Nine years, seven months, and two days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-four years, seven months, and two days after the Great Resynchronization.
The planet Baskarn was located in the star system of the same name in the Nun sector, within the Outer Rim Territories. According to the Imperial military astronavigation guide, the target of the Star Destroyer Inexorable and its battle group belonged to quadrants M-6.
In the past, an Imperial reconnaissance fleet had discovered this base, hidden in the depths of a cliff and surrounded by impassable jungles. And the data from that attack was extremely discouraging — a base of those then called 'rebels,' which could boast no more than one hundred and fifty beings of personnel and a squadron of X-wings, had repelled the Imperial offensive and continued to operate. And that was many years ago, when career Imperial military men faced only hastily trained civilians. After so many years, the situation had changed dramatically — and not in the Empire's favor.
"Transition complete," the watch officer reported. "The battle group has arrived at the destination point in full strength."
"Launch the corvette, fighters, and interceptors," ordered the Star Destroyer commander. Alexander Mor studied the tactical display for information on the enemy base. How many times had he already done this? Fifth? Tenth? "Raise deflectors. Ensure the safety of the landing ships. Begin deploying ground units outside the enemy ion cannon's firing arc."
He saw nothing new here.
In terms of internal layout, it was an exact copy of the New Republic training center on Tierfon, destroyed by the intelligence fleet of Grand Admiral Thrawn. Unfortunately, due to the impassable and excessively dangerous jungles, as well as the support of the local population, using the same tactic was impossible. So a dozen X-wings wouldn't become Imperial prey.
Nevertheless, there was plenty here for their battle group to 'acquire.' The base was located deep in the jungles of Baskarn, and its builders had placed it under natural protection, embedding it inside a mountain slope. A well-thought-out solution that ensured the overall structure's strength and reliable cover from sensor scanning due to the thickness of the stone walls.
According to information obtained from scouts, the base was once surrounded by a minefield, and also had a V-150 Planet Defender ion cannon, which required a large amount of power to operate. But the biggest revealing factor...
"The surface deflector shield has been raised," the sensor operator reported. "Base location localized."
"Transmit the coordinates to our ground units," Alexander ordered.
"Enemy fighters detected," came an additional report.
"Send the interceptors to destroy them," ordered the Star Destroyer commander. "Show no mercy in space."
"Sir, wouldn't it have been better to use an interdictor cruiser or a gravity well generator for this?" inquired one of the young specialists. Mor cast an interested glance at him. Yes, that's the tractor beam operator. But he was from another shift — the one supposed to be at his station now is being interrogated along with three other spies uncovered by counterintelligence.
"If we wanted to ensure no ship escaped from here at all, we would have done that," Alexander declared, turning his back to the pit crew. "Neither the Grand Admiral nor I care if some of our enemies escape into hyperspace. The nearest New Republic fortress world is Ithor. Even with first-class hyperdrives, it takes over three days to get there from here. In that time, we won't just destroy the enemy and take everything that interests us, but also leave a few surprises."
Alexander's battle group was designated 'Besh' and included the Inexorable as its flagship, one CR-90 corvette protecting the ship's lower hemisphere, two Star Galleons, and two Tartan-class patrol cruisers. More than an impressive force to deal with a single enemy peripheral base.
Watching both patrol cruisers surround the enemy fighters rising from the surface, harassing them with fire from their cannons, forming a kill box, Alexander couldn't suppress a crooked grin.
His forces had essentially formed a hemisphere around the enemy using three light ships — the corvette and the patrol cruisers. The center of the formation was the Inexorable, which had disgorged an air wing consisting of three squadrons of TIE fighters and twenty-four interceptors. While the former helped hold the perimeter and prevent the New Republic's small craft from escaping the kill box, the interceptors, skillfully weaving between the cannon fire, tore into the enemy formation, which had broken into pairs, demonstrating superior maneuverability and training. Thanks to the Imperial numerical superiority, the enemy had no choice but to accept battle on unfavorable terms.
Meanwhile, landing barges with light equipment — grav-cycles and speeder bikes — escorted by TIE bombers, were entering the planet's atmosphere along a wide arc away from the ongoing battle. Once the landing force was deployed, the bombers would attack the base's fortifications, which lacked powerful anti-air cover, and ensure complete Imperial air superiority.
The ion cannon fired from the surface in rare salvos, which indicated they didn't have such a powerful energy source after all. Well, that only made the attack easier. Because not a single scarlet droplet of energy capable of disabling the battle group's equipment could harm Alexander's ships — based on data from the previous Imperial attack on this base, as well as data from the reconnaissance droids sent here in advance, he had positioned his ships outside the effective range of the New Republic's ground-based weapon.
"Reconnaissance landing groups are already on the surface," the watch officer reported. "Have engaged enemy and local units. Shield projectors and the generator powering the ion cannon have been located. The bombers are striking..."
Alexander looked at the tactical monitor, which displayed everything schematically. A small white circle symbolizing the enemy's deflector shield, a small shape resembling a spiral — the located generator, and a circle with a dash — the enemy ion cannon... And twelve red dots — the bomber squadron making its attack run... Just like in the simulator...
A few seconds later, the circle of the deflector field and the spiral of the power generator vanished.
"Targets destroyed, the enemy base has no defenses," the watch officer reported.
"Send the tartan to geostationary orbit," Alexander ordered. "Remain in the zone of minimal planetary gravity and conduct a bombardment of the cliff containing the base. Compensate for the disruption in formation density using the nearest ships."
He watched without interruption as the icon of the designated ship approached the enemy weapon's kill zone. It crossed it, entered the range of certain destruction, opened fire…
No reaction from the enemy except one X-wing attempting to attack the ship. That attempt was immediately cut short by two TIE Interceptors, which bracketed the enemy fighter in a crossfire and turned it into a tiny spark of explosion.
