With several hull breaches, the loss of three turbolaser batteries and an equal number of turret-mounted guns, the Chimaera emerged from the battle victorious.
The two Carrack-class light cruisers, which had played their role in this conflict, along with the Raider, had sustained significant damage and couldn't continue the journey without major on-site repairs.
They would have to be left in Kessel's orbit and a ship with spare parts dispatched here.
Which was rather difficult from a logistical standpoint, because both the system and the entire sector were far from our territories.
The nearest place from which support could come was the Dominion regular fleet's base under construction in the Tammuz sector, on the planet Tammuz-an, where our auxiliary forces and several Star Destroyers were stationed.
Officially — to protect the planet from encroachment by local pirate gangs.
In reality — to create a foothold and staging base for a subsequent attack on Rothana and Kamino.
But they didn't have the necessary parts there.
Consequently, a ship would have to be sent directly from the core territories.
"The battle is over, Grand Admiral," Captain Tschel reported, handing me a datapad with a detailed report. "The corvettes are heavily damaged. We've lost sixteen interceptors and three hundred crew members. Numerous small hull breaches are currently being sealed, and the atmosphere has been restored on the damaged decks. The mission is complete — all enemy ships have been destroyed. The stormtroopers are currently sorting through prisoners from the shattered starships."
"Glad to hear it, Captain Tschel. You did excellent work," and I had thought I might have to resort to support from other starships. But it turned out much better. If only it were always like this. "Have the scanner operators found the escape course of Corran Horn and his family members?"
"I'm sorry, sir, but no," Tschel said, looking flustered. "Horn cannot be located. The Sentinel and the Eternal Wrath also report no 'unidentified' targets. Should I send fighters to search for him?"
"That won't be necessary," I replied after thinking for a few seconds.
Wherever Horn is, he's surely gone to ground, waiting for us to leave Kessel so he can clear out of the system with his family.
Of course, it would be foolish to suggest that he and Terrik are dead.
Horn is far too stubborn to end his life's journey that easily.
Though nothing should be ruled out entirely.
But one must understand that if a patrol is sent after him, should they find him, they'll be forced to engage.
And either destroy him or capture him.
That would interfere with my plans for his future fate.
If Horn survived, let him chalk the lack of pursuit up to the Force saving him once again.
In any case, I don't plan to stay on Kessel long — nor to blockade the system with Interdictors.
I need something specific and particular here.
And it's not searching for Corran Horn.
If he did survive the local soldiers' hunt, then he will serve my purposes further.
Apparently, he didn't realize that I already have all the necessary copies of the documents his grandfather kept.
Nor who was behind the attack on the Horn estate.
If so, that largely allows me to continue working in the Corellian sector and develop the Jensaarai, using that information as well.
But if he's dead...
I'll have to use other methods to carry out destabilization operations in the Corellian sector.
I'm certain that once even a small portion of the kompromat Rostek Horn collected on influential beings of the Diktat is decrypted, plenty of leverage options will emerge.
"Inform General Maximilian Kaine to begin the 501st Legion's deployment," I ordered.
"Yes, sir," Tschel saluted.
"Regarding the downed pilots of Scimitar-01," I continued. "Do we have information on their current location and status?"
"No, sir," the Star Destroyer commander stated. "We are aware of the extraction point Major Bren indicated, as well as the fact that he directed his machine into one of the atmosphere generators. The bomber cockpit's ejection was recorded; however, the shockwave disabled it and carried it away from the planned landing coordinates. The Search and Rescue Detachment did not locate the pilot or flight engineer at the specified coordinates. The emergency beacon's data is unknown — the equipment ceased normal operation immediately after the oxygen generation plant's explosion. We continue thorough ground searches, which are complicated by firefights with enemy ground units."
In other words — while we're only planning the landing, the enemy is already taking control of the territory.
This will complicate our seizure of a beachhead because I personally have no doubt that Kessel's defenders possess quite formidable weaponry they could bring to bear against our Helldivers.
Unpleasant, implies high losses among the stormtroopers, of whom we don't have an abundant number anyway.
