During the time they spent inside the hideout, Afar's eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light of portable lanterns hung in a garland around the room.
Everywhere one could see, equipment shredded into pieces was scattered across the floor, smashed computer terminals, walls slashed by claws.
What the Imperials didn't destroy during their retreat, the brood helped them finish.
The guardsmen and scouts meticulously collected everything that could somehow help them later.
A black spherical interrogation droid lay in the corner with its electronic guts spilling out.
The rest of its "brothers" were undamaged because they were a bit further away and in a special niche.
The rat had torn off the armored panels from it, but left the droids alone for some reason.
Probably "got burned" on the inedibility of one of them and decided not to touch the rest.
"My people are almost done," said Jahan, who had approached. "All clear outside?"
"Two minutes ago I got reports from all the sentries," the Zygerrian replied. "No sign of Imperials. They're still busy with the rubble after the sabotage."
"And the rebels?" the human inquired.
"Most of the ships have already launched," Afar reported. "They're setting up barricades with droid turrets and heading to the last evacuation transports. Observers report that the stormtroopers have thrown their reinforcements in the attacked areas mostly not into clearing rubble, but into storming Republic positions."
"They don't care about the wounded," Jahan stated. "Just like under the Empire — casualties are collected after the battle ends. Don't manage to get help in time — you'll most likely die. Stupid."
"The remnants still fancy themselves the Empire," the Zygerrian remarked philosophically. "It doesn't occur to them that their human resources are now finite and discarding sentients so carelessly is illogical."
"All the better for us," Jahan grinned. "The more Imperials get killed by the Republic, the less they'll bother the Dominion."
And not a trace of regret that sentients are dying, noted Sagaal Shan.
Cross had changed a lot during this time.
Especially since they set out on the hunt for Blackhole.
And no doubt that he was alive...
I hope it doesn't turn out that Thrawn is simply using the personal tragedy of the former Imperial agent for his own purposes.
"How bad is it here?" Afar asked to change the subject.
"Almost everything is destroyed, but we managed to save some things," Jahan admitted. "The Emperor kept this place in great secrecy. Probably didn't want the residents of the Imperial Center to know that people and other sentients were being carved up here with expertise."
"I didn't notice any 'slaughterhouse' as such," the Zygerrian objected. "It looks more like this deep interrogation sector was used for its intended purpose. But for something specific."
"We'll see what the analysts say," Jahan shrugged. "I'll say one thing — it was worth crawling into this cesspool."
He nodded meaningfully toward one of the tables, next to which a guardsman stood guarding everything found.
Afar squinted, making out in the darkness a bundle of power conduits, flat crystals arranged in a fan, a control panel, slightly scratched and cracked but not destroyed...
A chill ran down his spine.
Memories of entering Imperial Intelligence flooded back.
And that "little device," after encountering which some cadets and applicants disappeared without a trace.
"Recognized it?" Cross inquired.
"You don't forget shit like that even in a nightmare," the Zygerrian confessed. "Now it's clear how 'specific' that interrogation sector was."
The two of them approached the device, and with the senior comrade's permission, the Zygerrian began poking around inside it.
"The wiring is cut in places, but one of the reader crystals is still functional," the non-human muttered.
"The damage is easy to fix," Cross stated. "The microchips are intact, so it's functional."
"Are you really going to give the 'Jedi scanner' to the Dominion?" Afar asked tensely.
"Why not?" the agent asked. "It's valuable equipment. The Imperial bloodhounds used them to detect hiding Jedi during the Great Purge."
"I know what that device is!" Afar snapped. "Capture teams used this contraption as a Force detector to find hidden Jedi. Those who knew about it were terrified of this thing. Remember how many innocents simply vanished when the reader detected Force sensitivity above normal?"
"Yes, some were unlucky — the Force was detected in them," Cross reluctantly agreed.
"Some?" the Zygerrian grimaced. "Did you ever hear about what happened to them after the scanner triggered on them? Personally, I never saw them again. Considering how Palpatine felt about manifestations of the Force in sentients, they were disposed of. Just because they were born that way!"
"You're wrong here, Afar," Cross declared. "The Inquisitorius wasn't born out of nowhere."
"Yes, it included former Jedi..."
