Nine years, seven months, and thirty-three days after the Battle of Yavin…
Or forty-four years, seven months, and thirty-three days following the Great Re-Synchronization.
(Three months and eighteen days since the incident.)
— Grand Admiral, — Captain Pellaeon's voice emanated from the comlink. — Reinforcements for the Star Destroyers have arrived. Clones have been distributed across the ships, crews are fully staffed, and damages have been repaired. The fleet is prepared to exceed the light barrier. The second batch of prisoners has been formed, as per—
— Acknowledged, Captain, — I responded, examining the hologram of the Ciutric sector, complete with annotations detailing enemy starship deployments and plans for advancing our own fleet. — We proceed.
— Yes, sir! — Pellaeon replied briskly before disconnecting.
Alone in my quarters, I focused on analyzing data obtained from Morrt Project buzz droids concerning the Bothan fleet's starships moving toward the Ciutric Hegemony.
Admittedly, when I first heard of the "Bothan assault cruiser," I was somewhat taken aback. I had always assumed such vessels were constructed after the Caamas Document Crisis, an event known to me as occurring ten years after the present timeline.
It then occurred to me that these ships, despite their exorbitant cost and compact size, surpass the Victory-class Star Destroyer in capability. They proved formidable against the Yuuzhan Vong…
It is unsurprising, then, that I took the risk and tasked analysts with obtaining scan data of the enemy fleet just before their hyperspace jump. Understanding what we face is essential.
The results were both gratifying and concerning.
First, credit must be given to our book translators. They undertake significant work, sometimes even altering elements unprompted.
In my time, I read the X-Wing series in its original language and was astonished to find, for instance, that the description of the courtroom where Tycho Celchu's tribunal occurred after Coruscant's capture was entirely absent from the original text. The translation team fabricated it. Yes, there were nuances, but the fact remains.
Another example: the "Baltic" accent of Rogue Squadron pilot Bror Jace, which appeared in the Russian localization but was absent in the English original. Why or how it emerged remains unanswered.
No, answers undoubtedly exist, but having read the Expanded Universe in Russian localization for so long, admitting the contrary in my later years…
These are mere examples.
Thus, when I heard "Bothan assault cruiser," I immediately envisioned a replica of the renowned flagship from the Yuuzhan Vong War, namely the Ralroost. In reality, it was merely an "assault cruiser of the Bothans."
The difference?
For the Ralroost and its sister ships, the correct designation would be "Bothan attack cruiser."
The "assault cruiser of the Bothans" is…
The Acclamator. Models one and two.
I could scarcely contain my amusement. With all due respect to the Clone Wars legacy, in modern combat, these starships are little more than oversized troop transports. Armor, weaponry, speed, and cargo transport capabilities define them.
Evidently, these vessels were privately owned by the Bothans and enlisted for the operation under the banner of one of the New Republic's most advanced star cruisers.
The Mon Adapyne.
The name was entirely unfamiliar, but the fact remains.
It is an MC80b Mon Calamari star cruiser, an upgrade of the MC80. Its defenses surpass and its firepower rivals that of an Imperial II-class Star Destroyer. As my friend, a "reseller," would say, "in the most loaded configuration."
Thanks to the buzz droids, we also learned that this task force includes two dozen Nebulon-B2 escort frigates. Another relic of the Rebels' shadowy shipbuilding prowess.
A formidable battle group, indeed.
Especially when augmented by two Victory-class Star Destroyers, which joined the task force just before the hyperspace jump.
This is no longer a laughing matter.
There is something else.
Something that will undoubtedly displease two individuals the moment this task force emerges from hyperspace.
Those individuals are General Wedge Antilles.
And, curiously, Prince-Admiral Krennel.
In this situation, one can only marvel at the cynical and unscrupulous nature of Counselor Borsk Fey'lya.
Soon, if the data from buzz droids embedded in the enemy's communication networks is accurate, I shall meet him.
Very, very soon.
***
He was once again Rogue Nine. Not bad, considering the alternative to returning to his former post was a desertion charge. Once more, he owed thanks to Antilles for extricating him from trouble.
Adjusting his belt and blaster, Corran dashed across the hangar deck of the Mon Calamari star cruiser serving as General Antilles' flagship.
Twenty minutes late, the flagship hurried to reach Liinade III, maintaining radio silence.
Judging by Antilles' foul mood, some news—decidedly unfavorable—had reached him.
Wasting no time, Corran leapt two meters from what was now his starfighter. The X-Wing, as in his CorSec days, was painted green, black, and white. Just like the one he stole to join the Rebel Alliance. Along with Whistler. Whom, with difficulty, he had managed to restore.
