Nine years, seven months, and twenty-nine days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-fourth year, seven months, and twenty-nine days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Four months and fourteen days since the Arrival.)
She was roused from the sweet captivity of unconsciousness by a very unfriendly gesture.
The girl opened her eyes, gritting her teeth to overcome the pain that filled the entire left side of her face.
"Good morning, 'Vulture'," a voice said. Its intonations were familiar to her, but before, she had heard them not in a commanding tone, but rather in a plaintive and naive register...
Her gaze darted around the compartment of the starship she found herself in. A well-known compartment, because... THIS WAS HER SHIP!
The girl blinked her eyes as the pain in her face subsided and her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the hold.
"You've been sleeping a long time," the same voice chuckled. She squinted and saw the same fool from Tanaab sitting beside the bulkhead... Who was now clad in a very expensive and advanced combat suit. One that could fetch maybe ten thousand credits on the black market, or even more.
With an experienced eye, she assessed that the armor fit the man perfectly. Tight where it needed to be, loose where it needed to be. Nothing superfluous — just functionality. There was clearly a professional before her...
Glancing at herself, she noted she was left only in the cloth undersuit. Judging by the ripped seams and pads designed for armor plate placement, this young man clearly knew where various gadgets could be hidden.
She tensed her legs to test the strength of the cable binding her. No, tight against the skin. Circulation was probably cut off. Her arms were the same. Her body was stiff, and she couldn't even move her limbs.
Rubbing the back of her head against the beam she was chained to, the girl noted that even the pins that held her thick mane under the helmet were gone from her hair.
"Maybe you'll keep looking for where you hid weapons or lockpicks?" the man asked her. "Just so you know, I also removed the blades from under the skin on your wrists. And on your thighs. And on your shoulder blades."
"Had a good feel while I was out, did you?" she asked.
"Oh, come on," the "Tanaab man" replied in the same emotionless tone. "It's not perversion if you're just doing your job. But now I understand why you were against hugging. A weapon-body, hm?"
"None of your business," she snapped. "Who are you?"
"Let me make something clear to you," the man walked over to her and struck her face with his palm, a short, backhanded blow. The pain finally sobered her and even invigorated her somewhat. "I ask the questions — you answer."
"Well, try," she leaned forward slightly and spat out the blood filling her mouth from her lacerated cheek. "If you don't mind, be a little rougher with me."
"Certainly," Sergius said. Of course, assuming that was his real name. "So, let's run through the formalities. Name, place of birth?"
"Princess Leia Organa, Alderaan," the girl smirked.
"Frankly, I don't care what I call you," Sergius replied calmly. "But I'll call you Jabba instead."
"Like the Hutt?" the girl's eyebrows shot up. She felt that her cautious hand movements were starting to pay off — sensation was returning to her fingers. She immediately clenched them into a fist, trying to feel...
"Like the slug," Sergius clarified. "You can stop trying. I removed your implanted nails too. And the ones on your feet."
"You could have given me a trim while you were at it," the girl snorted, tossing her long hair. "I'm sick of this mane."
"The name of the planet where you were trained," the man continued his interrogation.
"There-they-live," she answered with a grin. "You know, you're definitely not a Republican. They're so soft, so emotionally fragile, just like Ewoks when they get blown to pieces by a detonation."
"Settlement?" the stranger inquired, as if nothing had happened.
"There-they-can't-grow," she replied with the same sneer. "A mercenary? Yeah, probably. And who's your employer, kid?"
"Where are the turbolasers supposed to be delivered?" what a stubborn one. Well, fine, I've seen worse throw fits.
"Straight into Admiral Ackbar's fish face," she sang out. "Come on, kid, share with your girlfriend. Who made you such a grouch?"
Men have a weak spot — even if they're complete bastards, flirting with "exes" always finds a certain echo inside their big, loving hearts.
"Three wrong answers earn you a little extra incentive," he said amiably, peeling himself off the bulkhead and walking over to a small workbench where she used to repair her gear.
Picking something up from the table, he turned to her. Wisely staying a meter away from her legs, understanding that even in this position, she could at least trip him.
"Know what this is?" he asked, showing an oblong cylindrical object in his hand.
"Oh, honey, if you like being submissive so much, you could have just told me," she said with a mocking politeness in her voice. "I'm all for a full relationship and..."
The man didn't answer.
Instead, he simply tossed the cylindrical object onto her legs. Which, as it turned out, was connected to a thin power cable...
The ship's contact for high-voltage power rails, made entirely of superconducting current-bearing material, touched her body at the junction of her torso and legs...
The jolt was so strong her teeth clacked together. The back of her head slammed into the beam, her body twisted like a worm burrowing into the soil. A charge of electricity ran through her nerves, and a scream tore from her throat against her will.
A second later, after the switch connected to the power cable clicked distinctly, the mighty physical force ceased its torture.
Her throat was dry. A faint wisp of smoke surrounded her exposed skin. Her muscles twitched involuntarily.
