— Multiple targets, Commander, — Irenez's voice carried a hint of impatience. Luke stood beside Senator Iblis, peering into the hologram projected in the command center. Apart from him, more than two dozen sentients were present — mostly Corellians, though Breyl'lya and a couple of his aides had been invited as well.
The young Jedi felt uneasy.
Three Star Destroyers.
A Star Destroyer and a heavy cruiser equipped with gravity well generators.
A ship of an unknown type, though it appeared to be a corvette as well.
Something strange was happening with the Corellian corvettes. Initially, there were only twelve, but a minute after the Star Destroyers appeared, their number grew to fourteen. There wasn't the slightest indication that anyone had emerged from hyperspace — a gravitic sensor would have reported it. Just as it had alerted them to the arrival of the enemy fleet.
— They're clearly not here by chance, — Luke said cautiously.
— Sir! — an operator at one of the terminals called out to the senator. — We're receiving a message from the flagship Star Destroyer. Text only.
— Offering surrender? — the former Corellian senator smirked crookedly.
— Affirmative, sir, — the same specialist nodded. — They threaten to destroy everyone who doesn't comply.
— Unusual tactics for the Imperials, — Irenez muttered. — I've never heard of them offering surrender to most people before.
— Then they mean business, — Skywalker realized.
— Yeah, they didn't just drop by for a cup of caf, — Bel Iblis agreed. He studied the hologram, squinting slightly. Not a trace of panic in his voice. — Irenez?
— Yes, Commander.
— Get our pilots up, — Bel Iblis ordered. — They'll help the dreadnoughts hold off the enemy for a while. All combat posts on the base — battle stations. Activate the deflector shield only when the base is fully exposed — that is, as soon as even one Star Destroyer enters orbit. All blasters and cannons — switch to active mode. The Planet Defender needs to be especially vigilant. They're using a slightly modified full-envelopment tactic against us, so their ground operation is unlikely to be particularly creative. Fire only when they enter orbit — it's doubtful they know our exact position on the planet.
— How did they track you down? — Luke asked, not addressing the senator but Irenez, feeling this wasn't the moment to distract the commander with side questions. Especially since the Corellian was busy speaking with the ground unit commanders.
— We don't know, — she replied without hesitation, casting a suspicious glance at Breyl'lya and his companions standing off to the side. — They probably planted a tracker on one of our ships. Somewhere we didn't find it, which means the Imperials have gotten smarter.
— That's bad, — Luke admitted. — Why does Bel Iblis want to fight them? Wouldn't it be easier to pack up the base and leave while the ships hold off the enemy advance…
A deafening explosion rocked the base. Though the command center remained intact, the sentients inside were thoroughly shaken.
— Bombers over the base! — someone shouted.
— Got one down! The rest are retreating!
— They bombed the first line of defense! Anti-infantry guns on half the perimeter — reduced to rubble!
— Nailed a second one, it's going down!
— It gained altitude, escaping at low level!
— Because this is our last base, — Irenez said quietly and rapidly. — We've been here a long time — ever since the commander realized no one was seriously hunting us down. We've got nowhere to retreat — the buildings are rooted into the ground, and we can't just pack them up. Plus, there's nowhere to load them — all our ships are in combat.
— What about the Hound? — Luke asked, pointing to one of the heavy cruisers positioned beyond the battle the Imperials had unleashed.
— If they notice it, that ship won't last fifteen minutes, — Irenez said grimly. — The internal damage is so extensive that its power systems won't let it escape the Imperial range or defend itself properly.
— In that case, if you've got a spare fighter, I'm ready to help, — Luke said eagerly.
— All our pilots are already in the air, — she replied. — But three squadrons of X-wings against fifteen of theirs — fighters and interceptors…
— This is bad, — the young Jedi felt a chill. — Maybe we should contact someone in the Republic? We can't let the Imperials shoot us all down like toothless ku-pas!
— We tried, — came the voice of the Corellian senator from behind Luke. Turning, he saw Bel Iblis, his face etched with extreme tension. — Breyl'lya tried that the moment their ship detected the enemy fleet exiting hyperspace.
— Why didn't you do it as soon as the first Destroyer showed up? — Luke asked, puzzled by the obvious.
— Because we hoped it was just a random patrol or a lone raider like the ones that hit the New Republic, — Irenez explained.
— One Star Destroyer against five heavy cruisers — we had decent odds of capturing that ship, — Bel Iblis admitted. — But now… we fight.
Luke weighed the odds. The Force and common sense told him the situation was stacking against the Corellians.
— We've already raised the deflectors, — Bel Iblis continued. — Now we'll hold the line here and hope things go better in orbit.
— You should be commanding the fleet, Garm, — Irenez couldn't hold back. — Skywalker will get you to orbit. Get at least part of the group out of this trap.
— They'll break through without us, — the former senator said firmly. — I've already given the orders. Right now, we need to focus on defending the base until one of the ships that breaks through can bring help. The base at Ord Pardron is just a day's flight away. We just need to hold out.