"Who died in the process of assignments," the human continued. "But that didn't finish off the Inquisitorius. One of the Grand Inquisitors — Malorum — was never a member of the Jedi Order at all. He was simply found — possibly with this thing — and put to work. Add to that Palpatine's Shadow Guard, which was formed exclusively from Force-sensitives. And the Emperor's Hands? Every other one is Force-sensitive. No, my friend, whatever the Emperor and official propaganda said about the danger of Jedi, Palpatine wasn't so stupid as to throw away such personnel. So I am more than certain that motivated and pro-Imperial cadets and applicants who entered Imperial Intelligence or the ISB did not end their lives in some ditch. They were placed into service, officially registered as dead."
"They didn't make me any such offers back then," Afar stated. "As soon as they found out I was slightly more sensitive to the Force than a standard sentient, they put me through the system's grinders, exhausting me to the last. And I'm sure — in the end, certain death awaited me if your father hadn't intervened."
"Perhaps you weren't good enough for them," Cross suggested. "If your bad future was averted, then maybe the rest had something similar."
"And where is the guarantee that Thrawn's heir won't conduct purges among the population with this Force detector and eliminate Force-sensitives to keep them from defecting to the New Republic or the Alliance?" the Zygerrian asked.
"He doesn't need to exterminate anyone," Cross said quietly, looking around. Apparently making sure no one was eavesdropping. The guardsmen seemed to have no interest in them — they were packing the discovered items of interest into their backpacks. "The Dominion already has an order of Force-sensitive sentients in its service."
"What are you talking about?" Afar was surprised.
"When it became known that the Zann Consortium had used Ellie, she was checked for brainwashing," Cross explained. "Among other things, on Thrawn's orders, this was done by sentients who called themselves Jensaarai. They also use the Force, like the Jedi. And as far as I know, they help customs and counterintelligence track down saboteurs and spies using that same Force. And no, anticipating your next question, I'll say — this is not the Inquisitorius. No racial discrimination or preferences. Among them there is a Mon Calamari, who instructs the youth. And somehow I didn't notice any threats or fear in that group I observed."
"You'll say next that they would refuse to carry out an order if given the task of destroying Jedi," Afar said incredulously.
Intellectually, he understood that if Cross's words were true, then his fears, including for his own hide, were unfounded.
And if so, then perhaps he could stop hiding from permanent service to the Dominion...
Look, even Aveka, for all her love of "freelancing," still switched to a "salary" by joining the Dominion Intelligence staff.
And that lady had to be enticed with at least a good income just to hear an offer.
Otherwise she doesn't work.
Same for Afar.
No freelance agent will go "on staff" with intelligence if his income will differ greatly from what he can get without committing to any state.
"I think if the Jedi threaten the Dominion, then anyone, even the Jensaarai with their 'Defense Only' ideology, will go to war."
"A carbon copy of the Jedi Order," the Zygerrian grimaced. "They also talked about 'defense'. Need me to remind you how they 'defended' Zygerria in the past? Or Mandalore?"
"Stop clowning around," Cross shook his head. "As if the slaver Zygerrian Empire didn't deserve the Jedi destroying it. Or don't the Mandalorians have a habit of uniting every millennium and putting on a performance of crusades against the entire galaxy?"
"Agreed, bad example," Afar waved his hand. "By the way, if you didn't know, the Empire cooperated with Zygerria."
"I knew that perfectly well," Cross replied. "And it's disgusting. Talk about fighting slavery to your face, but behind your back make deals with slave traders."
It was Sagaal Shan's turn to shrug.
"Slavery isn't considered a god-awful act if you're a slave owner," he recited an ancient Zygerrian proverb.
"I expected no other answer," Cross clicked his tongue. "And this sentient condemns my intention to hand over the Jedi detector to my government..."
"Everyone has their flaws," Sagaal Shan chuckled.
Internally, he noted that while telling about the Jensaarai, Cross was calm, his eyes didn't dart, and there was no change in breathing rate.
Consequently, Jahan was not lying.
He could fool most people, but not the one whose father saved his life and with whom he completed a full course at the Intelligence Academy.
It was only later that the leadership found "their own path" for each of them...
So the rumors weren't lying.
The Dominion really does have its own Jedi.
It was rumored that dark Jedi helped Thrawn in his campaign — that's why he always dealt such devastating blows to the New Republic and got away without critical "retaliation."
If that's the case, then perhaps he could consider contacting their Director of Intelligence and becoming a permanent freelance agent.
Or else — a well-paid and responsive "freelancer" for monetary jobs.
