Nine years, nine months, and fifteen days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or forty-four years, nine months, and fifteen days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Four months and thirty-five days since the Arrival.)
If you've been manufacturing weapons in all their forms for millennia, and on an industrial scale at that, it's only natural that you need sources of resources.
For the Balmorrans, they had everything literally right under their noses.
Six planets, only two of which are habitable — Balmorra and Nevuta.
The Balmorra System.
The latter was once inhabited by the race of the same name, but more than four thousand years ago, during the Mandalorian Crusades, colonists from the namesake planet swept across Nevuta's surface, zealously and expertly wiping out the local population to the last.
The resourceful Balmorrans turned Nevuta into their colony. However, now it serves less as a resort destination for wealthy Balmorrans and more as a warehouse.
That "balcony" where everything unnecessary gets stored, but at a certain point you remember that you need the skis too, and the children's sleds are also pretty good, and that old refrigerator of the "Ocean" brand just won't wear out — it shocks you, sure, but that's fixable.
It's not a warehouse in the full sense. For the most part, the production facilities for outdated equipment were moved here — equipment that, one way or another, was still in demand by the population.
But Nevuta was also a scrap heap.
The Balmorrans were far more interested in Nevuta for its numerous mineral mines.
And there were a huge number of them here.
Just like on the other four uninhabited planets in the system.
Just like on the four moons of Balmorra itself.
You could say the whole system is a colossal source of resources, flowing in an endless stream to the system's primary planet — Balmorra itself.
This world's history is painfully interesting, especially concerning the betrayal of the Republic during the conflict with the Sith Empire over three thousand years ago, but that's all so ancient it's pointless to think about it now.
The Dominion came here not for long-past disagreements, but for something substantial.
At the same time, the history of this factory-planet is very tightly intertwined with what the company "Balmorran Arms" had been producing for millennia since its founding, whose headquarters and advanced production facilities were located on Balmorra itself.
But while the ancient history and ancient industry could be explored on Nevuta, what actually brought me to Balmorra was located there directly.
And this interest was, oddly enough, connected to Balmorra's recent history.
Literally — the last thirty to fifty years.
Before the Clone Wars began, Balmorra and "Balmorran Arms" were part of the Techno Union, a future member of the Confederacy of Independent Systems.
A large number of B-1 battle droids were produced on Balmorra. With the escalation of the Separatist Crisis preceding the Clone Wars, Balmorra had no intention of seceding from the Old Republic. However, with the start of the famous conflict, the Republicans tried to shut down all battle droid factories, thereby attempting to commit the greatest sin in the history of capitalism — stopping production that brought its owners a huge amount of money.
The reaction wasn't long in coming, so by the end of the twenty-second year before the Battle of Yavin IV, that is, in the first year of the war, Balmorra seceded from the Galactic Republic.
The CIS immediately allocated a fleet of Lucrehulk-class battleships for its defense, and near industrial giants like Humbarine and Kuat, a hotbed of tension emerged, literally pumping the CIS full of weapons of all kinds.
And the "assortment" of goods from the weapons manufacturers on the planet Balmorra was quite extensive.
The outcome of this orchestrated war is well known, so with the proclamation of the New Order, the Empire, with all its tendencies toward controlling the arms trade, literally brought the Balmorrans to heel.
Under the New Order, an Imperial governor ruled the planet, and he also oversaw production. During the reign of Emperor Palpatine, the Balmorrans produced weapons for the Imperial Army.
Working in conjunction with the Kuat Drive Yards, especially after they mothballed the facilities of Rothana Heavy Engineering, the Balmorrans became the primary manufacturers of AT-ST reconnaissance walkers. Additionally, factories for producing several variants of the AT-AT, as well as most of the other armored ground vehicles used by the Galactic Empire's armed forces, were built on the planet.
After the Battle of Endor, the Rebel Alliance helped the Balmorrans free themselves from the Empire's influence, and after the proclamation of the New Republic and the declaration of its core tenets, the dream of the local arms barons came true.
The New Republic had no control over the production and trade of weapons, preferring to use this revenue stream from its member planets as a budget-filling line item.
But weapons manufacturers are also smart beings. And no one wants to share their profits. Especially when you have factories producing military equipment that's in demand throughout the known galaxy.
That's precisely why Kuat, Fondor, and dozens of other major military equipment manufacturers, although part of the New Republic, did so on special terms.
And the enrichment plan devised by the Republic's bureaucrats developed a bit of a crack, into which the New Republic's economy fell.
Just a few weeks ago, remaining a neutral planet, Balmorra signed major contracts with the New Republic for the production and maintenance of Imperial and other equipment.
Convenient, to say the least.
But it's not for nothing that before the start of the Battle of Coruscant, I announced strikes on both New Republic military installations and those belonging to their allies.
Balmorra is a legitimate target and will remain so, whether the locals want to see Star Destroyers in their sky or not.
* * *
Ion cannons burned away the deflector shield of an old Imperial light cruiser with blue-white fire, driving the rather nimble Arquitens further from dangerous range.
