Grand Admiral

Nine years, six months, and nineteen days after the Battle of Yavin…

Or the forty-fourth year, six months, and nineteen days after the Great Resynchronization.

Admiral Rajab of the New Republic was a Mon Calamari. Naturally, he possessed the features characteristic of his species: a large head, huge eyes, and a cast-off pacifism once typical of Dac natives before the Galactic Empire's repressions. And so, like many other Mon Calamari, he quickly threw his support behind the Alliance to Restore the Republic, filling many vacant officer positions across various branches. One thing Mon Calamari excelled at was tactics and quick thinking.

Perhaps for that reason, despite Supreme Commander Admiral Ackbar's removal and the Bothans' dominance in the upper echelons of the New Republic Armed Forces, Admiral Rajab continued to command the squadron guarding what had once been one of the Alliance's most secret shipyards—the Hast shipyards.

Now, sitting aboard his flagship—an MC80 Star Cruiser built by his people—he was watching the final phases of repair work on seven sister ships. Their systems were in order, their engines calibrated; all that remained was patching the last hull breaches, a minor detail. The hardworking Mon Calamari military engineers would handle that within a day, as opposed to the random workers hired via ads to speed up reactivating the other ships that had been sitting idle at the shipyards for years.

Among them was a captured Imperial I-class Star Destroyer called Emancipator, which Rajab himself had commanded a few years earlier. Previously, it—and its classmate by the finishing dock, Liberator—had carried other names: Accuser and Adjudicator, respectively. The New Republic had seized them during the Battle of Endor. They intended to use them in a provocation to spark attacks among the Imperial Remnants, forcing those factions to clash with each other. But an Imperial raid on the shipyards, where both Star Destroyers were finishing preparations for the upcoming mission, changed the plan. Both ships sustained severe damage during that assault, ruining the operation. Yes, they were repaired and went on to serve valiantly with the Rebel Alliance and then the New Republic. But after the downfall of the self-proclaimed Imperial warlord Zsinj, these ships were badly battered and required an overhaul, which, unfortunately, the New Republic could not afford.

Since then, they had languished in refit. The fledgling government lacked the funds to purchase the needed parts on the black market. But the recent, openly declared alignment of Kuat Drive Yards with the New Republic opened the door for Coruscant to acquire Imperial-model starship components…

Before long—just a few days from now, once transports from Dac arrived bearing turrets, artillery, fully staffed crews, and everything else needed for flight operations, ammunition, fuel, and so forth—those ships would be returned to service. The New Republic had already lost quite a few fine warships in the past. So, one might say the Bothans had done something worthwhile for once.

Taking a breath of the pleasantly moist air aboard his vessel, Admiral Rajab glanced over the data feeds from both shipyards.

It was immediately clear that Mon Calamari engineers had had a hand in this.

Although the Emancipator had not regained its proton beam cannon from its Imperial days, it had acquired some notable features: six proton-torpedo launchers, updated scanning systems, and replaced sensors throughout. Its Class 2 hyperdrive had been swapped for a 1.5-class, increasing its FTL speed. But the real highlight was something else entirely. At last, the Hast yard engineers had succeeded in what they'd been striving for all along. Now that vessel no longer needed a crew of thirty-seven thousand. There was a reason Mon Calamari were hailed as the best shipbuilders in the New Republic.

Henceforth, Emancipator and Redeemer would require only about twenty-eight thousand personnel for full crew complement—just six times the bare-bones Imperial standard for merely moving and maneuvering the ship, plus additional specialists, gunnery crews, and technicians. That skeleton crew was the minimum needed to get the ship from point A to point B without succumbing to bad luck, and to at least bring a minimal array of weapons online if attacked.

The high degree of automation Mon Calamari employed on their ships—though not fully—had now been partially adapted to Imperial Star Destroyers. As a result, the New Republic wouldn't have to train huge crews for years just to run ex-Imperial warships. The wait had proven worthwhile. Once both ships reentered service and passed all required trials, that modernization—still secret for the time being—would spread throughout the fleets…

It was a pity they hadn't been able to restore the proton beam cannon technology. That formidable weapon, which Emancipator had carried in its Imperial days, was heavily damaged. The New Republic didn't want to revive the project anyway, viewing it as a smaller, less destructive variant of the Death Star's superlaser. Yet the damage it could inflict on enemy warship hulls was impressive. The power needed to fire it, however, was so great that at times the ship couldn't use standard artillery, and its deflectors dropped to such levels that everyone feared for the ship's survival. Moreover, that solar ionization–fed weapon's range was no greater than an ordinary turbolaser. Meaning one blast could drain the ship's power right before the enemy fired back. Not to mention the unreachably high costs—billions—for repairs and research on a single installation. If the Galactic Empire itself never installed such weapons on every Star Destroyer that crossed its path, the New Republic, lacking such funds then or now, certainly wouldn't do it either.

Rumor held that a cannon of that kind was on a Star Destroyer captured by the smuggler Booster Terrik, renamed the Wanderer. But there was no reliable information on that. Maybe it was just some new rumor spread by that criminal…

— Admiral, — the voice of the flagship's commander pulled him from his thoughts. — A ship has emerged in the system.

— Identified? 

