Nine years, nine months, and twenty-seventh day after the Battle of Yavin…
Or the forty-fourth year, nine months, and twenty-seventh day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Five months and thirteen days since the Arrival.)
The Abyssal Fury tore through the star space of quadrant T-5, completing a hyperspace jump exactly at the specified coordinates.
Captain Stormaer cast a glance at the planet hanging in the silent void.
Occupying the second orbital position from the local star, this world not only boasted vivid colors, blue oceans, white cirrus clouds, and green vegetation on the surface of its continents, but was also the only one found suitable for oxygen-breathing life.
Planet Cholganna.
The final stop of the Dominion Star Destroyer, if Agent Bravo-One was to be believed.
And, it must be said, it was a damn difficult journey.
Because Antonias had to take a risk, throwing his ship, even after a successful reconnaissance, straight into the nebula.
And although it wasn't that big compared to others, it caused plenty of problems.
Especially in terms of navigation.
The navigators sweated buckets before they finally managed to calculate a safe course around the nebula, which had partially swallowed the Cholganna system. Finding a route blindly is not the best activity in the Outer Rim.
The nebula consisted mainly of gases but contained several meteoroid or dust clouds dense enough to prevent sensor or transmitter arrays from the inhabited galaxy from penetrating this region. And that made traveling here a particularly navigationally hazardous venture.
The star system appeared dark red to those who viewed it from afar.
And at the same time, it was slowly expanding, threatening one day to completely cut the system off from safe routes to and from it.
Antonias, glancing at the intelligence officer calmly sitting in a chair at the duplicate console, grimly thought that the Abyss's crew had been Hutt-blasted lucky to reach their destination without any problems. Because, if the information that intelligence had deemed necessary to report to the ship's commander was to be believed, the previous visitor to this system was now rusting on the surface in a state precluding any constructive future use.
However... rumors say there is something substantial there.
Of course, the Dominion would take the cargo, but... one couldn't just leave from here like that, could one? Separatist Munificent-class frigates sometimes had quite a bit of interesting equipment. For example, advanced electronic warfare systems or relays. Such equipment, though morally obsolete, could be used in service with small investments.
"Your crew performed well, Captain Stormaer," said the intelligence officer.
"Thank you, sir," Antonias said in a neutral tone. Turning to the pits, he inquired:
"Have the scouts arrived?"
"Yes, sir, both teams," came the watch officer's reply.
"Send the squadron commanders to me," the officer ordered. "Briefing room seven."
"Aye, sir!"
"Dispatch the on-duty interceptor squadron, establish a perimeter," the commander of the Abyssal Fury continued issuing orders. "Cancel Yellow Alert, switch to routine mode. The watch — relieve and rest. The corvette is to organize cover and deploy spy droids. I want to know everything about this planet, even where the natives go to relieve themselves."
Having received confirmation of the order's understanding, Antonias headed toward the turbolift, intending to go down to the hangar.
And, stepping into the cab and turning to face the doors, he noticed with surprise that the agent was also entering the turbolift.
"I think it will be useful for me to hear the scouts, Captain," explained Bravo-One.
"Probably so," Antonias said — intelligence games again. "But their data concerns the Cholganna system first and foremost."
"I have been instructed regarding your fleet-side assignment," the intelligence officer nodded. "To assess the planet's viability for establishing an outpost. Not without merit, I must say."
"Grand Admiral Thrawn never gives meaningless orders," Antonias declared firmly. "If an order is not clear immediately, it does not mean it should not be carried out."
"I didn't say that," the agent smirked. "I fully agree with you on the assessment of the Supreme Commander's orders. Executors should not know more than they need to."
"Exactly," Stormaer confirmed.
And it was precisely for this reason that the other ships of the formation were waiting outside the nebula, having deployed a gravity trawl to catch any possible 'guests' or escapees. Even though the cruisers and escort corvettes were crewed by clones loyal to the Dominion, the security classification assigned to this mission by the command required greater stealth.
Arriving in silence at the scout briefing room, Antonias entered and waved his hand at two pilots — the commanders of the ARC-170 reconnaissance ships that had been sent to the system a week and three days before the Abyssal Fury's arrival.
The captain sat in a chair at a small table, usually occupied by the flight director, then nodded to the first pilot to begin the report using the holoprojector.
The intelligence officer quietly settled into a seat in the back row.
"There are four planets in the system, sir," explained the team commander who had been sent first. "Cholganna is the second from the local star. The star has a yellow spectral class. There are no gas giants, but surface scans indicate large deposits of natural resources on three uninhabited planets in the system, including rare earth elements. They are also present on Cholganna, but the last and first planets of the system attract more attention. The concentration is high there, but detailed scanning by ground teams is needed. Furthermore, judging by the orbits, the planets pass through the nebula during their annual revolution around the star, which does not rule out meteor showers."
Next came detailed images and scanning results for each of the uninhabited planets in the system, including geographical points where large mineral and elemental deposits were found.
But even the surface scans conducted by the scouts from orbit were enough to understand that the uninhabited planets could easily supply the Dominion's current demand for rare earth metals. The latter are used in a wide range of goods, so there's no need to wonder long whether mining colonies would be established here or not.
Of course they would.
The cost of building such closed-cycle towns to support the miners was clearly not small, but in the long run the investment would pay off.
