By the time the hyperspace jump suddenly ceased, Han had no doubt that General Iblis had clearly suspected an ambush would be organized along the destroyers' route.
It couldn't be a coincidence that he'd insisted the main forces travel behind the advance group.
Lando, standing on the bridge next to Han, let out an expressive whistle when he saw what reality had prepared for them.
Three Interdictor-class Star Destroyers, supported by an equal number of Venator-class Star Destroyers.
Han didn't doubt for a second that each of those starships had one or two escort vessels.
Standard tactics — he'd seen plenty of that in the past.
His stomach dropped.
Hutt-spawned Venators...
Those were definitely a problem, not just because of their large fighter complements, but because they were clearly carriers for ion cannons, which had caused no end of bloodshed last year.
And, like icing on the cake — an Executor-class Star Super Destroyer with an escort of corvettes.
But right now, in the interstellar void, General Solo's entire fleet was present in nearly full strength.
The MC90 — the Galactic Traveler — accompanied by eight MC80 Liberty-class Star Cruisers, supported by eight MC40a light cruisers, six Nebulon-B escort frigates, three Quasar Fire-class escort carriers that had recently rolled off the SoroSuub Corporation's slips and been handed over to the Alliance not long ago.
They'd arrived with Admiral Eclipse's squadron on Lantilles a few days ago.
Along with other starships transferred by the Sullustans to reinforce the allied fleet.
And all this — not to mention the squadrons flying outside their mother ships — had materialized in space ten minutes after the dozen Imperial-class Star Destroyers that had been sent from Lantilles as the first echelon.
You had to feel sorry for the duty watches aboard those ships right now — all the destroyers were drifting dead in space, moving by inertia.
At least only a couple of shifts were on each captured vessel — skeleton ferry crews.
Combined with the fact that all the destroyers had undergone crew-reduction refits, the casualty count was proportionally lower.
And transport shuttles, spewing from the main hangar of the Super Star Destroyer, were already swarming around them.
A little further off, a battle was raging between both sides' fighters — so the destroyers had managed to launch their starfighters.
The enemy intended to board the ships — that's why they hadn't destroyed them, only disabled them with ion cannons.
"Battle stations," Han ordered. "Priority target — the Venators. If we can't destroy them, at least silence their ion cannons. Contact the surviving pilots — have them fall back to our ships for rotation. We'll need every available fighter to win."
The best thing to do now was to take those flying ion cannons out of commission.
Then — deal with the Interdictors.
They were only forty to fifty units away from the Alliance flotilla and made tempting targets.
But the Venators were more dangerous.
In fact, every single one of Han's ships was already firing on them.
Then — throw everything at the Interdictors and hit them hard, while the Executor was still near its prizes.
Given its size and engine power, it would take some time for it to reach relatively clear space and open fire on Han's ships.
"Send the Star Cruisers in groups of four toward the Interdictors," Han ordered. "All MC40a's and Nebulons — attack the Venators designated as targets two and three. Provide support to our fighters as needed. The Quasar Fires stay with us — we're attacking Venator target one."
"Understood, sir!" barked the commander of the Galactic Traveler, relaying the information to the other starship commanders.
"Looks like the Venators have already fired," Lando commented on the spot.
"It's fine, thanks a lot," Solo replied. "Life is beautiful and wonderful."
The Calrissian seemed taken aback and toned it down.
"Alright, I didn't mean any harm," he grumbled. "But I don't like this situation."
"Me neither," Solo replied.
"I might say something blasphemous, but it seems like Bel Iblis used those destroyers as bait," Calrissian said cautiously, glancing at his friend. "He knew perfectly well we'd be attacked, and he sent you in the second wave."
"Long-range communications are jammed."
Well, there was no doubt now about who they were fighting.
A Super Star Destroyer.
Venators with ion cannons.
Interdictors blocking long-range communications.
Grand Admiral Thrawn's favorite tactic, worn thin and tiresome over the last year.
Lure into a trap.
Cut off from reinforcements.
Disable ships with ion cannons and capture them, adding them to his fleet.
As if the Dominion didn't already have enough of the hundreds of Star Destroyers he'd taken from the New Republic three months ago!
Or had Pellaeon somehow gotten wind of their plans regarding the Tion Cluster sectors and the impending strike on Kessel?
