While Captain Pellaeon issued orders to mitigate the damage sustained by the Chimaera in battle, I observed.
The Star Destroyer, like a massive predator, approached a quartet of heavy Dreadnought-class cruisers frozen in a defensive formation, belonging to former Senator Garm Bel Iblis. Even to the naked eye, the flurry of transport ships buzzing around these giants of the past resembled ants in an anthill.
— The Chimaera is at seventy percent combat readiness, Grand Admiral, — Pellaeon reported, casting a glance at the enemy ships. — They fight well.
— They've had plenty of practice in recent years, — I remarked. — Tell me, Captain, don't you find the number of trips these transport ships are making a bit odd?
Gilad studied the markers on the tactical screen intently. Then, he peered long and hard through the transparisteel of the central viewport at the scene unfolding outside…
— They're moving the wounded, — he concluded, — bringing supplies up from the surface.
— I reached the same conclusion, — I nodded in agreement. — But something more significant than a mere rotation is happening. Don't you think so?
The commander of the flagship Star Destroyer resumed his scrutiny of the situation. I stole a quick glance at the tactical monitor: the enemy was over three hundred units away, meaning both they and we were beyond each other's weapons range. Yet Bel Iblis continued these peculiar transport operations…
— There's definitely something going on, — Pellaeon finally said. — The transport shuttles… their movements are strange.
— Precisely, — I confirmed. — Let's examine each ship in turn. But first, the Chimaera should reduce speed to one-third of cruising velocity. Let them finish what they've started—it'll make the effect far more intriguing, — the gray-haired Corellian issued the appropriate orders. — Now, let's begin with the Dreadnought Harrier. That's the one that didn't participate in the battle. It was damaged by the Black Pearl under Captain Vain's command at New Cov. Clearly, the enemy hasn't managed to bring it back to full operation—they've only patched the hull breaches. The internal damage was too severe to risk the ship and crew in combat. But notice—all six of its engines are active.
— Yet half its artillery is gone, — Pellaeon confirmed.
— Which makes the ship vulnerable, — I continued. — But what do we see? Transport ships from the planet's surface are docking with this heavy cruiser, lingering for a while, then heading either to another Dreadnought or back to the surface.
— Bravery of Braxsant, — Gilad read the identifier of the ship in question.
— Correct, — I affirmed. — That one has essentially turned into a transport hub of sorts. But let's not generalize, Captain. We're looking at multiple logistical chains here. First: planet to Bravery of Braxsant and back. Second: either of the two remaining Dreadnoughts—excluding Bravery of Braxsant—delivering to Bravery of Braxsant. Third: planet to Peregrine and back. Fourth: Peregrine to Bravery of Braxsant. Any guesses about what's happening?
— They're clearly delivering something from the planet to Peregrine, — Pellaeon stated. — Exclusively to it. The fourth pattern doesn't overlap with the third—meaning they're using different docking ports. One could assume they're bringing something to Peregrine from the planet, then offloading it to other ships.
— That's a reasonable assumption, — I agreed. — But if this is battle preparation, it's illogical. They have enough transports to supply each ship directly. Loading cargo onto Peregrine just to offload it on the same trip is, at the very least, inefficient.
— These are two separate logistical chains, — Pellaeon reminded me. — Meaning they're delivering something to the ship and taking something else away. That's an awful lot of attention for just Peregrine.
— Notice the time difference between the cargo deliveries and the departures, — I suggested. — The latter take a consistent or near-consistent amount of time, similar to the shuttles moving cargo from the other two Dreadnoughts to Bravery of Braxsant. And it's the same duration for unloading shuttles docked at that last heavy cruiser. Curious, isn't it?
— Very much so, sir, but I'm still not sure what's going on.
— It's simple, Captain, — I explained. — The first chain supplies something valuable to Bravery of Braxsant. The second and fourth chains remove similar valuable cargo from the other three Dreadnoughts. The third delivers something equally important, but specifically to Peregrine. So, the question remains—what are these cargoes?
— And why are they funneling them to just two ships? — Pellaeon chimed in. — Evacuating the wounded to the planet, to a base surely better equipped than shipboard medbays, would be far more practical.
— I'm certain that's exactly what they're doing, — I smiled. — The most valuable assets are being moved to Bravery of Braxsant. I'm confident it's data terminals, storage banks, and personal effects of the Corellian resistance members.
— They're evacuating the base! — Pellaeon exclaimed. — Delivering everything critical to Bravery of Braxsant, the only ship still combat-ready and mobile.