Definitely pay off.
Antonias nodded, understanding that the first pilot's report was complete.
As soon as he returned to his seat, the second team commander stepped forward.
He plugged his own data chip into the holoprojector, and a three-dimensional projection of Cholganna appeared above the device.
"The planet is habitable, but no intelligent life has been confirmed," said the second commander. "The day is four hours shorter than standard, the climate is temperate, but temperatures are low in the northern hemisphere. The landscape is abundant with forests, including tropical ones closer to southern latitudes. The mountains are rich in metal ores. Among the local fauna, a large number of nexu are observed, which are clearly at the top of the food chain. Particular trouble is caused by octopi that have a habit of attacking from the thicket of trees, dropping onto their prey. My crew almost lost a boarding shooter that way, but we fended them off."
"That's all fine, but I'm more interested in something else," Antonias interrupted. "You said there is no intelligent life here. But according to our information, there should be a settlement of shipwreck survivors here."
"There is, sir," confirmed the team commander, pointing at a red dot on one of Cholganna's continents. "A small village built from makeshift materials, mainly wood and ship parts. The settlement is small, designed for at most fifty people. Signs of generators running and firing positions have been observed."
"Is the Sa'Nalaor crash site far from the settlement?" the intelligence officer asked, reminding them of his presence.
"More than a hundred kilometers, sir," answered the scout team commander. "The ship lies in a mountainous area at the edge of a cliff. The forest comes practically right up to it, and during our observation we found a considerable number of nexu hunting in that part of the thicket. The settlement is also in the forest, in a clearing. Traces of tree destruction around the fence are visible."
"They were clearing a safe zone," Stormaer voiced his thoughts.
"And getting construction material," Bravo-One continued. "Do the locals visit the ship? Any space-capable vehicles?"
"As far as we noticed, a speeder sets out from the settlement about once a day to reach the frigate wreckage. They are hauling freeze-dried long-storage food, judging by the markings. Apart from a few old Separatist speeders and speeder bikes, no other equipment was detected."
"Were the causes of the crash determined?" asked Antonias.
"There are numerous punctures of various sizes in the hull remains, but no trace of plasma damage," explained the scout. "There is a possibility they are from asteroid impacts during emergence from hyperspace."
Antonias shuddered, imagining what would happen to his destroyer if it encountered such a natural anomaly.
"Or it could be traces from meteor showers," he stated.
"Possibly so, sir," the scout agreed.
"The crews are to rest," Stormaer ordered, heading for the exit.
The intelligence officer was right there again.
"What do you think?" he inquired.
"The system is good for colonization," the commander of the Abyssal Fury did not hide his thoughts. "However, the meteor showers and the nebula... That is not good. The nebula is expanding, and that means problems for navigation. The fact that the planets pass through the nebula is also not good — rocks falling from the sky will please no one. I'm not even talking about the local fauna. Nexu are a big problem for settlers."
"They can always be trained or exterminated," noted Bravo-One.
"And lose an uncountable number of soldiers," Antonias countered. "In any case, the primary task is the cargo. The rest is secondary."
"I completely agree with you," said the intelligence officer. "I will require several AT-ATs on the surface and AT-RTs in support."
"You intend to go down?" Antonias was so taken aback that he froze mid-stride, stopping in the middle of the corridor.
"That's right, Captain," the intelligence officer also stopped, looking calmly at the Star Destroyer commander. "The capture of the Sa'Nalaor's cargo and its crew is my task. You are only providing support."
"And I will be responsible if someone finishes you off on the planet, like crazy locals or hungry nexu," Antonias grumbled.
"To begin with, no one will make claims against you for that — we don't live in the Empire," the agent laughed. "My decision, my risk. And to minimize it, I and the soldiers will go there in walkers. If you don't mind, air cover would also be helpful. Rescuers have already come to this planet once, and we don't know where their ship is. I will not allow anyone from the Sa'Nalaor's crew to escape."
Antonias looked into the eyes of the man standing before him for a while.
The words about the Empire being in the past were all well and good, of course.
But there was also the common sense of the operation itself.
Colonization of the system was secondary.
The cargo and the surviving crew members were the priority.
"I will organize a blockade of the planet using the air wing," declared the Star Destroyer commander. "I guarantee — no ship will break through it."
"Warn the ships of the formation that any ship that enters the restricted zone without my permission is to be captured, regardless of its affiliation," said the intelligence officer.
"Of course."
* * *
Almost three hundred years before the birth of Jesus Christ, war raged between the Roman Republic and the Kingdom of Epirus.
In 279 BC, the Epirus army attacked the Roman forces for two days and finally broke their resistance.
This occurred near a place known as Asculum.
The losses in the kingdom's army, composed of professional and experienced warriors, were so great that King Pyrrhus remarked: "If we win one more victory over the Romans, we will be utterly lost."
According to another version, King Pyrrhus said: "If I win one more such victory over the Romans, I will not have a single warrior left of those who came with me."
Earth's history and wisdom were more relevant to the current situation than ever.
Out of eleven Imperial-class Star Destroyers and a dozen Acclamator-class assault cruisers, we can take with us only six of the former and four of the latter.
All the other ships have been so damaged by us ourselves that restoring them without prolonged repairs at professional shipyards is simply impossible.