"So, now you've been introduced to the magnificence of a shipboard power system," Sergius said calmly, pulling a metal stool with magnetic legs closer. "Nice little ship, by the way. Fast, sturdy, decently armed for a shuttle. You did good work, 'Vulture'."
"Th-thanks," her teeth still didn't quite align properly. But the girl was already getting herself under control. Twisting, she managed to make the contact and the cable fall to the deck. Which, fortunately, was made of dielectric material. "Well, are you going to risk coming over to get your toy?"
"No, why bother?" Sergius shrugged. He snapped his fingers, turning his index finger into... a pointer. And the direction of its movement went above her head...
Throwing her head back, the girl barely managed to close her eyes as a simple servo mechanism dumped a good ten liters of water on her with a short buzz. It noisily drained through the holes in the deck, but the insulator, like her, was now wet...
"In case you suddenly think wet hands and feet will give you a chance to slip out of that cable binding you, I'd advise you not to move your legs and arms too much now," Sergius said.
"And what'll happen?" the girl asked mockingly. "You'll wag your finger at me?"
"Try it," the man advised her, putting on a pair of headphones.
She moved her legs mockingly... And only then saw that a thin, translucent filament stretched from the ropes through the deck...
The acoustic blaster mounted to her right fired.
The low-power sonic charge nearly ruptured her eardrums. But the weapon's power was calibrated to cause pain without destroying everything around. No, if the cumulative effect were used... This Geonosian cannon, which he had taken from her own arsenal, would rip her own body to pieces faster than the beam or the cables holding her.
Sensing something was wrong, the girl squinted and looked around.
Just as she thought. He had set up the sonic and paralyzing weapons so that every movement of the invisible filaments would pull the triggers... A Hutt-forsaken engineer!
"As you can see, I can do this all day," the man declared. "And all night. And for as long as it takes to get answers from you."
"You're an Imperial," she finally realized. "What were you even doing on a Republic military base?"
"You'll laugh, but I was actually trying to find leads on the 'Zann Consortium'," he smiled. "Word is you haven't completely fallen apart — I want to rectify that, to finish what was started. And while I'm at it, find out how many turbolasers and other military hardware you stole, taking advantage of the stupidity of some random nerd in the New Republic's Provisional Government that somehow managed to capture Coruscant."
"The 'Zann Consortium' has no conflicts with the Empire," she tried a different approach to resolve the situation.
"Not now," there was a metallic edge in the man's voice. "And only because your treacherous gang was thinned out quite a bit. By me, my comrades, and many others, some of whom were killed. So, you can tell me a hundred times that the stolen equipment shouldn't concern the Empire, but I don't believe you."
The girl stopped smiling. Her playful look turned irritated.
"Then put on my armor and fly to Shola," she snapped. "No one in the 'Zann Consortium' has ever seen a 'Vulture' without armor, so they'll take you for one of their own. Because no one in their right mind would try it, but that won't stop you, will it? Infiltrate the ranks of the 'Vultures' and start spinning your Imperial intrigues. And drop me off somewhere along the way, and we'll say goodbye. I never crossed your path, and I don't want to show my face to command after such a failure."
"Nice try," Sergius smiled after a couple of seconds of silence. "And anyone else in my place would have believed you. But not me."
"And why don't you believe me, Imperial?" the girl asked.
"The answer is in numbers," the "Tanaab boy" said meaningfully. "Namely, the number 'ten'."
"And I'm supposed to know what that means?" the captive smirked.
"Exactly that many 'Vultures' I tracked down, tortured, and destroyed before the 'Zann Consortium' was considered wiped out by the Empire, the Rebel Alliance, and other beings who took part in that glorious endeavor," the girl stopped smiling. Because the man, with a simple and effortless movement, tossed a tiny beacon chip onto the floor beside her. The very one embedded in the chest plate of the 'Vulture's' blood-red armor, serving as an identifier...
"My last job before my promotion to Imperial Intelligence command was precisely the fight against the growing influence of the 'Zann Consortium'," the man's quiet voice sounded like a funeral march. "You were destroyed, but not finished off. You went into hiding, burrowed into some holes. By the way, thanks for the info about Shola; I'll definitely convince the brass to pay a visit. You see, unlike some of my colleagues, I understood perfectly well that as long as Tyber Zann or anyone from his gang was alive, the galaxy would know no peace. Destroying the fleet and army isn't enough — the problem must be eradicated. And Intelligence, not to mention the ISB, never found the source of your equipment, your weapons, your training grounds. We fought the symptoms, rooting out corruption on planets, but never reached the disease itself. I know perfectly well that your brain has been 'scrubbed' and you don't remember your past. And you don't know anything that could harm the entire organization, which means Shola is nothing more than bait, a place to lure the enemy in case of exposure."
The girl was now looking at him with outright malice. This man knew too much. And was too well-prepared to talk only about himself without crossing general boundaries. She wouldn't get anywhere if she kept talking to him.
