Nine years, six months, and nineteen days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-fourth year, six months, and nineteen days after the Great Resynchronization.
Admiral Rajab of the New Republic was of the Mon Calamari race. Naturally, he possessed the characteristic traits of his species—a large head, enormous eyes, and that innate peacefulness, common to natives of Dac before the reprisals carried out by the Galactic Empire. Thus, like many other Mon Calamari, he had almost immediately supported the Alliance to Restore the Republic, filling many vacant officer positions at various levels. When it came to tactics and quick thinking, the Mon Calamari were exceptionally adept.
Perhaps for that reason, despite the removal of Supreme Commander Admiral Ackbar and the dominance of Bothans in the upper echelons of the New Republic Armed Forces, Admiral Rajab continued to command the squadron guarding what had once been one of the Alliance's most secret shipyards—the Hast shipyards.
Now, seated aboard his flagship—an MC80 star cruiser built by his people—he observed the final repair work on seven identical ships. Their systems were in order, their engines tuned; all that remained was to patch the hull breaches, but that was a minor task. The hardworking military engineers—Mon Calamari—would have it done within a day. Not like the random sentients recruited by advertisement to speed up the commissioning of the rest of the equipment that had lain idle in the shipyards for years.
Among them was the captured Imperial I-class Star Destroyer named the Emancipator, which Rajab himself had commanded several years ago. Previously, like its sister ship Liberator standing beside it at the fitting-out dock, it had borne a different name: Accuser and Adjudicator, respectively. The New Republic had captured them during the Battle of Endor. They were intended for use as a provocation to attack the Imperial Remnants, which would force them to clash with each other. However, the Imperial attack on the shipyards, where the Star Destroyers were finishing their preparations for the upcoming mission, threw a wrench in those plans. Both ships were heavily damaged in the attack, derailing the scheme. No, they were undoubtedly repaired and went on to serve honorably in the Rebel Alliance and New Republic fleets. But after the destruction of the self-proclaimed Imperial warlord Zsinj's state, the ships suffered serious damage and required major repairs—which, unfortunately, the New Republic could not afford.
Since then, the ships had been in repair for a long time—the young government lacked the funds to purchase the necessary equipment on the black market. But the recent open annexation of Kuat Drive Yards by the New Republic opened the Coruscant market for spare parts for Imperial-produced starships...
And soon, in a couple of days, when transports from Dac arrived with turret mounts and batteries, full crews, and the necessary flight gear, fuel, and other essentials, the ships would be returned to service. The New Republic had already lost too many excellent starships in the past. So, one could say the Bothans had done a good deed for once in a while.
Admiral Rajab, inhaling the pleasant humid air aboard his ship, glanced at the data from both shipyards.
It was immediately obvious that Mon Calamari engineers had been involved.
The Emancipator, though it had not received the restored proton beam cannon it had carried while in the Imperial fleet, had acquired something interesting: six proton torpedo launchers, updated scanning systems, and new sensors throughout the ship. The class-2 hyperdrive had been replaced with a 1.5-class drive, increasing the ship's speed during interstellar jumps. But the main achievement lay elsewhere. Finally, what the Hast shipyard engineers had been working on for so long had been accomplished. Now, this ship no longer needed over thirty-seven thousand sentients. The Mon Calamari were not called the best shipbuilders of the New Republic for nothing.
Now, to operate the Emancipator and the Redeemer, just over twenty-eight thousand sentients were needed to form a crew—only six times more than the absolute Imperial minimum required for moving and maneuvering the ship, plus additional specialists, gunners, and technicians. That was the minimum crew needed for the ship to simply travel from point A to point B without becoming a casualty, and to engage the minimum possible number of weapons in case of attack.
The maximum automation that the Mon Calamari used on their own ships had been applied, albeit not fully, to the Imperial Star Destroyers. Now the New Republic would no longer need years to train huge crews to maintain Imperial equipment. The years of waiting had been worth it... As soon as both ships entered service and passed all necessary tests, this modernization, still kept secret, would spread throughout the fleets...
It was a shame they couldn't restore the proton beam cannon technology. This powerful weapon, which the Emancipator had carried during its service in the Imperial fleet, had been severely damaged. The New Republic was unwilling to restore that project, as it was a scaled-down, less destructive version of the Death Star's superlaser. But the damage this cannon could inflict on enemy starship hulls was impressive. However, the energy required to fire it was so great that the ship sometimes couldn't fire its conventional artillery, and the deflectors would drop so low that it became scary for the ship's own safety—not to mention that the range of this weapon, powered by the ship's solar ionization reactor, did not exceed that of a standard turbolaser. Meaning a single shot from this cannon could leave the ship powerless against enemy fire. And the cost of repair and research for this project remained prohibitively high—several billion per installation. If even the Galactic Empire didn't equip every other Star Destroyer with such cannons, what could be said about the New Republic, which lacked such financial resources both past and present?
Rumor had it that such a cannon was aboard the captured Star Destroyer renamed Errant Venture by the smuggler Booster Terrik, but there was no reliable information about that. Perhaps it was just another rumor spread by the criminal, maybe...
"Admiral," the voice of the flagship's commander brought him out of his thoughts. "A ship has entered the system."
"Classified?"
"Yes, it's an E-9 Explorer. Broadcasting identification signals. Name: Graceful Lady," the Mon Calamari brother, commander of the star cruiser, replied. "Captain..."
."..with a long, light name, like a coastal breeze," the admiral smiled. "A courier has arrived with delicacies from home. Have him proceed to the control station."
"Aye, sir, but..." the cruiser commander hesitated. "We're detecting a transmission from that ship..."
"Probably exchanging messages with control?" Rajab suggested, casting a glance at the defensive formation he had chosen to protect both orbital shipyards and the Imperial equipment graveyard on the surface of Hast. A formation he had adjusted to keep all space around the stations under control—a lesson learned after the Imperial attack on the planet Xa Fel.