Just hold out…
Against an Imperial fleet of two dozen starships with a force a quarter of their size…
What could be simpler, right?
***
— The enemy has launched three squadrons of X-wings from the surface, — Pellaeon noted.
I silently observed the scene unfolding beyond the central viewport of the combat bridge.
It seemed a desperate attempt at a breakout was taking shape out there.
Five heavy cruisers had formed an H-shaped formation, with pairs of dreadnoughts in the left and right wakes trying to shield the fifth dreadnought in the "crossbar" from flanking fire. That fifth ship was heading straight for the Chimaera, relentlessly bombarded from three sides — both flanks and the flagship's gunners, who weren't holding back either.
— Captain, — I said.
— Sir? — Pellaeon responded promptly.
— Send our interceptors to take out the sublight engines of the central dreadnought, — I ordered.
Gilad relayed — or rather, reiterated — the command down the chain. The tactical display instantly showed two dozen green dots streaking toward the designated ship, while TIE fighters continued shredding the gun blisters of the leading pair.
— I see their plan, — I said.
— They're trying to overwhelm the Chimaera with concentrated fire, — the flagship's commander nodded to himself.
— Not at all, Captain, — I countered. — They don't have nearly enough guns in the forward arc of the three closest dreadnoughts for that. The other two are following directly in their wake, which prevents them from using their weapons. If they shift to a higher or lower echelon than the lead ships, they'll lose the shield overlap effect. No, they want to force the Chimaera to veer off course and let at least one dreadnought break through.
— The one in the center? — Pellaeon clarified.
— Or one of the trailing ships, — I elaborated. — That gives them three potential targets. The problem with unmodernized dreadnoughts is their artillery is limited to the broadsides and forward sections — a flaw of outdated design and Rendili StarDrive's rigid approach to engineering. This battle is a stroke of luck, Captain, truly.
— Why's that? — Gilad frowned.
— Because we get a firsthand look at what these ships are capable of in a line fight, — I explained. — As you can see, the combined turbolaser and ion barrage from three Destroyers is quickly draining their shields, even though their shield strength is only slightly below ours. Relay the order to the Inexorable and Stormhawk — have their interceptors target the engines of the nearest trailing dreadnoughts, while the fighters from all three Destroyers increase pressure on the lead ships. Same fire solution for the starships. Send four corvettes and the Crusader-II to intercept enemy fighters; the rest should focus on the sixth dreadnought. Objective: immobilize, not destroy. Leave one squadron each with the Black Asp and Eternal Wrath for their defense, and send the rest to the planet's orbit to organize… Hold that, Captain, — I said with a smile. — Nice try, Senator Iblis.
— Sir? — Pellaeon stared at me, confused.
— For the fighters and interceptors from the Destroyers — targets remain the same, — I clarified my earlier order. — Have the bombers returned?
— They're on rotation, sir. The enemy's forward defense line is destroyed.
— Excellent, — I replied. — Order them loaded with concussion missiles. Relay the same to the other Destroyers.
— Aye, sir, — Pellaeon spoke quickly into the comm. After finishing, he posed another question:
— Did you spot a change in their tactics?
— The rear right and central dreadnoughts simultaneously turned left, revealing their attack plan on the Black Asp, — I explained. — The lead dreadnoughts are a distraction, while the other three are set for a potential breakthrough. Order the Inexorable and Stormhawk to adjust position and close in on the enemy, focusing the fire of four corvettes on them. Send six more to attack the sixth ship. Distribute the rest between the Chimaera and Stormhawk. Their obvious pivot point will be at forty units — that's when they'll head for the Black Asp at max speed via the shortest route. Well, we'll ruin their plans.
— Order understood, sir, — Pellaeon signaled the comms officer.
The Chimaera unleashed its barrage on the "crossbar" dreadnought, while its interceptors swooped into the ship's stern. The interceptors' devastatingly efficient paired attacks on the heavy cruiser's six engines were truly terrifying.
Due to the distance and the ship's hull blocking our view, it wasn't clear what was happening or how effective our fighters were.
But the first explosion — which jolted the central dreadnought and slowed it, falling behind its sister ships — showed that the interceptor pilots knew exactly who they were and why they were here.
I won't say I grasped Bel Iblis's intent from the start, but the movement of those two ships betrayed their true aim. Given it happened at just fifty units, a pivot at forty made perfect sense for the reasons I'd outlined.
Meanwhile, a stunning scene unfolded.
The actions of the Inexorable and Stormhawk forced the enemy to execute their plan earlier than intended, preventing the former Destroyer from aiding the Black Asp.
— Helmsman, full ahead, course zero-seven point twenty. Ninety-degree turn to port, — I ordered.
At forty-two units from the Chimaera, the five heavy cruisers began their right turn, aiming for our interdictor cruiser. In this situation, only our fighters were dealing tangible damage — diving under their shields, fighters and interceptors smashed engine nozzles and targeted the dreadnoughts' guns. It helped in some cases, but the issue was the hull protrusions — the blisters — which were impressively armored. A single salvo couldn't pierce them or wipe out an entire battery, unlike the engines. During the turn, I had the pleasure of watching each of the five enemy ships sporting at least one smoking, disabled engine — though each had six.