— And transferring crews from the other three Dreadnoughts, including Peregrine, to it, — I clarified. — They're likely betting we won't notice these shifts, assuming we see their ships as standard heavy cruisers rather than part of the Katana fleet. Automation reduces the required crew by nearly eightfold, but the ship's internal volume hasn't changed much. Thus, even if they cram the crews of all four ships plus base personnel onto one vessel, the life support systems can handle it for a while. We confirmed this during the Noghri superclan transport. Their actions aren't about turning one Dreadnought into a mass grave for Bel Iblis's group—they're about saving them. Which only makes sense if Bravery of Braxsant plans to break through the blockade. The most likely course is past the interdictor cruiser. Otherwise, altering orbit or choosing another route would either expose them to fighters, corvettes, and Star Destroyers or keep them in artificial gravity longer, giving our pilots more time to target their engines. So, Bel Iblis will push through the old course.
— How, if the Chimaera and Black Asp block their direct exit from the system? — Pellaeon smirked.
Indeed—how? What could Bravery of Braxsant, a nearly century-old heavy cruiser incapable of swift sublight movement or fending off the Chimaera in a direct clash, possibly do against a top-tier Imperial Star Destroyer? My flagship, even damaged, still carried half a squadron of TIE Interceptors and nearly a full squadron of TIE Bombers. True, the rest had been deployed to lock down the orbit—a price paid for miscalculations.
Thus, Bel Iblis hadn't taken my bait—a fighter-screen breakthrough? Pity. Our pilots had already perfected the counter: immobilize and fire from beneath the shields, as unupgraded laser cannons couldn't effectively down fighters. That was supposed to be the tactic against his breakout attempt.
But what was he planning instead?
As long as the Chimaera remained operational, none of these battered ships, not even Bravery of Braxsant, could escape the system. At worst, we'd recall our fighters from the blockade and strike their engines. Yes, we'd need to send repair crews here to restore the ships and ferry them to the Lok system for further repairs and upgrades, but that was better than letting them slip away, forcing us to hunt them down again…
— You're right, Captain Pellaeon, — I said. — As long as the Chimaera blocks their path. The Black Asp, for all its modernity, can't damage a heavy cruiser enough to prevent escape. Thus, they need to destroy your Star Destroyer, Captain.
Pellaeon paled.
— How? — The faint amusement left his face. — We're staying out of range of their potential point-defense systems.
— Look at the data from our bombers' airstrike, — I advised. — The ground base has anti-air and anti-space defenses. Plus stockpiles of munitions, tibanna gas, baradium—everything needed to keep this mobile army operational.
— And it should all be in reserve, — Pellaeon's face tightened. — They want to turn one of their ships into a fireship!
— Exactly, — I agreed. — And since time's running out and the Chimaera will soon be in firing range, they didn't have time to stage a full charade with shuttle misdirection.
— But which Dreadnought are they planning to use against us as the target? — Pellaeon tensed. Understandably so—even a simple ramming strike from a Dreadnought, far smaller than a Star Destroyer, could cripple the Chimaera catastrophically. A ram followed by an explosion—or just a nearby detonation of a ship packed with munitions—would cause damage incompatible with continued operation.
— Peregrine, — I replied, re-evaluating the transport patterns. — It's the only one receiving supplies exclusively from the surface.
— Just like Bravery of Braxsant, — Gilad said nervously. — And transports are shuttling between both.
— Of course, — I agreed. — But there are a couple of exceptions.
— Such as, sir?
— The same transport movements, — I explained. — For escape, they need one ship. The second will be the fireship. Taking more fireships or breakout ships is risky—they're slow, and our fighters could catch and damage them. Using multiple fireships would sacrifice too many personnel needlessly. A damaged, sluggish ship with a crew aboard is just a target, so they'll use the fastest Dreadnought available. The shuttle patterns suggest either Bravery of Braxsant or Peregrine is a transport hub, given the high volume of arrivals and departures. But as we've deduced, using transport hubs in this situation is foolish and a waste of time. Thus, Bravery of Braxsant is the breakout ship, and Peregrine is the fireship.
— Understood, sir, — Pellaeon rasped. — We need to destroy it immediately to protect the Chimaera.
— Absolutely not, — I said. — Let the Corellians believe their plan is succeeding to the end.
— Sir? — The Star Destroyer's commander looked at me, baffled. — Sacrificing the Chimaera would be unwise.
— Indeed, Captain, — I agreed. — Which is why we'll deploy our bombers from the hangar for a stealth strike the moment they begin their breakout. We'll give them hope of executing their rescue plan, then strip it away, leaving them no chance to avoid capture and accountability for their crimes.