The shipyards, located in a single horizontal plane, were protected "from above" by a Golan III-type station. Two first-generation stations were positioned to the left and right of the yards, while a second-generation station held "below" the workshops filled with equipment.
Six Mon Calamari star cruisers were positioned for maximum defensive efficiency. Four—in the space between the stations; the other two—the flagship and another ship—were in front, ready to take the first blow. Not that the Mon Calamari knew for sure that the Imperials would attack his fleet directly, but strategy required him to secure the station from all possible directions of attack. Those who do not learn the lessons of history are doomed to repeat them. So the placement of ships and stations around the repair workshops, like the facets of a pentagonal pyramid where the flagship and its neighbor formed the "apex," and the two first-type orbital repair yards, the nearly repaired starships frozen inside them, and the unloaded medium transports formed the "base," was the most acceptable and suitable defensive formation for repelling an attack.
"Negative, sir. Control says they've already transmitted the vector. It's unclear who the Graceful Lady is communicating with."
"Security perimeter violation," Admiral Rajab frowned. Every freighter knew that using long-range communication systems within a star system was forbidden. "Send patrol fighters to the ship..."
"Hyperspace disturbance!" came a new report. "Immobilizer 418 interdictor cruiser! Gravitational fields activated! Sir, that's the interdictor they captured from us! It was listed in the Imperial fleet as the Black Asp!"
"Battle stations!" Admiral Rajab boomed. Oh, he knew exactly how the Imperials had begun their attack on the planet Xa Fel. "All ships, launch fighters and bombers! Alert the supply convoy and Dac—the Imperials have attacked us!"
"Two Interdictor-class Star Destroyers!" another report came. "Exited hyperspace to the left and right of the interdictor cruiser at the limit of its gravity well projectors! Activating their own projectors!"
"Sir, the entire fleet is within the hyperdrive interdiction zone!"
"We're not running!" Rajab grimaced. "We'll fight! Move out to meet the interdictors. The other two pairs, close in on the Interdictors and destroy them before more ships arrive..."
"Admiral! The convoy reports that New Alderaan is under attack! They've sent one star cruiser and two strike frigates to defend the planet!"
"So that means forty GR-75 transports and six star cruisers are coming to us?" Rajab clarified.
"Affirmative, sir! They'll arrive in only a day and a half!" the flagship cruiser commander confirmed. "The Graceful Lady is evading our ships! Moving toward the interdictor cruiser!"
"New ships arriving! Three destroyers near each of the Interdictors!"
"An Imperial II-class Star Destroyer has appeared near the interdictor! Also a Venator-class Star Destroyer! The Double's IFF transponder is broadcasting as Reckoning."
"That's the flagship of Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel of the Ciutric Hegemony!" the admiral exclaimed. "So that's who's acting against us! Not a Grand Admiral, but a PRINCE-Admiral! Transmit this information to fleet command on Dac immediately! Notify the fleet ships! Today we take our revanche for all their attacks!"
"Golan III station under attack! Acclamator II-class assault ship and Providence-class carrier/destroyer!"
"It looks like the Imperials have scraped together all their resources," the tiny tentacles on the Mon Calamari's chin twitched in irritation.
"Begin the attack," he ordered. "Once we destroy the advance group led by the Double, distribute the attack to the other groups. Contact the shipyards! Have them launch the starships from their slips! They won't destroy our shipyards and ships!"
"Sir! Sabotage on both stations! Fueling stations are down! Both ORY reactors are offline! Repair crews are trying to start emergency power sources!"
"Hold your positions!" Admiral Rajab said. "The defense is layered; they won't destroy the shipyards or the starships! We'll save the fleet!"
"The enemy is launching fighters and interceptors! A large concentration of droid fighters and droid bombers near the Golan III station!"
"Request data on those machines' specifications!" the admiral frowned. It seemed the Empire was truly impoverished, using such obsolete relics that had lost their combat value...
"Admiral Rajab!" the Mon Calamari responsible for sensors and communications shook his large head. Confusion was evident in his eyes. "The Venator has opened its main hangar doors... Detecting an energy buildup..."
"Launching fighters?" the fleet commander clarified.
"The Acclamator II and Providence have destroyed the Golan III's generators with ship-to-ship missiles and proton torpedoes! Multiple dropship signatures in the vicinity of the shipyard and station! Sir, they're not destroying our ships and shipyards! They're boarding them!"
"Send boarding parties from the cruisers to help!" Admiral Rajab ordered. "We must retake the shipyards and ships at any cost!"
"Sir! Telemetry from the forward fighters sent against the Venator and Reckoning! Instead of a lower hangar, that ship has a solar ionization reactor! In the main hangar... there are no small craft! There's..."
"Just say it!" Admiral Rajab snapped, looking at the chronometer. Five minutes had passed since the Venator and Reckoning appeared. In one minute, his flagship and the cruiser following it would enter the confident weapon range of the enemy starships' turbolasers.
The young Mon Calamari blinked his eyes.
"Sir, there... the Imperials have placed something in the Venator's main hangar... a V-150 Planet Defender ion cannon!"
"A child's scary story!" Rajab laughed, looking at the image of the absurd ship. Did Krennel really think such a mock-up could throw them into a panic? "To power a weapon like that, they'd need a solar ionization reactor, just like we did on Hoth..."
He cut himself off mid-sentence. Exactly at that moment, the massive sphere inside the Venator's main hangar spat out two crimson-magenta ion bolts, one after the other...
* * *
You can watch a few things forever.
Fire burning.
Water flowing.
Someone else working.
And scarlet lightning of ion charges racing across a Mon Calamari star cruiser, sapping its speed and internal lights. A minute ago, that ship was moving in a straight line, preparing to open fire on the Chimaera, the Dragon, and the Black Asp. Now it was drifting sideways, unable to cancel its inertia in the vacuum. The second star cruiser, which the helpless Mon Calamari flagship had nearly crossed paths with, began to climb "upward," exposing its belly, allowing our gunners to see it in all its detail. And, accordingly, to send a fiery turbolaser greeting from all guns.
"The Dragon has hit the flagship star cruiser," Pellaeon reported.
