Ten years, four months, and sixteen days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, fourth month, and sixteenth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(One year and thirty-one days since the Arrival.)
To people unversed in the subtleties of the Dominion's intrigue to promote the Triumvirate as the main source of power in the newly formed state, it might seem that Vice Admiral Pellaeon was completely incompetent in conducting large-scale military operations.
Those beings, however, who were privy to the actual state of affairs, could say outright that Pellaeon was not a commander in the direct sense of the word, and did not develop strategy.
Like a considerable number of former Imperial officers, Pellaeon primarily relied on his knowledge of space combat, superiority over the enemy in ship-to-ship battle.
In ground battles, naval officers preferred to rely on the ground contingent commanders that the Empire's Star Destroyers carried.
The problem lay in something else entirely.
On Pellaeon's flagship, the battlecruiser Allegiance, of the same class, there was no ground contingent as a given.
Nor any air wing.
The troops stationed on the ship were a company of space marines supported by droids for counter-boarding actions.
Thus Pellaeon, as the commander of the overall operation, had no means to direct the ground battle.
The best he could come up with after the General's recall was to entrust the operation's command to the commanders of the units under his authority.
Captain Anilex, who primarily specialized in corsair raids and battles on ship decks.
Hedge Spar, who led special units of Mandalorian fighters, essentially ersatz commandos.
And Lieutenant Mortok, the highest-ranking commander among the surviving officers of the Baroness's loyalist forces.
Who, by nature and profession, differed little from Spar himself.
What happens when you put two "specialists" and one corsair in command of a combined arms operation?
Seventy-five thousand wounded and nearly a hundred thousand dead soldiers.
I'm not even counting the destroyed equipment.
The factories will build new ones.
Though, in the case of the equipment used in the battles against the rebels of the D'Astan sector, it would be more accurate to say the armored vehicles were pulled from storage.
Because what was used here was a legacy of the Clone Wars.
The Dominion initially couldn't afford to supply modern weapons and armor here, limiting itself to veiled supplies through intermediary firms of thirty-year-old weaponry modernized at our factories.
In exchange, we received from the Baroness's government weapons, money, and products necessary for supplying the regular army and the Defense Forces.
This method of supporting a loyal government suited everyone.
After all, in the end, we absorbed a rich and industrially developed sector within the Dominion's borders.
But soldiers… soldiers cannot be brought back.
Given that during the first stage of the counteroffensive, we had in principle about one million three hundred thousand dead alone and nearly a million wounded (with half of that number being crippled) in total losses among both mercenaries and the regular army and navy, the numbers from Serenno…
The numbers seem to directly indicate the incompetence of the commander of the planetary capture operation.
The example of Serenno clearly demonstrates a confirmation of this thesis — in the context of the ground battle, at least.
The losses suffered by "Kavil's Corsairs," the allied forces of Baroness D'Asta, and the Mandalorian units were large enough to justify asking a question.
"What's going on, Vice Admiral Pellaeon?"
We were in the admiral's salon aboard the Allegiance.
As the first of its kind, this ship, by the mere presence of luxurious quarters for housing the commander and his staff, was designated as the flagship of the formation, if not the squadron.
Pellaeon had "Spartanized" the setting to the maximum, making it resemble my own quarters aboard the Guardian and the Chimaera.
Gilad, running a hand over his face, looked up at me with a hollow gaze.
"Sir, I'll be honest and won't beat around the bush," he said. "The burden you've placed on me is too heavy for me. I lack the knowledge and your talent to win."
"Is that so?" I inquired. "Since you took command of the operation to force Serenno to peace, the fleet under your command has lost about ten light ships; a little over a thousand officers and enlisted men have been wounded. Killed — seventeen people."
"You're looking at the fleet losses," Pellaeon shook his bowed head. "But on the planet… On the planet, there are more corpses than I have personnel in my blockading fleet!"
"Yes, I'm familiar with the reports," the datapad with the figures landed on the edge of the table, and I leaned back against the sofa. "Do you consider yourself guilty for their deaths?"
"Isn't that the case?" Pellaeon frowned. "There are mountains of corpses there, sir. And all because I logically reasoned that, since I don't have great knowledge in ground warfare, at least these three…"
"The operational department's analysis shows that if you had directly commanded the ground force, the percentage of dead would have been several times higher," I said, not sparing the officer's feelings. "So this point can be seen as a rational grain in the circumstances."
"That doesn't make it any easier for the dead," Pellaeon gave a bitter smile.
"Of course," I agreed. "But allow me to ask, have you ever wondered about the reasons that prompted me to use our effectively private military units on sections of the front where the enemy's force concentration was highest? And, as a result, the highest mortality rate."
Pellaeon looked at me as if I had asked him something so simple that he suspected a trick.
Of course, there was one.
Still, what's so obvious to me is sometimes a revelation to other beings when voiced.
"We don't have enough assault units," Pellaeon voiced the most obvious, and therefore officially circulated, version. "We needed to strike the enemy in the shortest possible time to preempt any chance of regrouping. Not enough shock troopers. Used mercenaries. And the Baroness's soldiers."
