Nine years, seven months, and thirty-three days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or forty-four years, seven months, and thirty-three days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Three months and eighteen days since the Arrival.)
"Grand Admiral," came Captain Pellaeon's voice over the comlink. "Reinforcements for the Star Destroyers have arrived. Clones have been distributed among the ships, crews are at full complement, damage has been repaired. The fleet is ready to cross the light barrier. The second batch of prisoners has been formed, per your—"
"Understood, Captain," I said, studying the hologram of the Ciutric sector. With all the instructions and markings regarding enemy starship positions and plans for deploying our own fleet. "We move out."
"Yes, sir!" Pellaeon replied briskly, signing off.
Left alone in my quarters, I occupied myself with examining the data obtained from the buzz droids regarding the starships of the Bothan fleet that were moving toward the Ciutric Hegemony.
I have to admit, when I first heard about the "Bothan assault cruiser," I was slightly stunned. Because I'd always thought they were built after the "Caamas Document Crisis," and that, in the events I knew, only happened ten years after the present day.
And it immediately came to mind that these ships, despite their enormous cost and small size, were actually better than the Victory-class ISDs. And they gave the Yuuzhan Vong a real beating…
Small wonder I took the risk and tasked the analysts with obtaining scan data on the enemy fleet. Right before their jump into hyperspace. I needed to know what I was up against.
The answer was both gratifying and not.
First off, credit where credit's due to our book translators. They do a great job. Sometimes even where no one asked them to change anything.
Back in the day, I read the X-Wing book series in the original. And I was very surprised to find that, for example, the description of the courtroom where Tycho Celchu was tried after the capture of Coruscant wasn't in the original text at all. That is, the translation and localization team just made it up. Yes, I'd read there were certain nuances, but the fact remains.
Or, another example: the "Baltic" accent of Rogue Squadron pilot Bror Jace, which appeared in the Russian localization but wasn't in the English original. How, why did it appear? Questions without answers.
No, there are answers, no doubt, but I read the Expanded Universe books in Russian localization for too long, so in my old age, acknowledging the complete opposite…
Well, those are just examples.
So, when I heard the name "Bothan assault cruiser," I immediately thought of a copy of the famous flagship from the Yuuzhan Vong war, namely the Ralrusta. But in reality, it turned out to be nothing more than an "assault cruiser of the Bothans."
What's the difference?
Well, regarding the Ralrusta and its sister ships, the correct interpretation would be "Bothan assault cruiser."
And an "assault cruiser of the Bothans" is…
An Acclamator. First and second model.
I felt like laughing until it hurt. Because, with all due respect to the Clone Wars legacy, in a modern battle, these starships are nothing more than big troop transports. Armor, weapons, speed, and cargo-hauling duties.
Obviously, these particular ships were privately owned by the Bothans and brought into the operation under the flag of one of the New Republic's most modern star cruisers.
The Mon Adapyne.
The name was completely unfamiliar, but the fact remains.
It was an MC80b-type Mon Calamari star cruiser. A modernization of the MC80. Surpassing it in defense and matching the firepower of an Imperial II-class Star Destroyer. Moreover, as my "scavenger" friend put it, "in the fattest configuration."
An MC80b-type Mon Calamari star cruiser.
Thanks to the buzz droids, I also learned that two dozen Nebulon-B2 escort frigates were moving with this group. Yet another ghost of the Rebellion's murky shipbuilding genius.
A Nebulon-B2-type escort frigate.
A pretty decent little battle group, all told.
Especially if you add two Victory-class Star Destroyers to their number. Which had also linked up with the current group just before the jump.
And it turns out it's not so funny anymore.
Because there's something else.
Something that will definitely not sit well with two people as soon as this group exits hyperspace.
And those people will be General Wedge Antilles.
And, oddly enough, Prince-Admiral Krennel.
In this situation, all you can do is marvel at how cynical and unscrupulous a bastard Councilor Borsk Fey'lya is.
Well, very soon, if the data from the buzz droids of Project Morrt that have burrowed into the enemy starships' communications networks is to be believed, I'll be meeting him.
And — very, very soon.
* * *
Well, now he was "Rogue Nine" again. Not bad, considering the alternative to returning to his old post was a charge of desertion. He had to thank Antilles once again for getting him out of trouble.
Adjusting his belt and the blaster on it, Corran raced across the hangar deck of the Mon Calamari star cruiser serving as General Antilles's flagship.
Twenty minutes late, the flagship was hurrying to reach Liinade III, continuing its radio silence protocol.
But judging by Antilles's bad mood, some news — and clearly not good — had reached him already.
Without wasting time on trifles, Corran jumped the last couple of meters to his now-own starfighter. The X-wing, just like in the old days when Horn served in CorSec, was painted green, black, and white. Just like the previous one Corran had stolen to join the Rebel Alliance. Along with Whistler. Whom, though with difficulty, he had managed to…
Upon reaching the top of the boarding ramp, the Corellian noted that the mechanics had transferred the number of enemy kills onto the new machine and painted the pilot's name on the hull. And only then, looking at the stunned mechanics, he realized he'd performed that jumping trick using the Force.
