After the old but well-modernized Corellian YG-1300 freighter, piloted by Torin, left hyperspace, the Imperial agent's gaze fell upon…
"A dump," he stated.
"Raxus Prime," corrected Shira, sitting in the copilot's seat.
"And what did I say?" Torin smirked.
"You said…" The girl sighed, muttering something in her native tongue. "Fine, it's a dump. So what?"
The lady clearly had a decent personality, but… It was like having an amusing little sister who pouts when you don't take her for a walk: there's always a chance she might cause some real trouble.
"You should be asking yourself that," Torin smirked. "You said you knew where your brother might be. I agreed to bring you here. What to do next is up to you. But I should warn you — I don't have any oxygen respirators on board."
"The surface doesn't smell that bad," the girl noted. "At least not that strong. And not everywhere."
"So what do we do?" Torin yawned. "Land, drift, or maybe contact someone?"
"No need," the girl said.
"What exactly?" the Imperial prodded. No, really — textbook little sister.
Shira was about to answer something sharp and clearly rude…
But she stayed silent.
"We're landing," she said. "I've only been here a couple of times, but I think I can recognize the area where Reom has his base."
"Oh, so your brother has a base, does he?" Inek replied in the same tone. Meanwhile, he filed away the information that the brother was clearly no simpleton. If he was stupid enough to set up a "hideout" in the middle of the ever-warring scavenger gangs, then he had a couple dozen thugs he paid enough to avoid becoming just another trophy on some Rodian lunatic scavenger's pike. Or, at the very least, a decent contingent of combat droids.
Worth keeping in mind when they landed.
"Not that I'm particularly interested, but maybe you'll tell me why the Rodians have it out for you?" he asked the girl.
The whole way here, they'd each minded their own business and hadn't talked much. But now, why not?
The girl was silent for a while, then stated:
"He set me up. Badly." Well, say something new. This story is as old as the universe.
"Well, okay," Torin shrugged, as if he wasn't interested at all. "I just asked to make conversation. If you don't want to talk, that's your business."
The girl left the right to a snappy comeback unclaimed.
Well, her right, really.
The means to get a sentient to talk in his arsenal included a bulk carrier and a couple of dry-cargo ships. And that was just counting the ones that didn't involve using an interrogation droid and tearing off body parts.
Looking at the girl, who had turned away from him and was silently staring through the cockpit's side viewport, Inek smirked discreetly. In the transparisteel reflection, he saw Shira pouting and furrowing her brow. Her posture betrayed extreme concentration, and her unfocused gaze indicated she was immersed in memories.
Perfect.
A simple taunt had made her turn to her own memories — and not the best ones. So she'd talk soon.
Truly — "textbook little sister."
* * *
"Major," I looked at my adjutant. "Handle the chain of command for the Ciutric Hegemony starships."
"Yes, sir," the former guardsman reported briskly. "And Krennel's other starships?"
"Including those," I nodded, glancing at the Slicer.
Zakarisz Ghent met my eyes and, with complete lack of ceremony, showed me an "okay" sign with the fingers of his right hand.
No, I understand the transmission is ongoing, but still…
A big child who has absolutely no grasp of the basics of subordination.
Well, back to pressing matters.
"By what right has the New Republic invaded Imperial territory, Councilor Fey'lya?" I asked, looking at Borsk Fey'lya.
The Bothan's hologram flickered. And with it, the smug and contemptuous notes returned to his groomed face.
"Prince-Admiral Krennel is developing a superweapon, a new variant of the Death Star, that threatens the entire galaxy," he said. Judging by the enemy ships' movements — while the Bothan was speechifying, his fleet was re-forming. Oh no, really, where do you think you're going?
At my signal, Pellaeon duplicated the order to our starships equipped with gravity well generators. Invisible projection vectors of an artificial gravity zone reliably pinned the enemy over an area two and a half times larger than what Prince-Admiral Krennel's two Immobilizer 418 interdictor cruisers could manage. Those cruisers, judging by the fact that they had stopped trying to flee, had decided to submit to the command of the arriving fleet. They were now also joining the general containment and blockade system.
"Imperial military commanders have the right to develop whatever they please on their own territory, Councilor," I said. "The Galactic Empire is not subject to the laws of the New Republic. By your acts of invasion into the territory of the Ciutric Hegemony, you have finally violated all the norms of the shaky, informal truce that existed between our states in the past."
"Krennel attacked our worlds! Bases! Military and transport ships!"
"Prince-Admiral, whom according to my information you have cold-bloodedly killed, did nothing of the sort," I said.
"I expected nothing less from an Imperial," Fey'lya snorted.
"Exactly as I expected from a Bothan," I parried, which sparked a furious gleam in the eyes of the native of Bothawui. "All strikes against the armed forces and assets of the New Republic that have occurred recently were carried out by me as retaliatory actions for the New Republic's attacks on the Ubiqtorate base in the Morshdine sector and other Imperial military installations across the galaxy. As well as for the invasion of your state's armed forces into territories controlled by the Galactic Empire."
Panic and understanding flickered in the Bothan's eyes. But he would "drag out" his game until the very end. An untrainable animal. And supposedly a representative of a sentient race.
"What lies are you trying to present to me here, Grand Admiral?" the Councilor asked defiantly. "The New Republic did not attack the Empire…"
"You are the one lying here, Councilor," I said calmly. "And not just to me, but to your own colleagues and subordinates. Over the past year, a private military organization under the command of former Corellian Senator Garm Bel Iblis," the Bothan's fur rippled in waves, "has attacked no fewer than two dozen Imperial military installations. Including the already mentioned Ubiqtorate base, which was completely destroyed, by the way."
"I don't know anything about any private military organizations," the Bothan quickly disavowed.
"Councilor's aide Breil'lya says otherwise," I replied. "And Commander Bel Iblis himself does too. For a long time, Councilor Fey'lya, you supplied Senator Bel Iblis's illegal armed group with weapons and intelligence information, in order to secretly, behind the official New Republic government's back, strike at Imperial territory and assets. An excellent way to earn political influence points, Councilor," I praised. "At the same time, you discredit Acting Head of Government Mon Mothma in the eyes of the New Republic, portraying her as incompetent, while you conduct military operations behind her back, so that at a convenient moment you can pull Bel Iblis, a hero of your Rebel Alliance, from your deck of cards and announce to everyone that he is your ally, which would guarantee you support in the election for the head of your state."