— Yes, an E-9 Explorer. Transmitting IFF: "Graceful Lady," — answered the Mon Cal commander of the star cruiser. — Captain…

— …with a name as long and light as a coastal breeze, — the admiral smiled. — Looks like a courier with delicacies from home. Have them head for the control station.

— Aye, sir, except… — the cruiser's commander hesitated. — We're seeing a transmission from that ship…

— Likely exchanging messages with the control station? — Rajab suggested, eyeing the defensive arrangement he'd set up to protect both orbital yards and the Imperial ship graveyard on Hast's surface. A tweak he'd introduced so that everything around the stations remained under control—a lesson learned after the Imperial raid on the planet Kai Fel.

Arranged in one horizontal plane, the shipyards were protected "above" by a Golan III station. Two first-generation stations stood to the left and right, while a second-generation station guarded "below," each full of machinery.

Six Mon Calamari star cruisers formed up for the best defensive coverage. Four were posted between the stations, with two—his flagship and one more—out front to absorb any first strike. Not that the Mon Calamari knew for certain the Empire would attack his fleet directly, but strategy demanded each station be defended from any potential angle of assault. Whoever fails to learn history's lessons is doomed to repeat them. Positioning the ships and stations around the repair complexes like the facets of a five-sided pyramid—his flagship and its partner forming the "apex," and the two Golan I stations, along with the partially refurbished warships and medium transports, forming the "base"—was the best approach for repelling a strike.

— Negative, sir. The control station says it already gave them the approach vector. Who Graceful Lady is talking to remains unclear.

— A perimeter breach, — Admiral Rajab frowned. Every freighter knew that long-distance comms were forbidden inside a star system. — Scramble fighter patrols to that ship…

— Hyperspace disturbance! — a new alarm came. — An Immobilizer 418 cruiser! Gravity wells active! Sir, that's the interdictor they seized from us! In the Imperial Navy it was known as Black Asp!

— Battle stations! — Admiral Rajab's bass rumbled. He knew full well the Empire had initiated its Kai Fel raid the same way. — All ships—launch fighters and bombers! Alert the supply convoy and Dac—Imperials have attacked!

— Two Interdictor-class Star Destroyers! — another update. — They've come out of hyperspace on the left and right of the interdictor at the far edge of its gravity cones! They're activating their own projectors!

— Sir, our entire fleet is now under a hyperdrive suppression field!

— We're not running! — Rajab grimaced. — We'll fight! Advance on those interdictors. The other two pairs—close in and destroy them before reinforcements arrive…

— Admiral! The convoy reports New Alderaan is under attack! They're diverting one star cruiser and two assault frigates to defend the planet!

— So that leaves us forty GR-75 transports and six star cruisers? — Rajab confirmed.

— Indeed, sir! They'll arrive in a day and a half! — the flagship commander said. — Graceful Lady is evading our ships, heading toward that interdictor!

— More ships arriving! Three destroyers near each Interdictor!

— By the cruiser now appear an Imperial II–class Star Destroyer and a Venator-class Star Destroyer! The Imp-II identifies via IFF as Reckoning.

— That's the flagship of Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel of the Ciutric Hegemony! — the admiral exclaimed. — So that's who's acting against us! Not a Grand Admiral, but a PRINCE-Admiral! Inform Fleet Command on Dac immediately! Alert our forces! Today we'll take revenge for all their raids!

— Golan III station is under attack! An Acclamator II–class assault ship and a Providence-class carrier destroyer!

"Looks like they gathered all their resources," the tiny tendrils on the Mon Cal's chin twitched irritably.

— Begin the attack, — he ordered. — Once we take out the lead group with that Imp-II, shift fire to the others. Get a message to the yards—launch all starships off the slips! They won't destroy our yards or our vessels!

— Sir! Sabotage on both stations! The refueling posts are offline! Both orbital platform reactors have gone dark! Repair teams are attempting to bring emergency power online!

— Hold our positions! — Admiral Rajab said. — Our defenses are layered; they won't destroy these yards or the ships. We'll save our fleet!

— The enemy is deploying fighters and interceptors! A large group of droid fighters and droid bombers near Golan III!

— Request details on those craft! — the admiral frowned. Evidently the Empire was so desperate it was using antiques that had lost most combat value…

— Admiral Rajab! — the Mon Cal sensor and comms officer jerked his large head, eyes full of confusion. — The Venator has opened its main hangar doors… we're detecting an energy surge…

— Launching starfighters? — the fleet commander asked.

— The Acclamator II and Providence used shipboard missiles and proton torpedoes to destroy Golan III's generators! Multiple landing craft near the yard and station! Sir, they aren't destroying our ships and yards—they're boarding them!

— Send marine detachments from the cruisers! — Admiral Rajab commanded. — We must hold those yards and vessels at all costs!

— Sir! We got telemetry from forward fighters engaging the Venator and Reckoning! Instead of a lower hangar, that ship has a solar ionization reactor! The main hangar… no small craft inside! There's…

— Then out with it! — Admiral Rajab snapped, checking his chrono. Five minutes had passed since the Venator and Reckoning arrived. In another minute, his flagship and the supporting cruiser would enter certain turbolaser range from the enemy ships.