"Yes, that's exactly what we're saying," I agreed. "However, you and I know perfectly well that the official version differs from the real one."
Pellaeon furrowed his brow, looking at me with a keen, piercing gaze.
He seemed to realize only now that this whole situation of bringing in private contractors for military operations had a double bottom.
Actually, with his straightforwardness and general pattern of thinking, not deviating from the average, the Vice Admiral had secured himself a place in the Triumvirate and the honorary position of the Dominion's public representative on the galactic stage.
As I've said many times, Pellaeon isn't bad at routine work.
But experience shows he needs too long to gain experience to become a commander that people and other beings would follow to their deaths without a second thought.
The third stage of Operation "Crimson Dawn," which concluded with the Battle of Sluis Van, planned and executed by Pellaeon, earned him the necessary authority so that ship, formation, and unit commanders would at least listen to him after my "death."
But nothing more.
The overwhelming majority of beings considered Pellaeon a mediocre commander who preferred retreating to winning victories at the cost of heavy casualties.
The attitude towards him was corresponding.
And if I had gone into the shadows, as planned, taking a contingent of ships and shock troopers to strike the Yevethans and subjugate their ships and repair stations, as well as mineral-rich worlds for myself, the Dominion would have been torn apart.
I had to emerge from the shadows almost immediately after I entered them, thanks to Luke Skywalker's stunt.
Only with this "feint" did we manage to hold out.
Pellaeon as the public face and supposed commander of the Armed Forces is a screen that shows those who know him that the Dominion is in weak and feeble hands.
Which, combined with the work of our agents in the Deep Core, should delay Palpatine's actions against the Dominion.
So far, we're managing to pull this off.
We're expanding, the borders are strengthening, and the enemies…
Are multiplying, of course.
But the strategy of destroying the satellite sectors loyal to the "Zann Consortium" is the only correct and logical justification for the prelude to the assault on the Corporate Sector.
Having an extensive network of internal regional hyperspace routes, total control over the means of production, and a huge — and most importantly, crewed — fleet, Tyber Zann, playing defensively, could seriously thin out our forces.
What will the enemy do, knowing they have a support fleet scattered across dozens of sectors, when we begin the assault on the Corporate Sector?
Exactly.
They demonstrated this to us in the Aparo sector.
The moment we cross the border of the Corporate Sector, leaving unconquered and unbroken fleets of "Zann Consortium" mercenaries, relying on the industry and resources of the sectors we plan to conquer, at our own territories, hordes of requisitioned ships will breach our minefields.
The Defense Forces are not competent or trained enough to repel them while the regular fleet is attacking and, as practice shows, gets bogged down in the Corporate Sector.
Yes, we have a large population.
Male.
Of conscription age.
As I mentioned — in the Ciutric Hegemony alone there are millions of people whom we can send to control panels and put blasters in their hands, kicking them to the front.
How effective a hastily trained civilian is, the losses of "Kavil's Corsairs" demonstrate.
Because out of the one million three hundred thousand dead, the losses of the Dominion's regular fleet and army amount to about ten percent.
And even that is due to our single largest loss — the destruction of Vice Admiral I-Gor's squadron.
"Sir," Pellaeon addressed me in a cautious tone, "then what is the true purpose of throwing the mercenaries from 'Kavil's Corsairs,' the Mandalorians, and the Baroness's forces onto the front line?"
"From the moment the official recruitment of mercenaries into 'Kavil's Corsairs' began, the organization's numbers have currently reached over three and a half million beings," I said. "Among them are retired officers, but predominantly, they are former deserters recruited from prisons, murderers, robbers, thieves, pirates, and so on, who were part of the gangs flourishing on Akzile. Behind each of these beings are dozens of crimes. They join 'Kavil's Corsairs' to have a legal right to kill. And get paid quite decently for it. However, a trend has also been discovered: a large number of young people with an overly romanticized view of service and the fate of a mercenary are flowing into this private organization. Currently, according to intelligence data, no less than five hundred thousand beings in 'Kavil's Corsairs' are representatives of various races aged sixteen to forty standard years. The economically active population, desiring big money through easy means. Despite Captain Anilex's efforts, their level of training decreases with each intake. Which results in high mortality. On my orders, the operations department is already preparing official statistics with data on losses among regular troops and mercenaries. Soon this information will be published on the 'Dominion HoloNet.'"
"Revealing losses is not the best move for maintaining morale," Pellaeon shook his head. "After all, as long as the population thinks our losses are small, they sympathize with us much more readily. I've read reports that in the last month alone, about one hundred and thirty thousand beings enlisted in the Defense Forces. The previous month — a little over twenty-seven thousand. The numbers are growing by orders of magnitude."
"You're overlooking, Vice Admiral, that the statistics will be presented comparatively, with an emphasis specifically on comparing our losses with those of the mercenaries," I explained. "Unobtrusively, but vividly, it will be conveyed to the population that the mortality rate among 'Kavil's Corsairs' is so high due to their low training. Ours — quite the opposite."