But the Corellian didn't have much time to properly assess such quirks of fate, so he just settled into the pilot's seat and contacted his astromech.
The droid was new, the same model and the same coloring as Whistler. But not Whistler. Skywalker had muttered something about maybe being able to restore his old friend from the pieces of the astromech they'd managed to scrounge up while working on his X-wing, since astromech personality cores were tough and usually survived minor explosions, but Corran didn't really believe in that kind of luck.
The astromech, which Corran hadn't even bothered to name, whistled, launching into a lecture about how battle stations had been sounded for everyone, and he'd gotten stuck with some hotshot pilot who didn't respect discipline and…
Corran could say with a high degree of probability that he definitely wouldn't decline formatting this astrodroid's memory.
So, ignoring the droid's chatter, he continued his pre-flight checks.
Safety restraints, lower the canopy, turn on the control panel by pressing a few buttons. The engines started on the first try, giving the machine a barely perceptible vibration. But…
The fighter felt sterile. It didn't have that cozy atmosphere his previous machine had.
"Hey, you, nag," the pilot cut off the droid. "Set the inertial compensator to point nine-five gravity. Put the fleet, the squadron, and the third flight on comlink channels one, two, and three, respectively."
Whistler would have done that by the time Corran appeared in the hangar. They hadn't been together for just one year, after all.
The droid whistled a tirade.
"You can consider 'Nag' your name," the pilot smirked. Just like that, simply and easily, the mechanical helper got a name. "Now, be so kind and do what I told you, before I eject you while we're flying past the nearest star, okay?"
Nag immediately backed down.
While the droid followed instructions, Corran redirected power from the engines to the weapons system. All four laser cannons began powering up from the ship's systems one after another. First them, then the deflectors. They wouldn't need the latter for a while after launch anyway. The proton torpedo launch system reported all six onboard munitions were combat-ready. Diagnostics reported all other systems were nominal.
Initially, they had planned to exit at the far orbit of Liinade III, but given the flagship's delay, General Antilles had decided to adjust the course to arrive directly in low orbit, which was what had been planned for covering the landing force.
"Glad you decided to fly with us after all, Lieutenant Horn," came the voice of "Rogue Leader" Tycho Celchu in his helmet's comm.
"Please accept my deepest apologies. You know these Mon Calamari cruisers. I tried to go to the hangar and ended up in the officers' head. Besides," Corran glanced at the onboard chronometer, "we still have a couple of minutes before we exit hyperspace."
"We don't have that luxury anymore," the Alderaanian's voice was always calm. Even now. But from his tone, you could guess something out of the ordinary had happened. "For those lagging behind: our ships are already in orbit of Liinade III. And they're not having an easy time of it — they ran into one Imperial II-class Star Destroyer and a couple of Krennel's Victories."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but there were supposed to be thirteen Mon Calamari star cruisers on site," Corran recalled. "And fifty support ships. General Antilles mentioned it at the last briefing..."
"It looks like our 'talented and infinitely brilliant' Councilor Fey'lya has decisively revised the attack plan," said Bror Jace, now using the callsign "Rogue Two" after Tycho Celchu became commander of Rogue Squadron. It seemed Jace had drawn the right conclusion after running into a rebuttal from Asyr Sei'lar, who wouldn't let the arrogant Taifarian pin the actions of one Bothan on the entire species. Although… Hand on heart, Corran could say he sided with Jace on this issue. Almost all Bothans were just like Councilor Fey'lya. Asyr and a handful of other worthy representatives from Bothawui were just exceptions that proved the rule. Nothing more, nothing less.
"Be that as it may, instead of the promised ships, all that came to our aid were ten old, clearly scavenged-from-the-bottom-of-a-junkyard Mon Calamari MC30c frigates," Tycho continued to "cheer" them.
Corran winced as he received readiness data from the pilots of the third flight of Rogue Squadron — one of four — which he led.
MC30cs belonged in a scrap heap long ago. And it seemed they'd already been shoved in there, with only a small number remaining in service — and even then, only until replacements arrived. It looked like the Imperial offensive had forced the military under Councilor Fey'lya's leadership to dig up the worst crap…
"Does anyone know where the ships that were supposed to fight with us actually are?" Darklighter inquired.
"Right where the Acclamators the Bothans promised from their personal collection are," Inyri Forge remarked.
"In other words," Derek "Hobbie" Klivian summed up, "where we aren't."
"Time to get used to always fighting outnumbered," Myn Dyson noted.
"They could at least give us a raise for it," Klivian grumbled.
"You're quite the joker, though," Corran remarked. "I bet Fey'lya cries over every credit spent from the military budget."
"Enough wordplay," Tycho Celchu advised. "We've got a serious fight ahead of us."
"In that case, why aren't Skywalker and Antilles in X-wings?" Asyr Sei'lar inquired. "If we're outnumbered, every pilot will be needed."
"If we see either of them in space, it means the situation is 'shit and nowhere to go,'" Horn stated grimly, staring into the white-blue haze beyond the thin film of the hangar's atmospheric shield.
He had a distinctly bad feeling about all of this.
But he didn't yet realize how right his Force precognition skills, sharpened after training with the crazy Jedi, would prove to be.
