After the aging but extensively upgraded Corellian freighter YG-1300, piloted by Torin, emerged from hyperspace, the Imperial agent's gaze fixed upon…
— A junkyard, — he stated.
— Raxus Prime, — corrected Shira, seated in the co-pilot's chair.
— Isn't that what I said? — the Imperial agent smirked.
— You said… — The girl sighed, muttering something in her native tongue. — Fine, it's a junkyard. So what?
The young woman clearly had a spirited personality, but… She was like an amusing younger sister who pouts when left behind on an outing: there was always a chance she might cause some mischief in retaliation.
— That's for you to tell me, — Torin chuckled. — You said you know where your brother might be. I agreed to bring you here. What's next is up to you. But I must warn you—I don't have any oxygen respirators on board.
— The surface doesn't smell that bad, — she remarked. — At least, not everywhere.
— So, what's the plan? — Torin yawned. — Descend, drift, or maybe contact someone?
— No need, — the girl replied.
— No need for what? — the Imperial teased. Truly, she was the quintessential younger sister.
Shira opened her mouth to retort with something sharp and likely crude…
But she held her tongue.
— We descend, — she said. — I've only been here a couple of times, but I think I'll recognize the area where Reom has his base.
— Oh, so your brother has a base now, — Inek replied in the same tone, mentally noting that her brother was clearly no ordinary figure. If he had the audacity to establish a hideout amidst the perpetually warring scavenger gangs, he must command a few dozen thugs paid well enough to avoid becoming another trophy on some crazed Rodian scavenger's pike. Or, at the very least, a solid contingent of combat droids.
That would need to be considered upon landing.
— Not that I'm particularly curious, but care to explain why the Rodians have it out for you? — he asked her.
They had kept to their own tasks during the journey here, with little conversation. But now, why not?
The girl remained silent for a moment before speaking:
— He set me up. Badly, — Well, tell me something new. That story was as old as the universe itself.
— Alright, — Torin shrugged, as if it didn't interest him in the slightest. — I only asked to keep the conversation going. If you don't want to talk, that's your call.
The girl chose not to respond.
Fair enough, her prerogative.
Torin had enough methods to loosen a sentient's tongue to fill a bulk freighter and a few cargo haulers besides. And that was just counting those that didn't involve an interrogator droid or dismemberment.
Glancing at the girl, who had turned away to stare silently out the cockpit's side viewport, Inek smirked discreetly. In the reflection of the transparisteel, he saw Shira's lips pursed and her brow furrowed. Her posture betrayed intense focus, while her unfocused gaze suggested she was lost in memories.
Perfect.
A simple taunt had prompted her to delve into her recollections, and not the pleasant ones. She would start talking soon.
Truly, the "quintessential younger sister."
***
— Major, — I addressed my adjutant. — Address the chain-of-command issues for the starships of the Ciutric Hegemony.
— Yes, sir, — the former guardsman replied briskly. — Including the rest of Krennel's starships?
— Indeed, — I nodded, casting a glance at the slicer.
Zakarisz Ghent met my eyes and, with unabashed informality, flashed an "OK" gesture with his right hand.
I understand the transmission is ongoing, but still…
An overgrown child with no grasp of even basic subordination.
Very well, back to pressing matters.
— By what authority did the New Republic invade Imperial territory, Counselor Fey'lya? — I inquired, looking at Borsk Fey'lya.
The Bothan's hologram flickered. Along with it, traces of his former composure and disdain reappeared on his polished face.
— Prince-Admiral Krennel was developing a superweapon, a new variant of the Death Star, threatening the entire galaxy, — Judging by the movements of the enemy ships—while the Bothan pontificates, his fleet is repositioning. Surely, where do you think you're going?
At my signal, Pellaeon relayed the order to our starships equipped with gravity well generators. Invisible vectors of artificial gravity projection securely confined the enemy within a space two and a half times larger than what Prince-Admiral Krennel's two Immobilizer 418 interdictor cruisers could manage. Those cruisers, having ceased their attempts to flee, had evidently decided to submit to the arriving fleet's command. They were now integrating into the general system of barriers and blockades.
— Imperial commanders are entitled to develop whatever they wish on their territory, Counselor, — I stated. — The Galactic Empire is not subject to the laws of the New Republic. By invading the Ciutric Hegemony, you have definitively violated the fragile, informal truce that had existed between our states in the past.
— Krennel attacked our worlds! Bases! Military and transport ships!
— The Prince-Admiral, whom, by my information, you coldly eliminated, did no such thing, — I said.
— I expected nothing less from an Imperial, — Fey'lya scoffed.
