As expected, the ambush worked perfectly.
Captain Harbid stood on the bridge of the Dead Head, watching his interceptors and bombers make another pass at the Mon Calamari star cruiser's battered carcass, chewed up by turbolasers.
The escort frigate Nebulon-B drifting next to the once white-cream colored starship's hulk was smoking from numerous breaches, lethargically returning fire at the three heavy cruisers circling it. The "Dreadnoughts" weren't trying to destroy this ship—it would be a great waste, it must be admitted, to end such a glorious vessel's career with simple turbolaser salvos.
No, at that moment, Gamma-class assault shuttles were latching onto the escort's hull, disgorging Dominion stormtroopers supported by droidekas. Sweeping aside everything in their path, they would soon seize full control of the ship.
Harbid looked at the Mon Calamari star cruiser.
It was fighting back desperately.
Carefully aiming its remaining turbolasers, targeting the heavy cruisers that were blasting it. Sadly, no one had explained to that ship's commander that resistance was futile.
And now he was merely prolonging his agony, which could have been avoided.
The Dominion stormtroopers would board his ship anyway. The only question was whether, by the time the ship inevitably came under Grand Admiral Thrawn's command, anyone would be left onboard to be sent to a POW camp.
Captain Harbid stood on the bridge of his star destroyer, savoring the sight of the Republic fleet's humiliation.
In the years since the defeat at the Battle of Endor, this was the first moment the Empire could respond to its enemies with the full weight of its war machine.
There was just one catch.
The Empire continued to sit in its sectors, fortified by multi-million armies and thousands of warships. Meanwhile, the Dominion kept landing slap after slap, blow after blow, on the New Republic's military machine. And Grand Admiral Thrawn was completely unfazed by the fact that the fleet under his command didn't even match the size of a sector fleet from the Galactic Empire's heyday.
Captain Harbid stood on the bridge of the Dead Head with the firm conviction that he was part of something greater.
Thrawn hadn't briefed him or the other commanders of operational-tactical units on the finer details of his plan. But none of the star destroyer captains doubted that the Grand Admiral's scheme was brilliant.
And each of them—a part of that plan.
A tiny cog in the vast machine grinding the New Republic's armed forces to pieces piece by piece.
This was a splendid day.
If only it could be like this more often.
* * *
Captain Aban didn't consider himself a genius of tactics or strategy.
He was a simple, armor-plate-straight serviceman. Moderately competent, moderately clever, moderately proactive. An average, run-of-the-mill star destroyer commander.
But at this moment, watching the Mon Calamari star cruiser vanish under the salvoes of turbolasers and ion cannons, being blasted from every possible angle by the Bellicose's guns, six Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers, and a good dozen Corellian corvettes, Aban couldn't keep the smile off his face.
To be honest, this was his first battle under Grand Admiral Thrawn's command where his ship hadn't taken any damage at all.
Yes, there were losses among the small craft, one corvette was out of action with its stern blown open, one heavy cruiser had its starboard side burned out and all its guns would need replacing, effectively putting the ship into medium repair.
But the Bellicose was completely intact at this moment.
The star destroyer's triangle kept hammering salvo after salvo, shredding the armor of the enemy capital ship caught in the gravity grapple's trap.
Its escort frigate was smoking from three dozen breaches—it had tried to break out by attacking the Interdictor attached to the Bellicose's group. But what can a frigate do against a destroyer, even a weak one?
Aban watched with a smirk as the smoking hulk of the escort frigate, held by the interdictor destroyer's tractor beams, was swarmed by boarding craft.
The escort's crew had ignored reason, hadn't even tried to surrender to save their lives. So they would all be destroyed. To the last.
Aban wasn't a genius, but he perfectly understood the Grand Admiral's logic: when numerical or qualitative superiority was achieved, Dominion forces should capture enemy ships. Whatever they were.
For territorial defense, convoy escort, guarding star systems and sectors, absolutely any starships would do—as long as there were spare parts.
And spare parts had been increasing lately.
While star destroyers operated on the front lines, captured Mon Calamari cruisers could always be used as leaders of system defense groups. Just think of it... Without shipbuilding capabilities, Thrawn was relentlessly expanding his fleet.
Yes, they took losses from such attacks.
Yes, ships had to go for repairs after almost every battle.
But a fact remained a fact.
The enemy had sent scattered forces against them: three star destroyers, four star cruisers, and seven escort frigates. According to the operational summary updating in real time, almost all the scattered detachments headed for Ketaris had been captured.
Not to mention that Thrawn himself was waiting for the enemy flotilla in the fortress planet's system. So there was no need to worry that the entire enemy fleet would end up under Dominion flags.
The Bellicose, obeying its commander's order, changed its position in the ambush formation, shifting to the starboard side of the Mon Calamari star cruiser without ceasing fire.
The MC80 had lost its artillery thanks to the Bellicose's bomber wing, so from this vector there was no fear of return fire. While TIE interceptors duelled with the remnants of the New Republic star cruiser's air wing, Aban's other ships methodically knocked out the star cruiser's guns, denying it the ability to harm the landing craft.
It was a lengthy business, somewhat thankless, but what could be done? Better to spend a few extra minutes burning out the enemy's artillery than to lose one or more troop transports to a single accurate shot.
Captain Aban looked at the enemy star cruiser's smoking stern, grinning at how stupid a Republic commander could be.
He was outnumbered, his escort and cover were destroyed, his engines damaged so that maneuvering was a luxury... Under such conditions, no one would even accuse this ship's commander of treason if he decided to surrender his cruiser to the Dominion warriors' mercy.