In that case, yes, it made sense — capture the ships as quickly as possible, not giving them a chance to turn the tables.
And from Bel Iblis's point of view, it made sense too.
Lure the Dominion forces into capturing the Star Destroyers and give them the long-awaited thrashing.
Han waved a hand dismissively at the holographic star chart in the center of the bridge, around which officers — mostly Mon Calamari — stood with grim faces.
They were so absorbed in the spectacle that they had no attention for anything else.
"There's a war on."
"Tell that to Wedge," Calrissian said resentfully. "And those guys on the destroyers." He gestured toward the dozen immobilized ships, over which the Guardian hovered like a mother bird over her chicks. "They don't have much time to hold out. Not to mention over there." Calrissian pointed toward the main viewport. "That Hutt-spawned Executor! Armed to the teeth and ready for battle! You think the guys on board would be too disappointed if they had to blow a few things up?"
"No, I think everyone's having a tough time right now."
"Witty," Lando grimaced. "I don't suppose I need to remind you that we're probably dealing with the same Executor that smashed Admiral Ackbar's fleet out in the galactic boonies? And back then, they say, it wasn't in the best shape. But now..." Calrissian pointed at the gleaming Super Star Destroyer, "it's been repaired and clearly eager to let its gunners have some fun. And the targets are our ships."
"W-well... first of all, calm down. Back then, Ackbar was up against Thrawn — and that in itself is a weapon of mass destruction. He's not fighting in this galaxy anymore. So it's not as bad as it might seem at first glance. We still have some time left." Han pointed at the Venators turning to meet the squadrons of E-wings and K-wings. "Looks like those guys didn't expect a second wave of our ships to be following the destroyers."
Han fell silent.
"And secondly?"
"No idea," Solo sighed. "There's a thought rattling around, seems like a good one, but I can't quite pin it down."
"Mhm," Calrissian grunted. "I don't like any of this."
His stomach was churning like Ewoks were having a cap-wearing festival in there, but Solo carefully maintained a carefree expression.
You couldn't let your subordinates see that the enemy had really put them in a tight spot.
After all, Han had gone up against the Iron Fist and the Razor's Kiss with much smaller forces.
And won.
Not just on points.
"Nobody likes it, buddy," Han admitted. "If I'd known the Executor was going to show up against us, I'd have brought a bigger club. You and Chewie can really help if you take the Millennium Falcon and help deal with their fighters — I've got a feeling there'll be a lot of them."
"I was planning on resting today," Calrissian said glumly, but he nevertheless headed toward the exit from the bridge.
Han gave a faint smile.
But he did it so none of the sentients around him could see his expression or hear his words.
"We'll rest in the afterlife," he promised.
* * *
"Targets identified," Captain Pellaeon reported. "It's General Solo's Galactic Traveler. Escorted by eight MC80 Liberty-class Star Cruisers, eight light MC40a's, six Nebulon-B escort frigates, three Quasar Fire-class escort carriers. Approximately ten squadrons of X-wings in free flight. Their targets have been localized — they're engaging all the Dragons."
"They're learning, Captain," Grand Admiral Thrawn noted in a matter-of-fact tone, not even changing his posture. "I trust our monitoring equipment is recording their ships' capabilities?"
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon confirmed. "Spy droids and all available scanners are set to gather data on the enemy's new starship. And all the others as well."
"Good," Thrawn said. "We will need all of this data to develop the most optimal and effective countermeasures against the enemy."
"Yes, sir."
"If you would be so kind, Captain," the Grand Admiral continued, "prepare our emergency launch engines for operation and return our interceptors to the Guardian's hangars. Three minutes for rotation and routine maintenance. Launch the Scimitars for free hunting. Destroy the light cruisers. Disable the escort frigates. And give the order for the assault gunboats to stand by. Relay the same orders to our destroyer commanders — but their deadline is two minutes. Calculate a micro-jump to the central group and enter the coordinates into the navigation computer. I want the Guardian to execute the Tartar attack pattern the moment it joins the central group."
Meaning — exiting hyperspace "above" the enemy ships' heads.
The Supreme Commander sat in his chair, watching the situation unfolding a hundred units in front of the Guardian's nose with genuine interest.