"Outright lies!" Fey'lya hissed.
"I think your Republic Senate or tribunal will deal with that," I replied calmly. "Of course, if you live that long."
"Sooner I'll drag you there," Fey'lya hissed. "Do you really think you can overcome me with just a couple of ships? Block space all you want — I have more starships, and some of them I acquired in battle."
"If you're hoping I'll give you an Imperial medal for that, you're wasting your effort," I said. "During the battle in the Honoghr system, I explained to General Solo that any violation of the Empire's territorial integrity would be punished mercilessly. You chose to mock that man and continued to arm the New Republic's Fourth Fleet for an invasion of the Ciutric Hegemony on pretexts you fabricated. Or was it not you who orchestrated the various plans directed against the Empire, but the traitor Octavian Grant, who until recently resided on the planet Rathalay as a high-ranking prisoner of the New Republic, who gave up all the secrets he possessed and developed your strategy for a preemptive strike on the Ciutric Hegemony to seize its territories and industry?"
"What nonsense are you spouting?!" the Bothan squealed. But his hunted gaze spoke for itself.
"These are the words of Octavian Grant himself, who, like Senator Bel Iblis and his subordinates, Princess Leia Organa-Solo, General Lando Calrissian, General Willard, as well as numerous New Republic military personnel captured during battles with my fleet in the Dufilvian sector, near the planet Rugosa, during operations against your military bases, in the Honoghr system, at the Hast shipyards, and in many other military campaigns under my command," I said. "I regret to inform you that General Cracken shot himself during an operation to capture and intercept a Republic military vessel in the Milagro system."
"His blood is on your hands," Fey'lya declaimed pompously.
"He, like tens of thousands of New Republic soldiers, could have lived if you, Councilor Fey'lya, hadn't tried to meddle where you have absolutely no business," I said. "You organized attacks on territories under my protection using Bel Iblis's mercenary forces. I located his base in the Dafillivian sector and conducted a punitive operation. First against that sector itself, but your illustrious hero didn't even try to crawl out of the hole he'd holed up in. You removed Admiral Ackbar from his post as supreme commander and kept escalating the situation, mobilizing New Republic forces to attack the Ciutric Hegemony. The strikes against your own territory didn't sober you up. Even the attack on the Hast shipyards and the elimination of the threat posed by the starships there—which you intended to use against us—didn't convince you of the seriousness of my intentions. Your forces invaded the system of Honoghr, which is loyal to the Empire, and fired first. I gave General Solo a clear warning, but you ignored that too. You kept mobilizing your ships, arming them, sending raiders to intercept Imperial cargo. If before our two states could coexist in relative peace, and the Empire could overlook such threats from your side, now everything has changed..."
"Some absolute and—" Fey'lya began.
"Shut your mouth, Councilor," I ordered. "You are speaking with a superior officer in both rank and position. If you had even a shred of honor and dignity, you would admit the error of your own actions and surrender along with your fleet instead of preparing for a battle you cannot win."
"We have more ships..." the Bothan stammered.
"As well as a catastrophic lack of tactical and strategic understanding of the situation," I said, shaking my head as if condemning him. "You sent General Wedge Antilles's force to the system Liinade III, denied them the promised support, and instead launched an attack on the Hegemony's capital, Ciutric IV, with the goal of overthrowing the government and seizing territory."
"Prince-Admiral Krennel himself seized the Ciutric Hegemony, destroying its government in the person of Sate Pestage," Fey'lya said. "I came to call him to order and bring him to trial on Coruscant."
Hearing it from his mouth sounded even more delusional than reading it in the Delta Source reports.
"Perhaps then you could enlighten me, Councilor Fey'lya, as to how Imperial territory—the Ciutric Hegemony—falls under the jurisdiction of the New Republic?" I inquired. "Considering the differences in forms of government, administrative-territorial divisions, and types of authority? Not to mention the fact that the Hegemony is, for all intents and purposes, a state independent of the New Republic?"
"Prince-Admiral Krennel sent an official request for the Hegemony to join the New Republic!"
"Which hasn't even been reviewed by your state's Senate yet. No decision has been made on that proposal, so accordingly, we return to where we began this conversation: the New Republic fleet organized an attack on a sovereign state with the goal of overthrowing its government and subjugating pro-Imperial territories to its will. Correct me if I'm wrong."
"Krennel was a dictator!"
"As I recall, his title was 'Prince-Admiral,'" I said.
"You're playing with words, Grand Admiral," the Bothan warned with a hiss.
"You're playing with a proton torpedo ready to explode at any moment, Councilor," I clarified. "You committed aggression against a state that did nothing whatsoever to you. At least, not first. You invented pretexts to interfere in its internal affairs and politics. Well, I have now clearly seen the worth of your words about democracy, freedom of choice, self-determination, and all those other so-called 'freedoms' you try to impose on other worlds. The New Republic has no credibility. Order your soldiers to lay down their arms, and I guarantee them captivity with a subsequent exchange, pending negotiation with the regime currently governing Coruscant. Otherwise, your hostile actions and this act of aggression against the Ciutric Hegemony will be the cause of thousands of New Republic military deaths and will lead to an even greater escalation of the conflict. I'm warning you once: this blatant aggression against Imperial territories will only lead to a full-scale offensive against sectors and military installations controlled by the New Republic. Every action creates a reaction."
"Thrawn, are you out of your mind?" Borsk Fey'lya laughed. "You brought five ships to fight me, and commandeered two more. Fine, even if Krennel's survivors join you. That's still two, maybe even three times less combat power than the fleet under my command. Stick your nose into my operation, and I'll crush you like a pest!"