"Recall the SAR," I ordered. "The enemy clearly intended to capture our fast bomber. Since they failed, they've surely taken measures to locate and capture the crew."
"Sir, but abandoning the pilots..."
"I said nothing about abandoning them," my remark came out a bit too sharp. "We are the Dominion. We do not abandon our own. The order was to recall the SAR, nothing more. The search for the crew, in light of the upcoming offensive, should be entrusted to units more competent in operating on highly aggressive enemy territory, drawn from those currently aboard the Chimaera."
"Yes, sir."
"Contact the Fourth Special Assault Commando Squad," I ordered. "Assign Sergeant TNX-0297 the mission to rescue our pilots. He and his men will handle it guaranteed."
"It will be done, sir."
"And lastly — coordinate the ground units' actions and provide them artillery support from the Chimaera from orbit."
* * *
Well, at least we're alive.
That was the first thought that came to Alex's mind as consciousness, along with pain, began to return.
The man blinked, listening to the hiss of atmosphere leaking through the damage in the Scimitar-01's cockpit skin — which also doubled as an escape pod.
"Commander!?" he shouted, realizing the sounds reached him as if through cotton.
No answer.
Finally forcing his eyes open, he saw stains on the bomb bay control panel.
Blood.
His leg throbbed as if a red-hot spit had been driven through it; the sharp taste of iron on his tongue.
He coughed and found he'd sprayed even more blood across the panels in front of him.
At the same time, his chest began to ache where the harness straps had cut into him like nooses.
Since the major wasn't answering, he could only hope that Bren had gotten through this mess with fewer injuries.
Turning his head, Alex felt as if a load of glass shot had been driven into his back.
With a trembling hand, he managed to reach the harness release mechanism and unfastened it.
The pain in his sternum worsened.
And treacherously warm, sticky liquid was running from under his helmet.
So he'd hit his head too.
Alex leaned forward with all his strength, pulling himself out of the seat.
Sitting on the control panel, he spat a wad of bloody saliva to the side and, ignoring the pain, began pulling everything necessary from the emergency kit.
A lightweight body armor vest.
An E-11 assault rifle.
A medkit with supplies, some of which were immediately jabbed into his aching leg.
It eased up.
Even his head cleared.
A quick check was enough to confirm the rifle and blaster pistol were combat-ready; he set them aside but within reach.
Alex put on the armor vest, wincing from the pain in his ribs.
Deftly filled the remaining empty pockets with ammunition and protein bars.
Stowed the rest of the equipment and gear into the pouches and pockets of his flight suit.
He wouldn't have another chance to return to the emergency kit.
A spare comlink found its place in the abundance of pockets on the waterproof, sealed flight suit.
Once the emergency kit was stowed away, Alex checked the life support system mounted on his chest.
Because he realized he was starting to suffocate.
That was it — the controller was shot, cracked on landing.
He'd have to have a serious talk with the manufacturers.
This plastoid was no good for Tatooine, nor Coruscant... They needed something tougher.
Good thing there was a spare in the emergency kit.
Holding his breath, the Scimitar-01's flight engineer switched the hoses to the new panel, tossing the old one into the emergency kit container.
He checked the charge on the new equipment, cursing himself for not doing it immediately.
Luckily, the spare controller was as good as new.
So he wouldn't have to worry about suffocating in Kessel's thin atmosphere.
The seat back and the bulkhead separating the cockpit positions kept him from seeing what was happening with Tomax, but Alex intended to remedy that injustice when new sounds reached him — sounds not typical of the air hissing out of the cockpit.
A pop and the roar of a plasma cutter: someone was planning to cut into the forward part of the canopy.
That wasn't in the emergency kit.
The SAR didn't have gadgets like that either — they knew how to manually open the canopy.
So it was the enemy.
The cutter's noise drew closer, and for a moment, through the polarized transparisteel above the seat, Alex saw a thin, superheated jet ready to slice through the canopy.
The E-11 was somehow already in his hands.
"Great," Alex muttered.
Not only were his ribs broken, now he had to fight too.