— Just as I expected nothing less from a Bothan, — My retort sparked a furious glint in the eyes of the Botawui native. — All strikes against the New Republic's armed forces and facilities in recent times were conducted by me in retaliation for the New Republic's attacks on the Ubiqtorate base in the Morshdine sector and other Imperial military installations across the galaxy, as well as your state's incursion into territories controlled by the Galactic Empire.
Panic flashed in the Bothan's eyes, along with realization. Yet, he would play his game to the bitter end. An unteachable creature. And to think, he's considered a member of a sentient species.
— What lies are you trying to peddle, Grand Admiral? — the Counselor challenged. — The New Republic has not attacked the Empire…
— The liar here is you, Counselor, — I replied calmly. — Not only to me but to your own allies and subordinates. Over the past year, a private military organization under the command of former Corellian Senator Garm Bel Iblis, — the Bothan's fur rippled, — has attacked no fewer than twenty Imperial military facilities, including the aforementioned Ubiqtorate base, which was completely destroyed, I might add.
— I know nothing of any private military organizations, — the Bothan quickly disavowed.
— Yet Counselor Brei'lya's aide says otherwise, — I countered. — As does Commander Bel Iblis himself. For an extended period, you, Counselor Fey'lya, have been supplying Senator Bel Iblis's illegal armed formation with weapons and intelligence to covertly strike Imperial territories and facilities, all while concealing these actions from the New Republic's official government. A clever way to accrue political influence, Counselor, — I commended. — You discredit Provisional Government Head Mon Mothma in the eyes of the New Republic, portraying her as incompetent, while secretly conducting military operations behind her back. At the opportune moment, you could reveal Bel Iblis, a hero of your Rebel Alliance, as your ally, securing support for your bid to lead your state.
— Outrageous lies! — Fey'lya hissed.
— I believe your Republic's Senate or tribunal will address that, — I replied calmly. — Assuming, of course, you live to face it.
— I'll drag you there first, — Fey'lya snarled. — Do you truly believe you can defeat me with just a handful of ships? Block the space all you want—I have more starships, some of which I seized in battle.
— If you expect me to award you an Imperial medal for that, you're mistaken, — I said. — During the engagement in the Honoghr system, I informed General Solo that I would punish any violation of Imperial territorial integrity without mercy. You mocked him and continued arming the New Republic's Fourth Fleet for an invasion of the Ciutric Hegemony under pretexts you fabricated. Or perhaps it wasn't you who orchestrated various plans against the Empire, but the traitor Octavian Grant, who until recently resided on Ratalay as a high-ranking New Republic prisoner, divulging all his secrets and devising a preemptive strike strategy against the Ciutric Hegemony to seize its territories and industry?
— What nonsense are you spouting?! — the Bothan squealed. Yet his hunted expression spoke volumes.
— Those are the words of Octavian Grant himself, as well as Senator Bel Iblis and his subordinates, Princess Leia Organa-Solo, General Lando Calrissian, General Willard, and numerous New Republic personnel captured during engagements with my fleet in the Dufilvian sector, at Rugosa, during operations against your military bases, in the Honoghr system, at the Hast shipyards, and in many other campaigns under my command, — I stated. — I regret to inform you that General Kracken took his own life during an operation to intercept a Republic military vessel in the Milagro system.
— His blood is on your hands, — Fey'lya declared grandiosely.
— He, like tens of thousands of New Republic personnel, could still be alive if you, Counselor Fey'lya, had not sought to meddle where you have no business, — I said. — You orchestrated attacks on territories under my protection using Bel Iblis's mercenaries. I located his base in the Dufilvian sector and conducted a punitive operation, first targeting the sector itself, though your celebrated hero didn't even attempt to emerge from his hideout. You removed Admiral Ackbar from his post as commander-in-chief and continued escalating tensions, mobilizing New Republic forces to attack the Ciutric Hegemony. The strikes on your territory did not sober you. Even the assault on the Hast shipyards and the elimination of the starships you intended to use against us failed to convince you of my resolve. Your forces invaded the Honoghr system, loyal to the Empire, and were defeated. I issued a clear warning to General Solo, but you ignored it. You continued mobilizing your ships, arming them, and dispatching raiders to intercept Imperial cargo. If our states could once coexist in relative peace, with the Empire overlooking such threats from your side, that has now changed…
— This is utter… — Fey'lya began.
— Silence, Counselor, — I ordered. — You are addressing a superior officer in rank and position. If you had even a shred of honor or dignity, you would acknowledge the error of your actions and surrender your fleet instead of preparing for a battle you cannot win.
— We have more ships… — the Bothan stammered.
— And a catastrophic lack of tactical and strategic understanding, — I shook my head, as if admonishing him. — You sent General Wedge Antilles' detachment to the Liinade III system, depriving it of promised support and instead launching an attack on the Hegemony's capital, Ciutric IV, to overthrow its government and seize its territories.
