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 New Republic considered its "Dalgyr Edge" base completely secret. No wonder, given that its location had been removed from most official information sources. Even military reports from Coruscant didn't include the coordinates or even the name of the planet on which this outpost sat.
Captain Antonias Stormaer looked at the scout's hologram:
"Are you in position, Commander Rederick?"
"Affirmative," the man replied. Even from the blue-white glints of the volumetric projection, one could tell he was wearing camouflage gear that would keep him and his men hidden in the terrain around the enemy facility. "The enemy base has a substantial defensive arsenal, Captain. One squadron of Incom T-65 X-wings, two cargo transports. Hidden firing points along the perimeter—but that's our problem. However, the Merr-Sonn MX-10 rocket launcher and the Merr-Sonn TX-2020 dual laser cannon we've spotted are the kind of thing that could cause the Abyssal Fury trouble if you show up too early."
"How long do you need to neutralize the anti-ship defenses?" Captain Stormaer asked in an unwavering voice. A TX-2020… That was a downright lousy turn of events. That ion cannon could knock out a Star Destroyer with a single salvo. And being stuck with a powerless ship in orbit of a planet on the enemy's front line, three days' flight from the enemy fortress world of Ithor… That wasn't what he wanted for his first flight as commander of the first captured Star Destroyer to enter service.
"A couple of hours, Captain," Commander Rederick said. "I have a plan to take out the defense system, the fighter squadron, and the enemy transports so they can't escape."
That implied a large number of spoils.
Spoils were always good.
"In that case, we await your signal, Commander Rederick," Antonias said, looking at the tactical monitor. The Abyssal Fury, an Imperial I-class Star Destroyer, was several light-minutes from the borders of the nameless star system where the "Dalgyr Edge" base was located… far beyond the enemy's scanning range, ensuring the attack's surprise. "One last question. Won't the New Republic forces detect your transmission?"
"For that, they'd need working communication and short-range scanning systems," the scout said. "And they've been having major problems with that for about thirty-five minutes…"
* * *
The planet Agamar was a small world in the Mirgoshir system, Lahara sector, quadrant M-5. Covering that distance was no great trouble for the Chimaera and other starships equipped with Class 2 hyperdrives. It just took time.
Agamar's strategic value could hardly be overstated. The planet was located near the Mirgoshir hyperspace "crossroads"the intersection of major regional hyperspace routes such as the Braxant Run and the Selanon branch. This place was a key traffic hub for cargo and passenger starships shuttling between the New Republic, Imperial Space, the Ciutric Hegemony, and the Pentastar Alignment. From here, one could also start a crusade toward the Morshdine and D'Astan sectors. In fact… from here, one could reach any Imperial Remnant. Quickly and with the comfort provided by high-quality, well-mapped hyperspace lanes.
Although Agamar was just one of slightly less than two hundred and fifty inhabited worlds in the Lahara sector, its galactic position made it one of the more prominent regional worlds. Nevertheless, for most developed planets in the Core Worlds, Agamar—despite its role as a major agricultural supplier—remained a backwater.
That was why there was no major fleet base here—just a small battle group, already stretched thin by reports of attacks on nearby worlds and bases.
A few hours earlier, when the Chimaera, the Bellicose, and the Death's Head had emerged from hyperspace following the Nemesis and her escort—which consisted of all but one of our Strike-class medium cruisers stationed on Tangrene—Besh squadron under Captain Schneider, having taken command of the Bellicose and the Death's Head, made its jump toward the next target. The largest of all those we intended to strike during the first phase of Operation Crimson Dawn.
On Agamar, there was nothing left that could stand against even a single Imperial Star Destroyer.
"The Chimaera's transponder was deactivated before transition to realspace, deflectors are raised, fighters and landing barges have left the hangar," Admiral Pellaeon reported. "Communication channels are jammed."
"Begin deploying scout droids," I ordered. "Project Morrt goes second."
"Aye, Grand Admiral," Pellaeon said briskly. "An Agamarian patrol ship is approaching. Should we destroy it?"
"No need, Captain," I said. "Send a text message to the patrol: we have no intention of starting a massacre here if they don't attack us. We will land a force, take what we need, and leave. With the cooperation of local authorities, no one will be harmed in the slightest."
"Broadcast that message to the planet, Grand Admiral?" Pellaeon asked.
"By all means," I agreed. "If this ship's commander has more courage than sense, the ruler of Agamar will likely rein him in. Are all compartments of the Chimaera ready to receive cargo?"
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon confirmed.
"In that case, continue as planned," I ordered. "Captain. Don't forget to remind the ground team commanders that we aren't requisitioning food—we're purchasing it. This isn't a pirate raid."
"Yes, sir."
In reality, we were implementing only one part of the plan. And it wasn't necessarily less important than the others.
If I compared the planet's image from space with the knowledge I'd gleaned from the HoloNet, Agamar became, in my understanding, one big village somewhere in the temperate climate zone of Mother Earth.
Warm and dry climate; most of the territories surrounding the settlements were arable land, where the locals cultivated crops on an enormous industrial scale. I don't know which dull-witted sap called this planet a world where survival is difficult—that doesn't match reality at all.