Too bad Thrawn died — this issue could have been discussed with him personally.
After all, the Zygerrian had helped the Dominion solve many problems in the Corporate Sector.
So why not continue helping?
Of course, if the pay is appropriate.
But first — Blackhole.
If he is alive, of course.
"We're done here," Cross announced, seeing that the guardsmen had packed their last finds and were ready to move out. "Exiting. Moving to the second base point."
Throwing an encouraging glance at the Zygerrian, he added:
"When we reach the location, I'll introduce you to someone."
What a surprise.
And who else has Cross brought with him to the occupied planet, moving around as if parading down Ship Street with Coronet's Treasures?
* * *
Built on imperial shipyards and modernized by Dominion shipbuilders, the Star Destroyer is ruthless.
Dangerous, merciless, and knows its worth.
The piecemeal Kaloth-class battlecruiser is a testament to that.
A Kaloth-class battlecruiser.
This type of relatively inexpensive starship for its class is adored by anyone with enough money and connections to hire a crew and maintain an armed vessel.
Mercenaries, large pirate communities and gangs, some regional governments.
Under normal circumstances — a fairly tough opponent.
Even for a Star Destroyer.
But not after TIE bombers pumped a full salvo of proton torpedoes into it.
And then generously seasoned what was still showing signs of life with salvos from the Chimaera's own turbolasers and ion cannons.
And now the Star Destroyer's gunners were chewing through the shields of a second such vessel.
Which the Chimaera's tractor beam operators held across the destroyer's bow, allowing all the Dominion flagship's turret artillery to salute with combat charges the side of that foolish braveheart who had tried to take them on one-on-one.
Now the insolent one is suffering — its deflector on the right side facing the destroyer flashed red and dissolved.
The time of reckoning has come.
Captain Tschel looked with indifference and detached disgust at the Black Sun emblem painted on the side of the Kaloth.
And noted that the gunners were placing their shots quite accurately, literally melting and breaching the battlecruiser in one spot.
The enemy trembled, spewed flames, jerked sideways, even spat proton torpedoes, but in vain.
The Raider, holding position under the Chimaera's belly, in the space between the two engaged ships, tirelessly stood its watch protecting the flagship.
Time and again, long green beams from laser cannons appeared before the destroyer's bow, knocking down kinetic projectiles, turning them from deadly ammunition into useless chunks of material.
The captain wondered for a moment why the Grand Admiral and the shipbuilder responsible for the Imperial\-class modernization program had approved the installation of Mandalorian-design laser cannons, but disdained the placement of mass-driver anti-aircraft guns.
Which had at one time been on Zann Consortium ships and, with their rapid-fire shots, not only annihilated missiles and torpedoes, but sometimes even the high-velocity metal shrapnel — mass-driver projectiles — would shoot down Imperial and Republic starfighters.
Indeed, this was the question he had asked the Grand Admiral, while watching intently as the Chimaera's turbolasers apparently cut through the Kaloth's power conduits.
Because the enemy ship plunged into impenetrable darkness.
"Sorry to distract you from the battle, sir..."
"Actually, a good question, Captain," said Thrawn. "You are commanding the battle, not I. If you have the strength to monitor the battlefield and engage in idle conversation, well, I won't deny you that."
Backing down would mean showing oneself in a bad light.
He hadn't thought about this problem, but still decided not to back down.
Just needed to keep analyzing the battle picture.
"Sir," came a report from the watch officer. "Flight control reports that Lieutenant Jainer has been successfully intercepted by our point defense at the system exit. The pilot is alive, but he took a beating from the G-forces."
"Pass my thanks to the Eternal Wrath's commander for helping to catch Lieutenant Jainer," Tschel responded. "Inform Grey Two that he is temporarily taking command of the squadron."
The operation to rescue Grey Leader was a real action thriller on a sci-fi level.
How do you stop a ship flying at high acceleration if an attempt to intercept it would inevitably destroy its hull, and braking with a destroyer's tractor beam would certainly be analogous to braking into a wall?
The lieutenant would have been splattered across the cockpit.
The same would have happened if he had started maneuvering — the craft would have fallen apart mid-flight.
It required a sharp but gentle deceleration.
But fortunately, it was a TIE Avenger, equipped with a standard and reliable hyperdrive.
After the squadron commander of Grey Wing could no longer provide target designation for the assault gunships and left the battle zone.
