Mar Tuuk, peering at the viewscreen of his flagship, suddenly felt a nervous tic starting. His right eye twitched involuntarily, periodically blocking his view.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" he said in a quiet voice full of despair and anger.
The OOM droid standing nearby, acting as the flagship's captain, stupidly shifted its gaze from its commander to the other droids on the bridge.
"Uh... sir?"
"How did they manage to get through our minefields?!" the Neimoidian exclaimed, throwing up his hands.
"The control stations on the planet have been destroyed," the OOM reminded him. "Enemy saboteurs..."
"I've already heard that!" Tuuk cut him off. "Why are our ground forces doing nothing?"
"They are pursuing the Republic clones," the droid reported. "So far unsuccessfully..."
"By the Hutt!" Mar swore. "All ships — concentrate fire on the breakthrough ships!"
"Roger roger," the OOM replied.
However, the Separatist commander knew his actions were a desperate attempt to wrest the initiative back from the Republic.
And it had all been going so well...
Despite his defeat at Ryloth and his disgraceful flight, he had managed to maintain his position among the Separatist commanders. Though his standing was shaky, a certain amount of support from high-ranking allies in the Trade Federation had allowed him to remain in the active fleet rather than return to the boredom of clerical work.
He'd had to pay a lot of bribes and humiliate himself to get a post where he could lie low. The assignment to Hypori, where the Republic had already been defeated once and showed no desire for revenge, he had accepted calmly. Tuuk's pride had suffered far more after Ryloth than his career had.
His obsession with gathering intelligence on the enemy and predicting his opponent's moves had backfired on him. The assumption that Skywalker—just like Kenobi—was incapable of deception had failed him at the most critical moment.
But now, deep in the rear of both the Republic and the CIS, he could freely analyze his mistakes, collecting bit by bit information about those who might pose a threat.
First and foremost — Grand Moff Dougan.
Ambitious, aggressive, brave. Preferred simple solutions to complex schemes. A mediocre characteristic for any Jedi. But Mar Tuuk wasn't about to step on the same gizka twice. So when a Republic fleet of assault cruisers appeared in the system, he took cover behind the minefields, putting the fleet on pre-battle alert. He dispersed them across Hypori's orbit, filling the space around the ships with thousands of Vulture droids.
The plan was simple. Let the enemy break through the mines, then finish off the damaged ships. Elegant, and at the same time — effective. And considering each Acclamator-class ship carried about sixteen thousand troops, not counting the organic crew... Yes, this victory would have brought him a nice dividend.
But all his calculations shattered against harsh reality.
Ordering the droids to scan the ships — fortunately the minefields were also saturated with sensor stations — he felt the ghost of the Ryloth defeat looming over him. Because on all the ships of the enemy detachment, there weren't that many organics. Not to mention that the command stations controlling the minefields had been knocked out. As had the backup generators that were supposed to power the reserve control centers.
At the very start of the battle, he was left without his forward line of defense.
Which could only mean one thing — another Jedi trap. And these ships were nothing more than bait...
"Sir," the same OOM appeared at his side. "The enemy is successfully advancing through our minefields."
"What?!" Mar practically jumped out of his chair. "How is that possible?!"
"We are detecting a significant increase in the ships' mass. Detailed scanning has revealed additional deflector shield generators and hull plating welded onto the Republic ships..."
"Recall all ships from other areas of Hypori's orbit immediately!" Tuuk shrieked.
He had divided his available forces — sixty-two Munificents and twelve Recusants — into six groups of two destroyers and ten frigates each. He had reinforced his own squadron with the two remaining frigates, and it seemed that such forces would be enough to stop the Republic's breakthrough.
But, in light of this new information...
The Neimoidian no longer doubted that the fifteen Acclamators were merely a vanguard, whose only task was to punch a hole in the defenses. Considering the minefields were positioned outside Hypori's geostationary orbit and were static — by creating a corridor, these ships could easily open the way for the main invasion force. Tuuk simply couldn't see another task for them — the armor and extra deflectors were precisely meant for detonating mines and clearing a specific area of space.
And yet, that very same advantageous positioning of his own forces for rapid response to a straightforward invasion had backfired on him again, the moment the mines were left without external control. Now they were nothing more than pieces of metal with baradium charges drifting in space — only signals from the control stations on the surface could make them change position, piling onto the invaders en masse.
The only thing he could do was concentrate his forces into a fist. But judging by the speed at which the Republic ships were clearing the barrier, this would happen too late to nip the attack in the bud. Because it would take each group at least half an hour at full speed to reach the invasion zone.
"Transmit to the ships of my group — move to intercept the enemy and lay down concentrated barrage fire on any Republic ship that clears the minefield."
"Sir," another OOM approached him. "New enemy ships have appeared in the system..."
"What the hell is this?!" Tuuk gnashed his teeth. Running to a technical console, he saw with his own eyes more than fifty ships appearing behind the Republic breakthrough group... Hammerheads, Marauders, one Valor-class cruiser...
"Looks like Grand Moff Dougan has dropped by to see us," Tuuk hissed. "Only he uses that kind of antique as a flagship."
"Orders, sir?" The artificial voice of the droids was starting to get on his nerves.
Now wasn't the time to lose his head. He had been instructed on this very matter by Count Dooku himself — as had all Separatist army commanders in this part of the galaxy.
"Contact General Grievous," he ordered. "Tell him we have contact with Grand Moff Dougan."
* * *
I pushed the control stick forward, and the X-wing rolled free from the rear hangar of the Telos. It hadn't been in the original plans; I'd had to ask for some upgrades during the refit. And now I had my own personal hangar, designed to accommodate the Defender and an entire squadron of fighters. A small thing, but a nice one. It wasn't right to clutter up the other hangars allocated for the ship's aviation with my own rides. Besides, when you have a personal hangar with your own pilots and your own mechanic crew, you can stop worrying about unpleasant surprises.
Yes, the Christophsians, whose numbers among the crews of the ships under my command were growing, were loyal, and I shouldn't expect any "ambushes" from them. But. As the rule of this galaxy goes: "Overconfident Emperors end their careers flying into a reactor shaft." So, to kill two womp rats with one stone — both to ease my mild pangs of conscience and to have a deck crew personally loyal to me — I called Kodos Pike, a former Temple engineer, into my service. The very one who had helped me get the Defender in order right after I'd found it in the Temple Hangars. He'd been fired along with his team of technicians when the Order's higher-ups uncovered their little scam involving outdated technology.
I rolled the ship into a left half-barrel roll to avoid getting in the way of the squadrons of Torrents on their approach. They had their own work; I and my two wingmen had ours.
"Leader to Saber and Lolita," I said into my helmet mic. "Everything all right?"
"Saber to Leader," Oli's cold voice sounded in my earpiece. "Systems nominal, ready to execute the mission."
"Lolita to Leader," Ahsoka said, her tone slightly flustered. "Ready."
