"High parry!" The Togruta's loud and commanding voice no longer caught Mara off guard.
The girl obediently deflected the energy blade strike of her opponent, parrying the snowy-blue blade with her crimson one. Immediately after, without warning, a short slash from the shoto came toward her lower torso. And if the red-haired girl hadn't countered the strike with a quick movement of her blade, she could have easily earned, at best, a wound to her right leg.
In the worst-case scenario, her leg would have been severed just above mid-thigh.
The girl, still without warning, transitioned into a counterattack.
The Togruta, as if not expecting such pressure, took a step back, tried to deflect the violet blade strike coming from below, but the red-haired girl deactivated her lightsaber with a deft motion, causing her weapon to whistle past the emitter, meeting no obstacle or resistance.
The Togruta's body lurched forward and to the left. Her arms crossed to block Jade's right-leg kick. The blades of the lightsaber and shoto deactivated at Ahsoka's command. The moment her ankle was caught in the alien girl's hands, Mara executed her true plan.
Using the hold as a brace, the girl pushed off the deck with her left foot, jumped, and struck the Togruta in the head. Straight to the occipital part of Tano's lekku.
The latter, disoriented, flew forward onto the deck, releasing her weapon.
Mara triumphantly ignited her lightsaber, pointing its tip straight at the Togruta's face, which was turned toward her. Judging by how slowly the latter's pupils dilated, Jade had achieved her goal — her "mentor" was taken out of action. Even if she'd had the spirit to continue the fight, nothing good would have come of it.
The Togruta blinked. Mara felt her calling on the Force to ease her condition.
"Alive?" Jade extinguished her blade and extended a hand to the defeated "friend," helping her to her feet.
"You bet," the latter replied, summoning her weapon to her palm. Hanging the hilts on her belt, the girl asked:
"Since I got a very quality smack to the head, for which my separate thanks, would you be so kind as to remind me what the point of this training was?" Ahsoka asked.
Mara snorted, pulling her hand from the Togruta's fingers.
"If you have memory problems, you should see a specialist," she advised caustically. "Age catching up with you?"
"If you were this sharp in lightsaber combat, I wouldn't be here," Tano retorted, closing her eyes and touching the spot of the hit. "Alright, you've proven to me that you're familiar with my people's anatomy. I won't even ask how you know about that nerve cluster — I suspect the answer wouldn't please me."
"Well done," Mara smiled, walking over to the sofa in the common room and flopping down. "I wouldn't say you're teaching me anything new."
"Eymand didn't mention you already had some skills," she said. It sounded like an excuse. "You don't need training so much as refreshing many of your skills. Who trained you?"
Jade assessed the girl standing before her, looking her up and down. Figuring that one move was essentially dictated by surprise and the Togruta's unpreparedness for such tricks. The girl evaluated her fencing abilities against a fully trained Jedi quite objectively. If elimination became necessary, the Hand of Thrawn simply wouldn't have a chance in a direct confrontation.
"Not a Jedi, if that's what you're asking," the redhead said.
"And not Vader," the girl said with firm confidence that her judgment was infallible.
"What leads you to that conclusion?" Mara asked. She was interested in how a woman who had disappeared from the screens of all possible scanners could know what Darth Vader could and couldn't have taught Mara.
"I was his apprentice," Tano said quietly. As if the memories weighed on her more heavily than increased gravity. "He didn't favor agility, preferring strength and forcefulness." Hard to argue there. Vader, in his stylish black suit, bouncing off walls and ceilings, breathing heavily with every backflip... Yes, that would be a hilarious picture. And Mara had no doubt she would definitely laugh if she saw something like that with her own eyes. Though the girl was aware it would be her last laugh in life. Darth Vader did not like jokes, especially at his own expense. And what his life was like before he served the Emperor... Even after the Dark Lord of the Sith's death, Mara preferred not to know. "Though that was before he fell to the Dark Side."
"Well, well," Jade appraised, whistling. As the saying goes: what you run from will always catch up with you. "I thought he was born a Sith."
A small provocation to get the conversation going. Not that she was so interested in Darth Vader's past that she'd interrogate practically the first person she met who (surprise!) knew him before he served the Emperor. No, the dig was about something else.
Mara had never liked beings who disappeared into "nowhere" and appeared out of "nothing." For one simple reason — as the Emperor's Hand, she had used that trick so often she'd lost count. So learning more about her "partner" was an integral part of the job.
"He was once just a boy like anyone else," the Togruta said with a heavy sigh. "Born on Tatooine, but entered the Jedi Order too old. He always had his own opinions, which the Order or the High Council often disliked. I joined him during the Clone Wars — I was practically foisted on him, and he did everything he could to avoid taking responsibility..."