Atop the ladder, the Corellian noted that mechanics had transferred the tally of enemy kills to the new craft and stenciled the pilot's name on the hull. Only then, seeing the stunned mechanics, did he realize he had performed that leap using the Force.
But he had little time to dwell on such twists of fate, so he settled into the pilot's seat and contacted his astromech.
The droid was new, of the same model and color as Whistler. But not Whistler. Skywalker had suggested that, from the astromech's wreckage recovered during their work with his X-Wing, they might restore his old friend, as astromech personality cores are robust and often survive minor explosions. Corran, however, was skeptical.
The astromech, which Corran hadn't bothered to name, whistled a lecture about the combat alert applying to all and how it was stuck with a reckless pilot who disregarded discipline and…
Corran strongly suspected he wouldn't hesitate to reformat this droid's memory.
Ignoring its chatter, he proceeded with pre-flight preparations.
Safety harness, lower the cockpit canopy, activate the control panel with a few button presses. The engines started on the first attempt, imparting a faint vibration to the craft. But…
The fighter felt sterile. It lacked the cozy atmosphere of his previous machine.
— Hey, you, Whiner, — the pilot interrupted the droid, — adjust the inertial compensator to zero point ninety-five gravity. Assign the fleet, squadron, and third flight to the first, second, and third comlink channels, respectively.
Whistler would have done this by the time Corran reached the hangar. They had been together for years.
The droid whistled a tirade.
— You can consider "Whiner" your name, — the pilot smirked. Thus, the mechanical assistant was easily named. — Now, be so kind as to do what I said before I eject you during a flyby near the nearest star, alright?
Whiner promptly relented.
While the droid followed instructions, Corran redirected power from the engines to the weapons system. All four laser cannons began drawing energy from the ship's systems, followed by the deflectors. The latter wouldn't be needed immediately after launch. The proton torpedo launcher reported all six onboard warheads ready for combat. Diagnostics confirmed all other systems were operational.
The plan was to emerge on Liinade III's outer orbit, but due to the flagship's delay, General Antilles adjusted the course to arrive directly in low orbit, as intended for covering the landing.
— Glad you decided to fly with us, Lieutenant Horn, — the voice of Rogue Leader, Tycho Celchu, sounded through the helmet's earphones.
— My deepest apologies. You know these Mon Calamari cruisers. I headed for the hangar and ended up in the officers' refresher. Besides, — Corran glanced at the onboard chronometer, — we've got a couple of minutes before exiting hyperspace.
— No such luxury anymore, — the Alderaanian's voice was, as always, calm. Yet, his tone suggested something extraordinary had occurred. — For those lagging, our ships are already in Liinade III's orbit. And they're having a rough time—they've encountered one Imperial II-class Star Destroyer and a pair of Krennel's Victories.
— Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't there supposed to be thirteen Mon Calamari star cruisers on site? — Corran recalled. — And fifty support ships. General Antilles mentioned this at the last briefing…
— It appears our "talented and infinitely brilliant" Counselor Fey'lya decisively altered the attack plan, — Bror Jace, now Rogue Two after Tycho Celchu became Rogue Squadron's commander, interjected. Evidently, Jace had learned his lesson after Asyr Sei'lar rebuffed his attempt to attribute one Bothan's actions to their entire species. Though, hand on heart, Corran shared Jace's sentiment. Most Bothans were like Counselor Fey'lya. Asyr and a few worthy Bothawui natives were exceptions, nothing more.
— Regardless, instead of the promised ships, we've received only ten old, clearly salvaged-from-the-scrapheap MC30c Mon Calamari frigates, — Tycho continued to "delight."
Corran grimaced, receiving readiness data from the pilots of the third of Rogue Squadron's four flights, which he led.
The MC30c belonged in a scrapyard long ago. They had mostly been retired, with only a few remaining in service until replacements arrived. It seemed the Imperial offensive had forced Fey'lya's forces to unearth the most deplorable…
— Does anyone know where the ships meant to join us in this battle are? — Gavin Darklighter inquired.
— Where the Bothans' promised Acclamators from their private collection are, — Inyri Forge remarked.
— In other words, — Derek "Hobbie" Klivian summarized, — where we aren't.
— Time to get used to fighting outnumbered, — Myn Donos observed.
— They should raise our pay for this, — Klivian grumbled.
— You're quite the comedian, — Corran noted. — I'd bet Fey'lya sheds tears over every credit spent from the military budget.
— Enough verbal sparring, — Tycho Celchu advised. — We're in for a serious fight.