Animal husbandry is especially popular here—they raise a mammal called the "mugrube." Stew made from the meat of this unpretentious and extremely prolific creature is considered something like an ordinary, everyday dish among the locals, but it hasn't caught on in most of the galaxy. Not so with nerfs, whose meat is highly prized for its taste. But raising them is much more difficult and requires greater knowledge of handling these animals. At least, that's what the agricultural handbook I studied while planning the operation against an agricultural planet says. I won't vouch for its accuracy. But Agamar's closest analogue is the planet Tanaab. To carry out an operation to fill the Chimaera's compartments with large quantities of food, I would have needed to bring half our fleet here. Unlike Agamar, which the New Republic mostly ignores, Coruscant would fight to the last soldier for Tanaab, which feeds a good half of the Core Worlds. And more often than not, those soldiers would be Tanaab's own citizens.
This world's history is quite… mediocre.
Old Republic scholars believed Agamar was once part of the Rakatan Infinite Empire, but that's an unremarkable fact, as many worlds in the galaxy shared that fate.
One way or another, this world eventually joined first the Old Republic and then the Galactic Empire.
The Clone Wars affected the planet in the worst possible way. To begin with, the planet—and with it the entire Lahara sector—left the Old Republic due to high taxes, aligning with the Confederacy of Independent Systems. The Republic didn't hesitate to respond, and it all culminated in the bloody Mirgoshir Campaign, turning the planet from a backwater into a world… I don't even know what term this galaxy uses for "Third World" planets. Usually, they're compared to Tatooine.
In short, first the Separatists tested a weapon called the "Dark Reaper" on the planet—which, as it turned out, was an ancient Sith weapon, fortunately destroyed.
Then the Republic launched an offensive and landed on the planet… Strangely enough, a historical fact: Republic heavy armored vehicles, walkers, and tanks bogged down in the local mud, causing the Old Republic more losses than during the actual armed clashes.
In fact, it was the enormous destruction that nearly wiped out Agamar's agriculture that led the Lahara sector to welcome the proclamation of the New Order with open arms. The locals, in their holy simplicity, obviously hoped Emperor Palpatine would solve their problems… But Imperial officials considered this planet unimportant. In fact, comparing the domestic policies of the Galactic Empire and the Old Republic, if you set aside the Imperials' tendency to solve problems everywhere and anywhere by force of arms, the difference isn't really that great.
The Empire, though it tried to maintain control over remote worlds, didn't succeed. Problems multiplied, and in the end, this led to the creation of the Agamarian underground. The movement attracted many who opposed Imperial rule but saw no way to exert real influence on galactic affairs. Simply because they had no means to do so—no money, no weapons, no equipment… Assessing the prospects of an uprising, I would have been ninety percent sure that local discontent would end very simply and very quickly—the locals would grumble and go their separate ways, but…
The Empire sent a Star Destroyer to the planet.
The ship's commander declared the planet's inhabitants guilty of inciting rebellion and carried out a bombardment, leveling one of the cities. Most of the inhabitants were killed or severely wounded. For the record: the city still hasn't been rebuilt, and it's been about twenty years.
That foolish move led the local population to unequivocally set a course for friendship with the rebels. The latter seized the opportunity: Mon Mothma flew here on a Mon Calamari star cruiser and gave a fiery speech about joining the Rebellion. Given that the impression of an orbital bombardment is unforgettable, the Agamarians joined the Rebel Alliance.
And… only after the fall of Zsinj's regime did this world join the New Republic. According to HoloNet information, the Coruscant government is now repeating the same mistake as the Empire—they take absolutely no interest in local affairs. In effect, the planet—and the entire sector—survives on its own thanks to agriculture. According to my fleet's analysts, in a few more months, Agamar will start looking for a connection with the Imperial Remnants. For one simple reason: they need markets. Without them, the planet will essentially remain at the level it achieved on its own. For now, it's nothing more than a supplier of second-rate but solid food, which isn't in demand in most of the galaxy.
But we are different—as our clone army grows, so does the amount of food we consume. Not to mention that the Chimaera's food procurement operation shows the Agamarians how we see them: as potential trade partners. The agents who remain on the planet will sound out the ground for agreements with the local government and the possibility of using this world as a food supplier. Secretly, of course. The reconnaissance droids and buzz droids from Project Morrt, launched into orbit, will always warn us via the relay network about large enemy force movements and help track their course. And intercepting them is not that difficult…
In addition to food purchases, however, there are two more objectives to accomplish on Agamar.
The first is to obtain seeds of the unpretentious local plants whose grain we are currently buying. Naturally, these operations will be carried out by completely different ships—not Star Destroyers.
As for the second objective… That is a more delicate matter.
The fact is that the planet has one place that still keeps Agamar from being completely forgotten by the galaxy.
The local university is one of the largest in the region. And its xenoarchaeology department has been popular for many hundreds of years. If you look at their HoloNet advertisement, you'll learn that specialists from this institution collaborated long and fruitfully with the Jedi Order, helping them study new life forms and explore ancient ruins across the galaxy.