"Just as planned," I said. "As you can see, Captain, the Mon Calamari commander is acting strictly according to his race's psychology. He saw the Black Asp, filled in the gaps with his tactical genius, and rushed to attack, intending to eliminate what he perceived as the weakest attacking group."
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon said. "The second ship's air wing is securely engaged."
"Excellent," I said, checking the tactical display. Everything was going according to plan. It was curious that the Republic pilots, despite their advantages in speed and armament, had not yet destroyed a single Corellian corvette covering the undersides of the Imperial Star Destroyers. Well, this was yet another battle confirming that reliable protection of the lower hemisphere of ISDs could be achieved in a very simple, albeit non-traditional, way for this galaxy. Let's see what that shipbuilder Mr. Ryan Zion could offer. "Engage it in battle so it can't close on the Black Asp and the Dragon. Track the trajectory and speed of the disabled flagship. Send boarding parties to its hull. We cannot afford to lose sight of it or allow them to repair the damage."
"Consider it done, sir!"
"The Dragon reports they're beginning energy buildup. Four minutes and forty seconds to full recharge," Lieutenant Tschel reported.
"Status of the power grid?" I asked.
"There are failed generators. The power surge caused several shorts," the lieutenant said. "They promise to fix it by the next salvo."
"Keep an eye on it, Lieutenant Tschel," I ordered. "Once we finish off the second star cruiser, the Chimaera, Dragon, and Black Asp will also deploy boarding parties onto it. Then we'll move to the shipyards to support the Phoenix and the Coleopterous Swarm."
"Not sure they need it," Pellaeon remarked, pointing to the ship that was a sister of the legendary Invisible Hand, spewing fury in the form of ship-to-ship missiles. The Separatist carrier/destroyer was literally pounding missiles into the hull of the Golan III defense station and the rear hemispheres of two Mon Calamari star cruisers that had moved toward the group led by Captain Dorja. If one could infer that most of the engines of those star cruisers were already being stripped away by salvos of anti-ship missiles, most of which the Mon Calamari were successfully shooting down, then they would have a tough time, of course... because the old Separatist ship carried about two thousand eight hundred missiles... and its one hundred and two launchers were spitting them at the target...
"All enemy ships and fighters are concentrated in the central part of the defensive formation," Pellaeon reported. "Enemy small craft have abandoned their ships and switched to attacking our starships... Captain Aban's Bellicose took two proton torpedoes to the starboard turbolaser battery. Damage is non-critical. The Golan II station has sent all its fighters toward the nearest battle zones."
"As expected," I smiled, glancing at the chronometer. "They'll fight for their shipyards and ships to the last. Nine and a half minutes since the operation began."
"Captain I-Gor and two dozen corvettes are entering the battle," Pellaeon chuckled, seeing our Victory appear at the confident weapons range of the Golan II station, which was now deprived of its supporting group of enemy star cruisers... And seconds later, its launchers fired... The main engines of the nearest enemy star cruiser turned into scrap metal...
And then, to test the triumphant Republic pilots who were eagerly chasing TIE fighters around the orbital shipyards, twenty-one Corellian CR90 corvettes materialized right in the thick of the battle, torn from hyperspace by artificial gravity fields.
And the harvest of New Republic pilots began...
* * *
The three Imperial Mark I Star Destroyers—Alexander Mor's Inexorable, Captain Aban's Bellicose, and Captain Dorja's Inflexible—had a simple task.
Although, at first, the commander of Squad Besh, Captain Dorja, thought the task was too simple for three "Imperials" at once. For a moment, he even thought the Grand Admiral had put him in charge of the squad with the words, "This is a test of your command abilities, Captain," as a mockery. For a moment, old grievances toward Thrawn and Pellaeon resurfaced.
Indeed, what else could this order be but a mockery: to attack and silence a Golan-I-class orbital defense station, located to the right of the invasion corridor of the Aurek group, under the command of the Grand Admiral himself. And then, as soon as his group emerged from hyperspace, the picture of the attack fell into place.
Everything was simple, as always. First, the Black Asp, following the vector transmitted from the spy ship, appeared beyond the firing range of the forward Mon Calamari star cruiser squadron. Then, two Interdictors appeared on either side of the pyramid formation. Twelve active generators on three ships created a vast artificial gravity zone that prevented any enemy ship from slipping out of the trap. And at the same time, as soon as two Mon Calamari cruisers advanced toward the "right" Interdictor, and another group of theirs implemented a similar tactic in the diametrically opposite direction, the Besh and Kresh groups materialized.
Simultaneously covering the blockader Star Destroyers from attack, three Star Destroyers each not only fielded fifteen squadrons of fighters and interceptors against seventy-two craft from two star cruisers, but also had overwhelming fire superiority in turbolasers and ion cannons. The enemy ships could no longer retreat — in their rear, the Acclamator and Providence from the Dorn group were operating, cutting off all the "curious" and the cowardly from the Golan III, the orbital repair docks, and the ships there with massive missile and torpedo fire. Not to mention the numerous droid small craft covering the landing of troops…
"Bellicose reports the destruction of one of the three-gun medium turbolaser towers," said the watch officer.
Dorja winced. What the hell was Aban thinking, exposing himself like that? His job was to hold the right flank, not play the hero!
"Aban, change the angle of engagement with the enemy by seven degrees!" he ordered.
Thus the allied Star Destroyer would avoid an attack on its upper decks, and at the same time, excluding the left part of the turret artillery, could fully bring its starboard side into action.
The Inexorable, under Captain Mor's command, acted in mirror fashion, clamping down on the enemy starships from his side. Both enemy starships found themselves between the three prongs of the Imperial Star Destroyers, such that each had to split its broadside fire between two targets — the Bellicose, hanging on the left, and the Relentless, holding the center. The second cruiser fired one broadside at the Relentless and the other at the Inexorable, positioned on the right. While the group's flagship endured hurricane fire and handled it entirely, the two flanking Star Destroyers were thoroughly smashing the defenses of their opponents, who were trying to maneuver to prolong their resistance.