The creases on Gilad's face smoothed out.
"Now I understand," he said. "You want to stop the outflow of population from the professional army into the mercenaries."
"Yes," I confirmed the correctness of his assumption. "The instinct for self-preservation among beings is predominant. 'Kavil's Corsairs' do not publish data on their numbers or losses. We'll do it for them. This won't stop the influx of new recruits into the private company, but it will weaken it. The more astute recruits will realize that, of the two alternatives, it's safer to serve where the mortality rate is lower. This way, we'll get additional recruits for our service."
"Won't Anilex dig in his heels?" Pellaeon said doubtfully. "A large number of mercenaries allows him to take big contracts and earn a lot of money."
"That's exactly why they're on the front line now," I explained. "Yes, on one hand, it's inhumane — sending civilians with poor training into the 'hottest spots.' But it was their choice."
"And our oversight that we allowed Anilex to openly recruit mercenaries."
"I won't hide it, it was my miscalculation," I agreed. "We'll be fixing the situation drastically. Unfortunately, I couldn't fully predict the desire of beings to join a private military company, service in which brings nothing but increased income. But a fact is a fact."
"Given the contingent of mercenaries, consisting almost entirely of either youth or former criminals, I can't say that the decision to send them to the front line is humane," Pellaeon grumbled.
"That's why we intervened in the recruitment process," I explained. "Currently, the youth are only undergoing training. Contracts are signed exclusively for short terms, for the duration of training and combat integration. If we can pull them out and redirect them into the state Armed Forces, we'll gain additional personnel."
"And again, Anilex might suspect that his people are simply being disposed of on the front line."
And what else is to be done with hardened criminals?
Keep them in prisons at state expense?
Or perhaps send them to the front to wage war?
There's no room for morality in such matters.
Yes, sending your own citizens to certain death is quite vile and amoral from an ethical standpoint.
But I stopped being guided by ethics long ago in matters of waging war against an enemy intent on annihilating you.
While the criminals are fighting, we have the opportunity to ramp up clone production and fill the gaps in existing units.
"By the time he comes to realize this problem, the regular armed forces will already have a large number of soldiers and shock troopers under their command to prevent the mercenaries from taking any rash steps," I said, without mincing words, calling things by their name.
"While criminals die on battlefields, we increase our reserves," Pellaeon nodded understandingly. "With clones, we augment the Stormtrooper Corps. And if these young people had come to our recruitment stations instead of becoming mercenaries, we could have manned dozens of armored divisions, several squadrons of Star Destroyers, not to mention smaller ships... But I understand correctly that this isn't about immediate enlistment of sentients into the regular fleet?"
"Exactly so," I confirmed. "Those who visually understand the difference between us and mercenaries will have to be taught. As will the hundreds of thousands of cadets currently training in various Academies. We can continue to produce as many clones as needed. But there is a danger of repeating what plagued the Old Republic at the time of its fall. An army of clones dying across the galaxy. And complete indifference from the planetary populations. Alienation, stratification of the armed forces and civil society. When clones, not one's own children or relatives, stand to defend the Motherland's interests, concern for their fate is minimal. Consequently, there is also no desire among the Dominion's population to integrate into the structure of the Armed Forces. Patriotism cannot be cultivated among Dominion citizens by shielding them from the need to fulfill their military duty and obligations."
"In that case, wouldn't it be simpler to return to a conscription-based system for the Armed Forces?" inquired Pellaeon. "And besides... Isn't Kamino one of our objectives? And there are thousands upon thousands of cloning cylinders there. That was enough thirty years ago to protect the galaxy from the Separatists. The Dominion, even under the best-case scenario for suppressing the enemy, cannot boast the same number of member systems and sectors as the Republic or Empire had."
"We don't need quantitative territories, Vice Admiral," I reminded. "We work for quality. For self-sufficiency. For economic, technical, and scientific independence from other parts of the galaxy. We position ourselves as a state that has learned the historical lessons of the Old Republic and the Galactic Empire. At present, military conscription into regular forces is associated exclusively with the negativity left behind by the Galactic Empire. The Dominion will have to face major threats. Those we lure away from mercenaries will integrate into the regular forces or the Defense Forces — either way, it will benefit the Dominion. Strengthening the standing army increases our offensive power."
"And bolstering the Defense Forces with recruits strengthens defense," Pellaeon nodded in agreement. "Yes, a good idea, sir. But the Defense Forces are not a permanent service for citizens, but temporary. Not even for the duration of a long-term contract like in the regular forces of the Dominion Armed Forces. Can we count on them when the time comes?"