Then the Eternal Wrath adjusted one of its gravity trawls to lie across Jainer's course.
The Avenger jumped into hyperspace.
Sublight speed no longer had the slightest effect on the ship — breaking the light barrier generally cancels certain laws of physics.
Despite the fact that the TIE Avenger was objectively moving faster than it had been a few seconds ago, pulling it out of hyperspace happened without catastrophe.
And without any risk to the pilot.
A paradox?
Yes, a paradox.
Catching a pilot at insane speed in realspace with an energy beam is lethally dangerous.
Pulling him out of hyperspace with a gravity trawl is simple as can be.
"Starboard gunners, shift fire to the armed liner approaching on vector three," the young Star Destroyer commander ordered.
The turret batteries obediently stopped tearing apart the dying Kaloth and switched to a more worthy and dangerous target.
The battle continued.
The Chimaera's squadrons cycled through regular rotations and poured out of the Star Destroyer's belly in swarms.
Laser beams rained a searing torrent across the main viewport.
Green turbolaser bolts and white-blue flashes of ion cannons crisscrossed the black void, but at this range and with this density of enemies, missing was extremely difficult.
The armed transport couldn't take it.
The starship, with its smooth Mon Calamari-style lines, had neither good armor, nor strong deflectors, nor powerful shipboard artillery.
Pockmarked with breaches, the starship — still at those same thirty units — bloomed with a silently rumbling blood-red dawn.
A wave of escape pods shot out of the compartments, but their low-powered engines couldn't handle the monstrous traffic of enemy fighters all rushing into battle.
The result was a crush and pointless deaths.
Tschel watched the liner die.
The lower decks and hyperdrives of the doomed ship began to explode as internal detonations reached the reactors and fuel tanks of the smuggler vessel.
Shrouded in clouds of flame that merged with the gases being consumed by the Maw, the starship exploded.
"Sir, reports have come in from the boarding-assault teams," they had been sent to capture two relatively sturdy ships that had suffered the least damage from the Chimaera's gunners. "Both light cruisers are fully under our control. Casualties among the boarding parties are minimal."
Trophies… The first ones the Star Destroyer captain had ever captured in combat through his own independent actions.
A very, very valuable "catch."
This type of ship had first been built during the Clone Wars.
There were many variants of the light cruiser's weapons configuration, but judging by how that group of five cruisers had initially fought back, they were the "anti-aircraft variant."
Which meant — a dozen heavy turbolasers, twenty rapid-fire laser cannons — all packed into a three-hundred-fifty-meter vessel.
A Carrack-class light cruiser.
"Immediately form temporary crews and integrate the ships into the Chimaera's security screen," Tschel ordered.
The confirmed order went up the chain of command, while the young commander himself continued to observe the battlefield.
He had made the right call in having the Chimaera focus directly on engaging the enemy's large ships.
Because the enemy didn't have that many of them — at least, not in terms of actual "heavyweights" like those Kaloths.
The bulk of their force was converted civilian vessels.
And the Chimaera cracked them open like nuts.
Now, with the last Kaloth destroyed, all the enemy had left were hordes of starfighters.
Which was why Tschel wanted the Carracks to join the current battle.
An extra four dozen laser cannons and twenty heavy turbolasers would come in handy like never before.
Because, even though the Chimaera's pilots were the best of the best on Star Destroyers, the enemy still had the advantage in numbers of pilots and machines.
They were managing to hold them off for now, but the battle had already been going on for nearly four hours.
The pilots were getting tired.
Some fighters had been destroyed, others damaged.
Incredible, but true: since Grand Admiral Thrawn's arrival, the duration of routine space battles had increased by orders of magnitude.
Where in the past Imperial starships would spend half an hour, maybe an hour, on a battle like this, now those figures had risen significantly.
Which seemed unusual and even alien to many newly enlisted regular fleet personnel.
Not so for the veterans of Thrawn's flotilla, for whom this was nothing more than a routine operation.
But in any case, a confrontation like this first and foremost takes its toll on the enemy.
If the first hour of battle had been the Chimaera on the defensive while the rabble attacked, now the sides had swapped places.
The Star Destroyer's counteroffensive had been so successful that, frankly, Tschel inwardly berated himself for missing how the saga with Mirax and Booster Terrik's escape pod had ended.
Yes, he hadn't been joking when he said he'd put them in a pod and send it straight toward the attackers.
And he'd kept his word.
