At this hour, as the vast New Republic fleet cut through the vacuum of the Ciutric star system, Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel was on the bridge of his flagship, an Imperial II-class Star Destroyer named the Reckoning.
The ship that had served him for so long...
And now, it was the only starship in orbit over Ciutric IV. The only mobile defense of the Hegemony's capital.
At least, that was how it appeared to the attackers advancing in several battle groups from the system's far reaches. It should have awakened an almost primal fear in anyone watching the enemy approach, but the Prince-Admiral felt nothing more than a smirk. Now they were as close as possible — crossing the orbits of Ciutric IV's numerous moons.
And judging by how they were maintaining an almost parade-ground formation, the Prince-Admiral realized the enemy didn't suspect a single hutt's worth. They weren't even bothered by the presence of ten Golan II orbital defense platforms in orbit, which Krennel had recently acquired.
Along with planetary shield generators. And dozens of other military systems absolutely necessary for a deeply echeloned defense of the metropolis. Billions, nearly draining his treasury, but spent wisely.
Everything that could be damaged in an orbital battle, he had evacuated to safe locations well in advance.
All that remained was to patiently wait for the moment when the enemy thrust their head into the trap.
And the Prince-Admiral's metal hand would snap their neck.
A sly smile now played across his face, terrifying the bridge crew and everyone he'd passed on the way from the hangar to the superstructure.
Prince-Admiral Krennel felt a deep sense of satisfaction.
Everything was going exactly as he had envisioned.
The enemy was completely confident in their superiority. And so, everything that was about to happen would be the very triumph that would eclipse any authority among Imperial warlords.
Two victories in one day.
First, he had broken and subjugated the Iceheart, repaying her in full for everything she had dared to do, taking advantage of his kindness and hospitality. Having thoroughly satisfied all his desires, he had left her to achieve his second, no less important and significant victory.
His mechanical hand was clenched into a fist, and the man could literally feel the artificial fingers creaking, obeying his command to squeeze as tightly as possible. It was with this very fist that he would now begin the destruction of the enemy.
The Prince-Admiral did not believe in luck, coincidences, or any such nonsense.
He believed only in strength and big guns.
Krennel wasn't ashamed to admit that throughout Thrawn's campaign, he had been sending spies to the latter, observing and analyzing. Yes, the spies had suddenly gone silent — all of them, almost simultaneously — but even if the alien had uncovered them, it was unlikely he had identified their allegiance.
After all, the Grand Admiral was still ordering equipment from him — mostly interceptors, whose production the Prince-Admiral had moved off Ciutric, fully automating it to maintain project security.
And now, nearly fifteen hundred TIE Interceptors, awaiting shipment to Thrawn, were on the surface of Ciutric IV, preparing to enter a battle the New Republic could not win. From a business standpoint, it was wrong to use a client's product. But on the other hand... who would care about some Thrawn and his orders when Krennel destroyed not one, not two, not ten small enemy bases, but wiped out the entire main force of the Fourth Military Fleet in one stroke? One battle, and a huge portion of all combat starships in the New Republic's arsenal would simply cease to exist.
The Prince-Admiral saw nothing shameful in borrowing someone else's tactics — even Thrawn, whom everyone considered a military genius, didn't hesitate to use tactical developments from other Imperials. And this wasn't about widely known tactical maneuvers.
No, Thrawn literally used techniques developed by Zsinj, Teradoc, or other Grand Admirals and adapted them for himself. Interestingly, this had never been observed in him before.
At first, Krennel thought Thrawn was studying the enemy using tactical patterns they were already familiar with. Then he realized the alien was merely throwing them off the scent, making them think that an ordinary, unremarkable Imperial commander was operating against Coruscant. Not bad. And very much in Thrawn's own style.
So Delak, appropriating his achievements (with the alien's tacit permission) and carefully analyzing the Grand Admiral's actions on the battlefield, had found some of them to be highly effective.
"Is the enemy within stable comm range?" he inquired.
"Affirmative, sir," came the reply.
Krennel smirked.
"Put me through to the Mon Adapyne," he ordered.
"It will be done," said the officer responsible for the Reckoning's communication systems.
It took only a few moments before the bridge of his flagship displayed the hologram of an arrogant alien looking at him with an utterly bored expression — the look of a being who believed everything was in his hands.
"Prince-Admiral Krennel," the Bothan addressed him lazily. "Surrender. I have come here on behalf of the New Republic to arrest you for the murder of the lawful ruler of the Ciutric Hegemony, massacres of civilians, creation of a superweapon threatening the New Republic, attacks on military and civilian facilities..."