But he kept stubbornly fighting.
Stupid.
Well, if that was the enemy's will, so be it.
The best Republican is a dead Republican.
* * *
When the grey triangle with New Republic identification markings painted on its hull dropped out of hyperspace, forced by the artificial gravity of the Limiter, an Immobilizer 418-class interdictor cruiser, every ship commander in Captain Schneider's operational-tactical group already knew what to do.
Including the tractor beam operators, who were currently doing something completely uncharacteristic—they weren't pulling small craft into the star destroyer's hangar, but rather pushing them out. With maximum possible acceleration.
The commander of the Nemesis glanced at the tactical display, watching as, simultaneously with turbolaser and ion cannon fire, Corellian corvettes, TIE fighters from the heavy cruisers, and interceptors from the Nemesis rushed toward the enemy ships.
Their primary task, according to tactical doctrine, was to defend the mother ship from enemy small craft attacks. But what was the point of taking hits yourself when a single short ambush sally could deny the enemy the very ability to launch sorties toward Dominion ships?
Von stood on the central platform, hands clasped behind his back, watching as a full-scale slaughter unfolded around the star destroyer named Moon Shadow and its escort frigate.
With his eight starships, by the end of the first five minutes of battle, Von Schneider had effectively completed the encirclement of the enemy ships at the point close to where they had materialized after being torn from hyperspace.
As was customary in such cases, the Limiter stayed outside the general melee. Not only was the Immobilizer 418 unsuited for fleet combat, but the Limiter's crew had long been assigned to the Morshdine sector defense fleet.
That is, their combat experience was minimal.
And Captain Schneider was solving that problem.
The Limiter was given a firing vector, allowing its gunners to engage enemy starships. The interdictor cruiser's air wing also participated in the battle, joining it squadron by squadron. As soon as the first squadron completed its current task, it withdrew to guard the mother ship, and the second took its place. And so on.
Not the best training method, of course, but it was effective and allowed every pilot and gunner to contribute what they could to fighting the enemy ships.
Unlike most other group commanders, Von Schneider had the honor of retrieving two former Imperial ships at once.
The Nemesis's central computer had perfectly identified the engine signatures of both ships, noting their former allegiance and even displaying old call signs. Not bad, not bad... A rich haul. Especially considering that the Moon Shadow was an Imperial II-class. Moreover, according to scanner data, it was in excellent technical condition.
That was how it should be. It wouldn't do to deliver Imperial government property to the Dominion as a heap of scrap metal.
Well, every effort should be made to ensure it stayed that way.
"Open a comm channel to the Moon Shadow," Captain Schneider ordered after noting that the first strike had succeeded and the enemy ships were damaged. The trio of heavy cruisers had literally dragged the escort frigate away from the Republic destroyer with suppressive fire and was now ruthlessly pummelling the ship. "Holographic transmitter."
The communications officer executed his order almost instantly, respecting the commander's wish to speak face-to-face with his opponent.
Almost instantly, the portable communicator projected a small blue-and-white hologram of a Duros, clad in a brown New Republic-pattern admiral's uniform.
"Admiral Kir Vantai," the former Imperial addressed his interlocutor. "I am Captain Von Schneider, commander of the Dominion star destroyer Nemesis and the group you are currently engaged with. Purely out of humanity and a desire to preserve your subordinates' lives, I ask you to be reasonable and surrender your ships. I guarantee none of you will be killed, and in captivity no torture or other oppressive methods will be used against you."
The Duros made something like a snorting sound.
"You're taking too much upon yourself, Captain Schneider," he declared. "An Imperial's promises are worth nothing in our time."
"An Imperial's, perhaps, but I serve the Dominion of Grand Admiral Thrawn," Schneider corrected, continuing to watch his group's overwhelming air wing slaughter the New Republic's small craft. "I'm sure you've heard of it."
"Those who are confident in their strength, Captain, never negotiate," the Duros noted.
"Only if they don't wish to avoid wasting time on pointless bloodshed," Schneider remarked, noting that the escort frigate had already lost its shields and was now, smoking from its entire vast stern, fiercely returning fire at the attackers.
As if that could change anything...
"We were en route to our base on the planet Ketaris, Captain!" the Duros pressed on. "You attacked us..."
"The Oplovis sector had announced its incorporation into the Dominion long before you were ordered to proceed to the Ketaris system," Schneider countered. "The sector government ordered your forces to leave Oplovis territory. But you chose to hold the Stronk and Ketaris systems. Moreover, I'll tell you we know you split your reinforcement forces and sent them in small detachments to support Admiral Dzhid's squadron in the Stronk system and subsequently strike Grand Admiral Thrawn's battle group at Ketaris."
The Duros's eyes narrowed.
"Is that so," he said. "Well, Captain. Thank you for confirming our worst fears. Your spies are still working on Coruscant. I hope you won't stoop so low as to refuse my request to report this to Coruscant?"
"I'm afraid that's beyond my power, Admiral," Schneider noted. "There are certain communication issues here, so... your little trick of trying to inform Admiral Dzhid that he's leading his ships into a trap that will end in another massacre and the capture of his squadron's personnel won't work."
Judging by how distorted the New Republic admiral's face became, he hadn't expected his deception to be so easily uncovered.
"Enough, Schneider," he said. "You wouldn't be talking to me if you weren't itching to go help Thrawn yourself. He's outmatched by Dzhid's squadron, so I'll do everything to keep your group here as long as possible."
Actually, that was partly correct—Schneider's group was only a couple of hours' flight at full hyperspace speed from the Ketaris system. The closest of all. But the Nemesis's captain wanted to go there for a completely different reason.