I'm about to burst into tears right now, Jade thought. I've simply never heard such tear-jerking stories. A Jedi who was "different from everyone else." Can I tell two like that? I might even cry!
Stopping her mental exercises in ironic commentary, the girl asked:
"And why aren't you in the Order?"
"I was accused of committing a terrorist attack in the Jedi Temple," the girl sighed. "Many innocent beings died."
"And of course you weren't guilty of anything," Mara prodded.
"Only of my own stupidity and naiveté at that point in my life," the Togruta smiled unexpectedly. "I was set up by a Jedi, my friend. At least I thought she was my friend. The Order turned against me, expelled me from their ranks to avoid tainting their reputation by association with me. And that's when I realized how terribly wrong I was about this organization. No one was particularly interested in the investigation — except my teacher. He was the one who revealed the real villain."
"In theory, they could have offered you to return," Mara said. "Since they were wrong."
"They did offer," Ahsoka confirmed. "I refused. The Order I thought I served turned out to be nothing like what it was in reality. But really, what else could you expect from the perception of the world by a teenager who grew up among dogmatic temple guards?"
"You sure are badmouthing your former comrades," Mara laughed. Now, having heard this short confession, she understood why she felt mixed, mostly contradictory and unfriendly, feelings toward the non-human girl. Because her story was similar to what Jade herself had experienced. Being raised as gifted, training, clear ideological indoctrination, assurances of serving a high purpose... And in the end, it all came down to simple betrayal. Although, it was unlikely Tano was hunted by order of her former masters in the Jedi Order. With such similarity of fates, it seemed the opposite — one should grow closer, "kindred spirits" and all that. But Mara had learned one thing clearly over the years: trust no one. Even Thrawn she trusted... not really. No, she was certain she hadn't yet earned such trust from him, just as he hadn't from her.
"There were many good beings among them," she said. And her voice carried bitterness. "Unfortunately, they all died during the purge ordered by Palpatine and Vader, and those who joined them."
"And didn't you even try to oppose the Empire?" Mara was surprised. This was practically an obsession among all fallen Jedi — to organize a rebellion, harm the Empire, commit sabotage or something similar. That's how the Inquisitors, ISB, Vader and... many other servants of the Emperor caught them.
"I could have hated them all for how they treated me," the girl admitted. "For their hypocrisy and lack of a firm position, for their faith in me, even though I was considered, generally speaking, not the worst Jedi of the time. Unrestrained, impulsive, sharp-tongued — yes. But I believed in the Republic's cause until the very end — that's what we were taught in the Order. Finding myself outside of it without support, without resources or any understanding of life's realities, I wandered through worlds far from the Core for a long time and saw the galaxy's underbelly..."
"All of it?" Mara smirked.
"You sure do love to contradict, with or without reason," Tano sighed, blissfully leaning back against the sofa opposite where Jade was sitting. "I think I've seen enough to be convinced that part of the Confederacy's cause was just. But only in its slogans, not its actions. They hid behind loud words, but essentially did nothing substantial to change the situation in the galaxy. Yes, one could give various arguments, like how Jedi are peacekeepers, not warriors, that there were too few of them to maintain order all that time, but, you know... That's what those who never lived in the Temple say," the young woman grew serious. "Even though I was a kid back then, I clearly remember that even before the Clone Wars, plenty of Jedi spent their time in the Temple meditating and self-contemplating. If they had wanted to solve the problems of lawlessness, they would have done it. One way or another. There's a saying: 'If you want to do something, you'll do it. If you don't, you'll find an excuse.'"
This lady clearly has issues with critical perception, Mara thought. Another Jedi "grudge holder." Those were broken and sent to the Inquisitorius.
"So when I got the chance, I decided to fight against injustice," the girl continued. "Saving up resources, reclaiming the weapons I was used to... There was a lot. But the worst part was when Tyber Zann took control of the criminal underworld. In my time, even Jabba and the Pykes were more merciful and less cruel to beings. I realized my duty was to protect those who couldn't defend themselves."
"Surprising that with such views, you didn't join the Rebel Alliance," Mara said. Now, now, what will you say?!
"I tried," the girl admitted. "I saw the same Confederacy. Words, loud proclamations, noble intentions, and terrorist tactics. Well, everyone does, I suppose, everywhere. I've been in many groups. I've seen what they're striving for. Restoring the Old Republic, but under conditions where those who had been restricted by the Empire for so long would return to power? Really, spare me. I'd rather continue fighting the Zann Consortium and pirates on my own."