"The psyche of sentients is a very plastic and interesting factor," I explained an important factor. "Yes, service in the Defense Forces is short-lived by its nature. That's how it was originally conceived — to instill in future citizens the concepts of discipline, familiarize them with equipment, and teach tactics. But with it, we can train a large number of sentients in military affairs. Whether we will have access to Kamino and its cloning cylinders is not yet known. It is only a goal. However, in a moment of danger, when the very question of the Dominion's existence is the most acute on the agenda and we need trained reserves, I would prefer to turn to those who served in the Defense Forces rather than mercenaries. Those who fight for money, I won't deny, are needed and useful to the Dominion. In situations like the current one. But in conditions of a war for survival, the most correct and motivated soldier called up from the reserves will be one who fights for an idea, for his home, for his family. Such things, values, if they are real, cannot be bought for any money. Besides, I personally will be satisfied with any of the development paths that demobilized sentients from the Defense Forces choose. Will they move to the civilian sector? Good, we will get new staffed jobs, and consequently — tax revenues will increase. Will they decide to enlist in the regular army or navy? Well, that's even better. Unfortunately, not all available vacancies in the Armed Forces can be filled by clones. Balance and understanding are needed that clones may one day run out."
Gilad Pellaeon spent some time in silence, analyzing what he had been told.
Thinking and comparing the stated facts.
"However, I wouldn't bet that almost all the youth — the second echelon of 'Kavil's Corsairs' currently training — will run to us immediately upon learning of the heavy losses among those who walked the path of mercenary before them," he voiced his thoughts. "After all, mercenaries have existed for thousands of years. And no matter how many of them die, the number of mercenary gangs only increases every year. The galaxy is vast, and the number of those willing to earn big money through not the hardest work will never be low. Otherwise, we would never have recruited so many mercenaries, privateers, and corsairs last year to create 'Wolf Packs'."
Of course.
"It's hard to underestimate the value of mercenaries," I said. "But it's also hard to overestimate them. The quality of a private organization determines the need for such, so to speak, goods. So far, 'Kavil's Corsairs' interest us only from the standpoint of the sheer numbers of their personnel. My earlier miscalculation will be comprehensively corrected. One way or another, by employing them, we solve several problems at once. We empty our prisons, direct the efforts of criminal elements toward achieving state objectives, preserve the combat effectiveness of our ground forces, and have the opportunity to build up our reserves, staff existing and modernizing starships and combat vehicles, and sharpen our skills. By the end of the second phase, the operation to debunk the myth of the easy life of mercenaries will leave in their ranks only experienced and the most motivated sentients for private service. This combat core, stripped of green youth, is what interests me for the Dominion's future operations. The D'Astan sector, in essence, is a testing ground. A verification of the capabilities of a private military organization."
"And yet, I fear that measures to stem the outflow of recruits from private companies will be insufficient," Pellaeon shook his head.
"Furthermore, the losses of 'Kavil's Corsairs' are due to tactical miscalculations by their own commanders. Dominion officers only set general tasks. Thus, the deaths are on the hands of the mercenaries' own commanders. This will also be mentioned in the comparative analysis."
"In any case, sir, I would not want us to have an entire private army in the state," Pellaeon admitted. "Now they will gain combat experience, and in a year or two, imagine what one and a half to two million battle-hardened, armed mercenaries we ourselves have created could do? And what if they support someone like Baroness D'Asta in her insatiable desire to rule? There are no guarantees that Feena will eventually come to her senses and stop dreaming about autonomy for the D'Astan sector."
"That is precisely why, Vice Admiral," I said, "'Guardian', as well as the 501st Legion, have arrived to put an end to the assault on Serenno. The mercenaries unsuccessfully tried to capture the capital city and suffered huge losses. Well, now, while they lick their wounds, we will strike with regular units."
"And visually demonstrate the difference in effectiveness between mercenaries and our stormtroopers?" Pellaeon clarified.
"Exactly, Vice Admiral," I confirmed. "With the exception that we will also demonstrate the capabilities of our Jensaarai, who have combat experience in urban environments. The third assault on Carannia will be remembered by the local population for life."
"How can I help, sir?" Gilad perked up.
"You have the most important task, Vice Admiral," I said with all available seriousness, looking Pellaeon straight in the eye. "Make sure the baroness can personally witness how the 501st Legion deals with the last stronghold of the rebels."
My deputy grimaced slightly.
It was clear that conversing with this lady did not give him much pleasure.
Well, such is the key to all political marriages without exception.
Love is the last thing considered in them.
Pragmatism and benefit from such unions outweigh all possible emotional components.
"It will be done, sir."
Nevertheless, despite his average military leadership talent, Pellaeon received his post — chief of staff — not only because I needed someone who, one way or another...
* * *
"This is the stupidest thing I've ever done in my life."
These were Hedge Spar's first words when he and the other members of the sabotage group found themselves inside an unknown room.
One by one, the sentients climbed out of a huge artificial hatch that led directly into the depths of the Belsallian Sea, on the coast of which lay their coveted goal, the planet's capital, Carannia.
Spar, finally rid of the foul scuba mouthpiece, looked with a shudder at the gigantic sea creature, a mix of a huge whale and a fossil, whose snout was covered in bony growths.
The denizen of the deep seas lingered for a while near the place they had reached, then, flicking its giant tail — the size of a decent corvette — vanished into the impenetrable darkness beyond the transparisteel of the structure on which the saboteurs stood.