Whether the pirates had destroyed them, or the smugglers had escaped, it no longer mattered in essence.
Horn wasn't leaving the system — the Sentinel and the Eternal Wrath stood guard, along with their escort ships and strike force.
Even a Jedi couldn't slip past a screen like that.
"Returning to your question about using mass drivers as anti-aircraft weapons," the Grand Admiral said, completely unexpectedly. "Are you still interested in my opinion, Captain?"
"Always, sir," Tschel hastened to reply.
"Mass drivers are an extremely effective weapon — no one disputes that," Thrawn said. "Just as no one disputes that most starfighters, as well as larger-class ships, use deflector shields that only protect against energy attacks, not kinetic ones."
"Which increases the effectiveness of mass drivers."
"A credit has two sides, Captain," the Grand Admiral philosophized. "A laser bolt, and even more so a turbolaser bolt, travels at velocities far beyond what a mass driver can achieve. Yes, at comparable speeds the latter would win out due to its sheer striking mass. The problem is that with the same number of mass drivers mounted on Dominion destroyers as laser cannons, the energy costs supplied by the solar ionization reactor increase by orders of magnitude."
"Which directly impacts the ship's overall power supply," Tschel realized. "Yes, sir, I understand now. Pity I didn't figure it out myself. And that they didn't teach this at the academy, where they beat all the civilian out of me and crammed in all the fleet doctrine."
"You are not alone, Captain," Thrawn stated. "The Imperial Remnants, partly understanding and partly rejecting the obvious, are rapidly losing the quality of their troops' training. A battle against the New Republic's regular forces will bleed a considerable number of veterans with practical experience from the Remnants' ranks. And their places will be taken by those of your former classmates who were unlucky enough not to fall out of the 'accelerated training program' framework in time."
"Pity those guys…"
"Not at all," the Grand Admiral countered. "All men are adults. Everyone chose a side according to their convictions. Do not stand on ceremony with the enemy, Captain, even if he has a familiar face. Especially if it's familiar. A stab in the back from those closest to you hurts worse than death at the hands of a stranger."
"I'll remember that, sir," the Chimaera's commander said hoarsely, glancing at the tactical monitor. "Scimitar bomber squadron, attack the large transports in the center of the formation. The enemy is rotating fighters through them — if we don't destroy them, this battle could last forever. And I have completely different plans for this evening."
* * *
Scimitar-01 fired proton torpedoes at a battered MC40 Mon Calamari light cruiser, then veered away from the suppressive fire.
Tomax tried to escape the hurricane of fire from the advancing horde of ships, throwing his machine from side to side, aiming simply to get out of the kill-box so he could make a burn.
But the enemy, having already lost several cruisers and one lousy Separatist-era Recusant, had clearly figured out that these unknown, highly maneuverable little ships — always showing up right before the inevitable explosion of larger vessels — represented a much greater threat than the Dominion's standard small craft.
Though, in Alex's opinion, the upgraded TIE Interceptors, equipped with weak but still functional deflector shields and even launchers for shaped-charge rockets, had been quite a surprise for the enemy.
Just like the massed missile volley from the assault gunboats and the Raider-class corvette, which had turned more than one fleet squadron near Kessel into debris.
Once their ship's course stabilized, Alex lovingly stroked the trigger buttons of the laser rapid-fire cannon he had "jury-rigged" onto the machine during the Chimaera's repairs.
Tomax had turned a blind eye to this modification, but wasn't too happy that the power for the enfilade laser cannons now also fed the rear turret.
But Alex had pushed the changes through, reminding him that now that there were more Scimitars, and now that they had already proven themselves in destroying enemy starships, it was better to worry about the ship's rear.
Cracking the Scimitars' tactics was easy enough — you just needed to see the bombers in action once.
And survive.
Deflectors and PLAE were good, of course, but in a situation like at Sluis Van and now, near Kessel, when the jumble of fighting ships required the crew to have the ability to get as far from the thick of the battle as possible and return to the ship for rotation, covering the rear was still necessary.
Alex sent a burst of green plasma bolts and watched with satisfaction as a reactor flared on a small fighter that bore the sonorous name Z-95 Headhunter.
Even its deflectors hadn't saved it.
The crippled fighter peeled off to the side, smoking from a destroyed wing and half its engines.
The machine nosedived and vanished into Kessel's clouds.