"Is that so?" Mara was surprised. "Then forgive me, but I still don't understand what you want from us. As far as I know, my commander isn't at war with the Consortium..."
"Isn't he?" Ahsoka snorted. "And Leonia Tavira? Or are you going to say it wasn't you who crushed her fleet at Rugos? Besides her Star Destroyer, there were a couple of other gangs present, which the Zann Consortium actively uses as slavers — specifically for capturing Wookiees..."
"Trandoshans?!" Jade narrowed her eyes.
"Well informed," Tano grinned. "Yes, they had an old Venator — captured it somehow. I'd been tracking their group for a long time and was pleasantly surprised by what happened."
"And what happened?" Mara tensed.
"Strangely enough, your Imperial faction didn't kill them, force them to work as slaves or anything else that Imperials usually did to Wookiees," Tano continued. "No argument, you have good counterintelligence, but I've been in this business for over twenty years, so I have friends even among Imperials. I know Wookiees serve on your starships."
"Oh, how convenient," Jade grimaced. "When necessary — bam, informants appear. Will you teach me?"
"If you have the desire to learn, not to fight — no problem," Ahsoka snorted. "Well, the rest I think you know. Captain Nym and his Lok Revenants — another blow against the Consortium's allies. I was starting to think the galaxy had gone mad and Imperials had decided to show nobility. No, I certainly approve of fighting piracy. The Zann Consortium cannot be allowed to raise its head again. As I recall, Imperials in the past helped destroy it. So why not try again? Before they gain too much strength. Especially since they're about to sharpen their fangs against you. So I changed my mind about the Imperials I would like to cooperate with."
"And besides our faction, were there any other options?" Mara clarified.
"Believe it or not," the Togruta said. "I was planning to approach Grand Moff Kaine. He made a favorable impression on me with his attitude toward non-human races. And besides, he was one of those who helped finish off the remnants of the Zann Consortium after Endor."
"Do you know Kaine?" Mara asked. Though she knew the answer perfectly well.
"Very, very indirectly," the Togruta said. "But he doesn't know I'm a Jedi."
"Let me guess what stupidity you were about to commit," Jade said. "Go to Kaine, tell him everything as it is, and introduce yourself personally, by the book?"
"Something like that. Not immediately, of course..."
"And your head would be decorating the trophy wall of the Inquisitorius, which currently works for Kaine," Jade explained. "If there's anything the Grand Moff fears and hates more than Palpatine, it's Jedi."
"Oh," the Togruta declared. "Looks like I wasn't wrong to listen to Eymand and the Force and decide to come to you."
"That's the least that saved your life," Mara confirmed.
The amount of information she'd gotten from this ex-Jedi was actually impressive. And intriguing. She should report this to Thrawn. But later, when he settles matters in the Ciutric Hegemony, and she finishes searching for the Star Super Destroyer on Wohai.
A loud, unpleasant audio signal came from the cockpit.
"Five minutes until we exit hyperspace," the Togruta determined. "I think we should get ready, don't you?"
"You're here to teach me," Mara reminded her. "My missions don't concern you."
"And I'm not interfering," the Togruta told her. "Do what you do, and I'll watch your back."
"And why would you do that?" Mara asked, almost saying she worked alone and didn't need a helper.
"Simple," the Togruta smiled. "After talking to you, I concluded that teaching you Jedi skills and refreshing the ones you already have won't be enough to ask your command to free several planets from the Zann Consortium's influence and resolve its existence as a problem. But helping you on the mission to which an Imperial commander sent a woman trained almost to Jedi standards — which is a rare thing in these troubled times — that would be a much more suitable condition for negotiations and cooperation."
Unless I find a way to learn everything you know and drop you headfirst into a garbage masher, after carving you into unidentifiable pieces, Mara thought.
* * *
"Black Wing Squadron, your assignment has been changed," the helmet earpiece informed Lieutenant Kreb. The interceptor pilot, who at that moment alongside his wingman was carving up a Republic "wishbone," wasn't particularly surprised.
This was already the sixth change to the original order for free hunting the enemy within the Chimaera's long-range defensive perimeter over the past six hours. Well, a combat pilot had no right to complain.
"Black Leader online," he said, ripping open the enemy's belly with one short burst. While the enemy starfighter's gunner tried every which way to avoid the attack of "Black Two" from the upper hemisphere, Kreb attacked from the opposite direction. Textbook tactics, and the simplest when dealing with a wingman who'd just earned his wings.
The enemy ship predictably burst into a white-orange ball and shattered into fragments. The lieutenant instantly switched to the comm channel with his wingman.