The situation hadn't shifted much yet.
Despite losing their design speed to our fighters' efforts, the enemy pressed toward their target — understandable, since losing one interdictor would shrink the hyperdrive lockdown zone. They avoided tangling with the Eternal Wrath, which, though less armed than the others, was still a Star Destroyer.
Now, the tilted Chimaera moved along the enemy's left flank, its turret artillery sowing chaos among the left-column heavy cruisers. The encroaching Inexorable did the same on the right, while the Stormhawk, forming the triangle's rear, struck from astern.
The trap, meant for an artillery duel, now resembled a tightening noose.
The Chimaera's guns hammered the forward left dreadnought, nearly drawing level with it. The cruiser held up decently, but its response speed and firing rate made it clear the Corellians hadn't upgraded its systems.
The enemy's formation only piled on more problems. Packed tightly to overlap shields, the dreadnoughts could only maneuver as a synchronized unit — which they did with enviable consistency and rehearsal. Years of practice showed.
Having seen enough of the enemy commanders' moves, I decided to complicate their task. What do speed freaks fear most? Right — traffic jams.
Captain Mor, following my instructions, shifted his fire focus. Now, the Inexorable's gunners mercilessly pounded the forward heavy cruiser in the right column.
Combined with the Chimaera damaging its counterpart in the adjacent column — after previously raking both with retreating fire — the result was predictable: those two ships took a heavier beating than the rest.
— Sir, the bombers have completed their rotation, — Captain Pellaeon reported.
— Splendid, — I said. — Launch them and inform the squadron leader their target is the engines of the "central" dreadnought. The equivalent unit from the Eternal Wrath will handle the left trailing ship, and from the Inexorable, the right lead cruiser. The Chimaera continues its barrage, and our interceptors switch to the left lead ship.
— Aye, — Pellaeon responded.
The distance to the Black Asp was just under forty units. The enemy's lead ships had zeroed in on the cruiser, but it was giving as good as it got.
Then, as the range to our interdictor dropped to thirty-seven units, we began breaking their formation.
***
Lieutenant Creb's TIE Interceptor unleashed a quadruple burst at a laser cannon nest. Naturally, it withstood a single craft's hit. But the entire Black Squadron followed him. By the third barrage, the blister detonated, the battery was blasted into space, and a chunk of hull plating vanished as if licked away by a bantha.
The lieutenant rolled his craft into a left half-barrel to stay clear of the Chimaera's gunners, who relentlessly pounded the lead heavy cruiser in the left column. Bulbous bombers slipped past, exploiting the relative calm at the central dreadnought's stern — especially since most of the work had already been done for them.
For good measure, Creb strafed the deflector of his new target. It held, but that didn't matter much — he'd already slipped under the dreadnought's shields and unleashed the full fury of his four rapid-fire cannons on the right middle engine. To his right, at a sharper angle, Black-Two targeted the same spot. The other interceptors paired off on the remaining four engines. The sixth pair, left without a target, weaved between the ships, driving the trailing heavy cruiser's gunners mad alongside the fighters, distracting them from the bombers closing in from behind off the Eternal Wrath.
Enemy gunners fired, sending dozens of laser and turbolaser bolts at the pesky TIEs. They didn't skimp on shots. Some hit their mark — at least four fighters from the Chimaera had already turned into fiery clouds, leaving only scraps of debris as mementos.
With his wingman, they forced that engine to blow on the second pass. Exploding like a supernova flare, it showered the neighboring mechanisms with shockwaves and shrapnel, which the other "Blacks" mercilessly targeted.
Another explosion followed — the lower left engine gave out, taking the upper sibling, the central left cluster, with it. Four out of six engines down.
The ship was visibly limping.
Creb glanced at his control terminal — the right solar panels were riddled with shrapnel holes. Not critical, but it'd affect power to the right-side guns.
— I've taken damage, — he reported to his wingman. — Staying in formation.
— Taking the lead, — his wingman replied, realizing the limping leader couldn't take another hit like that. So, the wingman stepped up, making himself a target for the enemy's laser cannons, giving Creb the chance to finish off exposed targets.
Finally, it happened — the last engine on the left-column lead dreadnought gave out. The heavy cruiser shuddered, veered side to side, and became nearly uncontrollable, drifting forward on momentum alone.
After sending a turbolaser battery's gunners to their ancestors, Black-Two and Creb, trailing behind, rolled over the crippled cruiser's right side, letting the Chimaera's gunners do their work.
During that maneuver, he noticed the "central" enemy ship drifting slowly — numerous concussion missiles had reduced its engines to mush. Only three ships remained operational in their formation.
Following his wingman, the lieutenant dove under the starship's belly just as the cargo bay doors cracked open. Spotting a freighter trying to slip away, Creb opened fire. His wingman beat him to it by a second.
Eight volleys of golden-green light tore through the freighter's hull, turning it into a fireball. The detonation vented harmlessly into space and partly back into the hold with the debris, reducing whatever was inside to fine dust.