Not to mention that the Death's Head has such extensive destruction and damage to its technical systems that even trying to take her out of the system is a great risk. The fleet's repair crews were unable to bring the ship to a state where it could, with even any degree of probability, make a successful jump into hyperspace.
In total, in the Mustafar system, six Star Destroyers remain — five from Ennix Devian's fleet and my Death's Head — and eight Acclamators.
Three damaged CR90s and seven Dreadnaught-class cruisers will leave with us.
We have ways to replenish our losses, but the fact remains — Operation Crimson Dawn not only falls out of rhythm, but its final stage has suddenly become mired in extraneous battles, prolonged by unforeseen circumstances.
The questions that unsettle the ship crews are simple and understandable: "Where are we going?" and "When are we leaving?"
There is an answer to them, but it will not be announced now.
While the fleet was dealing with problems of its own survival, the elite 501st Legion was assaulting the fortress-like fortifications of faction ×1.
And the assault was going... not easily.
It was precisely about this that General Maximilian Kaine, standing opposite, was giving his report.
"All ground-based anti-landing measures have been suppressed by bomber aircraft," reported the clone of Major General Veers. "The 501st Legion is continuing the offensive. We are in heavy fire contact at the B-1 droid production facility. Fighting is ongoing in the foundries; we are advancing, but slowly — the enemy has large stocks of droids."
"Our specialists have already completed the disassembly and loading of the production facilities under the stormtroopers' control," Pellaeon chimed in with his five deci-credits. "We also evacuated about six ore smelting and refining plants, not to mention the material stocks and equipment themselves. It's old, from the CIS era, but in decent condition. It appears to have been recently repaired."
I silently nodded to confirm that I had heard and understood the information.
Not bad.
"But you haven't advanced to fortress ×1 yet?" I clarified, keeping my gaze fixed on the legion commander.
"No, sir," he confirmed. "In this sector, the enemy is putting up determined resistance. The wookiees fighting on the side of faction ×1 are a major problem. According to reports from the front, they are clones, sir. And they are insane in their actions. They have already torn more than one soldier to pieces with their bare hands."
"Psycho carpets," Pellaeon grimaced. "And the Force adepts fighting on the side of ×1, General, are they also clones?"
"Not all of them, sir," stated Kaine. "Roughly a third of the total are clones. But according to the reports, at least two hundred are either Dathomirian witches or beings armed with lightsabers, carrying out sabotage and quick strikes using their superhuman abilities. The cloned gifted ones, however, have no self-control and attack almost barehanded, without any tactics or strategy. They cause us considerable inconvenience, but they are also easier to kill due to their emotional instability."
"Flaws in the cloning process," I declared. "So I understand, General, that the lack of specialized equipment and gear for conducting combat on the surface of this type of planet also creates difficulties for our forces?"
"That is correct, sir," General Kaine admitted reluctantly. "In the past, the Stormtrooper Corps had 'dangerous' stormtroopers or 'magma' ones. Due to special armor and training, they could withstand harmful environmental conditions. Magma stormtroopers were previously used on Mustafar and Sullust. But unfortunately, we do not have soldiers with that specialization. We have to use 'acid troopers' to reinforce the offensive. Their armor, though designed for acidic environments, also allows them to resist the anomalous conditions of Mustafar longer. It is largely to these soldiers, as well as flamethrowers, rocket launcher troopers, and heavy infantry, that we owe our successful advance in the first place. Because the large number of Force adepts in the enemy forces prevents us from moving at an acceptable speed."
"Furthermore, faction ×1 has a fair amount of Imperial equipment," stated Pellaeon. "They are actively using AT-ATs of a special design, adapted for operation in such conditions. The Chimaera is supporting the offensive with orbital strikes on such targets, because taking down an AT-AT with ground vehicles is practically impossible."
"That's exactly what they were designed for," noted General Kaine.
There was a hint of resentment in the man's voice.
Professional pride was stung, because the original of this clone had given most of his life to improving the AT-AT.
And now his 'descendant' had to deal with destroying those very machines.
"Is there a factory on the planet for their production?" I inquired.
"There is," General Kaine confirmed. "General Jurgen managed to occupy it half an hour ago, though with heavy losses. At the moment, he is successfully defending against enemy droids while landing barges are evacuating the industrial equipment. Unfortunately, as with the repulsor tank and droid factories, the enemy is using against us the entire stock of finished products it managed to produce."
"How much time do you need to capture base ×1?" I asked.
"Navy special forces and assault commandos are already inside, sir," stated Kaine. "Shortly, they will sabotage the defense generators, and then we will be able to breach the enemy fortifications, as the heavy artillery and the deflector shield over the base will be disabled. Considering all this, I think we will need no less than ten hours."
"Too long," I declared. "You have three."
"Sir," the clone ground his teeth. "I am not a Jedi. I'm not even training to be one. In three hours, we can only breach the forward edge — with the generators disabled. But nothing more. The second line of defense is literally riddled with kill zones. Including J-1 proton cannons of Separatist manufacture. They will destroy any walker and the offensive will stall."
"You do not understand the seriousness of the situation, General," I stated. "Captain Pellaeon, clarify the latest intelligence."