On the tactical display, it was already visible how the Tartan was burning out the comm systems, control tower, and covering laser turrets of the New Republic forces hiding beneath the cliff on the rock face… A few minutes of bombardment sufficed to turn all of the enemy's peripheral equipment into molten slag.
"Has the base's distress signal been received?" the commander of the Relentless inquired.
"Yes, sir," the communications officer replied. "A distress signal and request for assistance have been sent to the enemy base on the planet Ithor."
"And what is the Republican command's response?" Alexander asked.
"They promised to send three assault frigates," came the reply. "They'll arrive in… three standard days, sir."
"Timely support from our allies," Captain Mor said with a smirk. "Transmit my approval of their actions to our pilots."
The tactical display of the Relentless was dotted with eleven markers for destroyed enemy X-wings. The one New Republic fighter that had been hit by an ion cannon shot from the Imperial Star Destroyer was already being towed to the nearest corvette so the pilot could be taken prisoner and the "prize" inspected.
"Ground forces have engaged the enemy's defensive units," the watch officer reported. "Their attempt to lure our infantry onto a minefield was unsuccessful. Ten stormtrooper squads have broken through to the base, landing directly at the main entrance. The defenders are surrendering. Teams are securing all key locations of the base; resistance within the fortification has ceased."
"Dispatch technical teams to the surface," Alexander ordered. "By the end of the day, all computers, the arsenal, personal records, the ion cannon, and anything else of interest must be aboard our Star Galleons."
* * *
Sometimes time becomes so subjectively distorted that minutes feel like hours. This is especially noticeable during a flight to a target. You literally have nowhere to put yourself…
"The Interdictor cruiser has taken position," came a report from the Chimaera's commander. "Gravity well generators are deployed and ready. Jamming has begun… Communication channels are jammed, no alarm signals detected… We are maintaining stable communication contact with our ship."
"Scanner data?" I asked, stroking the ysalamiri lying on my lap.
"Current information matches the previous data, sir," Gilad replied. "Ships have not changed position; no new ones detected. No signs of alarm established either."
"They're hiding," I stated. "They think the appearance of an Imperial ship here is nothing more than a coincidence. Proceeding to step two of the plan, Captain."
"Decoy-1 has exited hyperspace," Pellaeon reported a couple of minutes later. I glanced at the ship's chronometer. The operation start time was recorded. "The exit vector has been adjusted using an artificial gravity projection. Approaching the kill zone where our previous ships were destroyed. Scout droids deployed; space is under constant scan."
"Reaction to the intrusion?" I asked.
"Droids from Decoy-1 are registering energy buildup on the planetoid's surface," Pellaeon said quickly. "Decoy-2 has been brought out of hyperspace; standard procedures initiated… Three small fighters spotted from the surface. Identified as Alpha-3 Nimbus-class starfighters. Planetary cannon salvo!"
I stroked the lizard and looked at the chronometer again. The ysalamiri stretched languidly and settled more comfortably.
Alpha-3 Nimbus-class starfighter.
"Decoy-1 destroyed," Pellaeon reported. And the chronometer hand continued its course… "Decoy-2 is under attack by enemy fighters… The B-1 droids on the freighter are returning fire, but their weapons are clearly insufficient for a proper defense… Sir, we will lose this ship as well soon."
"Are data on the energy buildup of the planetary cannon still being recorded?" I asked.
"Yes, sir, but—"
"In that case, everything is proceeding as it should," I said. "Is Decoy-3 ready to launch?"
"Yes, sir," the Chimaera's commander replied.
"The Interdictor reports a fifty percent charge on the energy accumulator," Lieutenant Tschel reported as he approached. Today he looked more composed and well-rested. It seemed Gilad had finally finished harassing the subordinate.
I glanced at the clock hands. How interesting…
"Has the planetary cannon's position been localized?" The question did not go unanswered.
"The enemy has charged the cannon to sixty percent!"
"Decoy-2 is taking heavy damage from enemy fighters!"
"One Nimbus-class small craft shot down, another damaged and retreating to the planetoid surface!"
"Yes, sir, the scout droids have located the planetary cannon…"
"Launch Decoy-3," I ordered. "Captain Pellaeon, relay the coordinates of the planetary anti-space defense system to the ion cannon gunners on the battery deck. General order to squadron ships: jump to hyperspace. Alpha Group, proceed to Decoy-2's coordinates. Beta Group, follow the Interdictor cruiser's secondary vector."
"Aye, sir," Tschel said, receiving the order and heading to the comm station.
A few seconds later, the Chimaera — along with the ships of her squadron, positioned several light-hours from the boundaries of the attacked star system — vanished from realspace, bathing the bridge in the white-blue glow of hyperspace.
Stroking the lizard and envying its imperturbable snuffling, I inquired:
"Questions, Captain Pellaeon?"
"Yes, sir," the Chimaera's commander replied promptly. "What is the trick with the Decoys?"
"A trick is sleight of hand and the magician's cunning, nothing more, Captain," I said. "The Decoys are a method to determine the enemy's reaction time to intrusion."
Judging by the silence of my flagship Star Destroyer's commander, he didn't understand. I would have to explain.
"From previous reports, we know that single scout ships that entered the RZ7-6113-23 planetoid system were destroyed by unknown garrison forces using a planetary cannon. Decoy-1 was necessary to determine if the enemy's planetary cannon was in a charged state, its firing range, and it performed those tasks admirably. Decoy-2, appearing after the cannon's shot, gave us sufficient reason to believe that, first — the enemy only has a single planetary cannon, second — it requires time to recharge, and third — our scanners identified the cannon's location."
"The enemy launched Alpha-3-class starfighters to attack Decoy-2 while the planetary cannon was recharging," Pellaeon understood.