"Honestly, I even hoped that after the rout, you wouldn't have the resources for a comeback," Sergius admitted. "But when I realized you were stealing turbolasers and other military cargo directly for your secret construction sites, I figured — why would you be building warships again if not for a military campaign? I don't know yet if you worked for the 'Consortium' before the Battle of Yavin IV, or if you're 'new blood', but your training is exactly the same as those 'Vultures' I had the pleasure of meeting. And it was from them that I learned about a curious feature of your lot in those flashy red armor — after going on a mission, even after completing it, you never showed up in the 'Zann Consortium' again. A safety measure in case someone managed to find you and your kind. And this very identifier chip, which you're told is for detecting possible spies, is actually nothing more than a marker that identifies those 'Vultures' who dared to disobey orders and return to one of the 'Consortium's' bases. For that very reason, dearie, I will torture you and cut you to pieces, but I will learn everything necessary to unravel the knot of your little scheme and take part in the destruction of the 'Zann Consortium' once and for all. So, you have a small choice — start talking on your own, or I'll shock you until the pain reflexes conflict with the 'brainwashing' program and you give me the answers to a few of my questions before you die. So, what will your affirmative answer be?"
Well, nothing new. An Imperial agent who had killed 'Vultures' in the past. Not the first, not the last. But he knew exactly how to extract the necessary information from her to get the investigation moving. She wouldn't do her enemy that favor.
The 'Vulture' ran the tip of her tongue along the inside of her upper teeth. She felt the inconspicuous edge on the last tooth on the left, lifted a small piece of the tooth's crown to crush the poison ampoule when she bit down and...
The little capsule was not in its place.
"Sorry about that," Sergius chuckled, mockingly examining the 'Vulture' stripped of her last hope of keeping her mouth shut.
* * *
The hologram projector flickered, establishing a connection with the Karthakk system.
A miniature figure of a well-known privateer appeared above the device's plate.
"You were allotted twelve hours, Captain Tyberos, to prepare the ships placed under your command for combat and to move out to the designated sector," I reminded him.
"I have fulfilled your wishes, Grand Admiral," the privateer said without malice but with clear displeasure. "All six combat-ready Mon Calamari star cruisers are currently en route."
"Did I detect a note of dissatisfaction in your voice, Captain?" I inquired.
"As a matter of fact, you did," he replied. "I'm not particularly thrilled about having to command a fleet that's essentially been cobbled together from various scraps in the Karthakk system."
"Do you have any complaints about the Mere race?" I asked.
"Yes," he didn't hide it. "They make up most of the crews of the ships under my command. But at the same time, I don't know what they're capable of or how they'll behave in battle. I don't even know my own subordinates."
How familiar that sounded...
"You wanted your own dream — to command a fleet of privateers," I reminded him. "By my decision, six star cruisers have been transferred to you for the duration of this operation. Your dream has come true."
"Uh-huh," Tyberos grunted. "I always dreamed of having Wookiees loyal to the Imperials and hundreds of these Noghri, glaring left and right, and amphibians who are seeing shipboard weapons and systems for the first time in their lives, walking around my ships. I don't know what plan you've cooked up for us, but I want you to know — I categorically disagree with it. Any New Republic combat unit would carve us up like a butcher does a carcass!"
As if I didn't know that.
"Spare me your whining, Captain," I said. "Consider this operation a test of your loyalty and ability to command such a large operational-tactical formation."
"With all due respect, Grand Admiral, I'm endlessly grateful for the honor bestowed upon me, but your praise won't keep me warm if this fleet gets smashed and the ships are boarded," Tyberos admitted.
"In that case, make sure it doesn't happen," I suggested.
"I'd feel much more at ease if you'd at least tell me the target of our attack," Tyberos declared.
"You will receive the information packet exactly when it becomes necessary," frankly, the pirate was starting to irritate me a bit. He wanted a fleet? Here, take it, command it. What's he complaining about?
"Understood, sir," he added the last word after a brief pause. "Sorry, I got carried away."
"Good, now that you've calmed down, I'll ask you to report your unit's readiness to carry out the combat mission," I said.
"The ships are ready, — he said. — Yes, the crews haven't been trained in those Imperial academies of yours, but quite a few experienced guys answered the recruiting call, familiar with machinery and turbolasers firsthand. Of course, they're not your Star Destroyers, but if we pile on in a crowd, we can hit hard. The ship's flight decks have X-wings and Headhunters — the pilots aren't rookies on those either. Eighteen squadrons of experienced pilots, even if they're former outlaws, pirates, but… Anyway, they're always up for earning some extra credits; they don't harbor any love for the New Republic, so… In short, whatever you've got in store for us, I think we'll manage. But I won't promise it'll be without losses.
"This is war, not a concert performance, — I reminded him. — There will always be losses. Are your crews motivated only by the salaries they're owed?
"And what else could motivate the poorest population in a forgotten sector? — Tyberos asked in surprise. — Regular salaries, bonuses, the chance to improve their lives for the better. Of course, you have to understand that the whole system is watching us now — if we get our ribs thoroughly kicked in and the losses are huge, the number of people wanting to fight and get a chance not to return from battle won't increase. But if we win, and return with big trophies, then everything will be fine — recruits will be lining up as soon as the crews disembark and flash their earned credits. The main thing is that there's somewhere to spend them. But judging by the volume of ships with provisions, you've solved that problem too, right?