"Excellent, Rogues," I said. Sorry, Wedge Antilles, but you'll have to come up with another name for your squadron. "Form up in my wake, overlapping deflectors. Stay close enough to breathe down each other's necks..."
"Maybe then you'd better take the rear position, and let me lead?" Oli inquired.
"And why's that?" I was surprised.
"You're more accustomed to being behind Ahsoka," I felt the caustic edge in the girl's voice through the Force. "You can cover her, so to speak, from behind..."
"Oli..." the Togruta began.
"Saber," I cut the girl off. "This isn't the time for jokes. We need to attack and disable the enemy flagship..."
"As you command, Leader," the girl said indifferently.
Rounding the hull of the Telos, which was closing on its target, the trio of X-wings rushed toward their objective.
The enemy flagship was easy to identify. Unlike the second Rebel, it held the center of the formation. Two "tiers" of frigates covered it from below and above, while the second destroyer was at the tip of our attack.
To the right, at a sharper angle, a pair of Hammerheads were moving in on the same target, releasing squadrons of Hunters from their hangars. Yeah, despite our air wing being a mixed bag, I preferred Incom's machines. The army had simply accumulated a huge number of Torrents, Eta-2s, and other assorted "zoo stock" that had to be used, replenishing combat losses with machines from my partner's assembly lines. Well, I'd certainly learned how to budget the Grand Army of the Republic's funds. And it would be a shame not to — the Hunter fighters had great speed and acceptable armament. Its competitors could boast the same, but... the price of each machine was far from equal.
The ARCs were currently smashing the Separatists' left flank. We had very little time before two more enemy groups joined the fray. Their Vultures were already running "carousels" with our fighters, but for now their turbolasers were silent. That couldn't last long.
We had to use our numerical advantage and destroy the commander's group before reinforcements piled on. Beating the enemy one at a time was far easier than facing them all on one front.
The number of Separatist droid starfighters was, as usual, many times greater than our own. But there was nothing we couldn't handle.
Slipping into the Force as usual, I mentally reached out to my wingmen. Ahsoka, catching my mental probe, readily joined the Battle Meditation. But Oli... remained cold and unreceptive to it. Offended innocence, pure and simple.
I opened a comm channel to my apprentice.
"Oli... the meditation is necessary. We'll be much more effective..."
"You can handle it with just the two of you," the girl snorted. "You two do it pretty well together."
"Stop it," I asked. "Between us..."
."..'there was only sex,'" the girl mimicked. "'Nothing serious.' 'I only love you.' Anything else from that repertoire you want to add, Master?"
"I never swore I loved you," I recalled, throwing my fighter to the side while simultaneously turning a pair of Vultures into a field of debris. "And I kept my promise..."
"Oh, I don't need your handouts," the girl snorted. "I didn't find myself in a trash heap, you know. I won't settle for a man after someone else."
"It didn't bother you before," I said. A crimson streak from a blaster cannon grazed the nose of my X-wing, but didn't penetrate the powerful deflectors.
"Before, you weren't sleeping with my friends," Starstone argued. "But here... what a knight in shining armor. He helped a girl kicked out of the Order by his own doing, set her up with a job. Shared his experience... good guy, in a word."
A squadron of Vultures, breaking away from the general melee, rushed to intercept us. Well, fine. It happens.
I did a barrel roll over the right wing, pulled back on the stick, aiming for the upper deck of the enemy flagship Destroyer's sharp nose; at the top of the climb, I flipped my fighter over. The gray hull of the enemy ship and the flashes of anti-aircraft guns streaked past — now above my head.
The Confederacy Rebel, being relentlessly pounded by a flight of Hammerheads, was holding up under fire quite stubbornly. It would withstand anything imaginable, just to beat the Telos. The enemy ship had sharply increased its speed for a reason, closing on the Republic flagship.
Well, well.
"Admiral Declann," I contacted the commander. "The enemy Rebel intends to ram you."
The Telos was holding the front line. And not at all because its crew wasn't afraid to die. It was just that this cruiser's shields had impressive reserves, and its numerous guns were an additional argument for plowing through the enemy formation.
"We see it, sir," Nial's voice sounded tense. No surprise there — Battle Meditation wasn't a walk in the park. It required concentration and diligence. Even though my future Grand Admiral had advanced in this discipline thanks to information from some holocrons I'd kindly provided, I couldn't call him a virtuoso at it. "We're diverting the Marauders to destroy it."
"I'll help however I can," I assured him. With one flick of my thumb, I switched the weapons systems to proton torpedo control. The Force told me the Togruta had followed my lead.
"Oli, we're attacking the enemy Rebel with protons."
"Joining in," the fighter closing our trio lurched sharply to the side, spraying fire on the nearest artillery turret of the destroyer as it went.
"Oh, for...!" Ahsoka cursed, breaking off to help her apprentice. Because the latter, caught up in destroying enemy turbolasers on a strafing run, hadn't accounted for the enemy ship having a way of defending itself. Including with a large number of starfighters.
A distant spark was already glowing in my targeting reticle — a Vulture that was gaining speed, lining up on Oli's X-wing. The indicator was green, but quickly turned yellow, and by the time Little Brother gave an indignant beep, it was red. I pressed the trigger, launching a missile, having switched to this type of ordnance in time. Too much honor for a droid — being destroyed by a proton torpedo.
My target spun around, executed an Immelmann turn, and sped away from the homing missile. The droid had no chance of outrunning the torpedo, but that wasn't the point — the main thing was that the enemy squadron leader hadn't opened fire on the girl.
"Saber!" I called to my apprentice. "Get back in formation!"
"Just a couple more turrets..."
"Immediately!" Ahsoka's fighter was spinning around Oli's X-wing, driving Vultures away from her, turning more and more of them into scrap metal by the second.
"As you command," the girl replied indifferently. Nevertheless, she broke through to the Rebel's bridge, slamming two torpedoes straight into it. A colossal flash literally tore the superstructure from the ship's hull, sending it spinning wildly in the vacuum.
The other Vultures scattered, leaving Starstone's X-wing alone and rushing to intercept me. Who programs their intelligence anyway?
With short bursts, I turned three enemy fighters into vapor and clouds of debris. Ahsoka, coming up, finished off the rest of the squadron. Oli, back in formation, indifferently let the sole surviving Vulture escape. Though it didn't live long — a Hunter that flashed past completed the enemy's active cycle.
"What the hell were you doing?" I shouted at my apprentice.
"Attacking the Star Destroyer," she declared in a tone as if she did it every morning with her eyes closed.
"You could have been killed," Ahsoka scolded her. "The anti-aircraft fire was densest there."
"What's it to you?" Oli asked irritably. "You two work together; I can manage on my own..."
"Stop playing with that grudge stuck up your ass!" the Togruta burst out with foul language. "You're acting like someone swiped the last pastry you'd already called dibs on right from under your nose at breakfast!"