"I would advise you to first worry about the lives of your own subordinates," I said. So, it comes down to the finale of the 'Bothan Rhapsody.' Though, it would be more accurate to call it a tragedy. And a Bothan one at that, because the overwhelming majority of servicemembers on the ships of the New Republic's Fourth Battle Fleet are from Bothawui. "Soldiers shouldn't die because of politicians' ambitions. Right now, you're probably counting on reinforcements from the Fourth Fleet's First Division—five Star Destroyers led by the fast dreadnought Warrior named Crimson Dawn." The Bothan stopped smiling. "You must not have been listening carefully—General Willard, who commanded that unit, is my prisoner. As is most of the crews who survived the engagement with the fleet under my command. General Antilles's unit, after you effectively abandoned and deceived them, is halfway to the Third Fleet's base on Elom. You cannot win."
"Don't you dare tell me what soldiers should or shouldn't do," Fey'lya snorted. "Politicians are made to manage and direct; the military is made to die for their interests."
"For the interests of their state," I corrected, smiling after glancing at the tactical monitor. "I think, using your example, some of your subordinates have come to understand that you would sacrifice every last one of them here under fabricated pretexts and high-flown phrases about the greater good."
"What are you babbling about?!" Fey'lya's gaze darted around. "What's happening?! Why are our 'Victories' leaving formation!?"
"I forgot to tell you, Councilor Fey'lya," I said. "Our conversation has been broadcast widely to your ships..."
The Bothan's eyes widened.
"You're finished, Thrawn!" he whispered.
."..and it continues to be broadcast via HoloNet relays to the entire known galaxy," I continued. "You wanted fame, Fey'lya. You've got it."
Now his lower jaw was definitely trembling. It was clearly visible from how his fur stood on end, as if he'd been struck by an electric charge.
"Sir," Pellaeon's grin was indescribable. The trick the original Thrawn had pulled on Warlord Nuso Esva during the Battle of Poln Minor had been repeated. But on a much larger scale. "The fleet is ready to begin the operation."
"Begin," I said calmly, looking into the Bothan's eyes. "As for your last threat, Councilor." At that moment, the starships of my fleet emerged from hyperspace, having made a micro-jump from the outskirts of the Ciutric system. Fourteen combat units of six Dreadnoughts each from the Katana Fleet, led by Imperial-class Star Destroyers, materialized on the boundaries of the Republican fleet's flanks. Another six heavy cruisers appeared alongside the interdictors and minesweepers, together with escort carriers. And behind the Chimaera, the Steel Aurora and the Crusader rose from the blackness of space. Mentioning the numerous Corellian corvettes escorting them was already superfluous. "Many would like to see my end, Councilor. But so far, all they manage to do is choke on their own impotent venom."
The final chord of this show of force was the appearance behind the Chimaera's stern... the Torpedo Sphere. The very one that, thanks to disinformation, New Republic soldiers feared as a miniature version of the Death Star. Well, they were lucky it was a 'standard sphere.' Its task was to protect the interdictors and minesweepers from large enemy warships.
The Bothan let out a threatening, yet simultaneously hysterical and panicked, shriek. It looked pathetic.
"Fleet — attack!" I commanded to Pellaeon standing beside me. And the commander of my flagship Star Destroyer, with great satisfaction and a poorly concealed smile of anticipation for the general engagement, relayed the order to the battle group flagships. "Destroy the enemy."
How long I've waited for this, my little furry friend...
And the slaughter of the stubborn fools began.
* * *
Grand Admiral Thrawn divided the fleet into sixteen battle groups.
Fourteen of them had standard numbers: one Star Destroyer and six heavy support cruisers, which emerged from hyperspace in equal numbers on the enemy's left and right flanks.
The fifteenth group consisted of the Chimaera and two Victory-class vessels positioned on the front of the attack. Given the information about a minefield laid between the flagship and the Republicans by that idiot prince-admiral, it was no wonder Thrawn was temporarily out of the front line. However, judging by how his ships were maneuvering, they would soon exit the hyperdrive suppression zone, make a micro-jump, and appear on the enemy's right flank, ready to join the battle.
The sixteenth group was a containment force consisting of the Torpedo Sphere, six escorting Dreadnoughts, two Quasar Fire-class escort carriers, three Interdictor-class Star Destroyers, and two Immobilizer 418 cruisers. The latter, by the way, had been joined by a pair of identical starships of the same type that had previously served Krennel.
A sensible choice, I must say.
So, the disposition was excellent.
To the front, the Republicans had a minefield and their own damaged ships, behind which were the starships of the sixteenth group. To the left and right were fourteen other operational-tactical units; to the rear were Krennel's surviving starships and orbital defense stations. Given that, thanks to Thrawn's efforts, groups one through fourteen had occupied various echelons in the plane of space, the enemy was in for an 'interesting firefight.'
And one broadcast across the entire galaxy, no less.
Captain Dorja, watching as a Mon Calamari star cruiser accompanied by several corvettes advanced towards his group, simply smiled at the prospects unfolding.
What could be more fun than giving a thrashing to the Republicans, who had gotten far too big for their boots, and all on a live HoloNet broadcast?
He felt like laughing out loud.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the movement of four groups on the tactical monitor—two from each flank.
The task force led by the flagship Bellicose was moving forward to form an impenetrable barrier between the orbital platforms and the enemy formation. Of course, no one in their right mind would go near the Golan platforms when there were so many of Thrawn's starships around.
But there were also Krennel's ships—very badly battered, stripped of weapons and deflectors. The Resolute, three Strike-class vessels. The Reckoning was also trying to limp to safety; a group led by the Point of No Return was already moving to cover it. The former Republic Liberator, captured during the battle for the Hast shipyards, intended to face several Acclamator-class assault ships. The latter intended to finish off the vessel, to somehow mitigate the bitterness of the trap they'd found themselves in. Well, well, let's see what they'll say now.
The two surrendered enemy Victory-class ships kept their distance from the mad Bothan's vessels. A group led by the Twilight—the Point of No Return's counterpart, also straight from Hast—was moving towards them. In the entire fleet, these two 'Victory-Is' were the weakest of the Imperial Star Destroyers. A bit stronger than the Interdictors, and that was it... No wonder it was better for them not to get involved in a direct confrontation.