— In that case, why aren't Skywalker and Antilles in X-Wings? — Asyr Sei'lar asked. — If we're outnumbered, we need every pilot.
— If we see either of them in space, it means the situation's gone from bad to catastrophic, — Horn stated grimly, staring at the white-blue haze beyond the hangar's thin atmospheric field.
He had an unmistakably bad feeling about this.
But he hadn't yet grasped how accurate his Force-honed foresight, sharpened by training under that mad Jedi, would prove.
The streaks of light vanished, leaving only star specks against a pitch-black sky.
— Rogue Squadron, launch, — Celchu ordered, guiding his craft through the hangar bay's aperture first.
***
Observing dozens of small and medium pirate starships vanishing into hyperspace, Yazuo merely whistled.
— Someone's in for a rough time, — he declared, strolling past the operators' chairs occupied by B-1 droids, tasked solely with navigating the Colicoid Swarm through the cluster of gravitational anomalies to make the jump.
The carrier Star Destroyer trailed behind, alongside a few other large starships unable to maneuver as nimbly as their smaller counterparts in the system.
Only three such ships existed, excluding Captain Irv's starship, where he sat tensely in the captain's chair, monitoring the situation.
Two Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers. Very similar to those in Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet. But these answered to the Ciutric Hegemony's navy. Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel had dispatched them to the Corvis Minor system to meet and issue advances to the pirates who arrived on schedule. Imperial officers aboard these Dreadnoughts briefed the pirates on their objectives.
Though… what briefing? Merely an order—to jump to the Liinade III system on command and destroy the New Republic fleet. But why were armed freighters here, with such a number of TIE Interceptors? Did the Imperials have a base here, or what?
However, the seasoned privateer had enough sense not to ask such questions. Besides, this system produced exotic foodstuffs, so… perhaps convoy escorts?
A Hutt would understand these Imperials.
— You know, maybe we should work for Krennel? — Yazuo ventured.
— What? — Irv frowned, pulled from his thoughts.
— Let's be realistic, — the half-breed proposed. — We got three hundred thousand credits just as an advance. After the job, we'll get two million more. Plus, all military spoils are ours. We can capture Republicans and do whatever we want with them. Like selling them to the Hutts as slaves.
— Don't talk nonsense, — Irv grimaced. — The Hutts and the New Republic avoid hostile actions toward each other. Some Hutts might take such a deal, but not those controlled from Nal Hutta. Selling Republicans into slavery is like painting a target on your back. Selling a large batch would attract spies, and small batches take too long. No one in their right mind would bother.
— I don't know, — Yazuo smirked. — I'd sell… Profitable business, you know.
— Uh-huh, — Irv muttered. — Didn't I mention such deals and common sense?
— You lack an adventurous streak, — Yazuo sighed. — Still, Krennel's deal seems more lucrative than Thrawn's.
— Still sore about the Black Pearl? — Irv chuckled.
— He "requisitioned" my Star Destroyer! — Yazuo flared. — I'd have killed that alien on the spot!
Irv regarded his companion with interest.
— So why didn't you?
— There was a ton of security, — the young privateer backpedaled instantly.
— Those who want find a way; those who don't find excuses, — Irv cut him off. — Stop cluttering your head with nonsense. Look out the starboard viewports and tell me what you think.
Yazuo obediently circled the bridge and assessed the situation outside the Star Destroyer. Irv shook his head discreetly. What were scanners and displays invented for?
— Well, an Immobilizer 418 cruiser, — Yazuo shrugged. — So what?
— It belongs to pirates from Ratalay, — Irv explained. — The group's called the Lumin Pirates. Utterly illogical, fearless, reckless, and merciless scum.
— Alright, so what? — Yazuo repeated. — Half the folks we've met here are the same.
— Except they don't have an Interdictor cruiser, — Irv clarified. — I'll tell you more, my young, hotheaded friend. Immobilizers aren't produced anymore. So, the Lumin Pirates either captured this ship from the Empire or the New Republic. I doubt the latter, as the Republic guards such ships fiercely and deploys them only in reinforced squadrons. Thus, the Lumin Pirates stole this vessel right from under the Empire's nose.
— Fine, I give up, — Yazuo raised his hands. — What's your point? Why this conversation?
— Thrawn collects Imperial-designed starships, doesn't he? — Irv asked, though it was rhetorical. No answer was expected, but with Yazuo…
— Technically, not just those, — Yazuo interjected.
— Minor details, — Irv waved it off. — Thrawn's assignment is straightforward—observe what happens at Liinade III and keep him informed. So why not tell our gallant Grand Admiral that amidst this pirate fleet is a ship perfect for his collection? — Irv elaborated.