Why hasn't Luke Skywalker and the progressive wing of the New Republic, led by Leia Organa Solo, visited here yet?
Simple. As I said, the New Republic—like the Empire—doesn't care about this world. And for the last thirty years, xenoarchaeology hasn't been particularly popular in a continuously warring galaxy.
Or perhaps the Agamar University's advertisement, with its fine print mentioning "…participated in excavations on the planet Ossus…" still means nothing at all to Luke Skywalker and the New Republic.
* * *
The volcano in whose depths—amid a network of natural and construction-excavated caves and tunnels—the New Republic outpost was located was named "Mount Deldarka."
It was from this name, casually dropped by one of the military advisors in the presence of what had become a legendary figure among Grand Admiral Thrawn's armed forces' scouts, that a small analytical division of intelligence was able to discover the coordinates of the "Dalgyr Edge" base. Who would have thought that information obtained during a half-forgotten raid on the Obroa-skai system could be used to extract data on the location of an enemy secret base?
After this, Rederick began to view the analysts on Grand Admiral Thrawn's staff in a new light. All those freeloaders just sat there, analyzing, analyzing data endlessly... The question was, why did Grand Admiral Thrawn need information about the basing locations of Imperial fleet ships and a comparison of data on destroyed and captured Imperial starships? The analysts themselves weren't thrilled with what they had to do, but they did their work properly. Perhaps this was how Thrawn was finding targets for attack?
Commander Rederick couldn't give a definitive answer. And it was unlikely that anyone other than the Supreme Commander possessed the full breadth of information.
Right now, the scout and assault team were more concerned with covert infiltration into the territory of "Dalgir's Edge." An interesting fact — the recon-sabotage team didn't know that this outpost was named after the rebellious warlord who founded the place until they landed on the planet under the cover of a meteor shower and captured a local technician repairing the long-range communication system.
Oh, that fellow told them a great deal until he "slipped and fell into a gorge." At least, that was the version of the technician's death put forward by the base command, which sent out a search party.
Rederick could only roll his eyes when he realized the enemy wasn't even going to investigate the site of their comrade's death — they just agreed that they should repair the communication system damaged by the fallen meteorite and retrieve the body. Not the slightest suspicion that all of this could be part of a sabotage operation, and that the antenna had been destroyed by a directed charge, not by some random space rock that happened to be handy.
Leaving one squad to observe a dozen rescuers and repairmen, Rederick and the rest of the group moved out, following the retreating Republicans back to the base, spotting early warning systems and disabling them. Careless behavior! Good thing the enemy was full of self-confidence about their own security — it made the job easier.
From the intelligence data the technician had provided before his fatal flight, Rederick knew that "Dalgir's Edge" was staffed by New Republic personnel from all major units. Consequently, it was better not to engage in open confrontation — there were ten times as many guards here alone as the number of saboteurs. But then again, no one had said that only former rebels learned from their mistakes?
Given the great remoteness of the fortress planet Ithor from most of the worlds the local sector fleet was supposed to protect, the enemy used old Rebel Alliance bases as staging grounds for patrol forces and rapid response units. "Dalgir's Edge" was one of those secondary bases. But since "nothing had happened" in this base's area of responsibility, and all attacks in the sector were responded to by the base on Ithor, it never occurred to anyone that things were actually far from rosy. The lack of a working communication system prevented the base personnel from learning about the attacks by Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet, so they had no idea what awaited them.
The main power source for this base was a geothermal power station — fortunately, the smart one who created this outpost had thought to use natural resources. But that achievement was clearly dubious.
Located in a volcanic caldera, this outpost was subject to periodic earthquakes. There were also frequent cases of poisonous gas venting from the bowels of the belching mountain. The personnel used respirator masks for protection against poisoning, and magnetic atmospheric shields and airtight doors were placed throughout the base — a safety principle used on large starships to prevent decompression of the entire ship from a single breach. In the same way — using an atmospheric energy shield — the hangars were protected from the vacuum... In short, the rebels used the maximum of their imagination to set up this base.
To vent poisonous gases into the life support system and to prevent critical pressure buildup, the enemy had equipped a large-diameter ventilation shaft. Given the characteristics of volcanic activity, when along with the gas a sizable piece of rock could fly out, which would turn all the equipment inside the ventilation shaft into scrap metal and drive everyone crazy with endless alarm signals... Furthermore, the builders intended to use the ventilation system as an alternative evacuation route or as a way to infiltrate the main hangar, designed for a couple of medium freighters delivering supplies for the base and squadrons of X-wings. So the rebels installed nothing more than the same atmospheric shield and a couple of airtight bulkheads for emergency protection.
Base "Dalgir's Edge."
Freighters were currently absent from the base — one had been sent several days ago to get food for replenishing the supply depot, and the second had been sent by the base commander to Ithor for repairs.
The situation couldn't have been more suitable for a strike.
Using the closed filtration system of their armored suits, the recon-sabotage group descended through the ventilation shaft directly to the hangar level. Waiting for the moment when their entry would go unnoticed, the Imperials found themselves inside.