Dorja understood perfectly well that two sturdy star cruisers could withstand the blows of three Star Destroyers for an unacceptably long time. If anything, the Mon Calamari deflectors and armor were a marvel to behold. But that didn't remove the responsibility for destroying these ships.
Thrawn had set the objective and given no tactical instructions. At first, the group commanders were perplexed — in the past, the Grand Admiral had clearly prescribed their actions. But now…
The commander of the Relentless looked with slight antipathy at the Star Destroyer Inexorable holding on the right. Its captain had found the courage to remind the Supreme Commander that Star Destroyer captains were instructed to solve tactical execution independently. For a year and a half since the Grand Admiral's return from the Unknown Regions, he had ignored this. Like a droid babysitter for small children, he kept step-by-step control over the execution of every order. And when Dorja hinted at this, a rancor of conflict ran between him and Thrawn. Then Pellaeon got involved and heard a lot of new things addressed to him…
But all these were details… The main thing, Captain Dorja had already understood: the Grand Admiral had calculated the possibility that the enemy would attack the ships equipped with gravity projectors. However, this was logical; in the place of the Republican commander, Dorja would have done the same.
Despite the fact that only two minutes had passed since the start of the battle, the enemy had already lost two star cruisers — the Dragon had disabled them using an ion cannon. The Chimaera and the other starships of the Aurek group were now sending out boarding parties to capture these ships. They would have to spend a lot of time on them — after being hit by such weapons, the electronics were either completely destroyed or damaged. In the latter case, the systems could always be restarted, though this risked much greater destruction.
And now only the speed of the boarding troops' advance would decide — whether Thrawn would manage to capture both ships before the Republican technicians repaired the damage, or else…
Suddenly, at the location of the Mon Calamari flagship star cruiser, a huge white-yellow-orange spheroid of pure energy formed. The ship, thrown hundreds of kilometers away from the point of its bombardment, turned into nothing in a few seconds.
"The reactor detonated," stated someone from the watch.
Dorja silently agreed.
The Star Destroyer Tyrant, which had been hit by similar weaponry during the Battle of Hoth, had to be repaired on site. Precisely to avoid such an outcome.
"The enemy has finally and irrevocably lost one of its cruisers," he stated loudly, to rouse the stragglers to work. "He still has five combat-ready MC80s. And one of them is trying to slip out of our pincers!"
* * *
"The star cruiser is banking into a turn!" reported the executive officer.
"They're trying to present us with an undamaged part of the hull," Alexander determined instantly, watching through the bridge viewport as the enemy ship, accelerating, tried to break out of the firebag it had fallen into.
Enduring the hurricane fire from Dorja's Relentless, the star cruiser hit it with a broadside of turbolasers and ion cannons from its starboard side, intending to execute a maneuver under the noses of the two Star Destroyers, describe a turn, and break out from under the crossfire. The second cruiser would clearly not be so lucky — the Colicoid Swarm had thoroughly thinned out its engine array, and all this ship was now capable of was to hold on as a doomed victim under the hurricane fire of two opponents, each of which was not inferior to it in strength or armament. And considering the fact that ten squadrons of TIE fighters and TIE Interceptors from the Bellicose and the Relentless outnumbered the air wing of the New Republic ship itself by more than three times, the outcome of this small engagement no longer seemed far-fetched. Even the support of two squadrons of X-wings from the Golan-I orbital station could not save the situation. There were simply more Imperials. And they had already learned to fight not with numerical but with qualitative superiority, qualitatively realizing all the best aspects of their machines. True, judging by the reports on the casualty ratios on both sides, they had not yet fully learned to circumvent the shortcomings of the TIE series equipment.
The Imperial ships were carrying out their assigned tasks — they were not about to allow the enemy to regroup, so as to prevent numerical or qualitative parity on one of the fronts.
And that was precisely what the commander of the "more alive" star cruiser intended to do. And it could be stopped only one way — by breaking the "trident" of the formation.
"Report to the Relentless," Alexander ordered. "We're giving chase."
The enemy's course was clear as day — after dousing two of the three Star Destroyers with fire from its turbolasers, like a dizzying firework, it was banking to withdraw toward the defense station. Despite the hurricane bombardment of the station by rockets from the Colicoid Swarm, the star cruiser intended to break out of the firebag to a place where it could calmly take shelter behind its strong shields. And from there, it would be difficult to "pry them out."
"Captain Dorja confirms your initiative," came the voice of the communications officer.
"Well, of course," thought Mor. "If we let this cruiser slip away, we'll be in for no end of trouble."
It was one thing to knock down the station's shields with a threefold superiority in ships, and quite another to do the same when there was still a combat-ready MC80 right next to you.
The Inexorable, turning its bow to follow the enemy starship passing before it, concentrated dagger fire from its turret artillery on its starboard side, reinforced with ion cannons. The fighters and interceptors, having received corresponding instructions from the Operations Control Center (OCC), rushed in pursuit, luring the remnants of three squadrons of the fleeing Star Destroyer's air wing into a whirlwind of deadly maneuvers.
Like waves, the deadly green-blue energy of turbolasers and ion cannons rolled over the Mon Calamari ship. The hull, in places where the deflectors could no longer digest such volume of energy, began to turn from milky white to gray, then blackened, soot-covered by plasma upon impact. No penetrations were observed yet, yet the Imperials, as if glued, held on the starboard beam of the Republican starship. And apparently, the Mon Calamari were clearly redirecting energy from the forward deflectors to the engines, trying to break away faster from the persistent Imperials.
"Helmsman!" without taking his eyes off to pinpoint the required watch member. "Shift left one-forty!"
Thus his Star Destroyer was supposed to come out astern of the enemy, where there were the fewest guns. Yes, the deflectors there were currently stronger than on the starboard side mangled by Imperial artillery fire, but that wouldn't matter much if the enemy reached the station.