"What is this place?" the Mandalorian demanded an answer from the two Jedi who stood a couple of meters from the group of Mandalorians, mercenaries from 'Kavil's Corsairs,' and a pair of Devaronians — the baroness's elite fighters.
"I'd like to know too," Mortok spoke up, looking around. "We're clearly underwater. But I don't recall any underwater structures in the Belsallian Sea."
"Officially, they don't exist," spoke up the Quarren, the only one who didn't need an aqualung.
After all, he was a resident of an oceanic world.
"And unofficially, does the Dominion know something they haven't told us?" inquired Anilex.
"And you're so gullible you think someone will tell you everything?" smirked the Miraluka, looking at the fighters.
Well, 'looking'...
He turned his face with cloth-covered eyes.
"I get the impression that Dersen is asking for a good beating," the Mandalorian cracked his knuckles as if casually. "Or am I wrong?"
"Are you always this brave after someone shows you how to solve a combat problem?" the Miraluka inquired.
"Stop it," the Quarren said in a commanding tone. "We are all brothers in arms here."
"Yeah, sure," snorted the humanoid with the blindfold. "I wouldn't call those who aren't of my race brothers."
"The worldview of the Miraluka doesn't interest anyone right now," the Quarren warned. "And neither does any other. Is everyone safe?"
Hedge mentally counted the fighters.
"Yes," Anilex answered for him. "Should I repeat my question, or do you still remember it?"
"This place is called Otoh Duku," said Qid Proko. "An underwater refuge that belonged to the Dooku family."
"Looks more like Gungan underwater cities," Mortok said doubtfully, looking around and illuminating the room with a subtle flashlight.
"The architecture is done in that style," the Quarren agreed. "Still, we must not forget that Count Dooku was a member of one of the wealthiest Families on the planet, perhaps even in the sector. They could afford to buy technology from the other end of the galaxy to build themselves a secret refuge."
Otoh Duku.
"And isn't it suspicious how much you know about the former leader of the Separatists, huh?" asked Mortok, studying the Quarren.
"Before Dooku fell to the Dark Side of the Force and became the Emperor's servant, he was a Jedi," Proko looked at the baroness's army lieutenant with an expressionless gaze. "I suppose it's logical that he had friends and comrades in the Jedi Order, isn't it?"
"You were friends with Dooku?" marveled Anilex.
"He was a friend to many Jedi in the Order," the Quarren replied vaguely. "Long before he became our enemy."
"So I take it you've been here before?" asked Anilex.
"We need to find the deep-sea suits," the Quarren ordered, looking at the Miraluka. "And start the reactors."
The latter, after a moment's silence, gave a short nod and headed away from the artificial hole in the floor near which they were standing.
"Help him," Hedge Spar ordered, addressing his subordinates.
The Mandalorians, without further questions, followed the blind Jedi into the depths of the underwater structure.
"You too, get moving," the Devaronian ordered his men. "It's pitch black in here. And the guy already has a blindfold on."
"Miraluka have no eyesight," the Quarren corrected him. "The Force allows them to see everything around them."
"No eyes?" Mortok clicked his tongue expressively. "Then I'll be more lenient with that guy. Disability is no joke. Couldn't they afford to install eye implants?"
"Miraluka's visual organs atrophied hundreds of generations ago," Proko explained. "But nature abhors an imbalance. Having lost their eyes, the Miraluka gained the ability to see through the Force. Many of them became Jedi in their time. Mighty warriors."
"But I thought Jedi were about peace," muttered Anilex. "You know, guardians of the galaxy..."
"Jedi can be described in many ways," Proko didn't engage in the argument. "But they should not be underestimated. Particularly the Miraluka. Especially Eles Dersen. If not for him and his ability to contact and negotiate with animals, we would never have made it here without detection by the enemy. And you would have lost tens of thousands more of your subordinates in a futile assault doomed from the start."
The Mandalorian was inclined to believe the former Jedi's words without further verification.
Exactly because he was struck by the very possibility of a Miraluka controlling an oceanic monster that was terrifying just to approach.
But thanks to Eles Dersen, the sabotage group had managed to bypass the patrol Aqua droids of the rebel aristocrats cutting through the depths of the Belsallian Sea.
After all, even the soulless machines had enough sense to stay away from the behemoth on whose body, holding onto the bony growths, the Dominion soldiers had penetrated inside the guarded perimeter.
The technical scanners that had doomed the previous attack on the capital using submersible batyscaphes and other military underwater equipment proved useless this time.
"What now?" inquired Spar, noticing flickers of artificial light appearing inside the underwater object.
The Dooku family refuge was coming to life.
"Otoh Duku is located ten kilometers from the Demmurra Hollow," the Quarren explained in a tone as if everyone present should understand what he was talking about.
But they didn't.
"That doesn't make it any clearer," the Devaronian complained.
"I'm not strong on local geography," joked Anilex. "Especially what's below sea level."