"Exactly," I agreed. "Also, the enemy made it clear that, faced with a modern Interdictor-class Star Destroyer with a corresponding wing of modern TIE fighters, their best response to our forces is precisely Nimbus-class fighters. This revealing fact suggests that the RZ7-6113-23 base contains outdated weapon types — from the Clone Wars era or the early period of the Galactic Empire's hegemony."
"Otherwise, they would have sent something from the TIE series to intercept," Pellaeon realized.
"You think correctly, Captain," I agreed. "Thus we have confirmation that the Clone Wars-era ships orbiting the RZ7-6113-23 planetoid are not just someone's fleet; they are part of the base's own inventory. Obsolete starships, obsolete fighters… All of this was supposed to be decommissioned and sent for scrap. But someone decided to set up a small stockpile of obsolete equipment for themselves. Possibly to sell it later on the black market: as you know, Phase II clone armor was and still is very popular among various Outer Rim factions. Acclamator-class assault cruisers were often used in the Imperial Navy as armed fast transports, while Venator-class Star Destroyers served for the first ten to fifteen years after the Clone Wars in all fleets of the Galactic Empire until they were completely replaced by Victory-class and Imperial-class vessels. We already found one such ship in the hands of Trandoshan slavers. Maintaining such a starship for more than two and a half decades is not cheap, not to mention the need for spare parts and assemblies that cannot be repaired, only replaced. This equipment had to come from somewhere — considering that neither Acclamators nor Venators were built after the Clone Wars victory, I assume all necessary parts ended up on the black market from either this base or a similar one."
"According to intelligence reports, the Zann Consortium initially used these types of starships," Pellaeon said. "And the Mandalorians also had them in service… as did the Rebel Alliance."
"I have no doubt some Acclamators and Venators were lost after the Clone Wars ended," I said. "However, that doesn't change the substance. I am interested in this base, who commands it, and what is in its warehouses."
"You suppose something from all this junk might be useful to us?" Pellaeon asked skeptically.
"I believe that in our situation, absolutely everything left after the Galactic Empire's collapse could be useful." Meeting my gaze, Pellaeon winced.
"At present, we depend on arms and equipment supplies from the D'Asta sector," I reminded him. "This imposes certain limitations and expenses on our armed forces. Phase II clone armor is not all that different from stormtrooper armor, and our stocks are running low. There is nowhere to produce it — at least not at a reasonable cost. Currently, we have the opportunity, by blocking the base garrison's distress calls, to acquire everything we need and then put it to use. Experience with Droch-class boarding ships, Droidekas, B-1 and B-2 battle droids, BX-series commando droids, as well as Separatist and Republic ships, shows that after the Clone Wars, impressive scientific and technical achievements were unjustly condemned. Given our complete lack of ground vehicle manufacturing, all we can rely on are our existing tanks, walkers, and grav-cycles. Incorporating even outdated but still relevant Clone Wars-era ground equipment into our armies will expand the range of our ground offensive operations."
"I recall you said you wanted to visit the headquarters of the Hell's Hammers unit," Pellaeon said. "They have an entire planet living by Imperial law and would surely be happy to join us…"
"I don't need them to join simply because we currently wear the same insignia as they do," I said. "For such a renowned unit as the Hell's Hammers to respect us and consider it an honor to join our forces, they must see what we are capable of without their involvement. The best agreement occurs only when two equal parties negotiate."
"And given that the glory for your achievements is currently attributed to Prince-Admiral Krennel, it's not hard to guess that Colonel Zel Johans would refuse to obey you," Pellaeon nodded understandingly. "Ah, if not for your agreement with the Imperial Ruling Council on information security…"
"Actually, you are only looking at the facts one-sidedly, Captain," I said. "Concealing my involvement in what is happening to the New Republic is part of the plan — actually, it was an accident that became part of the plan, but who would voice such clarifications? At the moment, the New Republic is in a certain information vacuum, not reliably knowing who exactly is attacking them — a 'Grand Admiral' or a 'Prince-Admiral.' Krennel's ego and his advisors play into our hands — he takes all the responsibility and all the negativity for what is happening, thus attracting attention from the New Republic and shortsighted Imperials. We don't need such allies. Krennel rests on his laurels, unaware that not one but two military campaigns are being plotted against him — the Bothan one and ours. At present, his Hegemony flourishes only because the Bothans are beginning to gather resources for a long-term campaign against him, thus successfully supplying us with medical and other equipment. Soon, due to the decline in supplies to the Fourth Fleet, Councilor Fey'lya will decide to go all-in — and that will be the end of his political career. Indeed, as will be the end for most of the New Republic Fourth Fleet's starships. After he becomes a victim of circumstances, we will only have to take what remains. And then, on the ruins of the Ciutric Hegemony, it will become clear to all participants who exactly has been exhausting the New Republic all this time and how. Operation Crimson Dawn is currently entirely aimed at allowing the Prince-Admiral to claim the laurels of the victor, the Imperial who finally decided to eliminate Republic bases where in the past our valiant armed forces suffered defeats or did not achieve complete success. This will briefly distract him from thoughts of finding the culprit behind the disappearance of the equipment so necessary for arming the Mon Calamari ships. And at the same time, it will lead the master of this base — and I am sure he is not actually present here — to think that all the attacks on Republic bases are merely a cover for capturing this depot. One way or another, Prince-Admiral Krennel's pride will work in our favor and push him towards the abyss of defeat."
"Too complicated a plan, Grand Admiral," Pellaeon admitted. "Will it work with the intended effectiveness?"
"A plan that can only work if every element is executed perfectly is no longer a plan; it's a sequence of actions," I said. "In our case, there are too many variables, so banking on everything going exactly as I need is a futile exercise."
"So that's why you prepared, besides the first two Decoys, a third freighter, still controlled by droids that you don't mind sending to certain death?" Pellaeon asked.