But it, along with five of its sister ships, having taken a good pounding from the artillery of the Abyssal Fury, rapidly widened the distance — only to execute a turning maneuver and change their angle of attack.
And it all began again and again…
Arquitens-class light cruiser.
Of course, the swiftness of these ships is relative.
Compared to the same TIE Interceptors that were locked in battle with the local planetary defense fighters over Nevuta, the Arquitens-class are slow and ponderous.
But they can still bleed you dry with their laser cannons and several turbolasers, with which they so generously shower the Star Destroyer and its escort.
At the moment, the commander of the Abyssal Fury task force faced a dilemma.
Destroy the harmless but annoyingly persistent Arquitens-class cruisers, or continue to ignore them until the trap snaps shut?
The first option would allow transitioning to landing forces on Nevuta right away.
The second — to capture five trophy ships at once.
Yes, Arquitens-class cruisers aren't Bellator-class dreadnoughts or even Vindicator-class heavy cruisers, but they're trophies!
Captain Shohashi's promotion — who risked his ship but, instead of an honorable funeral, received a promotion and a fast dreadnought (along with an entire squadron of destroyers to boot) under his command — had certainly left no one in the Dominion fleet indifferent.
Naturally, the "Butcher of Atoa" was envied — some with white envy, others with black.
Some were genuinely happy for Shohashi's success, while others dreamed of repeating his achievement and earning another colored square on their command bar.
In the Imperial Navy, you could command the same starship for ten years without a chance to trade a cruiser's bridge for a destroyer's deck, but in the Dominion, despite the fleet being rather modest by the Galactic Empire's standards, career growth wasn't a problem.
Even now, practically commanding task forces, the Star Destroyer captains not only received a higher salary than before but also performed the duties of commodores.
And there was no doubt that in a short time, a rain of promotions would fall on them as well.
The nature of a man who managed resources wouldn't allow the Abyss to simply pass by five trophy ships and open fire to kill. Especially since the Arquitens-class are, essentially, pretty good ships.
Fast, maneuverable, requiring a small crew, and even capable of retracting all their artillery into the hull, the Arquitens-class could do what Imperial-class Star Destroyers couldn't: they could easily enter a planet's atmosphere without disastrous consequences.
And therefore, they could support the landing with fire, eliminate fortified enemy positions, suppress ground artillery…
But the dictates of the Oath required Captain Stormaer to take a completely different approach to resolving the issue of these specific Nevuta planetary defense starships.
The Grand Admiral had given him and his formation a very specific task — capture several objects on the planet. The mothballed equipment had to be removed by any means necessary, so in the depths of the Abyssal Fury, the stormtroopers were already beginning to grow restless.
Sigh…
"Ships of the formation," he activated his communicator. "Switch to turbolaser use. Suppress enemy ships by all available means."
And the pattern of the battle changed.
The Abyssal Fury stopped playing with the cruisers, diligently hammering their deflectors with single turbolaser shots, bursts from medium turbolasers, and ion cannons.
The heavy cruisers, having formed "pincers" around their lighter brethren, brought their own broadsides into the fight, turning the localized sector of space around the five Arquitens-class cruisers into a true battlefield.
"So much good stuff going to waste," Stormaer muttered under his breath as he watched the corvettes of his formation concentrate fire and tear into the superstructure of one of the light cruisers. Following that, a grim fate befell two of the martyr's three sublight engines.
The ship, transformed into a torch with a blazing stern, tumbled toward the blockade. A moment later, the central of the three engines exploded, ripping open the rear hemisphere of the vessel and exposing its defenseless innards.
Its crew was probably clinging to the hope of salvation, but there was none. With its engines destroyed, this ship wasn't going anywhere.
Attempting to board it was utterly pointless — just wasting time on a process no one needed.
It was no longer a prize; it was a burden.
The Abyssal Fury struck blow after blow, literally hammering more and more energy into its opponents' hulls with its turbolasers.
The hull plating ruptured; hits on the enemy light cruiser's critical weapons and life-support systems were accompanied by pillars of fire.
The Arquitens, which had attempted to slip under the Star Destroyer's keel and rake its hull with fire from its entire artillery complement, suddenly found itself clamped in the invisible embrace of tractor beams.
The Abyssal Fury's broadside batteries greeted the victim with a volley fired almost point-blank, inflicting terrible damage on the Balmorran vessel.
The light cannons and retractable turbolaser turrets on the Arquitens' starboard side were literally swept away by a blue-green wave of the salvo, exposing numerous compartments of the ship and giving the gunners a rare opportunity to behold the enemy vessel's interior and assess the results of their own efforts in the form of a whirlwind of atmosphere, enemy soldiers' bodies, and pieces of hull plating erupting into the vacuum.
"Boarding parties, prepare," Stormaer barked into his comlink. "Port-side artillery, switch to ion cannons. Tractor beam operators, hold that enemy light cruiser until our forces have full control over it."
Fine — he might not get five Arquitens, but he'd get at least one.
Maybe even two or three...
Far off the Abyssal Fury's bow, blinding flashes flared.
Coinciding with the Star Destroyer commander's rueful sigh.