He couldn't count on help from the SAR bruisers, who seemed deliberately selected from only the biggest stormtroopers.
If they'd known where the blast had carried the cockpit, they'd already be here.
Meaning the emergency beacon was destroyed or critically damaged when the cockpit crashed.
So another shortcoming of the domestic military-industrial complex had surfaced.
But that was for later.
Right now, the main thing was to fight off whoever was cutting into the cockpit.
Or die fighting.
Capture was out of the question.
He had to understand that the enemy was more interested in the machine itself; they'd focus on extracting data from the crew largely because they had no other source of information.
Unfortunately for him, Alex was one of the two men behind the Scimitar's development.
And under torture — no point deluding himself with heroic endurance — he could reveal a lot.
The cutter's flame had already traced the canopy's perimeter, cutting the locks.
The blaster rifle was warm in his hands.
The transparisteel slid away somewhere, and a head poked inside.
Notable detail: the stranger wore an oxygen mask.
The kind the locals used to survive on Kessel.
A scarlet bolt of blaster plasma punched a hole through the stranger's skull before he could react to the flight engineer he'd spotted.
The body jerked and hung limp, its chin caught on the edge of the hatch.
Alex's position was, of course, terrible — the enemy only needed to toss in a flashbang or a thermal detonator to finish him off.
But judging by the dry clicks of blaster fire against the hull, these weren't professionals.
That gave some hope.
"Surrender!" the flight engineer heard one of the enemies' guttural shout. "We already have your pilot!"
That was highly doubtful.
Tomax would never surrender alive.
And if he was unconscious or wounded, taking that stupid step would be even more unreasonable.
More likely, it was just a provocation.
The two canopies in the cockpit were clearly visible.
If they'd opened the canopy and captured Tomax, why were they stalling with him?
No, these guys were hiding something.
Which meant...
"Fine, I'm coming out!" Alex shouted, reaching into his pouch. "I'll need help — I'm wounded and can't get down on my own. Come around to the right, I'm about to crawl out!"
"Come on out then!" he heard a pleased voice. "Hey, you three, get over to the cockpit, you're going to catch the second one."
Oh, you'll catch something, alright.
No doubt about that.
His thumb pressed the activation key.
The flight engineer counted off a few seconds in his head, then with a motion of his hand, freed the thermal detonator.
The explosive predictably drew surprised shouts at first.
Which died down as soon as the detonator went off.
Part of the ship's skin near the detonation epicenter buckled inward and tore, creating a convenient firing port that Alex wasted no time using.
He saw several enemies and immediately opened fire on them.
Only while killing the third fighter did he realize the enemy's appearance troubled him somewhat.
The attackers' gear was a clashing mess: partly borrowed from prison guard uniforms, partly from guardsmen's equipment.
Apparently, this motley force was directly the fighters defending Kessel.
That assumption was confirmed by the oxygen masks on their faces.
The one commanding this militant rabble seemed to be a being who would now haunt Alex's nightmares.
A veritable scarecrow, with an impossibly elongated neck and incredibly long arms, had climbed onto the captain's bridge.
His attire — as patchwork as the others' was complemented by a double-barreled blaster, the carry of which was illegal on most planets in the system.
Though, what rules were there here?
This was Kessel!
The scarecrow was shouting something to its subordinates, who were scattering from the kill zone and hiding behind massive boulders.
Logical — no one in any firefight wants to take a plasma bolt directly to the body.
"Sol-S-Solo!" the scarecrow hissed. Though the oxygen mask hid the lower part of its face, Alex could swear the scarecrow was grinning ear to ear. "Now you'll regret surviving that landing."
Alex had counted a good dozen enemies before realizing that while firing from one side of the cockpit, he had zero control over the other three directions.
Behind him, as if confirming his thoughts, came a rustle and the sound of metal scraping against metal.
The pilot tore himself from the firing port like he'd been scalded, pressing back against the control console.
Through his helmet's light filters, he could see a brute who'd already discarded the body of the fighter he'd killed and was aiming a shotgun at the flight engineer, smiling contemptuously.