— They'll likely have a squadron of X-Wings escorting them, salvaged by the Corellians, — Pellaeon speculated. — Without fighter cover, our TIE Bombers are doomed with minimal impact.
— Certainly, — I smiled. — But it just so happens this Star Destroyer carries more than just TIE Bombers, doesn't it? — As the Chimaera's commander hesitated, I clarified:
— Before we engage, your first officer has a task. And it's about time we ordered our stormtroopers to move toward the planet on a special course.
***
Tia had just climbed out of the TIE fighter pilot training module when she spotted an Imperial officer standing nearby.
Young, fit, with calm eyes. Not a pilot—his uniform marked him as a naval officer. But… what did he want?
— Cadet Tia, — she introduced herself, stepping out of the exact replica of a TIE fighter cockpit. Except, instead of space and enemy targets beyond the canopy, she'd spent the last fifteen minutes staring at screens simulating the cockpit's view, displaying training footage. Practically a virtual game… except it prepared her for real battles, not entertainment. — Captain Pellaeon granted me access to the training bay. And since no one was around, I figured, why not…
The Imperial's lips twitched as if he wanted to smile but thought better of it at the last moment, perhaps fearing it would tarnish his image.
— That's all clear, Cadet Tia, — his voice was as youthful as he was, a slightly breaking bass… almost boyish. Twi'leks his age were already seasoned men—hunters, providers, or mercenaries and pirates. — I'm Acting First Officer, Lieutenant Tschel. You're coming with me.
The girl's mood plummeted.
"Doomed," she thought as she followed Tschel out of the training room, only to find a pair of stormtroopers stationed at the door. — "All I wanted was to thank Creb for his mercy somehow… Fool. Should've stuck to a written note and called it a day. He refused the dance himself, didn't he? Himself. So what now…"
— You piloted an H-6 Scurrg bomber, didn't you? — Tschel asked abruptly, without preamble, not bothering to stop or turn his head toward her.
"Stuffy jerk," she mentally dubbed him.
— Yeah, — she muttered. Then, catching herself, she corrected, — Sorry. Yes, sir, I did.
— Good, — he nodded, as if her answer mattered somehow. A strange young man. She could understand why they'd sent him—lieutenant, not exactly high-ranking. But the first officer himself? For one Twi'lek who'd doodled on someone's interceptor? Paint washes off with solvent, and the engraving… just buff it out with a diamond grinder. Two minutes' work. They wouldn't toss her in the brig for that, would they? Or would they?
She stayed silent for a while before finally blurting out:
— Where are we going… sir?
Tschel didn't seem to notice her hesitation, answering almost immediately:
— Where you need to be right now, instead of wasting time on simulators. You can do that later—under a supervising officer's watch. If you complete the assignment, that is.
— Assignment? — Tia asked, suspicion and unease creeping into her voice. — What…
— Here we are, — Tschel interrupted, gesturing to the massive doors of one of the entrances to the Star Destroyer's main hangar. As Tia had learned recently, contrary to popular belief, the largest hangar bay wasn't used for storing fighters, interceptors, or other deadly craft. It was mostly for shuttles, freighters, and… — Familiar machine?
Tia blinked several times, then pinched the exposed part of her trusty jumpsuit. Ouch! That hurt!
— You're kidding, right? — she asked. — That's the Devastator, Captain Nym's personal H-6 Scurrg!
— Can you pilot it? — Tschel inquired.
— Uh… well… yes, — Tia faltered. — If the controls are standard, I'd just need to adjust the pilot's seat height.
— Why? — He shook his head as if shaking off a daze, then asked. The officer looked at the former pirate pilotess… or rather, at the top of her head.
"If I find out what growth stims they're using, I'll start taking them too," Tia pouted, glaring up at the nearly two-meter-tall, lanky Tschel from her barely-over-one-and-a-half-meter height.
— Oh, — he nodded understandingly. — Right, right… Anyway, you've got an assignment.
— What kind? — she asked, curiosity piqued. She didn't care that Nym's tales of abandoning the ship after it took heavy damage during a trophy grab popped into her mind… Seems the Imps had snatched the Devastator far earlier, and the Feeorin had been pouring Corellian whiskey down his crew's throats as easily as he did his own collar.
— A special one, — Tschel smirked. He gestured to the stormtroopers behind her, who'd been escorting her—and whom she'd conveniently forgotten about. A quick glance showed their silhouettes seemed… bigger? Were they secretly munching rations in those helmets or what?! — The H-6 only needs three crew members, right?