"Excellent comparison," I commented, switching the weapon system back to the laser cannons, setting them to simultaneous fire, and catching the nearest Vulture in my targeting reticle. When the reticle turned green, I pulled the trigger. Four laser beams sheared off one of its wings, making the enemy seem to hit an invisible wall, spin off to the side, and explode into pieces after catching a burst from Ahsoka's guns.
Starstone's X-wing flashed past. I tucked in behind and slightly to the right of my apprentice, who, tumbling over the left wing, dove toward an interceptor that was gaining altitude. The opponents exchanged fire and both missed.
Through the Force, I felt the seething irritation that had taken over the girl. She was practically radiating fury, anger — and you didn't need to be a Jedi to know that Ahsoka's words had struck a nerve.
And, as if to confirm her words, Oli's ship rotated ninety degrees along its long axis and fired a salvo from all four cannons at once before peeling away.
All four of her shots were accurate. Two melted long gashes in the starboard side of the Vulture's fuselage; two more punched through the central module of the little ship — where its artificial intelligence was located. For a second, it continued its headlong flight, then exploded into a million fragments.
To be safe, I rolled off to the right. Who knew what was going through that crazy girl's head. Even Ahsoka went quiet, sensing the emotions tearing through her former (?) friend apart.
Reforming into a V-formation with me in the center, the whole trio headed straight into the battle zone.
Meanwhile, while we were playing games with the enemy starfighters, the situation on the battlefield had changed. And not for the better, I might add.
The Telos was finishing off the first Rebel, which, under a deadly hail of turbolaser bolts, had turned into a burning chunk of metal full of fire, smoke, and holes, slowly drifting away.
The Marauders, with their cavalry charge, had done considerable damage to both groups of Munificents covering the enemy flagship. The number of opponents had decreased by a few, but at the same time, two of our Hammerheads were slowly retreating to the rear. One had the top of its bridge completely sheared off; the other's hangar doors were continuously spewing streams of fire and smoke. It seemed one of the Vultures had gotten lucky and reached the tender insides of our ships.
Checking the fleet markers, I noted with dismay that the relentless Vultures had also "gnawed" seven Marauders. So, our active forces numbered fifty-two ships — the Telos, twenty-eight Hammerheads, and thirteen corvettes, three of which weren't engaged in the main fight, fending off the pressing droids that were trying to finish off our troop transports. So far, they were managing.
It seemed like crushing the enemy with mass would be a simple matter. And that's exactly what the plan relied on.
And yet, the Separatist commander had thrown our plans off with his overwhelming number of starfighters. Which was starting to get annoying — even if the Hammerheads had cost me next to nothing (after all, I wasn't spending my own), still...
We were clearly short on air power. And even if I re-equipped the fleet with Venators, it wouldn't fix the situation — even then, with an equal number of ships, the enemy would still have a clear advantage in numbers.
I absolutely needed a full-fledged carrier in such formations. Both in the Tenth System Army and in the Eternal Empire's fleet. I'd have to talk to Sienar about it. He's been quiet with his carrier project for the Empire.
Meanwhile, enemy reinforcements had arrived. Four groups of twelve ships each at once. And eight Rebels was definitely not good. Especially since, thanks to my apprentice's hotheaded nature, the time allotted for destroying the flagship had run out.
And now we were the ones who had to fight outnumbered.
Even though we had managed to preserve ten ramming ships, which were now bravely taking fire from one of the enemy reinforcement groups, biting back very hard with all their guns and torpedo launchers. However, considering they weren't built for line combat at all, their fire now was only keeping the enemy at a distance, preventing them from biting into the fleet's flank. If they destroyed someone — excellent. If they just delayed them — that was good too.
The gunners on the enemy flagship concentrated fire on the port side of the Hammerhead bearing down on them, with the clear intention of stripping the enemy of its guns. Turbolasers, heavy laser cannons, and ion cannons slashed at the deflector shields, and the protective field sphere deflated like a child's balloon. The enemy commander was using an extremely simple and, by the Hutt, effective tactic — concentrating his ship's fire on a single target. Unfortunately, the commander of the Hammerhead that had surged ahead hadn't foreseen this. And so, he would pay for it shortly — reinforcements from other capital ships wouldn't arrive anytime soon, as they were engaged with the rest of the fleet.
My flight hadn't been able to come to the rescue. The shields collapsed, beams of crimson energy bit into the ship's armor. A blister of a laser battery on the cruiser's main hull exploded, vaporizing hull plates, and a fire began consuming the air in the compartments.
The stricken Hammerhead, spewing chunks of armor and streams of fire and gas into the vacuum, began to descend, turning its hull to present undamaged sections to the enemy's hurricane of fire.
"We have to help them!" Ahsoka cried out. "We need rescue teams..."
"We'll help," I assured her. "If we knock out the flagship."
The wedge of X-wings, encountering a screen of enemy fighters on the way, broke through without slowing down, leaving only chunks of mangled metal in its wake. But not all of them.
A swift barrel roll through the left planes and a quick snake maneuver following the lead ship — and the Vultures that had been tailing us shot past. The X-Wings leveled out, executed a right turn, and rushed after their recent pursuers. I wasn't in any particular hurry — I needed to immerse myself in the Force to grasp the overall picture of the battle — and I even held my bird back a little, but Oli, boosting her engines, shot far ahead and was rapidly closing in on her target.
The girl quartered the enemy fighter's fuselage with her cannons; crimson laser beams melted the hull plating in an instant. Round, quickly solidifying droplets flared up against the X-Wing's deflector shield. A second later, the same fate befell another pair of droid fighters.
"She's furious," Ahsoka's mental message reached me.
"I see," I sent back a grim thought.
No, on one hand, what I had been striving for so long was happening: Oli was using her emotions. But she was doing it instinctively, sinking deeper into her own rage with each passing moment. A perilous path for any gifted individual. And for a Padawan — even more so.
Starrstone leisurely picked a new victim; for the girl boiling with anger, locking it in the targeting reticle was all too easy. Unconsciously, I wanted the enemy to start maneuvering, evading, to do something, at least jerk from side to side to complicate her shot. The rage demanded an outlet — otherwise it threatened to burn my apprentice from the inside. Neither I nor Ahsoka needed to prove anything to anyone. But the apprentice…
Before the thought could take root in my mind, I adjusted my course and squeezed the trigger. A shot from the quad cannons drilled straight through the Vulture. The wing mounts began to melt, warping the machine's central section, and then the engines exploded, hurling the mortally wounded craft forward. Streams of golden flame spewing from the stern quickly suffocated in the vacuum, and the droid fighter was left helplessly drifting in space.
"What the Hutt?" Oli roared over the comms in an inhuman voice. "He was MINE!"
"Stand down, Saber," I remarked coldly. "Control…"
"Go to hell!" the girl screamed into the microphone, seething with rage. The fighter's nozzles flared, ejecting an elongated plume of particle flame, and the X-Wing surged forward, clashing with several enemy fighters.