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon agreed. "The enemy ships' priority targets are the Venators."
"Because of their main batteries," Thrawn agreed. "But note the enemy maneuvers — they're moving their Star Cruisers toward the Interdictors."
"Intending to disable our gravity wells," the Guardian's commander instantly determined.
"And again — correct," Thrawn nodded, agreeing with the assessment. "This is a double-pronged attack aimed at eliminating our advantage. If it succeeds, we will lose the ability to disable their starships with the Dragons' ion cannons, and we will also be unable to hold them in place. The calculation is based on the time the Guardian needs to reach effective firing range. General Solo intends to deprive us of additional forces — the Dragons and the Interdictors — so he can throw everything he has at the Guardian. He intends to win this battle — he has numerical superiority. In doing so, he will not only destroy our task force but also rescue the twelve destroyers that have already been boarded by assault troops from the 501st Legion. Without a doubt, his bet is on small craft. As always, in fact."
"You believe the enemy fleet is commanded by General Solo?" Pellaeon clarified.
"Yes," Thrawn replied. "Consider it yourself. A double-pronged attack is a gamble, with rather poor odds of success. It's a reckless risk that only Corellians take. Indeed, this entire operation was also devised by a Corellian — but a different one — our old acquaintance, General Bel Iblis. The strategic concept is interesting and entirely reckless, indicating the enemy's experience with this type of attack. The tactical execution, however, is cruder. Splitting his forces is foolhardy. And it perfectly mirrors Solo's attack pattern on Warlord Zsinj's Iron Fist two years ago. The modifications are minimal."
"But back then, he split his fleet searching for Zsinj's forces," Pellaeon reminded him.
"Yes," Thrawn agreed. "The actual attack was carried out by one-third of the fleet. And it was successful only because Zsinj was burdened with defending the unfinished Razor's Kiss. Solo didn't understand that. He decided to repeat his success. By throwing his forces into a two-pronged attack, Solo leaves no reserves among his large capital ships. His goal is to inflict maximum damage right now. By the way, Captain, give the order. Our destroyer commanders and their escorting corvettes are to prepare for a micro-jump in two minutes. All except the central group. The Guardian is to repeat the same order, but with a one-minute delay after our ships are in position. All pilots who don't make it in time are to hold course for the central group."
Thrawn meant that pair — the Dragon and the Interdictor — positioned off the Guardian's bow.
Toward which General Solo's flagship, supported by escort frigates, was heading.
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon relayed the received orders. "Should I recall our boarding parties from the destroyers?"
The Alliance soldiers would inevitably try to storm the Guardian — and an additional military contingent would not be amiss in the coming confrontation.
"Absolutely not, Captain," Grand Admiral Thrawn declared in a tone as if he were discussing repair work at some remote outpost. "We will not abandon our prizes. Furthermore — we will acquire new ones. Do you understand how?"
Pellaeon ran through the Supreme Commander's orders in his head, one after another.
Then he looked at the tactical display.
He calculated what would happen when the orders were carried out in sequence.
An involuntary, crooked grin — one his original had favored in the past — spread across the Guardian's commander's face.
"Yes, sir," he replied. "I understand."
"In that case," the Grand Admiral looked at him with his burning gaze, "take command. This will be simple."
"Yes, sir."
Captain Pellaeon moved to executing the orders.
The Grand Admiral's plan, as always, was simple but elegant.
The Guardian had no intention of playing coy in this battle, and soon its guns would open fire on the enemy.
The Alliance soldiers had better prepare for the fact that they were about to be ruthlessly crushed.
* * *
Major Kreb banked his fighter and managed to shred an X-wing's cockpit plating, which immediately filled with smoke.
Then, catching the enemy in a turn, he riddled his starfighter with precise fire, turning it into a flash of flame.
It took him a couple of moments to sort out what the scanners were showing.
The sensors confirmed that out of the nine X-wings that had set out to kill him, four were already gone.
Kreb had claimed three for himself; his ever-present wingman had bagged the fourth.
As the techs sometimes joked: "All kills by the Avenger squadron go on Major Kreb's tally."
Though at this point, the joke was irrelevant — completing the mission was all that mattered.
The fighters the enemy had managed to launch before the Star Destroyers were disabled were by no means small in number.
But they were inferior in quality.