Thanks to the data obtained from the technician, the Imperials navigated the base perfectly. Finding the refueling droids that could fill the empty fuel tanks of the X-wings in just a couple of minutes before a battle wasn't much of a problem. Neither was tampering with their programming.
On one hand, the New Republic technicians were acting correctly and following Imperial procedure — they kept the fuel tanks of their fighters with a minimal reserve. In the conditions of high temperature and dry climate inside the base, which even the base's life support systems couldn't handle, it was incredibly difficult to maintain the necessary chemical properties of the fluid powering the starfighter engines. Therefore, it was preferable to store it until departure in a dozen refueling droids equipped with expensive fuel preservation systems. But on the other hand, blindly copying Imperial technological safety protocols was a great stupidity, since the Imperials themselves were no less familiar with them — if not more so than the New Republic technicians. And there was always a trick or two to prove it... For example, the locking bolts that temporarily disabled the astromech droids. Which allowed them to prolong their anonymity.
Next came the geothermal power plant. It supplied power to the weapon systems — the missile launcher and the dual ion cannon. The former could cause serious problems for Imperial pilots, and the latter — directly for the carrier ship.
It took considerable effort to remain unnoticed and carry out the plan. Fortunately, night reigned on the planet, and leaving the guards, who kept nodding off, looking like "idiots" wasn't hard.
Already during the operation to penetrate the enemy's power system, having weighed all the pros and cons, Rederick took a calculated risk. According to the plan, "Abyssal Fury" was supposed to erase this base from the face of the earth as well — a small orbital bombardment and the volcano would awaken, burying everything the rebels had built. But those who would investigate the incident might find traces of interference. So the reason why Rederick and his group had been transferred here immediately after the operation on Mandalore by Grand Admiral's personal order became clear as soon as, after eliminating the sentries, the saboteurs entered the operations center of the New Republic base.
Not only was the central computer undamaged during the capture, but it also had a direct connection to the enemy's military system. Of course, the New Republic would almost immediately detect the illegal access to the databases — if they weren't complete idiots, they had hardware and software that analyzed the "digital footprint" of computers. Grand Admiral had bet on capturing the intact equipment — that's why he demanded that the attack on this base remain secret. That's why everything had to be disguised as a suddenly awakened volcano...
But while digging through the power supply systems, Commander Rederick found a perfect loophole...
"We're extracting the central computer," he ordered over the internal comm. With the helmet speakers disabled, he could scream at the top of his lungs inside the armor — no one nearby would even flinch because they wouldn't hear a thing.
Extracting the data block, the size of a human head, and the key elements of the communication system took just over ten minutes. Covering the traces of their entry and removal of the information carriers took another ten. And planting remote-detonation mines where they couldn't be noticed and disarmed in time... In that time, the saboteurs disposed of the corpses by throwing them beyond the magnetic shield into the lava flows. The smells wouldn't reach the nostrils of the sleeping garrison anyway. But the baradium charge, mounted at a specific angle, would certainly make itself known in the near future.
They got out the same way they came in, taking out another patrol along the way. Rederick didn't feel sorry for them — what was about to happen at the base itself was far worse than an instant death from a sharp blade strike to the base of the skull.
"Leave the bodies," Rederick ordered, seeing the soldiers starting to look for places to hide the dead from early detection. "Their wake-up call will come very soon. They shouldn't have any doubts that a sabotage group has been here."
There was no point in disabling the communication systems of the X-wings — one look at the machines was enough to understand that these were starfighters from practically the first generation, which weren't designed for long-range communication systems. Actually, this was probably why the captured technician had said that command was very worried about the operation of the outpost's own communication system. Or maybe the damaged antenna simply encrypted signals better and thus prevented the object's location from being detected, unlike the equipment onboard the X-wings. There was no time to figure it out.
After Rederick's group surfaced the same way they came, the commander gave the order to the second group. Receiving confirmation of the capture of New Republic personnel outside the base, the scout opened a channel to "Abyssal Fury."
"You may begin, Captain Stormaer. This base and its defensive systems won't pose much of a problem for you. Sending detailed information..."
* * *
Captain Pellaeon, casting a displeased glance at Major Grodin Tierce standing in the airlock of my cabin, stepped over the threshold. With a soft hiss, the door panel slid into place, cutting us off from the outside world.
"Any news, Captain?" I inquired, continuing to study the data that had been coming in from Coruscant for the past day. "Delta Source" continued to supply information without interruption, straight from the Imperial Palace. What related to the current situation I reviewed; the rest — gossip, discussions of other people's mistresses, deals, tactics for lobbying the interests of various conglomerates and manufacturers — I forwarded to the analytical department. Which would need to be expanded from the upcoming batch of clones.
"Yes, sir, Grand Admiral," Pellaeon said. "Lieutenant Tschel has successfully handled the food purchases. He established contacts with several enterprises — they are at least interested in supplying us with grain and other products. In exchange for Republic currency."
"We have that," I said. "And in large reserves. Imperial as well, I should note."