"My condolences," Schneider said.
"Are you sure you want to say those words to me?" the Duros was surprised.
"They're not for you," the Nemesis's commander corrected. "They're for the families of those among you who won't return home. Even in sealed coffins."
"What are you talking about, Schneider?" the Republic admiral asked with a smirk. "My Moon Shadow will handle your Nemesis perfectly, then tear every escort cruiser to pieces."
A very great exaggeration.
"You know," Von looked at the tactical monitor. Yes, sufficient time had been bought. "I'm even glad you'll pass into the next world with those exact thoughts."
"What nonsense are you...?" the Duros began, but the Nemesis's commander was no longer listening.
He turned to the communications section officer and gave a single order:
"TIE bombers, activate engines and strike."
The dozen small craft that had been flying a straight course with inactive onboard systems all this time found themselves at the right time and the right place.
Ever since the Moon Shadow appeared at the ambush point, the tractor beam operators had been sending them from one destroyer to another, effectively "throwing" the bombers toward the enemy destroyer. And now, with the enemy air wing practically destroyed and the Moon Shadow lacking dedicated laser-based point defense to effectively protect itself against the dozen bombers that had suddenly appeared on its scanners, the latter struck.
The shaped-charge missiles swept clean everything on the command tower, stripping the Moon Shadow of its deflectors, communications... And after the second salvo, which tore out the bridge, also its central control.
Taking advantage of the enemy's confusion, Captain Schneider ordered the boarding craft to begin the assault.
The interceptor pilots and Corellian corvettes handled the suppressing of the rare artillery resistance...
Captain Von Schneider undoubtedly wished he could be present in the Ketaris system now. But not to help Grand Admiral Thrawn in battle.
By no means.
Captain Schneider simply wanted to watch the Grand Admiral humiliate another Bothan. This time, though, a real admiral from Bothawui, not a "Fey'lyan doormat."
* * *
"Has the enemy rejected our demand to surrender or voluntarily leave Oplovis sector territory?" I inquired.
"Yes, sir," confirmed a voice I hadn't heard on the bridge in a long time. "They intend to fight."
Interplanetary space be their featherbed, and may Jawas never unearth their graves.
God knows I did everything I could.
"Quite interesting ships we're facing today, Lieutenant," I declared, checking the identifiers of the New Republic starships forming up for battle.
"Sir?" the acting captain of the Chimaera, Lieutenant Tschel, stood to my right. His entire posture radiated extreme tension. Back straight, veins bulging on his neck, arms pressed to his sides, rapid breathing. The young man was clearly anticipating battle, but trying to keep himself under control.
"Have we received all reports from the commanders of the operational-tactical groups?" I asked, redirecting the lieutenant's attention to a matter not directly related to the upcoming battle.
"Y-yes, sir," he replied. "Commander Darron from the Captain Rensen reported that he has finished engaging the last reinforcement detachment heading for the Ketaris system."
"Consequently, we expect no more guests," I concluded. "Or at least no uninvited ones."
"Yes, sir," Tschel licked his lips.
"Calm down, Lieutenant," I advised. "There's nothing here we can't handle."
Tschel looked at me with bewildered eyes.
What did I say wrong?
On our side: the Chimaera, Steel Aurora, Crusader, one Corellian corvette, two Corellian DP20s, a couple of gunboats. The latter, though, were needed for "filler"they'd already done their bit, so we just had to wait.
The enemy had brought two Mon Calamari star cruisers: the familiar MC80 Memory of Alderaan and its relatively newer modification, the Liberty-class Justice, serving as Admiral Dzhid's flagship. Along with them—six Nebulon-B escort frigates and four CR90 Corellian corvettes.
And the difference between the Memory of Alderaan and the Justice would have remained hidden from our eyes, since a standard MC80 differs little from the Liberty type, but the New Republic didn't bother turning off transponders in battle. Yes, it makes IFF identification easier, but honestly, how could you confuse a Mon Calamari star cruiser with a star destroyer in an upcoming battle?
Completely incomprehensible.
Well, it's time for a disciplinary thrashing.
"Steel Aurora and Crusader, hold the flanks," I ordered. "Acclamators, hold the front. Lieutenant Tschel, advance the Chimaera toward the enemy at one-third cruiser speed."
"Y-yes, sir," the man said. I thought I saw sweat on his forehead.
Unnecessarily.
After my flagship Star Destroyer "weighed anchor" and moved forward, forming the spearhead of the attack, both Victory-class ships followed us, trailing by only a few hull lengths. I have no doubt that Captains I-Gor and Kalian have already prepared their launch tubes for action.
Six ships — three destroyers and three escort vessels — against a dozen. And that half-dozen Nebulon-class frigates can seriously hurt any capital ship. Well, no wonder Admiral Jid'ida organized them as flank cover, leaving both Star Cruisers in the center. The Corellian Corvettes held position in pairs, one echelon above and one below the main force.
"Black Aspid has engaged the gravity well generators," Lieutenant Tschel reported.
I glanced at the tiny interdictor cruiser left under the protection of the assault cruisers. So small, so "thin" compared to the Acclamators, yet its role in the battle was arguably the most important one.
"What do you know about Mon Calamari Star Cruisers, Lieutenant?" I inquired.
"They are former passenger liners, sir," Tschel was quick to reply.
Hmph… As one colonel used to say at the academy: "Answer incomplete, cadet. Go scrub the heads." And scrub them we did. Right up until the retake. The real question was how, in our youth, we managed to both waste time on duty assignments and repeat the study material… Truly — "if you want to live, you'll bend over backwards."