The fact that they'd managed to launch almost their entire air wing — twenty-four squadrons out of the forty-eight stationed on a dozen destroyers — indicated that the enemy had only been able to field their duty squadrons.
Under standard Imperial procedure, half a fighter wing remained on combat readiness during an interstellar transit.
The Alliance had built its military regulations on decades-proven doctrines.
Including pilot training.
Knocking down one after another, Kreb saw that the enemy ships were performing maneuvers of moderate skill level, for the most part predictably, rather clumsily and slowly.
Element by element.
Which spoke to their lack of practice.
And this, in turn, pointed to the fact that the "Krebs" were fighting not professional pilots, but fresh replacements.
For the most part.
And this allowed him to fairly quickly cut off the enemy's attempts to counterattack and break up their assaults.
Therefore, at this point, it could be said that the Alliance pilots, cut off from the Star Destroyers and thus unable to hinder the landing of troops on the powerless ships, would soon be wiped out.
He was certain of this, right up until new enemy ships appeared on the battlefield.
And within a minute of that appearance, the ten remaining Alliance squadrons from the first wave began to retreat from the site of their destruction, under the protection of the newcomers.
Of which there were also plenty.
Especially the air wing.
"OCC Guardian to Avenger-Leader," the dispatcher's voice sounded. "Interceptors are being withdrawn to the flagship. You are tasked with pursuing the enemy. Be ready for a microjump."
"Avenger-Leader to OCC Guardian. Understood."
The new orders were relayed to the remaining eleven pilots.
The TIE Avengers began the pursuit.
And they couldn't care less that they were left without additional cover and were outnumbered by the enemy nearly ten to one.
The mission was set — it had to be completed.
Kreb locked onto the movement — a pair of "wishbones" was trying to escape, noticeably lagging behind the main group.
Together with his wingman, the squadron leader gave chase to the retreating ships, firing precise shots from his cannons.
The major destroyed one bomber with absolutely no resistance from the enemy; the second — battered, with black scorch marks on its armor — was still determined to flee.
The wingman engaged.
The enemy dodged the first burst and instantly exploded, which surprised the young major quite a bit, as he was certain his wingman had missed.
But at the same time, he noticed that he himself had fired the shot — the enemy had entered his kill zone, and his reflexes had taken over.
Far ahead, one of the "Dragons," supported by the "Interdictor" the central group of the trap — was firing at the newly arrived Alliance forces pressing in on them.
The Dominion pilots couldn't utilize the advantage of the Venator's main caliber, because the ship had been caught off guard while already withdrawing from the position from which it and its two sister ships had blasted a dozen enemy Star Destroyers half an hour ago.
And after that, the enemy starships had continued moving in a straight line, obeying the laws of inertia in a vacuum, until they were caught one by one and slowed by the Guardian's tractor beams.
Which then boarded the ships with assault teams of droids and stormtroopers to secure the prizes.
To fire at the enemy with its ion cannon, the Venator from the central group needed to execute a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn, which it was attempting to do.
Simultaneously laying down a covering broadside against the new type of Mon Calamari starship bearing down on it.
The MC90.
A starship about which Dominion intelligence had no technical data whatsoever.
Currently, the Guardian's recording systems were occupied with documenting and analyzing this ship's capabilities.
And after some time, a methodological recommendation regarding countermeasures against the new Alliance warship would be "sent down" from headquarters to the regular fleet.
As had already been the case with the latest enemy K-wings, a large number of which the Dominion had captured some time ago.
The turbolaser cannons of the Venator and its supporting Interdictor inflicted no significant damage on the deflector shields of the Alliance star cruiser, which was undoubtedly serving as a flagship.
Nor did the defending TIE Interceptors and other small craft from the air wings of both Dominion destroyers.
Of the three groups, the central one was the only one that hadn't withdrawn its air wing into the hangars.
Meaning this was part of a larger plan.
A blinding flash of an explosion erupted at the bow of the Venator, splitting the ship in two.
The helmet's light filters did their job properly, and Kreb managed to spot the cause of the blast.
The enemy had destroyed the ship's ion cannon, triggering a detonation of the reactors connected to it.
In an instant, the Interdictor was left alone, squeezed on several sides by enemy ships.