"A billion and a half of each type of credit," Gilad confirmed, in an unnecessarily sharp tone. It seemed something was about to happen. "Now your flagship has about thirty-five thousand tons of grain that can grow almost through rock. If we wanted, we could eat various grain-based meals for the entire six years of autonomy stated by the manufacturer."
Only a completely stupid person — or someone deaf in both ears — could fail to hear the irritation in his voice.
"This is part of Operation 'Crimson Dawn,' Captain," I said. "And you were one of the very few who were briefed on it to the greatest extent."
"I understand that and accept it, Grand Admiral," Gilad sighed. "But every storeroom on my ship is stuffed with sacks of grain. In the bosun's locker — there are cages with some kind of fluffies! The stench on the ship is unimaginable! I'll soon have to issue respirators to the crew just so I don't have to watch them heaving their meals right onto the deck. And this grain... The sacks they delivered it in might have been made before the Clone Wars! Grain is scattered across all decks! Sir, there is a limit to everything. I'm asking you not to turn my Star Destroyer into a barn!"
I looked up from the monitor and gazed at the commander of my flagship destroyer. Despite his restraint, Pellaeon's pursed lips and deep breathing clearly indicated the man was irritated.
"I understand your feelings, Captain," I said. "After the operation is complete, the Chimaera will be put in order."
"Sir, may I ask a question?" Pellaeon inquired.
"Permission granted."
"What's the point?" the commander of the flagship Star Destroyer asked. "Baron D'Asta is ready to supply us with grain and other foodstuffs in large volumes, according to per capita consumption norms. Why do we need another supplier of agricultural products?"
"The problem is precisely the norms, Captain," I said. "The personnel of the armed forces is growing every day. Food consumption is increasing. And that gives our ally the ability to estimate the size of our forces. Down to thousands of men. You can draw your own conclusions from that."
"That information is invaluable to our enemies," Pellaeon darkened. "Forgive me, sir, I didn't think of that. I thought it was all about you wanting to gain influence on Agamar and its allies."
"That too, Captain," I said.
"But you said that any territory that sympathizes with you would come under attack from Palpatine..." Pellaeon reminded. "And his... minions... Do you want to direct the mad Emperor toward worlds loyal to us?"
"I'll do everything to prevent that," I said. "No one intends to throw away allies. That's why the contacts are unofficial. Those who want to cooperate with us will do so secretly, to avoid becoming victims of subsequent reprisals. Palpatine himself might not care about individual worlds, but specific individuals — Moffs, Governors, and others... They will be attacked for sure."
"So you plan to put Moff Ferrus under attack?" Pellaeon tensed.
"That never crossed my mind," I grimaced. "Captain, Felix Ferrus is a pragmatic administrator. He has already suffered at the hands of the Ubiqtorate, who effectively abandoned his sector because of sympathy for my activities. If we also turn our backs on those who have become victims of the regime because of such short-sighted Imperial antics, we will have no opponents."
"Sir, forgive me, but I don't understand..."
"Our open allies will go with us, Captain," I said. "Wherever we go before Palpatine's return. These people and representatives of other species will follow us, if they so wish, of course. But ask yourself this, Captain — what will we feed our supporters?"
"Even what we've gathered on the Chimaera won't be enough to feed a large number of sentients," the Star Destroyer commander said after a moment's thought.
"Indeed?" I clarified.
"Of course," Pellaeon said more confidently. "Even if we process the grain into flour, it won't be... that much. Certainly not if we intend to stay hidden for more than a month or two, Grand Admiral."
"A year, possibly two," I stated the estimated timeline.
"In that case, the Chimaera's stores won't last for such a journey, sir," Pellaeon stated. "Of course, if we stock up on all the ships, then... but again, it's sublimated rations, which will start to turn stomachs within a few months."
"Precisely why, Captain, the grain and other agricultural goods are not being purchased for use as food," I explained.
"Uh... Sir, what else can be done with them?" Pellaeon was surprised.
"Plant them in fertile soil and wait for the harvest to rise," I voiced my thoughts. "As you said? 'Now your flagship has about thirty-five thousand tons of grain that can grow almost through rock'? That means the seeds are resistant to adverse external conditions and can grow in a climate different from Agamar's."
"Oh," was all Pellaeon said. "I didn't think of that, sir. Please forgive my outburst..."
"Let's move on to other matters, Captain," I said. "Has Captain Dorja already conducted an inventory of the equipment stored at base RZ7-6113-23?"
"Yes, sir!" Gilad replied briskly. "As you indicated, it's a depot for outdated equipment from the Old Republic era and the first decade of the Empire. AT-TE walkers, AT-AP, AT-XT, AT-RT light reconnaissance vehicles, Phase I and II clone trooper armor, as well as Katarn-class commando armor used by clone commandos, LAAT/i and their cargo modifications LAAT/v and LAAT/c, AV-7 anti-vehicle cannons, the full line of DC-series small arms including special modifications, heavy repeaters, grenade launchers, launchers, AT-RT artillery platforms, SPHA, UT-AT, AT-HE, AT-OT, BARC-speeders, 74-Z speeder bikes, A4 and A5 Juggernauts, huge stocks of ammunition, tibanna, power cells for weapons... An enormous number of Alpha-3 Nimbus-class V-wing starfighters, V-19 Torrents, Delta-7 Aethersprite interceptors and Eta-2 Actis interceptors, a significant number of BTL-series bombers and ARC-170 starfighters... Several experimental models of equipment that haven't been identified from the archives and apparently never entered mass production..."