Captain Brandei's Overlord and Harbid's Death's Head moved to capture three Mon Calamari star cruisers that had been part of the Ciutric Hegemony's fleet just two hours earlier.
The Red Gauntlet and its six heavy cruisers, after exchanging salvos with enemy ships, were tightening the noose, cutting the Bothans off from those Acclamators that Krennel's ion cannons had disabled.
In total, five of the fourteen 'flank' groups were busy securing the trophies that now unequivocally belonged to Grand Admiral Thrawn.
What, does anyone want to dispute that fact? No? Why not? We're always ready for dialogue. And our turbolasers are always charged.
"Fire," Dorja commanded.
And the Relentless was the first to begin its battle with its opponent.
* * *
Perhaps it's setting expectations too high, but I expected something quite different from a commander of Krennel's supposed caliber.
A remote-detonated minefield is, without a doubt, absolutely the right move. Sufficient mine density could have left the ships of Fey'lya without even identifiable wreckage. The problem was that the prince-admiral had made the minefield too sparse. Now that the mines were active and Mr. Ghent was working to hack into them and deactivate the detonators, putting the mines to 'sleep,' fighter sweeps had revealed that the distance between the nearest mines was half a kilometer. That meant... well, practically any starship could pass through at that distance between the damaging elements.
But Krennel had been greedy and focused on ion cannons. On the one hand, it was the right decision—it could disable enemy ships preemptively. He had, after all, received information about my battle at Hast. However, lacking suitable ships for the purpose, he used installations placed on satellites.
He was lucky it even worked at all. Because satellites, like other astronomical objects, tend to rotate on their axes. Thus, the chance of the guns being in the firing arc of the enemy starships was... slim.
Still, I had to give the prince-admiral his due—he had given Fey'lya's fleet a good mauling. And... that was much better than the fate that befell a similar action in the book Ysanne Isard's Revenge.
The events of that novel take place after the death of Grand Admiral Thrawn (the original, of course), and notably, literally within a month of today's events. Upon learning that the New Republic planned to attack him under the pretext of trying him for Pestage's murder, Krennel boasted about the many years he had spent preparing the defenses of his planets. And he was proud of how well-drilled his fleet was.
And what happened next, neither upon first reading nor later, evoked any feeling in me but 'cringe-inducing secondhand embarrassment.'
Yes, Krennel agreed with Isard's plan to sacrifice Liinade III to the invasion, to set an ambush for the Republican fleet there. And he was even prepared to lose that planet. But he still intended to defend it and give the New Republic a bloody nose.
In the end, Krennel's fleet lost both Liinade III, the garrison with military equipment on the surface, and the Star Destroyer Direction, which the Republicans thoroughly hammered and received as a gift from the capitulating Imperials. If my memory serves, the Republicans also managed to destroy one or a pair of Dreadnoughts. Good 'preparation' from the prince-admiral. A solid plan.
Then, after a series of events, came the New Republic's attack on Ciutric IV. Which Krennel knew about and prepared for.
It all ended with the Reckoning and Krennel himself being destroyed by the New Republic fleet; the Hegemony's defense fleet capitulated—which left about a dozen starships, including at least a couple of Star Destroyers. And all of that would have been fine, but...
The Republic did it with a dozen ships. And less than half of them were cruisers or destroyers. So, basically...
I don't know what to say about that.
No matter how many times I reread the book in my past life, I couldn't find a rational reason why Krennel didn't use his so-called 'impenetrable' defenses. I couldn't imagine one, let alone read about it on the pages of that work.
So, that prince-admiral really 'did a bang-up job.'
"Ready to break the light barrier," Captain Pellaeon reported.
"Proceed," I ordered.
Oddly enough, the 'old school' of Imperial officers required not 'making the hyperjump,' but 'breaking the light barrier.' The phrases were synonymous, but it seemed more like someone among the Imperials just wanted to add more swagger to their speech. Pseudo-intellectuals.
That's how a pseudo-scientific term can sometimes grate on the ear.
The stars in front of the Chimaera's nose merged into lines...
Only to return to their original forms a few seconds later.
The micro-jump was complete.
The Chimaera, Steel Aurora, and Crusader were blind and disarmed for a short time after the jump through hyperspace, but within seconds they began surrounding themselves with deflector fields, simultaneously releasing Corellian ships from their hangars—one CR90 and a couple of DP20s.
No matter how good the Crusader II was at its job, it needed to be studied at the Tangrene shipyards.
I wanted to know how the enemy had achieved such a qualitative technological leap.
And if I wanted it, that meant I would get it.
Glancing at the tactical monitor and seeing the unfolding schematic picture of the battle before me, I ordered:
"Captain Pellaeon, find Councilor Fey'lya's flagship among this mess of Republican starships."
"Sir," the Chimaera's commander tensed. "You yourself said it could stand up to a Super Star Destroyer and rebuilds its shields extremely quickly..."
"Precisely why, Captain," I said calmly, "our group has two first-generation Victory-class ships. And a total of one hundred and sixty concussion missile launchers. Shields are shields, but even a Super Star Destroyer would be wary of facing an arsenal like that."
"Understood, sir," Pellaeon brightened. "My apologies for the hesitation."
"Quite alright, Captain," I replied. "Just find me that future piece of scrap metal."
* * *
Ciutric IV was the first truly large-scale operation within the fleet of Grand Admiral Thrawn.
Not with parts, not with detachments, but directly with the entire fleet in a combat-ready state.
"Adjust the firing solution," ordered Captain von Schneider. "Medium turbolasers: fire on the enemy Corellian corvette. Turret artillery: fire on the Mon Calamari cruiser. Batteries: target of choice. Cruisers: support us in firing on the primary target."
The MC80, chosen as the object of the coordinated attack, shone with the cleanliness of its hull, which indicated only that it hadn't suffered a scratch in the previous battle.
Well, now the Nemesis would correct that unfortunate oversight.
The Star Destroyer's TIE Interceptors, supported by two fighter squadrons, were already engaged with the enemy's small craft. The battle was unfolding an echelon above and to the side of the large ship exchange, which predestined the possibility of a swift resolution in their favor.