The streaks of light vanished, leaving only specks of stars against the pitch-black sky.
"Rogue Squadron — launch," Celchu ordered, being the first to steer his machine toward the hangar deck opening.
* * *
Watching the small and medium pirate starships, numbering in the dozens of combat machines, jump into hyperspace, Yazuo just whistled.
"Someone's in for a rough time," he stated, strolling past the operator seats occupied by B-1 droids, whose only task was to carefully steer the Colicoid Swarm out of the cluster of gravitational anomalies to make the jump.
The carrier-capable Star Destroyer itself practically crawled at the rear, alongside several other large starships that couldn't maneuver as easily in the system as their smaller "brethren."
There were only three such ships altogether, not counting Captain Irv's vessel, who was watching everything tensely from the captain's chair.
Two Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers. Very similar to the ones in Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet. But they were subordinate to the fleet of the Ciutric Hegemony. Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel had sent them to the Korvis Minor system to meet and pay an advance to the pirates who had arrived there on time. On board these same Dreadnoughts, Imperial officers had briefed the pirates on what and how they were supposed to do.
Although… What briefing? Just an order — on command, jump into the Liinade III system and destroy the New Republic fleet. But why were armed freighters here, and with so many TIE Interceptors? Did the Imperials have some kind of base here or something?!
However, the seasoned privateer had enough sense not to ask such questions. And besides, some kind of exotic food products were produced in this system, so… Maybe convoy escort?
The Hutt knew what these Imperials were thinking.
"You know, maybe we should work for Krennel?" Vane inquired.
"What?" Irv frowned, pulled from his thoughts.
"Well, let's look at the situation realistically," the half-breed suggested. "We got three hundred thousand credits just as an advance. After the job's done, we'll get another two million. Plus, all the military salvage is ours. We can capture Republic guys and do whatever we want with them. Sell them to the Hutts for slaves, for example."
"Don't talk nonsense," Irv grimaced. "The Hutts and the New Republic are refraining from hostile gestures towards each other. Individual Hutts might agree to such a deal, of course, but not the ones controlled from Nal Hutta. Selling Republic personnel into slavery is basically hanging a target around your neck. Selling a large batch — you'd only attract a bunch of spies, and selling them in small batches takes too long. No one in their right mind would do something that stupid."
"Well, I don't know," Captain Vane snorted. "I'd sell them… A profitable business, by the way."
"Uh-huh," Irv grunted. "Didn't I just mention such a deal and a sound mind?"
"You just don't have an adventurous spirit," Yazuo stated sadly. "Still, the deal with Krennel seems more profitable to me than Thrawn's offer."
"You're still sore at him over the Black Pearl?" Irv smirked.
"He 'worked' my destroyer off me!" Vane flared up. "I'd kill that alien on the spot!"
Irv looked at his interlocutor with interest.
"So why didn't you?"
"The security there was up to our asses," the young privateer immediately backpedaled.
"Who wants to find a way finds one; who doesn't wants an excuse," Irv cut him off. "Stop filling your head with nonsense. Better look out the starboard viewports and tell me what you think."
The Half-blood obediently walked around the speeder bike and took in the scene outside the Star Destroyer. Irv shook his head surreptitiously. And what were scanners and displays invented for?!
"Well, it's an Immobilizer 418 cruiser," he shrugged. "So what?"
"It belongs to pirates from the planet Rattail," Irv explained. "The group calls itself the 'Pirates Luminii.' Bastards completely devoid of logic, fear, self-preservation instinct, and mercy."
"Okay, and what about it?" Yazuo repeated his question. "Half the people we've met are exactly the same."
"Except they don't have an interdictor cruiser," Irv specified. "I'll tell you more than that, my young and fiery friend. No one produces 'Immobilizers' anymore at all. That is, these 'Pirates Luminii' got that starship by capturing it from the Empire, or from the New Republic. I frankly doubt the latter, since they fuss over every such starship and only operate as part of reinforced squadrons. So, the 'Pirates Luminii' lifted that tub right from under the Empire's nose."
"Okay, fine, I give up," Yazuo raised his hands. "What do you suggest? What's this conversation even about?"
"Thrawn collects Imperial-design starships, doesn't he?" Irv clarified. That was actually a purely rhetorical question. An answer wasn't implied, but when dealing with Vane…
"Technically speaking, not only those," he inserted his quip.
"Details," Irv waved his hand. "The task Thrawn assigned me is simple to the point of impossibility — observe what happens at Liinade III and keep him constantly informed. So why not inform our valiant Grand Admiral that smack in the middle of this pirate fleet there's a perfectly suitable little ship to add to his collection?" Irv explained.
Yazuo's face clearly showed the workings of intense thought.
"And you actually think that guy will fly out here for a single ship against an entire pirate fleet?" Vane wondered.
"It's not about quantity, it's about quality," Irv grinned. "Whether he comes or not, captures the starship or not, crushes the pirates or not, we'll at least get a decent finder's fee for the tip. And after that, if he doesn't show, that's his own business. I figure the pirates will use that tub to hold the Republicans at Liinade III. Well, he can come if he wants to."
"So we get some finder's fee, and then what?" the young colleague still didn't understand.