"Enough empty chatter, Councilor Fey'lya," Krennel laughed. It took great effort not to burst into full-throated laughter. What a poser. Oh, forgive me — the acting Supreme Commander. By the Emperor's black bones, what was this trend in this insane galaxy of handing command authority to every alien who came along?
Though, if Thrawn was really worth something, this one... was nothing more than a talking mouth, amounting to nothing in any of his plans except his stupid political games.
"You refuse to negotiate?" the Bothan inquired. From his furry, inhuman face, it was clear he didn't care what the answer would be.
"I am offering you the chance to surrender and proceed to the prisons prepared for you and your Republic clods," Krennel grinned. "Which, incidentally, already hold everyone from the previously attacked New Republic ships and facilities."
"And while we call you to account here," now it was the Bothan's turn to smile, showing all his fangs — "another group of our ships at Liinade III is busy freeing the prisoners."
Krennel shook with quiet laughter.
"Idiots," he said, after the laughter subsided. "What back alley does the New Republic find morons like you in? There's nothing on Liinade III except agriculture and comlink manufacturing. Oh, and a small force of a hundred starships that are about to drop out of hyperspace to destroy General Antilles' ships and his pack of mongrel alien-lovers.
No extra emotion appeared on the Bothan's face.
"Well then," he said, "I hope you've thought carefully about what you're saying. Behind me are nearly a hundred combat ships with excellent crews who have been through many military campaigns. If you think a few orbital stations will protect you," Krennel glanced at the tactical display. Perfect. They were in position. Everything, strictly according to the script. "then I must disappoint you. In case you haven't noticed, you have only one starship. While I have no less than a dozen line starships, twenty assault frigates. And two dozen assault cruisers — which, if you recall, the Empire used to destroy planetary shields. Forty support ships. Yes, you can talk and scare us, claiming you have a 'Death Star' or something similar, but misinformation is of no interest to anyone anymore. Your planets will be stormed — the ships' holds contain heavy equipment and tens of thousands of excellent troops, enough to capture every one of your worlds."
Having finished laughing, Krennel wiped the moisture from his eyes with his artificial fingers.
"You made me laugh," he said. "'Death Star'... hilarious. Councilor, I don't need such expensive and inefficient military assets as a battle station the size of a moon. I'm a pragmatic man. So," he paused to give an order to the watch officer — "when I need to destroy an enemy who has treacherously invaded my domain, I do it simply."
"You surrender?" Fey'lya asked mockingly.
"I lay a minefield," Krennel said with a smile.
The benevolent expression vanished from the alien's face at the exact moment the mine detonators were remotely activated...
And three of the twenty Nebulon-B2 escort frigates ceased to exist.
Watching the Bothan's hologram panic, barking orders in his xenobabbling tongue, Krennel, chuckling without pause, watched as new signatures appeared behind the enemy.
"And since I am a gracious host," Krennel continued, "I have no intention of letting my guests leave before their time..."
At that moment, two Immobilizer 418 cruiser-mine-layers, which had materialized behind the enemy beyond the minefields and at a distance of ninety units — seventy of which were solid space mines with remote activation — activated their mass shadow generators. Eight gravity well projectors, carefully selected to match the positions of both cruisers and a dozen autonomous generators bought on the black market, literally sealed off half the planet's hemisphere, preventing anyone from jumping to hyperspace. The latter was Krennel's own invention. Thrawn would never have thought of that. Stupid alien.
"Your minefields are not as dense as you think, Krennel," obviously, Fey'lya had received the necessary information from someone more competent. "Our renowned ace pilots are already deploying to strike..."
"And that is why I have prepared fifteen hundred TIE Interceptors to greet them, which you can see on your scanners," the Prince-Admiral continued his mocking smile, watching as squadron after squadron rose through gaps in the planetary shield. He still wondered why Thrawn had needed such an enormous number of specifically interceptors. To fulfill such an order, the Prince-Admiral had been forced to use all his resources, both industrial and storage. But that hardly mattered now. "And so you don't think you can just hide in the minefield, my fleet will deal with you. More precisely — both of my fleets."
Seven Imperial-design combat ships, the vast majority being Imperial Star Destroyers and heavy cruisers, pulled from hyperspace at pre-calculated coordinates, appeared to the right of the enemy's startled starships.
And right behind them, mirroring the 'line ahead' formation, seven captured Mon Calamari star cruisers took up position on the left. The enemy fleet, frozen in indecision, surrounded by minefields and starships that, from a range of sixty units, could fire into the center of the barrier (where the New Republic fleet was located), opened ranging fire on the enemy vessels.
The treasury of the Ciutric Hegemony had spent tens of billions on creating the minefield, studded with remotely controlled artificial gravity generators and mines, measuring one hundred and twenty units wide and one hundred and forty units long. Enormous expenses, essentially designed to destroy just one fleet...