"Did you run out of breath listing all that, Captain?" I asked, watching the Chimaera's commander with curiosity.
Gilad, touching his face — flushed from lack of oxygen during the previous tirade — looked down in embarrassment.
"My apologies, Grand Admiral," he said, biting the edge of his mustache. "It's just that when I saw all those designations, my blood stirred... I went through the entire Clone War, saw this weapon in battle with my own eyes, know its destructive power... Sir, I apologize for my vehemence, but... There's enough hardware there for an entire Systems Army! That's..."
"Is that what's left, or what has always been stored at this base?" I asked a more pertinent question.
"A fifth of all depot volumes," Pellaeon said. "Practically speaking, it contains all the equipment used during the Clone Wars by the Grand Army of the Republic. I... didn't list everything, but the quantities on hand are truly impressive. Filling such a depot must have taken years — this equipment was phased out not in huge batches, but in small ones. Fleets and armies were rearmed, but not entire Systems or Sector Armies overnight."
"Which brings us to the thought, Captain, that our enemy possesses a far greater amount of this type of property," I said. "If he also has the people to whom he can issue all this weaponry, then we have a significantly stronger enemy compared to what Krennel or other relatively small Imperial Remnants have at their disposal."
"The number of enemies, both overt and potential, is increasing at an alarming rate," Pellaeon said in a strained voice. "Sir, we urgently need to find about half a million sentients somewhere to fill all the vacancies on our fleet ships. Otherwise, all the starships we're currently repairing and preparing to commission are nothing more than scrap metal that we can't even tow out of the Morshdine sector."
"In that, I completely agree with you, Captain," I said. "We've used our reserve of B-1 droids for shuttling and guarding the orbital repair yards, orbital defense stations, Mon Calamari ships, and those heavy Dreadnought-class cruisers you ordered repaired in the Suesfri asteroid belt. There's simply nowhere else to get more. And the ascension of Prince-Admiral Krennel resting on your laurels is depriving us of allies — Baron D'Asta, for instance, postponed the meeting with you that was supposed to happen several days ago; the Moff of the Antimeridian Sector also stopped bothering Moff Ferrus about meeting with you..."
"The Baron needs more time to figure out exactly where his spies, who were embedded on our fleet ships, have disappeared to," I explained. "And so do the other Imperial Remnants. They've gone quiet for now because they think aggression will be directed at them for such activities."
"Lieutenant Colonel Astarion has identified the spies' affiliations?" Pellaeon clarified. "Rather quickly..."
"That's not a difficult task for someone who knows his job," I stated. "Most of the spies are from the Imperial Space and the Pentastar Alignment. Moffs from other sectors were eager to stay informed of everything. So, the actions taken to root out informants from among the Imperials play into our hands."
"And how so, Grand Admiral?" Pellaeon inquired. "Of course, if it's not a secret."
"Not at all," I shrugged. "The Moffs who sent their people to us think they'll stay informed about the situation. But in reality, they're only making it clear to me and the whole fleet that we are not trusted at all."
"And what does possessing that information give us, sir?" Pellaeon asked.
"A great deal, Captain," I smiled involuntarily. "It depends on exactly how we use the information we've obtained, and exactly how we present it to our subordinates."
Pellaeon was silent for a few seconds, digesting the information. Then, grinning, he brightened.
"Oh, I have a feeling this is going to be quite a show, sir."
"No theatrics, Captain," I said. "At the right moment, we'll simply make it clear to the junior officers and enlisted personnel that among the Imperial Remnants, there is no one who truly supports us."
"Hmm, but what if by that moment there is still some brave soul who wants to become your ally?" Pellaeon inquired. "Baron D'Asta is a very promising candidate in that regard. Especially since the spies he sent are some of the workers at the shipyards we captured at Hast. Perhaps they weren't spying on you at all, Grand Admiral..."
"If we do acquire allies among those who sent spies into my fleet," I said slowly, "the conversation with them will be harsh. But substantive. What concerns me far more is something else entirely, Captain..."
"What exactly, sir?" Pellaeon asked.
Silently, I slid toward him the datapad on which I had been studying the report on the interrogation results of one of the spies operating in Moff Ferrus's administration. And he had access to some very significant secrets...
"Hmm... he died when they started interrogating him," Pellaeon said, frowning. "How can we tell from this who exactly this spy belongs to?"
"Read the autopsy results, Captain," I advised. "The next page."
The Chimaera's commander swiped the electronic page with his hand and immersed himself in reading...
When he finished, he looked up at me with slightly bewildered and largely frightened eyes:
"This is accurate, sir? Not the autopsy data, but the expert's conclusion regarding where such implants have been used in the past..."
"I personally verified these findings against our archives, Captain." Gilad wiped large beads of sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "This man works for Ysanne Isard."