A barrel roll followed over the battered right wing. Creb pulled up, trailing his wingman, who practically taunted the doomed ship's forward gunners, zipping past their nose and climbing into the upper hemisphere. Miraculously, some equipment survived up there, which Black Squadron — currently without orders — promptly annihilated.
At that moment, two fiery glows erupted behind the trailing ships in the adjacent column — bombers from the other Destroyers had hit their marks.
Creb aimed his craft at the upper deck of the left-column trailing heavy cruiser, intending to draw some laser fire off the lumbering bombers. At the peak of his climb, he flipped the interceptor. The enemy ship's gray hull flashed by — now overhead.
The dreadnought had steadied and tried rejoining the formation but kept yawing left, disrupting the line. Like all pilots, the lieutenant knew this ship type's specs. He understood that these sturdily built dreadnoughts, even years after rolling off the assembly line, were tough nuts to crack. Even immobilized, they were practically fortresses that'd need storming.
But that didn't mean stopping now. Four of the five heavy cruisers were out of action. The fifth, trailing in the right column, realizing the original formation would lead to a collision, sharply veered right, abandoning its crippled kin to the mercy of Imperial gunners.
Not quite — the lieutenant noted the central and right lead dreadnoughts had regained control. Trailing smoke from their mangled sterns, they limped toward the planet, toward the last of their group's dreadnoughts. Through the haze of fires and smoke, you could see the enemy still trying to coax their damaged engines into escaping the Imperial Star Destroyers.
The breakout attempt drowned in blood. Three of the six dreadnoughts were dead in space, now acting like orbital defense forts, firing futilely at the Imperial ships in a vain hope of doing damage.
It seemed they'd realized no one intended to destroy the heavy cruisers — the goal was boarding. Given each dreadnought's docking ports for receiving ships or linking to stations, and with such damage, it wasn't surprising if their 2,200 crew members were frantically planning defenses across the vessels.
Still, after such a brutal thrashing, it was unlikely any of these Katana Fleet dreadnoughts retained full crews.
— All squadrons, return to carrier ships, — came the order from the Chimaera's Operations Control Center.
— Black Leader. Order received, complying, — Lieutenant Creb responded, along with his subordinates, leaving the ravaged ships behind to face the fury of Imperial stormtroopers.
Nearing the Chimaera, the lieutenant instinctively noted numerous black scorch marks on its gray hull — undeniable proof that even against a modern ship, the dreadnoughts had something to offer.
Just as the hangar bay doors of his home Destroyer came into reach, the enemy gunners reminded him of their presence.
A single laser cannon shot sheared off his interceptor's battered right wing. The craft spun, threatening to ram nearby allies. His mind cleared, and Creb worked the pedals, countering the spin and inertia to avoid a collision.
The Chimaera's artillery barked back, instantly silencing the dreadnought's deflector and making its gunners regret showing signs of life.
Meanwhile, Black Squadron's commander fought to save his ship and himself.
He succeeded just as the Chimaera's tractor beam locked onto his interceptor. For a moment, the lieutenant relaxed — nothing bad could happen now.
— Black-Two, — he called to his wingman flying nearby. — I'm fine.
— Disagree, Black Leader, — came the pause-laden reply. — Your engine's on fire.
"Bad news."
Usually, after noting that fact and the twin engines detonating, only a couple of seconds pass before the cockpit is torn apart.
"I never apologized," flashed through his mind.
Creb felt the tractor beam release his craft — it was now a threat to the entire Destroyer, so they'd written it off and…
Something kicked the interceptor from behind. Creb had never had an engine blow up before — no one who'd experienced it lived long enough to share the tale.
The uncontrollable craft lurched forward, then veered left, spinning around its axis. The control systems screeched and fell silent…
Where's that blasted explosion!? Come on, finish me! Why's death taking so long?
But death wasn't in a hurry to answer.
During another spin, Creb's helmet visor caught sight of another interceptor — his wingman's craft. The front of its left stabilizer wings was crumpled, as if it had hit something.
— Black-Two! — he activated the comlink. — What's with your ship?
— Better than yours… sir, — his wingman's voice rasped, as if something obstructed his breathing. On the next spin, Creb saw why — the cockpit's transparisteel canopy was shattered by debris.
— You rammed me?! — Creb realized.
— Knocked… burning… nozzles, — he managed.
— What's wrong with you?! — the lieutenant demanded.
— Life support… damaged… block… shredded… no control…
— OCC! — Creb yelled, watching his wingman's interceptor drift left, proving his words. — Grab Black-Two with the beam! Now! Before he smashes into the Chimaera's hull or suffocates! Life support's out!
— Working on it, Black Leader, — came the calm retort from the OCC. Sure enough, both craft were soon caught in an invisible grip and hurtled toward the familiar flight deck of their home Star Destroyer…
***
— Two heavy cruisers are damaged and dead in space, — Pellaeon reported. — The other three are falling back to their initial position. Only one has full speed; the rest are limping at ten to twenty percent of cruising velocity.