What remained of this barrier would later have to be disposed of by remote detonation — space mines are dangerous precisely because they are extremely difficult to detect with scanners. And when they are not armed by remote control systems, it is outright impossible. Any computer, even the most advanced, would consider them no more than random scanner interference.
De-mining what remained of such a minefield — the debris that would linger in orbit after the Republicans finally attempted a breakthrough — would take weeks of painstaking work. And who needed that? No one. Easier to just blow it all up, record the event on holocameras, and send it to the HoloNet.
The prince-admiral had no doubt the enemy would try to break through. After all, they would eventually realize that a prolonged exchange of fire with an opponent who could pull back far enough to restore depleted shields and repair damage was fatal for them. And besides…
"I almost forgot, Councilor Fey'lya," Krennel said with a smirk, snapping his fingers theatrically. "You are, after all, positioned near two satellites. You surely planned a dramatic passage between them to mask your approach from the gravity-acoustic sensors — damned sound logic: drop out of hyperspace in the gravitational shadow of one satellite and thus conceal your arrival. Then, given your fleet's size, hide in the 'shadow' of both celestial bodies to prevent the scanners from detecting the fleet based on gravitational distortions and mass detectors. Judging by the twisted, enraged expression on Borsk Fey'lya's face, Delak was right again. If I were you, I wouldn't linger there. Because very soon, the point-defense cannons installed on the surface of those moons will open fire on your starships…"
At that moment, two V-150 "Planet Defender" ion cannons on the indicated satellites of Ciutric IV began firing. Methodically, following Krennel's instructions, they burned out the electronics on the Acclamators.
Because it was precisely those starships — in the event of a successful breakthrough by the remnants of Fey'lya's fleet — that would pose a threat to the planetary shield. Yes, and why mince words — to his entire fleet.
Because, despite the bravado, Prince-Admiral Krennel understood perfectly well that if even half of this monstrous fleet survived, nothing at all would save the Ciutric Hegemony.
* * *
The bow cannons of Wedge Antilles's flagship painted the pirate cruiser — which had dared to approach the New Republic starship — in crimson turbolaser fire.
An irritating smirk crawled across the Corellian's face — the starship that had so severely harassed the Mon Calamari star cruiser was finally living out its last moments.
Under the blows of gold-crimson energy, the deflector shields of the outdated Arquitens-class light cruiser, apparently belonging to the Cavrilhu Pirates, failed and collapsed. The attempt at a dashing cavalry-style diversion — to distract the Republicans from destroying a pair of heavily upgraded armed freighters — had led to nothing good.
The vessel from the Clone Wars era seemed to have undergone no significant modernization whatsoever, because it couldn't withstand the assault at all.
So now the ship's hull was blackening, its bridge had already been reduced to ruins, and more and more melted or fractured sectors appeared on its armor, through which flames burst outward and atmosphere vented.
Despite Skywalker's cautious requests, Wedge had no intention of taking prisoners.
Not after the pirates, at their very first appearance, had struck the damaged star cruiser and turned it into a supernova. Along with everyone on board. Dodge or not, nothing would save you from a massed volley of proton torpedoes.
But Wedge was angriest at himself for this. Because it was he and the Rogues who had come up with this trick — arming civilian ships with proton torpedoes, keeping them at the edge of the battlefield, and using fighter telemetry to fire their payloads dead-on target. That was how they had once defeated the Lusankya.
Today, however, the pirates — who had quickly oriented themselves in space and adopted whatever tactics and ship upgrades they could get their hands on — demonstrated to the Republican aviators exactly what it meant to thoughtlessly bring in people and other sentients "from outside" for such work.
Because in this whole bedlam of starships, Wedge had identified at least six vessels that Booster Terrik had once brought into the Thyferra system to end the Bacta War. And now, former allies were fighting against the New Republic.
Then again, Antilles simply hoped these were merely starships that had found new owners one way or another, not that old allies had decided to switch sides.
The enemy's superior numbers were offset by their low effectiveness. But in any case, shoot down ten of them while sacrificing one of your own pilots, and the enemy would still have more. Far more.
But what irritated him most were the two starships the pirates had somehow dug up.
A Providence-class carrier/destroyer, which at that moment was waging a perfectly successful battle against a Mon Calamari star cruiser with its outdated turbolaser fire and constant volleys of anti-ship torpedoes. And it was fair to say it was clearly winning that confrontation.
Wedge had sent one of his cruisers to disable an interdictor-class ship that had somehow fallen into pirate hands. And it was now hindering the Republican retreat.
Yes, retreat. He didn't have enough forces to hold Liinade III. But at the very least, he had to hold out until one Jedi returned from a reconnaissance mission.
