Upon reaching Bestine, we quickly boarded the shuttle with the Dark Woman—who, by the way, turned out to be dark-skinned, but blonde. A blonde, for crying out loud! After that, our three guests, along with Aayla, went off to discuss something among themselves—apparently, the information each of them had managed to dig up. They didn't invite me, but kriff them. I had no desire to get involved in all that reconnaissance-and-sabotage nonsense.
So, the crew and I got to work.
According to the plan drawn up by Sumeragi, we formed up in a battle formation and began combing through the nearby systems. Fortunately, two ARC-170 squadrons could cover a vast volume of space. Akagi held the center of the formation, with one squadron to port and another to starboard. These machines have excellent scanners and sensors, plus hyperdrives and up to five days of operational autonomy. While that's normal for clones, most other sentient beings would hardly agree to sit around in space for that long. Still, the ARC-170 is a real gem of a machine.
The Y-wing bomber squadron remained on standby; the pilots, so to speak, barely left their cockpits, ready to launch at a moment's notice. However, the Eta-2 interceptor pilots were in much the same situation—they would be responsible for defending the ship if anything happened.
Ahsoka and I couldn't influence the situation in any meaningful way, so… we went to train. The worst part is waiting and catching up, so at least we'd kill time productively.
Our tactics paid off already by the end of the very first day of patrol. One of the ARC-170s detected a debris field in an uninhabited system, and we immediately redirected the formation there. Still, everyone understood perfectly that we were already too late.
When Akagi emerged from hyperspace, we began recovering the heavy fighters on board.
They needed refueling, and the pilots needed rest. A full day in cramped cockpits with uncomfortable seats is too much even for clones. They, of course, don't really care—but I do.
Meanwhile, we watched the main overview screen, which showed several shuttles we had dispatched to the site of the destroyed convoy.
"Master… who could have done this?" Ahsoka visibly shuddered as frozen corpses—most likely crew members from the transports—flickered across the display.
"Pirates," Aayla Secura answered briefly, saving me the trouble.
"It looks like we've found one of the missing convoys," Li Noriega muttered thoughtfully. "Judging by the quantity and structure of the debris, it's PQ-17BA5—or rather, what's left of it. Somewhere around here, a gravity projector pulled them out of hyperspace. All channels were jammed with interference, so they couldn't even report what was happening. They were attacked immediately, stripped of everything of value. Many containers simply vanished. And whatever they couldn't take, they destroyed—ships, crews…"
"After that, our forces face an acute shortage of supplies, including bacta," Tholme frowned.
"Such a strategy is an integral part of war," I replied calmly. "Disrupting the enemy's supply lines means weakening their ability to attack or even hold what they've already taken." to me, that's quite natural. Any big war is bound to have partisans.
"It seems the raiders are based on one of the nearby planets. That gives them a major tactical advantage. And besides, they need somewhere to sell their 'goods.'" the husky rasp in the Dark Woman's voice sent a chill down the spine.
"And that's the real problem," T'ra Saa added. "All the nearby planets belong to the Republic."
"Finding their base won't be easy," Ahsoka frowned, studying the map. "There are thousands of systems in this region."
"Still, we have to do it," I sighed. "That's why we were sent here."
We moved from the bridge to the command center. It was time to decide how to proceed.
"Master, this area is part of the Second Sector Army, right?" the Togruta asked.
"Yes. Why?"
"I was thinking… the Separatists must have some kind of similar structure too, right?"
"Let me explain, Commander," the Tinman interjected. "The CIS has centralized strategic control, but individual units and squadrons operate independently and are constantly on the move. The size of the unit is not constant. This allows them to respond quickly to emerging threats, rapidly concentrating large numbers of ships where needed. It is difficult for the Republic to counter such tactics. These convoy attacks are a prime example."
Although not everyone understood why I kept this droid around, but… aside from its usefulness and entertainment value—'Roger Roger'—I had a purely research-driven interest. An experiment, so to speak, and it was already bearing fruit. After just three or four months of uninterrupted operation, the OOM B-1 droid already communicates quite decently and even thinks more advanced than his CIS counterparts, who "live" from battle to battle in a deactivated state.