And all Major Kreb and his subordinates could do at the moment was reduce the number of retreating enemy pilots.
Well, this task was within his capability.
Aiming, the major blew up a "Blade-wing" with a precise shot and launched two cumulative homing missiles at particularly nimble X-wings.
They wouldn't be prancing through interstellar space anymore.
* * *
\ \ \*
"The Dragon-Eleven reports that the integrity of its compartments and structural frame is critically compromised. The ship is uncontrollable; a series of internal explosions is registered. The ion cannon was hit by cumulative missiles from the Millennium Falcon and proton torpedoes from the Galactic Traveler, causing a surge of energy in the secondary reactors and an explosion."
Grand Admiral Thrawn, as if mesmerized, watched the tiny but growing bright speck; soon the sleek lines of the Mon Calamari flagship would be recognizable.
"A critical design flaw," the Supreme Commander replied, without emerging from the state of all-consuming calm that spread around him like a protective field. "As I said, the enemy has grown smarter. They've developed a counter-tactic for our ships from the 'Solar Burn' project. Inform the Dragon-Eleven's commander to focus on rescuing surviving crew members. The air wings and the escort of both ships need to concentrate on defending the Interdictor."
"Understood, sir," Pellaeon shook his head in dismay. "The Guardian's emergency engines are ready, sir. Other groups report their air wings have returned to their ships."
"Good," the Grand Admiral said in the same tone. "Have both groups already engaged the enemy?"
"In two minutes, the Alliance fighters will be in range of the destroyers' and their escort's artillery."
"They won't be," the Grand Admiral countered, stroking the ysalamiri. "Navigators are to calculate jump coordinates for both groups based on their current positions. I want them, in one and a half minutes, situated to the left and right relative to the enemy's lead group."
"Yes, sir. Targeting orders?"
"Interdictors — fire on General Solo's flagship," Thrawn ordered. "Venators — disable the Quasar Fires. These ships will still be useful to us in the future."
"It will be done, Grand Admiral."
"And one more thing, Captain," the Grand Admiral said. "Launch the Scimitars. Let them occupy General Solo's light cruisers for a while. Have them use a tactic well known to our enemies."
"'Hit-and-run'?" the commander of the Super Star Destroyer clarified, just in case.
"Exactly, Captain," Thrawn replied.
"The enemy will figure it out fairly quickly," the Guardian's commander warned.
* * *
"All the more humiliating for the Alliance troops will be this defeat," the Grand Admiral answered imperturbably.
\ \ \*
Lando's voice was triumphant:
"Han! We blew up their Hutt Venator! We finally took out their Hutt 'big gun'!"
A Wookiee roar echoed over the comm.
"Except they still have two left," Han grumbled, watching on the tactical monitor as the Mon Calamari-designed starships closed in on two other enemy groups.
Strangely enough, they weren't retreating.
But they were clearly preparing to.
They were laying down heavy covering fire on Han's light cruisers, ignoring the MC80.
The enemy left the bigger "brothers" alone, obviously deciding that the MC40a's shields would be weaker.
Weaker, sure.
But not by much.
"Hutt!" Calrissian's joy turned to anger. "Their corvettes knocked out our deflectors and fried our cannons!"
"Fall back to the Traveler!" Solo ordered.
"The last thing I need is Lando wrecking the Falcon," he thought darkly, continuing to survey the battlefield.
And the next moment, four light cruisers vanished from the tactical hologram in one of the groups.
Solo blinked, thinking it was a hallucination.
But when he opened his eyes, he realized things were much worse.
The Galactic Traveler's computer didn't register ANY of the MC40a light cruisers at all.
And a half-dozen Nebulon-Bs were broadcasting distress signals due to their engines being hit by proton torpedoes.
The main forces capable of dealing with the TIE-series ships hated by Alliance pilots — aside from their own air wing — had simply disappeared.
As if dissolved.
Just like the two Venators, two Interdictors, and four other ships — the Star Destroyers' escort corvettes.
"What the Hutt?!" Solo swore.
And the next moment, eight new contacts appeared near the Galactic Traveler.
"Microjump," it dawned on Han.
The MC90 shuddered.
Its entire hull.
The deck under his feet twisted, the lights on the bridge flickered and dimmed, several sheets of interior paneling tore loose from the ceiling and landed among the watch crew.