"Sir, General Skywalker is on the line!" the comm operator shouted.
"Mhm," Wedge grunted, watching as the damned Providence continued to spew hundreds of bombardment missiles. Was it wasteful to use them against frigates that could respond with cluster munitions and restore their own defenses? Unfortunately, no. "Don't you dare say that in front of him."
The "big uncle" was openly mocking the outdated Mon Calamari ships, exploiting its superiority in launcher range and quantity, literally overwhelming the star cruiser and the frigates that had joined it to destroy the Separatist relic with anti-ship missiles. Streams of shaped-charge rockets from the vessel — which possessed multiple, albeit outdated, defensive batteries and a droid fighter wing — shredded the New Republic starships, not stopping until one frigate after another became broken, unrecognizable fragments of metal.
"Wedge," came the young Jedi's voice. "I'm coming back."
"Any results?" Antilles asked hopefully.
"If you mean whether there's a small Imperial base on the surface, clearly built not long ago to service enemy squadrons — it no longer exists," the Jedi reported. "If you're asking about barracks with prisoners or concentration camps for captives… unless they're buried underground at a depth of a couple kilometers, I have nothing to tell you."
In other words — they were just being strung along. There was nothing on this planet of what they were looking for.
Antilles angrily blew a stray lock of hair from his eyes.
So, in the win column: a failed operation, an invasion of a state intending to join the New Republic. A lost star cruiser, three Mon Calamari frigates, a huge number of pilots and other military personnel…
And perfectly realistic prospects of losing the remaining three star cruisers and seven frigates. Never mind that up to half the pirate fleet had been destroyed.
Oh… Two cruisers and six frigates.
"Come back," Wedge ordered. "We'll attack the interdictor cruiser and leave the system."
"It's covered by an old Separatist destroyer," Skywalker reminded him.
"Mhm," Wedge mumbled. "I see. If we could just knock out at least one of the projectors, then…"
"Mind if I join in?" Skywalker clarified. "Just exited the atmosphere. I'll use it for acceleration."
"Won't that splatter you all over the cockpit?"
"I have the Force with me," Skywalker replied.
"Better have the inertial compensators tuned to the right settings too," the Corellian thought.
"I'd join in myself," Antilles said gloomily. "But there are no ships left. At least none that can fly."
"Understood," Luke said. "Any word from Rogue Squadron?"
"They're still en route," Wedge reminded him, darkening. "I sent a message to Tycho to set a course straight home, but no response."
Luke was silent.
"They're alive, Wedge," he said. But there wasn't much confidence in his voice. Although the intonation made it clear the young Jedi was fighting against g-forces. "At least — most of them."
"Mhm," Antilles replied. "Go ahead," he gave the appropriate order. "I'm sending a squadron of X-wings for support. Hopefully, you can push through to the interdictor cruiser and…"
"No need," Skywalker's voice grew lighter. It seemed he had, after all… "They won't make it in time anyway."
White-orange explosions appeared in the enemy formation. Right where they were needed most.
The Corellian blinked. Then blinked again.
He glanced at the tactical monitor, where half of an artificial gravity zone had vanished, as if it had never existed.
"Uh… Luke?" he clarified. "Did you just blow the starboard gravity-shadow projectors on that pirate Immobilizer?"
"I only fired at one," the young Jedi said. "Looks like their ship isn't in the best condition. Well, now we have some time until they reorient the remaining generators and we have to start all over."
"Got you," Wedge opened the general channel to his subordinates. "General Antilles speaking. All New Republic ships — we're pulling back to Elom."
The Third Fleet base — the best place for the battered task force to repair damage and lick its wounds.
In moments like this, he thanked Admiral Ackbar's foresight that every small New Republic starship had its own hyperdrive.
Before the pirate Immobilizer 418-class interdictor cruiser could recalibrate its gravity-shadow generators and cut off the Republican escape route, the remnants of Wedge Antilles's task force left the inhospitable Liinade star system.
By that point, only half of the original ships the youngest New Republic general had brought to capture Liinade III remained.
* * *
Perhaps somewhere in the Outer Rim, Nebulon-B2 escort frigates posed a serious threat to warships, but not in the Ciutric Hegemony.
The turbolasers of the Reckoning, with the accuracy habitual for the gunners serving under Prince-Admiral Krennel, slammed one turbolaser volley after another into the bow of the Republican starship — battered after crossing part of the minefield.
The deflector shield on the escort frigate, invisible until the moment of impact and partially restored, flickered with a pale white light as green energy bolts pierced through it, tearing into the ship's hull, mangling interior compartments, and burning out the remaining intact gun emplacements.