— Have the Stormhawk and Inexorable pursue and engage the enemy, — I ordered. — The Black Asp and Eternal Wrath hold their current positions. Corvettes fall back to a safe distance and assist the Destroyers in blockading the four heavy cruisers.
— Think they'll try another breakout? — Gilad asked.
— I suspect after their formation broke, they were ordered to retreat to orbit, luring our ships into range of ground artillery, — I said.
— You think they have that kind of firepower? — Doubt crept into the Chimaera's commander's voice.
— We know they've worked with the Rebel Alliance, — I explained. — Garm Bel Iblis was one of their leaders for a long time. He's competent enough to know leaving a ground base without solid cover is foolish. We confirmed the outpost's existence with the bombers' combat recon. Are the enemy squadrons eliminated?
— Two-thirds of them, — Pellaeon clarified. — The rest disengaged and returned to the surface base.
— Meaning they could send a light ship for reinforcements, — I darkened.
— Yes, sir, — Pellaeon grasped the issue instantly. It's one thing to assault a base when you're certain no one can slip out and bring backup that might outmatch your task force.
It's another to find yourself in the opposite scenario.
— Cancel the corvette order, — I directed. — Use them to blockade the planet at a range beyond planetary guns. Repair and redeploy fighters and interceptors with the same orders. Have the Stormhawk monitor enemy comms. The Eternal Wrath keeps jamming and shifts to position nine-six-four, — this would turn the Star Destroyer's projectors to the planet's far side. Yes, it'd shrink the lockdown zone there, but it'd prevent the enemy from escaping by swinging around the planet. Two hyperdrive lockdown zones would emerge, with corvettes, fighters, and interceptors covering the gaps. — Calculate staging points for the Stormhawk and Inexorable between the artificial gravity zones — move them there immediately after they bombard the four remaining heavy cruisers with ship artillery and bombers.
— Aye, sir, — Captain Pellaeon replied.
I don't know if he thought what I did, but the first round against Garm Bel Iblis ended in a draw. He didn't break out, and I didn't crush him as easily as I'd planned. Now I had to set up a less-than-tight planetary blockade, neutralize two scattered resistance pockets in orbit, and only then move to troop deployment.
I could lament being outplayed and teetering on defeat, but facts are facts.
He aimed to escape — he failed. Right now, the only ones who might are a dozen battered X-wings and a few heavily damaged heavy cruisers. Two of which were drifting in the Chimaera's firing range, soaking up salvo after salvo.
— Move to board the ships in visual range, — I ordered, feeling internal irritation. I'd wanted a victory as smooth and precise as before.
But here was the life lesson — my skills, like a scythe, had met the stone of Bel Iblis's stubbornness and experience. Even on the brink of defeat, he'd turned a rout into a stalemate, albeit at massive cost.
He'd risked all his ships to let even one break free and call for help. Corellian "all or nothing" executed with tactical mastery.
I had to figure out how to end this fight quickly before Bel Iblis cooked up something new I wasn't ready for.
The takeaway?
Right. So far, I'd fought those lacking guerrilla warfare experience or notable skill. This case taught me a lesson — my past wins relied heavily on thorough recon and the ability to script battles my way.
Let's lock that thought in.
When I skipped recon and charged in, instant success eluded me. So, I need to invest even more time in planning, anticipating more outcomes.
Well, thank you, Senator Iblis, for the vivid lesson. I'll remember it well. I hope my humane desire to spare your life pays off, and you'll one day help destroy Palpatine and other galaxy-scale threats.
For now…
— Let's seize those enemy ships, Captain, — I said.
— Stormtroopers are awaiting orders, sir, — Pellaeon replied briskly. Judging by his spirited expression, he hadn't noticed how close we'd come to failure. It'd be a shame — coming here for dreadnoughts and vengeance, only to flee because someone slipped the trap and brought New Republic ships. I had no doubt Bel Iblis would swallow his pride and beg Fey'lya for a fleet to crush us if it meant saving his people.
Pride.
The lives of subordinates.
Hmm… Noted that thought. Let's mull it over.
Weighing options, I gave a faint smile.
— Reinforce the boarding teams with flamethrowers, Captain, — I ordered. — And move the Chimaera toward those four dreadnoughts. Let's finish this.
— If we leave here, the Black Asp will be unprotected. If repair crews on those ships get the engines running, — Pellaeon cautioned, then clarified:
— Or what's left of them… They could escape…
— Precisely why we'll bolster the boarding parties, — I said slowly. — With Imperial Guardsmen. And ensure the signals of the crew being wiped out are broadcast to the planet — I'm sure their comm systems are active. Time to test Senator Bel Iblis's resolve, shake his confidence, and push him into a reckless move that'll end this operation. The outcome, of course, will favor only us.
Pellaeon frowned at first, then a knowing, triumphant smile spread across his face.
— Then there's nothing to worry about, — he declared confidently.
Same here.
***
— Looks like we've bought some time, — Luke said, studying the hologram of near-planet space.
— At the cost of two dreadnought crews, — Bel Iblis said hoarsely.