Han jerked to his feet.
"What happened?"
A stupid question, because he already knew the answer himself.
The commander of the Galactic Traveler was silent.
One of the decorative panels had pierced the Mon Calamari's head, sending him into an unconscious state.
With completely unpredictable chances of surviving and retaining his sanity.
"Ships from two of the enemy groups made a microjump and emerged on our port and starboard beams," the first officer reported. "We're under concentrated fire from three sides."
They'd been hit with Grand Admiral Thrawn's famous trick again.
He'd used the gravity well projectors of the Interdictor-class Star Destroyer positioned in the center to pull eight other ships out of hyperspace.
And they were close enough to hit the Galactic Traveler with direct fire from their artillery immediately upon exiting hyperspace.
Thus bypassing the eternal problem of spaceships crossing the light barrier.
Blinded sensors and excess radiation on the hull prevented weapons from being aimed using electronic sights and protected by the standard method — deflectors.
The enemy didn't need it.
They landed direct hits.
And the Galactic Traveler's gunners, who hadn't expected this, were only now snapping out of it, switching their attention from the Interdictor they'd been pounding to the new targets.
Not that the Interdictor had suffered that much damage, really.
Its shields were holding, and its two escort corvettes and twelve fully-manned TIE Interceptor squadrons (two from the Interdictor itself, plus another ten and one corvette as an "inheritance from the Venator") were holding off the air wing of the Galactic Traveler and its three escort carriers quite easily.
But soon, the retreating fighters from the first wave should be arriving, and then the Star Destroyer would be surrounded and destroyed.
And the other two groups were supposed to destroy the remaining ships!
After which, Han could offer the enemy on the Super Star Destroyer the choice to retreat — and escape.
Or to engage and lose for certain.
Except something told him that now the roles — his and the Dominion's — were being swapped.
And he himself was the prey.
Because the arriving Star Destroyers had brought not only four more corvettes, but also two dozen TIE Interceptor squadrons!
And that was not to mention the enormous amount of turbolaser and other artillery on board those starships!
"The enemy is turning the Venators toward us!"
"Correction! They're targeting the Quasar Fires!"
An idea formed and finalized in his head on how to turn the situation to his advantage.
"All star cruisers!" Han shouted. "Prepare to jump into hyperspace!"
"What course, sir?"
"Who cares!" Solo snapped. "Repeat their maneuver! Use the gravity well projectors as a braking mechanism!"
A short period of time was needed for such a maneuver.
The Interdictor-class Star Destroyers that had moved from their previous positions were no longer blocking a huge patch of space with their artificial gravity anomalies.
Meaning the eight star cruisers could perform the exact same maneuver, without worrying about the accuracy of their jump and without performing overly complex navigational calculations.
They just needed to hold out for a short time.
And not turn into a pile of scrap metal by the time reinforcements arrived.
* * *
Or until the Super Star Destroyer finally extracted itself from the encirclement of numerous prizes and came to help.
They just needed to hold out for about a minute, until the star cruisers turned their bows toward the developing tragedy.
\ \ \*
"OCC Guardian to Avenger-Leader," the dispatcher's voice came again through the squadron commander's helmet.
Major Kreb pressed the trigger, and green energy beams pierced the remains of the deflector field of the X-wing he was chasing.
And then they tore through its fusion main engines.
As a thank you for such precise work, the Alliance fighter was blown to pieces.
A tiny flash on the right marked the death of another enemy pilot.
His wingman was also handling the combat mission perfectly.
"Avenger-Leader to OCC Guardian. Go ahead."
"On your ready, jump to point seven-nine-four," the dispatcher ordered. "No deviation allowed. Secure the area. Free hunting is permitted within a ten-unit radius from the microjump completion point."
Kreb oriented himself instantly, understanding that the dispatcher was referring to the space in the upper echelon relative to the current position of the central group's Interdictor.
And it was completely empty there.
* * *
Dominion aviation was driving the pressing enemy back from the ship and the Star Destroyers that had arrived to assist it from other groups, keeping them in the middle perimeter of the Interdictor.
While not forgetting to thoroughly blast the enemy starships with fire from their onboard cannons.