"No, of course not, Captain," I said. "The planetary cannon fired at Decoy-1 thirty seconds after the ship appeared in the planetoid's orbit. That is the reaction time of the gunners and defensive structure personnel. Between the destruction of Decoy-1 and Decoy-2, five minutes passed before the anti-space defense cannon accumulated a fifty percent charge. From this, we know that the reactor powering the installation supplies ten percent of the cannon's power every sixty standard seconds. Apparently, Decoy-2 will be destroyed by enemy fighters some time after Decoy-3 arrives. And the latter will enter the system nine and a half minutes after the previous planetary cannon shot. Consequently, the gunners on the planet will need thirty to sixty seconds to destroy Decoy-3, since Decoy-2 will no longer be of great interest to them. The Chimaera and the squadron ships will emerge into realspace twelve minutes after Decoy-1's destruction, meaning one to one and a half minutes after Decoy-3's destruction. This gives us a buffer of at least eight and a half to nine standard minutes to strike the coordinates of the detected enemy anti-space defense cannon. Following this, ground forces will be deployed and the Venator and Acclamator-class starships drifting in orbit will be captured. Along with the capture of necessary equipment by our other battle groups, there is a high probability that we will soon have more Dragon-class ships. Since we cannot create the necessary power plant for uninterrupted rapid fire of the Sunburn project, we will simply increase the number of ships of that type."
"So I take it this is the final touch to the long-delayed operation against the Sluis Van shipyards?" Pellaeon asked hopefully.
I did not answer him. Let it be a surprise.
* * *
The New Republic base on the planet Akuria II had been attacked by the Imperial Fleet in the past. This dome-shaped structure, shielded by several laser turrets, was, as in its past years, a dome-shaped edifice lost in the snows.
In the past, an Imperial spy had infiltrated here under the guise of a commander, and from him this information entered the Imperial archives. Such an insignificant target that, even with time passing, none of the Imperial commanders had attempted to attack, despite its location in quadrant M-5 — quite close to the territories of Imperial Space.
"The fighters of our air wing have engaged an enemy flight of small craft," the senior officer reported to Captain I-Gor, who was imperturbably watching the gray triangular hull of a Victory I-class Star Destroyer. Straight as a metal pipe, his face devoid of any noticeable emotion, the commander of the Crusader seemed to see nothing before him. Only the clouds impenetrable to an ordinary eye rising in the Star Destroyer's path.
The senior officer was about to repeat the information to get a reaction from the captain, who had lost all cheerfulness after the battle for the Hast shipyards, but the latter gave a barely perceptible nod.
The senior officer, biting his lip, looked questioningly at the crew members. What to do? Unfortunately, the other officers and specialists could not give him an answer to the troubling question.
No one knew what Grand Admiral Thrawn had said to their commander during their private meeting on Tangrene after the operation. But after Hast, after that rendezvous, Captain I-Gor stopped smiling. At all. As if someone had sucked all the joy out of him. It seemed his son's death affected him more than many thought…
"Are launch tubes twenty-one through forty ready?" the ship's commander inquired quietly. And while his voice was not as filled with emotion as before, it remained just as firm, confident, and unwavering.
"Yes, sir," the senior assistant reported. "Missiles in the tubes, safeties off."
"Has the enemy reported our intrusion?" Captain I-Gor asked.
"Yes, Commander," the XO replied. "The base on Agamar responded. They claim they will send a Mon Calamari star cruiser in a few hours. A Crusader II-class corvette is on standby in orbit."
After the loss of the DP20 frigate, Grand Admiral Thrawn had ordered that a starship captured by scouts from the Zann Consortium operate in the same group as the Crusader. An excellent vessel, equipped with laser point-defense and a decent arsenal, it was used as a light support ship. And at the same time, it was an excellent method of destroying enemy missiles, torpedoes, and small craft.
The captured ship differed significantly in many characteristics from the starships previously in the Consortium's service, so it received a new designation as a second-generation model. Like other small ships of the corvette or frigate type in the Grand Admiral's fleet, this vessel had no name of its own, only a hull number. By command order, small ships had to earn their right to a name in battle. So for now, the captured starship only bore a serial number…
"Target acquired?" Captain I-Gor asked again.
"Yes, sir…"
"Fire."
Two dozen anti-ship missiles — the primary weapon of the Victory I-class Star Destroyer — burst from the launch tubes, tearing through the dense cloud cover with the lights of their engines, and vanished into the gloom.
By the time the Crusader descended into the atmosphere below the cloud level, facing a fierce blizzard, those on the bridge were presented with the sight of a local branch of hell amidst the snowy desert. Hundreds of square meters of surface were engulfed in flames. Wrecked structures, belching black smoke, stood like disfigured torches. Fuel from destroyed storage tanks spread across the surroundings, forming a true river of fire…
"Enemy retreating forces spotted," the senior assistant reported. "Two ground snow vehicles at distances of five hundred and seven hundred meters…"
"Fire from the broadside artillery," Captain I-Gor said calmly. No one objected.
Tilting its triangular prow slightly closer to the surface, the Star Destroyer Crusader unleashed dozens of green turbolaser beams from its towers, vaporizing the barely escaped rebels and vast stretches of the snowy plain…
And then the burning remains of downed enemy fighters crashed onto the surface, having vainly tried to resist the attacking Imperial forces.
The raid on the New Republic military base on Akuria II left no intelligent being alive in the kill zone of the anti-ship missiles and turbolaser emplacements.
For the Mon Calamari cruiser that arrived at the appointed time and its crew, all that remained was to mourn the dead.
* * *
The Chimaera materialized in realspace at the exact moment the last Nimbus-class fighter began to pull away from the wreckage of three freighters that had seen better days. Decoys one through three destroyed. It took a few seconds for the Star Destroyer's systems to return to normal mode.
"Starboard ion cannons, fire on designated coordinates," Pellaeon ordered. "Raise deflectors, jettison the Corellian corvette, launch fighters and interceptors. Shuttles, prepare for landing."