"Next one's yours," the rest of the sentence about him covering the girl didn't even need repeating — when it's necessary in battle, "Black-Two" is quick-witted enough… Quick-witted… No, definitely "quick-witted" in combat there are only call signs, no names.
"Black Wing is ordered to advance to the Chimaera for escort," the controller said. What took you so long to say it, huh? They recruit ensigns into officer positions, and then you wait until he finally gets the words out. Clearly, officers in the operations control center should be trained by the same standards as pilots. Otherwise any time gain and reduction in reaction between receiving an order and executing it is lost. "Confirm recei…"
"Order received," Kreb answered quickly, switching his comlink to the squadron frequency. "Black Wing, Leader speaking. Cancel that, back to the Chimaera. Immediately."
Clicks in his headphones, exactly eleven of them, confirmed that the pilots themselves had received the order. Nothing more was needed.
Leading a dozen interceptors, the lieutenant chose the trajectory that promised the least resistance — the Blacks, without losing speed, turned a trio of X-wings that happened to stray into their gun sights into dust. By some mystical stroke, those X-wings turned out to lack the ubiquitous deflector shields that many Imperial pilots had grown tired of.
Only when he saw two pairs of TIE Interceptors to the left and above did the lieutenant realize that his pilots had rid the world of targets that their comrades from Grey Wing were hunting. It was impossible to visually determine the affiliation of those machines, but the lieutenant knew his former wingman's flying style very well. "Well, forgive me, old friend. When this is over, I promise to buy you a drink and compensate for your loss," the lieutenant thought.
By the time Black Wing approached the opening of the Chimaera's main hangar, TIE bombers were already flying out of it.
Led by the Scimitar — the machine of the air wing commander of Captain Bren's flagship star destroyer.
"Black Leader, Scimitar-Leader on the line," Tomax's voice came through the headphones. "You're going in first, target is the Mon Adapyne. Escort and cover."
"Received, understood," now that was a different matter; it was always pleasant to talk to a colleague in native, understandable slang.
The enemy flagship was currently experiencing not the brightest of days.
From the aft hemisphere, the Chimaera's turbolasers and ion cannons were pounding it; Steel Aurora had come in from the starboard quarter, Crusader from port. The Victories were literally impaling the enemy with an endless stream of anti-ship torpedoes that penetrated the starship's shields. Turbolaser and ion fire spread across the tough shields of the MC80b. And, frankly, Kreb had never seen such strong energy protection on New Republic starships before. The famous Mon Calamari technology of pumping deflectors directly in battle was obviously at work.
The ship's hull also possessed enviable durability. Where a salvo of Victory-I's missiles would have already stripped the plating from the enemy ship's bottom (assuming the attack point was the starship's upper hemisphere), the Mon Adapyne took the hit, and the armor didn't want to fly apart even after a third salvo. Yes, it was all blackened by explosions and hits, with visible breaches in armor plates and huge cracks in the hull, but the traditional spectacular rupture, accompanied by geysers of released atmosphere and tornadoes of debris, was somehow absent.
Upon closer approach to the enemy ship, Black Leader realized the reason for the enemy starship's behavior. Until now, he had been fighting on the Chimaera's far perimeter and had not approached the enemy flagship. But now he could see in full glory how fast and accurately the enemy's turbolasers and ion cannons worked.
There were no explosions for one simple reason — too few kinetic penetrating elements slipped under the ship's deflector field and reached the starship's surface. Whatever the enemy was using at their battle stations for such frankly impressive shooting, it was working.
Black Wing's course was blocked by a squadron of X-wings, and from their behavior alone and their aggressive greeting with salvoes from all guns, it became clear that at the very least they were in a bad mood. And also that the Republicans had a burning desire to ruin everyone's day, including their own.
After this thought, the lieutenant decided that he really shouldn't listen to his wingman's sparkling folk wisdom anymore. Else, before he knew it, on top of such little phrases, he might also pick up a Rylothian accent.
"Blacks Seven through Twelve — section, counteraction," he ordered on the common channel of both squadrons. The escorted needed to know that their cover had been halved.
"Cancel that order," Captain Bren's voice sounded unexpectedly. "Continue the flight."
The lieutenant didn't have time to be surprised before the click of an individual channel activation.
"Black Leader," the captain said. "Prepare for squadron split on my command. Half right, half left."
"Understood," Kreb instructed his pilots. Even if the meaning of the order wasn't entirely clear to him, at least he had to carry it out. Bren was an excellent commander; if he gave an order, there was some motivation behind it.
In the past, before Grand Admiral Thrawn's campaign began, Kreb, without advertising it, had admired Rogue Squadron, even held similar training exercises in his unit, hoping it would help him understand the enemy he had so long dreamed of meeting.