— Well… yeah… — Tia said uncertainly. Why these questions? If they'd had the ship all this time, couldn't they board it and count the stations? — Pilot—who also handles the six forward guns—navigator, and gunner for the upper turret. But it's a raider ship, so it can carry troops, bombs in the bay. Though, — she caught herself, — the Devastator had an energy bomb launcher. It draws power from the reactor to create energy bombs, like those old Nubian N-1s used. Makes sense, since the Scurrg tech was developed on Nubia and…
— I know all that, — Tschel waved her off. — Anyway, all our pilots are busy, and you've been granted a great honor. Per regulations, cadets can't participate in combat until they've earned a minimum flight experience certificate…
"Blockhead," Tia thought. — "I've got more flight hours than some of your Academy pilots."
— …so the Grand Admiral himself has done you a great favor, allowing you not just to fight but to join a special mission, — what a heap of joy. How to carry that honor back to the barracks without spilling it along the way?
— I'm insanely grateful, — she scratched at her head-tails' jewelry. — But will someone tell me what this assignment is?
— Oh, — Tschel grinned. — A trifle. — You'll be launched from the hangar on the Devastator via tractor beam—its magnetic coils are being upgraded now—then coast on inertia to the enemy's explosives-laden ship, dock with it using the Scurrg's lower docking node, deliver these fine fellows, — he waved again at the stormtroopers, — aboard the fireship, then, on a signal from the Chimaera's OCC, activate the bomb launcher and blow the enemy heavy cruiser's engines.
Silence hung in the air. Even the techs working on the tractor beam antenna in the hangar seemed to freeze, stunned by the "simplicity" of the task dumped on her.
— Uh… — She raised a finger, then stuck out her thumb and pointed over her shoulder at the stormtroopers. — Can't this pair of sweet guys use one of their landing shuttles instead?
— Too bulky a profile, — Tschel sighed. — The Devastator's sleek aerodynamics won't let the enemy lock onto you in inertial flight. I assume I don't need to remind you that most power-consuming systems must be off in that mode?
— No need, — Tia said, realizing she was already in too deep. Wanted to be an Imperial pilot? Here's the call—time to answer. — But we'll need to shut everything down, or passive sensors might pick us up.
— Glad you understand, — Tschel smiled, glancing at the stormtroopers behind her. — Fourth Squad! To the ship, double-time!
"What squad?" Tia blinked, turning to see the "chunky" stormtroopers spring into action. Turns out she hadn't been looking at two troopers but nine.
— Wonder if they sleep in formation too? — she mused aloud.
— And don't even twitch, — the acting first officer unexpectedly answered her rhetorical question. — At Carida, if the duty officer hears a single bed creak after 'Lights out!' the whole battalion's up for a forty-kilometer march across rough terrain in full gear…
Tia swallowed hard.
— Pilots too? — she asked, recalling how she'd tossed and turned in her assigned bunk.
— Nah, — Tschel laughed. — The pilot corps isn't as strict as the Stormtrooper Corps, — thank the galaxy's gods she'd chosen pilot training, or… — Two creaks and it's ten kilometers.
So the gods had abandoned the galaxy after all, huh?
***
— Enemy ships are moving toward us, — Pellaeon reported. — Distance—one hundred units, sir. Two heavy cruisers escorted by a dozen X-Wings.
— Bravery of Braxsant and Peregrine, — I identified the ships by their transponder signals. — As expected. Raise Grey Squadron and prep the bombers for launch. The moment Bravery of Braxsant makes its break, I want them dead in the water and those X-Wings gone.
— Yes, sir, — the Chimaera's commander agreed.
— Has the Devastator launched? — I checked.
— Deployed as ordered, Grand Admiral, — Gilad confirmed. — Techs estimate they've covered half the distance to the enemy by now.
— Excellent, — I said. — Now we wait for Bel Iblis's move.
— A detonation at this range wouldn't even scratch our hull, sir, — Pellaeon noted.
— Which is why they'll find a way to get close—practically point-blank, — I speculated. — The best, most guaranteed option: dock with us via airlocks, claiming they've got no hangars, their standard docking nodes are damaged beyond repair, or some such excuse.
— At twenty to thirty units, they'd be more than dangerous, sir, — Gilad reminded me.
— That's why we sent Fourth Squad to them, Captain, — I countered. — Bel Iblis won't take a full crew on a suicide run. He doesn't need techs for systems, deck crews for rapid response, reserve shifts, mechanics, gunners, or the like. A bridge watch and a handful of backup specialists—ten or twenty sentients in the command center, tops.