The young Mon Cal blinked rapidly.

— Sir, for some reason, the Imperials installed a v-150 "Planet Defender" ion cannon in the Venator's main hangar!

— A children's bogeyman! — Rajab laughed as he took in the bizarre vessel. So Krennel truly believed a contraption like that would throw them into panic? — To power that weapon, like we did on Hoth, they'd need a solar ionization reactor…

He cut himself off mid-sentence—just as the massive sphere in the Venator's main hangar hurled two crimson-magenta ion bolts in rapid succession…

***

You can watch certain things forever:

Fire burning.

Water flowing.

Someone else working.

And arcs of red ion lightning crawling over a Mon Calamari star cruiser, draining its momentum and darkening its interior. Barely a minute before, that ship had been moving in a straight line, ready to open fire on Chimaera, Dragon, and Black Asp; now it drifted aside, unable to quell its inertia in vacuum. Another star cruiser—whose path the helpless Mon Cal flagship had nearly crossed—climbed "up," exposing its underside for all our gunners to see. Which naturally meant we'd send a searing turbolaser "greeting" from every cannon.

— Dragon just hit the flagship cruiser, — Pellaeon reported.

— As planned, — I remarked. — You see, Captain, the Mon Cal commander is following his species' psychology precisely. Seeing the Black Asp, he leaps to conclusions with his "tactical genius" and charges straight at what he believes is the weakest group.

— Indeed, sir, — Pellaeon said. — The second ship's starfighter wing is fully tied up.

— Excellent, — I nodded, glancing at the tactical display. So far, everything was going as intended. Interesting how the Republic pilots—despite their advantages in speed and weaponry—still hadn't destroyed a single Corellian corvette shielding the bellies of our Star Destroyers. Another battle confirms that protecting an ISD's ventral side can be done by a simple yet unorthodox method. Let's see if shipwright Ryan Zion can propose anything better. — Keep that second cruiser busy so it can't reach Black Asp or Dragon. Track the disabled flagship's motion and velocity. Send boarding parties. We mustn't lose sight of it or let them make repairs.

— Understood, sir!

— The Dragon reports switching to power charging. Four minutes forty seconds until fully reloaded, — said Lieutenant Tschel.

— Power architecture status? — I asked.

— Some generators failed. We had short circuits from a power surge, — he answered. — They promise to fix them before the next shot.

— Keep a close watch, Lieutenant Tschel, — I ordered. — As soon as we finish off the second cruiser, Chimaera, Dragon, and Black Asp will deploy their marines there as well. Then we push on to assist Phoenix and the Colicoid Swarm at the yards.

— Not sure they even need help, — Pellaeon remarked, nodding toward that twin of the legendary Invisible Hand spitting out barrages of shipboard missiles. The Separatist carrier destroyer hammered Golan III's defenses and hammered the stern arcs of two Mon Cal cruisers that had moved against Captain Dorja's group. Judging by how many of their engines were now crumbling from anti-ship missile salvos—though the Mon Cal engineers were shooting down quite a few—things still looked grim for them… That old Separatist ship carried some 2,800 warheads, fired from 102 launchers…

— All enemy craft and fighters are still concentrated near the center of their defensive lines, — Pellaeon continued. — Their small craft have left the cruisers and are going after ours… Captain Aban's Bellicose took two proton torpedoes to the starboard turbolaser battery—minor damage. Golan II station has deployed all its fighters to the nearest hot spots.

— As expected, — I said with a smile, checking my chrono. Nine and a half minutes since the operation began.

— Captain I-Gor and twenty corvettes are engaging, — Pellaeon noted with a chuckle as, at medium range from Golan II—now denied any star-cruiser support—a Victory-class Star Destroyer jumped in. Within seconds, its launchers opened up… The sublight drives of the nearest Mon Cal cruiser turned to slag…

And immediately, to the horror of the Republic pilots roving around the yard after TIE fighters, 21 CR90 Corellian corvettes emerged from hyperspace in the thick of the battle—wrenched out by artificial gravity wells.

And so the harvest of New Republic pilots began…

***

Three Imperial I-class Star Destroyers—Inexorable, under Alexander Mor; Bellicose, under Captain Aban; and Relentless, under Captain Dorja—had a straightforward mission.

Initially, the commander of Group Besh, Captain Dorja, thought that mission was too simple for a trio of "Imperials." He suspected Grand Admiral Thrawn might be mocking him by naming him commander of that force with the words, "This is a test of your command abilities, Captain." For a moment, old memories of conflicts with Thrawn and Pellaeon flickered by.

Surely, what else could you call such an assignment—"Attack and silence the Golan I orbital station to starboard of Aurek Group's invasion corridor, commanded by the Grand Admiral himself?" Yet the instant his group exited hyperspace, the big picture made sense.

As always, it was quite simple. First, Black Asp arrived along the vector relayed by the spy ship, remaining beyond firing range of the lead Mon Cal star cruiser detachment. Then two Interdictors appeared on either side of that pyramidal formation. Their twelve active generators covered a vast region with artificial gravity, preventing any enemy from escaping. And so, once two Mon Cal cruisers rushed at the "right" Interdictor, and another pair tried the same on the diametrically opposite side, Groups Besh and Kresh emerged.