No, it didn't help at all. But the victorious campaign of the Grand Admiral gave him the opportunity to believe in his own strength and not try to copy a luckier enemy.
And now, after Captain Bren's appointment as commander of the Chimaera's air wing, Lieutenant Kreb seemed to have found the right object for admiration.
Despite being a bomber pilot, Captain Tomax Bren had an excellent understanding of fighter and interceptor tactics. He gave a great deal of valuable advice, the implementation of which in simulators allowed the identification of minor flaws in interceptor tactics. In short — an ace with a capital A. Just less famous than Shi Hablin or Baron Soontir Fel.
But neither of those first two were here. Bren was. And at a distance of twenty units from the enemy fighters and forty from the enemy flagship, he ordered the squadron to split.
The first six interceptors veered left from their recent course, the rest right. Thus the dozen bombers were exposed to enemy fire…
Both sides opened fire on each other simultaneously.
Except the TIE bombers did it a fraction of a second earlier, releasing shaped-charge rockets from their bomb bays, which, judging by the countermeasures, were equipped with homing warheads. Then eleven ships turned away, avoiding the enemy fighter strike, but the twelfth…
The Scimitar literally dissolved into vacuum and a couple of seconds later was already over the Mon Adapyne's hull, firing proton torpedoes from both bomb bays.
"Black Leader, switch to hunting the remaining ones," Captain Bren ordered. Kreb couldn't believe his eyes, seeing how the wing commander's little ship was already near the enemy star cruiser's bow, climbing up like a "candle" in a rising broken spiral that allowed it to not fear enemy anti-aircraft fire. "And cover my boys."
And following the bomber, along the enemy flagship's "back," dozens of tongues of flame rose… Accompanied by all the appropriate signs of hull integrity compromise.
"Hunt and cover," Kreb ordered, bringing his interceptor back onto a course that would lead him to engage the enemy fighters. But the X-wings had a completely different initiative on that matter.
Four battered machines, some smoking like a steam engine, others showing torn engines and missing control surfaces.
Having lost two-thirds of their comrades, the enemy pilots were retreating, hoping to save themselves.
"Pairs Two through Six — cover the bombers," Kreb ordered. "Black-Two — with me for the finish."
Five minutes later, having caught up with the crippled machines and discharged their cannon charges into them, both interceptors pulled back to the Chimaera to rejoin their squadron.
Lieutenant Kreb was not greatly surprised to see the Scimitar leading the remaining bombers into the destroyer's hangar opening.
Having reformed and received confirmation to continue free hunting, the leader of Black Wing squadron watched with grim satisfaction as the firing points of the ion cannons on the enemy flagship smoked, as if marking the point of impact.
Judging by the fact that the next second, anti-ship torpedoes struck those sections of the hull, one Scimitar had turned the tide of the protracted battle.
* * *
"Disable every single gun emplacement, without exception," the commander's hologram ordered.
"The enemy has lost sixty percent of its port artillery, Grand Admiral," Captain Kalian reported.
"Seventy percent on the starboard," Captain I-Gor's hologram reported. "Hull clearance in progress. Estimated time to complete suppression: ten minutes. Fighters are holding the enemy's air wing."
In reality, this was being accomplished by the efforts of three units simultaneously — four squadrons of TIE interceptors from both Victories and five squadrons from the Chimaera. The bombers from the flagship, periodically joining the battle, introduced a rare imbalance in the number of defenders, mowing down Republic small craft in huge numbers. After all, homing missiles were quite a means of annihilation. Who would know that better than the Victory commanders?
"Excellent, Captains," said Grand Admiral Thrawn. "Continue the strikes and prepare boarding parties for assault."
"Aye, sir," Captain Kalian saluted.
"It will be done, Grand Admiral," Captain I-Gor said in an emotionless voice.
Thrawn held his gaze on him for a few moments, then the Supreme Commander's hologram vanished.
"This battle has emptied half of my forward missile magazines and those on the starboard side," Captain Kalian lamented, bringing his more experienced and wiser colleague up to speed. The commander of the Crusader nodded understandingly.
"I have a similar situation with the forward and port magazines," he said. "Give the order to transfer missiles from the aft and side magazines to the depleted ones, to balance the numbers between them."
"Use the destroyer's corridors to transport anti-ship missiles?" Kalian's eyes went wide.
"Well, not during the battle," a slight smile appeared on the strict captain's lips. "Use the technical corridors and cargo repulsor carts. In short — everything the same as when loading missiles from the cargo bay, just use the technical corridors."
"And why not the main ones?" Kalian inquired. It was always nice to get advice from a wise mentor.