"According to reports from our scouts, the enemy has dispatched squadrons from Naboo and Sluis Van totaling fifty star cruisers," Pellaeon lamented. "Not to mention smaller ships. They will be here in twelve hours. Considering the time needed to survey and clear the fortress, and evacuate valuable equipment, three hours is not enough, but we simply cannot allow otherwise."
"In that case, sir," Major General Kaine looked at me. "I will need additional forces. A legion or even two. Losses will be huge, but if we solve the problem with the Force adepts and wookiees that are tying down our movements in advance, then I guarantee that in three hours we can take the fortress. Not under full control, of course, but the parts you are interested in — definitely. I swear — the Force adepts and wookiees throw themselves at us like madmen. We cannot withstand hundreds of insane Jedi burning my soldiers with electricity or two-meter-tall anthropoids with superhuman strength."
"Nothing more is required," I declared. "Captain Pellaeon."
"Yes, sir?" responded the commander of the Chimaera.
"Assign ground contingents from Void Wanderer and Warlike from guarding captured starships to support the offensive. Also, use one or more of those Acclamators we can't take with us. Be ready to drop it on Base X-1 after we get access to the objectives we're interested in. Is the Scimitar repaired?"
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon said, looking at me, stunned.
"Involve Major Bren for precision strikes against enemy positions where it won't slow our forces' advance later," I ordered.
"Is the orbital strike on the objectives canceled?" Pellaeon clarified.
"Continue it until enemy resistance is suppressed," I insisted. "But when we withdraw, we'll destroy all structures. We can't let the enemy know what we found and took with us."
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon agreed.
"Meeting adjourned," I said, heading out of the conference room with Tierce and Rukh.
I needed to talk to a couple of sentients about something.
This assault had dragged on too long.
And I think I know exactly how to solve the problem of the Force adepts' "madness" and the cloned Wookiees.
* * *
"Abyssal Fury, landing commenced," said General Covell's clone, speaking into the comlink's microphone. "Perimeter secured, beginning force deployment."
Grim and dangerous,
Relentless and glorious,
The AT-AT is magnificent.
(Art received from Ansel Hsiao)
"Understood, General," came Captain Stormaer's reply. "Keep me updated on the situation."
"Roger," the clone grimaced as if all his teeth suddenly ached at once. Out of habit, he even rolled his eyes to show just how done he was with all this.
He made every effort not to broadcast everything he thought about all these "orders from the clouds" onto the comm channel.
Hutt do-gooders. Sitting up there in their armored boxes on orbit, watching monitors, just giving orders. Give them a report, if you please. You want to know the situation in a ground operation — have the guts to come down from orbit, climb into an AT-AT's "head," and watch a real battle unfold with your own eyes.
Not that the cloned Major General despised fleet officers, no. Though he had picked up that mannerism from his predecessor, who kept it well hidden inside, right now, this specific General Covell was annoyed that he was commanding the forces of a specific Star Destroyer.
Is Abyssal Fury even capable of any serious operations, or was this operational-tactical formation created solely to drag itself around the galaxy's backwaters and pick old scrap metal out of the trash?
Or was it because this particular destroyer wasn't attached to the Guard? Because when he thought about it, the Grand Admiral had assigned General Veers's clones specifically to Guard destroyers, which handled the most dangerous and strategically important tasks.
And what was he, Covell, supposed to do now? Sit around and drool because someone else was fighting real enemies, improving, while he was stuck rotting next to Abyssal Fury?
And now they'd flown all the way to the Hutt end of nowhere, landed a legion with walkers — and for what?
To capture some village?
The Emperor's black bones! What a load of nonsense he had to put up with, huh?
"Believe me," a voice said beside him, "I'm not exactly thrilled about this either."
The cloned general turned his head to see the intelligence officer sitting on a jump seat.
Clad in black armor, fitted to not hinder combat, this officer had not only forced himself on the general during the ground battle but was also the operation's commander.
First, he should have told the officer everything the clone thought about his destiny of digging through trash, but...
Fine, enough grumbling.
Such were the burdens of service. He could have ended up like the original, stuck at a secure facility and completely losing the chance to participate in any ground battles at all.
"Did I say my thoughts out loud?" the clone asked.
"No," Bravo-One replied calmly. He pointed at the AT-AT's front visor. "Reflection."
Covell remembered how he'd reacted to Stormaer's words and smirked at his own lack of restraint.
"Got it," what an observant intelligence officer.
But, he had to admit, this sentient was clearly no staff womp rat.
His gear wasn't new and had obviously seen combat — there were burn marks and scuffs.
His equipment was fitted properly; the tactical rig on his belt was definitely not for show. And he held his blaster rifle with an experienced grip.
"Started out infantry?" Covell asked, signaling the vehicle driver to start moving.
"Stormtrooper Corps," strangely enough, the intelligence officer immediately responded to the informal address. In the original's memory, there were plenty of moments when Imperial Intelligence agents would start throwing fits in response to soldiers' straightforwardness. "A few years in scout armor, then intelligence."
"And how do you like all this secret business?" the clone asked. "Don't you get tired? Overworked?"
"My profile is field intelligence, sabotage, provocation, destabilization deep behind enemy lines," Bravo-One noted calmly. "Exactly the same as what I did in armor, just with a different kind of leadership."
"That's for sure," the clone grinned. "Ever seen a battle from an AT-AT cockpit?"