Simultaneously shielding the interdictor destroyers, each set of three ISDs unleashed fifteen squadrons of fighters and interceptors against the seventy-two craft carried by the two Mon Cal cruisers—and also enjoyed a decisive advantage in turbolasers and ion weaponry. No retreat was possible for the defenders: on their far side waited the Acclamator and Providence of Group Dorn, hammering anyone who tried to flee Golan III, the orbital repair yards, or the ships there with massed missile-torpedo salvos. Not to mention the numerous droid craft covering the boarding operations…

— Bellicose reports destroying one triple-barreled medium turbolaser turret, — a bridge officer said.

Dorja grimaced. Why was Aban exposing himself like that? His job was to hold the right flank, not show off!

— Tell Aban to shift heading by seven degrees, — he ordered.

That way, the allied Star Destroyer would avoid attacks on its top decks and, by no longer using certain port battery mounts, bring the full starboard side to bear.

Under Captain Mor, Inexorable mirrored that strategy on the opposite flank, trapping the enemy warships in a triple-pronged wedge so each was forced to divide fire between two targets—Bellicose off to the left, with Relentless holding center, while the second Mon Cal cruiser had to engage Relentless and Inexorable simultaneously. The flagship of Dorja's force absorbed a storm of enemy fire and coped just fine, while the two flank ISDs pounded their targets. The enemy tried to maneuver to prolong the fight.

Dorja knew two sturdy Mon Cal cruisers could withstand fire from three ISDs for an uncomfortably long time. Their shields and hull plating were second to none. But that didn't free him of responsibility to take them out.

Thrawn had given them a goal without specifying tactics. At first, the ISD captains were thrown off—previously, the Grand Admiral had spelled out each step. Now…

The Relentless's commander cast a sour look at Inexorable on the right. Its captain had dared remind the Supreme Commander that Star Destroyer captains were supposed to handle tactical decisions on their own. For a year and a half since Thrawn's return from the Unknown Regions, he'd shown little tolerance for that, micromanaging every move like a nanny droid. When Dorja tried pointing that out, a rancor of a quarrel ensued with Thrawn. Then Pellaeon joined in, and Dorja heard a lot of unpleasant new things…

But details aside, Dorja realized the Grand Admiral had fully predicted the enemy would strike at ships equipped with gravity well projectors. Logical—Dorja would do likewise if he were the Republic commander.

Barely two minutes into the battle, the enemy had already lost two star cruisers—Dragon had disabled them with its ion cannon, leaving Chimaera and the Aurek ships to send in boarding teams. Those vessels would require quite some fuss—ion blasts tended to fry or shut down electronics entirely, though in some cases systems could be rebooted, risking heavy damage.

At this point, only the speed of the boarding operations would decide whether Thrawn captured both ships before Republic technicians made repairs or…

Suddenly, where the Mon Cal flagship had drifted, a massive white-yellow-orange sphere of raw energy flared. The cruiser, hurled hundreds of kilometers from the firing zone, simply vanished in seconds.

— The reactor blew, — someone observed.

Dorja silently agreed.

The Star Destroyer Tyrant, hit by a similar weapon at the Battle of Hoth, had to be rebuilt on-site. Precisely to prevent this outcome.

— The enemy just lost their flagship for good, — he declared loudly enough for onlookers to refocus. — They have five operational MC80s left. And one of them is trying to slip from our pincers!

***

— The cruiser's taking a wide curve! — the XO reported.

— Trying to rotate so we face its less-battered flank, — Alexander Mor deduced, peering through the bridge viewport at the enemy vessel accelerating to escape the fiery trap.

After enduring relentless fire from Dorja's Relentless, the Mon Cal cruiser belched turbolaser and ion blasts from its starboard side, hoping to slip under the bow of two Star Destroyers, arc around, and flee the crossfire. Another cruiser wasn't so lucky—Colicoid Swarm had shredded its engines, and all it could do now was endure double pounding from two Imperial ships matching it in toughness and weaponry. Plus, with ten TIE fighter/interceptor squadrons from Bellicose and Relentless outnumbering the Republic's by more than three to one, there was little hope of rescue. Even two X-wing squadrons from Golan I couldn't shift the balance. The Imperials were more numerous and had learned to fight with quality, focusing on their ships' best assets. Judging from the casualty ratio, they still had more to learn about TIE weaknesses…

Each Imperial ship carried out its orders, denying the enemy any chance to regroup or create parity.

And that star cruiser, "the less damaged one," was now trying exactly that. To stop it, they had to maintain the wedge formation.

— Signal Relentless, — Mor ordered. — We'll give chase.

Its course was obvious enough: after striking two of our three destroyers with a "dazzling fireworks show," it now arced away, aiming for the defense station. Although the Colicoid Swarm was pelting that station with missiles, it would still give the cruiser refuge behind strong shielding, from which they'd be tough to dislodge.

— Captain Dorja agrees with your plan, — the comms officer reported.

"Of course," Mor thought. "If we let this cruiser slip away, we'll have bigger problems later."

It was one thing to pound a station's shields with triple the ships, but quite another if a still-functional MC80 joined it.