The Aurek Squadron materialized along two vectors from the artificial gravity projectors.
The Chimaera, along with the Death's Head and the Bellicose, emerged at the coordinates of 'Decoy-2', while the Beta group — Captain Dorja's Relentless, along with the Phoenix and the Judicator — appeared in close proximity to eleven starships of the Acclamator and Venator types.
So, eleven ships of two obsolete types. Eight Acclamators, their exact modification currently unknown, and three Venators. In my opinion, after the Clone Wars there should be hundreds, if not thousands, of these ships remaining. Yet here there are barely any. Either this is a very small base, or my assumption that the base has been long reactivated and already has an owner is correct. If only I knew who that owner currently is… If it's Grand Moff Kaine, then it would be… Awkward.
Well, we'll find out soon enough. In any case, I have no intention of advertising most of what I intend to find here in open combat. At least, not until…
Before my eyes, the tactical display of the Chimaera lit up with a second wave of bluish arrows, signifying fire from the ion cannons. Pellaeon's gunners were literally saturating the anti-orbital defense weapon, disguised as the mouth of an ugly volcano.
"Confirmation from spotter fighters," Pellaeon announced. "The planetary defense cannon has been hit by ion weapons."
"Send in the landing force to seize the installation," I ordered.
I watched unwaveringly as the ships of Beta group — the Relentless, the Phoenix, and the Judicator, surrounded by the starfighters of the first and last vessels — disgorged an endless number of landing and boarding pods from their holds.
I watched as they docked with emergency airlocks and deployed boarding parties. This method of capturing ships is the most efficient for putting the vessels to use in the shortest possible time, requiring only minimal refitting at the shipyards. It's precisely for this reason we aren't using plasma drills, Separatist Droch-class boarding pods, or other methods of penetrating a starship's hull. Too much trouble with all of that.
"Grand Admiral, sir," Lieutenant Tschel approached me. Pellaeon shot him a piercing look but refrained from commenting. "A message has arrived from Captain Mora aboard the Inexorable."
"Report," I said, stroking the ysalamiri.
"'New Republic base on the planet Baxarn successfully attacked,'" the young officer read from his datapad screen. "'Eighty-seven sentients from the outpost's personnel and security have been taken prisoner. The base's computer data was damaged during an attempted wipe. Most of the database has been recovered. The enemy's arsenal, supplies, and one T-65 X-wing starfighter have been captured. The pilot has been placed with the other prisoners. One V-150 Planet Defender ion cannon has been dismantled and will be delivered to Tangrene shortly as part of a convoy of transport ships.'"
"Send confirmation of receipt to Captain Mora," I said. Noticing in the reflection of the main viewport that the lieutenant had taken a step away from my chair, I added:
"Lieutenant Tschel."
"Yes, sir!" the young officer said, spinning on his heels to face me.
"According to the Imperial Armed Forces Code of Conduct, is a junior-ranking officer required to confirm receipt of an order from a senior officer?" I inquired.
"Yes, sir," the lieutenant replied, his face paling.
"Is a junior officer, intending to address a senior officer with an urgent report in the presence of his immediate commander, required to seek permission from that commander?" I continued my little interrogation, watching as three Venators — ships that our boarding parties had secured in the first wave — began to move.
"Yes, sir." The sound of Lieutenant Tschel swallowing the lump in his throat was like a heavy object falling through a pipe in the silence of the bridge.
"Do you realize you have violated the Code of Conduct?" I inquired, still observing the events unfolding before me. Two more Acclamators began to move, breaking from the general 'drifting' formation. Excellent, only six starships left.
"Yes, sir." In the reflection of the viewport, I could see the young officer standing ramrod straight.
"Remember one thing, Lieutenant Tschel," I said. "The fact that the Galactic Empire is now nothing but pitiful Remnants, a sight too sorry for tears, does not mean that you, due to youth or any other reason, may ignore the regulations and circulars upon which our military hierarchy is built. This leads to chaos and uncertainty, which are fatal in times of an unstable and shifting course. Only strict adherence to the principles of discipline allows us, the commanders, and our subordinates, who are charged with executing orders, to be confident that all assigned tasks will be completed as planned and within the designated timeframe. Do you understand this, Lieutenant?"
"Y-yes, sir." If the reflection doesn't lie, streams of sweat are now rolling down the young officer's face.
"There is a parable, many thousands of years old," I said, adapting a piece of Japanese wisdom from my home world on the fly. "'For want of a repaired fuel line, an engine was lost; for want of an engine, a courier ship was lost in interstellar space; for want of a courier ship, a secret dispatch to fleet command was not delivered; for want of a dispatch, the fleet lost the main battle.' The systematic approach to the functioning of large sentient organizations was invented long before you, and it will not be ignored by you. Is this clear, Lieutenant Tschel?"
"Y-yes, sir, Grand Admiral," Lieutenant Tschel muttered in a completely crushed tone.
Having confirmed that another four assault cruisers had 'weighed anchor' and were breaking the initial formation, moving out to where fleet specialists could board them more quickly, I swiveled my chair to look directly at the pale face of the junior officer. Judging by his expression, he was already mentally reviewing the possible punishments awaiting him.
"Remember this moment," I advised, watching as Lieutenant Tschel's chin began to tremble slightly. "One day, you will ascend to the bridge of a ship under your own command. You will be leading hundreds of sentients who will seek to see you as an authority and a role model. The exact way you establish yourself before your subordinates, how quickly you earn their respect and ensure the clear execution of their duties, will directly determine the effectiveness of the orders given to you by higher command. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link, and it is precisely at critical moments that the reliability of the entire system is tested. Have you remembered this?"
"Yes, sir, Grand Admiral Thrawn," Tschel said.
"I hope you remember this lesson," I concluded. "Draw the proper conclusions, and we will not return to this matter. History will not forgive us for a collapse caused by unreliable links in the chain."