"Well, bantha poodoo!" the thought flashed through Alex's mind as he realized he'd never, under any circumstances, be fast enough to shoot this new uninvited guest.
* * *
Using his jump pack, TNX-0333 covered the distance from his cover to the mangled Scimitar-01 cockpit in a fraction of a second.
The landing several kilometers from the emergency beacon's last signal had gone smoothly; the approach to the target was undetected.
The calculated crash site was almost correct — they'd missed by about five kilometers.
And now they'd made up the gap with their jump packs.
Each of the Fourth Special Squad's four fighters saw the enemy troops surrounding the cockpit.
Saw fire coming from the capsule's rear.
Conclusion: the pilot was either dead or already captured.
And the absence of a black flight suit in the immediate vicinity of the crash site proved absolutely nothing.
The SAR had done good work.
But in the wrong place.
The pilot could have already been taken toward the correctional facility, especially since several aero-speeders had been spotted on approach.
Now the assault commandos had to fix their SAR colleagues' mistakes.
Nothing extraordinary.
The jet stream carried the commando toward the brute aiming his disintegrator into the cockpit.
So someone was in there.
Most likely the flight engineer had survived, and the Kesselites hadn't immediately realized the cockpit was a two-seater.
There was still a chance.
Using a blaster at this range — enemies practically on top of each other — was stupid.
An obsidian knife appeared in his right hand.
TNX-0333 slashed through the tendons of the hand gripping the disintegrator, and the weapon fell from the weakened grip.
The next blade strike hit the enemy's armpit.
The twenty-centimeter blade sank fully into flesh, missing the ribs.
The giant staggered, spitting blood into his mask.
TNX-0333 grabbed the enemy by his clothes and yanked hard, toppling him to the ground.
Behind him, the firefight was already in full swing — his squad brothers were engaging a group of enemies advancing from that direction.
"Friendly," he briefly identified himself to the flight engineer aiming a blaster rifle at him, and in Dominion uniform, the flamethrower operator dropped his feet onto the seat cushion.
It made an improvised trench from which he fired a short-barreled carbine, keeping enemies on the opposite side from his entry point pinned in cover.
With two precise shots, he took down a pair of Weequays who'd decided to leave their positions.
Another enemy — some awkward long-armed creature — TNX-0333 dropped with shots to the legs.
This one seemed to be the commander, so he'd provide the necessary answers.
From the breach in the cockpit's lower side, shooting also began — the flight engineer had joined the firefight.
The assault commando's blaster rifle fired muffled bolts with almost no visible glow, which drained the cartridge quickly.
TNX-0333 ducked down when the indicator told him the tibanna needed replacing.
The gas canister clicked off, and the empty container dropped somewhere under the flight engineer's seat.
A new gas cartridge took its place.
A quick readiness check, waiting for the right moment — and the flamethrower operator was ready to fire again.
When he popped back out of the hatch, shooting a sturdy Devaronian in partial assault armor on the fly, TNX-0333 already noted that three of his commando brothers had suppressed the squad behind him and were fighting, using the capsule for cover.
The enemy had gone on the defensive, and rooting them out could take a while.
Contacting the Fourth Special Squad commander, TNX-0333 reported his assessment of the situation and, receiving permission to act, switched to his jump pack.
The blaster rifle settled onto its magnetic mount as the clone soared upward on his jump pack.
Vaulting over the cover line of the five remaining combat-capable enemies, TNX-0333 activated his favorite flamethrower.
Streams of hellfire, capable of melting durasteel, caught a pair of Rodians, igniting them like dry grass.
Their oxygen tanks, heating up, detonated instantly, scattering the Kesselite soldiers' remains across the area.
But TNX-0333 was no longer paying attention to that.
He spat fire at two more enemies, switching his focus to the last one and leaving the still-living Weequays to be cremated by the incendiary mixture.
The jump pack obediently carried him toward the last enemy, who tried to shoot the clone but got a stream of fire in the face instead, instantly burning away skin, muscle, and boiling the brain.
TNX-0333 descended to Kessel's surface to the accompaniment of the skull bursting from rising pressure.
