The flap of the tent pavilion, which on Phantom Island replaced quick-erect living and working modules, was thrown back with such force that it created a distinct gust of wind.
Steben looked up from studying the diagram of a disassembled projector, looking questioningly at the newcomer.
Facially, Mere expressions were hard to read and learn to understand. And, despite all the time spent among the Mere Resistance fighters, the Operative had never fully managed it.
But the irritation on Sol Sixx's face was so obvious that it required no serious knowledge of xenophysiognomy.
"You finished?" His voice was sharp, his intonations demanding, and his movements jerky.
"You could say that," the Dominion man nodded, cracking his neck. "The salt water has seriously damaged the circuits, contacts, and connections. The projector will burn out on activation."
"Take it all with you," Sixx ordered.
"We're leaving?" Steben injected genuine surprise into his voice.
"Yes," an angry croak came from the amphibian's throat. "Dominion patrol ships are on their way."
"What the Hutt?" Steben remained in character. "You said this place was safe!"
"It was!" Sixx declared.
So something had clearly happened.
And Steben had a guess what.
"Our observers saw LAAT/i circling near Ghost Strait, but they never found anything. Now they are clearly surrounding us. Forward posts indicate that the distant observation points have already been attacked by Dominion fighters."
"Bantha poodoo," Steben began packing his tools into a work bag. "I need help to take all this with me. Is there somewhere to retreat?"
"Yes," Sixx said after a moment's thought. "The old Trade Federation mine on Mount Merakan. It has an underwater branch leading to a cave. We'll hole up there — there are supplies of food and weapons."
"Then send some Mere to help me carry the projector," Steben crawled out from behind the workbench and jabbed a hydraulic wrench he was holding at the disassembled device. "You know they don't listen to me."
"They don't listen to anyone but me," Sol said proudly, turning his back to the Operative.
Steben just sighed heavily.
How unaesthetic... Crude and stupid.
But it was time to wrap all this up — he was tired of eating nothing but half-raw fish. And the Mere Resistance fighters simply had nothing else.
Revolutionaries with peeling scales.
The hydraulic wrench described an arc and...
The nimble Mere was no longer there.
"Now it's clear who led them to us," Sixx hissed, dropping into a combat stance. Vibro-knives appeared in his hands. "Stupid Imperial. I gave you one last test! Your helpers are keeping far away from our island and will never find it! Get him!"
Two lanky and flexible Mere, who had been waiting for the command outside, rushed into the passage.
Sol himself lunged toward the exposed traitor, intending to drive his knife into the Operative's gut.
Steben swayed slightly back and to the side, letting the punch of one of the charging Mere fly past his face and simultaneously kicking the heel with a hidden transmitter inside it, thereby breaking the encrypted signal.
And those who work with the Captain should react accordingly. Because Sol was wrong about one thing.
However, the hydro-key did what it was meant to do in a human hand.
True, it slammed into the throat of the first Mere, whom Steben had placed in front of himself as a shield. Sol's vibroblade dug into the body of a kinsman.
Shoving the dying man into the pirate leader, Steben seized the second fighter's arm, threw him over his shoulder, and finished him with a strike that crushed his throat.
Sixx, who had crawled out from under his kinsman's body, tried to slash Steben diagonally. Waiting for the blade to pass by, the human kicked the Mere in the chest, sending him flying backward.
The vibroblade flew out of the Mere's hand, so he charged into a new attack with bare hands.
Captain Steben jumped, spun, and delivered a roundhouse kick to the enemy's head.
The legendary "Ghost" collapsed like a felled tree. And did not rise again.
The operative walked over to the fallen enemy, bent down, checking for signs of breathing.
Satisfied that the Mere was alive, the Dominion man looked reproachfully at the stocky figure of the gray-skinned alien standing under the tent canopy.
"Mushkil!" he gave the Noghri a disapproving look. "What took you so long?"
"My apologies, Captain Steben," the Noghri grinned menacingly. "We were busy."
"And I suppose I was just lounging around?" the human grunted, pointing at the three defeated enemies. "I took down three thugs here..."
"You are a great warrior, Captain Steben," the Noghri bowed. "But we had forty-three opponents. And only four Death Commandos."
"You killed them all, I suppose?" Steben taunted, binding the sole living prisoner.
"You flatter us, Captain Steben," Mushkil laughed heartily. "All captured alive."
The operative cast another glance at the two dead and one unconscious Mere, then spat on the ground.
"It's not good to brag, Mushkil," he said without malice.
"Well then, don't brag, Captain Steben," the Noghri chuckled softly.
"Oh, to hell with it all," the operative sighed. "I'm transferring to counterintelligence. I don't need battle Jawas lecturing me here."
The answer was four quiet, mewling chuckles.
Uh-huh, so the whole squad is here.
Well done, what else can I say...
* * *
Alex poured out everything he thought as the third coherent green beam raced past the "Scimitar," vaporizing yet another heavy cruiser. This time, the one covering the "Void Wanderer."
"What the hell is this, a 'Death Star' on minimum settings?" he fumed, watching the six-hundred-meter ship break apart. "And why in the Hutt is it breaking apart?"
Tomax banked the bomber left, pulling the ship out of the concentrated fire line of their own fleet, which was pounding the enemy flagship.
"Cloak," Tomax said through gritted teeth, activating the PLAE.
Two seconds, and the "Scimitar" was a few units from the enemy starship.