— Prince-Admiral Krennel himself seized the Ciutric Hegemony, eliminating its government in the person of Sate Pestage, — Fey'lya stated. — I came to hold him accountable and deliver him to justice on Coruscant.
From his lips, it sounds even more absurd than in Delta Source reports.
— Perhaps you could enlighten me, Counselor Fey'lya, how the Imperial territory of the Ciutric Hegemony falls under the New Republic's jurisdiction? — I inquired. — Considering the differences in forms of governance, administrative-territorial divisions, and authority? Not to mention that the Hegemony is effectively independent of the New Republic?
— Prince-Admiral Krennel submitted an official request for the Hegemony to join the New Republic!
— A request that has not even been reviewed by your state's Senate, no decision has been made, and thus we return to the start of this conversation: the New Republic's fleet orchestrated an attack on a sovereign state to depose its government and subjugate pro-Imperial territories to its will. Correct me if I'm mistaken.
— Krennel was a dictator!
— As I recall, his title was "Prince-Admiral," — I said.
— You're playing with words, Grand Admiral, — the Bothan hissed warningly.
— You're playing with a proton torpedo ready to detonate at any moment, Counselor, — I clarified. — You exhibited aggression against a state that had done nothing against you. At least, not first. You fabricated pretexts to interfere in its internal affairs and politics. I have now seen firsthand the worth of your claims of democracy, freedom of choice, self-determination, and the so-called "freedoms" you seek to impose on other worlds. The New Republic has no credibility. Order your forces to lay down their arms, and I will guarantee their captivity with the possibility of exchange upon agreement with the regime currently governing Coruscant. Otherwise, your hostile actions and act of aggression against the Ciutric Hegemony will result in thousands of New Republic personnel deaths and further escalation of the conflict. I warn you once—your current overt aggression against Imperial territories will lead to a full-scale offensive against New Republic-controlled sectors and military installations. Every action provokes a reaction.
— Thrawn, are you out of your mind? — Borsk Fey'lya laughed. — You brought five ships to fight me, requisitioned two more. Even if Krennel's remnants join you, that's half, if not less, of the combat power of the fleet under my command. Interfere in my operation, and I'll crush you like a pest!
— I suggest you first concern yourself with the lives of your own subordinates, — And so, we approach the finale of the "Bothan Rhapsody." Though, it would be more accurate to call it a tragedy. A Bothan tragedy, given that the majority of personnel on the New Republic's Fourth Military Fleet's ships hail from Botawui. — Personnel should not die for politicians' ambitions. You likely expect reinforcements from the First Division of the Fourth Fleet—five Star Destroyers led by a Bellator-class dreadnought named Crimson Dawn, — The Bothan stopped smiling. — You must not have listened carefully—General Willard, who commanded that formation, is my prisoner, as are most of the crews who survived the clash with my fleet. General Antilles' detachment, after you effectively abandoned and deceived them, is halfway to the Third Fleet's base on Elom. You cannot win.
— You're not the one to lecture me on what personnel should or shouldn't do, — Fey'lya scoffed. — Politicians exist to govern and direct; soldiers exist to die for their interests.
— For the interests of their state, — I corrected, smiling as I glanced at the tactical monitor. — Your example has likely shown some of your subordinates that you would sacrifice them all here under fabricated pretexts and grandiose phrases about the greater good.
— What are you blathering about?! — Fey'lya's gaze darted. — What's happening?! Why are our Victories breaking formation?!
— I forgot to mention, Counselor Fey'lya, — I said. — Our conversation has been broadcast widely to your ships…
The Bothan's eyes widened.
— You're finished, Thrawn! — he whispered.
— …and continues to be transmitted via HoloNet relays across the known galaxy, — I continued. — You wanted fame, Fey'lya. You have it.
Now his lower jaw was visibly trembling, evident from the way his fur stood on end, as if struck by an electric charge.
— Sir, — Pellaeon's smirk was unmistakable. The maneuver the original Thrawn executed against warlord Nuso Esva during the Battle of Poln Minor had been replicated, but on a far grander scale. — The fleet is ready to commence the operation.
— Begin, — I said calmly, looking into the Bothan's eyes. — Regarding your last threat, Counselor. — At that moment, my fleet's starships, having executed a micro-jump from the Ciutric system's outskirts, emerged from hyperspace. Fourteen battle groups, each comprising six Katana fleet dreadnoughts led by Imperial-class Star Destroyers, materialized along the flanks of the Republic fleet. Six heavy cruisers appeared alongside the interdictor cruisers and barrier ships, accompanied by escort carriers. Behind Chimaera, Steel Aurora and Crusader loomed from the cosmic void. Mentioning the numerous Corellian escort corvettes was unnecessary. — Many would like to see my end, Counselor. But so far, all they manage is to choke on their own impotent rage.