A bomber squadron from the Chimaera, supported by a dozen Imperial fighters, was already coming onto its attack run, having chosen the star cruiser's right 'wing' as its target. The enemy was diligently aiming its guns to counter those who, despite their small size, could inflict great harm on the starship. Therefore, to divert the enemy from such a target, the Dreadnoughts of the Nemesis's group attacked the enemy from the upper and lower hemispheres, as well as the port side, splitting into pairs. The Star Destroyer itself, concentrating turbolaser fire in its forward hemisphere, was diligently chipping away at the enemy's forward section of the hull. The star cruiser's deflectors were already blooming with crimson light, indicating a decrease in their power.
The attack had to be continued, and soon the result would be achieved.
And at that moment, the enemy Corellian corvette launched an attack on the Star Destroyer, dousing its deflectors with streams of crimson fire. They couldn't cause much damage, but they were a significant distraction from the overall operation.
"Tractor beam operators: grab that annoying little pest," Schneider ordered.
Invisible beams swept through space, intending to intercept the enemy starship and prevent its maneuvers.
The enemy, almost caught by one operator by the stern, engaged engine overdrive, which resulted in a torn-off section of the nozzle cluster. The little ship spun in space, veering to port. The crew was undoubtedly fighting their now-uncontrollable starship, simultaneously trying to shoot back at the TIE fighters pressing in on them.
Finally, a dozen seconds after losing control, the enemy starship stabilized its course and prepared to continue its escape from the now-dangerous Star Destroyer, but it was not to be.
Von Schneider watched with satisfaction as two tractor beam operators crossed their invisible grips on the Corellian vessel. The New Republic spacecraft struggled in its unseen bonds, like a fish pulled ashore, but found itself unable to resist. He attempted a feint—to rush towards the ship to break the beam's lock. And he succeeded—for a good second. The next moment, three installations were holding him, and obeying an order from the bridge, they began dragging the starship below the ship's upper hemisphere, into the plane of the starboard side.
The Republican fired desperately, apparently deciding they were being dragged to the lower hangar where an attempt would be made to board them...
"Lock the target," the Nemesis's commander ordered, when the prisoner was exactly in the projection of the Star Destroyer's starboard side. "Fire."
The starboard batteries, along with three superfiring turrets of triple medium turbolasers, belched fire.
The Corellian ship survived the first salvo.
On the second, its deflectors gave up the ghost.
The third swept turrets from the hull and pierced the main reactor.
The fourth… wasn't needed — the Republic vessel was blown to pieces by internal detonation.
"Good work," Captain Schneider praised the crew. "Now do the same with the Corellian gunboat coming in on our port side."
And right after those words, a bomber squadron from the Nemesis launched its proton torpedoes at the Mon Calamari cruiser.
The latter's crew got very sad — besides losing half their artillery, they also lost their forward shields.
But the turbolasers of the Nemesis weren't thinking of letting up, cutting open and vaporizing the enemy ship's hull as if it were paper.
* * *
The Inexorable was burning.
That isn't a figure of speech.
The Star Destroyer under Captain Alexander Mor's command was truly burning the enemy starship.
That's just how it turned out.
No one asked the New Republic escort frigate to try to come up from behind the Inexorable in hopes of tearing it away from the merciless beating of the Republic vessel of the star cruiser type.
The obvious hope of knocking down the destroyer's aft shields and forcing it to abandon its legitimate prey did not come true. The heavy cruisers covering the Inexorable's stern literally snapped the New Republic ship in half with their fire. The aft section detonated because the reactors and engines couldn't withstand the concentrated barrage.
But the bow…
It was unlucky enough to end up opposite the Star Destroyer's nozzles.
Twice unlucky was that Captain Mor was in a bad mood today — he'd counted the number of TIE Interceptors destroyed by the Republic that Krennel had thrown at the Fourth Fleet.
Out of nearly fifteen hundred machines and pilots, barely more than a third managed to retreat to the safe zone. The rest were destroyed. By numerically inferior opponents.
And consequently, the complete rearmament of the Star Destroyers' air wings exclusively with interceptors and the decommissioning of TIE fighters to secondary ships or mothballing was postponed indefinitely.
Therefore, he ordered the remnants of the enemy ship to be caught. And while the gunners were striking the Mon Calamari star cruiser with the starboard side, three massive engines of the Destroyer-I were burning through the enemy's armor, vaporizing along with metal and plastic the remnants of the enemy starship's crew.
"Judging by the smoke clouds coming from that ship, there were nothing but Bothans on board," the first officer commented.
"All the better," Mor remarked calmly. "A good Bothan is a cremated Bothan. What about the damaged dreadnaught?"
"Disabled, sir," the first officer said gloomily. "A Republic torpedo destroyed the bridge. The ship is being towed away from the battle now."
"Good," actually, nothing of the sort. "Inform our bomber pilots to pull the same trick on the enemy star cruiser. Let them suffer."
"Aye, sir!" the subordinate saluted and quickly walked toward the communications operator.
Meanwhile, the Inexorable continued to hammer with its turbolasers and ion cannons, driving simple science into the enemy star cruiser's crew.
But it was unlikely they were smart enough to understand: you don't mess with Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet.
Why was he so sure of that?
Simple.
Of the entire Republic fleet, only two Victory-class ships realized that surrender is better than death in battle, where no one will certainly stand on ceremony with slow-wits.
* * *
Morgot Astorias grabbed the nearest terminal to keep the shockwave from knocking him off his feet.
The Stormhawk had received a proton-torpedo "greeting" from an enemy bomber squadron.
Sirens wailed and the bridge filled with clipped commands and reports.
"Breach on deck seven!"
"Air leak!"
"Fire!"
"Bulkheads sealed! Air supply to damaged compartments cut off!"
"Fire extinguished!"
Well, lesson learned.
"Gunners," straightening his tunic, Morgot walked toward the main viewport. "Barrage fire in sector seven is weakening. Correct that error!"