— If Sergeant TNX-0297 fails, Bel Iblis will detonate the ship…
— Which is why I sent stormtroopers and the cadet, — I explained. — If the assault fails, the worst case is he blows it early, doing us no real harm. But note: the detonation has to come from a central trigger—otherwise, any careless move could set it off prematurely, ruining their sabotage. And with both Dreadnoughts so close, the risk of damaging or destroying Bravery of Braxsant skyrockets. In the best case, we capture the general and his relatively intact ship, loaded with munitions we can use. Fourth Squad's mission has a solid shot at success—the emergency airlock is near the bridge. They'll need ten minutes at most to seize it.
— Yes, sir, — Pellaeon agreed.
In war, you can't afford altruism or anguish over every casualty. In peacetime, each fallen soldier is a family's tragedy. But in war, when it's us or them, the price of survival is never too high. Pay less, and you don't make it.
These clones have no parents. No death notices will be sent. Even if they had families, the Empire isn't known for such courtesy. Once a stormtrooper takes a number, he forgets his name, homeworld, kin—everything. He's just a number following orders. That's the only way.
Of course, Imperial archives note that human soldiers aren't always so blindly obedient. Many, despite their numbers, remember their names, civilian lives, and empathy—per the ISB, those are the ones who turn traitor, deserter, or rebel. No matter how effective Carida's conditioning, there's always "defective" stock that retains its humanity.
That's why the ISB long pushed Palpatine to keep clones in the army—no questions, and disobedience or desertion so rare it's a rounding error, not a statistic.
— Sir, — the junior comms officer on this shift spoke up. — We're receiving a tight-beam signal from Peregrine. They're requesting docking, saying they're ready to discuss surrender terms.
— And there's the distraction, — Pellaeon snorted.
— Notice how hard they're trying, Captain, — I said. — Broadcasting from seventy units. That means they're using nearly all their system reserves to maintain this illusion of helplessness with that tight beam.
— To push it that far, they'd have to disable their scanners, — Pellaeon grinned. — Including passive sensors. Otherwise, they'd flood the transmission with interference!
— Cadet Tia's mission gets easier by the second, — I noted. — Very well, patch us through. Buy some time for our saboteurs. And, Captain, send word to the Inexorable and Stormhawk. Have them ready to jump behind those Dreadnoughts on my command. Crusader-2 should join them—its primary target is the enemy fighters.
— Aye, sir!
As always in such cases, one vector of the gravity well generator would yank them out of hyperspace—right behind Bravery of Braxsant. Whether things go well or poorly aboard Peregrine, one heavy cruiser against three Star Destroyers tips the odds firmly in our favor.
***
— Distance to the enemy: sixty-five units, sir, — the helmsman reported, glancing at Bel Iblis. — If they wanted to open fire, they'd have done it by now.
— They've received our signal, — the ship's commander said, having volunteered to join the general in this final stand. As had three other officers—without them, even a ship stuffed with droids scavenged from all four vessels couldn't be run. Four sacrifices to save nearly twelve thousand… an acceptable price. — But they're stalling on a reply.
— All the better, — Bel Iblis said. — If we can close to thirty units, we'll at least knock their ship out. Captain, are you sure our lone engine can manage a burst?
— We worked on it for an hour, sir, — the heavy cruiser's commander reminded him. — Did all we could. It'll hold for five to ten units, then the reactor will melt, and the thrusters will blow. And then…
— And then it won't matter, — Iblis sighed. — I'm sure by then we'll be in a range where the detonation is fatal for them. If only they'd delay their response a bit longer…
— Incoming laser-beam transmission! — the tech reported. He sat beside the senior demolitions officer, who faced a small console wired to detonators spread across the heavy cruiser's decks.
— They've responded, — the ship's commander smirked, checking the panel. — Oh, sir, it's a holo-feed!
— Looks like an Imperial officer wants to gloat and mock us, — the former Corellian senator grimaced. — Fine, route it to the holographic projector. I'll try to stall him. Distance?
— Sixty units.
— We need at least thirty more, — the commander sighed heavily. — These'll be my first talks with Imps where I'm praying they drag on as long as possible.
— I bet he'll spend ten minutes grilling you on whether you're really who you claim to be, — the ship's commander chuckled.
Garm Bel Iblis smiled back.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a figure of white-blue light appear over the holographic panel to his left. Turning to face it, he felt his smile fade.
— Greetings, Senator Bel Iblis, — said an alien with blue skin, glowing red eyes, and dark, nearly black hair, dressed in a pristine white Grand Admiral's uniform adorned with epaulets.
— Same to you, — the Corellian coughed into his fist. — Sorry, sir, but who are you?