"Master…" Ahsoka said quietly.
"I see," I stated dryly. "I'm afraid I overdid it."
"What do we do?"
"We destroy the flagship."
Did I feel remorse for driving my apprentice to such a state?..
Yes.
For the first time since my arrival in the galaxy far, far away, I realized I had outplayed myself. Pushed too hard. Pressured her too much.
And the girl had come unhinged.
Could I stop her? Probably, by shooting down her ship and letting the rage burn itself out. But I sense that in such a case, I'd have to fend off an uncontrollable fury.
Banking into a turn, I tilted my head back, peering through the transparent cockpit canopy at the battle; it was in full swing. The Telos, having finally finished off the first Recusant, was rushing toward us at full speed, pumping dozens of turbolaser volleys into the enemy flagship. The enemy was listing to starboard, exposing its shieldless port side to the Republic starship. The latter, in turn, was executing a port turn to unleash the full fury of its broadside on the foe. But the enemy wasn't idle either. Energy was being diverted from laser and ion cannons to the shields, and they were holding on in some inexplicable way, despite the ocean of raging hellfire on its hull.
Before my eyes, one of the Hammerheads joined this dance and slipped under the enemy's belly, and as soon as the gunners locked onto the target, they didn't hesitate to pour laser streams onto the exposed flank, amplifying the damage authored by the Telos.
In the wake of the latter moved another cruiser, which, deftly ducking under the flagship's hull, played its engines, positioned its bow toward the enemy's underside, and practically in training-ground conditions tore into it with all its guns. Two sister starships were furiously beating the Recusant, which, beginning to spin around its axis, started snapping back with all its barrels.
It concentrated fire on the Telos's aft shields and eventually managed to bring them down. Now the turbolasers were roasting my flagship's main engines, but I didn't notice any significant damage in that area. Still, even so... a little more patience, and the enemy would chew the ship to bits. Moreover, the last two Generosities from its squadron, of which only two remained, immediately joined its volleys.
Right, I definitely won't allow my flagship to be "disassembled."
"Lolita — follow me," I threw into the microphone, banking into another turn.
Even though we were near the enemy destroyer, getting through to it was no simple task.
The enemy had surely analyzed the situation, as scattered but still squadrons of Vultures were converging on it.
Whatever. We're faster. And we have the Force.
A pair of X-Wings plunged into the battle like a dagger, straight toward the Recusant. The cannons continuously spat volleys, alternating them with rapid fire. The guns on the right planes fired a salvo, tearing apart the nearest Vulture from nose to stern. The Telos's heavy turbolaser batteries contributed their share, burning huge holes in the CIS ship's hull where a battery of rapid-fire laser cannons had been located a second before. As soon as tongues of flame peeked from the breaches, the superheated air was blown out through them and the cracks in the parted armor plates. My flagship's ion cannons adorned the enemy's flanks with blue serpents of lightning, which entwined the enemy destroyer's bow like ivy. Through the holes in the hull, one could glimpse the innards of the dying ship.
The gunners on the Telos's port side once again proved they were among the best in the fleet and had not the slightest intention of missing a chance for destruction and chaos. Their guns began working over one of the CIS frigates that had come within range as soon as our cruiser reached the necessary distance. Salvo after salvo lit up the enemy's deflector shields, then they collapsed, and the fleet flagship's precision fire flooded the deck superstructure of the command bridge. Molten and twisted pieces of hull plating and transparisteel scattered like leaves; the Generosity shook in agony. A gaping, heat-spewing hole yawned in its side — a gift from a passing Marauder that had unleashed a salvo of impact missiles. Finally, all lights in the forward compartments went out, as if on command.
Yet, the ship continued to snap back. And in an extremely nasty way. One of the Hammerheads caught a whole burst of turbolaser bolts in its forward superstructure, after which it slowly began to turn away.
And that, apparently, ensured the success of my plan.
Because, rotating around its axis, the Recusant's bridge ended up in my X-Wing's targeting reticle. A click to switch weapon type and…
Ahsoka supported with her own salvo. After unloading the remaining proton torpedoes into the Recusant's superstructure, we veered away, switching to rapid fire at the Vultures circling around.
A second later, I saw the dreadnought break in two. In the cold silence of space, the bridge tore away from the hull, literally pushed out by the force of the proton munitions' explosion. One half of the ship tumbled toward the planet, the other flew into space. Along the line of the break danced little fires, which quickly consumed the remaining oxygen and died down.
What happened immediately affected the overall course of the battle.
The traditional Jedi game — "take out the leader" succeeded this time as well. As if in memory of the fallen commander, the enemy ships ceased fire for a moment. Then resumed it. But discerning any strategy in their actions was now impossible. The same couldn't be said for our starships.
The enemy's confusion lasted several minutes — quite enough to finish off the main enemy group and, with missile and turbolaser fire, reduce most of the forces that had arrived at the battle's start to a state of "better off at the scrap yard."
By the time the droids finally decided who was in charge, the last one was left responsible for two dozen half-wrecked frigates and half a dozen Recusants in a similar state, all pummeled by concentrated fire.
However, the problem lay elsewhere. An equivalent number of ships from the far side of the planet was rushing to the droids' aid — fresh, untested, ready for anything. And our heavily damaged starships would have to face this entire mass.
The number of fireships had been reduced by two-thirds from the initial count, and now all we could oppose the enemy with were five utterly battered Acclamators (to be truthful, even before the battle they were in a state far from ideal), only good for briefly delaying the advancing enemy as debris in its path.
The "mosquito forces" battle, which had quieted after the destruction of most of the enemy carrier ships due to the droids' power cell depletion and inability to rotate, surged with renewed force. New, fresh forces replaced the considerably thinned Confederate aviation.
"We're pulling back," I commanded Ahsoka. She silently turned her starfighter, stitching a passing pair of Vultures with rapid fire along the way. And at the same time, through the Force, I sensed how nearby — literally within a few dozen kilometers, a knot of rage was raging, around which miniature explosions kept blossoming, signifying the destruction of yet another droid fighter.
Only there was a problem with what was happening.
Fresh enemy forces were gathering around her like flies to honey. And, no matter how strong she was… In short, if no measures were taken, they'd simply tear my Padawan apart.
"Rick," the Togruta inquired after a few minutes of flight. "Oli…"
"I know," I said through clenched teeth. Seems I was wrong here again — despite the time that had passed, Starrstone wasn't even thinking of calming down. On the contrary, her rage only intensified.
"Something needs to be done about this," Ahsoka ventured.
"Return to the Telos," I ordered, escorting the girl to the hangar. "Await my return."
"Master…"
"Ahsoka, please don't mess with my head," I requested.
"I'm not…," the girl cut herself off. Then, after a few seconds of silence, added: "Good luck, Rick."
Banking into a turn, I boosted my engines and rushed toward the coveted knot of rage.