Yazuo's face betrayed intense thought.
— You really think he'll come for one ship against an entire pirate fleet? — Yazuo asked, incredulous.
— It's not about quantity, but quality, — Irv grinned. — Whether he comes, captures the ship, or defeats the pirates, we'll at least earn a decent commission for the tip. If he doesn't show, that's his business. I assume the pirates will use this ship to pin the Republicans at Liinade III. Let him come if he wants.
— So we get some commission, then what? — Yazuo still didn't grasp.
— Simple, — Irv smirked. — Think like our friend Tiberos. If Thrawn doesn't come, he'll still pay for the ship's intel. Something, at least. I'm almost certain that after this campaign, Prince-Admiral Krennel will be outmaneuvered. Getting paid by Thrawn for recon in the system, plus info on a ship he might want, is better than nothing. With Krennel's advance, it's a tidy sum.
— So we earn four or five hundred thousand total, then what? — Yazuo pressed.
— My friend, — Irv smiled. — For info on this cruiser, Thrawn will pay a couple dozen million, easily. Why? The Lumin Pirates don't advertise this ship and use it only when victims won't talk. They don't keep it in orbit at their Ratalay base. Nobody knows where. As it happens, I have a few semi-functional but repairable buzz droids aboard that could, in the heat of battle, board the ship and plant a beacon. That'll lead Thrawn straight to it, wherever it's hidden. A new ship like that costs over fifty million. A fifth of that is fair to ask from the Imperials for the lead.
— Alright, — Yazuo conceded. — But what if he doesn't need such a ship? An Interdictor-class Star Destroyer is one thing, but an Interdictor cruiser…
— I'll discreetly ask if the Imperials need such a ship, — Irv explained. — If not, we'll track it ourselves and take it.
— Sounds smooth on flimsi, — Yazuo grimaced. — That cruiser needs about three thousand crew for full operation. To attack it successfully, we'd have to strip droids from the Colicoid Swarm…
— You think I got us out of Thrawn's mandatory combat obligations for nothing? — Irv smirked.
— Uh… — Yazuo scratched his blond hair. — To make trips to Twi'lek brothels easier?
— Kid, — Irv shook his head disapprovingly. — You've got a serious problem with those head-tentacled ladies.
— They're gorgeous, the wenches, — Yazuo grinned predatorily, eyes gleaming. Then he darkened: — Though unfaithful as a Hutt.
Captain Irv restrained a curse. He took a deep breath, eyes closed. Then, touching the console on his command chair's armrest, he called up the relevant database section from the ship's central computer on the nearest monitor.
— Thrawn can dig through the Colicoid Swarm's files all he wants, — he said, — but if the ship's owner wants to hide something, they will.
Yazuo approached the terminal, tapping a droid's head.
— Hey, tin can, move over, — he said.
— Got it, got it, — the B-1 replied mindlessly, making way for the blond.
Yazuo scanned the screen's lines, columns, coordinates…
— So, what's this? — he asked. — The planet names sound familiar, but…
— Let's just say, — Irv grinned, — Captain Tiberos' maniacal desire to build his own fleet inspired me to revisit old haunts. If Thrawn isn't pulling our strings, it'll go much faster.
Yazuo fell silent, studying the coordinate list.
Then he turned to his mentor.
— I still don't get what you're after.
"This won't be easy," a wistful thought crossed the former Separatist officer's mind.
— Later, — Irv waved it off. — We've got a couple of hours to Liinade III. Take the bridge; I'll tinker with the droids and reminisce about my glory days…
***
General Wedge Antilles silently studied the tactical hologram.
His posture betrayed the tension gripping the simple Corellian lad. Arms crossed, legs shoulder-width apart, back unnaturally straight, gaze fixed on a single point.
— Something's definitely off, — he finally said, pointing not at the glowing projection but at the stern of an Imperial II-class Star Destroyer named Direction, executing a combat turn amidst the battle.
Luke, glancing at the battle schematic, remained silent.
Wedge was likely right, as the Imperial detachment of three Star Destroyers—Direction, Emperor's Wisdom, and Aspiration—abruptly ceased pummeling two Mon Calamari cruisers after Wedge's flagship emerged from hyperspace. The third ship, ablaze with multiple fires and bearing scars from anti-ship missile salvos from both Victories, drifted in orbit. The absence of escape pods suggested the crew wasn't abandoning ship, indicating a chance it could be saved.
— Helm, full speed, course zero-seven point twenty. Forty-five-degree roll to starboard, — Wedge ordered.
— Aye, General, — the designated crew member responded promptly.