Finally, the shield fell, and the entire forward hemisphere of the ship lay exposed.
"Ion cannons — fire!" the prince-admiral commanded. The same second, blue charges leapt from the Reckoning's side, spreading across the ship's hull in a cascade of lightning that overloaded nearby electronics.
Two turbolaser batteries exploded aboard the ship, and in the side of the Republican "lucky one" which had just crawled out of the minefield — a gaping hole opened, belching rapidly dying flames and thick streams of smoke.
"All turbolasers — fire at the breach!" Krennel barked. "Comms — link to the cruisers! Have them all advance to the Reckoning's position!"
He had one more trump card — a formation of Strike-class medium cruisers, which he had received from the Moff of the Antimeridian Sector as payment for cooperation. Unfortunately, that was all the Moff could provide — the Loronar Corporation's shipyards were loaded with third-party production, and the Moff didn't dare weaken his own sector's defenses. Though, what was even there… little enough.
But under the conditions where two of his line ship detachments were at considerable distance, and the enemy was charging forward like mad, there was no time left to complete the redeployment. Krennel would have preferred to keep those cruisers on the system's outer approaches to have a mobile reserve if needed, but at the moment, circumstances were not working in his favor.
The ion cannons had managed to disable most of the fat targets like the Acclamators, thereby reducing the threat of a planetary shield breach. But the problem was precisely that the Republican line ships remained virtually untouched.
Krennel had counted on the enemy spending more time under blockade, allowing him to knock out more of them — if not with crossfire from turbolasers, then at least with the "planet defenders."
But he had underestimated the enemy, who used their fighters and light ships to breach the minefield and destroy the space mines.
Yes, explosions did happen — very, very many of them — but at the same time, the enemy had far more ships and superiority in total firepower.
Where the Reckoning struck at one or two enemy ships in the front ranks of the breaking New Republic starships…
A full dozen replied. Granted, each individual starship carried fewer heavy guns, but at the same time, there were simply more such ships than Krennel's Star Destroyer could engage from its current position.
"The cruisers have arrived!" the watch officer reported.
The prince-admiral exhaled discreetly.
"Assign targets, begin enemy elimination," he demanded.
Estimating that the New Republic starships had no more than twenty units of mined space left to break through, he ordered both line ship detachments to change positions. The flanking strikes proved effective — they managed to disable several more troop-carrying ships ahead of time, so the enemy no longer had any Acclamator-class assault cruisers at their disposal.
But there remained eleven Mon Calamari-built starships, two Victory-class ships, and just over a dozen strike frigates. Not to mention about thirty corvettes and frigates of varying antiquity that had survived the minefield passage.
The prince-admiral lamented — he should have made the field less extensive and denser. Then the result of destroying the rebels in the trap would have been more substantial. But unfortunately, in that case, the ion cannons on the satellites could not have operated effectively — their volleys would have destroyed the minefield first, and the New Republic ships only second.
Unfortunately, instead of patiently waiting for his fleet to be shot to pieces by ion cannons and the surrounding starships, Fey'lya had chosen to advance. Given the trend of light forces breaking through, followed by heavy ships, the New Republic military had a decent chance of dragging at least some of the relatively small but hard-hitting escort frigates and other "scrap" to the edge of the minefield.
And that was bad.
Nothing inspires more hatred from line ship commanders than small but well-armed starships capable of attacking from multiple directions and putting even a Star Destroyer in crossfire.
According to Krennel's plans, the enemy ships should have been destroyed by the ion cannons or the crossfire of heavy ships while they were still in the center of the minefield. But that hadn't happened.
Now all that remained was to damage as many enemy starships as possible and hope for superiority in the line engagement.
The Reckoning's gunners opened rapid fire on the enemy starship that had emerged from the minefield. They destroyed the deflector shield, leaving ugly black scorch marks on the escort frigate's hull, and in some places damaging the skin on top of the numerous breaches sustained during the barrier crossing. The Nebulon-B2 attempted to maneuver to get its exposed hull section out of the line of fire. But the Reckoning wasn't standing still either.
Heeling the Star Destroyer to port, Krennel ordered starboard batteries to open fire. The gunners found their range instantly, and the turbolaser mounts alongside the ion cannons began testing the deflector fields on the ship's port side. Numerous Imperial small craft joined the beating.
The prince-admiral winced, watching his pilots die so quickly — quantity was one thing, but their training… What else could you expect from reservists and hastily trained conscripts?!
The plan was beginning to crack.
The New Republic starship selected as the target for the Ciutric Hegemony fleet's flagship tried to respond with a broadside volley from its "deuce," but only succeeded in losing its shielding instantly under concentrated fire from the medium cruisers and the destroyer. Turbolasers vaporized hull plating. Numerous white-gray tornadoes appeared around the ship as air streamed through the holes into space.