The Force Bond… yes, the girl is making decisive progress. Despite all the negativity of the situation, the fact that she managed to block it from her side on her own… Damn, I had to scour all of Kun's memories for that. And this kindergarten brat did something similar on sheer enthusiasm…
The battle flared up with renewed force.
Though the situation wasn't great, it didn't smell of a rout. On the contrary — if reality didn't throw another surprise, even at the cost of significant losses in fighters and lengthy repairs for the capital ships, we would win this battle.
Declann had conducted a reshuffling of his forces. Using the remaining fireships as a shield against the approaching squadrons (fortunately, they were arriving from one side), he reinforced them with all available Marauders, whose missile launchers literally glowed from the heated nature of the launch tubes.
The Hammerheads, which had also suffered considerable losses — flying past them at cruiser speed, I couldn't spot a single intact one — were furiously pouring fire onto the remnants of the battered CIS squadrons, periodically turning some frigate into a supernova. True, the Separatists weren't shy about answering and with mechanical pedantry were depriving my ships of combat capability.
The Marauders were quite capable of holding back the enemy aviation's pressure and lethally compromising the structural integrity of the Generosities.
The enemy's return volleys were no less destructive. The Confederate gunners tried to punch breaches in several ships at once, and in the end, their persistence was rewarded.
On one of them, a series of internal explosions following a precise salvo from two Recusants turned the frigate's innards out into the vacuum. Another, hit in the stern during maneuvers, froze, sliding on inertia, and was subjected to furious fire from the nearest enemy ships. Playing its main engines, turning its bow toward the opponents, the brave little ship spewed a avalanche of missiles into space. Undoubtedly, everyone aboard that ship understood that losing mobility meant death for them. But they didn't cease fighting for a second, sweeping away superstructures and hull plating from the CIS starships.
The outcome was predictable, and thus it feels like, watching the ship's death from the side, you become something of an accomplice to the crew's murder. Fortunately, not all of it. The frigate held out long enough to launch all possible aircraft from its hangars, including escape pods. And only after its guns and launchers fell silent could the enemy finally destroy the ship.
"Oli," I called the girl using the comms system. The Padawan had just finished turning another Sep droid into molten scrap metal. "This has to end. Now."
"What do you know?" the girl snorted, her voice full of indignation. "I think this is exactly what you wanted. My humiliation."
"Women. How difficult you are."
Yes, that's exactly what the one who had pushed the girl into madness's embrace with his beastly behavior was thinking right now. Astonishing duplicity is developing in me.
"Listen to me," I reached out to her with the Force, but, as before, the girl kept her mind under reliable protection. Moreover, she rushed after another Vulture. "Yes, I was wrong, avoiding you…"
"Wrong?!" the girl shrieked. "You wiped your feet on me! Turned my world upside down, fucked and dried up my worldview, and now you come to me with 'Sorry, darling, I didn't stick my dick in a dirty slut's hole?'"
"Technically — Ahsoka isn't…"
"What difference does it make?!" Oli's reply coincided with a short burst that tore apart another Vulture. Its wingman followed it into the land of digital orgasm a second later, destroyed by my fighter. "You don't give a damn about me! Sticking it in every hole… What are you doing, you moron?!"
A surge of the girl's rage coincided with my precise shot, surgically separating the left planes of her X-Wing from the fuselage. The machine tumbled in the vacuum, completely losing control. Closing my eyes, I listened to the Force and squeezed the trigger again, depriving the fighter of its right wings as well, which provoked another stream of curses over the comms.
"Shuttle," I tuned to the frequency of one of the evacuation ships from the destroyed Marauder. "Grand Moff Dougan speaking."
"On comms," the ship's pilot responded.
"Commander Starrstone's fighter is damaged in combat. Tow it to the Telos. I'll cover you."
"Will be done."
"… you bastard, you dirty bastard!" I heard upon returning to my flight's frequency. "I'll tear you to pieces and eat your heart…"
"Haven't had roleplay like that before," I had to admit. "But we'll definitely discuss it."
The return journey was relatively… calm. Except for a dozen Vultures trying to encroach on the sacred and finish off my apprentice along with the transport. And the endless stream of curses and threats in three languages from the little fury.
"Dispatch," upon approaching the flagship, I contacted the Telos, "pull Commander Starrstone's fighter inside with a tractor beam. And… clear the hangar of personnel."
"Understood, Grand Moff," the duty officer responded.
The shuttle, dropping its burden on approach, flitted away. After destroying several Vultures circling the cruiser, I, making sure the X-Wing's fuselage had settled on the deck, brought my machine in after it.
As soon as the fighter's landing gear touched the hangar deck plates, I opened the cockpit canopy and jumped out.
Only to, heeding the Force's warning, dodge a Force Wave that swept my starfighter aside with a wild screech like a feather.
"Scum!" Oli roared with rage, charging toward me. The aura of rage and anger surrounding her was so dense it seemed visible to the naked eye, including by the crackling lightning discharges snapping at the girl's fingertips. "I'll kill…!"
Dodging a Lightning discharge, I accelerated to the extreme with the Force, closing in on my apprentice. Noticing her eyes gleaming with molten gold, I intercepted her hands by the wrists, yanking her toward me.
"You…," the aura of rage emanating from the girl wavered as soon as I hugged her, pressing her face to my chest. The stream of hatred she was exuding broke off. Now… it was something else. Not aggression, but… sadness?! "What did I do to you, that you treat me like this?"
A quiet sob was heard.
"I do everything for you… I keep your secrets, I obey… I'm ready for anything, just so you'd notice me, you dumb cretin! Heartless brute! Selfish bastard!…"
"Shh, shh," I whispered, stroking her hair. "I know…"
"I'll gnaw your face off," the girl promised with a sob. And, contrary to her words, I felt her arms wrap around me. Very tightly. Even a creak of metal was audible.
"Definitely," I agreed, looking around. Spotting Ahsoka standing in the hangar doorway, I shook my head negatively. Just what we needed — her here.
But the Togruta strode quickly toward us, embracing both of us now.
"Oli, forgive me, I…"
"I'll turn your womb inside out and pull it over your head," the girl hissed, raising her eyes to the Togruta. "Slut…"
"Actually, I haven't been with anyone before…" Ahsoka started. However, meeting the girl's gaze, she fell silent.
"I just acted as I thought necessary," the Togruta added after a few seconds. "Well, he wouldn't have kicked out a half-naked girl…"
"Just be quiet already," Oli said wearily. "I haven't forgiven you yet…"
And, at the same time, her anger completely died out. Freeing one hand, I hugged Ahsoka, now holding both young… women. Clearly understanding that their fate was becoming… not indifferent to me.
And that… is alarming.
"Alright," I stepped back from them, averting my gaze. "Cuddles — after the battle. We still need to crush the CIS fleet."
"I told you — a stale cracker," Oli recited, stealthily wiping tears from her face.