Alright, so be it.
One prize, then.
There was still a boarding operation ahead.
Who knows, maybe he could snag something interesting there too.
* * *
The Chimaera was entering a designated orbit around the satellite closest to Balmorra's surface.
I watched as an Acclamator, under the escort of a medium cruiser, headed for the small, lifeless celestial body.
This prize crew's objective was exactly the same as the orders given to three others like it: seize the ore and metals mined at the shafts and prepared for shipping to Balmorra.
And to the four uninhabited planets where the Balmorran mining complexes were located, "prize teams" had also been dispatched: one Victory escorted by a pair of Acclamators for each Star Destroyer. All of this was under the protection of light forces.
It wasn't that we desperately needed someone else's resource stockpiles, but neither should I underestimate the fact that the New Republic's Unified Command would be dissecting this operation down to the smallest screw.
Maybe my actions had stunned and disorganized them for now, but even a person adapts to changes in their environment with ease and comfort.
So it was only natural that the New Republic would soon begin formulating a countermeasure strategy against me.
So, the more misinformed they were about the true state of affairs within the Dominion, the better. Therefore, when Coruscant finally regained control of its orbit (and they would regain it, inevitably, but not without problems), their commanders would be left wondering why, besides the factories and equipment on Balmorra, I also needed metal reserves.
Let them draw conclusions that I'm having major problems with my own resource extraction — that will play into their assessment of the Dominion's combat effectiveness.
Because, even though the New Republic might be losing in a certain sense, the time isn't far off when they'll find weak points in my strategy and will undoubtedly try to strike back, using information obtained one way or another.
Whether anyone survived from Home One was no longer that important.
But I had to proceed on the assumption that the enemy would learn about my possession of the Guardian, and therefore — I needed to repair the ship and bring it into service as quickly as possible, equipping it with the necessary escort.
After all, if you analyze all the cases of Star Dreadnoughts of this type being destroyed, they perished either in battle against the Rebel and New Republic light forces, or due to sabotage.
As far as I remember, throughout the post-Endor years, there weren't that many battles in the galaxy between starships of this or a similar class against each other.
Standard raiding operations against enemy convoys were a thing of the past, albeit a little earlier than planned.
I also couldn't keep the Dragon and other ships of Project Sunburn up my sleeve forever — at best, I could keep the number of such vessels in my possession hidden from the enemy for now.
Not to mention that I also needed to start thinking about tactics to defend against this kind of weapon. I had already demonstrated the full utility of ion cannons mounted on starships. This would give the New Republic Defense Forces Unified Command a chance to consider building them. And by the time Palpatine's invasion began, the Republic's warriors might manage to build at least a few ships of that type.
Though, who was I kidding.
But one way or another, the control time marker was getting closer.
The stakes rose every day, and consequently, it was time to accelerate the execution of certain plan points.
Work to increase the Dominion's defensive capabilities was underway every day.
But in fact, I needed to build a state, construct new factories, bases, and mines. Prisoners of war digging in the ground with picks and shovels on third-rate planets, clearing forests, and draining swamps was, of course, good and even decent. Especially in terms of working with prisoners and demonstrating to them the true attitude of their government towards its own servicemen.
But at this pace, I wouldn't be able to build everything I wanted before Palpatine's invasion.
So, the operation to obtain the necessary means of production and other assets continued to be implemented in two directions.
The confiscation of Imperial technology, factories, and warships by the regular fleet forces was already well known.
But the other side — the quite official purchases of weapons and certain technologies conducted by Captain Hoffner for the needs of planets he had nothing to do with — I, of course, was not publicizing.
But Balmorra fell into the first category, and therefore, a military operation there was destined to be carried out.
While corvettes and gunships chased the scattered Balmorran transport ships across the system, the Chimaera, escorted by four Victories, ten heavy cruisers of the Dreadnaught type, and a similar number of CR90s, providing cover for ten assault cruisers of the Acclamator type (acting as armed transports in this case), was tightening its space noose around the factory planet.
And to be honest with ourselves — another enemy beating was coming.
No, not a massacre.
Not even a battle.
Not even a skirmish.
A beating.
Swift, bloody, with a predetermined outcome.
Because the forces the enemy fielded against us weren't even a blocking detachment; they were... potential suicide victims.
Seven Kaloth-class cruisers. Clumsy, pot-bellied vessels, decently armed, but at the same time — incapable of stopping our assault force's advance towards the orbit of the factory planet, which was defended by five Golan II defense stations.
A Kaloth-class battlecruiser.
Forty-four turbolasers, twenty-four laser cannons, and a dozen fighters from its escort air wing.
A formidable armament, but only for those who don't have a Star Destroyer in their arsenal.
Although, I admit, for Dreadnaughts, in a "one-on-one" battle against such an opponent, a heavy cruiser would inevitably sustain damage incompatible with subsequently carrying out its assigned tasks.
The problem for the enemy, however, was that I had no intention of allowing a confrontation where the Dreadnaught outgunned the Kaloth by more than two to one in terms of turbolaser count.
"Captain," I addressed Gilad, "are the ships ready for battle?"