"For the initial stage, this will be enough, — I declared. After a moment of silence, I added:
"I think you yourself need additional motivation to carry out the assigned task with even greater efficiency.
"Hmm, — Tyberos's hologram straightened its shoulders. — For example?
"As you already know, after this mission, you will not continue to command the formation, — I reminded him.
"I'm not particularly eager to command such a rabble, — Tyberos admitted. — When I spoke about a fleet, I meant fast raiders, corvettes, frigates… But not Star cruisers.
"However, you did want to get a carrier Star Destroyer for yourself, — I reminded him.
"A flagship should be impressive, — Tyberos explained. — But I won't be seeing one for a long time — unless, based on the results of this operation, I become about a hundred million richer.
"You will become richer by approximately that amount, — I said calmly.
Tyberos was so surprised he took off his mask.
"Is that a joke? — he asked distrustfully.
"No, — I refuted his assumption. — With the only difference being that your reward, if the outcome of the operation satisfies me, will be given not in monetary but in material form.
"How's that? — the pirate frowned.
"You wanted a flagship, — I reminded him. — What's wrong with a Mon Calamari Star cruiser for that role?
"You've got to be joking, — the privateer whistled. Then, catching himself, he added:
"Sir.
"My sense of humor does not extend to you, Captain, — I said. — Return with booty and without losing a single ship — and I will transfer to you, as a flagship, one of the Mon Calamari cruisers I have.
"What's the catch? — Tyberos grew wary. — Such gifts aren't given for nothing. You could easily have appointed any of your commanders from the Dreadnoughts to lead this rabble. There are a hundred and ten of them hanging around the Karthakk system now.
"Of course, — I agreed. It's just that those heavy cruisers have a hundred at most on each one. Because all the rest went to crew the already modernized Dreadnoughts at the shipyards. — However, the offer was made to you.
"That's exactly why I want to understand what the double bottom is here, — Tyberos declared. — You wouldn't be such a generous altruist as to give it to me for my handsome face and one completed assignment.
"Did the Force suggest that to you? — I clarified.
"And common sense, — he replied. — You bled me dry for the treasures of the Karthakk system and Captain Nym's vaults, while leaving me empty-handed.
"You were left alive, Captain Tyberos, — I reminded him. — Considering that it was you who led us into a clash with half a dozen pirate gangs in one particular star system, I can say I was very generous.
"Fine, — he declared. — Just tell me what you want from me.
"You will undergo training drills with the Jensaarai, — I explained.
"Become a Jedi? — Tyberos didn't hide his displeasure. — Grand Admiral, that's never really appealed to me…
"That's no longer for you to decide, — I remarked calmly. — In addition, you will also be given a course for Imperial officers — to match your position. If you want to lead a raider fleet, then you must understand what you're doing. Jedi Eymand will no longer help you — only your knowledge and skills will prevent failures in the future.
"If I generally agree with the officer courses, then the rest… — Tyberos hesitated. After thinking for a moment about whether to voice his opinion or not, he finally decided:
"I'm not particularly interested in all this Jedi science.
"You are an officer of the auxiliary forces of my fleet. You receive an order and must execute it.
"So I take it, if I refuse, the Noghri will come for my soul? — the privateer squinted.
"Exactly, — I confirmed. Come on, when will you finally remember and ask? — Officers who do not obey my orders are not needed by me. Physically not needed. I think you understand.
"Obey or die, — Tyberos nodded. — You're persistent, Grand Admiral. You're literally offering a choice without options.
"Why so? — I said. — You can always refuse.
"Well, of course, — Tyberos snorted. — I recall you promised to return Nim to me. And my mother.
So he remembered. Right after I thought about it. Could the Force be helping him?
"You will get them immediately after you return from your campaign, — I promised. — The interrogators still need to clarify a few more points. After they finish, as promised, you will receive these sentients.
Tyberos looked me straight in the eyes.
The challenge of someone who considered himself strong, uncontrollable, but forced to obey. Because otherwise he would simply be destroyed.
"Remind me never to borrow anything from you, Grand Admiral, — the privateer broke. — I agree.
"I expected nothing less, — I said. — Contact me as soon as you reach the point in space specified in the order. Then you will receive new instructions.
"Understood, Grand Admiral.
"Good luck, Captain Tyberos, — I wished him. Although I was more than certain he wouldn't need it.
The moment the holoprojector went dark, the comlink burst into a trill.
"Grand Admiral, — came the voice of the commander of my flagship Star Destroyer. — Mister Ghent asks me to inform you that he has completed the task assigned to him.
"Excellent, — the young man had managed it in less than a day. But I don't particularly like Gilad's tone. He's usually calm on the bridge. But now, there's clear dissatisfaction. Which he's trying to hide. But he's not doing it very well. — Are you irritated by something, Captain Pellaeon?