"Correct, Lieutenant," I confirmed. "For future reference — devote more time to studying the technical specifications of enemy starships. Often, that is precisely where the key to successful engagements lies."
"Yes, sir," Tschel replied quietly.
"Overall, you are quite right, Lieutenant," I said. "They are former passenger ships. And every single one of them differs from the next. Not just in the internal layout of most compartments, but sometimes even in the ships' dimensions. However, the problems with this type of starship run much deeper."
Fortunately, we already have trophies of this kind, and we know "how to hit them most effectively." Now we just need to finish studying the captured MC80b from Ciutric IV, and things will be really good.
"You cannot retrofit a civilian ship into a military vessel and expect its legacy not to haunt it," I said, watching the enemy starships rapidly close in. How unsurprising that they continued to perceive the work of the gravity traps as nothing threatening. "The Mon Calamari didn't have time to equip the MC80 with powerful reactors capable of powering a large number of shipboard artillery pieces. Consequently, this led to fitting this type of starship with only forty-eight main-caliber guns — half of what the Chimaera carries. Analysis of their ships' technical specifications indicates that the MC80's weapon systems are inferior to those on Imperial ships. Their fire control system is also far removed from the one we use. The power shortage is the reason the MC80-series ships lack light laser cannons capable of engaging small, fast-moving targets — fighters and bombers."
As if to refute my words, Republic small craft began circling around the enemy ships.
"Order our interceptors launched, Lieutenant Tschel," I said. "The enemy must see that we are acting according to the standard pattern of engagement on opposing courses."
"Yes, sir," said the acting commander of the Star Destroyer.
"Let's continue," I said. "Due to their small numbers, the enemy's air group uses their qualitative advantage over our ships — their deflectors. That is why their tactical application boils down to only two options: either attack our capital ships and tie up our air wing in combat near their own guns, or try to protect their carrier from enemy fighters. The tactic depends on who exactly is commanding the enemy. In our case, it's a Bothan, and his worldview, unlike a Mon Calamari's, doesn't involve building a 'defensive' tactic. See?" I pointed at the enemy small craft rapidly moving toward us from two sides.
"Yes, sir," Tschel confirmed my observations. "The enemy is doing everything to force our interceptors to defend close to the Chimaera."
Considering that an MC80 standardly carries fewer small craft than a Star Destroyer, the Bothan's idea — attacking us with two air groups from different sides — isn't without merit. This way, he leaves us without air cover and gives his own fighters a chance to strike.
Tschel pondered for a few seconds.
"Proton torpedoes, sir," he said. "Their starfighters, should they break through our screen, are capable of striking the Chimaera with proton torpedoes."
"Or concussion missiles," I confirmed. "This allows the enemy flotilla to somewhat compensate for their lack of firepower. However, this tactical move has two possible outcomes: if successful, they could damage our starship; but if it fails, there is an unambiguous danger of losing their carrier, and with it, their base of operations. And deprived of its air wing, an MC80 can only rely on its shields, which, thanks to backup generators, can withstand a large number of hits."
"Yes, sir," Tschel confirmed. "But we have one too."
"Oh, no," I assured him with a slight smile. "Our SEAL system generator is far superior to the one on the enemy ships. After capturing the Mon Adapyne, I ordered the backup system from it installed on the Chimaera. But the enemy doesn't need to know that. So make sure our shields lower their output with every hit."
"Yes, sir." Tschel still didn't seem to understand fully, but was beginning to catch on.
"Let's return to the analysis," I suggested. "Comparative analysis shows that the total broadside power of an Imperial-class Star Destroyer's battery is several times greater than the power of all the guns on an MC80a Liberty or its predecessor. And the presence of twenty ion cannons doesn't correct the situation at all. This is where missile or torpedo launchers would come in handy, but the Mon Calamari never thought to standard-fit their upgraded ships with them. The likely reason for neglecting missiles and torpedoes was their cost. The Rebel Alliance, perpetually short on credits, simply couldn't afford expensive missiles or torpedoes. And the New Republic itself, teetering on the brink of default, is utterly incapable of developing its shipbuilding program.
Sparks from turbolaser detonations were already dancing across the Chimaera's deflectors. But no penetrations from long range were observed. Nor could there be.
Our gunners, for now, remained silent.
"In an artillery duel, which the enemy is forcing upon us, a lone MC80 or MC80 Liberty has no chance of success." As we closed to a range of seventy units, my flagship opened fire on the Republic ships. The port side engaged Justice, while the starboard side engaged the other one. Both Victory-class ships joined the battle, but for now, they were acting exclusively with their artillery. "That is why the enemy used them during the Galactic Civil War as mobile bases, raiders capable of delivering fighters to the point of attack. But, with the capture of Coruscant, this tactic changed. We have fewer ships; the Republic has more confidence in themselves. In the enemy commander's opinion, the half-dozen escort frigates are perfectly capable of occupying both our Victory-class ships in battle, while the MC80 and its sister ship put the Chimaera under crossfire. This is how they hope to quickly deplete our shields and then shoot the hull to pieces."
"Sir, deflectors are at eighty percent," Tschel noted.
"Thank you for the update, Lieutenant," I said. "Continue in the same manner. You will receive the order when it is time to restore the shields."
Meanwhile, the enemy formation had already reduced the range to fifty-eight units.
"The moment of truth is approaching, Lieutenant," I said. "Now we will find out if the Republic installed launchers on these ships."
The firing range of such projectiles is sixty units. So, if we don't find out right now…
"Excellent," I declared, smiling. "They have no proton torpedoes or concussion missiles."