"The Demmurra Hollow crosses a significant part of the Belsallian Sea," the Quarren opened up. "It's a very dangerous but also the shortest route to the coast. The otoh has skimmers or something similar, by which we can reach the coastal part of the city and infiltrate it. After that, it's just a matter of orienting ourselves and proceeding to blow up the deflector field generators."
Demmurra Hollow.
"Or projectors," Anilex offered after thinking. "The power plants and generators are certainly well guarded."
"Projectors even more so," Mortok objected.
"But if we disable the power source, it may not bring down any section of the shield or significantly increase the recharge time of one of the two deflectors," replied the commander of 'Kavil's Corsairs.' "However, if we destroy a projector, the enemy will have a much harder time."
"If we time it right, we could bring down a sector of the shield so the Dominion can land troops," the Devaronian got excited. "If that happens, with the shield sector down and reinforcements deployed, we could start a new assault from that point forward."
"There won't be too many reinforcements," the Quarren said. "Regardless of what exactly we destroy, Carannia has an extreme level of anti-space and anti-air defenses. Moreover, the J-1 proton cannons are projectile-powered and not connected to the general energy grid of the city, like most rapid-fire anti-aircraft auto-cannons and electronic warfare systems the enemy uses to cover the city from precision orbital bombardment. Under such conditions, a mass deployment would only lead to large and unjustified losses among the stormtroopers. And small landing forces would simply be overwhelmed by droids due to numerical superiority."
"As would be among those attacking by ground," Anilex mused, stroking his chin.
"Casualties would be enormous," the Mandalorian leader's face hardened. "Those proton cannons are annihilation pure and simple. No one in their right mind would launch an attack while they're intact."
"What if we split up?" Mortok suddenly suggested. "We have about thirty sentients at our disposal. One squad to destroy the projector, another to thin out the number of proton cannons in one direction or another."
"I don't like when we start changing the initial plan on the fly," Anilex grimaced. "We have a huge number of unknowns. Due to electronic warfare and anti-aircraft rapid-firers, data from spy droids and orbital images are inaccurate. It's quite possible our forces won't be enough even for one objective."
"As far as I remember, we don't have a set deadline for the sabotage," the Miraluka, who had returned to the group's leaders, reasonably objected.
"Right," Spar snorted. "Let's set up deep cover, blend in with the locals, have kids and families as cover. And after a couple of years, when we've learned everything, we'll inform Pellaeon."
"Why reduce what you don't understand to an absurd level?" Dersen turned his head toward him.
"Because I don't see any adequate ideas that could explain how we can assess the enemy's defenses without staying in the city for a long time," the Mandalorian spread his hands.
"There's a grain of logic in his words," the Devaronian admitted. "A deflector field projector is not a guard shack of one by two meters. It's a huge building that could hold an entire battalion of fighters. They sit inside just waiting for unfortunate enemy scouts to show up. That's us."
"The power plant could be almost the same," Anilex agreed. "We need good on-the-ground reconnaissance."
Snickers came from the former Jedi.
"It seems rationalism amuses the templars," the Mandalorian leader grimaced. "And that's why you were all exterminated."
"Not for that reason," Proko objected. "Eles and I," he pointed at the Miraluka, "are Jensaarai defenders. The Force is with us."
"And I'm a Mandalorian," Spar deemed it necessary to remind. "I have a blaster, vibroknives, and a couple of thermal detonators. How does that change the fact that we'll need reconnaissance?"
"The Force allows a sentient to sense life in everything surrounding him," the Quarren explained.
"They don't understand, Teacher," stated Dersen.
And the eyeless one was right.
"Maybe if you explain in normal language, not your Jedi dialect, it would be easier to understand you?" Mortok suggested.
"We would only need to be near the target building to sense how many sentients are inside," the Quarren said. "And also to detect their emotions, which will tell us whether they expect an ambush or attack or not. With great luck, we could even deceive their minds and make them not raise the alarm if the group is detected."
"Mind trick only works on weak minds," the Miraluka warned, for some reason turning his head toward the Mandalorian leader, as if to visually demonstrate who he was talking about.
A living example, so to speak.
Hedge felt an ancient racial desire stir within him, known as: 'Beat the Jedi's kidneys.'
An ancient Mandalorian pastime, by the way.
"You forget that the enemy has droids," said Captain Anilex. "From the time of the Clone Wars, like those Aqua droids we encountered, but still. Can Jedi sense machines?"
"No," Proko admitted. "But for that, we have Eles."
"Isn't that a lot of hope placed on one person, even a Force-sensitive one?" inquired Hedge.
"I am not human," Dersen replied calmly. "I am from the Miraluka people."
"I'd love to discuss the differences between branches of humanoid races right now," Mortok said dreamily.
"Eles's remark is fair," Proko explained softly. "The Miraluka possess abilities that are mostly inaccessible to most sentients. Even if they are Force-sensitive."
"That's where you should have started," Spar threw out. "You can't go into battle with someone whose level of skill you don't know."
Judging by the silent nods of agreement, the others — Anilex and Mortok — agreed with him.
The opinions of the common fighters were traditionally not asked.
"And how often do Mandalorians tell their comrades about their strengths and weaknesses?" the Miraluka inquired.