"Yes, sir, — a heavy sigh came from the comlink speaker. — This whelp… Sorry, Mister Ghent, for some reason decided that I should participate in some kind of performance. He's shoving a datapad with tables and some analysis in my face, claiming that I can accurately copy some object when I'm irritated. Sir, can I throw him out the airlock?
An irritated Pellaeon could play Councilor Fey'lya? I wonder how Mister Zakarisz Ghent managed to bring smoking mixtures aboard my flagship that affected his reason and judgment?
"Escort Mister Ghent to his quarters, — I ordered. — And come there yourself, Captain. I'll be there in five minutes.
"Yes, sir, — resignation sounded in Pellaeon's voice.
For a moment I imagined the commander of the Chimaera with purple eyes, covered in fur…
Hmm.
And perhaps Mister Zakarisz Ghent is right.
* * *
The Bellator-class fast dreadnought was the creation of Kuat Drive Yards, an ancient and widely known shipbuilding corporation in the galaxy. Reaching seven thousand two hundred meters in size, it was only eight hundred meters shorter than its predecessors — the Kuat Mandator-class dreadnoughts, which served as the prototype for creating this giant.
Despite the fact that this ship had less armament compared to other dreadnoughts built at Kuat, it alone was equal in total power to a dozen Imperial Star Destroyers or their equivalent ships. But unlike them, equipped with two solar ionization reactors, protruding as huge armored hemispheres in the lower part of the hull, this giant, possessing ten large and four small engines, had a dizzying speed, becoming one of the fastest ships in the Imperial fleet. It could easily catch up and destroy any enemy squadron. Of course, in battle against Super Star Destroyers, the Bellator would not be as effective, and would most likely lose — but so far this fact was interpreted only as pure theory, because no such case was known in the galaxy.
Bellator-class fast dreadnought (Bellator)
Imperial military doctrine dictated the use of dreadnoughts and Super Star Destroyers as flagship vessels of individual formations or sector fleets of great importance.
The New Republic, in principle, did not intend to change such a well-proven concept, so the operational and combat-ready Bellator, proudly named Crimson Dawn, functioned as the flagship of the Fourth Military Fleet of the New Republic, based in the Bothan Sector.
It came to the New Republic as a result of a raid on the Validusia military base, located in orbit of a secret Imperial world in the star system of the same name, situated in the Expansion Region, Bes-Bir-Bikade sector. The Imperial tactical map of the galaxy assigned the location to quadrant L-15.
The Rebel Alliance, having learned about the Imperial military base Validusia, which was engaged in repairing a huge number of large enemy starships, could not resist such a temptation. A competent attack, resulting in the destruction of the enemy stronghold, turned into a victory, but… Not the kind those who, for some time after the victory at Endor, still called themselves rebels, had expected.
They received a number of ships — a Bellator, several Imperial Star Destroyers, and a Procursator-class Star Destroyer. By the standards of those who fought for freedom on converted Mon Calamari passenger liners, this was a tremendous success.
However, the victory tasted of defeat.
The Imperials, as it turned out, had learned of their arrival in advance. All more or less intact and spaceworthy vessels, including the huge Super Star Destroyers, stockpile reserves, supply ships, refueling capabilities, and much else that made Validusia a base, rather than just a collection of metal beams sheathed in durasteel, the Imperials took with them into the unknown. Where the dozens of ships that the rebels had so hoped to capture had disappeared, no one had yet provided an answer.
For many years after their victory in the Endor system and the capture of such trophies, the New Republic spent time and valuable resources restoring the ships captured at Validusia. Billions of credits were spent from the already thin pockets of the young government to restore these starships. Not without help, and a very substantial one at that, from the Bothans, the formation captured at the Battle of Validusia (though seasoned military men only smirked at the sound of that term, saying a battle cannot be called a battle when on one side is a huge Alliance fleet, and on the other — battered and disarmed ships, the volume of damage to which was such that it would have been easier to scrap them) was restored.
And since then, it had been the core of the Fourth Military Fleet of the New Republic. Although many malicious tongues claimed it would have been more correct to include this ship in the First Fleet, defending Coruscant and the Core Worlds, in fact, the dreadnought's commander understood that the young government had made a reputational concession to the Bothans, who had virtually single-handedly paid for the restoration of the ships. And what difference did it make anyway? After all, all former Imperial ships bore the emblems not of the Bothan fleet, but of the New Republic.
A Bellator-class fast dreadnought, four Imperial I-class Star Destroyers, and a Procursator-class Star Destroyer — that was what the First Division of the Fourth Military Fleet of the New Republic looked like. A force capable of grinding an Imperial sector fleet to dust, conquering worlds, punishing enemies, and serving as a gentle reminder to the warring members of the New Republic that disputes should not be taken beyond the diplomatic method of conflict resolution.
Procursator-class ISD.
The commander of the Bellator (in defiance of those who believed the Bothans intended to take these ships for themselves) was an Alderaanian. And not just anyone, but Vanden Willard himself.