The Togruta, taking the girl by the hand, shook her head disapprovingly:
"And I gave this man the right to be the first… Come on, friend, we have a lot to talk about."
Watching the retreating figures of the girls, all I could do was marvel at how inconstant these women truly are.
* * *
The royal yacht, its hull gleaming, emerged from hyperspace. The swift silhouette cut through the vacuum at tremendous speed, bringing the sole passenger of this luxurious ship closer to a goal known only to him.
"Never been this close to a battlefield before," the yacht's only passenger said in a languid voice. Padmé, smirking, directed the ship on a course to rendezvous with the squadron of Republic ships detected by the scanners.
"And how do you manage to keep your finger on the pulse and release such spicy stories filled with insider information?" she inquired.
The Zeltron, smiling enchantingly, crossed her legs, sprawling in the co-pilot's seat.
"Did the latest broadcast bother you that much, Senator?"
"More like, I'm amazed by the extent of your awareness," the Nabooan fibbed slightly. "Admit it, Elin. Do you have sources in the Chancellor's office?"
One of the galaxy's most scandalous journalists — Elin Tyrell, famous for her extremely detailed descriptions of the Senate's inner workings, the Grand Army of the Republic, looked at the senator with the gaze of a pleased pet.
"You don't hope, Senator Amidala, that in exchange for your help in delivering me to the location, I'll start giving away my secrets?"
"Yes, that would be very simple," Padmé thought.
"You could at least share where you got the information about my journey," the former queen said with a tinge of irritation. "I don't remember broadcasting it at every turn."
"But, as you see," the reporter smiled, "those who need to know — are aware of events."
"Not sure you really need to know," Amidala thought gloomily.
The meeting with Elin Tyrell happened just before departure. Grabbing the ubiquitous C-3PO, Padmé was about to board her ship when she saw the Zeltron approaching the vessel. The being she least wanted to see.
The journalist, after exchanging greetings, laid her cards on the table immediately. She knew WHERE and WHY Amidala was going. And possessed information about where the former queen would head afterward. Padmé had only two options. The first urged Padmé to ignore the Zeltron's blackmail and set off on her journey. But in that case, the persistent reporter promised to cover the Nabooan's flight in the press. And, considering the senator would spend much more time en route than the Zeltron needed to publish the material, there was every reason to suspect that instead of a friendly meeting, a droid squadron led by General Grievous would be waiting for her. As had happened once before.
The second… take the reporter with her. She wasn't claiming a full journey. She was only interested in Padmé's intermediate stop. Where she hoped to find an ally in her difficult endeavor.
Well, that could be arranged.
The former queen agreed to the second option. But not at all because she was moved by the Zeltron's speech about how she dreamed of visiting a systems army's location, observing the actions of soldiers and officers. For Padmé, this was a chance to pry out of the reporter the name of her informant in the Chancellor's inner circle. Having such a source of information for the opposition… that was a treasure.
But for that, she needed to get Elin talking. And she turned out to be a tight-lipped representative of her race. Which didn't fit the stereotypes about Zeltron frivolity.
Be that as it may, the flight through the layered pie of systems occupied by Separatists and Republic forces ended at the designated intermediate point. Where the eyes were dazzled by the abundance of Republic ships.
And, as if in mockery, two markers appeared on the scanner — ARC-170 starfighters, rapidly approaching her ship, which was targeting the flagship of the forces here.
"Unidentified vessel from Naboo," a clone's voice sounded on the bridge. "Republic patrol speaking. Identify yourself, or we will open fire."
Padmé stared in bewilderment at the equipment she had installed on her ship not long ago in complete secrecy. A smuggler's trick, which Anakin had once told her about. A transponder transmitting the identification codes of a peaceful merchant vessel from a mossy planet in the Mid Rim. The signal stated that before the random observer was an unremarkable little ship that even pirates would be ashamed to glance at.
The trick worked perfectly for all three days of the journey. And now… seems it broke.
"This is the final warning," the clone commented on the volley fired across the Nabooan yacht's bow. "Identify yourself, or I open fire…"
"Don't you want to talk to them, Senator?" the Zeltron inquired.
"I'm trying to contact the one in charge of this mess," Padmé hissed. "I'd rather not have the entire fleet know about my arrival in an hour."
However, no one answered the hails. And there was no other choice…
The ship shook violently. Several instruments wailed, indicating hull damage and the drop of deflectors in several sections to a minimum.
"Cease fire!" she contacted the pilot. "This vessel belongs to the Senator from Naboo, which I am. Transmitting confirmation codes. Your actions are offensive…"
"Ma'am, I frankly don't give a damn who you are," the clone stunned her. "Codes received and decrypted. Confirmation received. But there are questions. If your vessel is diplomatic — where is the red fuselage coloring per Republic standard?"
"This is a secret mission!" Amidala growled into the microphone. "I need to meet with your commanding officer. Identify yourself, clone, so I can report your actions to command."
"My name is Commander Consul, ma'am," the clone introduced himself without any agitation in his voice. "I am the commander of the 127th Squadron, assigned to the fleet flagship. Don't forget to tell that to the commander when you meet him. And, yes, stay within the corridor transmitted to you — it's not safe here."
With those words, both ARCs, waggling their wings, banked into a turn leading them away from the yacht. Padmé, suppressing the desire to tell the boor everything she thought of him, continued piloting the ship, adjusting the course according to the transmitted coordinates.
"I was told clones were obedient," Tyrell remarked.
"Yes, I was of the same opinion," Amidala agreed with her. "Seems everything is somewhat different in this army…"
"On the other hand," the reporter continued, ignoring the senator's remark, "we are in a combat zone. No wonder the soldiers are somewhat... cautious."
The senator, unwilling to develop this topic, concentrated on piloting the ship.
As they approached the planet's orbit, two more Republic starfighters joined them. This time — Headhunters. Under their escort, more like a convoy, the gleaming yacht crossed the minefield surrounding the only planet in the system and headed toward the massive hull of the flagship cruiser.
That a battle had raged here just recently was visible to the naked eye. Dozens of ship hulls bearing the marks of fierce combat, countless debris, transport vessels weaving between Republic starships, constantly carrying escape pods or damaged fighter hulls under their bellies.
Numerous small craft patrolling the Republic starships, hanging motionless not far from stationary orbit. Bright welding sparks on ship hulls… The fleet that had survived the battle was putting itself in order, clearly preparing to continue combat operations.
"They took quite a beating," Tyrell observed, pointing at several Republic cruisers with numerous breaches, including in critically important areas.
"But they won," Padmé countered, referring to the numerous CIS starship hulls being carefully towed away from the Republic fleet's anchorage.
Now the place where the Republic's relatively intact warships were towing the disabled Confederate starships looked more like a space graveyard. Although Padmé knew that according to certain regulatory documents, "scavengers" would soon arrive — companies that had won tenders for recycling CIS and Republic equipment — the place still made her shiver. Just imagining for a moment how many lives the Republic had given here for victory… and it became unsettling.