"Because shortly, a contingent of stormtroopers will be moving through them for deployment onto the enemy star cruiser," I-Gor reminded him. "And returning — the wounded and prisoners. Besides, if a missile detonates in a technical corridor, at best it'll blow out a compartment or two on the outer hull. But if it goes off inside the ship — then it'll be much harder to fight for survivability."
Kalian swallowed the lump in his throat.
Useful advice. And from his tone, you could tell that this knowledge was clearly not acquired from instructors and mentors at the Academy. They certainly don't teach you how to make life easier there.
* * *
Shaped explosives blew out the transfer hatch of the Mon Calamari ship, and the explosion smoke filled with numerous blaster shots coming from the depths of the Mon Adapyne.
No return fire came from the other direction, but thermal detonators flew in there instead. Several explosions rang out, after which the corridor filled with a stream of flame belched by the THX-0333 flamethrower.
Having released a long stream of incinerating fire, but with less intensity than before, the clone immediately ducked behind the bulkhead door and pressed his side against it, shielding himself from stray shots.
Seizing a good moment, a pair of stormtrooper gunners finished off the survivors with short bursts, after which Fourth Squad continued their penetration aboard the enemy starship.
As before, they operated separately from the other units, which were breaking into the New Republic starship from various directions. Some did it through the hangar using simple landing craft, others using boarding pods, cutting through the battered hull or blasting open docking airlocks.
Fourth Squad was moving toward the enemy starship's bridge.
Boarding a space ship through an emergency escape hatch located closest to the command post had become Fourth Squad's "signature," born from careful preparation between battles for assaulting various types of starships. A stormtrooper must be efficient — and constant training between battles is the key to not failing in combat.
"Prot… bloop… hr-hr…!" came the hysterical scream of a Bothan wearing a fleet uniform and holding a blaster. The crew member appeared from around the corner of the nearest corridor intersection, which came as a surprise to him. But not to the stormtroopers — Sergeant THX-0297 shot the non-human through the throat with a precise blaster rifle shot, preventing him from existing any further.
"Run," the sergeant ordered.
Time was slipping through their fingers, and the squad was a second behind schedule — exactly the one it took to kill the unlucky crew member.
Nine clones broke into a run, not particularly caring if someone might hear or see them — after such a loud "knock at the door," there could be no talk of any secret infiltration. Like a predator with nine heads, they saw everything, destroyed all resistance in their path, and moved toward their intended target. With fire, tibanna, and hand-to-hand combat techniques, they ground a fairly large number of those who tried to resist into bloody, and sometimes charred, mincemeat.
The Mon Adapyne's counter-boarding group, encountered two compartments from the New Republic starship's bridge, was literally incinerated by Stormtrooper THX-0333 with a couple of streams of flame from his flamethrower, which he had learned to handle with true virtuosity. Today, a new composition of the fuel-air mixture was being tested — more volatile, more flammable. It set things on fire, but didn't burn them completely — the ideal weapon against enemy infantry, who were too honored to be burned by the rare and expensive mixture used in the past by incinerator stormtroopers and assault commandos.
Watching the blazing figures of the Republic flagship's crew members thrashing in the corridor, Sergeant THX-0297 ordered them to be finished off with small arms. There was no time to wait for the mixture to burn out and consume the bodies. It was enough that they no longer posed any discomfort to Fourth Squad's advance. Well, except for raising the temperature in the corridors, but the stormtroopers had armor for that. And the smell of burned Bothan fur and seared flesh… Well, there were helmet filters.
In the next corridor, they had to break through under the cover of suppressive fire from two heavy repeaters, which were manned by two of the nine soldiers in Sergeant THX-0297's squad. Suppressing the enemy with fire, forcing them to retreat and cease shooting, the stormtroopers closed the distance separating them from the enemy with quick rushes, then cold-bloodedly shot them with blaster rifles.
Stepping over the bodies left to cool, the nine stormtroopers continued their victorious march through the decks of the Mon Adapyne.
The bridge was already in direct line of sight, and the stormtroopers cut down the guards with aimed shots.
Raising a fist in the air, THX-0297 ordered the squad to stop.
On both sides of the corridor separating them from the bridge entrance, there were passages into adjacent or separate rooms, closed with metal hatches. It would be very easy to set up an ambush there and wipe out the attackers with crossfire.
With gestures, the sergeant split the squad in half, making them move along opposite walls of the corridor. This way, they could spot hatches opening in the opposite wall in time and fire to suppress resistance, giving other soldiers the chance to press the enemy with fire.