A moment later, the ship vanished in a blinding flash — the Star Destroyers and Mon Calamari cruisers Krennel had purchased, now arriving at the battle site, had delivered their strike.
Ten minutes later, instead of five enemy escort frigates damaged during the minefield breakthrough, Prince-Admiral Krennel's combined fleet left only smoking hulks. Another full dozen small escort ships reduced to ruins.
It would be time to celebrate victory, but…
Krennel smiled wolfishly. Most of the enemy's mobile forces were destroyed or disabled. Now all that remained was to finish them off… Oh, what a shame that the surface-mounted ion cannons couldn't continue firing at the enemy.
And Fey'lya's fleet consisted of thirteen line ships — one MC90b, ten MC80s, two Victory-class ships, three escort frigates, and twenty-two support ships — corvettes and other "small fry." Plus a considerable number of enemy small craft — but even those were outnumbered by Krennel's analogous forces by nearly half.
Opposing all this were just over a thousand TIE Interceptors, about a dozen medium cruisers, and fifteen line ships — Star Destroyers and captured Mon Calamari star cruisers. Ah, if only that detachment he had sent to Liinade III had arrived to help. Or the pirate fleet…
"Prince-Admiral, a call from Liinade," he was informed.
"Fleet — assign targets," he ordered. "Golan-class ships prepare to repel attack."
The most unpleasant part of the operation — which he had hoped to avoid — had begun. The enemy had broken out of the ambush. And while Krennel had twenty-five ships, Fey'lya had nearly forty. A considerable number of them were mobile forces, and each such ship was weak on its own. But united into detachments…
"What?" he asked the hologram of the pirate that appeared before him, uttering just one word.
"Krennel, we've taken your Liinade," the pirate said insolently. "Time to settle up. And pay out the remaining shares of those who died — that's half the original number. With interest."
"Later," said the prince-admiral. "I'm in the middle of a battle. You'll get only what's due to the living. The dead don't interest me. You already swarmed Antilles's fifteen ships with your mob. And you still managed to lose half your scumbag comrades."
The pirate's face darkened.
"The deal was — payment immediately after we destroy the New Republic starships!"
Krennel was distracted, watching the New Republic starships pounce on one of his MC80s, literally drowning it in crimson tibanna beams. The ship lost its shields in seconds and began taking numerous hits, reducing its combat effectiveness to zero.
"I said — you'll get your reward only after I finish this fight," he snarled.
The pirate shook his head.
"Not good enough," his voice rang with fury and steel. "We'll take everything!"
"Then you'll get not a single hutt," Krennel said calmly, grinding his teeth as he watched the Rebel starfighters, having scattered his inexperienced pilots, hit one of the destroyers with proton torpedoes. The ship, struck by more than three dozen impacts, exploded, vaporizing several nearby squadrons. And almost immediately, the same trick was repeated on another ship… "Go to the void, you morons."
"You'll regret this!" the pirate squealed.
But by then, the prince-admiral had already smashed the comm device with his hand and returned to surveying the battlefield.
What he had feared most was happening — the enemy's mobile forces were slaughtering his "mosquito fleet." Meanwhile, the New Republic's small craft, in their favorite manner, were stripping the shields from his starships, allowing their own vessels to properly "hammer" the defenseless ships. His ship formation had dissolved. The enemy was surrounding his vessels with superior groups of their own and tearing them apart with fire from all sides… And worst of all, this was happening almost at the edge of the Golan-class ships' range. They could only watch as the enemy destroyed his fleet.
Turning the ships toward the planet now would give the enemy the opportunity to cripple their engines and immobilize them.
A campaign that had begun so beautifully was approaching a fiasco.
The prince-admiral clenched the fingers of his prosthetic hand into a fist until his nerves ached.
"Helmsman!" he shouted. "Course — seven-three-six! Heading for Fey'lya's flagship."
He had only one chance at victory — destroy the enemy command and demoralize them, beginning the rout of the Fourth Fleet.
Hutt's Ysanne Isard and her schemes.
* * *
"Sir," Captain Pellaeon approached him with a report. "The pirate fleet in the Liinade III system has begun looting the planet."
"So Krennel didn't pay them for their work," I said, trying to keep my tone calm. "Captain Irvin isn't involved in this mess, I hope?"
"No, sir. After he ordered one of the bomber droids to simulate a hit and struck the projector generator dome on the pirates' Immobilizer 418, he withdrew from the battle to restore hull integrity and carry out repairs."
"Well, he did good work," I judged. "Unfortunately, we can't do anything for Liinade III. We're exiting hyperspace in the Ciutric system in half an hour."