The final display of force was the appearance behind Chimaera's stern of… a Torpedo Sphere. The very one New Republic soldiers feared, due to misinformation, as a miniature Death Star. They were fortunate this was a "standard sphere," tasked with protecting interdictors and barrier ships from large enemy vessels.
The Bothan let out a threatening, yet near-hysterical, squeal. It was pitiful.
— Fleet, attack! — I commanded Pellaeon, standing beside me. The commander of my flagship Star Destroyer, with great satisfaction and a barely concealed smile of anticipation for the decisive battle, relayed the order to the battle group flagships. — Destroy the enemy.
"How long I've waited for this, my little furry friend…"
And so began the slaughter of stubborn infants.
***
Grand Admiral Thrawn divided the fleet into sixteen battle groups.
Fourteen of them were standard—each comprising one Star Destroyer and six supporting heavy cruisers, emerging from hyperspace in equal numbers on the enemy's left and right flanks.
The fifteenth group consisted of Chimaera and two Victories positioned at the front of the attack. Given intelligence indicating a minefield, deployed by the idiotic Prince-Admiral, between the flagship and the Republicans, it was unsurprising that Thrawn remained off the front line for now. However, judging by his ships' maneuvers, they would soon exit the hyperspace suppression zone, execute a micro-jump, and appear on the enemy's right flank, ready to join the battle.
The sixteenth group was a containment force comprising a Torpedo Sphere, six escort dreadnoughts, two Quasar Fire-class escort carriers, three Interdictor-class Star Destroyers, and two Immobilizer 418 cruisers. The latter were joined by two similar ships previously serving Krennel.
A prudent choice, it must be said.
The disposition was excellent.
At the Republicans' front lay the minefield and their own damaged ships, behind which stood the sixteenth group's starships. To the left and right were the fourteen other operational-tactical formations, and behind them, Krennel's battered remnants and orbital defense stations. Thanks to Thrawn's efforts, battle groups one through fourteen occupied various echelons in the spatial plane, setting the stage for an "engaging firefight."
And it was being broadcast across the galaxy.
Captain Dorja, observing a Mon Calamari star cruiser accompanied by several corvettes advancing toward his group, merely smiled at the prospects.
What could be more entertaining than thrashing overconfident Republicans, live on the HoloNet?
He could hardly contain his laughter.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the movement of four groups—two from each flank—on the tactical monitor.
The operational group led by the flagship Bellicose advanced to form an impenetrable barrier between the orbital platforms and the enemy's formation. Naturally, no one in their right mind would approach the Golans with Thrawn's numerous starships surrounding them.
Yet there were also Krennel's ships—severely damaged, stripped of weapons and deflectors. Resolute, three Strike-class cruisers. Reckoning was limping toward safety, with the Point of No Return group already moving to cover it. The former Republic Liberator, captured during the Battle of Hast, aimed to confront several Acclamator-class assault cruisers intent on finishing the starship to mitigate the bitterness of their trap. Well, let's see what they have to say now.
The enemy's two surrendered Victories remained apart from the rabid Bothan's ships. The Twilight group, a counterpart to Point of No Return, also from Hast, was moving toward them. In the entire fleet, these two Imperial Is were the weakest Star Destroyers, only slightly stronger than Interdictors. Hardly surprising they were better suited for direct confrontation.
Judicator under Captain Brandei and Death's Head under Harbid advanced to seize three Mon Calamari starships that, hours ago, had been part of the Ciutric Hegemony's fleet.
Red Gauntlet and its six heavy cruisers, after exchanging salvos with enemy ships, tightened their encirclement, cutting off the Bothans from the Acclamators disabled by Krennel's ion cannons.
In total, five of the fourteen "flanking" groups ensured secured the trophies that now undeniably belonged to Grand Admiral Thrawn.
What, does anyone wish to contest this? No? Why not? We're always open to dialogue. And our turbolasers are always charged.
— Fire, — commanded Dorja.
And Relentless opened the engagement with its opponent.
***
Perhaps my expectations were inflated, but I anticipated more from a commander of Krennel's caliber.
A remotely controlled minefield was undoubtedly a sound strategy. Sufficient mine density could have left no identifiable fragments of Fey'lya's ships. The problem was that The Prince-Admiral made the minefield far too sparse. Now, with the mines activated and Mr. Ghent working to connect to them and deactivate the detonators to "pacify" them, fighters had revealed that the distance between the nearest mines was half a kilometer. At such a gap between targets, nearly any starship could pass through.
But Krennel opted for frugality, prioritizing ion cannons. Yes, on one hand, it was a correct decision—it allowed him to disable enemy ships in advance—though he somehow obtained information about my Battle of Hast. However, lacking suitable ships, he used installations mounted on moons.