"When did the Empire build destroyers like this?" Alex asked. "Torpedoes ready!"
"This is Project Twilight," Tomax explained. "One of the Death Star's side projects. A year after the Clone Wars ended, on Vader's orders, they built a Star Destroyer equipped with a superlaser. Some hybrid of a Venator, Victory, and Imperial. Small crew and enough power to destroy a small asteroid in a single ship."
"And how do you know about it?"
The Scimitar spiraled, dodging fire from suddenly appearing Vulture-class droid fighters. Tomax squeezed the trigger, blasting a pair of particularly persistent enemies to pieces.
The targeting computer locked on—the enemy destroyer's bow.
A Star Destroyer with an axial turbolaser.
"At the Academy, everyone and their mother talks about it—the 'Conqueror' that was destroyed right in the Mustafar system, and other superweapon projects," enemy shots clattered against the deflector. "Torpedoes away."
Tomax pulled back on the yoke, sending the "Scimitar" "up," simultaneously activating the PLAE.
Just for a second, but enough to escape the blast zone.
Thirty-six proton torpedoes, guided by the targeting computer's data, streaked toward the target. Several were rammed by droid fighters, which replaced the enemy's standard air wing on the destroyers.
But over twenty torpedoes found their mark.
Crimson radiation from kinetic warheads bit into the hull of the nameless Star Destroyer, vaporizing a huge section of the vessel.
Losing its bow, the destroyer—by then resembling the bastard child of a Victory and a Venator, inheriting characteristic traits from both: lateral pylons from the former, a tail fin from the latter—still hadn't ceased its suffering.
A chain of internal explosions raced along the hull from the forward cut to the stern, blasting away chunks of plating and upper decks.
Detonation of power sources is always terrifying—especially when it happens to starships equipped with a solar ionization reactor.
The starship of Project Twilight had such equipment.
And that reactor put an end to the superweapon's existence.
A blinding flash instantly vaporized the ship, bathing the neighboring Star Destroyers in a shockwave and debris.
The enemy fleet's ships, already surviving the TIE bomber raid, were riddled with enormous breaches.
Punctured decks and clouds of debris became their constant companions.
But they were hardly noticeable in the ocean of green fire exchanged by the Star Destroyers of the Dominion fleet and the Imperial warlord.
"Returning to the Chimaera," Tomax announced his decision, steering the ship toward the flagship.
"If we survive, I'm painting the silhouette of that destroyer on the fuselage," Alex declared firmly. "By the way, what's it called? 'Twilight'?"
"'Twilight' is the operation name," Tomax explained. "The destroyer's name is unknown."
"Then let it die nameless," Alex said with venom in his voice. "I took out three destroyers! Destroyed three cruisers! Good thing we finished off that bastard!"
* * *
With a sigh of relief, Captain Pellaeon glanced at Grand Admiral Thrawn, who sat impassively in his chair.
"Enemy flagship destroyed," the Star Destroyer commander said, not hiding his joy.
"Triumph is premature, Captain," Thrawn remarked, watching intently as the air wings of all six Dominion fleet Star Destroyers stripped the enemy ships of their weapons. "We haven't won yet."
Five Star Destroyers from Fleet ×1, fending off pressing interceptors and bombers, began maneuvering, rapidly closing with Dominion forces.
Or rather, what remained of them.
The Grand Admiral had brought six Star Destroyers to the Mustafar system, two of which had already lost their superstructures and were now barely combat-capable. A rare case where the superstructure, and with it most of the ship's officer corps, had been destroyed.
Judging by the fact that the "Death's Head" and "Bellicose," which had been positioned on the flanks of Thrawn's destroyer formation, had ceased their aimless drift and erratic firing, control and command had been restored. Another "plus" for Thrawn's foresight in ordering the executive officers to remain constantly at the backup command posts.
A few minutes of uncontrolled drift, and both destroyers had already accumulated considerable hull damage.
Without shield generators, scanners, depending solely on the SEAL system, you wouldn't last long.
"Reported the deaths of Aban and Harbid," Pellaeon informed, having reviewed the damage reports from the crippled destroyers.
It was obvious anyway, but... There's always hope your colleagues survive. But not this time. And even though their clones remained, along with a large stock of genetic material and matrix imprints, still... It's not quite the same as dealing with the originals.
"Pull the 'Death's Head' and 'Bellicose' back behind the vanguard," Thrawn ordered. "Use them as support and rotation forces. Corvettes, provide cover."
While the watch officer reported the execution of orders, Gilad watched the battle unfold.
The damaged Star Destroyers slowed, letting the "Chimaera," "Void Wanderer," "Implacable," and "Red Gauntlet" move ahead, allowing them to engage in a clinch with the five destroyers of Fleet ×1.
The enemy undoubtedly outnumbered them, but quality...
The Dominion's Star Destroyers were equipped with SEAL systems, so they could last longer under fire than their opponents. The first's air wing consisted of TIE Interceptors, while the second had droid fighters, which, moreover, were already running low.
The ×1 destroyers were rapidly losing their armament, falling victim to bomber raids. The second sortie of six squadrons using shaped-charge rockets had effectively burned out the enemy ships' broadside batteries. Now they were left with only turret-mounted artillery, which wouldn't last long either.
But that wasn't the worst part.
Both interdictor cruisers, four Acclamator-class assault cruisers with troops, a Venator with an ion cannon, and a good half-dozen Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers... All of them were now lost. Forever.