"But Thyferra, the Lusankya..." the commander of the Imperial Star Destroyer, with enormous service in the galaxy's hottest zones, said almost plaintively. "Sir, she's dead..."
"I'm afraid not, Captain," I said calmly. "And there is reason to suspect that she is behind the disappearance of Molo Himron's group on Mandalore."
"If so, if she is acting against us, then we have big problems," Pellaeon literally whispered.
"The mere fact that she is targeting the search, capture, and delivery of her flagship, the Lusankya, to the Reborn Palpatine already makes her our enemy," I said. Seeing Captain Pellaeon's eyes darting, I added:
"Most likely, dealing with her will be more difficult than with all our other opponents combined..."
"If it's even possible," Gilad said in a completely defeated tone, finally losing the last remnants of his cheerfulness.
* * *
When the first explosions sounded, the personnel of Base Dalgira's Edge were in their pre-dawn slumber. Sleep before waking — the sweetest. That's the one you remember after waking up...
But what the soldiers, pilots, and technicians of the New Republic saw when they woke up was far more impressive than their own dreams...
"Command center destroyed!" came a cry, coinciding with another explosion. A man running toward the barracks was caught off guard by the shockwave. Interior debris, stone fragments, and the energy of the blast turned a once-living man into a disfigured piece of meat stuffed with foreign objects.
Another explosion in the far part of the base finally tore the veil of drowsiness from everyone, and then the seriousness of what was happening became absolutely clear to all.
The lights went out. Every corridor of the base, every room, every small nook was deprived of artificial light. Emergency generator-powered lamps flickered on, but they soon dimmed as well — a small explosion knocked out the backup power, and reserve energy was lost.
"Gas!" someone screamed.
"Life support is down!"
"Magnetic shields deactivated!"
Any representative of any sentient civilization is a reasonably intelligent and sane-thinking creature. That is, until several individuals form a crowd. And that — that is a mad, ruthless herd of primitive animals devoid of rational thought and sound judgment, driven by instinct alone.
And right now, only one instinct was beating in the head of every single Republic serviceman: "Run!," "Escape!," "Save your own life!"
For those who still didn't understand how dangerous a base located inside a volcano could be when all defenses had fallen, there was no way to power the reactors due to their absence, and the communications center was destroyed — even if the long-range antenna could be repaired — the obviously baradium charge demonstrated the full seriousness of the situation when a powerful blast, collapsing several levels, opened a path for volcanic material into the depths of the doomed outpost...
"To the hangar!" someone in an orange pilot's jumpsuit shouted. "Prepare the fighters for launch!"
All that's needed to organize a panicking crowd is the presence of a commander. Given that the base commandant was clearly dead — a fire was now raging where his room had been — the pilots of the X-wings took command.
Slipping past the exploded arsenal, whose shockwave and debris had killed a good third of the base's personnel, the survivors finally reached the hangar... If there had been even one transport here, they could have tried to evacuate everyone, but only now. Seeing fuel spreading across the landing pad from fuel-droid tankers screaming wildly in binary, the crowd remembered that the ships were single-seat and other means of escape were unavailable.
"Pilots — to your ships!" the squadron commander ordered.
"Hey!" came a shout from one of the workers. "What about us?"
"Get out through the hangar doors!" the pilot waved, climbing the ladder into the cockpit. "Where are the astromechs?!"
"But there's lava there!" someone from the base personnel squealed, pointing to a waterfall of fire flowing from the mountain's depths under the lower part of the landing deck. Two dozen sentients who had manually unlatched the massive hangar doors, their faces eloquent, indicated their full solidarity with the bulk of the outpost's staff.
"Depowered!" came a cry from the corner of the hangar where the droids were stored. "Knocking off the restraining bolts!"
"Not enough fuel in the tanks!" a shout rang through the hangar.
"What are we supposed to do?!" the crowd didn't calm down.
"Ventilation shaft!" an idea dawned on someone, though not the squadron commander. The commander himself was busy watching his R2-series astromech droid being placed in its socket.
"Everyone get outside the base!" a frantic cry rang out. "The lava is almost in the hangar!"
"Take off!" the squadron commander roared. There was no time for the pilots' favorite banter. Very soon, the molten rock would reach the pools of fuel, and then the hangar would become an oven.
The ships with their distinctive fuselages flew out of the hangar opening one by one. The squadron's tactical frequency was filled with the pilots' exclamations reporting critically low fuel levels. The reactors were about to die — no more than five minutes of flight remained. This safety measure, borrowed from the Empire, allowed pilots to get their ships out in case of a major threat and hide them either in orbit aboard vessels or fly them several dozen or even hundreds of kilometers from the base, land on any suitable surface, and disappear.
"I'm landing!" one pilot sobbed. "The engines are about to die!"
"Me too!"
"Mine are about to fail too!"
"Going for an emergency landing to the northwest..."
Panicked reports poured in one after another... The young squadron commander tried to figure out what to do in this situation and couldn't find the right answer. Stay on the ground — then they'd be captured, because there were definitely Imperials nearby who had set this whole thing up. The base couldn't have just blown up on its own, could it?!