"Only from the troop bay," the Dominion intelligence officer replied in the same unobtrusive tone.
"Then strap in and enjoy," the general chuckled, turning to face the instruments.
"Already looking forward to it," came a chuckle from behind him.
"This is General Covell," the clone said, switching to the comm channel with the other combat vehicles. "Time to work. Alpha Group — move to the crash site and secure it. Beta Group — advancing to the survivors' camp. AT-RTs forward, distance five hundred meters from the AT-ATs. Let's move."
Acknowledgment signals followed.
And the very next moment, the dura-steel cockpit of the AT-AT began to shake, signaling the start of motion for the twenty-two-and-a-half-meter, four-legged behemoth.
To someone uninitiated in the mysteries of modern Imperial armored vehicles, the AT-AT might seem like a huge, slow, cumbersome, and clumsy walker.
Outwardly ungainly, "humpbacked," with deceptively thin and therefore — in the opinion of armchair critics — vulnerable legs — the tank began moving quite briskly toward the edges of a huge clearing. Burned out of the forest precisely halfway between the crash site and the survivors' settlement by an orbital strike, it made an excellent spot for unloading landing barges.
The first wave's ground contingent had deployed a mobile base, securing the perimeter. After that, the walkers arrived.
The landing was covered by enormous cliffs, over a dozen kilometers high, so if the locals didn't have an observation post up there — and the fleet insisted they didn't — there was no need to worry about anyone knowing in advance what was coming for them. Scout stormtroopers had already cordoned off the settlement, and the first AT-RTs would soon arrive to reinforce them.
Fifty kilometers of impenetrable forest might be a problem for someone else, but not for an AT-AT, built by the Empire and modernized by the Dominion.
Let the Republicans try to "bring down" a walker by tangling its legs now. They'd have a hard time.
Now each "leg" had vibro-guides capable of cutting any cable. And the second vulnerable spot on the AT-AT — the "neck" was reliably armored with a "collar." Rumors said the fleet came up with that, but that was nonsense, wasn't it? What could those fly-boys know about what ground forces needed?
The general watched with a smirk as the AT-RTs moved ahead in a nimble pack, ducking and weaving between the trees. These nimble "little ones" were perfect for reconnaissance and maneuver in such thick undergrowth. So a dozen of these "little ones" had galloped far ahead to keep the locals from escaping into the forest.
Assuming, of course, they hadn't already done so after hearing the orbital strike.
Through the AT-AT's armored viewport, the general watched with delight as the massive hull and legs of the AT-AT crashed through the thicket, leaving behind a path that the other walkers of the same type followed.
In total, three tanks and a hundred "little ones" were chosen for the settlement's capture. Yes, they could have just flown in on Lambdas and dropped stormtroopers straight from the sky, but then — sorry — what would the point of having ground forces on the ship be?
And this way, the soldiers got at least some training.
Besides, the sky was covered by interceptors and several shuttles with reinforcements anyway.
Although the general had serious doubts that they'd be needed in this operation.
The AT-RTs were steadily reporting no mines, tripwires, traps, or anything else the locals might have come up with to secure their home. A large concentration of nexu in the forests — yes, that was a problem. Three of the "little ones" had already had to fight off persistent predators, literally mowing down entire packs with their grenade launchers and laser cannons.
The scout stormtroopers had warned about that, avoiding the danger themselves only because of their speed. Well, predator training was training too.
In the years the original had spent in Imperial service, he'd conducted plenty of assault operations. And no matter how much this particular clone identified with him, such an operation was also a test of his own abilities.
Rocking in the commander's seat, mounted in the center of the AT-AT's cockpit, the general glanced at the tactical display, tracking the movement of his forces.
The second group had already covered over twenty-five kilometers in half an hour. Considering the elapsed time and the AT-ATs' speed, they were moving almost at maximum.
That was good.
Beta Group had already approached the foot of the cliffs. Here, the scouts had found a place to cross the mountain range without the stupid necessity of going around it for many kilometers.
A giant stone arch, washed out by a long-dry river.
The "little ones" had already dashed through this dangerous section of terrain, so only the AT-ATs had to cross the passage.
Covell smirked, considering how convenient a trap it was.
Rocks to the left and right. Going around them would take a day.
If he were the locals, he would have caused a cave-in, blocking the passage with boulders and the carcass of one AT-AT.
"Scanners!" the general demanded.
"All clear, sir!"
Yeah, right.
If the cliffs had large mineral deposits, the sensor error margin increased by orders of magnitude. So if the locals had brains and didn't want anyone coming to visit right now, this was the perfect time and place for a demolition.
So far, everything was going well.
But the clone could feel a trap in his gut. Too convenient a spot.
The locals had let the "little ones" through because they didn't risk engaging them or hadn't had time to prepare the trap. But they clearly wouldn't let the AT-ATs pass without consequences.
"Force — halt!" the general commanded.
All three AT-ATs froze in their tracks.
"Line formation!"
A couple of minutes for the column to transform into a line.
"Elevation seven degrees, fire all weapons!"
And the thunder roared.
An avalanche of scarlet fire from two heavy laser cannons and blaster cannons literally melted the rock, collapsing the arch into the passage.
Simultaneously, two explosions rang out at the edges of the resulting gorge, sending small rock avalanches into the passage.