It took several minutes to achieve a confident approach to the enemy. The Inexorable's small craft, like a swarm of annoying insects, darted around the Republic ship, stinging it with thousands of green needles from their laser cannons. But the carcass of this giant was beyond their ability — at least as long as the deflector shields were intact. They understood this on the star cruiser as well, desperately fighting the pressing ships, ruthlessly trying to either destroy them or at least drive them away. The Imperial pilots just needed to dive under the weightless film of the energy shield and plow through the armor in the places where the deflector field projectors were located — the pilots had ship schematics, they knew the enemy's weak points by heart. But the enemy also understood what they wanted…
Actually, Alexander did not hope that the pilots would succeed in such a thankless undertaking. Anyone, but not the pilots of the TIE family equipment.
Instead, he counted on them being able to distract the enemy gunners for a long time, and that would allow…
As expected, the enemy's divided attention gave the gunners a chance to concentrate on inflicting maximum damage on the enemy's stern. Time was rapidly running out… There wasn't that much left to the station. And soon its guns would be able to support the star cruiser with their fire.
But in some places, Imperial turbolaser bolts were already leaking through gaps in the invisible shield of the star cruiser, tearing whole plates of armor from the hull, turning them into metal pellets hardened in the cold of vacuum. In other, less armored places, shots pierced the ship through and through, vaporizing everything in their path.
Unfortunately for the Mon Calamari cruiser, such a place was its thruster engines, which the gunners of the Inexorable finally reached. And, like a predator sensing the blood of its prey, they were not about to give up.
Hanging now at a distance unreachable for the star cruiser, the Golan-I-class combat orbital station twinkled with lights, as if inviting exploration. Over two kilometers long, nearly a kilometer in width and height, the station bristled with turbolaser batteries, proton torpedo launch systems, and tractor beam projectors. Such a station, despite being only a first-generation representative, weighed more than an Imperial Star Destroyer, and although it didn't have that many weapons, proton torpedoes gave it the ability to quickly inflict serious damage. The station could easily destroy any enemy ship that broke through Imperial lines. Of course, if its crew was stupid enough to expose itself.
The crew of the Inexorable did not suffer from stupidity. And its commander understood perfectly well that he would soon have to write another report… And he had absolutely no desire to meet the Grand Admiral and try to justify himself.
Therefore, since the fighters and interceptors were already finishing "chewing up" the small craft from the hangars of the attacked star cruiser and combat station, it was time to prepare the latter for what was soon to come.
"Launch the bombers," Alexander ordered, continuing to watch as the merciless green plasma and bluish ion shots consumed meter after meter of armor and the remnants of the ship's aft shields.
Rocking their curved solar panels, a dozen TIE bombers fluttered out of the Imperial Star Destroyer's hangar, and, staying in the lower hemisphere, moved forward toward the Mon Calamari star cruiser.
"Order to the corvette — 'Escort and cover'," Alexander ordered, glancing toward the Golan, which was still powerlessly spitting back turbolaser fire. And not just turbolasers… From all its guns and launchers. The droid fighters from the Colicoid Swarm and the Hyena bombers, lacking adaptation to modern combat realities, were dying in large numbers, just like the TIE pilots in their time, lacking experience in countering a battle-hardened enemy. However, no one had expected that they could achieve the primary goal and deal with the defensive installations without help from the ships.
Such a station usually had very powerful shields, to which single torpedoes were like mosquito bites. But a group of such projectiles aimed at a single point, launched by the Hyenas, would overload the shield power system. For a time, the shields would weaken or even disappear entirely, and would have to be restored. That was the time window the variable-geometry droid fighters needed to blow the deflector projectors to hell and thin out the station's artillery.
Thrawn had forbidden the destruction of the Golans and the orbital repair docks. Unlike the six Mon Calamari star cruisers.
Two scarlet comets shot through, cutting the vacuum separating the Dragon and the Golan III. The shields of the station, already mangled by fire from the Colicoid Swarm and the Phoenix, flickered and dissolved after the first hit. The second, striking the station in the very heart, triggered a cascading shutdown of all systems — the gunners of the Planet Defender had managed to hit the generators of the most advanced station in the New Republic's possession.
Which meant a complete collapse of the enemy's defense "above" the docks. And now a pair of ships that had survived the Clone Wars, covered from fighter attacks by two dozen Corellian corvettes, could calmly continue their dark work of capturing the most important objectives of this operation.
The carefully constructed defense by the enemy commander was crumbling.
The flagship was destroyed, boarding parties were on one of the star cruisers, and if the MC80's crew didn't pull some new heresy with an attempt to restart the reactors, that ship would definitely come under Thrawn's control. True, the hassle of its restoration would fall on the Grand Admiral's own shoulders…
"Enemy cruiser's engines destroyed!"
Alexander scrutinized the scene before him.
The entire aft section of the Mon Calamari star cruiser was a set of mangled, melted, in some places torn by detonations — both external and internal — metal structures. The ship was moving by inertia, venting atmosphere from breached compartments, feebly trying to maneuver with the thrusters that the bombers from the Inexorable had left it after their raid. This ship was clearly going nowhere soon. And it was not certain that there would be an opportunity to take it along.
Tactically, it would be more advantageous to finish it off and switch either to that cruiser which the Bellicose and the Relentless were now painting with crossfire, or switch to the orbital defense station hanging ahead and slightly above, alluringly and invitingly playing with the colors of turbolasers…
"Contact them and demand their surrender," his voice sounded unnatural. As if someone had squeezed his throat with a steel hand.
"And if they refuse?" inquired the watch commander.
"Inform the Grand Admiral of my decision immediately," Alexander said quickly. "Indicate that if the enemy ship does not comply with the demands, I intend to destroy its reactors. In the worst case, they'll all be dead by the end of the day, and our specialists will still board them. In the best case, their reactors will explode and the ship will vaporize, like their flagship. By the way, remind the Republicans of that as well. Personally, I don't care about their fate. In respect for the enemy and preserving their lives, only Thrawn plays a role here."
* * *
"Is that all, Lieutenant?" I clarified, having listened to Tschel's report from the Inexorable.