He strode quickly to the long-armed being trying to drag itself toward an aero-speeder.
Stepping on its foot, TNX-0333 broke the enemy's bones, then shoved the flamethrower's muzzle in its face, melting the enemy's face mask with a tiny jet of flame.
"Start talking," he advised the creature, which was screaming in pain as the melted mask plastic dripped onto its face.
But who cared about that right now?
* * *
"Sir, the mission is partially complete," Sergeant TNX-0297's hologram glowed before me.
"Partially?" I clarified.
"The Scimitar-01 capsule has been located, the local militants' attack repelled," the Fourth Special Squad commander continued his report. "Flight Engineer Alex was fending off attacks until our arrival. He has been rescued and given immediate follow-up medical attention. Delivered to an evacuation transport for return aboard the Chimaera. The pilot was not found at the crash site."
That was bad.
"Reasons?"
"The local militant squad commander, identified as Skinksneks, has been captured. Field interrogation revealed that Major Bren resisted the capture team but was taken prisoner. He was delivered to the prison complex shortly before our arrival at the escape capsule. The enemy realized the cockpit was a two-seater five minutes before we arrived."
"Did you learn anything else?"
"We are facing mixed squads of Black Sun militants and local armed forces. The former have heavy weapons; the latter, only small arms. Enemy fighter strength reaches six thousand beings."
"Is that the permanent garrison or including the arrived Black Sun fighters?" I inquired.
Much depended on the answer.
"The regular armed forces number five hundred thirteen beings," TNX-0297 replied. "The rest are Black Sun mercenaries who arrived to defend Kessel."
So that was it.
Tyber Zann had gotten information about the impending deal with Horn almost immediately, to have decided to send nearly three infantry regiments here.
Which meant the enemy was prepared for a ground battle.
"Did you learn anything else?"
"Yes, sir. Black Sun is interested in obtaining data on our Scimitars. The order to land the fast bomber on Kessel, and when that failed, to capture the pilot — came directly from Black Sun."
So now there was objective confirmation of Zann's interest in our new technology.
Tyber was assessing the threat level posed by the Dominion and its latest technical solutions.
The fact remained: the Zann Consortium was studying us, probing for weaknesses and strengths.
And they'd captured Tomax specifically for that purpose.
Even if not the Scimitar's technical details, he could provide data on our fleet and military forces.
That could not be allowed.
Under no circumstances.
"Continue the search and recovery of Major Bren," I ordered. "He must not fall into enemy hands. Under no circumstances is the major to leave this system. And neither are any who manage to extract even a drop of information from him."
"It will be done, Grand Admiral," the Fourth Special Assault Commando Squad commander assured me before his hologram vanished.
* * *
Kessel was the baptism of fire for the Rancor Battalion of the Dominion's 501st Guard Legion.
For the first time since its creation, this unit was transitioning to active combat operations on enemy territory.
Lieutenant Tychus Roach commanded a headquarters AT-AT walker, whose hull bore the emblem of a snarling rancor with a backpack.
"Battle formations are deployed, Grand Admiral," he heard General Kaine's report. "Fast AT-RTs have already moved to the first line of contact with the enemy. AT-ATs are providing long-range support as we advance."
"Reconnaissance reports enemy heavy weapons," Thrawn said.
"We are noting artillery activity near the atmosphere generators," the general reported. "Assault commando squads have already been dispatched to the located artillery positions for their preemptive destruction before the main forces arrive."
"Captain Tschel will provide you with any possible assistance from the fleet," the Supreme Commander stated.
"Understood, sir."
Tychus didn't see — he was seated with his back to the commander's station — but rather felt the comm session end.
Through the walker "head's" transparisteel, he watched the fast AT-RTs, several hundred meters ahead of the massive AT-ATs, already breaking through to enemy positions, flooding everything with fire from their proton grenade launchers and laser cannons.
But it didn't always help, only against light fortifications.
Tychus could clearly see the permanent firing positions, from which laser cannons and missile launchers were firing, which had already destroyed several light vehicles.