"It's simple," Irv smirked. "Think like our pal Tyberos. If Thrawn doesn't come, he'll still pay for the ship's information. At least a little. Given that I'm practically certain that after this campaign, Prince-Admiral Krennel will end up... getting payment from Thrawn for reconnaissance in the system, plus for intelligence about a ship that might interest him — that's already more than nothing. With Krennel's advance payment factored in, it could turn into a pretty decent sum."
"So we'll earn maybe four or five hundred thousand total, and then what?" Vane inquired.
"My friend," Irv smiled. "Thrawn will shell out a couple of dozen million for information about this cruiser. For one simple reason — the 'Pirates Luminii' don't exactly advertise that they have such a ship and only use it on missions where the victim won't tell anyone anything. Plus, they hide it nowhere near the orbit of their base on the planet Rattail. Where exactly — no one knows. But as it happens, I have a couple of not-quite-functional but repairable buzz droids on board that could easily board the starship in the heat of battle and plant a beacon. Which will lead Thrawn directly to the target. Wherever it's hiding. A ship like that, a new one of course, costs over fifty million. We can easily ask for a fifth of that from the Imperials for the tip."
"Alright, fine," Yazuo Vane agreed. "But what if he doesn't need a ship like that for a hutt's sake? If it were an Interdictor-class Star Destroyer — that's one thing, but an interdictor cruiser…"
"I'll cautiously ask him if the Imperials need a ship of that type," Irv explained. "If not, we'll follow the trail ourselves and take it for ourselves."
"Smooth on paper only," Vane grimaced. "That cruiser needs nearly three thousand crewmembers to operate properly. And to successfully attack it, we'd probably have to pull the droids off the 'Colicoid Swarm'…"
"You think I just decided to get us out from under the obligation to participate in battles at Thrawn's whim?" Irv grinned.
"Uh…" Vane scratched his blond hair topping his figure. "So it'd be more convenient to run off to Twi'lek brothels?"
"Kid," Irv shook his head disapprovingly. "You've got a real problem in your head over those ladies with the lekku coming out their necks."
"Beautiful, the bitches," Vane grinned lasciviously with a cheerful glint in his eyes. Then he darkened:
"Unfaithful as a hutt, though."
Captain Irv restrained himself from cursing properly. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Then, touching the console on the armrest of his command chair, he called up the relevant part of the database from the ship's central computer on the nearest monitor.
"Thrawn can dig through the files of the 'Colicoid Swarm' all he wants," he said, "but if the ship's owner wants to hide something, he'll hide it."
Vane walked over to the terminal, tapped the droid's head.
"Hey, tin can, move aside," he said.
"Got it, got it," the B-1 replied mindlessly, making room for the blond.
Vane scanned the lines on the screen, the columns, the coordinates…
"So, what's this?" he asked. "The planet names are familiar, but…"
"Let's just say," Irv grinned, "Captain Tyberos and his manic desire to build his own fleet gave me the idea to visit some old haunts. And it's better if Thrawn doesn't pull our strings — then everything will go much faster."
Vane was silent for a moment, looking at the list of coordinates.
Then he shifted his gaze to his mentor.
"And still, I can't understand — what do you even want?"
This won't be easy, the former Separatist officer thought sadly.
"All in due time," he waved his hand. "We have a couple of hours until Liinade III. Take over for me on the bridge; I'll tinker with the droids for a while, relive the glory days of my youth…"
* * *
General Wedge Antilles silently studied the tactical hologram.
His entire posture betrayed the tension reigning in the soul of a simple Corellian boy. Arms crossed over his chest, feet shoulder-width apart, back unnaturally straight, gaze fixed on one point.
"Something's clearly wrong here," he finally declared, pointing not at the glowing projection but at the stern of an Imperial II-class Star Destroyer with the rather unremarkable name Direction, which was executing a combat turn. Smack in the middle of the battle.
Luke glanced at the battle diagram and remained silent.
Wedge was surely right, because out of nowhere, the Imperial squadron of three Star Destroyers — Direction, Wisdom of the Emperor, and Striving — had suddenly stopped beating down two Mon Calamari cruisers after Wedge's flagship emerged from hyperspace. The third ship, blazing with numerous fires and displaying with all its damage the consequences of a meeting with volleys of anti-ship missiles carried by both 'Victory's, drifted in orbit. Judging by the absence of escape pods, the crew had no intention of abandoning the starship. That meant there was a good chance it could still be saved.
"Helm, full ahead, course zero-seven point two-zero. Roll forty-five degrees to starboard," Wedge ordered.
"Will do, General," the named crew member responded immediately.
"Gunners," Wedge winced as he saw several New Republic fighters die simultaneously, "fire on Direction's stern. We need to knock down its shields before it escapes into hyperspace."
Luke calculated that, given the angle of attack Antilles' flagship was currently assuming, most of the star cruiser's artillery should sweep Direction's stern so often that the Ciutric Hegemony Star Destroyer would be in for a very rough time.
Especially after Wedge gave the same order to his other two ships. He sent the remaining escort starships to protect the crippled cruiser, around which some enemy fighters were still circling. Judging by the fact that they weren't hurrying to the ships that had clearly decided to leave the system, these vessels were evidently from planetary defense.