"Yes, sir, end of message," he confirmed.
"Message received," I replied, watching as another wave of boarding shuttles headed toward the enemy star cruiser. Which, despite twenty minutes having passed since the start of the operation, continued to remain a black and dead piece of metal that had barely been stopped. Otherwise, it would have had to fly and fly through kilometers of airless space, racking up millions…
The Golan III orbital platform, struck by the main-caliber fire of the Dragon as the ultimate target, became confirmation of yet another hypothesis — that this weapon's shots were capable of penetrating even the shields of defense stations. And that was a notch for the future. Provided that the Sunburn project proved itself, of course.
But all this was already lyricism. The question was whether we could restore the ship systems at all after using the V-150 ion cannon, or whether the idea born from the principle "And why not, actually?" would turn the ships into irreparable scrap. That was exactly why the Dragon wasn't firing every five minutes.
And not at all because the cobbled-together energy structure that was supposed to ensure the invention's rate of fire was starting to malfunction and break down. And, apparently, for the fourth salvo we would need about twenty minutes of charging, not ten. In the realities of space warfare, where minutes of delay could easily change the course of a battle, a weapon of such power must be rapid-fire. Otherwise, there was simply no point in keeping it on the battlefield after a few salvos.
Although, beyond any doubt, the technology had potential. To disable two Mon Calamari star cruisers and one orbital defense station in twenty minutes of combat was, without any doubt, a huge advantage.
Situated beyond the range of both the turbolasers of any enemy and the fighter-bomber aviation of the New Republic, the Chimaera could control the battle, allowing it to enjoy the full picture of what was happening, while simultaneously providing protection for the minesweeper cruiser and the Dragon. Not to mention that by thirty minutes from the start of the operation, our transport convoy was supposed to emerge from hyperspace — the Star Galleons, in whose holds and decks was all the equipment necessary for the third phase of the operation. Including a contingent of technicians and engineers, under whose careful guidance all this useful cargo — hyperdrives and navigation systems — would be installed on the orbital repair docks and defense stations we had captured.
If even a moderately serious enemy starship appeared here in the rear, all these ships would be in a tough spot. And that's putting it mildly. One Chimaera, of course, couldn't do much either, but the gravity fields that hindered the operation of the hyperdrives were distributed in such a way that, if necessary, each of the three ships equipped with such projectors could easily leave the battle zone, ceasing the use of their special capabilities.
On the right flank, where Captain Dorja's Besh group was operating, the Republican defense had effectively collapsed. One star cruiser, whose crew had obviously panicked, now presented a pitiful sight. Soot-covered over a third of its hull, deformed at the aft, having lost its entire air wing and most of its armament, it was trying to save at least some of its crew from captivity by launching shuttles and freighters that were part of the standard complement of this type of New Republic starship. Unfortunately for them, Captain Mor had kept his squadrons combat-ready, and now Imperial fighter and interceptor pilots were hunting those who tried to flee. Successfully — most of the fugitives were destroyed, the rest of the Inexorable's small craft turned back. But those ships would be boarded by Imperial personnel after docking their boarding shuttles.
But as for the mangled star cruiser itself…
"Sir, the MC80 that was fired upon by Captain Mor is surrendering," reported Lieutenant Tschel.
"Send my congratulations on this victory to the Inexorable," I said. "And remind Captain Mor that he is now responsible for this ship and its crew with his head. By the end of the day, the starship must be ready to leave this star system."
But the second MC80, under fire from Dorja and Aban, continued to resist. Through tactical instruments, I could observe how this ship kept fighting furiously. But even now, I understood that this vessel, already stripped of its air cover, with its combat bridge knocked out, its hull plowed open by turbolasers, was doomed: two squadrons of TIE bombers were closing in on it. And proton torpedoes were already dropping from their hardpoints...
The hitherto invisible defensive screen of the Mon Calamari cruiser suddenly turned milky white in an attempt to disperse the explosion's energy. Sparks showered from the projectors, and a blob of plasma rolled across the hull, scorching the paint that had already burned during the exchange of fire. Flames flared, and near the hangar bay doors, a hole opened three decks deep. Air began to leak out, along with pieces of plating, interior compartments, bodies of sentients, tools... It was nearly impossible to make out all these details at such a distance, but in the months I had been in this body, my imagination could already paint the full picture of what was happening on its own. Unfortunately, in cases where a starship's hull is breached, the chain of events is always the same. As are the objects ejected into space from the ship's depths.
Pieces of half-melted, mangled armor scattered in all directions. Explosions tore turbolaser batteries out by the roots along the port side, leaving blackened holes in the blister-like outgrowths in their place.
The ship had clearly taken a beating, and the reason the crew continued fighting was unclear. Its weapons were destroyed, its engines damaged, and it had no cover—the squadrons from the Inflexible and the Warlike, supported by corvettes, had wiped out every single New Republic pilot. Continuing to fight this ship was nothing more than a waste of time.
"Contact Captain Dorja," I ordered. "Tell him to offer the ship he's pummeling the chance to surrender."
As long as this cruiser could still move under its own power and its main drives were at least partially intact, the starship could be added to our fleet with minimal damage and effort. But the moment it became non-transportable, just like the ship shelled by the Relentless, it would most likely become a burden on us. And its repairs would clearly be done on a residual basis—I came here for combat-ready equipment that the gentlemen engineers of the New Republic had repaired for me.
And no matter how much I wanted to bring as many capital ships as possible under my command, based on the outcome of this battle, even losing all the Golans, it would be enough to simply take the shipyards and the ships repaired there from this place to accomplish my objectives, without waiting for the maximum program to be implemented.
A glance at the left flank brought, predictably, nothing new. If Dorja had chosen the "trident" tactic, positioning the enemy between his Star Destroyers and thus bringing maximum artillery fire down on them, then the commander of the Greek detachment, Captain Morgot Astorias, was executing a classic line battle, maneuvering and exchanging fire with the enemy. At the same time, he had assigned the Adjudicator to defend his barrier cruiser, and it was now acting as a support ship, periodically hosing the New Republic starships that flashed into its firing zone with turbolasers. Brandei was probably cursing a blue streak right now, to the extent of his vocabulary. Well, one could understand him.