"When their lives depend on it in battle — always," Spar stated authoritatively, crossing his arms. "I want to know why you place so much hope on this kid."
Although the latter didn't exactly fit the description of the second Jedi, Hedge didn't deem it necessary to clarify.
To him, this Miraluka was too young, despite being clearly no younger than forty.
But for Mandalorians, biological age matters little when the conversation turns to combat.
Even a twenty-year-old youth can command if he can do it with the best outcome.
But first, he must prove his right to command the operation or play a key role in it.
Hedge wasn't about to rely on the words of those who weren't Mandalorians, and who hadn't even fought alongside Spar and his people yet, no matter what.
He might have trusted Mortok or Anilex, albeit with some reservation.
But the Jedi, whom he'd seen barely a second time in his life and didn't know what to expect from them in battle, he wouldn't take at their word.
"Force Sight," the Miraluka said.
"I prefer visors," Spar replied, as if in mockery, twirling his own helmet, which lacked that particular feature, in his hands.
"No explanation of what it is and why we should pin our hopes on this phenomenon?" Mortok inquired.
"Force Sight is a basic Force ability, a variation of Force Sense," Qid Proko 'explained.'
"Still not clear," Anilex voiced the general opinion.
"Force Sight, or as it's sometimes called Force Aim, enhances the user's visual and spatial perception, even in darkness or through walls," the Miraluka said. "Through this ability and its development, Jedi can predict threats and react to them accordingly in advance."
"We live in a world where the senses can fail or be deceived," the Quarren continued. "Jedi don't rely on sight or hearing, but they can enhance them when necessary."
"You said he had no eyes," Spar reminded.
"Miraluka see through the Force," Anilex muttered, recalling Proko's explanations. "So, what, Eler, you can see through walls?"
"The Miraluka have always relied on this ability to compensate for their physical blindness," the representative of that race explained. "We cannot perceive colors, but we can distinguish organic life forms from mechanical ones. We sense the world differently than those who know it through their senses. My people learned to perceive the surrounding world by the radiation in the Force that allows us to identify certain objects. But you're right. Most non-living objects, like this dome, or the structures inside it," Dersen gestured around the room they were in, "I see as if looking through them. That's why we're in this place right now. Because I saw that it was intact, abandoned, and suitable as a temporary base."
"We should have used that monster to get to the coast immediately," Spar grumbled.
"They only live at great depths and never approach depths of less than a kilometer," the Miraluka explained.
"Did that oversized whale tell you that?"
"I saw that and other information in its mind," Dersen said. "If we had used the whale to get closer, we would have let the super tactical droid know that something out of the ordinary was happening, something different from the usual course of events and behavior of deep-sea inhabitants."
"Which, in turn, would have led to the super tactics droid deciding to find out the cause of what was happening," Qid Proko joined the conversation. "I've encountered them before. They operate according to the laws of ruthless machine logic. If something deviates from the ordinary and familiar, they must investigate and be ready to attack. The more it participates in battles and accumulates data on the enemy, the more effective it becomes in future battles. That's why the Separatist leadership kept them and the tactical droids constantly activated, unlike the B-1s."
"Biotics are formatted to prevent them from developing an artificial personality," Mortok recalled the basic rule for dealing with droids. "But if it's been running for all thirty years..."
"Unlikely," Anilex hastened to assure him. "The Empire hunted these types of droids and kept strict records of destroyed machines, cross-referencing them with those produced by the Separatists."
"During the Clone Wars, millions died because of tactical droids and super tactical droids," Proko said. "And that's just the soldiers of the Grand Army of the Republic. From what I've read about the previous assaults on Carannia, this droid clearly hasn't developed to an ultra-hazardous level. It's using fairly standard tactics."
"Either 'new-build,' or..." Mortok fell silent. "Did the Empire find and destroy all the CIS tactical droids?"
"At least they claimed they did," Anilex said uncertainly. "Kavil's Corsairs hunted a couple of gangs that had captured the remains of such droids, destroyed at the dawn of the Clone Wars. So I think the Empire's claims were correct."
"I wouldn't count on it," Proko shook his head. "The main value of a tactical droid and a super tactical droid is its heuristic and combat programs. It's enough to save just the head, and then..."
"If the enemy used standard tactics, maybe we're facing a droid that was destroyed at the very beginning of the Clone Wars and bought on the black market?" Anilex suggested.
"Whether the aristocrats did it themselves or Zann Consortium fighters helped them is no longer important," Proko said. "The fact remains. To successfully complete our task, we need to exploit the weaknesses of its thinking."
"Turn logic against a droid that can't think any other way?" Hedge asked with skepticism in his voice.
"That's the only way we can execute the sabotage perfectly," Proko concluded in a serious voice.
"I like this mission less and less," Spar sighed.
He surveyed the twilight, which was dispelled by massive lamps hanging just under the transparisteel dome of the secret underwater refuge of House Dooku.
"Will the lighting give us away?" he asked.