The trick worked on the first hatch. No sooner had the stormtroopers moving along the right wall come close to the hatch than a similar interior feature on the left wall slid smoothly aside…
Blaster muzzles appeared…
And thermal detonators from the stormtrooper group pressed against the wall where the hatch had opened flew inside.
The detonations of the grenades inside threw out several mangled Bothan corpses, burned by the explosion and riddled with shrapnel. Two hatches in the left wall opened instantly — and they met the same fate.
Except that Private THX-0333 flooded one of the rooms with flame from his flamethrower.
By the time the corridor ended, the screams of the dying, people and non-humans burning alive, had stopped.
Pointing at the universal connector on the armored door, THX-0297 ordered the squad soldiers to take turns checking their weapons' functionality. A minute later, by the time the universal lockpick had finished hacking the system and the armored doors began to slide apart in opposite directions, Fourth Squad was ready for the final stage of their part of the assault.
First into the bridge of the Mon Calamari star cruiser flew flash-bang grenades. After a blinding white flash blazed from the doorway and clouds of acrid bluish-gray smoke billowed out, the stormtroopers rushed forward.
But now, instead of the crimson bolts of lethal charges, white-blue rings of stunners came into play. They mowed down indiscriminately, coughing Mon Calamari, Bothans, and other sentients crawling on the floor.
The stormtroopers immobilized everyone — counterintelligence would sort out who they were later. Fourth Squad had a completely different task.
The command post — the far part of the bridge — met them with the bared barrels of Bothans, behind whose backs stood the one they were ordered to take alive.
"Fire!" Sergeant THX-0297 ordered.
And Private THX-0333 pulled the trigger, sweeping the flame stream of his flamethrower across the front rows of Bothan bodyguards, instantly igniting their fur, forcing them to abandon their cover and become prey for the stormtroopers' blaster rifles, which had turned lethal again.
The E-11 had never let anyone down — if you knew how to use it.
Sergeant THX-0297 moved at the front of the assault. For him, this was a chance to prove to his comrades that after being wounded aboard the Crimson Dawn, he had recovered and returned to his previous physical form, without diminishing his effectiveness in any way.
A Bothan with a burning back lunged at him; he punched him in the face, breaking his jaw, then shoved him aside. The next opponent he shot point-blank with a burst. The third, also engulfed in flames, he simply let past — it wasn't worth getting involved with such a one, since the fire could spread to the soldier of the 501st Legion himself.
The fourth opponent died, taking a combat knife to the neck, and at that moment THX-0297 realized he had broken through the ring of guards.
He came face to face with a Bothan dressed in rich, elaborately embroidered robes. Fear swam in his eyes.
"You… you…" the Bothan, identified as New Republic Councilor Borsk Fey'lya, stammered and tried to thrust metal credit chips into THX-0297's hands. "T-take the money, get me out of here…"
He didn't get to finish — THX-0297 knocked him out with a punch to the temple.
Checking the unconscious opponent's pulse, he confirmed he was alive, then said:
"Stormtroopers don't take money."
Switching his helmet's comlink to the command frequency, the sergeant reported the mission accomplished.
* * *
"Well, it's all over, Captain," I said, as soon as Gilad informed me that resistance on the Mon Adapyne had been suppressed by the landed forces of the 501st Legion and support regiments from the Crusader and Steel Aurora. "The Fourth New Republic Fleet is destroyed."
"Yes sir," Pellaeon said, not without satisfaction. "Fey'lya is captured."
"Don't make it out to be something extraordinary, Captain," I replied. "Already in our custody are an Alderaanian princess, a good dozen high-ranking officers of the New Republic Army and Navy, the famous Targeter, the best ship thief in the galaxy, a Wookiee hero of the Rebel Alliance who took part in destroying the first Death Star, leaders of several pirate gangs, a traitor Grand Admiral, a traitor Moff… A Bothan schemer clearly pales in comparison to them. Especially after so incompetently losing the current battle."
"Sir," Pellaeon said after a pause. "What do we do now?"
"Move all captured ships away from the minefield, over which Mr. Ghent continues to work on establishing control," I pointed to the slicer, who seemed to have completely lost touch with reality. "The Reckoning and Krennel's surrendered starships, recaptured by our forces — are also legitimate trophies. As are all the other Republic fleet starships."
"I understand, sir," the Chimaera's commander nodded. "But… what next? Krennel has practically destroyed all the TIE Interceptors he was building for us. Part of his fleet survived; Ciutric IV is still under the protection of an active planetary shield; orbital stations are aimed at us… One careless move — and a new brawl could start."