"And… what now, sir?" Tschel inquired.
"What do you mean, what now?" I was surprised. "The Steel Aurora and the Crusader will strike with their launchers. Isn't that obvious?"
The lieutenant didn't pretend otherwise: "No, sir." He shook his head. "Not at all."
"All the worse for the enemy," I noted.
* * *
What could be more logical than striking with six dozen anti-ship missile launchers at an enemy that doesn't even have missile defense systems?
Captain Kalian, too, didn't suspect the reason why the enemy admiral had fallen for such a simple ruse.
"Nose and broadside launchers — fire!" he ordered, watching as the Steel Aurora's turbolasers laid down harassing fire on the trio of escort frigates forming the screen for the Star Cruiser Justice.
Sixty anti-ship missiles left their tubes, making way for their comrades.
Leaving behind smoky exhaust trails, the missiles raced into the distance, cutting through the fifty-five units of distance separating the Victory I-class Star Destroyer from its chosen target.
In terms of overall combat survivability, the Steel Aurora is markedly inferior to the MC80a Liberty, even though it has similarly powerful deflectors. The Rebel cruiser's survivability is also helped by a distinctive feature of its deflectors — their energy recovers twice as fast as that of an Imperial Star Destroyer.
But this is where the MC80a's advantages end. The broadside artillery of this type of ship, as well as its fire control system, are significantly more powerful than those installed on the enemy starship. Specifically, the total salvo power of the Steel Aurora and her sister ships is one and a half times greater than the total power of the MC80a's guns.
How unfortunate, it must be, for the soldiers and sailors fighting on these ships to realize, at the moment when anti-ship missiles are approaching their cruisers, that neither the rapid shield regeneration, nor the installed first-class hyperdrive, nor the redundancy of most onboard systems, nor the high degree of automation, nor even the frantically firing laser and light turbolaser cannons on the sides of the escort corvettes, can avert the inevitable.
The missiles will reach their target.
The first salvo, or the second or third that follows a minute later — the missile magazines are full, but the limit of damage to the enemy's hull will reveal itself far sooner.
There is no escape from this, no victory.
The escort ships and the scattered fighters, suddenly realizing the danger threatening the Star Cruisers, began firing wildly in all directions, trying to hit the kinetic projectiles — which would have been sufficient not just to disable the enemy starships, but to destroy them completely.
Multiple system redundancy, extra generators and reactors wouldn't have saved them either…
The Steel Aurora had already launched a second salvo at the enemy before the first sixteen missiles — those that survived the actions of the New Republic starships — reached their targets.
The ship chosen as the target for the Steel Aurora was covered in a series of explosions, which mangled the starship and reduced its combat effectiveness by almost a third. Some of the batteries and gun turrets simply burst, and the oxygen inside the compartments instantly ignited, destroying all living things not only near the guns, but everywhere it could reach.
And it became clear to everyone, including the Republic forces, that the following salvos would not only deprive the Star Cruiser of the ability to fire or defend itself, but also its engines. And without those — no chance of escape.
Just as Grand Admiral Thrawn had predicted, the enemy, realizing they could not win this battle, began a retreat maneuver.
And the operation moved into the "slaughter" phase.
The homing heads installed in these projectiles pose a far greater danger than commonly believed. Because one must always know that once launched, such a missile will either reach its target or be destroyed in the attempt.
Furthermore, it seems no one among the Republic suspected that anti-ship missiles could be programmed for something other than a direct hit on a target.
Otherwise, they would have thought three times before beginning to maneuver under the threat of being struck by a second salvo.
Because Grand Admiral Thrawn made it perfectly clear — only the first salvo should be aimed at the flagship starships. The rest — at the engines of the escort ships.
And at this very moment, six escort frigates, completing their turning maneuver, experienced a cultural shock as hits began striking their sterns, which lacked laser and turbolaser protection.
Engine nozzles tore like paper, compartments and technical passages were engulfed in flames. The insulation of power cables melted, and the equipment units themselves fused. The internal detonations were so powerful that they threatened to literally shake the ships' contents out through the hull.
This was not a fair fight — it was a slaughter.
Ruthless, uncompromising.
And Captain Kalian understood perfectly well that right now, on the planet Ketaris, every sentient being was glued to their screens, broadcasting the chronicle of the battle.
Grand Admiral Thrawn, fighting with numerical inferiority, had put the enemy to flight. Time and again, attempts by starships like the Corellian Corvettes to turn and face the missile waves to shoot them down met only with suppressive fire from the destroyers' turbolasers and ion cannons. Unwilling to be destroyed, the corvets retreated, using their afterburners to get as far away as possible from the artillery that had zeroed in — artillery from just three ships that could rout a fleet four times their number.
"Targets hit," Kalian's senior officer reported.
But the commander of the Steel Aurora could already see that three Nebulon-Bs, whose stern sections had proven to be tasty morsels for the Dominion starships' anti-ship missiles, instead of moving forward, were yawing on course, leaving trails of smoke and debris behind them.
"Signal the Chimaera," there was no doubt the flagship saw this too, but the information needed to be duplicated. As the regulations and other fleet documents prescribe.
* * *
The Crusader's targets didn't last too long either.
Unlike young Kalian, Captain I-Gor had a certain amount of experience countering the Republic's favorite type of starship.
The first escort frigate was hit in the bow by a missile group as it tried to begin maneuvering — the homing heads passed through the gunners' "blind spots."
The second and third ships received impressive blows after they had managed to turn around.