"Detonated remotely!" the driver reported. "Source — the settlement."
"Simple and tasteful," the intelligence officer remarked.
"Blockade Group — begin the assault on the settlement," the clone of General Covell chuckled contentedly.
Let the locals enjoy their short victory; it didn't mean anything to the operation's outcome.
The scouts knew for sure there were thirty survivors in the camp. And they were diligently trying to cobble together a defense from scraps and wood.
Against walkers.
Hoping that this cave-in would change something.
Yeah, right.
"Fire," the general ordered.
And the trio of AT-ATs opened fire.
The stone — huge boulders and fine rubble — fused together after several minutes of continuous bombardment from all onboard weapons, splashing into a pool of molten slag in the combat vehicles' path.
The five-meter stone barrier ceased to exist in an instant.
"Resuming movement," the clone of General Covell smirked.
Half an hour of moving through the jungle, burning everything that could slow them down, the walkers emerged into a clearing cut down many years ago, surrounding a palisade that protected the settlement from natural enemies.
With enviable synchrony, the "little ones" emerged from under the tree canopy, encircling the settlement in a ring. In the same seconds, the scout stormtroopers began to dance with their engines howling...
"Not a bad jungle stroll," the intelligence officer remarked.
"Could be better," Covell admitted frankly. "The personnel need training. Instead, we're doing Hutt-knows-what."
"Oh, believe me, General," Bravo-One said with a chuckle. "You'll even get a reward for successfully completing this operation."
Giving the intelligence officer a scrutinizing look, the clone decided to keep quiet to avoid trouble.
Instead, he glanced over the instruments.
So, the settlement was clearly active — four working energy sources on its territory, judging by their signatures, they had once been auxiliary reactors. One in the central part of the settlement, the other three near the walls, in spacious wooden sheds.
A lot of energy for simple settlers.
Unless they had...
"Droids!" the alarm signal came.
The general watched with a smirk as the settlement gates opened and Separatist B-1s started marching out in neat little boxes.
With blaster carbines from thirty years ago, with metal faces that showed no trace of intelligence...
"Is that their idea of a joke?" the general's cheek twitched.
"I'm afraid not," the intelligence officer pointed to an equally ancient AAT tank rolling out from behind the gates. "I think they put up what they had. They probably didn't have a chance to update their defenses without leaving the planet. That's why they wanted to get their hands on an Imperial-class Star Destroyer, even a cobbled-together one. To run, to anywhere their eyes would take them. But at least now it's clear where that ship got so many B-1 droids — they pulled them from Sa'Nalaor's holds."
The clone looked at the intelligence officer, bewildered.
"And what am I supposed to do, Agent?" he asked. "It's a joke — fighting this scrap metal."
Instead of an answer, one of the AT-RTs exploded, destroyed by a torpedo from the AAT tank.
Return fire from one of the AT-RTs blew the Separatist tank to shreds, raining shrapnel down on the mindless droids.
"I think that covers it?"
"Alright then," Covell sighed, switching his comlink to the command channel. "All vehicles — let's warm up a bit. Troopers — while we're practicing our shooting, start rounding up the locals."
To the howl of Lambda engines descending into the settlement, Dominion armor opened fire.
And droid parts flew in all directions, through the alleys and crannies...
* * *
"This is a completely insane idea," the thought flashed through Mara's mind. "And it had been from the very start."
But, as always happens in such situations, she said nothing.
The situation of disembarking from a landing shuttle wasn't conducive to discussing orders.
She had expressed her opinion in the past — more than once.
The last time, provoking Thrawn into being frank, she nearly landed herself in big trouble. Not only had the Grand Admiral "made a note" of her behavior, but she had also shown her unprofessionalism, allowed herself to relax.
As a result — suspicion from Thrawn about her possible disloyalty.
No, of course, the Grand Admiral had clearly calculated that her behavior was largely provocative and had nothing to do with her real motives, but he had definitely drawn conclusions. What those conclusions were — about her acting skills, or her tendency to believe enemy propaganda — remained anyone's guess.
But she couldn't afford not to check the Grand Admiral's motives regarding his actions on Coruscant.
Obviously, disguised asteroids packed with explosives aren't built in a couple of days. Therefore, the counterattack using this weapon wasn't born in Thrawn's brilliant mind in the moment right after the attack on him at Soulex.
He had conceived this project long ago, but for what purpose?
To be honest, by putting on this show, Mara was most afraid of hearing from Thrawn that he had decided to reconsider his relatively humane views on waging war, which he had demonstrated until now. It would have been extremely painful to learn that the sentient she had decided to trust, after an attack on him personally, would cast aside his honor and start burning worlds.
Like Palpatine had done.
But no.
Thrawn, though he might have suspected the Republicans would act stupidly, was surprised by the depth of the idiotic act they had committed.
And she had to admit he was right — why should he constantly make allowances for his enemies' stupidity? It was war, and while not all means were acceptable, those that allowed you to win certainly were.
Yes, it stung a little that civilians had died, but Thrawn gave a perfectly reasonable example — the losses could have been avoided if the government had thought with its head instead of the part it sat on.
But what relieved the girl most was understanding that, despite everything, even if extremely harshly, Thrawn continued to act from the best intentions.