In any case, they couldn't be allowed to finish off the wounded starship.
Wedge bit his lip as he saw 'Rogue Squadron' rush in pursuit of the 'Victory's, annihilating any Imperial small craft that crossed their path along the way.
"Regretting accepting the promotion?" Luke asked, trying to lighten the tense atmosphere aboard the flagship. And honestly — it pervaded the entire fleet. Primarily due to the absence of the required number of ships here.
Which, at this specific moment in the Liinade III system, Borsk Fey'lya was supposed to have provided.
Actually, Antilles could have already informed Coruscant about what was practically treason, but he decided to resolve the situation in his favor first.
"Partly," Antilles grumbled. "I'm sure as soon as this campaign is over, my squadron boys will immediately start getting promotions and transfers to other units."
"I'm not strong on regulations," Luke admitted, "but isn't it wrong to refuse a promotion?"
"No, of course not," Antilles' face broke into that infamous grin. "But it worked with Admiral Ackbar. He understood that my place, while things were 'hot as hell,' was in an X-wing cockpit, not on a ship's bridge. I only agreed because otherwise Fey'lya would have eaten Mon Mothma alive and taken over the entire Provisional Government."
"If Leia were on Coruscant, she wouldn't have allowed it," Luke said firmly.
"I really hope she'll return there soon," Wedge admitted. He paused for a couple of seconds, then said:
"Heard Mon Mothma sent Han on a cruiser to Sluis Van to figure out why the Bothans' gray scheme for secretly arming the Lusankya somehow turned out ineffective."
"Heard about it," Luke said. "Talked to him before you arrived. Horn and I were hoping Leia, Mirax, Booster, Lando, and General Cracken would have made contact."
"Sorry that the hope it's all Thrawn's tricks hasn't panned out," Wedge said.
"It's fine," Luke said. "They're alive, that's the main thing."
"You sure Imperial captivity is as sweet as that Grand Admiral made it sound?" Wedge asked.
"I hope so," the young Jedi declared. "Otherwise… it'll be hard."
"Otherwise, Han and Corran will gather everyone they can get their hands on and go after that blue-skinned bastard's head," Wedge promised. "I'm not even afraid to pull the same trick on Fey'lya that happened when we were hunting Isard after the capture of Coruscant."
"Heard about that," Luke twitched his lips. "You all collectively submitted resignation letters so you wouldn't be tied to the New Republic in the war against the Iceheart."
"Uh-huh," the Corellian confirmed. "And then, when it was all over, command showed up on Thyferra and delighted us by saying our 'letters got lost, so you were all officially on duty the whole time.' Stamp. Signature. Han, Lando, and I pulled a similar trick on Cracken and Ackbar to save me from a court-martial for covering up Horn's unauthorized absence. By the way, neither you nor he has said what happened on that damned Jomark. Horn looks at you like you're a rancor sometimes."
"Minor Jedi disagreements," Luke sighed. He opened his hand, looking at the tiny medallion he'd carried with him ever since he recovered it from the body of a cloned Jedi. "It'll work out, don't worry."
"I hope so," Wedge said. "I don't much fancy being between two of my friends who turn their noses away from each other whenever they meet."
The young Jedi laughed. And at the same time realized it would be a good idea to steer the topic to something less… slippery.
"The more I listen to you guys, the more I wonder — why do you always get so lucky?" Luke smirked. Just at that moment, one of the deflector shield generator spheres on Direction was destroyed by an explosion.
"Years of experience, Luke, years of experience," Wedge nodded, watching as Direction's aft shields began to fail. "Looks like someone's about to get a full dose of tibanna."
Skywalker watched the proceedings. And suddenly noticed something.
"Wedge," he even half-rose from his seat. "Look!"
"I see it," Antilles said. "Looks like these guys decided to scatter in different directions. Controller," he called out. "Get me an order for our flyboys regarding priority changes for some of them. We can't let a single Imperial get out of this system. Otherwise, they'll come back with the whole crowd, and we won't have room to bury them here."
* * *
Ysanne Isard turned in her chair, meeting the eyes of Prince-Admiral Krennel.
The ruler of the Ciutric Hegemony was trying to restrain his irritation behind a mask of courtesy, but…
"Fourteen ships," he said. "Isard! You promised me the Fourth Fleet in the Liinade III system! There are four star cruisers and a dozen frigates there that are nothing but flying scrap metal!"
The Iceheart didn't look surprised.
"Obviously, the Bothans changed their revisionist plan at the last moment," she shrugged. "Nothing unusual."
"'Nothing unusual'?" Krennel mimicked her. "Why the hell did I send five ships there!? Hire pirates! All just so they could take out Wedge Antilles' task force?!"
"Destroying 'Rogue Squadron' is one of the goals of today's operation," the Iceheart reminded him.
"To hell with Antilles and his brats!" Krennel roared, placing his right hand on the nearest monitor and crushing its casing with his mechanical fingers. "WHERE. IS. THE. REST. OF. THE. FLEET?!"
"Calm down, Prince-Admiral," Ysanne said, looking into his eyes without fear. "They will reveal themselves soon. All you need to do is sound battle stations, nothing more. Commander Vict Darron and his group are capable of handling what was sent against Liinade III."