Luke felt uneasy. Staying here in the headquarters while the defenders of Peregrine's Nest died on the front lines against the Empire…
— What now? — Skywalker asked.
— Judging by the silenced transponders on our damaged dreadnoughts, the enemy's boarded them, — Irenez said. — That leaves us with four heavy cruisers.
— Only one of which is combat-ready, — the former Corellian senator added. — The other three, including my flagship, Pilgrim, are heavily damaged. They can't build speed for a breakout, so they'll hold the line.
— We're evacuating the wounded from the ships now and rotating crews where possible, — Irenez explained. — Most of our gear and intel is already loaded onto the Bravery of Braxant. If it gets dire, that dreadnought will make the breakout.
— Sorry, maybe I'm missing something, but there are four Star Destroyers and an interdictor cruiser in orbit, — Luke pointed at the orbital hologram of the battling forces. — Which way can a slow heavy cruiser break out when they've got the equator locked, two hemispheres under artificial gravity zones, and the gaps covered by Corellian corvettes, enemy fighters, and interceptors? It's a blockade…
— Not as airtight as the Imperial commander might think, — Bel Iblis said, pointing at the hologram. His voice regained its strength and certainty. — On two sides, we're only blocked by Star Destroyers. Their fighter wings are spread thin. On the other two, it's an Interdictor-class Star Destroyer and an interdictor cruiser backed by another Destroyer — likely the flagship. Fifteen Corellian corvettes are scattered across orbit but outside our planetary ion cannon's range. I'm certain the enemy expects us to break out from the planet through the least dense blockade regions — via their fighters or corvettes, the least threatening ships to us.
— Sorry, I still don't get the plan… — Luke admitted.
— We'll break out, — Bel Iblis said firmly. — One heavy cruiser, covered by an X-wing squadron. Their damage isn't too bad, right?
— Repairs will be done in an hour, — Irenez confirmed.
— Then order the Pilgrim to stockpile as much ammo as possible, — Bel Iblis directed. — Only volunteers go with me — those ready to sacrifice their lives to save the rest.
— Commander! — Irenez flared up.
— Quiet! — the former senator snapped. — You've seen who we're up against! Imperial Guardsmen! Stormtroopers! In half an hour, they cleared our ships, leaving nothing but piles of bodies! All we could do was watch as our comrades were slaughtered by those butchers! Now I'm sure it's him — the one behind everything in the galaxy. This is our chance to save the galaxy from Imperial rule! We'll kill him here and now, and the Empire will sink back into despair and stagnation.
— How? — Luke stammered. Irenez stood beside him, fists clenched, biting her lip.
— We'll pretend to prep all four ships for battle, — Bel Iblis said. — In reality, we'll evacuate everyone onto the Bravery of Braxant. Two dreadnoughts will be abandoned, with droids maintaining the illusion of a crew. The other two will approach the Imperial flagship, supposedly for talks we can't conduct except via the Pilgrim's tightbeam. Everyone — all our allies — will board the Bravery of Braxant. These ships can hold nearly twenty thousand sentients — we never had that many even in our best days. The crews of the four dreadnoughts and base personnel will fit comfortably. Take only essential gear and load it onto the Bravery of Braxant — wounded first.
Luke felt the Force whispering that he was about to hear something unpleasant. Judging by Irenez's stunned look, she wasn't expecting anything upbeat from Bel Iblis's speech either. In these conditions, good news was scarce.
— I'll contact the enemy commander and try to bring our ships close for tightbeam talks. The Pilgrim, turned into a fire ship, will get as near as possible to the Imperial flagship to destroy it, — Bel Iblis sighed. — Meanwhile, the Bravery of Braxant, staying back as an alleged escort, will use the Imperials' confusion, along with the X-wing squadron, to slip out of the gravity zone. That's how we save everyone.
— Senator, — Luke flared.
— Commander! — Tears welled in Irenez's eyes.
— Both of you, enough! — the Corellian resistance leader barked. — You'll both be on the Bravery of Braxant. Irenez, I want you to carry on my work, — she opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with a firm nod. — My decision's final. I'll save everyone — at the cost of a few. I'll pick who goes with me on the Pilgrim myself. The rest only get the official story. Understood?
— Yes, Commander, — Irenez rasped.
With that, the former senator sent the young woman to oversee the evacuation.
— Sir, — Luke felt an inner calm. — I'll take an X-wing and escort you.
— I need you with Irenez, — Bel Iblis said decisively. — I trust her diligence, but… we've been together too long. I see her as a daughter, and at the last moment, she might try to save me. That can't happen. One life for all is a fair trade. Make sure everything goes as planned — if she wavers at the end, tries to rescue me, or anything like that, you stop her. No X-wings. I know you're an ace pilot, but today I need a Jedi to keep her from doing something foolish and ruining the evacuation.
— This… you're sacrificing yourself… — Luke struggled to find words for what he felt. Heroism? Courage? Something else?