Those two Immobilizer 418s were ships of the Ciutric fleet that had come under the Grand Admiral's command after the Battle of Ciutric IV. Now only four such ships remained in the Dominion fleet—the "Black Asp," the "Lovchiy," and the cruisers acquired during missions against Lieutenant Donell and the "Luminii" pirates. Plus four Interdictor-class Star Destroyers currently part of task groups operating on enemy communication lines.
There were no more such starships in the fleet.
Of the fifty Star Destroyers and assault cruisers of Ennix Devian, only four Acclamators had been knocked down and were currently off the battlefield.
No one and nothing intended to leave this battle—each side saw victory for themselves. And there was little point: Devian's ships had blocked the clear space for the Dominion starships to retreat, and those, in turn, had done the same for the ×1 fleet destroyers.
With the loss of ×1, Devian could easily reinforce his ten Imperial-class ships with five similar destroyers that had lost their leader.
"×1 is alive," Grand Admiral Thrawn said unexpectedly.
Gilad looked at the supreme commander in surprise but wisely chose to remain silent.
"Observe how they continue to fight," the Chiss said. "Synchronized turns, precision of fire... We trained for six months and are continuously in battle, but we do not possess such skill. Not anymore."
"×1 controls them the way C'baoth controlled our forces," Pellaeon gritted his teeth, feeling his hands grow damp.
And he prudently took a long step toward Thrawn's chair, finding safety among the ysalamiri.
"I'm not sure it's at such a high level," the Grand Admiral stated. "Order the heavy cruisers and corvettes to begin a systematic withdrawal toward our group and hold the enemy forces until we destroy ×1's forces. 'Death's Head' and 'Bellicose'—support these forces with their artillery fire. 'Red Gauntlet'—follow us. 'Implacable' and 'Void Wanderer'—join the holding group. Primary targets for the screening force—the Venators. Deprive the enemy of the ability to rotate their own air wing. And now," he said, stroking an ysalamir, "begin reforming into a two-ship line astern, Captain. 'Chimaera' as the lead. Course—seven-three-zero."
Pellaeon mechanically relayed the order, pondering what was happening.
None of the obvious, well-practiced tactics were applicable at the moment.
The most obvious would be to switch to a "brawl" and tie up the enemy ships in individual combat, but Thrawn clearly had something else in mind.
"Decoy" was out, since the Star Destroyers, with concentrated fire during the turn of the Dominion fleet ships, could simply shoot out their sides, causing a "deck-slicing": presenting a minimal silhouette while dealing maximum damage to the enemy.
Marg Sab was out because the fighters and bombers had already launched and were near the enemy starships.
Ackbar Slash would only cause more damage, because the enemy Star Destroyers, with their turret artillery, would simply grind the lead ship to dust on approach, and then the "Red Gauntlet" would be left alone against five destroyers and...
"Bombers returning!" the watch chief reported.
"Excellent," Thrawn didn't even let him finish. "How many squadrons remain?"
"Five, sir. The bombers from the 'Bellicose' were destroyed."
"Two squadrons to the 'Chimaera,' three to the 'Red Gauntlet,'" Thrawn ordered quickly.
"Aye, sir!"
Pellaeon was about to address the Grand Admiral with a question, but Thrawn forestalled him with his own speech:
"Be so kind as to locate transponder tags 'One' and 'Two' among the signals, then connect me with them," the Grand Admiral's voice was calm and unruffled.
As always.
As if he hadn't lost over a dozen starships in the first phase of the battle not long ago. And now he intended to attack while outnumbered. Attack a smaller enemy group while his other ships held back the motley crowd and...
"Will do, sir," Gilad said. Unable to contain himself, he asked, "Sir, isn't it time to retreat? We are outnumbered; the enemy surpasses us in armament and numbers. Continuing the battle will only increase our losses."
"We will lose some ships, Captain, that is certain," Thrawn declared, watching intently as the forward deflectors of the "Chimaera" absorbed more and more turbolaser charges from the enemy destroyers. And couldn't they miss just once, damn it? "But if we turn back now, our stern will be shot out by the enemy, and then we will be boarded. We have no choice but to attack, break this destroyer group, and then redirect all our forces to disable the enemy Star Destroyers. Notify the hangar—have them prepare the droid bay for landing. We are one step from victory, Captain. Pellaeon, can you not see it?"
Gilad felt his left eyelid twitch.
"One step from victory," he said?
No, Thrawn might be a genius, but they were practically pinned against Mustafar, so what victory could there be here if...
The commander of the "Chimaera" blinked once.
Blinked twice, peering at the tactical display.
Blinked three times, realizing that Thrawn intended to take two destroyers through the enemy line at the spot where the enemy flagship had recently been.
Then he correlated Thrawn's orders and actions...
How many times had he sworn at moments like this not to panic and not to think the Grand Admiral could be mistaken?
No, the only one mistaken here was Pellaeon himself.
Thrawn was executing an Ackbar Slash. That was clear and undeniable.
Which meant both Dominion ships were about to get incredibly hot in this battle.
The problem was that the ×1 destroyers faced an even more dangerous and unenviable fate.
"Tags 'One' and 'Two' located, Grand Admiral!" reported the officer in charge of scanning systems.
"Excellent," Thrawn's gaze was like hot coals. "Contact them. Captain Pellaeon, relay a new combat task to Major Bren. And send the set of coordinates under second mark to Commodore Shohashi."
Gilad, fully understanding what was being discussed, looked questioningly at the Supreme Commander.