"Received, OCC Guardian," Major Kreb reported, switching to the squadron channel. "Cease current orders. Prepare for microjump to designated coordinates..."
\ \ \*
"All Scimitars have engaged the light cruisers, disabled the escort frigates, and returned to their bases," Captain Pellaeon reported. "Rotation is in progress. Interceptors and gunships are ready for launch on your command."
"Excellent," I said, allowing a slight smile. "Activate emergency engines, Captain. Maximum acceleration."
"Aye, aye, sir!"
The Guardian shuddered throughout its entire hull at that very second.
The numerous engines, existing solely to transition to a higher orbit in their current position rather than circle a celestial body, began to slowly lift the Super Star Destroyer "up."
And the acceleration provided by the main engines effectively turned the sheer "vertical" ascent into an angled climb.
Thanks to this, the Guardian cleared the surrounding Star Destroyers in mere seconds, despite its size and its sublight speed, which was low compared to that of the Imperial-class.
"Guardian has reached the upper echelon, sir," came a report from the pit. "Space is clear."
"Jump calculated!"
"Coordinates entered into the nav computer!"
"The Avenger squadron has arrived at the designated jump point exactly on schedule!"
"All systems ready for transition."
And now we were objectively "higher" than the battle taking place between the Dominion and the Alliance dead ahead.
"Enemy star cruisers have maneuvered and are preparing for a hyperjump to the central group!"
"Inform the Interdictor — deactivate the gravity well projectors immediately as soon as the enemy enters hyperspace."
The distance between the central group and the current position of the enemy star cruisers was about one hundred and fifty units.
It would take some time to cover it.
Significantly shorter compared to what an Imperial-class Star Destroyer would need for a similar jump.
All because the Liberties were equipped with a more modern, first-class nav computer.
While the Imperial-class ships, like all starships of the Imperial Starfleet that we had "inherited," had a second-class one.
* * *
Deactivating the gravity well generators also took time.
About the same as pressing a single key on the enemy's control panel.
The contacts for the Mon Calamari star cruisers rushing to General Solo's aid disappeared from the tactical hologram.
"Excellent," I said, scratching the tiny nose of the ysalamiri. "Execute the jump, Captain. Time to surprise the enemy."
\ \ \*
The major blew another enemy fighter to pieces, dodged to the side to avoid hitting his Avenger's hull with a cloud of debris.
Then immediately yoked the stick in the opposite direction, breaking out of the line of fire of an E-wing that had emerged head-on.
The enemy was already beginning to bank to take out the Dominion pilot, but, apparently due to inexperience, had forgotten that Dominion pilots flew in pairs.
The wingman raked the enemy ship, stripping its energy shielding.
Just as Kreb flipped his Avenger, presented the frontal deflector to the enemy's shot, and, with dead-calm composure, drilled a burst from his cannons into it.
The E-wing flared up in the familiar fireball.
The major pulled his ship aside, then reformed to cover the stern of his wingman, who had moved ahead.
The nearest few K-wings, realizing they were left without cover, tried to scatter in unison and flee.
But their speed wasn't sufficient for such maneuvers.
Kreb caught one of the fleeing ships in his sights, while his wingman dealt with the second.
Laser cannons punched through the bomber's hull.
Return fire stripped Kreb of the remnants of his deflector, but the pilot had already launched a cumulative missile.
The homing projectile sped off after its target.
And scattered the clumsy ship into the smallest fragments.
Kreb leveled his ship, compensated for the energy drain, routing it to restore the deflector shields.
The entire battlefield opened up before him, where three enemy escort carriers, turned into dead hulks, were drifting sluggishly in all directions, unable to steer.
A lone MC90 was snarling desperately at five large ships.
Its deflectors were still managing the increased load, but the enemy had no intention of retreating.
Despite the fact that moments earlier, the gravity well generators had been turned off, and there was a path out of the system.
All they needed to do was turn their sterns to the enemy, pass the immobilized escort carriers, and accelerate for the jump.
Maybe the enemy hadn't realized what had happened yet.
To be honest, the major didn't quite understand the purpose of such a grand gesture either, allowing the enemy to escape.
But that was command's plan.
Not his level.
If it was necessary, then it was necessary.
His task was to shoot down the enemy in a specific area of space above the Interdictor's hull.
In order to...