His thoughts tangled, refusing to align…
— Peregrine's Nest is my Hoth, Luke, — Bel Iblis said firmly. — A small sacrifice to save everyone…
— I can't let that happen, sir, — Skywalker protested. — I'm a Jedi, I'll go to them and…
— You'll do exactly what I order, Luke! — Bel Iblis's eyes flashed with lightning. — You're the only Jedi serving the New Republic. I might not trust Mon Mothma, I might suspect Fey'lya's double-dealing, but I don't doubt you. You must not fall into Imperial hands, hear me?! They'd broadcast your capture across the HoloNet. If they tried trading you for something they want, either Mon Mothma caves — and power collapses, letting the Bothans take over, dooming the Republic — or they just show proof of your capture, dealing a blow to Coruscant's authority that'd peel away dozens, if not hundreds, of systems. Besides, — his gaze softened, — I've got a favor to ask.
— Anything, Commander, — Luke declared. This wasn't a rash attempt to soothe a man who'd signed his own death warrant. It was a promise Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight, would keep no matter what.
Bel Iblis glanced around, a pained yet almost childlike smile crossing his face as he watched fighters hastily dismantle computer drives, leaving nothing in the HQ for Imperial interrogators or techs to scavenge.
— Help her, — the Corellian requested. — Not just through the grief, but overall… She'll be lost for a while after I'm gone. Our resistance can't fall apart. Maybe in better times, I should've met Mon Mothma, swallowed my pride, admitted mistakes, buried grudges, and helped you tackle the threat. Maybe… But I don't want Irenez, in her distress, to make a wrong move and rush to Coruscant begging to join. My group's a finely tuned resistance. They're the best at what they do. We can't hand Fey'lya that kind of leverage. Not after what Breyl'lya showed today.
— What's that about? — Luke asked, surprised, looking around. — Where are all the Bothans?
— Haven't figured it out yet? — the Corellian chuckled. — There's a Bothawui saying: "Your own tail's always closest to your body." They bolted as soon as the fight started.
— But no ships left the planet's orbit!
— They didn't leave, — Bel Iblis revealed. — They hid in the forests, camouflaged their ship, and are waiting for the Imperials to pick my base apart so they can slip away safely. That's all you need to know about alliances with Bothans.
— Then maybe we should abandon the ships, retreat to the planet, scatter, and…
— Then the Empire will never leave, — Bel Iblis cut him off. — As long as they think there's something here, they won't let up. I hope once they find an empty base with no scrap of intel, they'll turn the place upside down and drag Breyl'lya and his cronies out of whatever holes they're hiding in. That'd be fair, at least.
Luke, as someone who shouldn't condone such sentiments, felt uneasy and ashamed for the first time in nine years.
Because he wished the same for the Bothans. Yet he fought hard to keep anger from flooding his heart.
It wasn't working well.
But it was working.
***
The mechanics reported all systems on his craft were fixed, so Krieg Jainer raced down the Chimaera's corridor, connecting his helmet's life-support hoses to the chest unit on the fly. The blasted clamps refused to slot into place, denying the pilot the oxygen-rich mix every breathing sentient needed for the upcoming sortie.
And that didn't thrill him.
Not only had his TIE Interceptor taken a beating during the retreat after hitting the heavy cruisers, but Black Leader, Creb, had gone off without his wingman. Sure, it was standard patrol and blockade duty, but still! What a disgrace!
The whole fight — not a scratch, then at the end — bam, damaged stabilizers, a shredded stern, and a malfunctioning twin ion engine. So bad he barely survived — it took an hour to get him back in fighting shape. Meanwhile, his craft was repaired, so he could… Except they'd barred him from flying with Black Squadron. The medics and mechanics suggested he check with the Chimaera's commander — the order came from him.
Rounding a corner, Krieg realized gravity was a cruel, thankless force. So was inertia. The former didn't let him counter the latter, and he crashed into someone. The very person he was looking for.
— Captain Pellaeon, sir! — The lieutenant sprang up, swiftly helped the gray-haired man to his feet, brushed off his tunic, and saluted crisply. — Lieutenant Jainer, sir!
Lieutenant Krieg Jainer.
Pellaeon shot him an unexpectedly furious glare. That expression hadn't graced the usually genial Chimaera commander's face lately. He'd been in good spirits — which is why Krieg risked asking…
— May a rancor invite you to lunch, Jainer! — Pellaeon growled. — What the kriff are you doing here?!
— I… — What's wrong with "the Old Man"? Why's he mad as a nexu? — Sir, they banned me from flying.
— What nonsense?! — Pellaeon's irritated grimace morphed into surprise.
— No nonsense, sir, here, — Jainer showed the order copy on his wrist computer. The last lines read, "Prohibit flights with Black Squadron"…
— So what? — That irritation flared again on Pellaeon's face. — What's the issue?
— Don't know, sir, — the young lieutenant shrugged. — I feel great, my ship's fixed…
— Didn't your face get cut up by shrapnel? — Pellaeon squinted.
— Nothing major, sir! — Krieg lied confidently, knowing his face was unmarked. Unzip the flight suit, though, and you'd find plenty of holes from transparisteel shrapnel, each patched with bacta strips. — Ready to resume missions.