— Supreme Commander of the Galactic Empire's Armed Forces, Grand Admiral Thrawn, — the alien replied with a faint, almost imperceptible accent. — I'm here to take you into custody and try you for crimes against the Empire's people and military.
"Well, you're a bit mistaken there," Bel Iblis thought with a mental smirk. — "First, I'll waste ten minutes grilling you about your origins and authority. Who'd have thought my years of Senate speechmaking would come in handy at the end of the road?"
***
With a characteristic metallic clang and a hum rolling through the Devastator's interior, the stormtroopers hauled in a multi-ton circular slab that barely fit through the emergency hatch. Setting down the glowing-edged disc—once the outer door of the airlock—held by magnetic grapples, the troopers began climbing one by one through the makeshift breach onto the heavy cruiser.
Tia only glanced over her shoulder at them, occasionally shaking her head.
In utter silence, without a word, all eight troopers vanished inside.
— Thirty seconds, then seal the hatch and disengage, — ordered Fourth Squad's commander, Sergeant TNX-0297.
— Won't you get sucked out during decompression? — she asked skeptically.
— We'll have cleared the inner airlock doors by then, — the stormtrooper's reply stunned her as he approached the breach.
"These guys would make top-notch pirate boarders," Tia mused.
She peered through the Devastator's canopy at the dark gray left flank of the heavy cruiser. She'd chosen it because it was out of sight of the X-Wings orbiting the other Dreadnought and certainly invisible through the viewports of either Imperial ship. Nym had once hit a similar ship, also targeting an emergency airlock near the bridge.
That time, the boarders had been drenched in blood—it wasn't an Imperial-modified heavy cruiser. Sixteen thousand crew, fifty on the bridge alone, and two hundred more within thirty meters of the airlock. She'd barely escaped; the pirates were slaughtered.
— We're in, — the sergeant's voice crackled. Before Tia could reply, TNX-0297 was already inside the airlock.
All she could do was seal the hatch, noting that the airlock chamber was empty—the inner doors were closing behind the last Imperial trooper.
Marveling again at the stormtroopers' efficiency, she returned to the pilot's seat. A flick of a switch cut power to the magnetic docking arm, and a burst of gas and maneuvering thrusters pushed the ship away from the cruiser's hull.
Adjusting her trajectory, Tia seized the chance to latch onto another emergency airlock—this time closer to the stern. Once the signal came, she'd act.
***
— …verify your authority, — after Bel Iblis finished a nearly minute-long monologue, expertly pouring from empty to void, I glanced at Captain Pellaeon.
— Imperial forces will now demonstrate my authority and its limits, — I promised. — Fire.
The Chimaera's right turret batteries unleashed a wave of turbolaser fire at Peregrine's bow, not critically but noticeably straining its deflector shield.
The left-side turrets spat fire at Bravery of Braxsant, sailing just a few dozen kilometers off the Corellian flagship's starboard side. Predictably, that ship's deflector shield held firm too.
— I hope that demonstration sufficed? — I inquired.
— What are you doing? — Bel Iblis frowned. — I intend to negotiate surrender. Aboard Bravery of Braxsant are our critically wounded, whom I'd ask you to prioritize for aid while my crew and the second ship's personnel surrender.
— And to spare us the hassle, you've wisely split your remaining ships into two groups, — I prompted, offering the Corellian a reason why two of his heavy cruisers lingered in orbit around a planet whose name we still hadn't learned.
— Clearly, you're a perceptive man, Grand Admiral, to grasp that without a hint from me, — Bel Iblis forced a smile. — So, if I may, I'd like to dock with your ship to discuss the terms of my cruisers' surrender and my soldiers' captivity. I can guarantee that once my critically wounded receive initial medical care, the other two ships will lower shields and await your trophy teams. Likewise, at our base—once we have assurances, you can take everything we have on the planet and…
— What makes you think anyone intends to take you prisoner? — I clarified.
Not a muscle twitched on Bel Iblis's face—he'd suspected as much. And now he realized he wasn't the only one stalling.
— You wouldn't fire on ships carrying the wounded and maimed, — his voice shifted, the plea for pity clearly distasteful to him. But as I'd learned, this man would choke down his pride to complete a mission.
— Distance to enemy: fifty-seven units, Grand Admiral, — Pellaeon reported crisply.
— Commander Iblis, — I addressed the former senator. — You have one chance to save every sentient under your command—only if both your ships shut down engines and drift now. Only then can I promise no charges for attacking Imperial facilities, the Ubiqtorate headquarters, my fleet's auxiliary ship, or your other raids.
An offer the Corellian couldn't accept—he had no intention of surrendering.