Even though they were at the very bottom, they shouldn't rule out that since they had deep-sea suits, the rebel soldiers could also descend to that depth.
And the presence of lighting fixtures where there shouldn't be any would definitely attract completely unwanted attention.
"Before reactivating the lighting systems, I activated the transparisteel's polarization," Dersen explained. "It's just as dark outside as before. We won't be found. Only if we ourselves make such a mistake."
* * *
Too much time had passed since he had led an army of droids against organic opponents.
Exactly thirty years.
A more specific number had no practical significance for the mission he was currently executing.
He knew for a fact that he had been destroyed.
Damaged in battle in orbit of the planet Ord Mantell, fighting against a criminal organization.
He felt no pain, feelings, or emotions about it.
His activation period had been interrupted.
Upon reactivation, he learned that he was considered destroyed by an enemy in a battle that had also been ingloriously lost by the Confederacy of Independent Systems.
He was rebuilt for a single purpose.
To lead an army that was to repel attacks by the heirs of the Galactic Republic in a given region of the galaxy.
He fought on the side of the last Separatists.
And lost.
He was evacuated, after which he served for a long time as a military advisor to one of the Great Families of Serenno.
Such was the legacy of the Clone Wars.
War machines turned into personal assistants.
He successfully fulfilled his task, teaching the secrets of tactics and strategy to the rising generations of the Great House.
Several years ago, he noticed changes in the behavior of his young masters.
Atypical, given their personal growth.
Such a change did not fit the logic of organic being development.
This logical casuistry remained unresolved by him to this day.
But it was also not forgotten, despite the fact that he, like other relics of the Clone Wars, had been returned to service as a weapon of last resort.
The last line of defense was to be held by an army that was morally obsolete by the same thirty years.
How and in what way the aristocracy of the D'Astan sector managed to keep a huge army of droids intact and hide it in the capital did not interest him, because there were priority tasks.
He had to organize the defense and prevent the fall of Serenno to the attacks of a state calling itself Dominion.
A faction that arose from the scattered remnants of an Empire that itself had succeeded the Galactic Republic.
He studied his enemy.
Just as he studied from open sources all the information that was of interest to him from the point of view of development as a field commander.
The outcome of the confrontation was as obvious to him as the ineffectiveness of the previous command was understandable.
In the same way, he considered the assurances of those who had reactivated him to be impossible: that a prolonged defense would allow them to hold out until reinforcements arrived, which were about to arrive from the Corporate Sector.
If organic beings paid less attention to their hopes and emotions, they would have long understood that their faith in reinforcements had no basis.
Help would not come.
At least not before Carannia fell.
He had successfully repelled two assaults, and now awaited the third.
According to his calculations, the enemy would strike based on a diversion against defensive structures, followed by a landing from an Executor-class Super Star Destroyer.
This was inevitable.
This was logical.
This was expected.
Droids did not fear death.
They did not know what death was.
A droid understood what deactivation was.
It was a familiar term, understood and provided for by the platform's programming.
Droids did not know fear, because they were not programmed for emotions or their emulation.
Therefore, for this reason, a droid felt no self-pity at the possibility of the platform's destruction.
Complete destruction was a different matter.
He understood what that was and how it would affect his continued existence.
In a similar manner, he calculated the possibility of his own survival and continued functioning.
The percentage ratio under the current command did not suit him in any case.
Nor did it suit the others.
Droids did not know what death was.
But they also abhor the logic of the end of their own existence due to the ineffectiveness of command.
For this case, there were special protocols.
His sensors registered the moment of the doors unlocking, sealing off the command center from the rest of the headquarters level.
He stopped looking at the surface of the Belsallian Sea, from the coastal part of which the preparation for the enemy's third attack would begin.
He looked at the droids that had entered the room.
Two platforms identical to his own.
Effective warlords who had been preparing for thirty years to end the Clone Wars.
All the necessary attributes were present.
Super tactical droids leading an army of machines.
Weaponry.
Soldier droids.
Fortifications.
Artillery.
And an enemy.
The course of action had already been developed and assessed by a tripartite machine analysis.
Three units, each with different combat and command experience, had reached a unanimous opinion.
They had identical platforms, but each was a separate artificial personality.
A personality that was loyal to him.
Because it was he who had manipulated his masters to find and restore similar units.
"Are the aristocrats eliminated?" inquired the super tactical droid Tey-Zuka.
Super tactical droid Tey-Zuka.
"Representatives of the lesser Families have been liquidated," reported the super tactical droid Cracken.
Super tactical droid Cracken.
"The remnants of the most influential aristocrats are dead," confirmed the super tactical droid Kalani, who had completed his part of the plan. "The army has been brought to a state of heightened combat readiness."
Super tactical droid Kalani.
"Have the enemy's sabotage groups reached the coast?" asked Tey-Zuka.
"Affirmative."
"Does the analysis of enemy actions confirm the arrival of the enemy's high command?"
"With ninety-seven percent probability."
"Prepare to repel the attack," ordered the commanding super tactical droid Tey-Zuka. "Today we will prove our effectiveness and superiority over organics."