The Empire understood the necessity for ship crews to enjoy rest between battles.
But, unlike the Republic, where ship crews spent their off-duty time in taverns and bars on the planets where the combat units of the galactic standard of democracy's fleet were stationed, the Eternal Empire did not establish boundaries between its servicemen. Clones are second-class beings for Coruscant, whose lot is only to serve and protect citizens who, generally speaking, don't care how much blood is shed to preserve the integrity of their way of life. If memory serves, even in the Republic's capital there are only one or two establishments where clones aren't barred entry. And even those exist barely on the basis of voluntary donations from patrons — what can you take from clones who have neither credits nor valuables? No one has heard of such establishments on other planets. Most likely because they simply didn't exist.
It's a different matter for beings serving the Republic who were born naturally. Any door is open to them. At any time of day on any Republic planet.
Clones, for the above reasons, justifiably preferred to spend their off-duty time on board ships or in barracks — if there was no opportunity to rest on a planet.
Chewing my breakfast — a rather tasty thing, clearly made not from freeze-dried but real, fresh ingredients — in the general mess hall, I periodically met eyes with some of the clones who filled the spaces around the tables to capacity. In their eyes, behavior, and even in the Force, there was no fawning, no servility, no stiffness — soldiers and sailors (if you can call starship crew members that) sat mixed in with Christophsians, also part of the Spirit of Fire's crew, chatting quietly about something, laughing every now and then at some joke.
The usual working atmosphere on a combat ship. Considering that in a few hours we face a rather serious battle, which everyone, from cadets and technicians to ship commanders, knew about, the atmosphere was more than friendly. And, frankly speaking, I liked this approach to relations between clones and non-clones.
Looking at the female bodies scattered around my cabin after waking up — each one having broken more than half the Jedi Code's precepts last night — I first thought about grabbing breakfast in my personal quarters' dining area. But the cozy pair on the floor — Xiaan, curled up with Master Utrila — changed my mind. I wasn't about to levitate over them, was I?
Well, well... Had some tea and cake... Though I can't complain about the past celebration. The toastmaster was good, the contests were interesting... Too bad the toastmaster, in the person of Oli Starstone, has a habit of sleeping like a starfish on the bed. And it would be fine if it were in her own cabin. But no... At first, I wanted to give her a kick in the rear and shove her onto the floor, but I overcame that treacherous desire. After all, I was the one who had a hand (and not just that) in the student falling asleep exhausted right where she became a woman.
So, without further ado, I went to sleep aboard the Defender. And you know — there's a certain charm in sleeping alone after an adventure like that. In silence.
"Grand Moff," a clone in standard pilot uniform stopped beside me. No, in the Republic, clone pilots are all dressed in the same armor (which is basically their only clothing option, aside from the undersuit). In the Empire and the armies under my command, that kind of barbarism has been eradicated. Fighter pilots on duty wear the familiar orange jumpsuits, modified for life support systems — Incom did a good job on preserving pilot life in case of an unscheduled walk outside the cockpit. But the pilots of Sienar interceptors... Yeah, those guys in black are an exact copy-paste of the Imperial TIE-series pilots from Palpatine's Empire.
Right now, a clone in an orange jumpsuit stood before me. I'd spotted him a few minutes earlier — he was disposing of a disposable tray with food scraps into the recycler, five meters from the table I'd claimed.
Since there were barely any "Crosses" on board — only the machines of Rogue Squadron — the conclusion was simple: before me stood an ARC-170 pilot... And judging by the echoes in the Force... we'd met before.
"Sit down, Fredd," it took a second to remember the clone lieutenant I'd crossed paths with in the cantina on Ord Pardron... Many, many months ago.
"You recognized me, sir?" the man was taken aback, sitting down across from me. "But how? We all look the same."
"Not to me," I explained. "I thought you served under Pellaeon..."
"I did, sir," the clone nodded. "But after the Separatists destroyed your previous flagship, I requested a transfer to the Spirit of Fire. Command approved the request, and here I am — commanding the destroyer's air wing."
"Impressive," I acknowledged. And it was — in less than a year, going from squadron commander to air wing commander, meaning the entire fighter complement of the Spirit of Fire — that took effort. A lot of effort. "I see you're ready to kick some tin cans' asses?"
"I never pass up the pleasure of turning a couple of enemies into scrap metal," he nodded. "We've already received the briefing... It's going to be hot..."
"You didn't think you'd be bored into old age, did you?" The clone smiled.