— Grand Admiral, — he said evenly. — Let me board your ship and explain everything. We're both civilized men; we can reach an agreement.
I shook my head:
— No deals, Commander Bel Iblis. Either all your forces capitulate, or I take your ships by force.
— You're putting me in an awkward spot, — he said quickly. — I need to discuss…
— There's nothing to discuss, Commander, — I cut him off. — No tactical ruse, no Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker, no Bothan delegation allies backing Counselor Fey'lya will save you, — the Corellian's features sharpened; he glared at me. — Decide now—surrender, or my troops storm your ships, and the consequences fall entirely on you.
— Distance to enemy: fifty-four units, — impatience crept into Pellaeon's voice.
— Three seconds, Commander, — I said.
Garm Bel Iblis looked away.
That settled it.
I signaled the Chimaera's commander. Sidestepping the flagship's hull, our bombers and interceptors surged toward the enemy ships, met by their X-Wings rushing to intercept.
— Peregrine is accelerating! — the watch officer warned. — Bravery of Braxsant is doing the same! Closing distance. Veering right to bypass the Chimaera!
— Not for long, — I said, watching two triangular hulks emerge in real space: Inexorable and Stormhawk. After a brief hesitation, their turbolasers hammered Bravery of Braxsant's stern and upper decks, testing its deflector shield and instantly reducing the enemy squadron by one fighter with a precise, if lucky, shot.
The Crusader-2 corvette, closing on the enemy, lit up space with laser cannons and rapid-fire guns, signaling that negotiation time was over.
Just a few final blows remained.
***
— Two more Star Destroyers! — Bravery of Braxsant's commander shouted to Irenez. — Shields won't hold long!
— Peregrine is pushing its engines! — another report came.
— Maximum speed! — Luke felt Irenez's mounting tension, ready to boil over with every minute she led the rescue of those sacrificed by former Corellian Senator Garm Bel Iblis.
The young woman was on edge—just as the Corellian had predicted.
Luke opened himself to the Force, seeking to anticipate the enemy commander's moves, reaching toward the Chimaera to understand…
Sadly, the link between Iblis and the Imperial commander relied on tight-beam lasers, transmitting data packets at dizzying speeds, and Bravery of Braxsant lacked the gear to intercept or decode them. So no one on the lone heavy cruiser—relatively intact after its last clash with the Imps—knew what had prompted the commander to alter plans and close in from such a disadvantageous range.
Still, Luke knew that if all had gone to plan, none of this would be unfolding as it was now.
A dozen X-Wing fighters charged the Imperial bombers and TIE Interceptors to draw them off Bravery of Braxsant. A near-suicidal mission, given the chilling efficiency of that Mandalorian-designed corvette—Luke now recognized it, once used by the Zann Consortium, crushed by the Rebel Alliance—picking off the Corellian resistance's fighters.
But it wasn't the corvette that worried him most. It was how effortlessly the Chimaera, with a textbook ninety-degree pivot, aligned itself to Bravery of Braxsant, ignored Peregrine, and unleashed its full array of turbolasers and laser cannons on the heavy cruiser's bow. The other two Star Destroyers followed suit.
The Dreadnought's deflector shield melted away. If Peregrine didn't neutralize the enemy flagship's existence—or at least its combat ability—within ten minutes, the second ship's shields, packed with evacuated Corellian resistance personnel, would fail. And not in their favor.
Bravery of Braxsant fired back fiercely with all its guns, aiming to hurt the Chimaera as much as possible, but it scored no major hits. They were simply in different leagues.
Where were the Mon Calamari star cruisers when you needed them?
***
Tia, no longer bothering with stealth, powered up the Devastator and detached from the cruiser the moment the Chimaera's signal came.
The H-6 Scurrg peeled off the hull like a massive gliding beast, a predator poised to clamp its jaws around its prey's throat and snap it in one bite.
But fortunately for that prey, Tia wasn't aiming for the bridge—that would've taken too long, cutting through armor and transparisteel.
Relishing the heavy craft's superb handling, the young woman swung it behind the enemy ship's stern, where the glowing hull of its sole intact engine offered a stunning view. Holding the controls steady with one hand, she reached for the weapons panel with the other.
The computer had already locked targets; all that remained was to unleash the bomb launcher.
Had she attacked from beyond the deflector shield, the energy bombs—white-blue, mercury-like orbs with mirrored glints—would've detonated harmlessly on the shield's surface, doing nothing to the equipment.
But she was inside the heavy cruiser's deflector shield now. A dozen energy bombs, draining half the reactor's output, streaked toward the engine per the telemetry, ending its existence for good.