— Gunners, — Wedge winced as several New Republic fighters perished simultaneously, — target Direction's stern. We need to knock out its shields before it escapes to hyperspace.
Luke calculated that, given the attack angle Wedge's flagship was adopting, most of the cruiser's artillery would rake Direction's stern so thoroughly it would suffer significantly.
Especially after Wedge issued similar orders to his other two ships. The remaining escort vessels he sent to protect the damaged cruiser, around which enemy fighters still swarmed. Their reluctance to join the ships clearly withdrawing suggested they were planetary defense forces.
Regardless, they couldn't be allowed to finish off the wounded starship.
Wedge bit his lip, watching Rogue Squadron chase the Imperial II, annihilating any Imperial fighters in their path.
— Regretting that promotion? — Luke asked, attempting to ease the tense atmosphere aboard the flagship. Truth be told, it pervaded the entire fleet, primarily due to the absence of the expected number of ships.
Which Counselor Borsk Fey'lya was supposed to ensure were at Liinade III.
Antilles could have reported this near-betrayal to Coruscant but chose to resolve the situation in his favor first.
— Partly, — Antilles muttered. — I'm sure once this campaign's over, my squadron mates will be offered promotions and transfers to other units.
— I'm no expert on regulations, — Luke admitted, — but isn't refusing a promotion frowned upon?
— Of course, — a familiar smirk crossed Antilles' face. — But it worked with Admiral Ackbar. He understood that while things are 'hot,' my place is in an X-Wing's cockpit, not on a ship's bridge. I only agreed because otherwise, Fey'lya would've devoured Mon Mothma whole and subjugated the entire Provisional Government.
— If Leia were on Coruscant, she wouldn't have allowed it, — Luke said firmly.
— I hope she returns soon, — Wedge confessed. He paused, then added: — Heard Mon Mothma sent Han on a cruiser to Sluis Van to investigate why the Bothans' gray scheme to secretly arm the Lusankya failed.
— Heard, — Luke replied. — Spoke with him before you arrived. Horn and I hoped Leia, Mirax, Booster, Lando, and General Cracken had checked in.
— Sorry their absence isn't Thrawn's ruse, — Wedge said.
— It's fine, — Luke replied. — They're alive, and that's what matters.
— Sure imperial captivity is as sweet as that Grand Admiral claims? — Wedge asked.
— I hope so, — the young Jedi stated. — Otherwise… it'll be tough.
— Otherwise, Han and Horn will rally everyone they can and go for that blue-skinned guy's head, — Wedge vowed. — I'd even pull the same stunt we did against Isard after Coruscant's capture, right in front of Fey'lya.
— Heard about that, — Luke's lips twitched. — You all submitted resignation reports to avoid New Republic ties in the war against Iceheart.
— Yup, — the Corellian confirmed. — Then, when it was over, brass showed up on Thyferra, saying, 'Your resignations got lost, so you were officially on duty the whole time.' Stamp. Signature. Han, Lando, and I pulled a similar trick before Cracken and Ackbar to save me from a tribunal for covering Horn's AWOL. By the way, neither you nor he mentioned what happened on that blasted Jomark. Horn looks at you like you're a rancor. Sometimes.
— Minor Jedi disagreements, — Luke sighed, unclenching his hand to glance at the tiny medallion he'd carried since receiving it from the cloned Jedi's body. — It'll work out, don't worry.
— Hope so, — Wedge said. — I don't fancy being caught between two friends who turn their noses away from each other.
The young Jedi laughed, realizing it was time to shift to a less… slippery topic.
— The more I hear you, the more I'm amazed at your luck, — Luke chuckled. Just then, an explosion destroyed one of Direction's deflector shield domes.
— Years of experience, Luke, years of experience, — Wedge nodded, watching Direction's stern shields falter. — Looks like someone's about to get a full dose of tibanna.
Skywalker observed, then noticed something.
— Wedge, — he rose from his seat. — Look!
— I see, — Antilles replied. — Looks like these guys are scattering. Ops, — he called, — issue new target priorities to our pilots. We can't let a single Imp escape this system. Otherwise, they'll return in force, and we've nowhere to bury them.
***
Ysanne Isard swiveled in her chair, meeting Prince-Admiral Krennel's gaze.
The Ciutric Hegemony's ruler struggled to mask his irritation with decorum, but…
— Fourteen ships, — he said. — Isard! You promised me the Fourth Fleet at Liinade III! There are four star cruisers and a dozen frigates that are flying scrap!
Iceheart appeared unfazed.
— Evidently, the Bothans altered their revanchist plan at the last moment, — she shrugged. — Nothing unusual.