* * *
Suddenly, the situation above the major changed.
Where there had just been starry sky, the cold metal of a warship appeared.
And that metal began to spew fire.
A lot of fire.
Because too much metal had arrived.
\ \ \*
"Han!" Calrissian's voice came through. "Chewie and I fixed the main engines and weapons. Ready to get back in the fight!"
"Wait!" Han growled into the comlink. "Better double-check everything! There'll be plenty of work for everyone here."
"But..."
Without listening to his friend, the Corellian cut the comlink.
"What the Hutt is going on?!"
This question seemed about to become rhetorical.
At least in the context of this battle.
Because several unpleasant and extremely annoying incidents had happened all at once.
Connecting them together...
Better not — you'd go crazy.
The Mon Calamari star cruisers had gone into a hyperjump.
They'd be here any minute.
That would help.
Because if it didn't, he'd have to abandon the damaged ships and leave this unwelcoming corner of space...
"Super Star Destroyer has vanished!" the first officer reported.
"What do you mean, 'vanished'?" Han frowned, stunned by what he'd heard. "Son, that's a nineteen-kilometer embodiment of tyranny that could make you wet yourself just by looking at it. There are millions of tons of metal in that thing! Something that big doesn't just disappear!"
He turned sideways to the main viewport to look at the frightened sensor operator.
"Sir, I'm telling the truth..."
"And I'm telling you," Han looked at the tactical screen mounted opposite him.
Where he could clearly see the large-scale hologram symbolizing the location of the enemy flagship.
"Son, open your eyes," Solo advised. "There it is! Better get me the star cruisers! Why the Hutt aren't they here yet? Stopped for a snack?"
And then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught something strange.
The black sky, sprinkled with star-speckles, had become uniform.
Which was rather odd in interstellar space.
Unless...
Solo slowly turned his head.
Stared straight ahead.
Swallowed.
Blinked.
Pinched his thigh.
* * *
Blinked again.
"You gotta be kidding me..." was all he managed to say, staring into the open hangar of the Super Star Destroyer.
Which had stopped just fifty units away.
And was disgorging hordes of interceptors and gunships.
Not to mention opening fire with all its cannons.
And launching anti-ship missiles.
\ \ \*
"Fire only aimed shots," I ordered, watching as the Guardian's turbolasers began to tear into the MC90's deflectors.
Like a pack of predators spotting a weakened victim.
The Super Star Destroyer, not known for its cruising speed, paraded past General Solo's flagship.
Both ships exchanged broadsides.
The Guardian's deflectors absorbed the shots and didn't even notice this minor inconvenience.
Several sections of the Galactic Traveler's hull were ripped away.
Some decks now had through-hull breaches.
Flames gushed from the gaps in the armor.
Massive sections of the armor had been exposed to vacuum, causing genuine fire fountains to erupt outward, licking at the remains of the Mon Calamari plating.
And they went out almost immediately when the oxygen ran out.
But the ship's guns and launchers did not cease their work.
The Galactic Traveler made a turn — slow and pointless, exposing its still-unhit flank to the Guardian's hurricane barrage.
My flagship's gunners corrected that oversight.
It must be said — the Mon Calamari had built their ship conscientiously.
The starship withstood the Guardian's full broadside, suffering only that its port side melted, turning into a black sintered mass, diluted by sparks from severed wiring, streams of air and debris venting outward.
Then a missile salvo engulfed the starship.
In the central section, a blinding flash erupted, and fire began to consume the dying ship.
A few Alliance fighters that were still hanging nearby scattered in different directions.
They were immediately joined by an "escort" of Dominion small combat craft.
"One more salvo," I ordered.
The Guardian's gunners did not keep us waiting.
A wave of white-green fire tore from the side of the Super Star Destroyer and rushed towards its tempting target.
Another bright flash, and the most modern product of the Dac planet's shipyards began to fall apart.
The bow section, the hangar bay, the engine compartment, hundreds of small pieces, each no smaller than a corvette, maybe even a cruiser.
"Now we're done," I said, rising from my seat and carefully picking up the ysalamiri by its belly. "Captain Pellaeon, finish off anyone who resists. If you need me, I'll be in my quarters."
"Aye, sir," the commander of my flagship Super Star Destroyer said imperturbably.