"Chimaera," he heard the voice of the star destroyer's mercenary commander. "General Kaine speaking. Transmitting target data on enemy fortifications. Requesting a strike."
"General, information received. Standing by — ten seconds," Captain Tszhel's voice immediately responded behind him.
The AT-AT continued its phlegmatic advance toward the enemy fortifications, its blaster-absorbing armor drinking in streams of laser fire while demonstrating its enviable immunity to the defenders' rockets and grenades.
Tychus could already see the nimble Dominion machines slipping past the line of contact, racing toward the buildings and warehouses, hosing down the panicked enemy soldiers with fire.
But the enemy fortifications still stood.
For an instant, all-powerful green light blinded him, its intensity dropping immediately once the viewport polarization system kicked in.
Hell itself seemed to have erupted at the enemy's positions in all its terrible beauty.
Low-profile bunkers ceased to exist in the blink of an eye, hurling chunks of duracrete and construction materials in every direction, mixed with pieces of bodies.
Stone and concrete, rebar and insulation — all of it ceased to exist the moment the Chimaera's gunners fired on the designated target.
Where a seemingly impregnable low-profile pillbox had stood moments ago, there was now a crater whose walls had traded the orange-brown hue of Kessel's surface for the sooty blackness of slag and dozens of ignition points.
Tychus spotted movement among the ruins of one pillbox — a proton cannon revealed itself with a predatory traverse of its barrel.
Yes, orbital strikes were good, but unfortunately, they couldn't eliminate all the enemy's weapons at once.
Oh, they could, of course — but turning Kessel into one enormous slab of slag would be necessary for that.
"Artillery in sector two," the walker commander designated the target. "Acquire and destroy."
The AT-AT's cannons spat a fiery salvo.
Crimson energy from the laser cannons struck the target in an instant, scattering chunks of the self-propelled gun across the area.
The enemy's laser cannons choked out fire, revealing their previously camouflaged presence.
And karma caught up with them in an instant — AT-ATs knew no mercy.
The line of contact had become a wall of fire where something was constantly and ceaselessly exploding and burning.
The choking smoke from destroyed vehicles filled the planetoid's thin atmosphere.
At times it grew so thick that it concealed everything beyond it.
But soon the wind of war — whether from atmosphere generators or the thrusters of strafing gunships flashing by on the flanks as they followed up orbital strikes by raining hundreds of rockets down on the enemy's heads, expanding the kill zone — swept it away.
Barracks huts, administrative buildings, and structures were burning.
Judging by the fact that some stormtrooper units and armored vehicles were turning their backs to the atmosphere generators without fear of fire, those generators were already under direct Dominion control.
Assault on the Kessel Correctional Facility by the 501st Dominion Guard Legion.
The Kessel correctional facility was burning, and the spreading fire could surely be tracked even from orbit.
Data exchange on targets between the Chimaera and the ground force commander was happening in real time.
And plasma bolts from the sky were raining down on enemy positions in real time as well.
Precisely calculated, devastatingly destructive, they turned enemy fortifications into clouds of dust and piles of rubble.
Lieutenant Roach glanced at the driver-mechanic sitting next to him in the command walker.
His exact copy, a clone, cheerfully and unhurriedly working the controls of the enormous machine.
The clone performed exactly the same job Roach had done not so long ago when he was in that seat.
And he did it the same way Tychus himself would have done it if he were still a driver-mechanic.
The sight of himself from the outside.
Calmly piloting one of the most fearsome and effective ground combat machines ever built in the Empire.
Briskly repositioning all four of the AT-AT's support limbs while Tychus himself oversaw the destruction of enemy forces.
Thanks to minor upgrades carried out on his and General Kaine's orders by the legion's mechanics, hundreds of miniature external surveillance systems had been placed around the perimeter of the command AT-AT's legs and hull. Together with the sensors, they provided a complete picture of the space surrounding the walker.
No blind spots or anything of the sort.
A lesson that should have been learned long ago.
The cutting edges on the support limbs that would prevent anyone from hobbling the walker and toppling it were certainly a good thing.