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon confirmed. "It's almost... a pity to beat these guys. They're just doing their duty."
"Just like all of us, Captain," I reminded him. "But you're right — we'll announce our intentions first. Given that the previous warning only reached the population of Coruscant because the sector relay was blocked, the Balmorrans should be given a choice — continue mindlessly fighting or hand over what we require. Play them the recording of my ultimatum to Coruscant, the New Republic, and Balmorra. With amendments, of course. Mr. Ghent should have already prepared a version of the message for distribution."
"They could call for reinforcements," Pellaeon noted. "Kuat, Humbarine — they're not that far."
"Three days, Captain," I stated. "That's exactly how long it will take the nearest forces that could aid Balmorra to get here. By then, we will have left the system, taking what we need. No one is allowed to appropriate and hold Imperial property except those who support the Empire and the Dominion. And even then, the former only do so temporarily."
* * *
The fact that the starships guarding Balmorra had switched to attack spoke for itself.
The Grand Admiral's warning, seasoned with an offer to hand over what he demanded, hadn't produced a constructive effect.
The Kaloths went on the offensive, disgorging from their holds no less ancient Headhunters as they moved. The AF-4 modification, the last in their series, built at the Incom Corporation factories just before the Clone Wars, where they demonstrated all their valor.
For a time, these machines continued to serve the Empire after the establishment of the New Order, but over the years they began to appear only on the periphery... And with rebels, pirates, privateers.
It was actually pretty strange to see such blatantly old junk defending a well-known factory planet. Junk that might still be able to fly, but trying to oppose Imperial forces...
Really, it wasn't even funny. Okay, pirates, okay privateers, but the Balmorrans flying around in relics like these?
His gaze slid across the gray hulls of the Kaloths, where traces of fresh paint were visible. As if someone had tried to paint over something, while the rest of the hull remained just as time-worn and chipped...
And unexpectedly, Lieutenant Jainer understood what was going on.
"Grey Leader to Chimaera OCC," he activated the channel to the flagship's controller.
"OCC online."
"I suspect Balmorra is being defended by mercenaries," he said. It was very characteristic of pirates, corsairs, and mercenaries to paint combat emblems on their ships. A sort of brand indicating belonging to one group or another. Pirates, for example, loved to paint various kinds of claws. "Too old machines for a factory planet. And there are traces of paint covering something on the hulls. Presumably — group emblems."
There was silence on the other end for a while, then a reply came:
"Information received, Grey Leader. Continue carrying out your assigned task."
"Roger," Krieg sighed, pushing the yoke away from him and letting the machine plunge into the lower echelon, pulling the entire squadron along with him.
What exactly had he expected, anyway?
Just a simple assumption, and how would it affect the outcome of the entire mission?
That's right — it wouldn't.
Just food for thought: why would a factory planet, whose revenues were measured in billions (if not more), decide to hire third parties for its defense instead of purchasing its own fleet? They had the Golans, didn't they? Yes. So they must have security forces too.
Looks like they decided to save money on building their own flotilla, or it simply wasn't ready to be deployed into battle.
Well, let the command worry about that.
He and his pilots had a job: get rid of these pesky mercenaries and prevent them from attacking Dominion ships.
His TIE interceptor cut between two Headhunters like a knife through butter.
They, belatedly realizing an enemy craft had gotten behind them, started to turn, spraying laser fire at several of the nearest Dominion interceptors as they did.
The Grey Wing didn't stay in debt, and a pair of interceptors immediately pounced on the two Headhunters. Classic tactics for fighting ships equipped with deflector shields: one "keeps them spinning," the other knocks down their defense.
While the enemy was distracted by the other interceptors, Krieg and his wingman pulled a reversal, dodging another mercenary, then used their cannons to tap out a "thank you for the warm welcome" on the shields and hulls of both opponents.
A double flash flared.
Perfect — a pair of "bandits" were on their way to their mercenary god. Express delivery straight to the underworld.
The interceptor shot through the explosions and, in a turn, dodged the line of fire of the Headhunter chasing him. But that one was already met with fire from other pilots, shaking the pursuer off the tail of the squadron commander and his wingman.
The maneuver brought Lieutenant Jainer and Grey Two directly under the belly of a Kaloth that was bombarding the nearest Dominion heavy cruiser. But the gunners on the mercenary ship, it turned out, weren't asleep: the cruiser started turning a couple of its turrets towards the TIE interceptors.
The onboard computer signaled that he had been target-locked.
"Break left," Krieg ordered, pulling his machine away from the spot that was immediately stitched by laser cannon fire.
He threw the machine into a dizzying dive and escaped from under the cruiser's fire just as two passing Headhunters opened fire on his TIE interceptor.
Nothing new — shaking off such pursuers was very, very simple.
Lieutenant Jainer pulled back on the yoke, simulating a loop. His wingman kept close, stuck to his tail like glue.
According to the instrument readings, the mercenaries decided to shoot him down during the maneuver, and their machines also started raising their noses, relying on their repulsors instead of main engines...
"Prepare for braking with a reversal," he told his wingman. "Now!"