— "Nothing unusual"? — Krennel mocked. — Why the Hutt did I send five ships there!? Hire pirates! All to deal with Wedge Antilles' task force?!
— Destroying Rogue Squadron is one of today's objectives, — Iceheart reminded him.
— To Hutt with Antilles and his brats! — Krennel roared, slamming his right hand onto a nearby monitor, crushing its casing with mechanical fingers. — WHERE. IS. THE. REST. OF. THE. FLEET?
— Calm yourself, Prince-Admiral, — Isard said, fearlessly meeting his eyes. — They'll reveal themselves soon. All you need is to sound the battle alert, nothing more. Commander Vict Darron and his group can handle what's been sent against Liinade III.
— Oh, yes, — Krennel said venomously. — Especially since, just an hour's flight from this system, Corvis Minor hosts dozens of pirate bands I hired, waiting to be unleashed. Seventeen million, Isard! — he bellowed in her face, no longer caring that this woman could orchestrate some treachery. — Seventeen! Million! Credits! Just the advance! I'm to pay ten times that for them to show up and shoot at a few ships?! There are enough fighters alone to crush the Rebels once and for all!
— Then summon them, — Isard shrugged. — Let them solve your Republican problem. Your warships can continue their duties.
Krennel ground his teeth, glaring at the woman who stared back without fear or unease. He wanted to reach out and crush her throat with his metal fingers. One willful act, and her trachea and neck would snap like dry reeds.
He knew this from experience. The previous commander of the Imperial II leading the battle group at Liinade III was executed for failing to raze a village harboring someone foolish enough to attempt assassinating the Prince-Admiral. Krennel didn't care about motives. He ordered the village destroyed. The officer disobeyed.
Krennel crushed his larynx with his fingers.
The new commander of the Imperial II… executed the order his way but survived.
Now, he was withdrawing his detachment—one Imperial II-class Star Destroyer, two Victories, and a pair of Rendili-built, Imperial-modified Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers—from Liinade III to Ciutric IV, to the fleet group.
— I suspect you've long known about the Bothans' altered offensive plans, — he growled in Iceheart's face, leaning so close he caught the unexpectedly pleasant scent of her body. — Wanted superiority over Rogue Squadron?
Isard gazed at him with her icy, red-and-blue eyes.
She inspired neither fear, respect, nor perverse admiration for her cold, inhuman beauty and cunning traps at every turn.
He hated her in that moment.
For her constant deceptions, using him for her own ends.
For making him look a fool.
— Yes, — she said, without a trace of regret or fear. — Rogue Squadron must be destroyed first. After that, the rest will be demoralized, and you'll finish them easily.
— Is that so, — his prosthetic fingers clenched into a fist, servos creaking. — So, you prioritized your preferences over mine?
— It's psychology… — Isard began in her mentor-like tone but fell silent when he punched a hole through the metal tabletop with his artificial hand.
— Enough. Lying, — he said distinctly. — Your intrigues end here, Iceheart. I won't let myself and my achievements be sacrificed as bait for your vendetta. Rogue Squadron is just twelve sentients flying outdated starfighters. Overhyped, troublesome pilot upstarts, nothing more.
— You're as blind as ever… — Isard began, intending to highlight his shortsightedness, but stopped mid-tirade. Krennel had seized her throat with his metal hand.
— Now you'll shut up, — he ordered. — And listen to me.
Her mismatched eyes tried to burn through him, but it wouldn't help. She should've installed laser implants.
— If I sense you're lying, — he hissed in her face, — I'll snap your neck as easily as I did that monitor, — Iceheart's gaze flicked to the wrecked device. — Now, a question. The fleet I expected at Liinade III is coming here, isn't it?
She was silent for several seconds.
Only when his mechanical fingers tightened, nearly crushing her trachea, did Iceheart nod affirmatively.
— Good, — Krennel smiled, the sadistic grin his enemies saw before death. — Then they're in for a surprise.
With that, Delak Krennel struck his captive across the face with his left hand.
Iceheart's head jerked, but his grip prevented her from moving far. Slowly, she turned her disgustingly beautiful face back to meet his eyes. She didn't attempt to defend herself, maintaining a defiant, unyielding stare.
He struck again.
Blood appeared on her lips. Her gaze held hatred and contempt.
A triumphant smile spread across the Prince-Admiral's face.
Squeezing her throat to cut off her air, Krennel struck her face with his left hand until his palm ached, and the right side of her face became a mass of bruises.
— Magnificent, — he said, pulling Iceheart's face to his and kissing her bloodied lips.