"No, sir. And besides... Thanks to you, that won't come anytime soon. Me and my boys are very grateful to you... For everything."
"Hm... What specifically are you talking about?" I took a sip of caf and asked.
"That you took those things out of us," the clone smoothed the right side of his head, where a pale scar still showed through his short hair — left from the inhibitor chip extraction. "And that you don't consider us 'meat droids,' unlike most Jedi and Separatists. Yes, we understand that's the policy of our future homeland..."
"Stop," I asked. "My attitude toward you and millions of your brothers has nothing to do with whether you join the Empire, stay loyal to the Republic, or prefer to get as far away as possible. In any case, for me and my like-minded people, you are first and foremost people — individuals, personalities. Everything else is secondary. And this point of view has nothing to do with what position I hold or where — it's my personal, inner conviction."
The clone was slightly taken aback by the tirade. Poor guy, he really thought that in the Empire, clones and non-clones were treated the same, just because we needed them as soldiers? No, boys, it's not like that at all.
"Thank you for your honesty, sir," Fredd finally said. "You can count on us under any circumstances."
"I appreciate that," I replied politely. "The loyalty of my soldiers means a lot to me."
"As does the fact that we are no longer slaves created for a single purpose — to exterminate the Jedi," Fredd said, lowering his voice. "I admit, some Jedi fully deserved their fate — to be shot by soldiers. But... Without the chips... To realize we were just toys in someone's hands..."
"Were toys," I reminded him. "Now you're ordinary people. Well, except that you look alike."
"That's for sure," the clone chuckled, rising from the table. "Sorry for interrupting your lunch, sir. I just wanted to express my respect. And... You can be sure — today and always, me and my boys have your back."
"Glad to hear it," I smiled. No, really, it's pleasant when people are grateful and appreciate what you've done. Not because you're the Emperor.
The clone picked up his helmet from the table, bid me farewell with a short nod, and walked out of the mess hall with a brisk step.
I spent a few minutes alone before I felt the mess hall come alive. Clones in organized streams, leaving half-eaten fragrant dishes on tables, moved quickly — sometimes breaking into a run — toward the exits.
Glancing at the chronometer, I nodded to my thoughts.
We were arriving at Junkfort Station — our last stop before the jump to Saleucami. Here we were to conduct a final check of all systems, receive fresh reconnaissance data, finalize the timing, and charge into battle with lightsabers drawn.
"Little brother," I addressed my astromech droid over the comlink. A cheerful trill answered me. "Is the Cross ready?"
Fweety-fweety-fwe...
"Good job, pre-flight checks are important."
Fit-fbyu-oo-wop?
"Yes, assault missiles."
Wop-wop?
"I'll be there soon."
Turning off the comlink, I sighed, sent my half-eaten steak into the recycler, and headed toward the bridge.
Despite combat readiness — a mandatory element when exiting hyperspace in systems close to the enemy — the corridors of the Spirit of Fire weren't crowded. Crew members had taken their battle stations, so I reached the command center fairly quickly.
As soon as the massive doors, guarded by a squad of clone assassins, swung open, the working atmosphere hit me.
"Alert squadron ready for launch..."
"Defense systems nominal..."
"Artillery at full power..."
A pleasant surprise was finding every single Jedi and Padawan assigned to the Blade fleet on the bridge. Seven Jedi, seven Padawans, and one Togruta. Most bore traces of a recent wake-up on their faces. And the smell of caf, which even the life support system couldn't overcome...
"Are we ready, Admiral?" I asked Declann, who had just received a report from the duty officer. Finding myself next to Omani, who immediately averted her gaze, reflexively touching her jaw and throat, I just smirked. What did you think — playing in the heterosexual league isn't the same as messing around with scissors. The slight embarrassment in the Force coming from Utrila, Omani, Sitra, and Amersu contrasted sharply with the confusion and surprise from Bene, Marlo, Kunguram, Jukass, and Esterhazy. And there was the benevolent lightness emanating from Aayla, Larant, Ahsoka, and especially — my once-temperamental Oli. Who, meeting my gaze, smiled with slight shyness, sending waves of serene warmth and calm through the Force Bond. Listening to her, I was surprised to find no trace of the contradictions and cognitive dissonance that had previously torn her apart. Still... How many unpleasant moments could have been avoided if I'd unzipped my fly sooner...
"Exiting hyperspace in two seconds," the admiral responded. The white-blue glow beyond the bridge dissolved into thin streaks of light, contracting into tiny points... "Confirmed — the fleet has arrived at the rendezvous point in full strength."