At that moment, Krieg cut the engine, letting the opponent continue tracking his trajectory. The TIE interceptor itself executed a flip and, with fire from its four cannons, hammered the deflectors of one of the opponents.
The wingman precisely executed the same maneuver, lagging behind the squadron commander for only a moment. And now eight cannons turned the first Headhunter into a cloud of debris.
The second prudently switched to its main engines and fled. Both interceptors surged after it, testing the Incom machine's deflectors for strength with short bursts.
On the turn, he caught a flash out of the corner of his eye, turned, and saw the left side of the cruiser blazing with flashes.
And also the swift shadow of a Scimitar, which had surged forward again, leaving behind a huge gaping wound on the side of the mercenary ship.
Executing a combat turn, he latched onto the tail of an enemy fighter detected by the onboard scanner.
The Headhunter ahead suddenly dropped hard to the right, dodged the line of fire, and aimed for a barrel roll followed by getting on the interceptor's own tail.
No, this was just insolence.
Krieg, clenching his teeth against the breakfast rising in his throat, repeated the same maneuver, cursing himself for not having the inertial compensator at full power.
For several seconds, they spun around each other in a classic "merry-go-round," trying to get into direct firing range while preventing the opponent from doing the same. The wingman, who had tried to join the fray, found himself drawn into his own duel with a similar opponent a couple of units away from the squadron commander.
Just as the contents of his stomach were about to erupt and decorate his helmet, the mercenary couldn't take it anymore.
He bolted straight to the side, relying on his engine speed.
Krieg, without unclenching his teeth and breathing deeply, switched the inertial compensator to full power, then gave chase.
His internal organs gratefully returned to the position evolution had intended for them, but the taste of stomach acid and salad lingered.
Well, lesson learned for next time.
The opponent darted side to side like a drunken tauntaun, but it didn't save him.
Contacting the commander of a bomber squadron that appeared nearby, Krieg offered to credit the downed opponent to him. If fighter and interceptor pilots earned such marks with enviable regularity, their comrades in less mobile machines were limited to destroying much larger targets. So they somehow never got into the tradition of killing small craft...
"Don't need it," replied the lieutenant commanding the bombers. Just as Krieg was about to curse the fool, he clarified:
"Third craft — lock onto Grey Leader's target designation. The rest — on finishing off the Kaloth."
What a noble bomber guy.
His comlink clicked — the phlegmatic pilot of a TIE bomber requested target designation.
Well then — here's one for you, fleeing at full nozzle power, and here's your second, making the wingman dizzy.
"Roger," the bomber pilot replied just as calmly. "Combat mode. Engaging. Cover?"
"Covering," Krieg reported that he was ready to protect the bomber from any encroachments.
After all, a TIE bomber was a low-maneuverability machine, and therefore often became a target for various fast-moving craft.
Taciturn professionals, masters of their craft. A rarity in such troubled times.
The TIE bomber didn't keep them waiting.
Its launch cassette flashed, spitting shaped-charge rockets toward the target. Three silvery-gray missiles, picking up dizzying speed, surged after the first target.
Frantic attempts to avoid their fate only resulted in the Headhunter shaking off one rocket, catching a second straight in the cockpit, and a third completing the machine's disintegration, essentially vaporizing it.
"Combat mode," it seemed while Krieg was patrolling, guarding the bomber, it had already re-oriented and locked onto another target. Fast. And all those offensive nicknames fighter pilots, and even more so fast interceptors, gave the bombers... "Engaging the second. Cover?"
"Covering," Lieutenant Jainer confirmed.
The TIE bomber seized the moment and again dispelled the boredom of another Headhunter with a triple launch of homing missiles.
Less than half a minute passed, and his wingman joined Krieg, leaving a cloud of burning debris behind. The hull of his TIE interceptor had a few scorch marks, but the machine was overall combat-ready.
"Thanks for the help," Jainer thanked the bomber's crew.
"Roger," the craft's commander replied just as calmly, heading towards where his squadron was having a grand old time.
He had a few seconds to enjoy the bomber aviation's work.
The Kaloth, wounded by the Scimitar, couldn't effectively shoot back at the enemy, and the bomber squadron was relentlessly working it over with volley and individual craft salvoes of homing shaped-charge rockets.
The cruiser sprayed furious fire at the little killers, who leisurely did their job, never missing a chance to deprive the enemy vessel of a couple more firing points.
The bomber aviation interpreted attempts to alter the ship's position as an insult to their personal achievements, so they preemptively burned out gun emplacements that could disrupt what was almost a target-range training exercise in volley and individual rocket firing.
It became clear why the destroyers weren't firing on this cruiser. Even the heavy cruiser had preferred not to get involved with the doomed mercenary vessel.
The bombers had sunk their teeth into their prey like a rancor that had no intention of backing down. Their low sublight speed didn't work against them now; on the contrary, their powerful armament helped them crack open the Kaloth like a tin can, ignoring the battlecruiser crew's attempts to turn this disgraceful beating for mercenary honor into something else.