Inexorable, turning its bow to track the fleeing enemy, poured concentrated turbolaser battery fire and ion beams into the Mon Cal's starboard quarter. TIE fighters and interceptors, directed by the ship's control center, closed in, entangling what remained of the starfighter wing from the retreating cruiser.

Like waves, lethal green-blue energy hammered that Mon Cal craft. Where the deflectors couldn't cope, the once-milky hull charred and blackened. So far no holes, but the Imperials clung to the starboard side. Judging by the MC80's shift of power from forward shields to engines, it was trying to outrun them.

— Helm! — without turning to look at the specific watch officer. — Shift left one-forty!

That would let his Star Destroyer slip behind the fleeing ship's stern, where it had the fewest guns. Granted, the shielding there was presumably stronger than the battered starboard side, but it wouldn't matter if the ship reached the station.

It took several minutes to close in. Inexorable's TIEs flitted around the cruiser like a swarm of gnats, stinging it with thousands of green laser pinpricks, not enough to break the shield, but enough to distract its gunners. The Mon Cal crew, for their part, fought back frantically, trying to at least keep the TIEs at bay. Imperial pilots would only have to dip under the intangible bubble of the shield and chew away at those deflector projectors—the TIEs knew the schematics, the enemy's weak spots. But so did the cruiser's defenders…

Realistically, Mor never expected TIE pilots to succeed in that dangerous job. Not in TIE-family craft, anyway.

Instead, he counted on them drawing the enemy's attention long enough for his artillery to savage the cruiser's stern. Time was short. The station wasn't far now, and as soon as they got there, its guns would help the cruiser.

Still, in some areas, the Imperials found holes in the deflectors, smashing hull plates into lumps of superheated metal. In less-armored spots, shots penetrated the vessel entirely, vaporizing everything in their path.

Unfortunately for the Mon Cal cruiser, one such spot happened to be the engine nozzles, which the Inexorable's gunners soon found. Like a predator scenting blood, they had no intention of letting the prey escape.

The Golan I station, out of reach for the battered cruiser, sparkled with lights as though inviting exploration. Over two kilometers long, nearly a kilometer across and tall, it bristled with turbolasers, proton-torpedo launchers, and tractor beams. Though just a first-generation Golan, it outweighed an Imperial-class Star Destroyer, and while not overly armed, it could do significant harm with a volley of proton torpedoes. It could easily wreck any attacker that foolishly closed in unshielded.

Inexorable's crew had no such foolishness. Its commander, a seasoned officer, knew soon he would be filing a report to the Grand Admiral—and had no desire to show up short.

So, with the target's fighter wing nearly gone—chewed up by TIEs in concert with corvettes—it was time to address the station itself.

— Deploy bombers, — Alexander commanded, continuing to watch as greenish plasma and bluish ion bolts ate away at the cruiser's stern plating and shields.

A dozen TIE bombers fluttered out of the ISD's hangar, hugging the lower hemisphere as they advanced toward the Mon Cal cruiser.

— Order that corvette to "escort and cover," — Mor said, glancing at the Golan. It helplessly spat turbolaser fire—and that was it. Or turbolasers, rocket launchers, anything it still had. The droid starfighters launched by Colicoid Swarm and the Hyena bombers, lacking adaptation to modern tactics, were dying in droves, same as TIE pilots had in the past from well-trained rebels. Naturally, no one expected them to handle the station alone.

Stations like this typically had tough shielding, enough that single torpedoes were just pinpricks. But a coordinated volley from Hyenas, concentrated on a single spot, could overload them. The shields would drop or flicker, needing a reboot. That window was exactly when the variable-geometry droid fighters could slip in to wreck deflector projectors and thin out the station's guns.

Thrawn had forbidden the destruction of Golans and the orbital repair yards—unlike the six Mon Cal star cruisers.

Two red "comets" shot across the void between Dragon and Golan III. Even the battered station—already ravaged by Colicoid Swarm and Phoenix—briefly flashed its shields, only for them to collapse under the first hit. The second struck its heart, sparking a cascade that took every system offline. The Planet Defender's gunners had smashed the generators of the Republic's most advanced station here.

That ended the enemy's "upper" defenses above the yards. At this point, that pair of Clone Wars–era ships, shielded from starfighter attacks by two dozen CR90 Corellian corvettes, could calmly continue securing the key objectives of the operation.

The defenders' meticulously arranged formation was unraveling.

Their flagship was gone. A second cruiser had troopers boarding it, and if its crew didn't attempt some suicidal reactor sabotage, Thrawn would soon capture it—though refurbishing it would be the Grand Admiral's problem…

— The cruiser's engines are destroyed! — someone called.

Alexander studied the newly revealed sight.

The entire stern portion of the Mon Cal cruiser had become a tangle of warped, melted, partly detonated metal—external blasts meeting internal blasts. The ship drifted onward, venting atmosphere, feebly trying to use maneuvering thrusters that the Inexorable's bombers had left half-functional. That cruiser wasn't going anywhere for now. Whether it could be salvaged was another matter.

Tactically, they might prefer to blow it apart and move on to the other cruiser that Bellicose and Relentless were thrashing or to the Golan station overhead, blazing with turbolaser bursts…

— Open a channel and order them to surrender, — Alexander's voice sounded odd, as though something gripped his throat.