The young officer pressed his lips together, swallowing the beads of sweat that had gathered on his upper lip.
"Return to your duties, Lieutenant Tschel," I ordered, turning my chair back toward the viewport.
"Aye, sir!" the young Imperial replied in a breaking tenor voice, quickly striding back to his station, where the rest of the bridge watch immediately came to life.
"I'm sure after that dressing-down, Tschel will pull himself together and start performing his duties," Pellaeon remarked with a sharp smirk. I didn't need to be a Jedi to sense the pleasure he was taking in this.
"That lecture was not solely for him, Captain Pellaeon," I explained, watching with inner relief as the final starships also began to move. The minimum objective was complete. Now I could turn my attention to Base RZ7-6113-23. "Several months of disciplinary actions against a subordinate with no results is a reason to reflect on whether you are choosing the right tactics, Captain. With prolonged use, the links in a chain that fail first are those closest to the clasp. At that point, it no longer matters whether there are other weak links in the chain. Begin the landing, Captain Pellaeon. Time is precious."
"Yes, sir, Grand Admiral," the commander of the Chimaera said in a dry, official tone, quickly striding away from my chair toward the control terminals.
If there's one thing Gilad possesses, it's the ability to learn from his mistakes. Not immediately, but over time. Let's see how quickly he absorbs this lesson.
* * *
The Fourth Stormtrooper Platoon of the 501st Legion dropped alongside the other units of the First Company as part of the vanguard of the assault on Base RZ7-6113-23.
TNX-0297, providing covering fire for his squad of four, coordinated with five others to lay down suppressing fire, forcing the enemy soldiers to take cover behind permacrete panels positioned vertically in front of the main entrance to the military warehouse.
The massive gate arch, through which a pair of AT-ATs could comfortably pass without scraping each other, gave the attackers a clear view: beyond this forward defensive line lay a vast chamber carved into the lifeless planetoid's rock. One glance at the defensive positions was enough to understand — this was indeed a military warehouse designed for storing military vehicles. The builders of this facility never anticipated its garrison would have to withstand a siege by a superior enemy force.
Otherwise, there would have been massive bunkers for long-term firing positions, crew-served repeating blasters, and the space before the gates would have been covered by crossfire.
But all the defenders could offer the attackers were volleys from a couple of dozen blaster rifles of the DC-15 series, decommissioned from Imperial army service. Their bluish bolts traced lines across the shrinking space between the two factions of white-armored soldiers.
From the very first seconds, shielded by the armor of their landing ships, Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet stormtroopers grasped a simple truth: they were facing those who merely pretended to be soldiers of the Imperial Stormtrooper Corps. Clad in the same armor as themselves, but far, far worse trained.
There was no combat coordination, no tactical combinations, a multitude of unnecessary movements, excessive fussiness…
It all looked as if the sentient these fighters, pretending to be stormtroopers, served had decided to indulge their ego by dressing them in appropriate 'costumes,' utterly clueless that the Stormtrooper Corps isn't just white armor.
It's months of grueling training that hardens the body and engrains actions into muscle memory. It's a clear structure and organization.
Even though the attacking units were clones from the GeNod program and had not undergone the brutal training on Carida, they all carried within their minds the original's memories of what that training entailed. And they understood perfectly that their effectiveness depended on constant training and preparation. That's why aboard the Chimaera, like any other ship, there were training facilities for the soldiers of the stationed stormtrooper legion. And they used everything necessary to remain effective.
The moment the landing craft reached the enemy's forward positions, partially destroying them with fire from its onboard cannons, forcing the first half of the 'posers' to retreat and the second half to hunker down behind permacrete blocks, the stormtrooper platoons launched their full-scale assault.
TNX-0297 vaulted over a scorch-blackened slab of temporary cover, landing on his feet next to one of the 'posers.' The enemy tried to shoot him, swinging his long-barreled rifle toward the stormtrooper, but the weapon was knocked from his hands with a hand-to-hand combat move. TNX-0297 then instantly flipped his weapon's fire selector from lethal mode to 'stunner' and fired a ring of bluish energy into the enemy. Flicking the selector back into place, he switched his attention to other foes, methodically advancing toward the next piece of cover.
He didn't need to check if the downed enemy was suffering muscle spasms — he knew it for a fact. Stormtroopers know first-hand what it's like to be shot with the small arms their units use. That's how they teach the 'unteachable' on Carida — a blaster shot to a limb or another non-vital area of the human body clears the head faster than long lectures for those who think they don't need to know the real consequences of pulling their blaster's trigger.
The first (and last) line of defense for the military warehouse fell in fifteen seconds of the assault.
Two dozen 'posers' in white armor, throwing down their weapons, fled as fast as their legs could carry them from the unexpectedly aggressive and ruthless fighters from the Chimaera. The stormtroopers didn't need to be asked twice — firing E-11s at moving targets with constantly changing ranges is excellent practice for marksmanship. Thanks to New Republic propaganda, the latter had become an insulting cliché for the soldiers in white armor, but time and again, stormtroopers had opportunities to prove their effectiveness and shooting skills. It's just that enemy propaganda preferred to stay silent about these occasions, and when it was impossible to conceal them, it spun them in their characteristic manner of distorting facts.
Because an ordinary sentient, hearing such stories, would think twice about getting in the way of government forces.
The example of the battle for the citadel on the planet Ebenmal is a stark illustration of how a small number of superbly trained Stormtrooper Corps soldiers can defeat an enemy superior in both numbers and quality.
TNX-0297, watching as stormtroopers dragged the 'posers' who had tried to flee — stunned in the back with stunners — along with their comrades disabled during the capture of the first defensive line, into the landing craft, caught himself thinking that he had never read the work of the historian Chen Min-di. It was the memory of Colonel Selid speaking within him.