The flagship's controller transmitted docking coordinates, and the nimble gleaming ship flitted into an inconspicuous hangar at the flagship's stern. Despite the absence of external damage in this part of the ship, inside the hangar everything looked as if a bomb had exploded, overturning and grinding all the aircraft inside into dust.
Except, perhaps, for a medium-sized corvette with distinctive hull lines and diplomatic-colored plating.
The landing ramp had barely lowered and the senator's feet touched the hangar floor when she encountered a tall figure standing before her in brown-gold armor, over which the man wore a black and silver cloak of traditional Jedi cut. And one didn't need membership in the infamous Order to understand that this sentient was extremely displeased with her appearance at his fleet's location.
"Master Dougan," she greeted the man politely.
"Senator Amidala," the Jedi addressed her with poorly concealed irritation. "What, have you skipped your brain pills today?"
"Excuse me?" the Nabooan woman was taken aback.
"Don't you bother treating that hole in your head?" The question completely disoriented Padmé, but subconsciously she understood that the Jedi was elaborately asking if she had a screw loose. "This is a combat zone! We finished off the Separatist bastards less than an hour ago, and here you show up, stuck like a stain you can't wipe off. Is your self-preservation instinct completely broken? Or is secretly flying into a fleet's location your idea of suicide?"
"So it seems," said Elin, descending the ramp, "this army has a standard way of addressing senators."
"And who are you?" Dougan frowned. However, before the journalist could say anything, Padmé intervened.
"Elin Tyrell, reporter," she introduced her passenger.
"Yeah, I remember now," the Jedi waved his hand. "You interviewed Elder Aizel from Christophsis. And you run your own HoloNet channel, known for extreme levels of inside information on topics some halfwit gave you insider clearance for. What the hutt are you both doing here?"
"Oh, it's nice to be recognized by the masses," the Zeltron smiled. "But I must warn you — Senator Amidala and I have different reasons for being here."
A shadow passed over the Jedi's face.
"I'm sure I won't like either of them," he exhaled.
And with that, turning toward the door leading from the hangar into the warship's interior, he gestured for them to follow.
Exchanging glances with the reporter, Padmé forced a "professional" smile. After such a "warm" welcome, the idea of asking Dougan for help appealed to her less and less.
However, there were no other options.
Anakin wouldn't help her. Their relationship had hit a dead end, and only the lack of free time prevented both from officially ending the marriage. More precisely, Skywalker didn't want to talk to her at all. And she…
Despite all the behind-the-back gossip, the senator from Naboo was by no means a foolish woman. Yes, she had bad luck sometimes, and her talent for getting into trouble, especially after marriage, had already become a source of mockery among her colleagues. It was a good thing the very fact of her marriage to an Order member could be kept secret. In her mind, she understood: even though the marriage had become a sham, officially dissolving it was… premature. Political experience taught her that any situation, even the most hopeless at first glance, could turn profitable if you skillfully used available resources. That's what she did with Rush Clovis, exploiting his nostalgia for their old… relationship. As a result — under certain circumstances, the Chairman of the InterGalactic Banking Clan could become an ally.
Dougan could be the same. Despite no particular relationship between them, unlike most Jedi, he could think extremely rationally. Which appealed to Padmé herself, accustomed to living mostly not by feelings and emotions as such, but by cold calculation. Life had already proven to her the fallacy of hasty decisions. And the full weight of the consequences of such a choice.
One who dedicated themselves to serving the state cannot afford the luxury of a full personal life that must be hidden from others.
That's why her marriage to Anakin was doomed. No matter how much she thought about it, the conclusion was one — divorce. And a return to her maiden name.
Judging by the fact that the young Jedi had stopped bombarding her with constant messages asking for forgiveness, he had come to the same conclusion. But at the same time, he hadn't signed the divorce papers she sent him. He simply ignored them.
Well, Anakin's ego and possessiveness in full glory. Though both understand that their marriage has reached its logical end, he will resist until the very last. Simply because he wants to do everything himself.
The most vivid proof of this was his return of her gift.
The astromech droid R2-D2, which she had given her husband shortly after their wedding, returned to Coruscant with another batch of severely wounded from Ord Mantell. Anakin had returned her gift. The droid that saved her life during the escape from Naboo. That helped him blow up the droid control station. That… how much had that little workhorse done to save the lives of her and her husband?
Now he served as a navigator on her yacht. Though he wasn't really needed there, honestly. She just felt that leaving him alone when she was going to the other end of the galaxy… would be wrong.
Now…
"Senator Amidala?" she heard a familiar voice.
Looking in surprise toward the source of the sound, her gaze landed on a teenage Togruta she had seen with Anakin many times.
"Ahsoka?" she smiled. "Good to see you."
"The feeling is mutual," the girl smiled back. Noticing that Dougan hadn't even thought of stopping, nor had the Zeltron following at his heels who had started peppering him with questions, Padmé decided to delay joining their company. She should clarify some things.
"How did you end up here?" she asked with feigned benevolence. "I heard you were stripped of your Padawan rank."
"That's true," the Togruta shrugged indifferently. "But that doesn't mean I shouldn't serve in the Grand Army of the Republic, fighting for a just cause."
"Praiseworthy words for such a young person," the senator smiled. "As I understand, you serve under Master Dougan?"
"Yes," the Togruta agreed. "I serve him. Like everyone in the Tenth System Army."
Something in the former Padawan's words grated on her ear, but what exactly… Padmé couldn't grasp it immediately, so she made a mental note to figure it out later.
"And what brings you here?" the girl inquired. Wait, no… not a girl. A young woman. Padmé noted with a hint of jealousy that since the last personal meeting with the Togruta, she had grown taller, and her childish facial features and figure had rounded considerably, now pleasing to the eye. Without a doubt, she would grow into a stunning woman, dazzling in her beauty.
"I have business with Master Dougan," Padmé admitted, deciding to conceal the nature of the problem. "Extremely… delicate. I need to meet with representatives of the Separatist Congress."
"Why?" suspicion crept into the Togruta's voice.
"If I can negotiate with them, then the war will end. And billions of lives will be saved."
"Not to mention the Republic budget, which has been rapidly plummeting into deficit lately," the former queen thought.
"Really?" the girl said in surprise. "And why are you going to the grand-moff? Can't Master Kenobi or Knight Skywalker help you? As I recall, the first is a lover of negotiations, and the second is a supporter of all sorts of adventures."
"I hear notes of jealousy in your voice," Padmé parodied the leader of the Jedi Order's speech with a smile. However, judging by Ahsoka's distracted face, she didn't get the joke. "Bail is right. Humor is not my thing," the former queen thought. "I'm afraid he's the only one who can help me in this situation. Master Kenobi is undergoing rehabilitation on Coruscant…"
"Did something happen to him?" from the tone of the Togruta's voice, Amidala understood she was asking more out of politeness than genuine concern for the Jedi.