"But… it's difficult. Managing all this chaos."
"That's not a problem for droids, ma'am."
The Dark Woman smirked.
"It's useful to have such a source of information."
***
Second Lieutenant Durandal Antilles squeezed into the control room of his ship.
"Sir, twenty minutes until we exit hyperspace! All systems on the frigate are normal!" Ensign KM-2-HQ7-2206 reported, snapping a salute.
"At ease." Durandal glanced at the transparisteel viewport. Beyond it stretched the familiar sight of stars smeared into luminous streaks…
Durandal hailed from Coruscant. His parents had lived on the lower levels, but his father had somehow scraped together enough credits to send his son to the Academy. The boy did his utmost, fully aware that he would never be given a second chance. Three years passed, and eight months ago, after completing his training, he began his service among the Justice Forces pilots with the rank of midshipman. Alongside his commander and mentor, Captain Isaia Tervin, he managed to log several dozen flights…
And then the war broke out.
Their corvette, like so many others, was mobilized into the Republic Fleet.
At first, Durandal had been terrified. He understood perfectly well that in these aging tubs dating back to Stark's Hyperspace War, it would be extremely difficult to stand against the ships of the Banking Clan and the Trade Federation—vessels that, while originally civilian, were still vastly more powerful.
Fortunately, the Republic—and the Jedi—had not been idle. They were ready for war. Thousands of warships equal to the enemy flooded into space. However, Durandal continued to serve under his captain, and for four months, as part of a squadron, they repelled CIS attacks along the Hydian Way. But in one engagement, their corvette was badly damaged.
And then his dream came true.
He was promoted—and given command of a brand-new frigate fresh from the Kuat shipyards.
Once again, he mentally recited its specifications, almost licking his lips.
Length—two hundred eighty-two meters. Crew—nine hundred… clones. Shields fifteen percent stronger than those of a Consular-class cruiser. A reinforced hull that inspired confidence. Ten light but powerful turbolaser cannons paired organically with twenty light laser cannons, making the ship a deadly opponent for enemy fighters and small vessels.
Only the speed was a little disappointing, and the maneuverability left something to be desired… but that was acceptable. Everything had its price.
At that moment, his frigate—designation EF-23-34Y, which he privately called Tantema in honor of his mother—was leading a convoy of seven GR-75 transport ships and a single passenger Corellian Star Shuttle. Recently, attacks on convoys have become more frequent, and even without that, the hyperspace routes were never safe — there was always plenty of scum in the form of pirates or slavers.
Suddenly, his inner sense — the one he had already grown used to trusting — literally screamed of danger. 'Something's wrong here.' And then, echoing his instincts, the alarm siren wailed.
"Sir, straight ahead—a gravitational anomaly! Exiting hyperspace in five… four…"
"Crew, prepare for battle! Gunners, stand by to fire!.."
"Zero!"
Reports flooded in immediately.
"Sir, the system is uninhabited! We're forty units from the nearest planet—I don't understand why—"
"Contacts dead ahead—three marks… no, more! Clarifying—three large signatures and forty-eight small ones!"
The transport ships dropped out behind them, their captains screaming frantically over open comm channels. Well, yes, an unexpected incident.
"It's the enemy!" he barked. "Prepare for battle! Cover the transports! Ready for an emergency hyperspace jump!"
"Sir, the anomaly is still active! We can't—"
Hutt! The lieutenant drew in a sharp breath through clenched teeth.
"Order the transports to turn around and get out of here! We'll engage the enemy! Midshipman, you're in charge of coordinating fire! Pilot! Clear that seat for me."
Dropping into the chair, Durandal seized the control sticks and shoved them forward.
"Attention! We are attacking the enemy. Primary target—the lead ship!"
There's no chance, but I'm not about to surrender just like that! And may the departed Gods aid me!