"Oh, yes," Krennel said bitterly. "Especially considering the fact that literally an hour's flight from that system is Korvis Minor and dozens of pirate bands I've hired, just waiting for the moment to be unleashed. Seventeen million, Ysanne!" he barked in her face, no longer caring that this woman might arrange some dirty trick for him. "Seventeen! Million! Credits! And that's just the advance! I'm supposed to pay ten times that just because they showed up and shot up a few ships?! There alone are enough fighters to wipe out the Rebels once and for all!"
"So summon them," Ysanne shrugged. "Let them solve your problem with the Republicans. Meanwhile, the warships will continue doing what they're supposed to."
Krennel ground his teeth, watching the woman look him straight in the eye without fear or the slightest concern. He wanted to just reach out and squeeze her throat in his metal fingers. One act of will — and her trachea, along with her neck, would snap like dry reeds.
He knew this for certain, already having similar experience. The previous commander of the 'Victory's leading the battle group in orbit of Liinade III had been executed for failing to effectively raze a village where someone so feeble-minded had lived that they dared to make an attempt on the Prince-Admiral's life. Krennel's motives didn't matter. He ordered the village destroyed. That officer disobeyed.
Krennel crushed his larynx with his fingers.
The new commander of the 'Victory's… carried out the order in his own way, but nevertheless stayed alive.
And now he was pulling his squadron, consisting of one Imperial II-class Star Destroyer, two 'Victory's, and a pair of Rendili-built, Imperial-modified Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers, away from Liinade III towards Ciutric IV, to the fleet grouping.
"I suspect you've known about the changes to the Bothan offensive plan for a long time," he growled in the Iceheart's face, leaning over her so close he could smell the unexpectedly pleasant scent of her body. "Wanted to have superiority over 'Rogue Squadron'?"
Ysanne looked at him with her icy and crimson eyes.
Right now, she inspired in him neither fear, nor respect, nor any perverse desire to admire her cold, inhuman beauty and sophisticated ability to set traps at every turn.
He hated her in that moment.
For her constant deceptions, for using him for her own purposes.
For making him look like a fool.
"Yes," she said without a shadow of regret or fear in her eyes. "'Rogue Squadron' must be destroyed first. After that, the remaining forces will be demoralized, and you will finish them off without much trouble."
"Is that so," the metal fingers of his prosthetic clenched into a fist until the servos groaned. "So you've placed your preferences above mine?"
"It's psychology…" Ysanne began in the same lecturing tone, but fell silent when he punched a hole through the metal desktop with a single blow of his artificial hand.
"Enough. Lying." he enunciated clearly. "Your scheming has come to an end, Iceheart. I will not allow myself and my achievements to be sacrificed as bait for your old vendetta. 'Rogue Squadron' is just twelve individuals flying around in star fighters that aren't exactly fresh out of the factory. Just over-hyped, over-publicized upstart pilots who cause a certain headache, but nothing more."
"You are as blind as ever…" Ysanne Isard's tone was meant to declare his shortsightedness, but she stopped mid-tirade. Because Krennel had seized her throat with his metal hand.
"Now you'll shut up," he ordered. "And you will listen to me."
Her mismatched eyes practically tried to burn a hole through him, but that wouldn't help her. She should have had implants with lasers installed in her eyes.
"If I feel you're lying to me," he hissed in her face, "I'll break your neck as easily as I did that monitor," the Iceheart's gaze fell on the destroyed device. "Now, a question. That fleet I was waiting for at Liinade III is heading here, isn't it?"
For a few seconds, she was silent.
And only when his mechanical fingers tightened so much that her trachea was literally ready to crack at any moment, the Iceheart gave an affirmative nod.
"Good," the Prince-Admiral smiled that sadistic smile that those who crossed his path usually saw before death. "Then a surprise awaits them."
After these words, Delak Krennel backhanded his prisoner across the face with his left hand.
The Iceheart's head snapped to the side, but his grip didn't allow it to go far. Slowly, Ysanne brought her disgustingly beautiful face back to look him in the eyes. She didn't even try to defend herself, continuing to look at him with an unconquered, unsubmissive gaze.
He struck again.
Blood appeared on her lips. Hatred and contempt in her eyes.
A triumphant smile appeared on the Prince-Admiral's face.
Squeezing her throat so that air stopped reaching her lungs, Krennel struck the woman's face with his left hand repeatedly until his palm went numb, and the right side of her face turned into one solid bruise.
"Magnificent," the Prince-Admiral said, pulling the Iceheart's face to his and kissing her on her split lips.
The taste of her blood seemed to him akin to the finest spice.
When he pulled back, the first thing that caught his eye was the aristocratically thin fingers of the Iceheart, unbuttoning his tunic…
A triumphant smile spread across Krennel's face.
He simply tore Ysanne Isard's scarlet tunic to pieces.
* * *
Corran smoothly pushed the control yoke forward, and his brand-new, not-even-once-scratched X-wing soared upward, letting a turbolaser burst from the nearest 'Victory' pass beneath it. Looping around, he lined up on the same target again. Only this time, he managed to launch a proton torpedo.