***
Sergeant TNX-0297 and the rest of Fourth Squad were ready for the ship to suddenly lose thrust, jolting violently. Clearly, Cadet Tia had done her part. Now it was their turn to fulfill the order.
— Go, — he commanded his team.
The nine stormtroopers, having already cracked the bridge door's electronics on the Dreadnought-class heavy cruiser Peregrine, flooded the command center with stun blasts.
Few targets remained—less than half a dozen humans faced the stormtroopers bursting onto the bridge. All armed, but Fourth Squad's coordinated assault left them no chance.
Only after Senator Bel Iblis and his cohorts were in cuffs, and the ship—with its reactor shut down and engines wrecked—drifted helplessly, did Sergeant TNX-0297 order the demolition rig disarmed, its deadly tendrils stretching from the bridge to the stern.
A noble—if misguided—attempt by the former senator to sacrifice himself for his people had shattered against Grand Admiral Thrawn's cold calculus.
***
The Chimaera's gunners focused fire on the heavy cruiser's port side, aiming to strip its weapons. Turbolasers, heavy lasers, and ion cannons raked the Dreadnought's deflector shields, the invisible barrier collapsing like a child's balloon. When the shields fell, energy beams tore into the hull. A forward turbolaser blister exploded, vaporizing hull plates, and fire began consuming the compartment's air.
The enemy's return salvos were no less destructive. Bravery of Braxsant's gunners tried to breach multiple spots, but the Imperial Star Destroyer's third shield generator held firm. Yet the three triangular-hulled ships had gunners whose persistence eventually paid off.
Turbolaser blisters and sensor arrays erupted along Bravery of Braxsant's port side. Above and to starboard, Inexorable's guns sheared off a massive chunk of hull.
Stormhawk, positioned directly in the Dreadnought's wake, sniped its engines with pinpoint turbolaser fire, extinguishing their steady yellow-white glow one by one until none of the six massive thrusters remained intact.
The Dreadnought—hardly the most combat-effective ship in this clash between Grand Admiral Thrawn's and Commander Bel Iblis's fleets—remained a threat even crippled and immobile, capable of causing trouble for the Chimaera's boarding craft.
Thus, positioned on three sides—bow, port, and starboard—the trio of Imperial Star Destroyers methodically pounded the enemy's gun emplacements and artillery blisters.
By the time the unchallenged Imperial gunners silenced the ship's weapons ten minutes later, units from the 501st Legion, bolstered by leftover saboteur droids and Imperial Guardsmen, loaded onto assault craft and began boarding. Separate teams headed for the two other heavy cruisers abandoned by the enemy—unresponsive to the thrashing of Peregrine and Bravery of Braxsant—and to seize the Corellian group's deserted ground base.
Amid this failed breakout, the actions of Grey Squadron's six interceptors, alongside surviving TIE Bombers and Crusader-2's support, went briefly unnoticed. With surgical precision and the ruthlessness of seasoned soldiers against an unyielding foe, they wiped out the last of the Corellian X-Wing pilots.
Watching this unprecedented rout of Commander Bel Iblis, Bothans aboard their hidden ship, tucked into the terrain's folds, obsessively reviewed holo-footage of the battle from a portable recon satellite they'd deployed upon arriving in-system. So engrossed were they in their analysis that they only noticed Fourth Squad, led by Sergeant TNX-0297, when their ship's hatch blew inward from a breaching charge.
To the Bothan specialists' surprise, Captain Morgoth Atorias's signals team aboard Stormhawk also knew a thing or two about triangulating and tracking comms devices.
By the next day's end, when Imperial techs got the captured ships into some semblance of hyperspace-worthy condition—escorted by trophy star cruisers from Captain Kalian's post-raid haul against Cygnus Spaceworks' transports—Captain Pellaeon, drafting another report on the forces under Grand Admiral Thrawn, updated the entry: "Heavy Dreadnought-class cruisers: not the usual 194, but 'Katana fleet found.'"
Then, estimating the haul from Bel Iblis's base and ships, he decided Acting First Officer Lieutenant Tschel wasn't too junior to dodge inventorying the captured war spoils.
With a sense of duty fulfilled, as befits a senior officer, he delegated the task to his subordinate and headed to Grand Admiral Thrawn's quarters, hoping to gain permission to attend his interrogations of the captured Corellian resistance leaders—figures the Empire's intelligence and fleet had hunted for a decade.
Meanwhile, Thrawn's task force, twenty strong at the operation's start and losing no major ships in the assault, set course for Tangrene to regroup, replenish, repair, and proceed to the next stage of Operation Crimson Dawn's second phase.