"No enemy detected," the tracking station reported. "Three starships in the system — all docked at the station."
"We're being hailed by the Pillar of Autumn and the Infinity," the communications officer reported.
"Connect them," Declann ordered.
The two new Valiant-class carrier destroyers had received their names quite recently — literally during the rendezvous on Teta. Tolm's headquarters was on the first, and his partner T'ra Saa's on the second. And although the man had hinted to me more than once that it would be nice for them to travel on the same ship, I remained deaf to those pleas. They'd had enough time at their disposal to fool around to their hearts' content. Now, on the eve of battle, I needed three battle groups led by Force-sensitives.
"General Tolm, General Saa," I greeted the holograms at the tactical holoprojector. "Your detachments have arrived in full strength."
"Thirty Hammerheads, twenty Marauders, five Acclamators, three Peltas, and ten Consulars," the one-eyed man reported, as if reminding me of the composition of each of the three task groups. Though in the Blade, the Acclamators with troops were far more numerous — our landing train alone constituted a full-fledged fleet. "All in place."
"I have no problems either," the Neti woman echoed him in unison. Yeah, a joke about Tolm pulling splinters out of himself in the morning was just begging to be said. But... As they say — whoever wants whom, that's who they fry... It's not for me to judge anyone. I've had Twi'leks of all colors of the galaxy in my "bed." Well, not all. I think there's still one with an orange skin tone... Anyway, that's just lyricism.
"Excellent," I praised. In reality, despite the advancement of hyperspace travel in our glorious enlightened times, moving large groups of ships was a real navigational headache. Cases of starships colliding with each other after exiting hyperspace were not uncommon. Or with celestial bodies. Annoying, frustrating, but written off as combat losses.
"What about our scouts?" Declann asked the flight controller.
"Three Furies have landed in the side hangars," he replied. "Squad commanders have been summoned for debriefing."
"Are our people on the station silent?" Tolm asked.
"Receiving a message on a secure channel," Declann said. "Large volume, looks like a holo-recording."
"Unusual," Aayla expressed the general concern, looking at me. "I thought it would be a short report..."
"I'm no less surprised than you," I had to admit that something had gone off-plan. "But these are Hutts... What can you expect from them."
The Separatist activation on the borders of Hutt Space — whose de facto master was Jabba, controlling the other Hutt council members with a copy of the kompromat I'd given him — was seriously stressing that blob. The Separatist invasion of Toydaria, which was effectively under Hutt protectorate, border conflicts — all of this suggested that Count Dooku had started eyeing the rather wealthy planets belonging to the crime lords. I couldn't blame him for that — formally, and in reality, the Hutts were allies of the Republic. And nothing prevented the CIS from starting military actions against them... Well, except that until now, it hadn't happened because the Hutt fleet itself exceeded everything the Separatists could afford in this region. Now, having pulled their forces from the Core and the Core Worlds, the Confederacy had gained a local numerical advantage here. No wonder Jabba was getting worried and extruding building materials of dubious quality from his rear end (if he has one).
A strike on Saleucami and the subsequent assault on Boz Pity would allow the Hutts to remove some forces from the northwestern part of their space, redeploying them to more dangerous areas — for example, the west or southwest. So it was no wonder that, for the safety of his territories and accumulated wealth, the king of the underworld had opened his purse strings, promising to supply me with reconnaissance information from his numerous spies. And the hyperspace transmitters, despite claims that they were just a crude imitation and their effectiveness compared to licensed HoloNet equipment was low — that was just a decoy for the public. In reality, Jabba's people were producing Imperial hyperspace technology developed at the Maw Installation. Very expensive (and even though I didn't have to invest in worker wages and other overhead, I had to buy materials and raw materials out of my own pocket), but high quality. And much better than the HoloNet itself. In fact, the first batch was already ready; all that remained was to wait for deliveries of crystals from Ilum from Maul — the hyperspace transmitter technology authored by Dr. Nikolai Kainsworth was based on these very rare elements. Of course, we could buy them on the black market — there wasn't a huge amount of the stuff, but enough for our purposes. However, why shell out big money for something you can get completely free? Especially since, according to the latest report from Moff Jerjerrod, our military engineer Major Rebus had found several very "interesting" ways to use lightsaber crystals in conventional firearms. So Maul's people would have to dig into Ilum for a very long time and very deep to get us the necessary quantity of this unique commodity.