He was fortunate that it worked at all. Moons, like other celestial bodies, rotate on their axes. Thus, the likelihood of the guns being in the enemy's firing arc was minimal.
Nevertheless, credit must be given to the Prince-Admiral—he significantly mauled Fey'lya's fleet. And that was far better than the fate that befell a similar effort in the book "Isard's Revenge."
The events of that novel unfold after the death of the original Grand Admiral Thrawn, naturally), and, remarkably, just a month before today's events. Upon learning that the New Republic planned to attack him, ostensibly to try him for Pestage's murder, Krennel boasted about years of fortifying his planets' defenses and took pride in his well-drilled fleet.
What followed, upon first reading and later, evoked nothing but "second-hand embarrassment."
Yes, Krennel agreed to Isard's plan to sacrifice Liinade III to stage an ambush against the Republic fleet. He was even prepared to lose the planet but still intended to defend it and give the New Republic a bloody thrashing.
Ultimately, Krennel's fleet lost Liinade III, the surface garrison, military equipment, and the Star Destroyer Direction, which the Republicans thoroughly trounced and received as a gift from capitulating Imperials. If memory serves, the Republicans also destroyed one or two dreadnoughts. Fine "preparation" by the Prince-Admiral. A stellar plan.
Then, after a series of events, the New Republic attacked Ciutric IV, which Krennel had anticipated and prepared for.
It ended with Reckoning and Krennel himself destroyed by the New Republic fleet, and the Hegemony's defense fleet—about ten starships, including at least a couple of Star Destroyers—capitulating. That would have been acceptable, except…
The Republic achieved this with just ten ships. Less than half were cruisers or destroyers. In other words…
I am at a loss for words.
No matter how many times I reread sci-fi novels, I could neither conceive nor find a rational explanation for why Krennel failed to use his vaunted "impenetrable" defenses.
Thus, this Prince-Admiral "worked wonders."
— Ready to breach the light-speed barrier, — reported Captain Pellaeon.
— Proceed, — I ordered.
Curiously, the "old school" of Imperial officers preferred "breaching the light-speed barrier" over "executing a hyperspace jump." The phrases are synonymous, but it feels as though some Imperials simply craved more pomp in their speech. Pseudo-intellectuals.
Such terms can grate on the ear.
The stars streaked into lines before Chimaera's bow…
…only to revert to their original forms seconds later.
The micro-jump was complete.
Chimaera, Steel Aurora, and Crusader were briefly blind and defenseless post-hyperspace, but within seconds, they raised deflector shields and deployed their craft—a single CR90 corvette and a pair of DP20s.
As capable as Crusader II was, it needed to be studied at the Tangrene shipyards.
I want to understand how the enemy achieved this qualitative leap.
And if I want it, I will have it.
Glancing at the tactical monitor and observing the unfolding schematic of the engagement, I instructed:
— Captain Pellaeon, locate Counselor Fey'lya's flagship amid this swarm of Republic starships.
— Sir, — the commander of Chimaera tensed. — You said it can match a super starship and rapidly regenerates shields…
— Precisely, Captain, — I said calmly. — Which is why our group includes two first-generation Victories, with a combined total of one hundred sixty cumulative missile launchers. Shields are formidable, but even a super starship would hesitate against such an arsenal.
— Understood, sir, — Pellaeon brightened. — My apologies for the hesitation.
— No matter, Captain, — I replied. — Simply find me that future scrapheap.
***
Ciutric IV marked the first truly large-scale operation of Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet.
Not in parts or detachments, but the entire combat-ready fleet.
— Adjust firing solution, — ordered Captain Von Schneider. — Medium turbolasers, target the enemy Corellian corvette. Turret artillery, engage the Mon Calamari cruiser. Batteries, select targets at discretion. Cruisers, support our fire on the primary target.
The MC80, chosen for its pristine hull—a clear sign it had emerged unscathed from the prior battle—was now about to have that oversight corrected by Nemesis.
TIE Interceptors from the Star Destroyer, backed by two fighter squadrons, were already locked in combat with the enemy's fighters, unfolding above and aside from the main fleet engagement, promising a swift resolution in our favor.
A bomber squadron from Chimaera, supported by a dozen Imperial fighters, approached escort on an attack vector, targeting the star cruiser's right wing. The enemy frantically aimed to counter these fighters, who, despite their size, could inflict significant damage. To distract them, Nemesis's dreadnoughts attacked from above, below, and the left flank in pairs. The destroyer itself, concentrating turbolaser fire in its forward sector, methodically breached the cruiser's forward plating. The star cruiser's shields glowed red, signaling their weakening.
The assault had to continue.