Rocket detonations punched through deck after deck, compartment after compartment, mangling sheets of metal and twisting bulkheads. Partitions were pierced by shockwaves or burned through by shaped-charge jets, filling the space around the ship with droplets of molten metal that were beginning to slowly solidify.
To be honest, when a hole appeared in the cruiser large enough for a not-so-small corvette to fly through the Kaloth, Krieg felt a shiver run down his spine.
You could give the guys in TIE bombers all the offensive, mocking nicknames you wanted, but what they did with such ease and nonchalance was terrifying enough to make you hiccup.
Even the greenest fighter or interceptor pilot wouldn't envy the mercenaries whose battlecruiser broke in half during yet another maneuver.
Meanwhile, the bomber pilots, having completed their task, businesslike turned around and slowly flew towards the Chimaera. Now they'd take on board new cassettes full of proton torpedoes or shaped-charge rockets and return to their work of finishing off the damaged enemy.
You could shoot down hundreds of enemy small craft, relying on the power of your cannons and the speed of your engines. But you'd never even come close in your entire career to the number of enemies destroyed that a bomber squadron's pilots sent to their ancestors in one successful sortie.
How many crew were on board that Kaloth?
The TIE Interceptor's onboard computer displayed a number just under fifteen hundred.
One single assault, and the mercenary fleet had lost one of its cruisers.
A second was already blazing, having taken proton torpedoes to its bridge from the Scimitar. But Captain Bren didn't stop, shifting into a high-speed low-altitude run and decorating the "back" of the potbellied starship with more and more explosions in his wake. A minute later, the Kaloth-class was burning from bow to stern, scattering chunks of armor and shuddering from internal detonations.
Two Victory-class destroyers, having boxed in another battlecruiser, turned it into a docile punching bag, firing from their launchers at a ship incapable of fighting off such an assault, even with coordinated counter-fire from its laser cannons.
Four heavy cruisers had their prey in a tight box, beating it without the slightest desire to let the smoking, engine-less mercenary starship slip from their grip.
The Chimaera, holding yet another battlecruiser in its tractor beams, literally forced it to soak up fire from its turbolasers, tearing the ship apart from bow to stern. After it exploded. Grand Admiral Thrawn's flagship calmly continued its advance, lending fire support to two more heavy cruisers that had placed yet another Kaloth-class under crossfire. The mercenary starship snarled back, spitting from its turbolasers and lasers, but nothing could save it from being destroyed by the hurricane of fire.
The engines gave out first, exploding in a blinding white flash.
When it faded, only the burning, smoking forward half of the battlecruiser remained, incapable of further defense. And so the second flash came very quickly — on the second coordinated salvo from three ships.
Krieg turned his head, hoping to spot the seventh mercenary battlecruiser. The remnants of their fighters had vanished somewhere too…
He found the last enemy at eighty-seven units from his current position. The bright glow of the starship's engine nozzles and a few small points nearby indicated the mercenaries had chosen to flee rather than continue fulfilling their contract with more than one hundred percent certainty of their own destruction.
Missile armament — that was what the Rebel Alliance and the New Republic always used to give Imperial servicemen an unpleasant surprise. Homing shaped-charge missiles, proton torpedoes… They all made life difficult for both pilots of TIE-series craft and Imperial ships alike.
And yet here it was — the same tactic, but executed by career military personnel.
The Victory-class anti-ship missiles… Who, after the Imperial-class appeared, ever took those old tubs seriously? No one. Missiles? Pfft, what are you even talking about? There are a massive number of turbolasers on Star Destroyers. Turbolasers — that's the solution to all problems. But missiles… No, bombers will only carry bombs. And no missile launch bays on Star Destroyers.
Yes, that was roughly the thinking of the Galactic Empire's military command when they sold hundreds of Victory-class ships to the Corporate Sector, to a regime loyal to the Imperial Center. Or when they sent them to the periphery to guard the outer systems and chase pirates.
Only with the emergence of the Rebel Alliance did missile launchers start appearing on ships. And even then — only on flagships, Super Star Destroyers, and fast (and not-so-fast) dreadnoughts…
Meanwhile, the five Golan stations bristled with their turbolasers and missile launchers, ready to greet Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet with hurricane fire.
And now would be the perfect time for the Dragon to drop out of hyperspace, blow all those stations apart, board them, and haul them off into the Dominion, as had been done at Coruscant just a few days earlier.
But the Chimaera didn't even think of calling for help.
Instead, the fearsome Star Destroyer, flagship of the Dominion fleet, continued closing on the orbital platforms, pulling heavy cruisers and the four nearby Victory-class ships in around them.
"Chimaera OCC to Gray-Leader," came the voice in his helmet.
"Gray-Leader to OCC: reading you," Krieg responded.
"You have a new objective…"
Lieutenant Jainer just shook his head.
Kreb, wherever you are, you're missing battles like these!
I hope you're busy with something genuinely useful, and didn't become a flight instructor — aviation would never survive that loss.
* * *
Eighty-six units.
The distance between the Dominion fleet assaulting Balmorra and the Golan-II orbital defense platforms.
Just five stations, each one larger in size than any of the Star Destroyers at my disposal.