If your enemies are idiots, but there are many of them, and they are responsible for protecting nearly half the galaxy's population, then you should consider making them act for the common good by hook or by crook.
At this point, perfectly understanding that she had not only approached the boundaries of what was permitted but had actually taken one big step beyond them, the girl decided not to poke the rancor in the lip anymore.
As far as she knew the Grand Admiral, the fact that he hadn't ordered her killed had clearly exceeded the usual limits he set for subordinates. Continuing to shake the mountings of this hyperdrive meant harming the entire ship.
For herself, the girl decided to no longer doubt the Grand Admiral's intentions and not to view his actions one-sidedly.
After all, he hadn't even promised her he wouldn't attack civilian worlds and their inhabitants. Their cooperation had started on a different note, and she shouldn't test Thrawn's patience anymore.
She needed to keep doing what she did best — carrying out delicate orders. Secretly, quickly, deftly, and leaving no unnecessary witnesses. All for the good of what she had sworn loyalty to.
Funny... Thrawn hadn't asked her to swear loyalty to him personally — only to the Dominion. Palpatine though... he had done the opposite.
That was a telling difference between them.
She should appreciate what she had. Because losing everything a third time... would be unforgivable.
Though, she had thought about this many times before. But now she had decided to make a final decision.
If the Grand Admiral doubted that she still had tibanna in her cartridge and wondered if she should be replaced with someone more loyal and personally devoted to him, then it was time to show her superiors her zeal in restoring a reputation that had been carelessly tarnished.
Especially since Thrawn had almost directly told her how to do it.
Save the Dominion or him personally.
He had said it in a normal tone, and in other people, in Karrde, for instance, it would have been a subtle joke.
But this was Thrawn we were talking about. Humor wasn't his strong suit.
But that bit about her scolding him like a wayward spouse was, of course, unexpectedly funny...
Only from Thrawn's mouth, it had sounded like... a hint, maybe.
No, what nonsense was she thinking.
Probably the consequences of a hard landing.
Why hard?
Because she hadn't even batted an eye when she received the order.
And had agreed to go on the mission despite being assigned a squad of assault commandos and...
Maul.
The Zabrak was just climbing out from under the wreckage of the landing craft, radiating rage and hatred for everything living.
Frankly, Mara had never seen him in such a state. She might even admit she was a little afraid of him at that moment. Because she understood that in a conflict with him, she might lose.
The wave of the Dark Side of the Force emanating from him was so burning, so tangible, that the heat of the molten magma spewing from Mustafar's depths felt like a cool coastal breeze.
But with the escort of three assault commandos of Thrawn's Hand, she felt calmer. A little, of course, but still calmer. And she should thank the Grand Admiral for pulling these soldiers from their mission to find the cloning factory and sending them to help her.
Though, judging by the report from their commander, the assault commandos had completed their assigned task — the cloning factory had been found.
Even despite their ship being shot down by droid fire. But she could say they had made it to their target — Fortress X-1.
The air boomed with the cannonade of battle raging on the base's approaches.
Fanatical followers of X-1, driven by his vile will, defended fiercely, not letting the stormtroopers advance.
AT-ATs fighting each other in a furious struggle, drowning the blaster-absorbing armor of their enemies with scarlet tsunamis of energy.
Numerous AT-RTs making daring cavalry charges at X-1's faction positions and falling silent there as smoking lumps of metal.
Literally melted tanks, speeder bikes, and grav-cycles blown into the tiniest fragments...
The 501st Legion was gnawing through the fanatics' defenses.
And neither cloned Wookiees nor some incomprehensible followers of the Dark Side of the Force could save them anymore...
Fortress X-1 on the planet Mustafar.
"Forward," Mara ordered, seeing that Maul had finally pulled his beskar limbs from the wreckage and was clanking them across the permacrete surfaces of the structure, which had apparently once been a mining platform.
"Yes, ma'am," one of the three pitch-black assault commandos replied.
Mara wanted to make a remark about the accuracy of the address but changed her mind.
Primarily because it was pointless to argue about unimportant things during a mission with a cover squad commander. For them, completing the objective was and always would be more important than various verbal subtleties.
Among the stormtroopers as well, identifying them without identifiers through the visors of identical armor is impossible. But this one seems to be Sergeant THN-0297. A clone of Colonel Selid, whom she fought alongside against the insane clone of Luke Skywalker on Wayland.
No wonder Thrawn had sent him to her aid against the mad clone of a long-dead Jedi.
The sergeant set a brisk pace from the start, as if someone had given him a command: "Run." Still growling like an animal, he charged after them. Mara, understanding that the flamethrower operator and the technician would cover their squad from behind, didn't hesitate, breaking into a run.
The ship had crashed on the upper landing platform, catching a missile volley from a droid that appeared out of nowhere.
The ship's stern had been torn apart, so they landed using the "falling rock" method.
Her ears were still ringing, so the girl almost missed the moment when the squad's vanguard sharply changed direction and disappeared into a side corridor on the upper floor.
Cursing herself for her slowness, the girl, along with both commandos, rushed to catch up with THN-0297 and Maul, who were a few dozen meters ahead and had already engaged someone in battle.
The opponents turned out to be two Force-sensitive individuals.
Mara barely had time to assess their potential with the Force as average, and then one of them was already falling with his head severed.