"Imperial Atrocities and Other Aristocratic Pursuits" that was the title of the aforementioned scholar's work. Colonel Selid had studied this book, as the episode described within it directly involved him.
According to legends and local beliefs, the citadel on the planet Ebenmal in the galaxy's Mid Rim had remained unconquered for all ten thousand years of its existence.
Eighteen months before the Battle of Yavin IV, Colonel Selid, leading a unit of Imperial stormtrooper-commandos, attacked a Rebel base entrenched within that very fortress. Three thousand enemy soldiers, armed with armored vehicles, aircraft, heavy weapons… None of it saved them.
The historian Chen Min-di described the reason for this as the Rebels' inability to contemplate the horrors perpetrated by the Imperial commandos. And the decision by the enemy command to surrender was made solely out of humanitarian concern and to preserve their soldiers' lives in the massacre the Imperials had created.
The historian Chen Min-di did not mention that the entire 'horror perpetrated by the Imperials' consisted merely of them methodically and deliberately destroying, first the communications systems, then the ammunition depots, hangars, and garages on the Rebel base, time and again stripping them of their ability to defend or retreat.
The historian Chen Min-di was deceiving those who read his historical work. And Stormtrooper Sergeant TNX-0297 intended, one day, to find this hack writer and force him to present the information in a strict historical context, without the slightest admixture of politicization and 'the heat of the moment.'
At the very least, historian Chen Min-di ought to tell his readers that it took the Imperial stormtrooper-commandos less than one standard hour to capture the fortress of Ebenmal, which had been impregnable for ten thousand years.
And also that the three thousand Rebels praised in this author's work were captured by a mere eighty-five Imperial stormtrooper-commandos.
Having confirmed that the approaches to the base were clear, TNX-0297, receiving the order from the company commander to search the military warehouse, proceeded to carry out his assigned combat objective.
* * *
"Sir," Captain Pellaeon said, stepping over the threshold of my quarters into the realm of half-lights and holograms, holding an activated datapad. "Data from the surface has been received."
"Report, Captain," I said. "In private, you may do so in a less official tone."
"Our ground forces have secured full control of the eleven starships in the planetoid's orbit," Pellaeon reported. "Additionally, the 501st Legion has broken the resistance of the gunners at the planetary defense cannon and captured the military warehouse."
This came as no surprise, given our quantitative and qualitative superiority. However, the speed of the operation is impressive — they managed it within ten minutes of the squadron's entry into the star system of planetoid RZ7-6113-23.
"Is the interrogation of prisoners yielding results?" I inquired.
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon confirmed. "It has already been determined that the half-company guarding the military warehouse consists of former soldiers from mobilized civilians who served under Warlord Zsinj. Following his defeat, they went over to Warlord Ennix Devian. According to the prisoners, he is the one who built this military base and organized the transfer of military property from the Old Republic and, partially, the Empire here. Initial reports indicate that the warehouses for Acclamator and Venator spare parts, as well as the Imperial small arms arsenal, are almost completely depleted. However, there are vast reserves of equipment, military vehicles, small craft, and small arms from the Clone Wars era. There are also extensive food supplies — mainly field rations, primarily from the same production period and the first decade of the Empire. Their shelf life in a sublimated state is measured in decades, so this is definitely a major prize. As for the captured sentients… This garrison was left on the planetoid by Devian's own orders to ensure the facility's security. Devian left them under a complete communications blackout — given the fact that the territories of the Pentastar Alignment are practically next door, this is a very logical order."
Now this is interesting. And, to some extent, a relief, given the fact that the master of these 'dungeons' is not Grand Moff Ardus Kaine, after all. But the identity of the warehouse's true owner doesn't make things any easier.
Another enemy has appeared on the horizon.
Ennix Devian — an Imperial who, in his time, gained notoriety as the personal hired assassin of Emperor Palpatine. But what interests me about him personally is that he is the last known possessor of two 'Inhabited Worlds' enormous spherical habitat complexes constructed in orbit of Coruscant and which vanished after the Battle of Endor. One of the 'worlds' has since been destroyed by the New Republic; the second has vanished without a trace. And I desperately need it to carry out one part of my future plan.
"Has Devian's base of operations been located?" I inquired.
"In the Ghost Nebula, sir," Pellaeon replied.
Hmm… not the most convenient region of the galaxy for searching for an enemy. Based on what I've gleaned from astronavigation guides, this sector of the galaxy has only two confirmed inhabited planets — Umbara and Atoa. Given that the territory occupied by the Ghost Nebula could contain hundreds, if not thousands, of star systems, the search ahead will be considerable, both in time and effort.
"Do the prisoners have information on how many obsolete ships were mothballed at this base?" I asked.
"At the time they were transferred here as a garrison, they noted over a hundred starships of each type in orbit," Pellaeon explained. "They all belong to Devian."
That's bad. Nearly two hundred morally obsolete warships — regardless of their age — are still two hundred warships. A force that absolutely must be taken into account.
Given that Ennix Devian was once deeply connected with the ideological organization of the New Order — COMPNOR — and the fact that he still hasn't revealed himself anywhere, it suggests only that this man has no desire to join one Imperial Remnant or another. On the contrary, his desire to 'lie low' clearly points to just two possible future scenarios. And I do not believe for a moment that a former government-employed assassin, with a corresponding ideological upbringing in the politics of Human High Culture, decided to abscond with a fleet enormous even by modern standards to an unexplored part of the galaxy just to sit out the raging civil war.
"Devian will return here for his property," I said. "It's obvious that he is recruiting with maximum secrecy, and therefore can hardly have a large amount of personnel to crew those starships."
"He moved two hundred warships from here," Pellaeon reminded me. "Why leave the ones we got? They're in fully operational condition."