— And if they refuse? — asked the watch officer.

— Immediately inform the Grand Admiral of my decision, — Alexander replied quickly. — Emphasize that if they don't comply, I'll destroy their reactors. Worst case—they all die by day's end, and our specialists board the wreck anyway. Best case—the reactors blow up, leaving them dust, same as their flagship. Remind the Republic of that too. Frankly, their fate means nothing to me. Thrawn is the only reason for any courtesy or for sparing their lives.

***

— That's all, Lieutenant? — I asked upon hearing Tschel's message from Inexorable.

— Yes, sir, end of message, — he confirmed.

— Understood, — I said, watching yet another wave of boarding shuttles fly toward the disabled cruiser. Despite the twenty minutes since the operation began, it remained a dark, lifeless hulk we'd barely managed to stop. Otherwise, it would still be drifting for kilometers upon kilometers, racking up millions of drifting distance…

Its final target had been Golan III, battered by Dragon's main gun, confirming another suspicion—that even a Planet Defender shot can punch through station shields. A cautionary note for the future, should Project Sunburn be deemed successful.

But that's getting ahead of ourselves. A question remains: after employing a v-150 ion cannon inside a Venator's hangar, can we ever restore the electronics of the ships we aim to capture, or is it just an improvised idea that leaves them irreparable? That's partly why Dragon can't fire every five minutes.

And not simply because its makeshift power architecture for rapid firing is acting up, failing more and more with each shot. Judging by the data, we'd need twenty minutes to charge for the fourth volley, not ten. In a space battle, those minutes could shift the tide, so a weapon like that must be quicker. If not, fielding it past a few shots is pointless.

Yet the technology clearly has potential. Twenty minutes in, we've disabled two Mon Cal cruisers and one station, an undeniably huge advantage.

Being beyond effective turbolaser range from either side—and from the Republic's fighters and bombers—Chimaera could calmly direct the engagement, covering both the interdictor and Dragon, and enjoying a panoramic view of events. Not to mention that around thirty minutes into the operation, our transport fleet of Star Galleons would arrive from hyperspace, bearing the Phase Three equipment—hyperdrives, nav modules, and the engineers and techs who'd mount them onto the captured orbital platforms and stations.

If a serious Republic warship showed up behind us, we'd have real trouble. Even Chimaera alone wouldn't suffice. But we'd arranged our gravity wells so that each of the three Grav-equipped ships could exit if needed, shutting off its projector.

Over on the right flank, where Group Besh under Captain Dorja operated, the Republic defenses had essentially collapsed. One star cruiser, whose crew apparently panicked, now looked pitiable—its hull blackened a third of the way, the stern deformed, stripped of almost all weaponry and any starfighter complement. They tried saving some crew from capture by launching shuttles and freighters standard to that MC80's complement. But Captain Mor had kept his fighter wings fresh, so Imperial TIEs and interceptors were hunting them down. Most of the escapees were destroyed, with the rest forced back, to be boarded by Mor's stormtroopers via assault shuttles.

As for the battered MC80 itself…

— Sir, that MC80 hammered by Captain Mor is surrendering, — Lieutenant Tschel said.

— Send my compliments to the Inexorable on the victory, — I answered. — And remind Captain Mor that he's now personally responsible for that ship and crew. By day's end, it must be ready to depart this star system.

Meanwhile, the second MC80—under fire from Dorja and Aban—continued resisting. The tactical display showed it fighting ferociously, though it was missing a starfighter wing, with the bridge destroyed and hull shredded by turbolasers. Two TIE bomber squadrons were lining up an approach. They dropped their proton torpedoes…

The once-invisible Mon Cal shield turned milky-white trying to deflect the blasts. The projectors sparked, and plasma rippled down its scarred hull plating. Flames erupted, leaving a triple-deck hole by the hangar doors. Air vented into space, along with hull debris, interior modules, crew bodies, tools… Hard to see the specifics from this range, but over these months I'd inhabited this body, I could picture it all too well. When a starship's hull is breached, the sequence of events is always the same, as are the objects hurled into space.

Shards of molten, twisted plating scattered. The blasts ripped entire turbolaser turrets off the port side, leaving blackened craters in those "blisters" protruding from the hull.

The ship was clearly finished, yet for some reason the crew kept fighting. Its guns were shot, its engines damaged, no cover from fighters—Relentless and Bellicose, plus corvettes, had wiped out all Republic pilots. Continuing to fight was a waste of time.

— Contact Captain Dorja, — I said. — Have him offer that battered ship a chance to surrender.

As long as it could move under its own power—and at least partially use the main engines—adding it to our fleet would be simpler and cheaper. If it became immobile, like the one Inexorable disabled, it'd be a burden. And refurbishing it would be last on our list. We came for combat-ready ships that the Republic's engineers had kindly refitted for us.

No matter how strongly I desired more warships, even if we lost every Golan platform, capturing the yard and the ships under repair would suffice for our tasks. We needn't push for the "maximum" plan.