— Then resume them, Lieutenant Jainer! — Pellaeon barked in his face. — You lot have gotten lazy! Think just because the wing commander's dead, every squad leader can stumble into me and waste my time?!
— Sir, but I… — Krieg faltered.
— I'd give you a few choice rhyming words, Lieutenant Jainer, — Pellaeon suddenly softened. — But I fear your ears'd curl up and never straighten out.
— Sir, I genuinely don't understand, — Krieg had one trait he loathed. In the cockpit of a TIE Interceptor, he was an ace with over two dozen confirmed kills. But face-to-face, he floundered, baffling those who knew him with the shift. Right now, he wanted to bash himself with his new helmet and stop stammering. — Can I fly or not? The wing commander's dead, Lieutenant Creb's out there, I don't know…
— Oh, so you thought you could just run to the Star Destroyer's commander and have him spoon-feed you the order? — Pellaeon asked, dripping with sarcasm.
— Sir, the chain of command's broken and… — Krieg trailed off, flustered.
Pellaeon shook his head. The anger radiating from him vanished. Before the lieutenant stood the same calm, fair Star Destroyer commander the fleet knew.
— How long have you served, Lieutenant Jainer? — Pellaeon asked.
— Fifteen months, sir! — Krieg replied briskly.
— By today's standards, practically a veteran, — the Chimaera's commander said. — Now I see why your name's familiar — didn't Lieutenant Creb recommend you for promotion six months back? You saved his life on that last sortie, knocked out a burning engine with your stabilizer, right?
— Yes, sir, — Krieg relaxed mentally, trying to regain composure. Be like Creb — always calm, always confident, no fuss… He glanced at his lieutenant's insignia on his command bar. — Passed the trials, became an ace. Saving the commander's sacred — that's how they taught us at the Academy. The commander must survive, no matter what.
— Who'd doubt it, — Pellaeon sighed. — If I could find the guy writing those crash courses and hang him on an antenna… Now I get why Tschel pushed you up… No one else left — Creb's crew are mostly greenhorns… Alright, listen, Lieutenant, — he addressed him. — Heard of your recent neighbors, Gray Squadron?
— No, sir, — Krieg admitted.
— Their squad leader and deputy didn't return from a sortie, — the Destroyer commander explained. — Half the flight roster's gone. In one hour and fifteen minutes, the Grays are set to cover the Chimaera during an attack on four enemy heavy cruisers. Of the survivors — five pilots, roughed up by enemy X-wings. No command, no structure. The XO took initiative and slotted you in as acting squadron leader.
— Me?! — Krieg's eyes widened in shock. What luck! Normally, a pilot needed two years just to hit the reserve list for a higher post — and with the Rebels around, TIE pilots' lives averaged ten combat sorties at best.
— Not me, surely! — Pellaeon snapped. — It's temporary. Just this battle. Back at base, we'll find a proper leader, and you'll rejoin Black Squadron.
— Understood, sir, — Krieg's spirits sank. Yeah, he'd gotten ahead of himself — commanding a squadron at such a young age. Pellaeon was clear: "acting"… Fine, survive this fight, and he'd be Black-Two again. — Permission to go?
— Go, Lieutenant Jainer, — Pellaeon's fatherly tone faded. Before Krieg stood the stern yet just Star Destroyer commander again. — Wait, hold on.
— Sir? — The young pilot looked up.
— Where you from, son?
— Agamar, sir, refugee, — Krieg explained.
Pellaeon frowned.
— Isn't that the planet where everyone's a pilot? — he asked.
— Not everyone's crazy for the stick, sir, but yeah, it's encouraged, — Krieg confirmed. — We've got good pilots, but we're isolationists…
— Isolationists, huh, — Pellaeon's eyes glinted, a smile tugging at his lips. — Want a bet, Lieutenant Jainer?
— Sir? — Krieg's brows shot up.
— The enemy's got about a dozen X-wings left, — Pellaeon said. — You've got six pilots, including yourself. Take them all down without losing a single man, and you'll lead the Grays through this operation. No losses in the squadron, and post-op, I'll see you named their permanent commander. Deal?
— Great terms, sir, — Krieg felt his shoulders straighten despite himself. What's next? A dozen X-wings? Against half a squadron of TIE Interceptors led by an Agamarian kid? — They don't stand a chance. I'm in.
— Not even gonna ask what happens if you lose? — Pellaeon raised an eyebrow.
Now Krieg understood why Creb was always so calm.
He never considered defeat. Defeat was death. And that was the end of a pilot's career — and the dream of facing Rogue Squadron and coming out on top.
Now Krieg had a dream too. And Captain Pellaeon had just shown him how to reach it.
— No, sir, — he said calmly. — Those poor saps in their Incoms don't have a prayer. Nor will anyone we meet in battle later. Permission to go, sir? Time to brief the pilots.
— Go, acting squad leader, — Pellaeon chuckled.
With brisk steps, Lieutenant Jainer headed toward his new squadron's launch bay.