At that moment, the enemy Corellian corvette charged the destroyer, bathing its barrage in crimson fire. Minimal damage, but a significant distraction.
— Tractor beam operators, capture that irritating pest, — Schneider ordered.
Invisible tractor beams probed the void, aiming to seize the enemy ship and halt its maneuvers.
The opponent, almost caught by one operator at its aft, engaged emergency thrust, resulting in a severed engine cluster section. The hull spun, veering left. The crew likely struggled to control the ship while fending off attacks.
After ten seconds, the enemy stabilized its course, preparing to resume its escape from the now-dangerous destroyer, but to no avail.
Von Schneider watched with satisfaction as two tractor beam operators locked their beams on the Corellian ship. The New Republic vessel thrashed in invisible restraints, like a fish hauled ashore, but it was powerless. It attempted a deceptive maneuver—rushing the destroyer to disrupt the beam's lock. It succeeded for a mere second before three beams held it firm, dragging it below the ship's upper plane toward the starboard side.
The Republican ship fired wildly, perhaps believing it was being pulled toward the hangar for boarding…
— Lock target, — the Nemesis commander ordered as the captive aligned with the starboard projection. — Fire.
The starboard batteries, along with three triple medium-turbolaser turrets, unleashed a barrage.
The first volley struck true.
The second overwhelmed its shields, causing them to collapse.
The third swept away turrets and pierced the main reactor.
A fourth was unnecessary—the vessel erupted in an internal detonation.
— Well done, — Schneider praised the crew. — Now repeat with the Corellian gunship approaching from port.
Moments later, Nemesis' bomber squadron unleashed proton torpedoes on the Mon Calamari cruiser.
The enemy's crew faced despair, losing half their artillery and forward shields.
But Nemesis' turbolasers pressed on, tearing through hull plating like flimsi.
***
Inexorable burned.
Not figuratively.
The Star Destroyer under Captain Alexander Moroz's command incinerated an enemy ship.
It so happened.
No one had invited the New Republic frigate to approach Inexorable's stern, hoping to disrupt its relentless assault on a Republic cruiser.
The obvious intent to strip the destroyer's rear shields failed. The escorting heavy cruisers broke the frigate in half with concentrated fire. The aft section detonated, its reactors and engines overwhelmed.
But the forward section…
It drifted into the path of the destroyer's engines.
Worse still, Captain Moroz was in a foul mood, having tallied the TIE Interceptor losses Krennel had sent against the Fourth Fleet.
Of nearly two thousand craft and pilots, barely a third reached safety. The rest were lost to a numerically inferior foe.
Thus, plans to fully equip arm with interceptors and relegate fighters to secondary ships or storage were postponed indefinitely.
So, as the while starboard gunners hammered the Mon Calamari cruiser, Inexorable's three massive Destroyer-I engines seared the enemy frigate's armor, vaporizing metal, plastic, and crew remnants.
— The smoke from that hull suggests it's full of Bothans, — the senior officer commented.
— All the better, — Moroz said calmly. — A good Bothan is a cremated one. Status on the damaged dreadnought?
— Disabled, sir, — the officer replied somberly. — A Republic torpedo struck the bridgehead. It's being towed from the fight.
— Good. — In truth, it was anything but. — Inform our bomber pilots to repeat the tactic on the enemy cruiser. Make them suffer.
— Yes, sir! — The officer saluted and hurried to the comms station.
Meanwhile, Inexorable's turbolasers and ion cannons continued pounding the Mon Calamari cruiser, teaching it a simple truth.
Few were perceptive enough to grasp it.
Only the two Victories realized surrender was better than death in battle.
***
Morgoth Commander Astorias clung to a terminal as a shockwave threatened to knock him off his feet.
Stormhawk had taken a proton torpedo hit from an enemy bomber squadron.
— Breach on deck seven!
— Airlock failure!
— Fire!
— Bulkheads sealed! Oxygen supply to damaged sections cut off!
— Fire contained!
The lesson was learned.
— Gunners, — Astorias straightened his tunic, striding to the central viewport. — Defensive fire in sector seven is weak. Correct this.
— Sir, three defense points are down! The blast damaged wiring…
— That concerns me little, — Astorias replied. — Deploy repair teams to sector seven and restore the laser cannons.
The enemy had struck a vulnerability and would try again. They were already doing so—a squadron of wishbones was turning.
— Deploy an interceptor squadron to sector seven, — he ordered. — Third fighter squadron, disengage and prepare to strike the retreating enemy bombers.
— Understood, commander!
The enemy pilots assumed they were facing idiots who wouldn't anticipate such a simple move.
They were wrong.
As the wishbones closed to firing range, TIE Interceptors disrupted their formation. In the first clash, the enemy lost two craft, sparking a melee. The cumbersome New Republic ships tried to fend off and even attack, but lost four more.