"Not during your watch, Captain Pellaeon," I said. Before making any decisions regarding the Ciutric Hegemony, we will first haul our prizes away from the engagement zones of Ciutric IV's space forces — I have no desire to see them damaged or destroyed. Also request reports from the ships on malfunctions and repair timelines. Launch Viper scout droids into the Hegemony systems that were attacked by pirates, and contact our intelligence network — I want to know what is happening there. Contact the Hegemony defense fleet vessels and ask if they require any kind of assistance. In short, we are Imperials, and we are on Imperial territory — we are at home.
"Sir," the watch officer approached me. "The Fourth Stormtrooper Squad has brought a prisoner to the bridge."
"Bring him here," I ordered, turning my chair so that it faced away from the bridge viewport and toward the central platform.
The spectacle was clearly worth savoring.
Half-dead and obviously broken, the stormtroopers were literally dragging a Bothan scoundrel, holding him under the armpits.
As soon as they delivered him to me, they threw him onto the deck without delay.
Rukh, who was nearby, quickly and expertly conducted a personal search of the prisoner.
"Hello, Councilor Fey'lya," I addressed the Bothan, who was scraping himself off the deck to at least sit up. "It seems to me that during our last communication session, you promised me some kind of punishment. May I inquire — which ones exactly, and in which part of your precious hide do you keep them?"
The guardsman standing behind me, holding the holorecording equipment, let out a short chuckle. Ah, yes, today this is the original Tierce.
"So, Councilor," I reminded the Bothan, who was wiping blood and snot from his face. "I am waiting."
"For what?" the Bothan's eyes flashed angrily. "For me to grovel at your mirror-polished boots and beg for mercy?"
"By no means," I cautioned. "Polishing and shining my boots takes fifteen minutes of excellent work by my servant droid every morning by ship time. I'm afraid that if you grovel at my feet, it will devalue the droid's work. That outcome does not suit me. I am waiting for you to agree to capitulate."
Fire blazed in the Bothan's eyes.
"You must be insane, Thrawn?" he snarled contemptuously. And an instant later, he was diligently trying to peel his face off the gleaming deck of the Chimaera. Say what you will, but Rukh's reactions are fast, and his hand is heavy. "Beating a prisoner while you outnumber me?"
"I am demonstrating to you exactly what you did to the Ciutric Hegemony," I replied. "Because of your attack, three star systems of the Hegemony are currently under assault by pirates, who are looting, raping, and killing the local inhabitants. The stability and prosperity you promise to all systems that join the New Republic are vividly demonstrated here and now. I hope the peoples of the galaxy will understand the duplicity of the regime you represent, Councilor. But that is not what we are discussing now. You have committed an act of aggression against a sovereign state, and I demand that reparations be paid to the victims — the Ciutric Hegemony — covering all costs incurred for reconstruction, as well as compensation for the families of the dead and wounded. At the moment, since you refuse to capitulate, you will be placed in a prisoner-of-war camp on general terms. I want to know who will bear the burden of paying for the expenses related to your act of aggression — the government of the New Republic or the government of the Botani Sector. In simpler terms, given your state of shock, I will simplify my question — who is behind your aggressive actions, Councilor?"
"You will get nothing," Fey'lya replied, with a pretense of regality and grandeur in his posture. "No answers, no reparations. You can do whatever you want with me."
"Is that your final decision?" I inquired.
"Yes," the Bothan said firmly. "And it will not change."
"Well then," I concluded. "Official claims regarding this incident will be sent to the Bothan government and the New Republic. If neither of them wishes to engage in peaceful negotiations and make amends, I will continue to restore justice by the means available to me — bringing the New Republic to its knees and taking from it what rightfully belongs to the Empire: from military equipment to territories."
"I don't care," Fey'lya snorted. "Do whatever you want."
"Nobody asked for your permission, Councilor," I clarified. "I am merely informing you. Simple courtesy, nothing more. Take the prisoner away."
Watching the stormtroopers drag the Bothan off the bridge, I looked at Captain Pellaeon.
"The requested information about the fleet's ship status is needed within the couple of days we will spend in this star system," I explained. "Ensure the possibility of using the Hegemony's repair facilities to restore the fleet's combat readiness and..."
"Grand Admiral, sir!" the watch officer's voice rang out. "Five warships have entered the system. Identified as vessels of the Ciutric Hegemony: the Star Destroyers Direction, Emperor's Wisdom, Striving, and two heavy cruisers of the Dreadnaught type in Imperial modification," meaning with a reduced crew of up to five thousand and an air wing of a couple of squadrons. "They are requesting a conversation with the fleet commander and asking for an explanation of the current state of affairs and the situation."
"Contact the commander of the formation and invite him aboard the Chimaera," I said. "Captain Pellaeon. Arrange a compartment for a meeting between me and that officer."