"Sir, three defense points have been knocked out! The explosion damaged the wiring…"
"That concerns me the least," Astorias replied. "Send repair crews to that area and restore the laser cannons to working order."
The enemy had found and struck their weak point. They would undoubtedly try to repeat their success.
They were already trying — a squadron of "crutch"-class ships was turning, making a new approach.
"Send an interceptor squadron to sector seven," he ordered. "Third fighter squadron, disengage and be ready to strike the retreating enemy bombers."
"Yes, Captain!"
The enemy pilots clearly thought they were fighting a bunch of idiots who wouldn't anticipate such a simple move.
Well, the Republic was wrong.
By the time the "crutches" even approached the reliable launch range, TIE Interceptors broke their formation. In the first clash, the enemy lost two ships, and a carousel began. The clumsy New Republic ships tried to fight back and even attack the Imperial interceptors, but in the end they predictably got nowhere — they lost four more ships.
The remaining six enemy small craft attempted to retreat, and immediately found themselves between two full-strength Imperial squadrons.
In a short and fierce skirmish, losing one fighter, the Imperials took this round, completely annihilating the enemy squadron.
"Continue repairs to the wiring in sector seven," Morgot ordered. "The corvette is to approach from the damaged side and cover us until repairs are complete. Third fighter squadron, be ready to support the corvette with fire if such a need arises."
The Mon Calamari star cruiser, whose destruction was entirely on Stormhawk and its subordinate starships, was stubbornly snapping back, intending to make a combat turn and exit the zone of point-blank fire coming from the Imperial Star Destroyer's broadsides.
To its misfortune, it did manage to turn and was now showing Morgot its stern. Twelve TIE bombers immediately took advantage, attacking the star cruiser and disabling one of its engines, greatly pleasing the enemy crew with a simple and uncomplicated detonation of a full volley of proton torpedoes, which tore apart the Mon Calamari star cruiser's stern and deprived it of any chance to maneuver or retreat.
"Bombers, return to the hangar for rotation," Morgot ordered. "Gunners — maximum rate of fire."
* * *
When the turbolasers and ion cannons of the Abyssal Fury began their monotonous destructive work, firing into the enemy starship on an opposing course, it seemed as though space itself had come alive with multicolored streaks.
Antonias still couldn't get used to the fact that the ship under his command could emit such a colossal amount of deadly fire, but it was a fait accompli.
As was the fact that the six heavy dreadnaught-class cruisers had practically encircled the Mon Calamari star cruiser, firing at it in such a way that no side of the ship was left without turbolaser "attention."
The Abyssal Fury itself held back, passing the enemy on opposite courses and adding even more deadly fire to the maelstrom of destruction.
Ahead, lights flared as if someone were setting off fireworks.
Oh, Antonias knew full well that wasn't the case.
"Both interceptor squadrons — move forward," he ordered, understanding that the Republic pilots were making yet another suicidal attempt to attack Stormaer's ship, which was protected by its own small craft. This was already the second attempt to drive the Abyssal Fury off course and somehow help their ship.
It won't help.
As soon as the twenty-four interceptors attacked the enemy air wing, as soon as they flew close enough, Antonias spotted the contours of the first enemy ships that had avoided the general melee. First, the Abyssal Fury's systems identified them and brought them up on the tactical display, and then the Star Destroyer commander got to see the surviving enemy in person — as fast-moving points of light approaching his ship.
"Barrage fire in the forward hemisphere," he commanded. "Second interceptor squadron — take countermeasures."
Part of his own air wing rushed toward the enemy to prevent their penetration of the inner defense perimeter. The Republic's skill with proton torpedoes had become widely known ten years earlier, when a bunch of ragged rebels blew up the Death Star. And four years later, they repeated the trick.
Generally speaking, if you think about it, the rebels solved almost every military engagement problem with proton torpedoes.
Perhaps he should suggest to Grand Admiral Thrawn that, first thing after the Ciutric campaign, they strike the production facilities of this type of weapon at the military factories under New Republic control?
Meanwhile, the Republic squadron, facing obvious problems in the form of their opponents in TIE Interceptors, resorted to the help of their own light forces. An old Marauder-class corvette, a ghost of the Clone Wars, like an ancient old man who had crawled out of the storerooms of history with a laser rifle from the time of Zima the Despot and trying to teach aristocratic manners to the neighborhood youth on a backwater planet.
"Senior gunner," Antonias addressed the relevant officer. "Switch your attention to that wreck — the last thing we need is its missiles damaging my ship."
"Will be done, Captain."
The eight-barreled turbolaser turrets of the Abyssal Fury stopped polishing the insides of the Mon Calamari star cruiser. Their barrels adjusted elevation and spatial position… A ranging salvo sounded to determine the enemy's speed and maneuverability.
The Marauder dodged aside with a gain in altitude, showing its gray belly with the New Republic emblem… And the gunners of the Imperial Star Destroyer switched to rapid fire, making the necessary corrections.
The old corvette's hull was instantly stripped of its deflector field. Maybe under another type of weapon, that invisible energy film could have countered enemy starships, but in the modern reality of war, it was no more than an attempt to shield against a point-blank blaster shot with a piece of translucent cloth.
The corvette's armor was dotted with flashes of explosions from turbolaser impacts. A couple of white-blue lightning spiderwebs crawled across the underbelly — the gunners manning the ion cannons had distinguished themselves. A moment later, the first wave of fire passed, leaving black scorch marks and traces of molten metal on the old ship's hull. But no serious damage.
Then the port side turbolaser turrets fired a volley, and the Marauder ceased to exist.
Antonias Stormaer watched with satisfaction as the enemy starship turned into a fireball, then switched his attention to a chain of tiny sparks — explosions of small craft. Judging by the markers on the tactical monitor, it was not Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet interceptors being exterminated.
Belatedly, he realized why the missile-carrying Marauder hadn't fired its warheads. Apparently, the Abyssal Fury had destroyed the artillery variant of the old corvette.
"Pity," Antonias lamented. "Could have been a decent picket boat. Almost an antique."
A volley from the Mon Calamari star cruiser made him forget about thoughts of prizes, and the Star Destroyer commander focused on controlling the process of shooting the damaged and immobilized enemy starship with ion cannons.