The surviving six attempted to retreat, only to find themselves caught between two Imperial squadrons.
In a brief, fierce skirmish, losing one fighter, the Imperials claimed victory, annihilating the enemy squadron.
— Continue repairs in sector seven, — Commander ordered. — Corvette, cover the damaged flank. Third fighter squadron, stand by to support the corvette if needed.
The Mon Calamari star cruiser, tasked solely to Stormhawk and its ships, aimed to maneuver out of the Imperial destroyer's starboard fire.
It succeeded, exposing its stern. Twelve TIE Interceptors bombers capitalized, disabling an engine with a proton torpedo salvo, shredding the cruiser's aft and crippling its maneuverability.
Unfortunately, he had managed to turn around and was now showing Morgoth his stern. The twelve TIE bombers who attacked the star cruiser did not fail to take advantage of this, disabling one of the engines, which greatly pleased the enemy crew with the simple and uncomplicated detonation of a full salvo of proton torpedoes that turned the stern of the Mon Calamari star cruiser and deprived the latter of the slightest opportunity to maneuver and retreat.
—Bombers return to the hangar for rotation,— Morgoth ordered. — Maximum rate of fire for gunners.
***
When Abyssal Fury's beam cannons and turbolasers began their methodical devastation, sending bolt after bolt into the enemy cruiser on a countercourse, space itself seemed to shimmer with colored streaks.
Antonias couldn't fully grasp that his command ship could unleash such firepower, but it was undeniable.
As was the fact that six heavy dreadnought cruisers had encircled the Mon Calamari star cruiser, ensuring no side escaped turbolaser barrages.
Abyssal Fury kept its distance, closing on a converging path and adding more lethal fire to the maelstrom of destruction.
Ahead, lights flared like fireworks.
Antonias knew better.
— Both interceptor squadrons, advance, — The Republicans were launching another futile attack on his shielded vessel. The second attempt to divert Abyssal Fury and aid their cruiser would fail.
As twenty-four interceptors engaged the enemy's wing, Antonias spotted surviving craft ships. Scimitar systems tagged them, and he saw them as moving points of light.
— Defensive fire in the forward sector, — he ordered. — Second interceptor squadron, take countermeasures.
The enemy squadron, supported by light forces—an antiquated Marauder-class corvette from the Clone Wars—approached.
— Chief Gunner, — Antonias addressed the officer. — Target that relic. We can't have its engines damaging my ship.
The Marauder dodged a ranging shot, revealing its ventral New Republic emblem. The Imperials opened rapid fire.
The corvette's shields collapsed instantly, its armor obsolete. Turbolaser hits sparked fiery bursts, and ion bolts traced blue-white webs across the hull. The initial salvo left scorches and molten traces, but no critical damage.
The port turbolaser turrets fired, and the Marauder vanished in a fireball.
Antonias watched with satisfaction, then turned to the fading sparks of enemy fighters on the tactical screen.
The Marauder's lack of missile fire suggested it was an artillery variant.
— A pity, — Antonias lamented. — It could've been a fine antique shuttle.
A Mon Calamari salvo shifted his focus to directing ion cannon fire on the immobilized cruiser.
If the Marauder wasn't a trophy, why not the star cruiser?
***
Captain Abyss, from Void Wanderer's bridge, watched his ship's guns dismantle the arrogance of three Corellian corvettes attempting a collective assault on the Imperial Star Destroyer.
Green energy streams pounded their shields, held by tractor beams—one starboard, one above, one below. When their attack failed, they scattered, but Void Wanderer's crew was ready.
Abyss, if asked why he employed a tactic unlikely taught at the modern Academy, would cite its efficacy, observed from Nemesis. He tasked his six cruisers with eliminating the enemy MC80 cruiser, focusing instead on eradicating the bothersome pests.
This trio had destroyed six fighter squadrons across his seven ships, pinned his escort corvette in a crossfire, and battered it so badly that medics were evacuating survivors to the destroyer while technicians repaired it in the hangar.
Lose a ship in his first battle under Thrawn? Unacceptable.
His crew, including clones, was superbly trained. The clones, though unsettling with their identical faces, were disciplined and skilled. Their selection process likely considered more than just martial prowess.
But now, Abyss marveled at how three tractor beam operators—clones—captivated so deftly. Their original must have been a master.
Void Wanderer's gunners hammered barrages into the corvettes, collapsing their shields, poised to obliterate them.
A simple, pragmatic thought struck Abyss.
— Chief Gunnery Officer, — he addressed the officer. — Fire ion cannons on the corvettes. We'll board them with the crew… — A flash reflected in the transparisteel—an explosion behind him. He sighed heavily. — Very well, we have two captives left. Try not to destroy them.