The crimson projectile sped towards the target, while the Corellian himself pulled his ship into a left 'half-barrel roll' to avoid getting in the way of the bombers as they turned towards their objective. The number of TIE fighters launched by both 'Victory's to scare off the Republican fighters from their 'big brother' exactly matched the number of those attacking Republican fighters. In pure numerical terms, the forces of the combatants were equal.
With one exception, though.
X-wings and 'razor's have deflector shields; TIE's don't.
A barrel roll across the right wings followed. Corran sent his fighter into a longitudinal spiral, dodging fire from a 'wheelie' officially designated a TIE fighter. It slipped past and fell victim to the guns of Corran's wingman, the Gand Ooryl Qrygg, who solved the problem of the enemy's existence with a single accurate volley.
But others had already taken its place. Three of them, at once. And, so that life wouldn't seem too glamorous for Horn and Qrygg, for a change they turned out to be TIE Interceptors.
Great, the Corellian thought. With a single click of his thumb, he switched the weapon systems to proton torpedo control.
The first target was already glowing in the targeting reticle — an interceptor that, picking up speed, was lining up on him, testing the X-wing's forward deflector shield. The green color, however, quickly changed to red — target acquired. The nagger beeped confirmation, and Corran pressed the trigger, launching the torpedo.
Qrygg shot down the second one with his cannons as well.
Asyr got the third. Inyri was left without a kill. The girls weren't upset about it, though, and headed for other targets.
The Corellian flipped the switch back to the laser cannons, setting them to fire simultaneously, then caught a 'dead-head' that had drifted completely by chance into his targeting reticle. When the frame turned green, he pulled the trigger. The TIE Interceptor lost its cockpit, and a small flash erupted inside the cabin.
Asyr Sei'lar's X-wing flashed past, Corran tucked in behind and slightly to the right of the Bothan, who barrel-rolled over her left wing and dove toward an enemy fighter climbing to meet her. Realizing he was a prime target, the Imperial veered aside — and broke apart under Iniri's fire.
"Oh, fine," muttered Corran, who'd intended to do the exact same thing. "Didn't want it anyway. 'Nine,' let's get out of here, let the girls have their fun."
"Ooryl copies," ah, that Gand. Everything about him seemed fine, he'd passed all the checks, but every now and then he'd slip into speaking about himself in the third person. Upset about something? He'd have to ask after the sortie.
Corran spotted a 'bowler' chasing one of the 'crutches.' His own ship rolled ninety degrees along its longitudinal axis and let loose a salvo from all four guns at once before peeling off.
He missed.
But his wingman didn't.
All four shots from his ship were on target. Two laser bolts melted long gashes in the Imperial's right wing; two more punched through the transparisteel bubble separating the pilot from vacuum. For a second, red detonation fire danced around the cockpit, then the explosion ripped the fuselage in half.
Suddenly there was more room — both 'Victories' had vanished into hyperspace.
"The boss is going to chew us out for this," Corran sighed, instinctively using Antilles' old callsign.
"It seems," came Bror Jace's voice through his helmet speakers, "that someone has forgotten how to shoot, hmm?"
'Rogue Two' that was the Thyferran's callsign — flashed across his course, following the flight leader after the last pair of interceptors.
"I'm leaving them for you so you can at least put something on the board," Corran shot back. "Or did nobody tell you that after you retired and came back to the Rogues, all your previous kills don't count?"
Before Bror had left the Rogues, their little rivalry with Corran had been twenty-two to twenty-one in his favor.
Thyferran laughed softly and, in a short burst of fighting, took out a 'dead-head' on the spot.
"Good joke," said Jace. "But even so, I'm only ten behind your current tally."
"Um... what?" Horn blinked. What was that supposed to mean? While he'd been away, had the whole squadron just fed every Imperial to the Thyferran? "Will someone please tell me what 'Two' is talking about?"
"Nine," came the flight leader's voice. Celchu, calm as ever. "Two was joking."
"Oh..." Corran drew the word out. "Well, that's all right then."
"He's got three more than you," that sounded like Min Doyon. That guy wasn't a joker, so... No, Jace couldn't be that good! It defied the laws of logic!
The Corellian threw his fighter into a pursuit of the 'bowler.' No way, that can't be right!
When nothing but memories remained of the Imperial fighter, and 'Hobbie' Klivian's curses accompanied the 'Vector' as it jumped into hyperspace, all Corran heard through his helmet was the Thyferran's chuckle.
"Alright," said Celchu. "We've lost that group, so we're heading back to the planet."
"Boss," Wes Janson's voice appeared on the channel. "I say we stand aside and let Horn get at least a head start. Otherwise Jace will sweep the remaining Imps in two passes."
"One would be enough," the Thyferran replied, a laugh in his voice.
"So this is how you welcome an old brother-in-arms," Horn said with mock indignation. But he'd already kicked in the afterburner on his X-wing. "Fine, I'll do it myself."
"Hey, wait," Bror added with a chuckle. "We were joking. Just returning the jab about resetting your kill count."
"Actually, that wasn't a joke," Klivian coughed. "That rule dates back to when we were still called 'Red Squadron.' So..."
Amid the pilots' laughter, 'Rogue Two' shot ahead, determined to even the score in their friendly competition.