A glance at the left flank revealed nothing new. If Dorja was using a "trident," forcing the enemy between Star Destroyers and unleashing maximum artillery, Captain Morgot Astorias of Group Grek used a classic line formation, maneuvering and trading fire. He'd assigned Judicator to defend his Interdictor, letting it pummel any passing Republic ships with turbolasers. Brandei, no doubt, was cursing a storm in every language he knew. Understandable.

This operation wasn't just about claiming superiority or recovering Imperial assets or flicking the New Republic's nose. Nor was it solely revenge for the last defeat of Imperial forces.

First and foremost, the Second Battle of the Hast Shipyards was a test of the Star Destroyer commanders' abilities. Our fleet is growing, and the number of operations rises exponentially. Once we have thirty Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers built, we'll create separate task forces to handle far more missions.

But for the moment, I only see three immediate candidates for promotion: Erik Shohashi, owing to his successes in the Milagro system; Dorja, if he finishes well; and Alexander Mor, for the same reason.

These are preliminary conclusions, subject to the final outcome…

Hmm…

My gaze dropped downward to the skirmish between Crusader and the Golan II station. Alright, maybe there was a fourth candidate for advancement. We definitely have more Imperial-class Star Destroyers than we do crews…

Still…

— Hail Crusader, — I instructed. — Remind Captain I-Gor that we want to leave the station in a condition that allows towing it through hyperspace.

I heard a faint chuckle from Captain Pellaeon. Turning, I locked eyes with the Chimaera's commander.

Gilad quickly wiped the grin away and returned to parsing the incoming reports. In any case, Chimaera had to stay back until Phase Two finished.

Then…

***

— Launchers one through twenty are expended, — a deck officer reported.

— Execute maneuvers, — Captain I-Gor ordered, eyes riveted on the unfolding showdown between his Victory I–class Star Destroyer and a Golan II defense station over three times its size.

Another salvo of shaped-charge anti-ship missiles flew at the enemy. Same as the two earlier volleys. In total, they had thrown 180 missiles at the target, out of the 1,600 aboard. But now Crusader's main asset was being used as the ship's creators had intended—against orbital installations, not the ground bombardment they'd done at Kai Fel.

The Victory's commander sincerely hoped he wouldn't have to expend the entire hold of artillery on the Imperial wreck heap on Hast's surface. Meanwhile, the Crusader's shuttles were out to seize refurbished Imperial tech—shuttles and support craft "parked" near the station that I-Gor and his crew aimed to disable.

— Tubes twenty-one through forty ready and locked! 

— Fire! — I-Gor growled through clenched teeth. The station's gunners were far cannier and more skilled with their systems than their "colleagues" at Kai Fel.

Yet again, much of the missile swarm approaching the station was mowed down by turbolasers. While Crusader's two starfighter squadrons, working with a DP20, tangled with pesky Republic pilots, another wave of twenty shaped-charge anti-ship missiles closed in on the station.

Crusader's turbolasers kept up the pressure, gradually draining the station's shields—but too gradually for a clear success so far.

Phase One of the Hast attack had aimed to divert the station's star-cruiser escorts from the repair platforms and the ships in them. Aurek, Besh, and Grek had done just that.

Group Dorn, backed by Dragon, had neutralized the troublesome Golan III station, enabling Phoenix and Colicoid Swarm—and two dozen CR90s—to seize everything the New Republic had meticulously restored all these years. Based on transponder beacons, two Imperial Star Destroyers (ex-Accuser and ex-Adjudicator) were already under boarding-party control. Certainly, no one was rolling them off the docks. Only an idiot would drive them into that conflagration missing most of their weapons, not to mention their shield domes, absent from the superstructure. So the boarding teams logically chose to sit tight rather than risk torpedo fire from Colicoid Swarm, which spat rocket after rocket at any major target bigger than a shuttle. Meanwhile, every minute more New Republic troops tried to flee. Captain Irv on the carrier destroyer was blasting these engineers' ships by the dozen. One wondered how his reloading and cooling system let him maintain such a rate of fire.

— We scored a hit! — came a jubilant cry across the bridge. I-Gor snapped out of his thoughts, listening to the tone: apparently, not a hit on the Crusader, otherwise there'd be no cause to cheer.

The compact Star Destroyer was firing from its starboard flank, letting the captain notice what triggered his crew's excitement.

A fiery shower from the previous volley fell upon the New Republic station, scorching and melting its metal. Half the missiles were shot down, but the others made it through…

Its deflector field, battered by the explosions, couldn't handle the punishment and vanished when the shield projectors themselves blew under the blasts.

The station's turbolaser turrets wrenched loose from their mounts. The defenders on Golan II kept resisting, but with each shaped-charge warhead strike, they lost more ground. They tried in vain to target the TIEs dancing around them, fueling chaos. Then they switched to the DP20 corvette. The corvette took a couple hits, losing a chunk of plating when its shield gave out. It countered with a volley of nimble, quick missiles, silencing another station battery. Only then did that damaged little vessel, spewing engine smoke, crawl back toward its mothership.

— All ahead full, — I-Gor ordered. — Cover them with our hull! Fighters and interceptors—keep the station's turbolasers busy!

That DP20's young lieutenant commanding it was clinging to his ship's survival. Understandably so—his first real command, giving it his all, yet…

The Crusader wasn't fast enough.