The second one — Maul, who had leaped to be next to both victims, crushed his head with a blow from his prosthetics.
THN-0297 didn't slow down for a second, cutting down several B-1 battle droids that had emerged from a hidden niche with a short burst.
It seemed this corridor led to the place where ×1 was located, and from where, like C'baoth, he controlled his troops.
Mara felt a concentration of the Dark Side of the Force so powerful, so vile, so repulsive, that even the memories of the aura emanating from Palpatine during her service to him seemed beautiful.
The source of this pseudo-power felt as if it were rotting alive.
As if some madman had learned to industrially harness the stench of gaseous gangrene.
The girl literally felt uncomfortable surrounded by this reek, reminding herself once again that the Dark Side of the Force was not a path she wished to follow further.
What this self-proclaimed Sith radiated around him was in no way comparable to Palpatine's impressive and awe-inspiring might, or the cold fury and fear that accompanied Vader.
No, it wasn't about ×1 being more powerful or stronger than the Sith Lords she knew.
He was just... different.
All of this flashed through Mara's mind during the few minutes it took Maul to break through the barrier of pitiful Sith replicas that stood in his way.
She didn't recognize her former instructor either.
Like a wild animal, he darted through the corridor, wielding his lightsaber pike like a handheld guillotine. He carved through the enemies in his path with such ferocity that one could admire it...
But Mara only felt a chill.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she understood perfectly that the Zabrak, through his actions, hoped to earn some quota of Thrawn-like loyalty in the eyes of the Grand Admiral.
He was striving to show that he was useful, and not just a defector who had surrendered three star destroyers made from scrap metal without a fight.
And this realization resonated strikingly with Mara's own opinion that on this mission she had to give it her all, to show that she was a necessary, needed tool in the hands of the Supreme Commander of the Dominion.
All of this was painfully strange and utterly unnatural for her.
Jade knew her character, her motives, and her aspirations well.
And she noted with surprise that such intentions had once visited her mind before — at the dawn of her becoming the Emperor's Hand.
Back then, her head was turned by that crumb of the Dark Side she had been taught to use. And in her naivety, she thought that diligent, uncompromising work for the Emperor would allow her to become something more. No, not to take the place of Darth Vader, crossing paths with whom she desired under no circumstances, but perhaps one day, satisfied with her work, the Emperor would show her some new mysteries of the Dark Side, lift the veil of secrets from ancient knowledge and...
"Oh, no! — the girl gritted her teeth and hissed, deflecting a blaster shot back at a sniper droid that had appeared from the ventilation with a swing of her blade. — That trick definitely won't work a second time.
One simple thought, a return to the past, revealed a completely different mystery to her.
Without noticing it themselves, she and Maul had fallen into the embrace of the Dark Side's temptations. It seemed that this was exactly how ×1 controlled his followers, sending them into the slaughter, making them show no mercy to themselves.
"Maul! — she shouted, seeing the Zabrak, his face twisted with sadistic pleasure, using the Force to break the neck vertebrae of a very young guy who held a lightsaber so awkwardly, as if seeing it for the first time. — It's ×1! He's influencing us to crave more! It's the Dark Side!
Tossing the wheezing body aside, the Zabrak looked at the girl with crazy eyes. Peering into them, Jade found nothing but the madness sloshing within.
"He was once Palpatine's apprentice, after all," Mara recoiled, horrified by the prospect that had opened up to her.
She quickly ordered the trio of shock commandos to cover her specifically. And she breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed that THN-0297 had readily stepped back from the Zabrak, joining his comrades.
At least they could be relied upon.
"This is what I was born for, — Maul's voice seemed distorted by an echo. He looked at the massive armored bulkhead, behind which the administrative center of the structure should be located. — ×1 is there. I can feel his Force. He is weakening. A pathetic worm. I will finish him off and reclaim my right to be called a Sith Lord. Everything he has will now be mine!
With two quick strikes, he cut a diagonal cross into the door panel, then used a Force push to make the edges concave inward into the room.
Letting out a madman's laugh, the Zabrak, his armored feet clanking, stepped over the threshold, heading towards the coveted goal.
"Ma'am, has this individual become a problem for the effective completion of the mission to eliminate ×1? — Sergeant THN-0297 asked her for clarification.
Behind the dark visors of the helmet, the clone's eyes weren't visible, but for some reason Jade was sure the shock commando was looking her straight in the eyes.
The girl nodded in agreement.
She understood that Thrawn hadn't sent Maul without reason.
He might not understand the intricacies of the Force, but he knew perfectly well that the Zabrak was stronger and far more lethal in combat than the Hand.
And so he sent the Zabrak to kill ×1... This was, undoubtedly, within the capabilities of the former apprentice of the greatest Sith she had ever known.
But, excuse the impertinent question: Who was supposed to stop Maul himself when (and it was definitely a "when"), he decided to shake off the old ways and take the place of the defeated enemy?
After all, those were exactly the intentions the Zabrak had just announced...
"I... I'm unlikely to be able to defeat him, — the girl said quietly.
"That's why we're here, ma'am, — came the calm voice of the shock commando commander. The girl looked at the sergeant, but he had already looked away, gazing at one of his subordinates:
"THN-0333, ready the flamethrower.