In total, that's one hundred sixty-five turbolasers and fifty proton torpedo launchers. Standard firing range. Seventy-five units for turbolasers, sixty for missiles and torpedoes.
It's possible to enter the energy artillery's engagement zone without reaching the proton torpedo range, pouring turbolaser fire onto each station's shields, wearing down the defensive perimeter one by one.
That is precisely what standard Imperial siege tactics dictate.
And yet those same tactics indicate that such an assault would take a considerable amount of time, as each station individually has a shield capable of lasting longer than Star Destroyers can afford to remain undamaged.
Moving close enough for the Victory-class ships to hit each station with massive salvos would mean condemning those destroyers to taking damage from kinetic projectiles — not impossible to shoot down, but difficult.
Any missile or torpedo could be aimed at the bridge, reactor, hangar, or any other vulnerable point. Which means that in such an assault, I could lose one or several ships.
Losses in war are inevitable — only a fool thinks otherwise.
But turning a simple operation into a slaughter of one's own formation, which still has operations to conduct deep in enemy territory — that's wrong.
"Sir, the enemy is launching fighters," Captain Pellaeon noted.
"Yes, I see," I said, observing the view from the Chimaera's bridge, unable to help noting that the flagship Star Destroyer's commander was rather tense. As if uncertain of victory. "Are our interceptors and fighters in position?"
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon confirmed. "The enemy is using A-9 Vigilant interceptor-fighters."
The A-9 Vigilant interceptor-fighter.
"Expensive Kuat-built machines with heavy armament," I stated, showing my familiarity with the enemy craft's technical specs. Back during the preparation phase of Rederick and Pent's mission on Kuat, I had studied the "price list" that Kuat Drive Yards had posted on the HoloNet.
But I was more interested in reviews from buyers and those who operated these small craft. And there was quite a bit of interesting information there.
"However, they have a rotating gun mount," the Chimaera's commander said, showing off his knowledge. "These pilots no longer need to 'get on the tail' of our ships to fire — they can do it from other planes and directions. The cannons rotate ninety degrees relative to the forward firing arc, not to mention a forty-degree vertical deflection…"
"That's all true, Captain," I confirmed. "Furthermore, I'll add this: behind the controls of these machines are experienced pilots who know this type of craft well. This means our fighter and interceptor pilots will not be immune to the skilled use of the enemy interceptor-fighters' rotating gun mounts."
Meanwhile, the enemy craft were approaching.
Standard tactic — a preemptive strike. They plan to lure us under the stations' fire. Force us to chase them. And then, at long range, the Golan stations could heavily damage our fighters, not to mention the Star Destroyers and cruisers.
"We have a few minutes before the battle begins, Captain," I said. "Let's think about what kind of enemy we're facing."
Pellaeon was silent for a moment.
"The craft don't have hyperdrives," he said, understanding this wasn't an empty rhetorical exercise.
"Correct," I confirmed. "And they're also very expensive compared to Imperial equivalents. In fact, their current cost is nearly two hundred thousand credits. But for that money, oddly enough, Kuat's engineers did not provide their clients with a craft equipped with deflector shields, ejection systems, or missile launchers."
"But it does have a life support system," Pellaeon offered as a counterpoint.
"Yes," I agreed. "But pressure suits, like the ones our pilots or Republic pilots fly in, would be preferable. What good is a life support system when the ship is hit and the pilot, without a suit, can't even eject from a crippled craft? They have no catapult, no protective gear."
"But they are fast," Pellaeon noted.
"Faster than the baseline TIE Interceptor model," I agreed. "But that advantage, along with the rotating turret mechanism, also drives up the cost of each craft. Which is why these seemingly excellent interceptor-fighters, whose production began before the Battle of Endor, never replaced the TIE series."
"As far as I know, some of the Imperial Remnants are purchasing these craft," Pellaeon observed.
"Yes," I simply agreed. "Cut off from Lianna, they cannot equip their air wings with standardized craft. For this reason, they seek to buy whatever is available. However, a front-line craft should not be excessively expensive, even if it is easy to fly. The costs for components and the technical skill requirements for maintenance personnel rise exponentially."
"That's true, sir, but how will our knowledge of these craft help us destroy them and move on to storming the platforms?" the Chimaera's commander clarified.
"We should study the types of ships and small craft that are intended to be used against us," I said didactically. "Today, our opponents plan to launch a preemptive strike against us, to provoke a pursuit and force our ships to chase them, thereby luring us under the fire of the Golan stations. But to their misfortune, the Balmorrans made a limited purchase of these craft. For that very reason, each station only launched two squadrons."
"And what countermeasures are we going to apply against this plan?" Pellaeon asked. "It will be difficult to get rid of the enemy interceptors. Moreover," the Chimaera's commander pointed to the pale-yellow haze of the planetary shield enveloping Balmorra, "they've raised their deflectors. Even if we break through, it will be a long siege."