If he couldn't take the Marauder as a prize, why not the star cruiser?
* * *
Captain Abyss, from the bridge of the Void Wanderer, watched as his ship's guns literally ground into the dust the self-esteem of the Republic commanders of three Corellian corvettes that had decided to launch a collective attack on an Imperial Star Destroyer.
Like a heavy blaster, streams of green energy continuously entered the deflector protection of each ship, securely held by tractor beams. One ship on the starboard side, a second in the upper hemisphere, a third between them. When the raid attempt failed, they scattered. But the crew of the Void Wanderer was ready.
If asked why he decided to use such a tactical maneuver, which was unlikely to be taught at the Imperial Academy nowadays, Abyss could calmly answer that he had been convinced of its effectiveness against this class of enemy ship by observing the Star Destroyer Nemesis. So he left the issue of the very existence of the enemy MC80 star cruiser to his six heavy cruisers, while he himself set about exterminating the small pests that had become quite annoying.
That trio had managed to collectively destroy one and a half fighter squadrons across all seven ships under Abyss's command, put the Void Wanderer's escort corvette "in three fires," and battered the poor thing so badly that medics from the destroyer were now evacuating the remaining crew to the destroyer, while technical crews were restoring the starship, having pulled it into the main hangar.
Lose even one ship from his detachment in his first battle under Grand Admiral's command after everything that had happened?! No, thank you. He had a well-trained crew. The clones that had come to fill the ranks, though they caused an unconscious desire to shudder at the mere sight of several copies of the same person on deck, calmly talking among themselves.
A surreal picture straight out of the Clone Wars.
Sent a chill down the spine.
But, whatever you say — these guys, the clones, were truly excellent fellows. Well-trained, prepared, non-confrontational… So far it was only a guess, but it seemed there was some selection method for donors — and it was based not only on the military or physical qualities of the original person.
But all of that only applied to peacetime.
Right now, Abyss was very interested in how the three tractor beam operators had managed, with such ease bordering on filigree, to catch that trio of Corellian corvettes by their soft spots. And the fact that all three were clones indicated that their original was truly a virtuoso of his craft.
The gunners of the Void Wanderer pounded turbolaser bolts into the enemy starships, collapsing their deflectors, preparing to blast them to dust.
A simple, yet pragmatic thought struck Abyss.
"Senior gunner," he found the officer with his eyes. "Engage the three corvettes with ion cannons. We'll take them by boarding with crew…" judging by the faint glow reflecting off the transparisteel, an explosion occurred behind him. Turning his head, he sighed heavily. "Alright, we still have two prisoners. Try not to blow up at least them."
His first commander, Captain Firmus Piett, once said that to emerge from a battle not only with your ship intact but also capturing prizes was a sign of the highest degree of pragmatism for a Star Destroyer commander.
Well, after the Ciutric campaign, we'll see how Grand Admiral Thrawn feels about prizes. They say he's strictly positive, but… who knows, he has enough "uncrewed" Star Destroyers to form an entire fleet. Does he need such trifles?
On the other hand… Well, he doesn't need them, and to hell with them. The regulations allow a Star Destroyer commander to claim battle trophies under certain conditions. He'd have not one escort corvette, but three. What's wrong with that?
* * *
Watching as the MC80b, after a firefight with Dusk and Point of No Return, diligently tries to escape the pursuing Chimaera, Steel Aurora, and Crusader, I was visited once again by thoughts about the lack of psychological health on the part of Imperial shipbuilders.
Studying archival documents to fill my own gaps in knowledge about the tactical and technical characteristics of Imperial warships, I am increasingly beset by the thought that it was neither chance nor mythical luck that led the pilots and other military personnel of the Rebel Alliance, and later the New Republic, to victory with relatively small forces over the Star Destroyers of the Galactic Empire.
The problem lies in the fact that… However unnatural it may sound for a fleet officer accustomed to the uniformity of armament of fleet ships built within the same series, but… Imperial Star Destroyers, even of the same generation and type, could carry completely different armaments.
Literally.
The Imperial-I series had been repeatedly modernized for one set of tactical and technical characteristics or another. Sometimes this was done on "initiative from above," and sometimes "from below." For example, the commander of an operational-tactical formation could easily, if he had solid grounds, push through the modernization of his Star Destroyers with this or that type of weapon. And the question here is not about experimental weapon samples, superlasers, railguns, or tractor beams.
Everything is much more prosaic. Unfortunately.
Imperial-class ships within the same type differ from each other in standard armament. The number of turbolasers, ion cannons, their placement, the presence or absence of laser turrets… When "allocations" for ship modernization came, unfortunately, not all of them went through.
Yes. For example, by the Battle of Endor, it was officially believed that most of the Imperial-I-class Star Destroyers had been modernized to Imperial-IIs. And the first model was no longer being built — in any of the intermediate modifications.
But in reality…
In reality, it's a mess.
Perhaps in the Core Worlds and most fleets, such modernizations were carried out and, conditionally, the laser cannons were "cut" in exchange for an increased number of turbolasers, but this did not happen everywhere.
And very quickly a simple thing became clear — the Imperial-II is good, incredibly good in matters of "ship versus ship" arguments, where thanks to its artillery it can whip the ass of almost any analog in service with other factions.
But deprived of medium turbolasers and anti-aircraft armament, this ship lost the ability to deliver "goodness and justice" against small craft and medium ships with the same effectiveness as the Imperial-I in its best, third or fourth (who the hell knows how many official and unofficial modifications there were), modification.
And as it happened, my fleet had a "hodgepodge" of all possible types of first-generation Imperial ships.
Dusk and Point of No Return were objectively the weakest of all the Imperials of this model. Worse armed, worse protected, the placement and rate of fire of the artillery noticeably limped. For these reasons, I ordered them to be used "in support." Because despite the presence of proton torpedo launchers on board, installed by the Republic, despite automation, these ships… are weak.