Engine flares, which increased output power in an attempt to accelerate, illuminated the darkness of space with an even brighter glow — the missiles found their targets and, with their prescribed precision, tore the nozzles apart.
Not all of them, leaving the crippled ships some ability to move, but these were only attempts. As long as the artificial gravity field was working, no one and nothing would leave the Ketaris system.
The next salvo of anti-ship missiles struck the ships' weapon emplacements, sweeping them off the escort frigates' starboard hull. This was the direction that would be used by landing craft for boarding. Therefore, the area had to be cleared of defensive turrets.
While the Steel Aurora was rapidly closing with the enemy to give its gunners a proper chance to practice their shooting, I-Gor preferred to use missiles.
Kalian was young and hot-headed; he wanted to be on the front line.
Well, that was his right.
I-Gor preferred to shoot the enemy from a distance. There were plenty of missiles, and with each salvo, the number of the enemy's gun emplacements kept decreasing…
No risk to his own crew.
And that was good.
Fewer of his own deaths — more dead enemies.
That was how it should be, and that was how it would be.
Now and forever.
* * *
When the lightsabers clashed again, shattering the arsenal's silence with their characteristic hum and crackle, Ahsoka gave a cocky smile, looking into Asajj's face twisted with rage:
"Tell me, is it a thing with you — attacking every time you're caught 'red-handed'?"
The Dathomirian shoved the annoying pest in the Togruta's guise away from her with all her might and performed a backflip.
"How many times do I have to beat you before you finally stop getting under my feet?" the Dathomirian hissed through her teeth.
Tano thought for a moment.
"You know, come to think of it, you've never actually beaten me," she said.
"Oh, really?" Ventress attacked again, intending to cut the thorn in her side into three pieces with a diagonal double strike.
"Of course," the Togruta simply sidestepped, not deigning to give her a sparring opportunity. "Let's just see — all my body parts are still attached, I have no scars from your blades, you've never taken me prisoner… And…"
The Togruta had to stop talking for a moment to properly deflect the attacks of the enraged Dathomirian witch. The latter, like a wild beast, attacked, thrust, slashed, counterattacked…
But the Togruta parried every aggressive lunge, reducing the attacks to nothing… None of Asajj's thrusts reached their target.
"A win on points isn't our way, Ventress," Tano giggled, sounding almost like a teenager, locking one of Ventress's blades with her own. "So what's got you so worked up, huh?"
"Your," a downward strike, "smile," a thrust to the side, "irritates," a feint to the neck, "me."
And only the final lunge did Ahsoka Tano deign to deflect with her blade, taking it with a hard block, while she preferred to deflect the others into glancing blows.
"You know," the Togruta said, putting a look of concern on her face, "I'm no psychiatrist, of course, but you clearly have an obsession with me. Don't you want to talk about it?"
"Oh, just shut up already!" Ventress roared, lunging forward…
… and a second later she was flying back a couple of meters, having taken a kick to the chest from the Togruta's boot.
"Sometimes I realize myself that my tongue is my enemy, but I just love this part of me so much," the Togruta shook her head, looking at Ventress sprawled on the floor, trying to regain her breath. "How are you there, old lady, still alive?"
"Holy Korriban corpses, why the hell didn't you die like Skywalker or Kenobi, huh?" Asajj snarled, getting to her feet.
"I'm too good for anyone to run me through with a lightsaber," Tano said with a strange theatricality. "I don't know if it's my pleasant appearance, or if I'm simply an exceptionally positive-natured being, but all the beings I know wish me a long life, family well-being, and happiness."
"You're wrong," Ventress gritted her teeth, charging forward.
This time she flew a bit further and to the left — the Togruta hit her with a spinning kick from the right.
"Old lady, give it up," Tano advised her. "I told you — I don't want to fight. I want to talk."
"Never!" Asajj barked, calling on the Dark Side of the Force to clear the fog in her head and the ringing that had appeared there after the last blow. "I can't stand your rambling!"
"You know," Tano blocked her lunge and counterattacked. So carelessly, exposing her side so openly, that one simply couldn't be an acolyte and a mercenary your whole life and not take advantage of such a blunder…
The uppercut the Togruta landed stunned Ventress, her lower jaw cracking…
Falling onto her back, the Dathomirian looked around in confusion, trying to find where her lightsabers were.
As it turned out — in the Togruta's hands, who was clipping them onto her belt behind her back.
"Alright," the Togruta looked at her with regret. "Let's not trash the whole place, okay?" The Dathomirian looked around. Wait, when had they managed to break the nearest shelves and crates? "I understand you've aged a bit and it ticks you off that I picked up your habit of bantering during a fight, but you realize yourself — imitation is the best form of flattery. It took me about fifteen years to understand you. And honestly — I don't hold a grudge against you. I would have asked Kenobi or Skywalker, but they've been dead for a long time. And I don't really have the desire to meditate and see their Jedi faces either."
"Wha' are you doing?" Her broken jaw made it hard to speak properly. And the fracture site was beginning to swell rapidly.