"Since we are here, ×1 is here, and Ennix Devian is here, then the latter's base and an inhabited world with minimal defenses," Thrawn calmly explained, not taking his eyes off the battle. "It's time to use all the advantages of our position."
Advantages of their position?
He had to be joking!
* * *
Lieutenant Kreb easily dodged the fire line of a TIE fighter pilot, not harming the Dominion pilot but also not allowing him to damage his own machine.
Only then did he activate his comlink for transmission.
"Copy, OCC 'Chimaera,' breaking off engagement," he said, switching to the frequency linking him with his wingman. "Black-Two, we're leaving. Point three-two-six."
"Received," Tia replied.
The TIE Avenger and its twin brother nimbly flitted out of the battle's chaos, executed dizzying loops, making it look like they were pursuing a pair of Dominion interceptors.
—
In case anyone forgot, a TIE Avenger looks like this.
—
Their colleagues from the "Black Wing" squadron took to the escort favorably, continuing to act as a locomotive, clearing a path through the enemy air.
No one fired at them because the controller had already reported their IFFs as "friendly."
But soon the enemy pilots would find out—in battle, when the distance to the enemy rarely exceeds half a kilometer, the fact that you're not attacking anyone doesn't go unnoticed.
A pair of TIE Defenders slipped past, making Kreb grind his teeth.
Because one of his interceptors had been blown to pieces in a very specific way.
"Black-Two, maximum attention," the lieutenant ordered. "We weren't mistaken—in those Defenders is 'Rogue Squadron.'"
Those eight pilots, with whom they had traveled in a transport to Warlord Devian's base, had rubbed Kreb the wrong way from the start.
First, there were aliens among them. And that was supposedly fine. Yes, there were non-humans among Devian's pilots too, but that was more an exception. In the Empire, even after Endor, they would never have allowed non-human pilots to become pilots of an elite squadron. Especially under the command of Colonel Wessiri.
That man could pretend to respect others, even admire someone, but the fact remained—he recognized only command; everyone else was expendable material to him. And non-humans, even lower. Something extraordinary would have to happen, like the galaxy's rotation reversing direction, for Colonel Wessiri to let a non-human into the cockpit of his beloved "Defenders."
Kreb knew this better than anyone.
Second, those beings didn't even bother to disguise themselves properly. Perhaps lazy drudges and scoundrels in Devian's service would have been fooled by a simple disguise like glued-on beards, dyed hair, and fake scars, but not a professional pilot.
Skimming past an interceptor whose canopy had been shot off and cockpit interior burned out by laser cannons, the lieutenant gripped his yoke tighter.
The signature style of Corran Horn.
Yes, such a thing could be learned through long training, but to pull it off "on the fly"never.
That Defender definitely had Horn at the controls. Which meant the other seven pilots were "Rogues." Which meant Reconnaissance's warning was true—the "Rogue Squadron" had lost four of its pilots in the Battle of Distna.
But they didn't know something about their comrades. At the very least, they didn't suspect that two of them were still alive.
Good. There would be something to talk about when the time came.
Another Defender came head-to-head with an interceptor. Before Kreb could react, the enemy ship executed an aerobatic maneuver and destroyed Kreb's second subordinate with a single salvo.
That was Celchu.
Tycho Celchu, product of the Empire, student of Baron Fel, traitor...
Two out of eight, confirmed.
As for the other six pilots, no need to even think—it was perfectly clear.
During the time Kreb secretly admired the Rogues' flight skills and trained his squadron to be the best, to meet "Rogue Squadron" in battle, he had learned all their moves. All their improvisations, learned to think like them.
"Nine," he heard the voice of "his commander" in his earpiece. It was Tycho Celchu. "Targets destroyed, return to your assigned task."
"Received," Kreb replied, not changing course.
The rendezvous point with the "Scimitar" was three seconds away.
Meanwhile, the Defenders—Horn's pair and Ooryl Qrygg's, along with Celchu and his wingman—clearly suspected something was wrong.
And even without that, you could guess things were bad—two "Avengers" had moved behind the stern of Warlord Devian's flagship Star Destroyer. While flying junk like Delta-7s and other unmodified Clone Wars-era trash was dying in squadrons on the front line. Yes, there were more of them, but the Dominion pilots qualitatively surpassed their opponents not only because of their machines, but because they were clones of the best pilots in Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet. And it didn't matter what they flew.
"Nine, who told you to...!"
Celchu's voice cut off as the "Scimitar" emerged from a burn above in space.
"Major Bren," Lieutenant Kreb greeted his own commander, first switching to the appropriate communication channel. "Welcome aboard. Shall we begin?"
"Cover me, Black-One," Bren said calmly, turning the "Scimitar's" nose toward the superstructure of Ennix Devian's destroyer. "On my go."
* * *
Corran voiced everything he thought about Warlord Devian's pilots, sending his Defender at full ion-engine speed.
"What the hell is that?" exclaimed "Rogue Twelve," Inyri Forge, referring to the starfighter that had literally appeared on the scanners from nowhere.
"Came out of hyperspace," suggested her lead, "Rogue Seven," Myn Dyson.
"No," dismissed "Rogue Two," Bror Jace. "That's not a jump..."
"To hell with the theories!" Horn snapped, starting to get heated. "Leader, we have to stop him! If they hit the bridge of Devian's destroyer, his entire fleet might scatter!"