"Active military operations threw his plans into disarray," I said, mentally gauging the relative positions of the Ghost Nebula and the combat zone. I'd been striking at some distance from Devian's base, but the privateers I'd hired were preying on convoys—and still are—including those in the hyperspace lanes between Imperial Remnant territory and the Ghost Nebula. "He's moved from secretly building his forces to observing how events unfold. I'm certain he's maintaining contact with the base one way or another, something the prisoners are deliberately hiding from us. That means we need to clear out everything of interest from here as quickly as possible."
"Meaning… everything?" Pellaeon clarified.
"Exactly, Captain," I confirmed. "We'll decide what's worth taking once we're on Tangrene. Right now, the main objective in this star system is evacuating the warehouses."
"Sir, but Operation Crimson Dawn is in full swing," the Chimaera's commander reminded me. "If we pull even part of our forces out of the operation, we'll disrupt its entire course."
"I see that little lecture on systematic thinking has done you some good, Captain," I said, nodding almost imperceptibly to my own thoughts. "You're absolutely right—particulars shouldn't become obstacles to achieving operational goals. But sometimes circumstances force us to adjust our plans. That's what we'll do in this situation."
"You're not saying that this base's food supplies are equivalent to Crimson Dawn's objectives, are you?" Pellaeon tensed.
"No, Captain," I assured him. "Rations and stored equipment aren't our priority. All set goals and tasks will be completed on schedule. Entrust the evacuation of assets from the base's depths to Captain Dorr," I ordered. "He's in charge of the operation's next phase. His task: using all available forces, including the Phoenix and the Overlord, to extract every single piece of equipment from the warehouse and deliver it to Tangrene. Contact Moff Ferrus—have him send every transport ship he has to this star system." By now, the governor of the Morshdine sector had nearly fifty of them, counting all our spoils from the battle for the Hast shipyards. "For protecting the transport convoy, the Moff is to use all available forces. As I recall, all our escort frigates, light cruisers, patrol cruisers, and the Neutron Star are still in service?"
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon said, twitching his mustache. "Plus three dozen dreadnoughts."
So he had remembered the lesson after all.
"Excellent, Captain," I said. "In that case, we'll combine the evacuation of this base with training our cloned heavy cruiser crews in handling their assigned ships. Notify the commanders of the Bellicose and the Death's Head that we're joining up with Besh squadron. According to our estimated time of arrival, we'll reach them exactly when the New Republic bases on Agamar and Ithor have already dispatched their covering forces to assist the sectors under attack."
"It will be done, sir," Pellaeon said, heading for the exit.
Leaning back in my chair, I fixed my gaze on the holographic map of the galaxy above my head. The Chimaera's central computer was continuously marking tiny red lights in the worlds and systems belonging to the New Republic.
I wonder how Fey'lya is taking it? Though by the end of the next twenty-four hours, he's certainly going to be uncomfortable.
And all because you shouldn't keep so much third-party data on your base computers… and especially not leave it behind after an Imperial fleet has paid a visit.
* * *
The training center, better known in briefings as "Alliance Training Center 5," was located in the Outer Rim on the planet Ksift. This was where specialized enemy units trained—units that during the Rebellion had been designated "Green Squad" with corresponding identification numbers. The code designation "ATC-5/GS" is well known as another instance where the Empire, for all its might, was humiliated, unable to crack this small nut.
But that was in the past now. Grand Admiral Thrawn and his fleet had seriously taken on the enemy bases.
According to Imperial archives and intelligence gleaned from the surviving data on the enemy base computers at Tierfon, seventy-two recruits were training here, destined to become New Republic special forces. Eight training squads were currently undergoing instruction. Eight units that, once their training was complete, would turn against the Empire and Grand Admiral Thrawn's forces.
That was why the Imperial Star Destroyer Stormhawk was here.
"Bombers have struck the enemy security operations station," the first officer reported.
"Has the enemy sent a distress signal?" asked Captain Astorias, watching as the Stormhawk's air wing engaged enemy small craft in space combat.
"Yes, sir—Ithor responded. They've dispatched a Mon Calamari star cruiser with four frigates in support," came a report from the right pit. "Estimated arrival time: forty-six hours."
"What are they even hoping for?" Morgot shook his head, looking at the schematic data of the struck facility. Over two days… In that time, you could not only deal with this base's defenders but wipe out an entire star system's population—if the battle group had such orders.
But Grand Admiral Thrawn had forbidden attacks on civilian targets, as well as on peaceful populations—even those supporting the enemy. His forces' legitimate targets were military facilities, New Republic servicemen, and anyone taking up arms to attack his subordinate forces.
From above, it was just a dome, most of its rooms hidden beneath the planet's surface. The first floor of Facility "ATC-5/GS" housed all the usual training center rooms, including a medical station, arsenal, communications equipment, barracks, and kitchen, while the second floor remained a mystery to all initiates until their final exam. They could only see it from the outside, where they could tell it was a large dome that completed a full arc just below the tree line, camouflaged, with tinted windows.
Map of Facility "ATC-5/GS."
The second floor actually contained the graduation exam rooms for each group. It was divided into two separate areas: "forest" and "Star Destroyer." Each zone was designed to realistically recreate a landscape or interior.
This was where the enemy trained for combat on the approaches to Galactic Empire bases located on forested planets and similar terrain.
And here they practiced storming Imperial warships, the backbone of the Imperial fleet.
Well, they no longer had such a training ground.
"Is the facility destroyed?" Morgot asked the first officer.
"Yes, sir," the latter replied. "Stormtrooper units captured survivors after the orbital strike and brought them aboard landing ships. The prisoners will soon be presented to counterintelligence operatives."
"In that case, send the corvette to assist our fighters and interceptors in dealing with the enemy small craft, and prepare to withdraw," ordered the Stormhawk's commander. "We've completed our mission."
Meanwhile, Facility "ATC-5/GS" was burning, casting such bright rays as usually dispelled the predawn darkness on Coruscant's Upper Levels, where panic was just beginning…