The flight engineer, who had added "gunner" to his resume, hoped that a soft landing was definitely not in that opponent's future.
But there was no more time to ponder what was happening.
For every one ship they shot down, the enemy had three battle-ready ones.
And the enemy answered with a torrent of fire.
Then an X-wing that had appeared nearby kicked its lasers to full power, hunting for gaps in the Scimitar-01's defenses.
A couple of moments later, Tomax and Alex's ship slipped out of the meat grinder, its protective shields completely gone.
The ship's commander yawed the vessel from side to side, trying in vain to escape.
One glance at the panels was enough to understand — the deflectors were gone.
Now there was simply nothing to shield them.
And one rapid-fire cannon against four undamaged enemy fighters was basically just a signal gun.
But Alex kept firing and managed to score: one of the pursuers — a TIE fighter — burst into a fireball and plunged into Kessel's thin atmosphere.
No, that one's definitely dead — you can even see flames shooting from its canopy.
Crimson flashes blinded him for a moment, but Alex didn't falter; he clamped his fingers on the triggers and fired blind.
When his vision returned, one of the pursuers had melted his cannon with precise fire.
The targeting monitor went dark.
Now both the triggers and the remote control system for the defensive weapon were just dead weight.
The flight engineer clicked switches, diverting power from the rear twin-gun buffer to the deflectors.
Just in time — another strafing run from the X-wing shattered against the energy shield, causing no damage.
Well, except for the fact that it had drained their protection again.
"Commander, we're defenseless," Alex reported.
"As if I didn't know that!" Bren snapped, and the sound of a firing cannon came through the helmet.
The pilot was clearing a path for them through the handful of enemies darting across their course.
There weren't many of them, but they were still interfering with their acceleration.
And if so, judging by the instruments, all that lay ahead of them was Kessel itself.
"Commander, doesn't it seem like they're herding us…"
"It doesn't seem!" Tomax barked. "That's exactly what they're doing!"
So he hadn't imagined it — the enemy really was driving them toward a forced landing on Kessel's surface.
But what to do?
"I'm not giving them the Scimitar!" the major said, as if reading his partner's thoughts.
"I wasn't suggesting it," Alex noted.
"What's our fuel status?" Tomax asked.
"Less than a tenth," came the immediate answer.
There was no point in sugarcoating it.
With that much fuel, they couldn't even make a burn, let alone fly in a straight line.
Too much fuel had burned in the engines during all kinds of maneuvers in the middle of the enemy fleet.
And there wasn't even a safe haven nearby — not even any "friendly" small craft.
No one was coming to rescue them.
And the fuel wasn't going to magically reappear in the tank.
Bottom line — they had been pushed away from the Chimaera, boxed in, and were being prepared for a landing on Kessel.
And there, the machine would certainly be studied and taken apart bolt by bolt.
Whether or not the Dominion won this battle, data on the bomber would leak out.
Which meant that the internal structure of the PLAE and the machine's operating principles would become known…
You didn't even need to guess — in a couple of months, the shadiest black market dealers would have full technical schematics for sale, and possibly even parts of the Scimitar and the PLAE.
Unacceptable.
So, then…
"Are the cockpit ejection charges checked?" Tomax asked.
"Yes," Alex replied tensely.
So it was going to be what he hadn't wanted to even think about since the Scimitar's launch.
"Chimaera OCC, this is Scimitar-Leader," Tomax's voice came through the helmet. "Enemy is forcing a landing. No possibility of evading with the ship. Fuel is critical. Ordnance expended. Preparing to eject the crew. Will await assistance at point three-seven-seven on the surface. Correction by scale six."
Which, translated to Basic, meant: take the correction number, divide it by the number of coordinates — in this case, three — and add the result of the division to each digit of the stated coordinates.
In other words, the correct location for the search party to find the pilots after they landed was point five-nine-nine.
Crude and effective at the same time.
"Scimitar-Leader, understood," the dispatcher's voice came back. "Hang in there, boys, sending help."
Yeah, right.
Just like that, they send a search and rescue team through an entire battle on a lone shuttle?
"Five-second readiness," Bren ordered. "Arm self-destruct."
"Tomax, you do realize this will only be enough to tear the machine apart, not completely destroy it?" Alex asked.
The self-destruct system assumed at least twenty percent fuel remaining in the tank — then the detonation would literally vaporize the machine.