"We can't allow that," chimed in "Rogue Ten" with a characteristic accent. Ooryl caught on quickly. "This is a chance to destroy Thrawn."
A first-grade puzzle.
On one hand—many Star Destroyers and subsequent commanders.
On the other—very few destroyers, but a brilliant commander who loves dropping bombs on civilian heads.
Question—who wins?
Answer: If Devian dies, then definitely Thrawn. By the time the local soldiers finish squabbling over power, the Grand Admiral's forces will be burning down the last assault cruiser with ion cannons. And all the losses the Dominion suffered in the first moments of this battle will be rendered meaningless. Because Thrawn certainly won't miss his chance — to lose a Sith's dozen of mid-tier starships but gain ten to fifteen Star Destroyers.
"This is the most disgusting thing we've ever done," Celchu sighed. "Helping one lot of Imperials escape from another. Into battle! Gavin, contact Coruscant — transmit Devian's base coordinates in the Ghost Nebula and report our location..."
Corran didn't need to wait for an order.
He took a deep breath out of habit, clearing his mind of extraneous thoughts, allowing the Force to fill him... Well, old man C'baoth, let's be honest — not all of your lessons were understood immediately, but at the same time, they came in handy.
During the transit, no one would have risked sending such a dispatch — nor while they were inside the Ghost Nebula.
But now, in the chaos of battle, why not? Especially since the Imps clearly intend to slit each other's throats.
Mustafar isn't that far from the nearest New Republic base: Sullust, Sluis Van... Take your pick!
It's obvious that after this battle, no one will be flying anywhere and will be busy making repairs. In field conditions, that will take several days, so a fleet launched from here will definitely arrive within a day. And finish off the survivors. Not to mention that there's always the option to set up a blockade on the Hydian Way and intercept the Imperials during their retreat.
We just need to hold everyone here!
Meanwhile, the unknown starfighter had already settled onto a bombing run, revealing its true nature.
"Holy mother of Hutts...!" Min Doyeson couldn't help himself.
Four proton torpedoes, which clearly no one could intercept, slammed into the superstructure of the enemy Star Destroyer at a furious speed.
Detonating inside, tearing the rectangular box apart with a series of explosions, the torpedoes fulfilled their purpose — Ennix Devian's Star Destroyer lost control.
No one at the backup command post managed to take over — if anyone was even there at all.
The Destroyer began to yaw off course. The other ISDs moving nearby, realizing they were in for trouble, started to slowly veer away, belatedly opening fire on the traitors.
Both Avengers twisted with virtuosic skill, evading the fire from the Defenders.
Corran squeezed the trigger with fury, but the laser bolts passed astern of both Imperials. A missile, not just one, launched at the unknown fighter streaked forward and...
The unknown ship simply vanished.
It seemed to smear across space, and the missiles with their homing warheads were left with nothing to do, detonating because the target had left their coverage zone.
"What kind of trick is that?" Inyri Forge said, stunned.
She was the first to die.
Rogue Twelve lost focus for literally a second and belatedly pulled her fighter away from an incoming missile fired by the Avenger's wingman. The Defender clumsily rolled onto its starboard panels — and at that moment, accurate fire from that same ship's laser cannons first shot off its upper panels, then opened the cockpit like a can of tuna.
A brief flash inside the cockpit indicated that Iniri had died quickly and without suffering.
Next, a missile from the wingman caught Doyeson, tearing his fighter to shreds.
Corran, his mouth opening, barely managed to dodge a missile fired at him.
"What the Hutt!" Horn roared.
But he already knew what.
Celchu was on the tail of Ninth — the lead Avenger — firing bursts from his cannons to try and hit the bastard.
But the latter clearly had no intention of giving up so easily.
His wingman, firing a missile at Bror Jace, didn't escape being hit himself — one of his panels received a long, scorched gash.
"The Avengers have missiles too?" Derek Hobbie Klivian asked in surprise, joining the pursuit.
"Yes," Celchu replied quickly. "Two more than each of us."
So between the two of them, that's sixteen.
Three have already been expended.
"Switching to missiles," the Corellian said grimly into the commlink, addressing Ooryl.
"Ooryl understood," Krieg said, referring to himself in the third person this time. Either it was a habit, or he was too stunned.
But that didn't matter now. The main thing was to destroy those who had killed their friends.
Here and now.
Because at this moment, it didn't matter that on another Destroyer, the bridge had vanished in a pillar of fire, hit by a pair of proton torpedoes.
Screw the Imps.
There they were — that flashy pair.
They had to die.
For Min.
For Iniri.
"Listen here, you lousy Imp," Corran switched to the squadron's comm channel, knowing for certain that his Ninth couldn't have turned it off. "I don't know who you are, I don't know what you think of yourself, but you just killed two of my friends. And I don't forgive that..."
"The feeling is mutual, Corran Horn," a calm but clearly young voice responded. "My name is Lieutenant Kreb. I'm the commander of the Black Claw squadron. Pleased to meet you."
By the end of the phrase, the kid was nearly gasping for breath.
At first, Corran didn't understand why, and then it clicked.
Because of the defective life support system, Imperial pilots are forced to keep their phrases short in battle. The Rogues had to do some serious tinkering with those chest boxes to increase the air supply over the standard.
"Our acquaintance won't last long, kid," Corran promised, launching a missile.
Ooryl repeated the action, adding fire from his own cannons.
The kid and his wingman...
They simply accelerated and split in different directions, gaining altitude.