General of the New Republic Vanden Willard.
He was no longer young. And even almost ten years ago, when he joined the Rebel Alliance six months before the Battle of Yavin IV, he was not young.
But he continued to serve the cause of his life. And the campaign into which his operational-tactical formation, along with the other starships of the Fourth Fleet, was heading, was a personal matter for Vanden. Immeasurably personal.
It was he who appointed Jan Dodonna as commander of the planetary defense of Yavin IV. He spoke with his good friend and sponsor of the Alliance — Bail Organa — when the first Death Star destroyed Alderaan.
Together with Dodonna, they devised the plan for the attack on the first Death Star. And they won then. But it seemed he had lost a friend — until recently, Dodonna was considered dead. Vanden didn't say it out loud, but… What the Imperials did to Jan, that terrible death he died…
All of this convinced the aging general that his cause was just.
Willard left active military service to train officers, captains, and pilots in the intricacies of military strategy, space battle, and tactical decisions. But about a year ago, he returned to active duty — when Imperial attacks resumed once more.
He, along with the best of the New Republic's military leaders, participated in developing strategies and tactics that helped the New Republic counter numerous pirates, but…
It wasn't enough.
Admiral Ackbar, one of his old acquaintances and friends, had managed to "slip" him aboard the Crimson Dawn, placing him in command of the Fourth Military Fleet. Vanden understood why — because the Bothans were increasingly trying to subjugate this structure, and indeed the military forces of the New Republic, to themselves. Ackbar did not like this at all. And Vanden understood why.
Of the nearly hundred-thousand-strong crew of the Crimson Dawn, seventy-eight thousand crew members were natives of Bothawui. And roughly the same percentage existed on the other ships of the First Division of the Fourth Fleet.
This gave some cause for concern — no, of course, the Bothans were allies and would not seize an entire fleet; that was just foolishness and panic-mongering, but Ackbar wanted to see at the head of such a powerful military potential as the Fourth Fleet someone he could trust unconditionally. Well, given that a month later he was actually arrested, there was nothing unusual about that.
Vanden stood on the bridge of the Crimson Dawn and watched as, at the next rendezvous point, six starships of his fleet, shielded by a dozen escort frigates, went adrift. The long and narrow hull of the Crimson Dawn gave the fast star dreadnought a feeling of severity, grandeur, and a strength that threatened swiftness… Such was its creator's intent.
But his thoughts were far from where his gaze was fixed. Very far.
He remembered all those he had lost in this war, like Jan Dodonna.
And especially he mourned his countrymen.
Bail Organa and his wife Breha. Princess Leia. General Tyr Taskeen… And hundreds, thousands of ordinary Alderaanians who died in this war for freedom. The confrontation with dictatorship and ruthlessness is abundantly watered with the blood of enemies and patriots.
He felt no anger, considering it a base quality unworthy of a rational being.
He felt only sadness and regret that the prolonged confrontation could not be resolved peacefully.
Perhaps a strike against the Ciutric Hegemony would finally bring the Imperials to their senses and they would move to peace negotiations. There had been enough battles. It was time to stop this flow of death.
And most likely, the armament of this nearly eight-kilometer warship, consisting of sixteen twin heavy turbolasers, forty-eight quadruple heavy turbolaser turrets, forty-eight heavy turbolaser emplacements, fourteen quad heavy ion cannons, one hundred and eight anti-ship missile launchers, more than two hundred and eighty light missile launchers grouped into launchers of twenty-four emplacements per battery, one hundred and forty-two medium turbolasers mounted in quadruple turrets, and a huge number of light anti-aircraft guns in quadruple turrets, would serve that purpose. Over a thousand heavy, standard, and medium turbolasers and ion cannons. Three hundred and ninety-six missile launchers. Ten squadrons of Republic fighters, interceptors, and bombers… This was a Doomsday ship, capable of standing against an entire fleet. And emerging victorious from that confrontation.
But how many deaths would follow?! Thousands? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands?
"General Willard, — the executive officer of the Crimson Dawn addressed him. — Coruscant is on the line. Armed Forces Headquarters.
"Unusual, — the elderly Alderaanian remarked. — I'll be there in a minute.
The bridge of the Bellator was two or even three times larger than the bridge of an Imperial Star Destroyer. But the overall layout remained the same. So Vanden could walk to the holoprojector with his eyes closed to personally speak with whoever had so brazenly violated Councilor Fey'lya's order for radio silence during the advance to starting positions.
However, upon seeing the hologram of his interlocutor, the Alderaanian decided to hold his opinion.
Because on the line was the Acting Supreme Commander of the New Republic Armed Forces himself, Councilor Borsk Fey'lya.
Dressed as for a public appearance, the Bothan feigned slight impatience.
"General, — his voice carried benevolence and a slight arrogance. As with any Bothan occupying a superior position relative to his interlocutor. — There will be a separate assignment for you.