"I'm saying — what's past is past," Tano simplified. "I'm not a Jedi anymore, and I don't serve the Republic. You're not a lapdog on Dooku's leash. We were both used and thrown away when we were deemed a disappointing add-on to the main act. I have no reason to fight you — well, only if I want to reminisce about the old days, stretch my legs… You see, over the years, decades we haven't seen each other, I have become so enlightened in my knowledge that…"
"Jus' kill me," Ventress asked. "My mouf is dwownin' in blood…"
"And I thought we could be friends," the Togruta sighed, unexpectedly offering her hand to Ventress. "I don't know if you felt something in the Force about four months ago, but I did. Like being struck by lightning. Something changed. And the future, which was never predetermined before, has now become even more tangled. I searched a long time for the one who was to blame, and I found him. Right now, we're kind of allies, and I admit, at first I wanted to kill him, in the best Jedi tradition. But when I met him in person… Well, let him live for now. Especially since the Force keeps telling me that only he can save the galaxy from many decades of bloodshed and the suffering of innocents, protect it from… a Great Evil. I don't know what drives him, but out of curiosity, I watched. He does his job well, and most importantly, in the long run, there's peace, tranquility, law, and order…"
"Won't you jus' shu' up already," Ventress said, looking hopelessly at the guards visible in the doorway. "Wha' did I even do to you?"
"It's nothing," the Togruta shrugged. "But I believe I ended up here for a reason. The galaxy is in turmoil. Enemies become friends and vice versa. If I was wrong and Grand Admiral Thrawn brings even more chaos than Palpatine, I'll need someone I can trust to watch my back to deal with that problem too."
"You're nutth," Ventress said, shaking her head, grabbing the Togruta's arm. "Abtholutely thhell-thocked!"
"We're all a little crazy," the Togruta sighed, handing Ventress her lightsabers. "You and me... Look, there's a whole Star Dreadnought hanging in orbit, commanded by a man who makes me want to curl up in a corner and call for my mother with just one glance. But, you'll laugh—he's doing good work."
"You're all nutth," Asajj concluded. "I generally wanted to thcram away far and farget everything like a thpooky dream…"
"Not going to happen, friend," Ventre shuddered as Ahsoka put an arm around her shoulders. "If the old guard doesn't step up, the young ones will make such a mess that you won't be able to read a history textbook without Nabooan shame... So, are you with me?"
"You're nutth," Ventress repeated, pushing the giggling Togruta away from her. "I need to talk with that commander who's thending me to farging death…"
Suddenly, the Togruta smiled in a completely childish way.
"You'll definitely like Commodore Shohashi. He's the same kind of principled maniac as you... Who knows, maybe you'll sort out your personal life, stop throwing yourself at everyone…"
Ventress looked at the Togruta with a glance that once made Neimoidians wet their pants. But she just blinked.
"No, what did I say?" she said, instantly regaining her calm expression, making Asajj seethe with rage at the realization that the little brat had tricked her again. And in her own Dathomiri style! This was just too much! "You should have talked less during our past scuffles—I'd still be guessing what could throw you off balance."
I'll run at the first opportunity, Ventress thought. Just let them leave me alone…
* * *
"The enemy escort is damaged and cannot provide cover," Lieutenant Tschel reported.
"I see," I said. "The flagship and the second Star Cruiser are accelerating, staying under the protection of four Corellian corvettes."
"The Steel Aurora and Crusader are neutralizing fire points on the New Republic frigates," Tschel continued.
"Excellent," I confirmed. "Inform those destroyers that the question of prize-taking remains with the Star Destroyer commanders. Our targets are the Star Cruisers and corvettes."
A Corellian corvette is too good and multifunctional a thing. It can support in battle, fend off fighters, go raiding, even serve as a mail ship... I absolutely need as many starships of this type as possible.
As well as escort frigates.
Yes, in their current form they don't exactly resemble the strict design of Dominion ships, but they are slowly but surely being modernized under Mark-I and Mark-II projects, which better suit the tasks assigned to them.
And the Star Cruisers...
Back when it was the Rebel Alliance, the New Republic used them as raiders. Through a few small intrigues, some of the ships of this type I have continue that practice, further undermining Lady Santhe's trust in the government on Coruscant. And vice versa.
But the intensity of these passions hasn't yet peaked. However, very soon, "the kettle will boil.".. And all that will be left for Lady Santhe, hoping that the Republican raiders will stop terrorizing her, is to uselessly shout: "Pot, don't boil!" But it will be too late...
So much yeast has been thrown into this dough that there will be enough pastries for everyone.
"Sir, at current speeds, the enemy ships will exit the gravitational anomaly in forty-five minutes," Lieutenant Tschel stated. "Should I order an increase in speed?"
"Absolutely not, Lieutenant," I said, already calculating the enemy ships' course. The deviation from the initial entry vector was visible to the naked eye. "Better inform our heavy cruisers that it's time to appear and cut off our enemy's retreat."
"Aye, sir!"
They were currently on the far side of the star system. There was no point in taking them far; I needed their appearance much sooner than in a few hours.
Moreover, their task was to act as beaters, forcing the enemy to turn around. And dash to the only place where they could take shelter.
"The cruisers have arrived," Lieutenant Tschel reported. "The enemy is turning away."
"Excellent," I smiled. "Now it's time for the idea of seeking help from allies on Ketaris to take root in the enemy commander's mind."
"Allies, sir?" Lieutenant Tschel tensed.
"Naturally," I nodded. "You may not have noticed, but we've repaired three orbital defense stations—the very ones the enemy will now pass by on a shallow trajectory, using their speed advantage. By the way, make sure the bombardment they subject us to also reduces our shield power."
"Sir, forgive me, but I don't understand," Tschel admitted. "Why pretend to be wounded when we can engage and crush them?"
"Of course we can," I agreed. "We wouldn't need anything but the Chimaera itself for that. But the objectives of this battle are completely different."
"Sir, if I may…" Tschel hesitated.
"You must, Lieutenant," I corrected. "Frankly, I'd be disappointed if you didn't ask for an explanation. Allow me, I'll provide it. But first—we have a short exchange of fire with the enemy ships. Would you be so kind as to order the gunners to fire on the Corellian corvettes with ion cannons, and on the cruisers with turbolasers?"