Before Corran could react, the Imps, flying on intersecting courses toward each other, shot down the pursuing missiles.
"They don't teach that to rookies," Jax grumbled.
"Interesting flying," Hobbie declared, turning his fighter...
And the next instant, accurate fire from the Avenger's wingman blew off his deflector, and a single missile from Ninth entered straight through the canopy into the cockpit.
A third Rogue died at the hands of some milk-drinker...
"He's dead," Gavin said harshly, throwing his fighter into pursuit.
Now there were only five of them left.
Tycho, Bror, Gavin, Corran himself, and Ooryl.
Against two!
"I don't know who taught that kid to fly, but he's good," Bror said, as the lead Avenger started barrel-rolling, confusing the homing warhead until the hull of an assault cruiser got in the way.
Ninth turned away at the very last moment, and the missile smashed into a turbolaser turret that was busy firing at the Dominion's burning heavy cruiser.
"The one in whose unit you supposedly flew," came an unexpected reply on the squadron's comm channel. The voice clearly belonged to Lieutenant Kreb.
Who had somehow managed to end up to the right of Bror and fired two bursts into his shield.
"Still not decided, Horn," those were Jace's last words, before Kreb surgically sliced off his cockpit with cannon fire.
And again — a brief flash of decompression and exploding equipment.
No matter how many arguments there had been about who was better — Bror or Corran himself — no matter what tone they took, they never crossed the line into anything beyond friendly competition.
And now, with the Taffarian dead, Corran felt a kind of emptiness inside...
Another friend gone...
Another one...
"I'm going to strangle you with my own hands," Horn declared, pursuing Ninth.
They and Krieg had managed to split the Avengers.
They were chasing the leader themselves, while Tycho and Gavin went after the wingman.
"I learned that trick from you, Corran Horn," Kreb said unexpectedly. There was a kind of boyish pride in his voice. And pain. "Many of my pilots died a cruel death from shots like that."
"And right now I have a strong desire to do the same to you, you Wessiri bastard," Corran didn't hide his emotions.
He launched one missile, then another.
It drained the shield, nearly knocking him down with an ion cannon shot, but the nimble kid dodged upward with skill.
Spiraling, Kreb not only changed trajectories and rotation speeds, preventing two fighters from hitting him simultaneously, but also made the Corellian's missiles collide and explode.
"The feeling is mutual," Kreb replied. "The death of my pilots will not go unpunished for you."
"As you said, the feeling is mutual," Corran said.
"You have no honor in granting a pilot a quick death," Kreb said, hurt creeping into his voice.
"For you, it will be quick enough," Gavin said angrily.
His Defender was diligently working on the aft shield of the Avenger's wingman, but the latter refused to expose himself to an ion shot, and Darklighter had already used up his missiles somewhere.
But the wingman hadn't.
Because the Avenger climbed sharply into an Immelmann turn, entering a scissors maneuver with its pursuers and firing one missile at each.
Now it was Tycho and Gavin demonstrating miracles of flying.
Corran managed to knock down the enemy's shield, but he avoided the deadly burst, even managing to shoot off one of Ooryl's panels with a missile.
The wingman, spinning wildly, couldn't regain control of his fighter, so Tycho, who had shaken off his pursuing missile, had to snag the allied fighter with a tractor beam.
Gavin, still running from the missile and the pursuer, flashed across Corran's path.
Horn, feeling the familiar whisper of the Force, pressed the trigger.
Two ion blasts devoured the weakened shield of the Avenger's wingman, and four green energy beams precisely sliced into the cockpit, separating the canopy from the cabin...
A flash erupted in the cabin, and one Avenger vanished from reality...
"Tia!" Kreb's scream rang out on the general channel.
A scream full of pain, of utter devastation... As if something he valued, without even realizing it, had been taken from the kid.
Corran shook his head, dispelling the illusion.
And only now did it dawn on him that he had avenged Min, avenged Iniri... Two killed, the first destroyed in this fight... And now their murderer from Ryloth had ceased to exist as well.
"Seems that girl meant a lot to you, Kreb?" Corran inquired caustically, flooring the accelerator pedal in a bid to catch the fleeing Avenger. "Don't you want to avenge her against me? Did she call out your name when my cannons sliced off her cockpit?"
"Horn!" Tycho raised his voice. "Stop it! We're above this!"
Kreb was silent for a while.
His fighter, on which Corran had managed to spot several punctures in the solar panels, was heading away. Chasing him was pointless, but Corran wanted the moral satisfaction of avenging Hobbie and Bror.
"Run, run, you little punk," Corran said bitterly, turning his fighter back toward the trio of Defenders. "The Force will bring us face to face again. It will, kid. And then your canopy will explode just like your half-trained pilots', just like your girlfriend's..."
"Corran, I told you to stop!" Tycho barked at the Corellian. "This is war! Don't turn the fight into a personal vendetta! Don't you dare taunt him..."
"Good words, Colonel Celchu," a new, well-trained voice sounded on the squadron frequency. No one had heard it before. "Correct, but poorly timed. Pity you didn't teach your pilots to fight fair, to kill quickly, instead of inflicting monstrous suffering on pilots before death with decompression and transparisteel shards."
"Don't talk to us about humanity," Corran snorted.
"Don't talk to us about discipline, Lieutenant Horn," the voice remarked.
"Who am I speaking with?" Tycho asked.