This battle was not just about winning superiority. Not just about reclaiming Imperial property. Not just a slap on the wrist for the New Republic. And not even so much a revenge for the previous defeat of Imperial forces.
First and foremost, the Second Battle of the Hast shipyards was a test of the commanding abilities of those who captained Star Destroyers. The fleet was growing. The number of operations was increasing exponentially. Once three dozen heavy cruisers of the Dreadnaught class were ready, we could talk about creating separate fleet formations to handle a much greater number of assignments.
But for now, I had only three commanders for immediate promotion. Eric Shohashi, thanks to his operation in the Milagro system. Dorja, if he finished the mission properly. And Alexander Mor. With the same motivation.
Preliminary conclusions, and they could well change based on the battle's outcome...
Hmm...
My gaze dropped to the confrontation between the Crusader and the Golan-II-class defensive station. Hmm... well, suppose there was a fourth candidate for promotion. Especially since I had more Imperial-class Star Destroyers than I had crews for them...
Only...
"Contact the Crusader," I ordered. "And remind Captain I-Gor that it would be preferable to leave something of that defense station that can be sent into hyperspace."
A quiet chuckle came from Captain Pellaeon's direction. I turned my head and met the gaze of my flagship's commander.
Gilad chose to wipe the smile from his face and continue analyzing the situation and the incoming reports. Until the second phase began, the Chimaera would remain in the rear.
But then...
* * *
"Launchers one through twenty are empty," the watch officer reported.
"Beginning maneuvering," Captain I-Gor ordered, staring intently at the unfolding confrontation between his Victory-I-class Star Destroyer and the Golan-II-class defense station, more than three times its size.
Another volley of anti-ship shaped-charge missiles streaked toward the enemy. As had the two full salvos before it. In total, the enemy had now been hit with one hundred eighty missiles. Out of the sixteen hundred on board. But this time, the Crusader's main weapon was being used as its creators had intended—against a spaceborne target. There was no need yet to bombard a surface, as had happened during the battle at the planet Xa Fel.
And the Victory's commander desperately hoped he wouldn't have to spend his magazine reserves on the graveyard of equipment on Hast's surface. It was enough that the landing shuttles from the Crusader were tasked with capturing the repaired Imperial equipment—shuttles and shuttles held in a kind of "holding area" near the station that I-Gor and his subordinates were trying to neutralize.
"Tubes twenty-one through forty are ready to fire and locked on!"
"Fire!" I-Gor commanded, grinding his teeth—the gunners on this platform had proven far sharper and more skilled with their assigned equipment than their "colleagues" from the Xa Fel orbit.
Once again, most of the missiles approaching the station were swept away by turbolaser fire. While both squadrons from the Crusader, having linked up with the DP20, continued fighting and drove off the annoying Rebel pilots, another twenty shaped-charge anti-ship missiles made their run on the station.
The Victory I's turbolaser fire harried the station and slowly wore down its shields. Too slowly to speak of success in accomplishing the objective.
The first phase of the attack on the Hast shipyards was to distract from the orbital repair docks and the ships and escort starships within them. The Aurek, Besh, and Greek detachments had handled this successfully.
The Dorn detachment, supported by the Dragon, had disabled the annoying Golan-III-class station, and now boarding parties from the Phoenix and the Colicoid Swarm, backed by two dozen Corellian CR90 corvettes, were taking control of everything the New Republic had so painstakingly and thoroughly repaired over the years. Judging by the transponder signatures, two Imperial Star Destroyers, the former Accuser and Adjudicator, were already under the control of boarding teams. Of course, they weren't moving from their slips—only an idiot would risk going through the hell unfolding around the shipyards on starships stripped of most of their weaponry. And judging by the outlines of the superstructures, the domes of the shield projectors on the destroyers were also missing. So the decision of the boarding unit commanders to stay put and not try to break through was more than logical. Getting caught in the torpedo fire of the Colicoid Swarm, which spat its rockets at any vaguely significant enemy target larger than a pleasure yacht, was no fun. And every minute, New Republic servicemen were trying to flee the shipyards. Captain Irv, from aboard the carrier Star Destroyer, was destroying various Republic engineer ships by the dozens. What reload and cooling system did his ship's launchers have to achieve that rate of fire?
"We got them!" A joyful shout echoed across the bridge. I-Gor pulled himself from his thoughts, listening to the tone. Apparently, it wasn't the Crusader that had been hit; otherwise, there wouldn't be any celebrating.
The tiny Star Destroyer was just firing its starboard battery, which allowed the ship's commander to turn his attention to what his crew's happy cries were about.
A fiery rain from the previous salvo crashed into the New Republic defensive structure, burning and melting metal. Half the missiles were shot down, but the rest... got through...
The deflector shield, reacting to the detonation of the warheads, couldn't withstand the abuse and vanished right after explosions inside the shield projectors destroyed the superstructures.
The supports of the station's gun mounts gave way, and the turbolaser batteries were crushed. The sentients aboard the Golan II didn't give up trying to fight back, but the advantage was no longer on their side. Explosions of shaped-charge anti-ship torpedoes shook the station. The defenders first tried, in vain, to hit the Imperial fighters buzzing around the hull, adding to the chaos, then switched to the DP20. The Corellian gunship, taking a couple of hits to the hull, shed a piece of plating: the shield couldn't withstand a direct hit. The ship snapped back with a series of nimble, fast missiles, silencing another enemy battery. Only then, spewing smoke from its engines, did the damaged little ship slowly start crawling back to its carrier.
"Full ahead," I-Gor commanded. "Screen with our hull! Fighters and interceptors, pin down the enemy's turbolasers!"
The lieutenant commanding the DP20 was desperately clinging to his ship's life. It was understandable—his first assignment to the bridge of a combat starship. You'd tear your guts out to make everything right, but...