"Star Destroyer in orbit!" came the agitated voice of one of the pilots.
"TIE Interceptors escorting landing craft!"
"Engine failure! Going down!"
"Everyone — go for emergency landing," the squadron commander said, tears in his eyes and bitterness in his heart. "Run as far as you can so the Imperials don't catch you!"
Fighting under these conditions — when even his astromech was whistling at the top of its vocabulator, warning that the X-wing's engines couldn't run on fuel vapor — seemed like madness.
A dozen X-wings scattered across the terrain. But the pilots couldn't escape — the stormtrooper drop troops, leaping from the transport shuttles with jetpacks on their backs, knew their job perfectly. Five minutes after landing, all the pilots were captured and could witness firsthand the Imperials using small ships to haul a dozen undamaged X-wings off the surface. The only thing warming the Republic pilots' hearts was that each of them had managed to format the memories of their astromechs and onboard computers. The Imperials wouldn't get any of this base's secret information...
And on the rim of a long-cold volcanic vent, emerging from a spacious ventilation shaft, one hundred and fifty people — leaving behind three times as many corpses of their comrades who had died in the explosions, burned in the hangar, or suffocated from the smoke — saw, to their surprise, that they were surrounded by a dozen armed sentients in camouflaged armor of clearly Imperial design. The faint hope of a breakout that had flickered in the minds of those who had managed to grab weapons from the burning base died almost immediately when three Sentinel-class landing shuttles appeared. Under the threat of swift annihilation from the shipboard weapons, the fighters of the New Republic outpost called Base Dalgira's Edge obediently laid down their arms and surrendered to Commander Rederick.
On the second day of implementation, Operation Crimson Dawn approached the culmination of its first phase.
* * *
The holographic figure flickered several times before solidifying into the clear outlines of Lieutenant Colonel Astarion, head of security for the armed forces under my command. There was no point looking for a reason for possible equipment malfunction — the system worked perfectly. It's just that, despite millennia of this communication method called holographic projection, now and again annoying glitches still occurred.
In my case, the reason for the unstable signal was that the Chimaera was in hyperspace, moving to rendezvous with the Besh Squadron. It would take a long time to catch up with Captain Schneider, but who knew we'd finish on Agamar in such a short time? And that we wouldn't even have to fight local forces...
"Report the situation, Lieutenant Colonel," I demanded.
"Operational work to identify enemy informants on fleet vessels is proceeding according to plan," Astarion said. "Masked communication sessions and unauthorized data transfers have been analyzed. All opponents have been detected and localized by fleet security personnel. Prisoners have been delivered to Tangrene on individual starships, where appropriate 'work' is being done with them."
"Excellent, Lieutenant Colonel," I said. "Is anyone showing additional interest in the Ysanne Isard agent?"
"Negative, sir," the counter-intelligence officer replied. "He is of no interest to anyone whatsoever. Perhaps you were mistaken when you thought that this way you could force Isard's real agents to reveal themselves?"
"They will certainly reveal themselves," I said. "At the very least, to find out who among them was genuinely 'broken' by security forces. So this operational provocation is exactly what we need."
"As you command, sir," Astarion agreed. "May I ask a question, Grand Admiral?"
"Permission granted."
"Is Ysanne Isard truly alive, or have you decided to resurrect the image of the bloodthirsty Iceheart for your own purposes?" Astarion inquired, with apparent hope for a very specific answer.
"She is alive, Lieutenant Colonel," I said calmly. "We are merely making a preemptive strike against her..."
And successfully legitimizing those crumbs of information that I could recall about this bloodthirsty woman. As Pellaeon said — there really are many opponents. And I cannot let one of them, using the 'head start' of her supposed death, continue to strike at me from the shadows.
"The New Republic can't be trusted with anything," Astarion admitted with a bitter smirk. "Now we'll have to try to get rid of her ourselves."
"Continue the search for the Imperial flight base that had squadrons of TIE Defenders in its arsenal," I ordered, clearly remembering that it was thanks to these rare machines that the mismatched-eyed woman had diverted the attention of Rogue Squadron and the entire New Republic to dealing with Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel, while she and her associates attempted to hijack the fully repaired Lusankya... Analysts were working on this as well, but so far, no major progress was foreseen in solving this puzzle. Or in locating the Lusankya itself.
"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Colonel Astarion said glumly. One look at this brave Imperial Security Bureau officer was enough to understand just how little he wanted to cross the Iceheart's path.
After the counter-intelligence officer's hologram faded, I sat for a while in complete silence, listening to the barely perceptible hum of the Imperial Star Destroyer's machinery.
And I pondered whether I had overdone it with the provocation of creating an 'Ysanne Isard agent.' I categorically did not like leading allies, among whom I already counted Captain Pellaeon, by the nose.
At the same time, on the other hand, I very much did not want to get a knife in the back from that woman with the mismatched eyes.
And when it comes to Ysanne Isard, hoping for a 'face-to-face' battle was clearly out of the question.
All I could do now was try to outwit the former director of Imperial Intelligence, playing her own game of deception, intrigue, and espionage.