Her blood tasted like the finest spice.
When he pulled back, he noticed her aristocratic fingers unbuttoning his tunic…
Krennel's face bore a triumphant smile.
He tore Isard's crimson tunic to shreds.
***
Corran smoothly pushed the control stick forward, and his pristine, unscratched X-Wing climbed, dodging a turbolaser salvo from the nearest Victory. Looping back, he targeted the same ship, launching a proton torpedo.
The crimson projectile sped toward its target, while the Corellian banked into a left half-roll to avoid obstructing the bombers' path as they maneuvered toward the target. The number of TIE fighters deployed by both Victories to deter Republican fighters matched the attacking Republican fighters. Numerically, the forces were equal.
With one exception.
X-Wings and A-Wings had deflector shields; TIEs did not.
Rolling through the right wings, Corran spiraled longitudinally, evading a shot from a "squint," officially a TIE Interceptor. It zipped past and fell to the cannons of Corran's wingman, the Gand Ooryl Qrygg, who eliminated the threat with a single precise salvo.
But others replaced it—three, in fact. For variety, they were TIE Interceptors.
"Splendid," Corran thought. With a thumb flick, he switched the weapon systems to proton torpedo control.
The targeting reticle highlighted the first Interceptor, accelerating toward him, testing the X-Wing's forward deflector shield. The green reticle turned red—target locked. Whiner buzzed confirmation, and Corran fired a torpedo.
Qrygg downed the second with his cannons.
Asyr got the third. Inyri missed out. The girls, undeterred, moved to other targets.
Corran switched back to laser cannons, setting them to fire simultaneously, then caught a nearby "dupe" in the reticle. When it turned green, he fired. The TIE Interceptor lost its cockpit, a small flash erupting inside.
Asyr Sei'lar's X-Wing flashed past, and Corran fell in behind and slightly right of the Bothan, who barrel-rolled through her left wings, diving toward an ascending enemy fighter. Realizing it was a prime target, it veered—only to be shattered by Inyri's shots.
— Fine, — Corran muttered, having planned the same. — Didn't want it anyway. Ten, let's get out; let the girls have fun.
— Ooryl understands, — the Gand replied. That Gand—everything checks out, yet he occasionally speaks in the third person. Upset? Corran would check after the mission.
Spotting a "squint" chasing a "wishbone," Corran's craft rolled ninety degrees along its axis and fired all four cannons before breaking off.
He missed.
His wingman didn't.
All four of Qrygg's shots hit. Two laser beams melted gashes in the Imperial's right wing, two pierced the transparisteel canopy separating the pilot from vacuum. A red detonation flame flared briefly in the cockpit, then an explosion tore the fuselage apart.
Suddenly, it cleared—both Victories had jumped to hyperspace.
— Boss'll tan our hides, — Corran sighed, habitually calling Antilles by his old moniker.
— Seems, — Bror Jace's voice came through the helmet, — someone's forgotten how to shoot, eh?
Rogue Two, Jace's callsign, flashed across Corran's course, pursuing the last Interceptors with the leader.
— Left it for you to mark something on your hull, — Corran quipped. — Or didn't they tell you that after resignation and returning to the Rogues, past kills don't count?
Before Jace left the Rogues, he led Corran twenty-two to twenty-one in their friendly rivalry.
The Thyferran laughed softly, downing a "dupe" in a brief skirmish.
— Good one, — Jace said. — Even so, I'm only ten behind you now.
— Uh… what? — Corran blinked. What did that mean? Had his squadron mates given all the Imps to the Thyferran while he was gone? — Can someone explain what Two's talking about?
— Nine, — the commander's voice cut in. Celchu, calm as ever. — Two's joking.
— Oh… — Corran drawled. — Alright then.
— He's got three more than you, — Myn Donos added. That guy wasn't a joker, so… No way Jace was that good! It defied logic!
Corran chased a "squint." No, this wouldn't stand!
When the Imperial fighter was just a memory, and amidst Hobbie Klivian's curses as Direction escaped to hyperspace, only Jace's chuckle filled Corran's earphones.
— Alright, — Celchu said. — We lost those; return to the planet.
— Boss, — Wes Janson's voice joined the channel. — I say we hang back, let Horn gain some ground. Otherwise, Jace'll wipe out the remaining Imps in a couple passes.
— One's enough, — Jace replied, chuckling.
— So that's how you welcome an old comrade, — Horn feigned offense, engaging his X-Wing's afterburners. — Fine, I'll do it myself.
— Hold up, — Bror laughed. — We were kidding. Counter-jab for your quip about resetting kills.