With the remaining eight percent, the best they could hope for was the destruction of most of the structure, and maybe the PLAE would be wrecked in the process.
"Do as I say!" Tomax barked.
"Ready to eject," Alex confirmed, checking his harness straps, the ejection charge function, and the active indicator for the aircraft's self-destruct system.
Under the pilot's and flight engineer's seats was the necessary emergency survival kit with everything they'd need to hold out on the planet's surface until the search and rescue team arrived.
Well, well… It wasn't often lately that pilots fell from the sky to the ground — the SAR teams mostly caught the "lucky ones" in space.
The alarmed swarm of attacking ships whirled through space like a vortex as the Scimitar dissolved into Kessel's pale fog, suddenly diving straight for the surface.
Alex instinctively gripped his seat as the ship tore through the heavy cotton of the clouds.
And then dozens of laser beams struck at them.
But missed, though…
Hundreds of icy jets shrieked in every pitch, rushing into cracks in the shattered armor — the air began to leak out.
Damn!
So they had been hit after all.
The cockpit had been breached after the enemy's unaimed fire.
If the instruments on the control panel and the stench seeping through it were to be believed, they had indeed taken a solid beating.
Scimitar-01 was descending steadily.
Though, more accurately, it was "plummeting uncontrollably."
Tomax was clearly trying to maintain a moderate descent speed so as not to burn up in the thin atmosphere.
The wing commander had something in mind.
For some reason, he needed to keep the Scimitar intact, not broken into pieces.
Most likely, it was because in such a thin atmosphere, the ship's parts that would break off during a hypersonic descent wouldn't burn up properly, and the enemy would have the opportunity to analyze them.
But a moment later, Alex understood what the fast bomber commander's plan was.
When the Scimitar broke through the upper atmosphere and began gliding toward the ground, it turned out they were flying directly over one of the giant air-processing factories.
The factory's colossal motors catalyzed rock and drove cyclones of breathable gas mixture through enormous pipes.
And the doomed machine, no longer burning, increased its speed to its structural limit.
The fuel remaining indicator was steadily falling.
"I'm activating the PLAE in seven seconds," Tomax ordered. "On my command, get ready to blow the cockpit — I won't have time myself."
"But we won't make it through the planet!"
"We don't need to. The important thing is that the impact speed is as high as possible," Bren stated.
Alex understood the commander.
An activated PLAE would detonate on impact like a warhead that any missile would envy.
And the major hadn't chosen the target at random.
"Do it!" Tomax shouted.
Alex, whose hand was already on the ejection lever, yanked it up at the same moment his stomach was habitually pressed into his lower torso — the fast bomber was making its final speed burst.
The two-person cockpit, with a terrible grinding and whistling sound, changed its vector, carried away by solid-fuel rocket motors that would take both crew members and their modest belongings far from the landing site.
The enemy X-wing that had appeared behind the Scimitar fired helplessly, hoping to blow up the machine before it reached its target.
Failing to capture the bomber, they decided to destroy it to prevent too much damage.
But the X-wing's lasers lacked the agility to reach the PLAE's critical systems, securely hidden under the armor.
The cockpit's lateral acceleration allowed them, albeit at a considerable distance, to watch as the giant factory was pierced by the fast bomber.
For a fraction of a second, absolutely nothing happened. Then a colossal pillar of fire and smoke shot upward, turning the factory's rising air currents into a fiery tornado.
Into which the X-wing flew.
Its wings were torn clean off, along with the engines.
And the pursuer went tumbling like a dry fallen leaf in the wind.
The rest of its aerodynamic surfaces shattered to pieces as the pilot tried in vain to escape the danger zone, apparently using repulsors.
Alex's triumphant yell was a fitting accompaniment to the vivid image of the ship sinking in flames.
And then Kessel's surface, along with the air-processing factory itself, literally bucked.
A colossal fireball — the likes of which Alex had only ever seen in slides about Mandalorian nuclear strikes (and that was long ago) — rose above the Scimitar's crash site.
The shockwave radiated outward, smashing through buildings, flattening the weaker ones, and turning what remained into scorched ruins.
The cockpit was sent spinning by the air blast, and its engines died, unable to withstand this force.
Through the growing howl of wind in the gaps of the punctured hull, trying somehow to influence the situation, Alex shouted:
"Try restarting them!"
But Tomax no longer had time to answer — the Scimitar-01's cockpit slammed into Kessel's bumpy, hard ground.