Even if I ordered part of the fleet to break off and turn back to deal with the enemy — the pirates on Liinade III — they wouldn't arrive for at least eight and a half hours.
"According to reports from both Captain Irvin and our disguised scouts, the pirates have sent out two groups. One is heading to Minor Corvis and the Vrosinri system."
Now that was bad.
"According to radio intercepts, Krennel pulled his patrols out of those systems, didn't he?" I clarified.
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon confirmed. "We've already tried contacting them — they're in radio silence."
"Which is somewhat illogical given they're on combat duty," I said, stroking my chin. "Well, we'll proceed on the assumption that they've deserted. Or they're moving toward the homeworld. Either way, we've got a less-than-pleasant situation: three planets of the Ciutric Hegemony are currently under pirate attack. And Ciutric IV itself is under assault by the New Republic's Fourth Military Fleet. Speaking of which — how are things going for Krennel?"
"He's losing," Pellaeon snorted. "Though intelligence reported his positions were actually decent… But he's already lost two destroyers and three Mon Calamari cruisers. Five medium cruisers are in ruins, and another two have been captured by the enemy. The Reckoning is locked in battle with the Mon Adapyne, and his remaining ships are surrounded, about to be either boarded or destroyed."
"No, Captain," I sighed. "They'll surrender. Right after Krennel — in his virtuosic stupidity, amplified by arrogance and an unwillingness to learn from others' mistakes — is destroyed."
"I always thought the MC80b was equal in strength to an Imperial-II," Pellaeon's eyebrows shot up.
"A small clarification, Captain," I sighed. "During the operation to capture Warlord Zsinj, General Solo's fleet was led by a ship called the Mon Remonda. It was the first ship of its type delivered by the Mon Calamari to the New Republic fleet. During the Battle of Coruscant, which fell before the Rebel Alliance, the Mon Remonda had no trouble capturing several Imperial Star Destroyers."
"Sir, actually those were Victory-class ships," Pellaeon smiled. "The Triumph and the Monarch. From what I've heard, the crews on those starships were so poorly trained that any decent commander could have captured them with a tub."
"Well, we'll test your words, Captain," I said. "The Triumph and the Monarch — under different names, of course — are currently attacking Prince-Admiral Krennel."
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon's eyes gleamed.
"Now let's continue," I said. "As I said, the Mon Remonda led General Solo's forces during the hunt for Warlord Zsinj. And that ship was well-prepared, equipped, and armed enough to face a Super Star Destroyer and survive."
Pellaeon's face tensed. The skin pulled so tight that the contours of his cheekbones showed.
Apparently, even during such a campaign, few Imperials paid attention to what was happening.
Well, I'll probably omit the fact that during the confrontation with the Iron Fist, the Mon Remonda was battered so badly that it limped to the shipyards.
"The main weapon of the Mon Calamari and their ships, oddly enough, lies in their defense, Captain," I continued. "The main difference between this cruiser type and its predecessors in the MC80 series is that the Mon Calamari now build starships to standards, whereas in the past, no two MC80s looked alike. Also, the MC80b carries more shield generators and projectors and has heavier armor. The MC80b's hangar is significantly expanded, capable of housing from four to eight squadrons of small craft. The ship's armament hasn't changed conceptually, but that doesn't mean that when consolidated into batteries with improved fire-control and targeting systems, their effectiveness hasn't increased significantly. On the contrary. In fact, we're about to face a starship that is the New Republic's first attempt to create its own type of fast dreadnought."
"Last time, that ended with rather unpleasant consequences for us," Pellaeon reminded me of the encounter with the Crimson Dawn.
"Last time, we fought a star dreadnought carrying over a thousand barrels of main-caliber guns," I gently countered. "Now we're up against a ship with only seventy guns — turbolasers and ion cannons — but with the ability to rapidly regenerate its shields."
"So I take it we'll have to capture the Mon Adapyne?" Pellaeon's expression darkened. "And the other New Republic starships?"
"Come now, Captain," I said. "I'm only interested in the rapid shield-regeneration systems on those ships. The starships themselves interest me only as a source of spare parts for our trophies and scrap metal for recycling. But you're certainly right in your hint — we'll offer them the chance to surrender."
Pellaeon looked dejected. Understandable. You come expecting a fight, and here diplomacy is in full swing, all that…
"Captain, would you be so kind as to invite Mr. Ghent to the bridge?" I said. "And have him bring his equipment — we'll need to connect to the HoloNet relay on a wide broadcast channel."
* * *
Both Victory-class ships, like toys from a box, crept out from behind the Mon Adapyne's stern.