"Something like that," the senator said cautiously, gesturing for the Togruta to follow the rapidly retreating Jedi. "He attempted to free Duchess Satine from captivity by a criminal syndicate on his own. And… he couldn't. Their leader — the same Zabrak that Obi-Wan fought over ten years ago on Naboo — killed Kryze. Kenobi is taking it hard. The duchess's sister, who came with him, told me he held up almost the entire way, but by the end apathy had taken hold of him. And now, as Master Yoda says, healers are trying to restore his emotional state… Of course, no one gives guarantees, as you understand."
"First time I've heard General Kenobi grieve like that over something," Ahsoka said coldly, with a hint of latent malice. "Obviously, the duchess meant something to him."
"Perhaps so," Amidala cautiously agreed. "But, one way or another, Obi-Wan isn't able to help even himself right now. The Council sent General Pong Krell to Ord Mandell instead of him…"
"Ah, General 'Victory at Any Cost,'" Tano snorted. "I've heard. Several units that formerly served under him are with us. Every single one is ecstatic that he treats clones as expendable and isn't afraid of losses."
"Then that explains the large number of wounded arriving from that system army lately," Amidala voiced her thoughts.
"And why don't you ask General Skywalker? He never refused to come to your aid before," the Togruta recalled.
"Anakin… General Skywalker is busy now, storming another planet," Padmé corrected herself just in time, hoping Ahsoka wouldn't notice her slip. "And lately, our relationship has been… deteriorating."
"Oh, Anakin is a master at ruining human things," Tano declared authoritatively. "Tested from personal experience. But I'm afraid Dougan won't help you either. We have a large-scale offensive on Hypori with a subsequent exploitation of success on multiple fronts. I don't think he'll find time to go with you into enemy territory."
"And yet, I hope for a positive answer," the senator sighed, stopping at the threshold of a small conference room where the Jedi himself had disappeared several minutes earlier in the company of the reporter. "Master Dougan is my last hope."
* * *
"Are the operational data ready?" Block inquired as he entered the command room.
A dozen clones and officers of various ranks, busy at their terminals, snapped to attention at the sight of the base commander.
"Yes, sir," one of the clones appeared beside him, handing him a datapad with data. "The information is current as of this morning."
"Hm," the admiral nodded absently, glancing over the file headers. "So, Grand Admiral Thrawn finished with the Vagaari?"
"That's right," the clone confirmed. "Complete annihilation, seizure of all territories and industry. I've ordered occupation forces prepared to take the planets…"
"Good," the officer stated with satisfaction. "Anything else?"
"Nothing unusual," the aide assured. "The cloning stations and training grounds are operating normally. Another three dozen 'Cleavers' have arrived from Lehon. We're currently equipping them with crews and machines, preparing to transfer them to Korriban along with three new corps. Darth Malgus has already threatened to send his apprentice to restore order here if we don't hurry."
"Yes, he can be tough," Block agreed. "But we have the resources he demanded. So, prepare the appropriate orders. And warn the commanders of the relevant units."
"It will be done, sir," the clone saluted, sliding away like a shadow.
The admiral, in charge of operational planning for all military resources of the Eternal Empire, sighed in frustration. How tired he was.
When he agreed to this job, Block had no idea it would be THIS difficult. Despite apparent abundance, there was one resource that was always lacking. Namely — competent mid-level and junior officers. Not the obedient clones, whose qualities he never doubted. But specifically trained sentients with military experience.
He and Jerjerrod had managed to bring a few with them. But that was a drop in the ocean. Thankfully, the technical features of the Empire's fleet allowed placing experienced captains at the head of entire formations without significant quality loss. The Gemini droids, which in fact controlled any large Imperial warship from within, were excellent executors. As were the clones. But one thing you couldn't expect from them was creative strategic initiative.
Therefore, alongside cloning laboratories hidden in rock formations, vast warehouses, barracks, arsenals, and other trappings of army life, along with training camps on the surface of Odessen, on Block's initiative the Imperial Command Academy was also created, where he spent most of his free time sharing experience with over three hundred cadets of various ages who had shown their talents in the Empire's still few army and fleet battles. However, there were also many very young listeners. Mostly Twi'leks from the settlement on Zakuul, who listened with interest and a touch of excitement to his discussions of tactics and strategy. The accumulated thousands of years of experience of the Sith Empire's war machine, placed at his disposal by the Emperor, was gradually poured into the cadets' heads. So that one day they could ascend to the bridge of a dreadnought or cruiser to carry the Empire's will.
But among the cadets there were also very interesting listeners. Those who didn't receive any leniency in the learning process. And this despite the fact that they were brought to Odessen by the Emperor's trusted agents.
One such "character" was currently moving toward him. He had recently returned from a mission sent by the Emperor himself. And although the details of the assignment were not shared with the admiral, this kid looked pleased with himself. Well, at his age that was forgivable. However, the admiral would spoil his mood anyway.
"Sir," the cadet greeted him according to regulations. "Permission to report. Returned to continue studies."
"At ease, cadet," the admiral chuckled. "I see you've returned. Hope you did everything properly."
"Without going into details," a smirk appeared on the cadet's face. "Done to perfection."
"I'd rather hear that from someone higher-ranked," Block cut the youth short. "But you've earned a few days in the brig, son."
"For what, sir?!" the kid was taken aback.
"How many times did the flight instructors tell you not to touch the controls until your legs reach the pedals? That's not why they sent a copilot with you," Block recalled the last report on the cadet. "And what did you do? Afterburner in the atmosphere, and on a medium-tonnage starship! I'm amazed your brains didn't splatter all over the cockpit. The Empire invested hundreds of thousands in this ship, and you've already managed to lose an escape pod, damage the missile launch tubes. And you lost one of the guns somewhere. Your pay will be cut to the minimum to cover repair costs."
"I was being pursued in the atmosphere, sir!" the boy began to justify himself. "I dropped the escape pod with a baradium charge while passing right by an enemy cruiser. Yes, some weapons systems were damaged, but I completed the primary mission. And I returned to base! I'll restore the ship! Especially since they promised to give it to me if everything went successfully…"
"Belay that, cadet!" the admiral barked. "Two weeks in the brig for disclosing data of your personal assignment!"
The charge, snapping to attention out of habit, blinked for a while. It seemed it didn't immediately dawn on him WHAT exactly he had told his mentor about the terms of transferring the ship to his ownership. Such talk wouldn't earn him a pat on the head. And he had to learn that from a young age. Otherwise, such operatives weren't worth a damn.
"Permission to proceed to the brig, sir?" the cadet asked in a steady voice.
"Permission granted," the admiral saluted him gloomily. Waiting until the boy disappeared at a run, the man allowed himself to smile.
"Be strict, but don't overdo it," he recalled a note in the cadet's personal file, written personally by the Emperor. Well, he was trying his best. But by the Force, Cadet Han Solo would give him gray hair yet.