During the battle, they had drifted so far from the main battlefield that it was strange to see half of Devian's Destroyers smoking from shattered superstructures, while the Venators had vanished entirely.
Thrawn's ships had lost most of their heavy cruisers, their number now no more than a dozen. One of the Destroyers damaged at the start of the battle was so riddled with holes that it seemed unlikely to be seen again. The Death's Head appeared to be finally dead.
Numerous wrecks of Corellian corvettes were mixed with destroyed assault cruisers... Of Devian's fleet, only five Destroyers and a dozen cruisers remained combat-ready, and they clearly intended to get as far away as possible, heading for a retreat vector.
So where was the voice coming from?
"Major Tomax Bren, Scimitar Squadron," the voice that had intruded on the Rogues' frequency replied, just as calmly.
At that very second, the same starfighter-bomber of unknown design appeared on the scanners.
It materialized near the stern of one of Devian's five intact Destroyers and unloaded a salvo of proton torpedoes into the engines before vanishing again.
Next, it attacked an Acclamator, blowing its tail to the Hutt, thereby depriving it of its hyperdrive.
In an instant — Devian's four Destroyers, along with nine Acclamators, vanished, jumping into hyperspace.
And before the eyes of the Rogues, two of Thrawn's Destroyers — the Chimaera and the Red Gauntlet — had just sailed through the formation of the five Destroyers present at Mustafar at the start of the battle.
It was hard to look at the latter, because TIE bombers were launching from beneath the Dominion Destroyers' hulls, lashing the enemy Destroyers with shock missiles and proton torpedoes so fiercely it was painful to watch.
Some kind of surreal... Half an hour ago, Devian could have easily crushed Thrawn, and now the latter was the sole possessor of combat-ready ships.
How was this even happening!
Corran opened his mouth but found nothing to say.
"I respect your reputation, Major," Tycho said diplomatically. "However, your pilot was the first to start provoking mine..."
"That issue is not up for discussion right now, Colonel," the Imperial declared. "Your reputation speaks for itself. Pilot behavior in combat is a separate matter for which the unit commander is responsible. We are discussing sadism. If before I thought it was speculation, now I have confirmation of the rumors. Your pilots have no respect or honor..."
"We're leaving," Tycho ordered. "Ooryl has regained control of his fighter. Are everyone's hyperdrives in order?"
A confirmation came, hitting like a lightsaber strike to the heart.
"The next time we meet Rogue Squadron, don't expect any mercy," Major Bren declared.
"We'll be waiting," Horn snorted. "Ready any time."
"Better get ready," the commander of the Scimitar advised. "Tia had been piloting an Avenger for less than a month and took out two of yours. Kreb, no longer. When we meet in the next battle, even your vaunted X-wings won't save you from our wrath."
"We're leaving," Tycho repeated.
The Rogues, having suffered fifty percent losses in this short but fierce battle, retreated into hyperspace, unwilling to continue a pointless conversation.
* * *
The Chimaera and the Red Gauntlet, having sliced through the enemy formation like a knife through butter, could hardly be called combat-effective in reality.
The flagship was riddled with decompressed decks, destroyed superstructure, hull breaches, and one of its two knocked-out deflector shield projectors.
The SEAL system had saved them while the lead ship weathered all the delights of concentrated enemy fire.
But now, having broken out into open space behind the enemy formation, which had shifted from a front to a bowl deployment, both Destroyers, while the enemy was busy fending off the starfighters, could execute the Grand Admiral's plan.
Pellaeon just shook his head, watching as his Star Destroyer's ion cannons systematically knocked out the main drives of three enemy Destroyers, while the Red Gauntlet did the same from the diametrically opposite direction against its other two opponents.
Deprived of their deflectors and weapons by the bomber wings, these ships, driven by ×1's spite, continued to fight, fending off with the remnants of their artillery and relying on the droid starfighters launching from their surfaces.
The Chimaera, its starboard side battering the ×1 Destroyers, used its port side to conduct orbital bombardment, suppressing the enemy's launch pads and turning the buildings and defensive fortifications into the slag so familiar on Mustafar.
The remaining bombers operated from the upper atmosphere, dropping proton bombs on barracks and anti-aircraft artillery positions, sweeping everything in their path.
There was no doubt that a landing by the 501st Guard Legion would soon follow. Captain Makeno's fleet special forces had already done their part, secretly advancing on the planetary defense artillery positions and clearing out the ion cannons, thereby preventing them from firing on both Dominion Destroyers.
"They escaped," Thrawn said, peering at the tactical display.
Gilad, raising an eyebrow questioningly, ordered the suppression of the turbolaser turrets on a Destroyer that had managed to use its maneuvering thrusters and was now broadside to the Chimaera. Its three surviving turbolaser towers were covered by ion cannons the next instant.
Why destroy what can be disabled?
Even at a great cost, this battle was won.
But why did the Grand Admiral's voice carry notes of discontent?
"Only four pilots from Rogue Squadron," Pellaeon noted. "We've essentially destroyed their unit, sir."
"The Rogues have a remarkable ability to replenish their numbers, Captain," Thrawn stated. "But that's not the issue. Today we saw clear proof that even this celebrated unit can suffer serious losses at the hands of ordinary pilots like Lieutenant Kreb and his deceased wingman. However, we missed the most obvious source of information on Isard's whereabouts and plans. Now, in our search for her, we can only rely on data regarding the movements of Star Destroyers, which she likely controls."
