he is known in Imperial circles for "scheming" his way into a Sector Governor's seat by betraying his friend, Grand Admiral Tigellinus. Furthermore, according to the Hand of Thrawn duology: Specter of the Past and Vision of the Future, it was this very "comrade" (who is no comrade at all) who used an actor disguised as the then-deceased Thrawn to sabotage the negotiations between the Imperial Remnant and the New Republic aimed at a peace treaty.
In short, this man is as deceitful as his ambitions are vast. And the latter, apparently, have no end or limit.
Well, here's confirmation of my thoughts that my actions regarding political negotiations are hardly a secret to the leadership of the Imperial Remnants. In the Star Wars history I know, the real Thrawn did nothing of the sort after beginning his campaign against the New Republic. Consequently, I have "broken" history completely, for such a hardened schemer and traitor as Moff Disra to attempt something like this.
Doubly unpleasant is the fact that the shipwright Ryan Zion is somehow involved in this. If he is a close friend of Disra's, then the engineer must be eliminated — allowing him access to the secrets of Tangrene, and especially to the Mount Tantiss facility, is mortally dangerous. All secrets would leak directly to Disra.
Still, it's too early to draw conclusions. The shipwright might not know the situation and could be a victim of Disra's manipulations. After all, by "resurrecting Thrawn," he managed to fool hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of Imperials. But that hasn't happened yet. However, the betrayal of Grand Admiral Tigellinus — a man who felt as comfortable in politics and intrigue as a fish in water — is a clear indicator of Disra's ability to "pull the wool over people's eyes."
And yet, the latter supposedly possesses information about Kaine's actions against me. This is... unpleasant. Because the Grand Moff could indeed be gravely "misunderstood" by his subordinates if this turns out to be, first, the truth, and second, public knowledge. Most likely, Disra intends to use this exact scenario. The question is whether his "intriguing data" is truthful. Or will all the evidence be falsified to pit me against Kaine?
Either way — I'll have to act. And most likely — even agree to an alliance with Disra. If he's right, then supporting his actions against Kaine will secure me, however unreliable, support. Possibly — additional resources or ships. The more the Imperials are weakened in my favor before the start of the Reborn Emperor's campaign, the more of his own reserves Palpatine will have to expend. Consequently, the more ships and personnel he will be forced to withdraw from bases within the Deep Core, and by the time of Byss's explosion (if it happens), a minimal amount of military power will be concentrated there compared to the original timeline. Hmm... I never even thought about that before. But it's an interesting idea.
In the case where Disra has no evidence and only intends to scheme against Kaine, then there's the "proof by contradiction." His betrayal can be used to secure the short-term support of Kaine himself. Again — for money and ships. The Grand Moff is clearly a more level-headed man than the former friend of Grand Admiral Tigellinus. And more pragmatic.
So a decision must be made immediately.
Composing a reply and encrypting it, I handed the datapad to the approaching Lieutenant Tschel. The young officer took the device as if it were the greatest treasure of his life. Which, in a certain sense, it was.
"Send it to Lieutenant Jade on the Nemesis immediately," I ordered.
"Yes, sir," Tschel said briskly.
"Contact Moff Ferrus, the base commanders on Wayland and Lainurri, the commander of the outpost in the Pakuuni system, and also immediately duplicate the information to the commanders of every one of our operational units in the galaxy," I ordered. "'Raise alert level to 'yellow.' Enemy attack expected.' Transmit to the Watchman and the Neutron Star: 'Immediately take measures to transition to Tangrene. If impossible, ensure ship combat capability and preservation in case of attack.'"
"It will be done, Grand Admiral," Tschel said, hesitating slightly, then stepping aside and nearly bump into Captain Pellaeon, who had approached my chair, drawn by the orders issued. Muttering "Sorry, sir!" the lieutenant practically ran to the comms section.
"Do we have problems, Commander?" Captain Pellaeon asked, poorly concealing his anxiety.
"Can't be avoided, Captain," I said smoothly. "Focus on the current task. The remnants of Xa Fel's defense forces are our main problem right now."
Gilad coughed softly and returned to the "pits."
The chronometer ticked off the twenty-seventh minute since the operation began.
The wreckage of most of the enemy's squadrons was orbiting the planet. One Golan-class station and three Fire Stars had ceased to exist.
Full-scale landing operations had begun.
Looking at the fleet casualty data, I grunted in satisfaction. Barely audibly, so no one would witness this fact.
It seems my fleet isn't staffed by inept bunglers. Just over ten squadrons of various types of small craft lost, just over a legion of stormtroopers killed, and two thousand wounded. Four Corellian CR90 corvettes heavily damaged, but capable of jumping to hyperspace. The damage to the Star Destroyers is certainly not minor, but can be repaired at the shipyard within a day with coordinated work from the crew and technicians.
Ordering the damaged corvettes to be "towed" by the Chimaera and the Steadfast, as the two least damaged Star Destroyers with the fewest fighter wing casualties, I patted the ysalamiri on its back.
Either we've started fighting better, or we got a weaker opponent.
I didn't particularly believe in the latter. And I was afraid to believe in the former, lest I taste the bitterness of disappointment in the future.