Prince-Admiral Krennel, picking himself up from the deck, wiped the blood from his face that was streaming into his eyes. The wound on his head pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
He paid no attention to the wail of emergency sirens, didn't look at the numerous breaches that "adorned" the hull of his flagship Star Destroyer.
Delak Krennel watched the salvoes from the launchers of both enemy ships.
The Imperial recognized them. The Triumph and the Monarch — those were the names they had borne in the Imperial Navy. Some of the weakest and frankly useless ships, surrendered to the Rebel Alliance during the Battle of Coruscant. About as much use as…
But now, having destroyed several of his starships, they were closing in on his riddled and damaged Reckoning, raising their punishing sword over it.
The man realized this was the end.
He had lost.
Forty kinetic cumulative-effect shells dug into his ship's hull. The Reckoning's plating was adorned with a ghastly garland of ruptures from bow to the bridge tower. Heavy batteries exploded, the hull buckled in blisters, and the shells kept tearing into the crippled ship's innards. Space sucked out oxygen, but the fire still wouldn't die. Armor bent and ripped from the frame; the destroyer looked as though it had been scraped by asteroids.
Krennel was thrown aside.
He slammed painfully into a bulkhead with his back but found the strength to get up, ignoring the cries of the wounded and the agonizing moans of the dying.
The Prince-Admiral stared death in the face — both Victory-class ships fired new salvoes.
Krennel lowered his gaze. His tunic was soaked with blood and torn in several places.
"Symbolic," flashed through the Imperial's mind. Just like his uniform, his fleet was steeped in destruction and bleeding.
He tore his gaze from his own clothes and looked death in the eyes.
For a moment it seemed to him that this was not the worst choice — to die aboard his own starship.
And then a salvo of cumulative anti-ship missiles, reinforced by entirely superfluous turbolaser shots, annihilated the Reckoning's superstructure.
The Ciutric Hegemony fleet had lost its command.
Now it was every ship for itself.
* * *
"Jump complete, Grand Admiral," Captain Pellaeon reported.
"Thank you," I replied, looking at the tactical display.
This was bad.
Of the more than fifteen starships of the Ciutric Hegemony fleet, only a small portion remained combat-capable.
According to transponder readings, Delak Krennel's flagship, the Reckoning, was now actively burning, stripped of its superstructure. The crew was abandoning the starship, and the New Republic wasn't even trying to capture what they considered a doomed vessel.
Another Imperial-II — the Star Destroyer Resolute — was currently trying to retreat under the protection of Golan II orbital stations. Three Mon Calamari star cruisers with identification markers belonging to Krennel's fleet were burning like a Christmas tree… if you set it on fire along with the lights.
Another three medium Strike-class cruisers were currently trying to get as far away as possible, thanks to a pair of interdictor cruisers that, along our course, were shutting down their projectors and preparing to jump into hyperspace.
And…
Against us: over two dozen corvettes, frigates, and other small ships, reinforced by two Victory-class ships, a dozen battered but still combat-capable MC80s, one MC80b, and a dozen Acclamators pulling out of a trap in the middle of a minefield toward the planet's orbit. Oh, yes… There were also three MC80s that had once belonged to Krennel and had struck their colors. Currently, the crews of three Nebulon-B2 escort frigates were taking control of them.
"Sir, we're receiving messages from the remaining Hegemony ships," Pellaeon said. "They're requesting support to repel the New Republic aggression."
"Contact them and request information about the defensive lines Krennel erected," I ordered.
"Grand Admiral, but we already know them," Pellaeon reminded me.
I looked at my flagship's commander with a slight smile.
"Do you want to show everyone that we were spying on our 'allies'?" I clarified. Gilad hesitated and then walked to the comm terminal.
"Mr. Ghent," I addressed the Slicer sitting not far from me. "Everything ready?"
"Long since," the blue-haired hacker shrugged.
"Communications station," I said. "Begin broadcasting. Open a channel with the enemy flagship."
"Will be done, Grand Admiral," came the reply.
A few seconds later, a white-and-blue hologram of the smugly gleaming Councilor Fey'lya appeared before me.
"Greetings, Acting Commander-in-Chief of the New Republic Armed Forces, Councilor Borsk Fey'lya," I said. The arrogant smile of the Bothan, buoyed by his victory, slowly slid off his furry face, and his eyes widened as if he were seeing a mythical unicorn. "I am the Supreme Commander of the Galactic Empire's armed forces, Grand Admiral Thrawn. I've heard rumors that you don't believe in my existence or my promise to destroy anyone who encroaches on Imperial territory…"
Panic appeared on the Bothan's face. Perhaps it was comm interference, or perhaps his lower jaw really had begun to tremble.
"I assure you," I said in the same soft, calm tone. "You have never been so wrong in your entire life…"