If there was one thing that never wore thin with this squadron's pilots, it was the humor.
But then why did Corran still feel so lousy?
"Rogues," came Antilles' voice on the squadron frequency. "Wrap up your little party and return to the flagship. You have a new assignment. Launch in fifteen minutes."
"Any complications, General?" Celchu asked.
"As a matter of fact, you let three enemy destroyers get away," Wedge reminded them. "The 'Victories' jumped to Ciutric, but the 'Vector' went to Korvis Minor. And I really want to know what it's doing there. So in two hours and fifteen minutes, I expect a report on what Krennel has there, and whether we should expect trouble from that direction. And if you do finish the job and get rid of that 'Vector' for us — drinks are on me. Of course, assuming command doesn't scrap everything in the next quarter-hour while you're prepping, as usual. Chances are, we'll all be dragged before a tribunal soon as witnesses against Fey'lya — I just sent a report on his actions to Coruscant."
"Now that's more like it!" Darklighter perked up. "Always good to have someone in command who understands a pilot's needs."
Corran stayed silent.
Because he had a very bad feeling about this.
The same kind of feeling he'd had right before C'baoth's lightning attack had nearly cost him his life.
* * *
Settling into the chair on the bridge, I caught a glimpse of Captain Pellaeon approaching out of the corner of my eye.
"The New Republic fleets have arrived at the systems you specified, sir," he reported. "Scouts from the Liinade system report that General Antilles has routed Krennel's forces, and three destroyers have withdrawn."
"A feint," I stated calmly. "The Bothans?"
"They are acting exactly as you predicted," Pellaeon declared. "The battle hasn't begun yet, but they've already stepped into Krennel's trap."
"Good," I said, glancing at the chronometer. "In one hour and fifty-seven minutes, we will attend this celebration and resolve all the misunderstandings between the parties. Inform the fleet's ships to begin preparing for battle. 'Yellow' alert should be sounded in an hour and a half."
"It will be done, Grand Admiral," the commander of my flagship Star Destroyer responded with readiness.
After Pellaeon left, I leaned back in my chair.
The ysalamiri resting on my lap yawned contentedly as I stroked it with fingers clad in the soft material of my pure white gloves.
Mentally, I was running through the plan for the coming slaughter.
* * *
The report from the youngest general in the New Republic concerning the criminal actions of the acting Supreme Commander of the New Republic Armed Forces, Councilor Fey'lya, was securely encrypted and sent directly to the Provisional Government's office, straight to Mon Mothma.
The message made its swift journey to its destination, was then decrypted by special services in the Imperial Palace, and placed on the desk before the head of the Provisional Government. She had already begun her investigation into the circumstances, armed with the official documents.
Although a preliminary conversation with the head of the Provisional Government had already made it clear to Antilles that Borsk Fey'lya was not at his workplace, and his current whereabouts were unknown. Wherever he was, he was absent from both Coruscant and Borseas, where he was supposedly headed.
The fleet that was supposed to cover Antilles' task force during the attack on Liinade III had also gone silent. Anxiety was building in the Imperial Palace.
The unknown was frightening and unnerving. Given the recent crises and the expectation of something terrible, the New Republic government was afraid to even discuss the fate of the missing fleet.
They would have been even more terrified if they knew that long before General Wedge Antilles' report landed on Mon Mothma's desk, it had already been studied by a middle-aged woman in the scarlet uniform of an Imperial Admiral — without rank insignia.
Ysanne Isard sat in an armchair deep within her secret hideaway and smiled.
Before her face, on the computer screen, glowed the words of the man who had destroyed her life and stripped her of everything, placing her in an extremely precarious position in the eyes of the resurrected Emperor.
The mosaic of her intrigue had nearly cracked due to unpredictable events caused by the intervention of Grand Admiral Thrawn.
'Rogue Squadron' kept appearing exactly where it needed to be, but not when she had planned.
The fleet that was supposed to storm Liinade III had already reached its objective and met the resistance prepared for it.
She knew the outcome of that battle.
And the original plan had gone to the hutts.
But then again, what kind of plan was it if it couldn't be adjusted when necessary?
Let the fate of the Ciutric Hegemony be sealed; it would soon fall before the Bothans, which would whitewash and elevate one particularly cunning councilor onto a pedestal of greatness. But that didn't mean the Iceheart would simply give up.
Never.
The woman leaned forward and activated the holoprojector.
Before her appeared a volumetric projection of a man in an Imperial pilot's uniform. The helmet on his head obscured his face, but she remembered every detail of him perfectly.
"Begin, Colonel Wessiri," she said. "Soon 'Rogue Squadron' will be right where you can easily reach them."
"Acknowledged, Madame Director," replied the commander of the elite squadron — the best fighters in the galaxy, according to anyone who had faced TIE 'Defenders' and survived. "'Intruder' and 'Stranger' squadrons are preparing for launch."
Without a farewell, the Iceheart cut the commlink.
Looking at her own reflection, she simply smiled.
Only a few steps remained, and the New Republic would receive a blow from which it could never recover.
And then Emperor Palpatine would come and grind to dust everything that hadn't been destroyed before him.