"Sir, this is a major victory," Pellaeon insisted. "Yes, we lost the entire landing convoy, but we have six legions on our Destroyers. Two Immobilizers were destroyed, but there are others in the fleet, including two new acquisitions that will soon enter service. Besides the Dragon-V, we have four more ships of that class. The loss of thirty-three outdated heavy cruisers and forty-seven Corellian corvettes in exchange for eleven Destroyers and twelve Acclamators... The Death's Head is seriously damaged, but if we throw all available resources into repairs, she'll soon be ready to jump on a backup hyperdrive. The damage to the Chimaera, the Relentless, the Void Wanderer, and the Red Gauntlet is non-critical — technical crews will fix them shortly. This is a suitable exchange. One could say we've strengthened the fleet many times over. And a Super Star Destroyer and four more Destroyers await us near the homeland! Sir! We are one step away from crushing the self-proclaimed Sith Lord, not to mention Commodore Shohashi's mission! We destroyed the Twilight Project, at last!"
Thrawn was silent, thinking about something else.
Honestly, Pellaeon couldn't figure out whether Thrawn was disappointed or not. But by the Emperor's black bones, how could anyone be unhappy here⁈ All that's left is to conduct a ground operation on Mustafar and that's it, the goal is achieved! Fifteen Star Destroyers in a couple of weeks! Another Executor! Not to mention the small stuff, like Acclamators, transports, and so on.
And if you count everything Shohashi has captured... Come on, smile, you blue Hutt! Half an hour ago we could have been smeared across Mustafar's crust, and now we're in charge here! This planet has dozens of factories; it's an excellent source of raw materials extracted directly from lava! Fast! Simple! Reliable! And it doesn't cost a single decicred!
"Order the Red Gauntlet to go assist our Destroyers," Thrawn commanded, setting aside the datapad with incoming dispatches. "The capture of the prizes must proceed as quickly as possible."
What, was there a reason to hurry? All of Devian's and ×1's starships had been hit by ion cannons. Boarding parties were already fighting on them, and the droidekas were proving their usefulness once again, sweeping everything in their path. This was especially effective on the Destroyers formerly belonging to ×1, where the fanatics were practically unstoppable.
Unlike Devian's rags, who surrendered immediately once they realized that without evacuation they would suffocate aboard their own ships!
A week's rest, bring in new crews and some secondary spare parts via transports so the flight is comfortable and...
"I'm afraid we won't even have three days, Captain," Thrawn said, as if reading his flagship captain's thoughts.
"Sir?" Gilad looked at the Chiss in surprise.
"It's simple, Captain," Thrawn's fingers flew across the keyboard built into his armrest. As a result, a holographic map of the galaxy's southwestern sector appeared before the Grand Admiral, including the final segment of the Hydian Way, near which Mustafar was located.
"We are in Quadrant L-19, Captain," Thrawn said. His finger moved from the end to the last third of the Hydian Way. "Quadrants M-17, M-18. Which Republic planets do you know of in those areas?"
"Sullust, Sluis Van, and a good dozen others," Pellaeon said, now understanding. "You think the Rogues who escaped called for reinforcements."
"We did not jam communications due to the Death's Head being knocked out and the Eternal Wrath being absent from the fleet," Thrawn reminded him. "An extra reminder that we need to increase the number of ships capable of jamming enemy communications within the Dominion. The distance between us and the New Republic bases is barely two quadrants. Moreover, most of the route runs along an excellent hyperspace lane. Whether the New Republic comes here or we move from here by the shortest route — it doesn't matter; we are doomed. Also note that in the first case, they currently have no need for the newest starships. A couple of dozen MC80s from the Sluis Van escort fleet would suffice to finally crush us."
"And in the second case, all they need to do is set up a blockade," Pellaeon exhaled noisily. "Moreover, they can set it on the Corellian Run, at its final branch, using ships from the base on Naboo."
"Exactly, Captain," Thrawn declared. "In a standard day and a half, the New Republic fleet will be here. I am confident they will choose both attack and blockade as a precaution. And while, in their opinion, I should be sitting back and rejoicing that with one stroke I have increased the number of Star Destroyers in my fleet by fifty percent, they will come and annihilate us all. Moreover, on the planet below us there are dozens of factories, thousands of fanatics, a mad Jedi clone, and a clone factory at his disposal. If we leave, we risk handing the New Republic fleet over to ×1. Because they will definitely land on the planet to scout the ownership of the structures. Orbital bombardment does not guarantee the destruction of the ×1 clone factory — a ground sweep and confirmed verification are needed."
"We could use that factory ourselves," sighed Pellaeon. "Losses in personnel are certainly heavy — a whole watch was lost aboard the Chimaera, and we weren't even in the thickest of the fighting. Perhaps we should leave the destruction of the clone factory to the New Republic's conscience and occupy ourselves with repairs?"
"We should already be getting on with repairs," Thrawn declared. "Both our own and the captured ships. And we must not forget about collecting the debris of Project Twilight. Nothing related to the superlaser must remain in the system. All starships that can be made spaceworthy within a day are to be repaired. The rest — abandon."
"Not destroy?" Pellaeon was surprised.
"No," the Grand Admiral confirmed his decision.
"But the New Republic will capture them and repair them to use against us," Gilad protested.
"That is so, Captain," Thrawn agreed too readily. "Therefore, we will take with us those we can bring. We cannot give the enemy such large gifts. This could harm the entire plan."
A plan again⁈
And when does he even have time to come up with them⁈