His first commander, Captain Firmus Piett, once said exiting a battle intact with trophies was the hallmark of pragmatism.
Post-campaign, Abyss would see how Thrawn valued trophies. Rumors suggested favorably, but with a fleet of unmanned Star Destroyers, would he care for mere corvettes?
Yet regulations allowed commanders to claim prizes under certain conditions. Three escort ships instead of one—hardly a loss.
***
Watching the MC80b flee from Chimaera, Steel Aurora, and Crusader after clashing with Twilight and Point of No Return, I reflected on the psychological flaws of Imperial shipbuilders.
Archival studies to address gaps in my knowledge of Imperial ship specifications increasingly suggested Rebel victories weren't luck. The issue: Imperial Star Destroyers, even within the same class, carried inconsistent armaments.
Imperial-Is were repeatedly modified, sometimes by high command, sometimes by individual commanders. This wasn't about experimental weapons but standard variations in turbolaser and ion cannon counts, placement, and the presence of laser turrets. Not all ships received mandated upgrades.
Officially, most Imperial Is were upgraded to Imperial-IIs by Endor, with the former no longer built. In reality, it was chaos.
While core worlds modernized, many fleets didn't. Imperial-IIs excelled in ship-to-ship combat but lacked the anti-fighter and anti-medium ship capabilities of the best Imperial I modifications.
My fleet is a mix of all possible Imperial I variants.
Twilight and Point of No Return are the weakest, with inferior armament and protection. I assigned them support roles, yet they bear heavy damage from Fey'lya's fleet.
This highlights the need for armament standardization. Future encounters won't be lotteries where a rogue squadron can dismantle a cruiser.
In days, shipwright Reyes will unveil an upgraded Imperial I. This campaign has provided ample data.
Post-battle, I'll task commanders to compile reports on material improvements. Drawing from my past reality's lessons could enhance our capabilities.
— This chase is growing tiresome, — Captain Pellaeon said irritably, handing me a data pad with reports.
— Thank you, — I scanned it. Not spectacular, but better than Krennel's defeat or the Emperor's. In five hours, enemy resistance was nearly crushed. — Bothan psychology avoids direct conflict. They flee when defeated unless seeking a memorable death. Fey'lya has no chance of victory. His ships and crews will soon be fully subdued. Note—the fiercest resistance comes from crews with over half Bothans.
— Cowards, — Pellaeon sneered.
— Psychology, — I clarified. — Captivity is dishonor. For a Bothan, dishonor is public humiliation, stripping them of all they've gained.
— The "labor" was sarcasm? — Pellaeon hinted at Bothans' preference for delegation.
— Not irony, Captain, — I refuted. — Mocking an opponent means underestimating their threat. Vader's and the Emperor's failures teach us to learn from mistakes. That was sarcasm. All proceeds as planned.
Pellaeon's eye twitched. Nervous?
— So chasing this furry idiot… — He caught himself, coughing. — Counselor Fey'lya across the battlefield for an hour is part of the plan?
— Naturally, — I returned the pad. — Note for Twilight and Point of No Return: their systems must meet the latest Imperial I standards.
— I thought we were transitioning to an upgraded model, sir.
— Once tests identify and resolve issues, we'll initiate mass upgrades. For now, we address weaknesses conventionally, — and note Red Gauntlet's maneuvers. Their crew needs retraining.
— Understood, sir, — Pellaeon took the pad. — Sir, forgive me, but can we assign additional forces to capture Mon Adapyne? It's pulling away, running at full speed while we're at three-quarters.
— Unnecessary, — I explained. — Linear-class cruisers aren't built for races. Otherwise, we'd have super-speed super star destroyers. Mon Adapyne's commander knows this, as does Fey'lya, who's abusing the engines. We wait until the trapped ship exhausts itself and falls into our hands.
— And we'll have to crack that beast open, — Pellaeon grumbled.
Such fatalism. No matter—we'll teach them optimism.
— What is the key to victory in space combat, Captain? — I asked.
— Shield strength, armor thickness, and artillery count, — he recited the Imperial mantra.
— Launchers, Captain, — I pointed to an explosion at Mon Adapyne's stern—engine detonation. — Whoever has more, wins. Order Sentinel to disable half its gravity wells and reactivate after our move. You're eager to thrash the enemy flagship—take the lead. — Pellaeon smirked, realizing this was his fight. — Regarding launchers, Mon Adapyne has none; we have ten. Simple mathematics…
Fey'lya's tragedy, orchestrated by my efforts, reached its climax.
Captains Pellaeon, I-Gor, and Kalian would deliver a blow sending the Bothan intriguer into a tailspin.
What would the galaxy's reaction be to the live broadcast of the Republic fleet's rout?