"And I'm glad to see you, Councilor Fey'lya, — Vanden replied softly. The Bothan was clearly on edge about something — usually he was extremely courteous. It seemed something had happened that had agitated him. — I thought you had given the order for complete radio silence for all groups during the deployment up to the final point.
"You have a new target, General, — the Acting Supreme Commander said with emphasis. — A preliminary one, before the main one.
It seemed the Bothans had stumbled upon something else that could help increase their political rating and influence.
"I'm listening, Councilor, — Vanden said.
"The Skarrows system in the Morshdine sector, — Fey'lya said. — What do you know about it?
"Absolutely nothing, except that it exists, — the elderly Alderaanian replied laconically, with a condescending smile. Did the Bothan really think the military stored all knowledge of all worlds of the galaxy in their heads? Archives existed for that.
"An uninhabited star system where our intelligence has discovered a target suitable for a rehearsal of the attack on the Hegemony, — no, Fey'lya didn't look quite like himself. Slow but lacking his usual polish intonations, authoritative timbre… — We have learned that within the next day, the Imperial Star Destroyer Imperious will be there.
Vanden remained silent. He knew what that Destroyer was. He knew perfectly well who commanded it. And how much pain his countryman and one of his protégés, Eric Shohashi, had brought to this galaxy. And to Alderaanians in particular.
But what was Fey'lya expecting with such rhetoric? That he would start raging like a nexu in a cage and shower curses on the Butcher of Atoa? No, he wouldn't.
"So I take it there's a new combat mission for us? — he asked in a calm tone.
"Your combat mission remains the same, General, — Fey'lya answered sharply. — But first you go on your flagship to the Skarrows system, where you will destroy or capture Captain Shohashi and his crew. After that, continue the mission execution.
"Such a delay could affect the speed of movement of the entire division, — the general noted cautiously. — And in that case, we will certainly be late for Ciutric…
"I am aware of all this, — Fey'lya said irritably. — The detour will be small. If necessary, we will adjust the attack schedule.
"Interesting how, if the previous order required all contact via HoloNet relays to be interrupted, so as not to allow Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel's agents to obtain indirect confirmation of the movement of our battle groups?" a fresh thought flashed through the aging general's mind.
Something was clearly happening.
It seemed Fey'lya had only just received this information and was rushing to destroy Shohashi as one of the prominent Imperial commanders, ruthless and merciless. Of course, it would be an undeniable military success, but there were also a number of sharp points.
"Commander-in-Chief, allow me to remind you that the Morshdine sector is Imperial territory, and moreover independent of the Ciutric Hegemony," he said. "If we attack an Imperial ship in the Skaross system, we could provoke a response from the command of that sector or the Imperial Remnant to which Morshdine answers. And in that case, there are risks not only that the Prince-Admiral will learn of the battle in the Skaross system and wonder what a Republic fleet is doing at his borders, especially in an adjacent sector, but also that Tangrene, the capital of the Morshdine sector, is no backwater planet — it's a Ubiqtorate base. And according to the latest intelligence, six months old, there were at least twelve Star Destroyers stationed there."
"You have the most powerful combat-ready ship in our fleet under your command," declared Borsk Fey'lya. "If you can't handle a single Star Destroyer with one Star Dreadnaught, I suggest you submit your resignation!"
"That's not the issue, Commander-in-Chief," Willard shook his head. "My division has no interdictor cruiser, no Interdictor-class destroyer, and no ECM ships. The moment we attack the Imperious, Shohashi — unless he's completely lost his mind — will call for help or try to flee. From what I've gathered of his actions in the southern galaxy, he's far from insane."
"Do as you're ordered, General!" the Bothan snapped. "Proceed to the Skaross system immediately, maintaining full radio silence. Once you're done with the Imperious and Shohashi, proceed with your division to the next point, then on to Ciutric. That's all. Transmission ended."
Without giving Vanden a chance to speak, Councilor Fey'lya cut the connection.
"What are your orders, sir?" The general looked at the Crimson Dawn's captain, who had approached him.
Well, Fey'lya himself didn't seem to understand what kind of bantha he was trying to make his hunting target. A foolish plan that jeopardized the entire operation.
But he couldn't ignore it either. Nor the fact that intelligence on the Morshdine sector hadn't been updated in a long time. But the fact remained: if Shohashi called for help, ten, maybe even all twelve Star Destroyers, would come to him. And as it happened, that was slightly more ships of that class than a Bellator-class fast dreadnought could destroy without taking critical damage. Yes, of course, the Crimson Dawn could render a far larger number of enemy ships combat-ineffective, but... it also risked getting stuck if it took critical damage, deep in enemy territory. With no way to escape or fight its way out.
And ahead of them lay another, far larger battle in the Ciutric Hegemony.
General Willard sighed and shook his gray-haired head.
In times when politicians took command of the armed forces, it was hard to expect competent, logical, rational, and tactically sound orders. Populism and political gain, bought with the blood of military officers — that was what interested most politicians.
"Fleet order," he said. "Switch to radio silence. All contacts outside the division — cease. Thirty minutes to prepare, then we depart for the Skaross system."