"There's no need to get rid of them prematurely," I declared, pointing to how our Corellian corvettes were moving forward to meet the enemy's ten squadrons with fire. "We will simply prevent the second part of their plan from coming to fruition. And for that, we have several tactics being implemented at this very moment. For starters, let's observe how the Scimitar delivers a proton torpedo strike into the open hangar bay of the first station. Then, we'll watch as the ion cannon disables the other stations."
"But the Dragon isn't participating in the current operation," the Chimaera's commander noted.
"And who said our ion cannon would be firing at our opponents?" I asked with surprise.
You should have seen Pellaeon's face…
* * *
Manufactured by Kuat Drive Yards, the V-150 Planetary Defender ion cannon was a massive, high-tech complex.
It was a huge gun with an independent power supply, designed to neutralize starships in high planetary orbit. The V-150 was typically mounted on a rotating base, with the gun itself enclosed in a hemispherical shell of reinforced permacite.
The designers ensured this weapon type had a modular structure, making it possible to install on site (provided all preparatory work was done in advance) in just a few hours.
Each gun came with its own reactor, which was supposed to be buried forty meters below the planet's surface to ensure the power plant's safety.
Between the reactor and the gun were three levels of crew quarters and storage rooms, and the fortification could hold enough supplies for a crew of twenty-seven to last three months.
Upon activation, the V-150 would need just a few minutes to take position on its rotating base and select its firing sector according to received telemetry.
Due to its lack of mobility, the V-150 had the significant drawback of being vulnerable to ground troop attacks and aerial bombardment. To some extent, this could be mitigated by a retractable blast shield, but even that couldn't save it from a direct hit by a bomb or torpedo. It protected the weapon, and to fire the weapon, the cover had to be retracted.
The V-150 was typically used in conjunction with planetary shields, but due to their cost, planetary shields were far from ubiquitous.
A single planetary shield projector cost up to six million credits, and maintaining it in constant operation consumed a tremendous amount of power, not to mention the time required for the deflector to reach full power. Therefore, the "Planetary Defender"-planetary shield tandem was the most sensible arrangement for such a setup. The V-150, with its curtain fire, could drive enemy ships away from orbit, thereby allowing the shield to operate at full capacity.
Furthermore, during joint operation, the Planetary Defender (like any other planetary ion cannon) could be synchronized with the planetary shields, allowing the weapon to fire through the shields by lowering them for a fraction of a second.
However, a significant problem with using this weapon as a defensive measure was that even with a rotating base, each ion cannon had a limited firing arc covering several hundred square kilometers. Therefore, they were placed to protect strategically important infrastructure, bases, garrisons, spaceports…
All these thoughts flashed through Rederick's mind as he pulled the body of a dead Balmorran V-150 gunner from its seat. The body, with its neck pierced by an obsidian knife, had died instantly — the moment the Noghri's blade passed through the narrow gap between the seat back and headrest.
The other twenty-six members of this particular ion cannon's garrison died in much the same way. The only cannon in a vast valley, once churned up by bombs and turbolasers during the Galactic War many thousands of years ago.
Now it was simply a scrapyard of obsolete machinery, rusting and decaying over long years, waiting its turn for recycling.
But mining new metal was far simpler and cheaper than ordering huge molecular furnaces and using them to dismantle an old temple into its constituent metals.
The Balmorrans partially solved this problem with cheap labor — millions of dispossessed people from across the galaxy came here to work for pennies, but at least not in poverty and hunger.
That was how Rederick and an entire company of Noghri, disguised as Jawas, had arrived here. Once again confirming a simple truth: either customs works, or it doesn't. Half-measures are evil.
The punishment for half-measures was the death of the entire ion cannon garrison. They never even managed to raise the alarm before the wind-swift Noghri swept through the levels, cutting down the soldiers and officers who had been roused.
And now that the weapon was in the hands of Dominion intelligence, Balmorra's fate was sealed.
Rederick rotated the gun so he could see his target. The intercom squawked with the voice of the local fortified area's garrison commander, who didn't understand why the gunner had changed the aiming angle without orders.
How wrong he was.
There was an order. It just didn't come from the Balmorran command.
When the energy buffer was full, Rederick fired.
The massive dish of the planetary shield projector, straining with all its might to hold a huge sector of the deflector in orbit, became covered in a web of lightning that devoured the electronics working at full capacity during the shield's activation.
A huge portion of the starry sky was revealed to the observers, informing Balmorra's command that they shouldn't have economized on the number of planetary shield projectors. Then they wouldn't be facing the problem of half the sky being open to invasion, with the remaining generators and projectors insufficient to close the breach.
Yes, it's bitter to realize your own miscalculations, but what can you do.
After all, this is only the beginning.
The timer on the control panel counted down the seconds needed for recharging.
Looking over his shoulder, Rederick confirmed that the Death Commandos had already set up firing points to hold the installation. The defensive systems activated, covering the installation from a possible strike…
Well, and there was the buffer's beep. The gun was ready to fire…
So, what about those Golan platforms that were supposed to stop Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet?
Five?
Rederick aimed the cannon at the center of his first target beyond the factory planet's high orbit.
Pulled the trigger.
The Planetary Defender spat ionic fire and went into recharge.
Minus one…