— Actually, that wasn't a joke, — Klivian coughed. — Goes back to when we were Red Squadron. So…
Amid the pilots' laughter, Rogue Two surged forward, intent on restoring his lead in their friendly competition.
Humor would never fade from this squadron's pilots.
But why did Corran still feel so uneasy?
— Rogues, — Antilles' voice broke through on the squadron frequency. — End your chatter and return to the flagship. New assignment. You launch in fifteen minutes.
— Trouble, General? — Celchu asked.
— You let three enemy Destroyers slip away, — Wedge reminded. — The Victories went to Ciutric; Direction headed to Corvis Minor. I want to know what it's doing there. In two hours and fifteen minutes, report what Krennel has there and if we should expect a kick. If you finish the job and rid us of that Imperial II, drinks are on me. Unless command reshuffles everything in the next quarter-hour, as usual. We might all be dragged to a tribunal as witnesses against Fey'lya, whose actions I just reported to Coruscant.
— Now that's more like it! — Gavin Darklighter perked up. — Always nice when command has someone who gets pilots' needs.
Corran refrained from commenting.
A very bad feeling had emerged.
Similar to the one before C'baoth's lightning attack nearly cost him his life.
***
Settling into the bridge chair, I caught Captain Pellaeon approaching from the corner of my eye.
— The New Republic fleets have arrived in the systems you specified, sir, — he reported. — Scouts from Liinade report General Antilles routed Krennel's forces, and three Destroyers retreated.
— A ruse, — I stated calmly. — The Bothans?
— Acting as you predicted, — Pellaeon confirmed. — The battle hasn't started, but they've walked into Krennel's trap.
— Good, — I said, glancing at the chronometer. — In one hour and fifty-seven minutes, we'll join this celebration and resolve all parties' misunderstandings. Inform the fleet to prepare for battle. Yellow alert in one and a half hours.
— It will be done, Grand Admiral, — the commander of my flagship Star Destroyer responded promptly.
After Pellaeon departed, I leaned back in my chair.
The ysalamiri on my lap yawned contentedly as I stroked it with fingers clad in soft white gloves.
Mentally, I rehearsed the plan for the impending slaughter.
***
The report from the New Republic's youngest general regarding Counselor Borsk Fey'lya's criminal actions as acting commander-in-chief of the Armed Forces was securely encrypted and sent to the Provisional Government's office, directly to Mon Mothma.
The message swiftly reached its destination, was decrypted by special services in the Imperial Palace, and placed on the Provisional Government head's desk. She had already begun investigating the circumstances, armed with official documents.
Though a preliminary conversation with the Provisional Government's head had informed Antilles that Borsk Fey'lya was absent from his post, and his whereabouts were unknown. He was neither on Coruscant nor Borleias, where he was supposedly headed.
The fleet meant to support Antilles' task force during the Liinade III attack was also unreachable. Unease grew in the Imperial Palace.
The unknown was frightening and alarming. Given recent crises and anticipation of something dire, the New Republic's government hesitated to discuss the missing fleet's fate.
They would have been more terrified had they known that, long before General Wedge Antilles' report reached Mon Mothma's desk, it had been studied by an older woman in a crimson Imperial admiral's uniform without insignia.
Ysanne Isard sat in her chair within her secret sanctuary, smiling.
On her computer screen glowed the report of the man who had destroyed her life, stripped her of everything, and placed her in a precarious position before the reborn Emperor.
Her intricate mosaic nearly cracked due to unpredictable events caused by Grand Admiral Thrawn's interference.
Rogue Squadron was precisely where it needed to be, but not when she had planned.
The fleet meant to assault Liinade III had arrived and met its expected resistance.
She knew the battle's outcome.
Her initial plan had gone to the Hutts.
But what plan can't be adjusted when necessary?
The Ciutric Hegemony's fate was sealed, soon to fall to the Bothans, elevating one cunning counselor to greatness. But that didn't mean Iceheart would surrender easily.
Never.
She leaned forward and activated the holoprojector.
A holographic figure in an Imperial pilot's uniform appeared, helmet obscuring his face, though she recalled it vividly.
— Begin, Colonel Vessery, — she said. — Soon, Rogue Squadron will be where you can easily reach them.
— Understood, Director, — replied the commander of the elite squadron of the galaxy's finest fighters, according to those who faced TIE Defenders and survived. — Intruder and Stranger Squadrons are preparing to launch.
Without farewell, Iceheart deactivated the comm.
Gazing at her reflection, she merely smiled.
A few steps remained, and the New Republic would suffer a blow from which it would never recover.
Then Emperor Palpatine would arrive and pulverize all that remained.