— Proton torpedoes! — someone yelled, panicked.

I-Gor bit his lip hard, watching the single battered Y-wing—no, a battered "wishbone," or an X-wing? Actually, a battered Y-wing or X-wing might be called a "cross." The text says "крестокрыл"—that typically means an X-wing. So presumably an X-wing. The battered X-wing had crawled out from somewhere to shake off a TIE Interceptor on its tail. In that hectic swirl, the station-scorched craft found itself directly between the Crusader and the Rebel starfighter, destroyed in a flash but not before releasing two magenta proton torpedoes…

Point-defense lasers sprang to life, with DP20 also trying to intercept. They managed to knock out one warhead, but the second pressed on, hugging the corvette's exhaust wake some ten meters from the hull, its guidance locked onto the Crusader's bridge…

I-Gor realized the rebel pilot had chosen the perfect path—exactly where the starboard battery coverage was compromised. 

Before the DP20 could enter Crusader's shield bubble, it jerked to starboard. The magenta torpedo latched onto the corvette's hull, unable to adjust in time. A blinding flash split the DP20 in two. Internal blasts ripped both sections. The engines vanished in a fireball so bright many on the Crusader's bridge had to shield their eyes—the explosion happened close by. A second detonation from the forward half followed, possibly the missile magazine. 

— Escape pods?! — I-Gor roared, spinning around. The sensor operator, eyes full of anger and pain, simply shook his head no.

Nearly a hundred crew died in an instant. Did they even realize, in that final moment, that their lives were about to end—atomized by the reactor and engine blast? We'd never know.

— Divert power from the stern shield to turbolasers! — Captain I-Gor snarled through his teeth, gaze fixed on the flickering lights dotting Golan II's hull. The station's remaining turbolaser crews, flushed with adrenaline after destroying the first major attacking ship, had switched their aim to Crusader.

— Disable the false transponder! — I-Gor shouted, glancing at the tactical display's countdown for reloading the forward launchers. — I want these scum to know they were taken out not by Krennel's Emperor's Wisdom but by us—the Star Destroyer Crusader!

— But, sir, Grand Admiral Thrawn explicitly forbade revealing the disguise! — someone else from the watch crew interjected.

— Our orders are to disable the station, not destroy it! — came another voice.

I-Gor whipped around with an inarticulate snarl. The officer standing before him, face twisted in horror, staggered back. Seeing how easily a man could morph into a bloodthirsty beast, perhaps he wet himself. No one blamed him—many had the same reaction.

— That. Rebel. Scum. — The Crusader's commander pronounced each word as if it were the voice of a war deity descending from the heavens to witness and partake in the carnage. — Killed. Our. Comrades! KILL! THEM! ALL!!!

No one dared argue.

Maybe it was because the man's face, contorted in badly suppressed rage, no longer wore the polite mask of a calm Imperial officer.

Or maybe the crew realized they had to avenge their fallen comrades who, until two months ago, had served on the Crusader and had been handpicked at the Grand Admiral's orders to operate that Corellian corvette.

Or they recalled the young lieutenant—smiling, good-natured—who had commanded that corvette, used to forgive sabacc debts, cover shifts for fellow sailors, and bury himself in war-history manuals so that he might one day pass the Fleet Commission exam to command a cruiser or bigger warship…

They might have remembered all forty-five crew and forty-six gunners—young midshipmen, ensigns, rank-and-file deckhands—barely half a year aboard Crusader, after finishing the accelerated training courses…

Most likely, they realized that the corvette crew's sacrifice had saved not only them but all 5,200 aboard Crusader from a similar fate.

— All missile tubes reloaded, Captain! — called the missile-control station, giving them one more chance to obey or defy the top commander. — Target is in range. Warheads locked on reactors, batteries, life support…

I-Gor eyed the hulking Golan II station, more than two kilometers of space metal. Tears of pain and despair clouded his vision, red haze of wrath and vengeance demanding the enemy's total annihilation.

Kill them all.

All of them.

Everyone on that rebellious station from which that damned starfighter launched.

His heart and mind fought each other. The thirst for revenge vs. loyalty to his oath—his vow to endure service hardships, obey orders from his commanders…

He wanted them all dead. Every living being on that Republic station. He had every moral right.

He wanted it more than life itself. But he couldn't do it.

Because he was loyal to that oath and his chain of command.

Duty above all. Even his own grief at this irreparable loss.

— Remove the "reactors" and "life support" tags, — he croaked, barely commanding his voice. He stepped forward and pressed his forehead to the cold transparisteel. He had just canceled his own order to annihilate the enemy. He was stomping on his own throat to fulfill the Supreme Commander's orders and remain faithful to his oath, burying his agony beneath obedience. — Fire. Disable that station.

As the shaped-charge warheads tore through the armor and systems of Golan II, the captain of the Victory I–class Star Destroyer Crusader silently wept, driving his nails into his palms until blood ran, his mouth full of jagged teeth and blood from a bitten cheek.

The young lieutenant who had commanded the DP20 corvette, shielding the Star Destroyer from certain death, had been the captain's only son.

And the Crusader's commander felt his heart ripped to shreds at the injustice of this war.

Fathers should never outlive their children.

Never.