It even makes me angry. The Galactic Empire had tens, if not hundreds of thousands of starships of just the line class, but instead of bringing them to a common denominator of armament, the Emperor's shipbuilders, apparently, were "budgeting."
And we have what we have. The rebels or Republic forces with a single squadron can thoroughly "work over" an Imperial Star Destroyer, after which propaganda spreads across the galaxy about what great guys they are. Because the Empire only in military reference books for internal use revealed its little secret — not all Star Destroyers are armed equally strongly and modernly.
Which we are now observing in the example of Dusk and Point of No Return.
Fe'liia's flagship did not pay them much attention, trying to escape from the Chimaera, but the hulls of these starships are covered with numerous breaches, and the artillery is heavily knocked out.
This brings us back to the issue of standardization of armament for ships of the same class. In that case, subsequent encounters between New Republic ships and my destroyers will no longer be that lottery where a random squadron of former farmers can thoroughly dismantle the pride of the fleet for scrap metal.
Oh… And right. In a couple of days, shipwright Reyes is supposed to demonstrate the Dressed in Amber — "the best of the modernizations of the Imperial-class Star Destroyer." Well, the Ciutric campaign and all previous battles have given a lot of food for thought.
Based on the results of this battle, I need to task the ship commanders with collecting reports from their subordinates with proposals for optimization and improvements to material condition. Actually, this should have been done long ago…
And in general, it's worth turning to the useful experience of the past of my own reality, selecting from it what is most relevant to today's reality and "putting it into service."
"This game of catch is starting to annoy me," Captain Pellaeon said angrily, approaching me and handing me a datapad with reports.
"Thank you," I said, accepting the datapad and quickly scanning it. Hmm... Not exactly impressive, but it could have been worse. Krennel lost from an excellent defensive position. The Emperor lost despite numerical superiority. And we've essentially won. After five hours of battle, enemy resistance has been suppressed on nearly all ships. The New Republic starships are either disabled, destroyed, or boarding and assault units have begun cleanup operations. "Such is the psychology of Bothans: they avoid open confrontation. And all the more so — they flee when they've lost. To face death head-on, a Bothan must be certain that it will happen so spectacularly and be so etched in the memory of his kin that he will be honored. Fey'lya has no chance of winning this battle. His starships and their crews will soon be completely defeated. And note — the stiffest resistance comes from crews where the number of Bothans exceeds more than half the complement."
"Cowards," Pellaeon said with contempt.
"Psychology," I clarified. "For them, captivity is disgrace. And disgrace for a Bothan is public humiliation in which he loses everything he earned through his 'arduous labor.'"
"About the labor — that was irony, right?" the Chimaera's commander clarified, hinting that Bothans don't actually do the labor themselves all that often, preferring to use underlings.
"Not at all, Captain," I refuted the assumption. "To be ironic about an opponent means to stop respecting him and evaluating him as a real threat. That should never be done — the examples of Darth Vader and the Emperor must be absorbed by us, and the necessary conclusions drawn for further development. That was sarcasm. Everything is proceeding as planned."
I think Pellaeon's eye twitched. Nervousness?
"So the fact that we've been chasing this furry idi..." Pellaeon caught himself in time, pretending to cough into his fist. ."..Advisor Fey'lya across the entire battlefield for the better part of an hour — that's part of the plan?"
"Of course, Captain," I returned the datapad to him. "Make notes next to 'Twilight' and 'Point of No Return.' Their weapon systems must be brought up to the latest modification standards of the Imperial I-class Star Destroyer."
"I thought we intended to transition to the upgraded version of the ships, sir."
"As soon as all necessary tests are completed, and all faults and malfunctions are identified and eliminated — then yes, we will launch serial modernization. Until then, we will eliminate the weaknesses of our ships through standard means," I explained. "Also, add to the list of observations the actions of the Red Glove's commander. He needs to conduct additional maneuvering drills for his crew — they're yawing on course."
"Understood, sir," Pellaeon replied, taking back the datapad. "Sir, forgive me, but perhaps we could throw additional forces at capturing the Mon Adapyne? He's constantly pulling away from us because he's at full speed, while we're at three-quarters."
"That's not necessary, Captain," I explained. "You see the problem. Line-class starships aren't designed for races — neither for speed nor for endurance. They have completely different tasks. Otherwise, the Empire would build Star Super Destroyers with the speed of a TIE Interceptor. I'm sure the Mon Adapyne's commander understands this just as well as he understands that Fey'lya is currently wearing out his engine components in a frankly barbaric manner. So all we need to do is wait for the moment when a cornered ship stops trying to break free from the trap of the sixteen operational-tactical groups surrounding it, and falls helplessly into our hands."
"And we'll have to crack open that monster," Pellaeon added grimly.
Ah, this Imperial fatalism. Can't think properly with healthy optimism — we'll teach them. Don't want to — we'll make them. The wisdom that has raised millions of fine service personnel.
"What do you think, Captain, is the strength on a space battlefield?" I asked.
"In the strength of shields, thickness of armor, and volume of artillery," Pellaeon replied, clearly and confidently reciting the Imperial mantra. Well, he's a man of the old school.
"The strength is in launchers, dear Captain," I said, drawing his attention to the explosion blossoming on the Mon Adapyne's stern. As expected, the engines had detonated. "Whoever has more of them, wins. Order the Sentinel, on whose vectors we are located, to deactivate half of the gravity well generators and reactivate them after we make a micro-jump — we'll shorten the travel time to the target. I can see you're itching to give the enemy flagship a thrashing, so the field is yours," Gilad grinned knowingly. He realized this battle would be exclusively his; I would remain an observer. "Now, as for launchers," those damned engines lasted far too long. I tip my hat to the Mon Calamari shipbuilders. "Just as a reminder — the MC80b doesn't have a single launcher, while our group has one hundred eighty. This is pure mathematics, Captain..."
The tragedy of Borsk Fey'lya, elevated to the heights of power by my efforts, had reached its climax.
And now Captains Pellaeon, I-Gor, and Kalian were about to kick him so hard that the Bothan schemer would go into a steep nosedive.
I almost wonder what reaction a live broadcast of the Republic fleet's beating will have across the galaxy?