"Should I inform the captains of the ships in the division exactly where the flagship is heading?" the ship's captain clarified.
"The ships of the division are coming with us," the general explained. "The more ships we have, the faster we'll complete the revised combat objective assigned to us and return to executing the plan."
"Counselor Fey'lya won't be pleased," the Star Dreadnaught's captain remarked.
"Maybe not," Vanden agreed. "But somehow I doubt he'll personally race to the Skaross system or the Ciutric Hegemony to tell me that. And afterward... I think I'm getting too old for all this. We'll break Krennel and I'll retire. Without Admiral Ackbar, this fleet is turning into a political tool, which is fundamentally wrong and even harmful."
"To everyone's disappointment," the Crimson Dawn's captain said quietly, expressing his solidarity with the commander.
* * *
After General Willard's hologram faded, silence hung in the "slicer"'s quarters for a time.
Zakarisz Ghent sat on the sofa, legs tucked under him, absorbed in poking through a datapad as if he didn't notice our presence.
Pellaeon, having dabbed the beads of sweat on his forehead with a handkerchief, returned his uniform cap to his gray-haired head.
"You have a talent, Captain," I remarked.
Gilad closed his eyes, took a deep breath... just like back when he was informed of the identity of the "object" he would have to "play."
"You command generals excellently," I clarified, in case my meaning was hard to grasp the first time.
Gilad shot me a suspicious look, then, seeing neither irony nor sarcasm from me, nodded humbly.
"Thank you, sir. I'd rather not repeat that occasion. Willard looked at me like some power-deprived nonentity with an inflated ego."
"Actually, that's exactly how most sentients who know him see Councilor Fey'lya," I commented on my own thoughts. "And the other half of those unfortunate enough to make his acquaintance dream of skinning him and turning his hide into rugs."
"I'd gladly join the latter."
"Wasteful," I remarked, still staring at the spot where the Republic general's hologram had been a moment ago. "Making gloves and a hat out of him would be more pragmatic."
Ghent coughed from the sofa. Pellaeon looked at me with interest.
"You did good work, Mr. Ghent," I said. Yes, the boy disliked that form of address, and I respected his wish. I would observe it in private conversation. But not in front of strangers. The culture of communication should be the same everywhere, always.
My grandson once watched some Western movie. A proper grandfather, I kept him company. I don't really remember the plot anymore — they don't make movies like they used to, no soul, no idea, no moral, or as they say, "a one-time watch." But the phrase "Manners make the man" stuck with me. Though, in my opinion, spending millions to convey such a simple truth to the masses is wasteful.
"Thank you," he nodded. "I sent a tracking tracker along with the transmission, written by your specialists. Had to improve it, of course. Anyway, it works. I can say for certain that they exchanged messages with five ships, then deactivated their communication systems and went into hyperspace — the passive beacons I used for tracking only work in realspace."
"General Willard disobeyed the commander's order," Pellaeon remarked. "Though... after what the Bothan supposedly said to him, I'd have disobeyed too."
"As would any sane sentient." It was gratifying that my deductions, based on observing the Republic commander's facial expressions and subtle movements, were confirmed by objective data. Willard was bringing an entire fleet to meet us. His whole division.
"Sir," Gilad addressed me. "Shouldn't we reconsider the plan?"
"For what reasons?" I inquired.
"It turns out we'll be dealing not just with one fast dreadnought, but an entire division of ships," the Chimera's captain explained. "We're catching more fish in the net than we need."
An idiot's dream come true. I once wanted to take Imperial Star Destroyers and other trophies from the New Republic — now I didn't know what to do with them.
Especially considering the same thoughts Willard had voiced.
We were about to fight a strong enemy. One that could deal us serious damage. In light of the upcoming operation, that would be... bad.
However, we had a reserve — four additional destroyers arriving in a few days. Fresh reinforcements who might end up playing a larger role in the coming battle in the Ciutric Hegemony than originally planned.
"That changes little, Captain," I said in a calm voice. "Five Venator class ships of the Sunburn project give us the necessary advantage."
"Provided Ryan Zion did everything right and what happened during the Battle of Hast doesn't repeat itself," Pellaeon said, not hiding his skepticism.
"It will be enough for us to see how they perform against the division with the Crimson Dawn in the Skaross system," I remarked.
Pellaeon furrowed his brow.
"I thought the battle in the Ciutric Hegemony would be aimed at capturing enemy fleet ships — both those belonging to Krennel and from the Fourth Fleet..."
"You were mistaken in your assumptions, Captain," I declared. "We will only take the ships that interest us. Our main objective for the end of the second phase of Operation Crimson Dawn is to kill those who still haven't understood that fighting against us is the same as stopping a Juggernaut by jumping out from under its wheels."
"I don't think that will make the Republicans fear us," Pellaeon remarked. "They'll hate us even more."
"You're wrong, Captain," I replied, understanding which parts of my plan needed adjustment for everything to go perfectly. "The next time our fleet meets them, the Republicans will be terrified."