"Yes, sir!"
The moment when the Chimaera and the remnants of the enemy fleet met on opposing courses took no more than ten minutes. After that, leaving one Corellian corvette, battered by ion cannons, in the tenacious grasp of the tractor beam operator, the two Star Cruisers and now three support ships, skirting our Victorys, continued their movement toward the orbit of Ketaris.
"What do you think is happening in the sector now, Lieutenant?" I inquired.
"Um… we are fighting the New Republic fleet, sir."
"That too," I confirmed. "In reality, we are winning the hearts and minds of the sector's inhabitants, demonstrating our strength and ability to repel any attack, no matter where it comes from. At this moment, seven of our operational-tactical formations have engaged enemy units and won without suffering any significant losses. We will deliver the damaged ships to the local shipyard in the Vosteltig star system, where they will be repaired. First the shipyard workers, then the system's population, and then the entire sector, will learn that we were prepared for attacks on the sector, intercepted and destroyed the enemy."
"There will be many questions, sir."
"Civilians always have plenty," I shrugged. "If you answer every one, there'll be no time left for great deeds."
"Understood, sir," Tschel said. "And…?"
"Why didn't we just use the Dragon to shoot up the enemy ships and capture them all at once?" I clarified.
"Yes, sir."
"Simpler still, Lieutenant," I said, steepling my fingers. "Turn the Chimaera and set the engines to maximum speed. We've already driven our prey to the shore—now let them throw themselves on the rocks."
"Um… yes, sir!" Tschel said, embarrassed by the naval metaphor. "Sir, and here, in the system…?"
"We knocked out the orbital battle stations defending Ketaris with the Dragon to demonstrate our weaponry to the locals," I explained. "Among them is a large percentage of New Republic sympathizers, so despite the planet having joined us, data on this battle and the Dragon has already gone to Coruscant. But like the second and third distress messages, they will arrive late—we disabled the nearest relay, so Coruscant will get the information with a delay. They will, accordingly, draw conclusions based on what they receive, and will undoubtedly note the time intervals between the Dragon's salvoes."
"You ordered them to be made deliberately long!" Tschel realized.
"Yes," I confirmed. "And now our enemy will receive 'information about the superweapon's vulnerability.' A little later, we'll use the Dragon a few more times like this to ensure their confidence is guaranteed. But that's only part of the Dragon problem."
"There's another?" Tschel was surprised.
"Of course," I agreed. "If you demonstrate to everyone that you achieved victory solely through a superweapon, be prepared for two things to happen: first, they will take it from you or destroy it, then they will strike you and betray you. By eliminating the enemy's reinforcements and also defeating his squadron with inferior numbers, we will make it clear to all witnesses that our victory is dictated not only by the presence of a superweapon. But also by natural tactical ability and military superiority. And now," I pointed out to the lieutenant how, after exchanging access codes, Admiral Jid'ida's detachment found itself in space between two Golan platforms, "by simulating damage to the Chimaera for the enemy and 'exposing ourselves' before him, we played on the admiral's fear of being deceived and defeated. He hurried to get under the platforms' protection as quickly as possible, but here's the catch…"
At that very moment, the upper layers of the stratosphere where the New Republic ships were holding, erupted in flashes of turbolaser fire.
"It turns out the population of Ketaris doesn't want to save them or help them."
"But those are our troops manning the planetary defense systems!" Tschel noted.
"Yes," I simply agreed. "Only Admiral Jid'ida and his subordinates don't know that. Nor that the aiming of the Golan guns is also handled exclusively by our gunners."
"Sir, so it turns out…" Lieutenant Tschel watched as the communications operator read a message on his monitor. If I was right about Pellaeon's diplomatic abilities, then this…
"Sir, they've sent us a ratified copy of the treaty with the government of the Ketaris system on joining the Dominion," Lieutenant Tschel muttered. "I don't understand, but why send it on an open channel…"
"So that the communications officers on our enemy's ships receive it," I explained. "Sooner or later, they will return to the New Republic. And they'll tell how the treacherous inhabitants of the planet Ketaris called them for help. And betrayed them, firing on their ships and luring them into orbit under their own weapons' fire, while simultaneously declaring their loyalty to us. And now, no matter how fate turns, the New Republic will never again accept the fortress-planet Ketaris into its fold. The local government will understand this, as will the fact that if they try to leave the Dominion, they will be crushed without our protection. And this will only strengthen their desire to remain under our control…"
"Sir, a message from Admiral Jid'ida," an officer at the comm panel said. "He is surrendering his ships and crews. He asks for a ceasefire…"
"Good," I agreed. "Congratulations on the victory. Though it's a pity we can't stretch the time any further for Captain Dorja."
"Sorry, sir, but why was it necessary to delay so long…?"
"So that Captain Dorja could test the ISD-III in the Stronk system," I explained, pointing to the tactical monitor. "As you can see, the In Amber Clad just entered the system along with the captured Star Cruiser that Admiral Jid'ida left to defend that star system. All of today's objectives have been accomplished. You may dismiss the crew to rest, Lieutenant Tschel."
"Aye! Sir!" the lieutenant barked, brimming with feeling.
"If necessary," I said, rising from my seat, "I can be found in my quarters."
I should think about how to most painfully present this defeat of the New Republic to Coruscant and the rest of the galaxy.
Because the understanding that has arisen among the inhabitants of the Ketaris system and the Oplovis sector of the inevitable victory of the fleet under my command is one thing. But implanting this thought in the subconscious of other sentients is quite another.
Difficult, but not impossible.