But one shouldn't forget that a young rebel boy during the Battle of Hoth a few years back had used a cable with a grapple, a winch, a lightsaber, and a bundle of thermal detonators to take down another AT-AT.
Since then, the Empire had done virtually nothing to fix the vulnerability of machines that were practically the hallmark of its ground forces.
But the Dominion...
As regrettable as it sounded, until recently Tychus's new homeland hadn't possessed the capability to produce this (and other) types of ground equipment.
But even after acquiring production capacity, the issue of modernizing the existing legacy of the Empire or the Confederacy of Independent Systems remained just as acute as obtaining new, trained ground force units.
As Tychus had heard, the navy wasn't building new ships despite having the shipyards and all necessary resources.
But they were modernizing the existing ones, improving their combat effectiveness — sometimes even by orders of magnitude.
So the lieutenant had submitted a written report to General Kaine with a proposal for the upgrade.
General Veers's clone had taken the report and schematics without a word, never mentioning it when they met...
But a day later, Tychus saw the mechanics from the repair-and-recovery unit already at work.
General Kaine had just creatively reworked his subordinate's idea, expanding and deepening it.
Being able to see everything happening around one machine on the battlefield was undoubtedly excellent for the commander and crew of a single walker.
But having similar technology on all walkers would allow for creating a complete picture of the battle and presenting the operation commander with a clear understanding of what was happening here and now.
So the command AT-AT was playing the role of a "guinea womp rat" today, testing the innovations in a live ground engagement.
And if the system performed well — that is, if it didn't harm the crew or the entire operation — it would most likely be installed on all legion vehicles in the future.
Even the "little ones."
Speaking of which — judging by the smoking, abandoned hulls three hundred meters to the right, the enemy had heavy weapons.
That needed to be corrected.
"Turn right three-zero," Tychus ordered.
The clone obediently adjusted the command AT-AT's movement.
The enemy guns were hiding behind a small hill of boulders — all that remained of another fortified position.
Lieutenant Roach acquired the target, and the walker's cannons spat crimson flame.
It would also be nice if Dominion industry bothered to refine tibanna more thoroughly for ground force needs.
The fleet got the purest gas, and the army got second-grade stuff.
Insulting, you know.
The fiery barrage the AT-AT unleashed on the rocks and enemy artillery turned the area into a pool of molten slag with charred, deformed chunks jutting out of it.
"Rocket strike, dead ahead six-zero," General Kaine warned.
And indeed — the Dominion soldiers and combat droids advancing on the enemy's second line of defense froze, and those who could, took cover.
The gray hulls of gunships flashed over the soldiers' heads, and the enemy's second — and final — line of defense turned into a wall of fire where survival was impossible.
Pillars of fire and shockwaves crushed and mangled everything around them. The enemy's few fighters and gliders appeared through the flames.
They'd decided to seize the opportunity and strike at the Dominion's heavy walkers, hoping their counterattack would succeed.
It wouldn't.
Raid by Kessel's defending fighters and gliders on the command AT-AT.
The command AT-AT shuddered as laser cannon bursts from the nearest X‑wing raked across its support limbs.
The external surveillance system registered the launch of cable‑mounted grapnels already winding around the supports.
The enemy was clearly trying to replicate the successful rebel tactic.
But the AT-AT calmly took a step, its vertical blades slicing through the metal cables they'd tried to bind it with.
Another step. Another.
Like mynocks sensing open power conduits, the Chimaera's TIE Interceptors dropped out of the thin, sky‑tinted atmosphere onto the enemy aircraft.
Uncompromising, ruthless destruction of a desperate foe whose machines, after the first volleys, planted themselves into Kessel's orange surface and froze there, belching smoke and periodically exploding from internal detonations.
The wall of fire on the second line died down, leaving behind only scorched ground and piles of disfigured bodies.
AT‑RTs, stormtroopers, and droids surged forward, moving directly to storm the buildings and structures.
What was left of them, and where the enemy was still trying to put up a reckless defense.
"Bring the walker up to the remains of the mine administration center," General Kaine ordered. "Time to start extracting the prisoners from Kessel's depths. We've already delayed this too long."