The Crusader didn't make it.
"Proton torpedoes!" a panicked cry rang out.
I-Gor bit his lip until it bled, watching as an enemy X-wing, miraculously surviving, emerged from somewhere to the side, gunned its engine to try and shake the TIE interceptor glued to its tail, and the whirlwind ended with the damaged ship—the only Imperial vessel between the Crusader and the Rebel X-wing—burning up in a burst of flame, but not before releasing two crimson drops of proton torpedoes...
The anti-aircraft guns opened up, trying to knock down the kinetic projectiles. The DP20 joined in, trying to help with fire from its laser cannons... But all for nothing—only one projectile was destroyed. The second was already level with the Corellian frigate's engine exhaust, passing just ten meters from its hull, guided by the computer brain of its seeker head, and moving toward the Crusader's bridge...
I-Gor already understood that the Rebel pilot had chosen the most optimal trajectory—right where the hull was already scarred by the blackened holes of knocked-out point-defense lasers...
Before the DP20 could get under the protection of his deflectors, the little ship, without warning, lurched to starboard. The crimson projectile, unable to react to the change in situation, bit into the starship's side. A flash of unbearable, blinding light snapped the DP20's hull in two. A series of internal explosions ran through both halves of the Corellian ship. The engines vanished in a flash that forced him to shield his eyes—the explosion happened quite close to the Star Destroyer. A second followed—the bow section detonated. It seemed the gunners on the frigate hadn't had time to empty their missile magazines.
"Escape pods?!" I-Gor bellowed, spinning around. The scanner console operator, looking at his commander with eyes full of fury and pain, shook his head.
Nearly a hundred crew members died instantly. Whether they realized in their final moments that they were about to die, torn apart by the explosion of engines and reactor, would remain a mystery.
"Divert power from the aft deflector to the turbolasers!" Captain I-Gor snarled through clenched teeth, his gaze devouring the lights flickering across the Golan II's hull: the station's remaining turbolasers were still firing. The gunners manning them, tasting the adrenaline of destroying the first major ship of the attacking fleet, had switched to the Crusader.
"Deactivate the false transponder!" I-Gor shouted, impatiently watching the tactical screen tick down the seconds to the bow launchers' reload. "I want those bastards to know it wasn't Krennel's Emperor's Wisdom that killed them, but us, the Star Destroyer Crusader!"
"But, sir, Grand Admiral Thrawn explicitly forbade breaking the disguise!" someone from the watch reminded him.
"Our orders are to disable the station, not destroy it!" another voice chimed in.
I-Gor spun on his heels, letting out an inarticulate sound. The officer in front of him, his face twisted in terror, recoiled. It seemed, seeing how easily a man could become a bloodthirsty monster, he had wet himself. But no one blamed him—many had wet trousers.
"This. Rebel. Scum." The Crusader's commander hammered out each word, echoing through the tiny Star Destroyer's bridge like the voice of a war god who had personally descended from heaven to earth into this sinful world to witness and personally partake in the battle. "Killed. Our. Comrades! KILL! THEM! ALL!!!!"
No one dared to contradict him.
Whether it was because his face, twisted with poorly concealed rage, had ceased to be the mask of courtesy he usually wore, trying to maintain the authority of a phlegmatic Imperial officer.
Or whether the crew had indeed remembered that they should avenge the deaths of their comrades, who, just two months ago, had been part of the crew and had been selected to man the Corellian frigate only after a corresponding order from the Grand Admiral to secure the Star Destroyers with small ships.
Or whether faces flashed before them now—the young lieutenant, the frigate's commander, a cheerful, good-natured kid who forgave sabbacc debts, easily took watch for colleagues, and crammed military history and tactics books to one day pass the fleet qualification board's exam for command of a cruiser-class or larger starship...
Perhaps they remembered them all—forty-five crew members and forty-six gunners, young midshipmen, ensigns, ordinary sailors who had boarded the Crusader less than six months ago, having graduated from accelerated fleet personnel training courses.
Most obviously, the watch simply realized that the sacrifice of the little ship's crew had meant their own lives, and those of each of the five thousand two hundred crew members of the Crusader, had not ended in the same way.
"All missile launchers reloaded, Captain!" came the report from the missile console. The last chance to back down from violating the commander-in-chief's orders. "Target is in range. Missiles locked on reactors, batteries, and life support systems."
I-Gor stared at the more than two-kilometer bulk of the orbital defense station. His eyes were blurred with tears of pain and despair. The blood-red fog of rage and the desire for vengeance held him, demanding he destroy them all.
Kill them all.
All of them!
All!
Every Sith-forsaken Rebel on this station, from where that damned X-wing had launched.
His heart and mind tore at each other. The desire for revenge and loyalty to his Oath, his vow to steadfastly bear the hardships of service, fulfill his military duty, and obey the orders given by his commanders...
He wanted to kill them all. Every last one on the Republican defense station. And he had every moral right to do so.
He wanted it more than life itself. But he couldn't.
Because he was loyal to his Oath and to the command.
Duty above all. Even his own pain from the irreparable loss.
"Remove the 'reactor' and 'life support' target designations," he rasped in a voice that barely obeyed him, taking a step forward and pressing his forehead against the cold transparisteel of the viewport. He had just countermanded his own order to destroy the enemy. He had stepped on the throat of his feelings and emotions to uphold his oath, his loyalty to duty, and the orders of the Supreme Commander. He crushed the pain inside him with submission. "Open fire. Disable the station."
As the anti-ship high-explosive missiles tore into the armor and internal systems of the Golan-II-class orbital defense station, the commander of the Victory-I-class Star Destroyer bearing the proud name Crusader wept silently, his fingernails digging into the skin of his palms until they bled, tasting the grit of his teeth and blood from his bitten cheek.
The young lieutenant who had commanded the DP20-class Corellian frigate, shielding the Star Destroyer from certain destruction, had been the captain's only son.
And the heart of the Crusader's commander was torn to pieces by the injustice of this war.
Fathers should not have to bury their children.
Never.