"Looks like it's loaded," Padawan Bene muttered, pointing to the sound signal coming from the decryption device.
"Play it," I ordered.
A moment later, one of the main monitors displayed the image of a smiling alien who was clearly not hiding his elevated mood from the viewers.
"What the hell is that thing?" I asked, pausing the playback.
"A fairly well-known announcer from the CIS Shadow Broadcast," Tolm reported. "His name is..."
"Doesn't matter," I waved it off. "Why the hell did the Hutts send us a recording of enemy propaganda..."
Touching the panel, I resumed the file.
"So, today we have stunning and magnificent news!" the announcer proclaimed. "Less than two hours ago, we learned that the forces of our illustrious General Grievous have achieved a major victory after a sudden, perfectly planned attack on Republic forces... Dozens of destroyed ships, thousands of killed 'meat droids' of the rotten galactic democracy. The General himself has not yet given us a comment on this part, but our insiders report that he has once again managed to defeat several Jedi, laying their lives on the altar of our common victory..."
"Looks like someone got hit hard," Larant Tarak joked grimly. But I had an extremely bad feeling...
Looking around at those present, I noticed that the Padawans, though trying to appear composed, were too shocked to say anything. The others, due to their greater maturity and closer connection to the Force, like me, suspected something was wrong.
."..And now, a live feed from the bridge of General Grievous's flagship from the battle site," the announcer winked. The image changed to a rather mediocre quality recording, on which the cyborg towered over a bound and brutally beaten man in a Republic-style vice admiral's tunic. I felt my teeth start grinding enamel off each other. Now it was clear what Grievous had been doing after routing the Republicans at Bovo-Yagen. He was following my trail.
"Republic slug," Grievous rasped, grabbing the officer by the neck with his mechanical hands and easily lifting him off the floor. "Your attempts to stop me are nothing. Like your entire rotten Republic."
"Go to hell..." From the way Kreeves dangled in the air like a rag doll, it was clear his limbs were broken. Specifically to give the viewer the impression of their commander's unstoppable power. Like, he not only destroyed the Republican admiral's ships, but also broke his will so much that he didn't even try to defend himself. Dirty trick.
"I will destroy you all," Grievous promised. "And after that — I will burn Coruscant and personally take the Supreme Chancellor prisoner."
With these words, Grievous's metal fingers, with a clearly audible crunch — and I wouldn't be surprised if it was computer-enhanced for greater effect — snapped my officer's neck.
Throwing him aside like a rag doll, Grievous looked straight into the camera.
"Dougan," he said, squinting. "I will kill your rat commanders and your incubator soldiers one by one. And after that — I'll get to you. And you won't be able to run away like you did on Hypori."
With that, the message from the general ended with the announcer's image.
"General Grievous's resounding victory in the Daalang system demonstrates the strength and indomitability of the Confederacy of Independent Systems, and shows the vulnerability of the Republic. Those who speak of our enemies' victory in this war must clearly realize that this day has proven the power and invincibility of the CIS, which is becoming stronger than ever. The Republic is incapable of protecting its own worlds, and its citizens tremble before the might of our fleet. Its defeat and final capitulation are inevitable."
The pompousness with which the announcer delivered the propaganda rather caustically mocked my plans. Because if what was said was true, then along with Vice Admiral Aeon Kreeves's fleet, we had lost not only tens of thousands of people and a fairly successful commander, but also hundreds of ships — even before our withdrawal to Teta, two hundred Hammerheads and Marauders from the reserve had been sent to him, which were supposed to continue controlling that world and expanding our influence into neighboring sectors, which had been thoroughly cleaned out first by the Mistryl from Emberlene, and then by Maul's headhunters. And all this — simultaneously with the start of the operation on Saleucami.
Rear Admiral Zsinj with his Rapier fleet and the forces attached to him were supposed to break through the remaining Separatist forces, dropping troops on planets all the way to Allantin IV itself, where, holding firm, our fleet would transition to defense using the second half of the remaining reserve ships, while specialists from Christophsis restored the shipyards and retooled them to produce Cleavers and Terminus-class ships, which were to become the new backbone of the fleet — unified, both in the armies under my command and in the Empire.
Rear Admiral Afsheen Makati, at the head of the Spear fleet, was to attack Kerkoidia — a CIS outpost in the Kira sector — with the subsequent expulsion of the Separatists from the nearest sectors into the cold.
Vice Admiral Gilad Pellaeon, commanding the Hammer fleet, having received reserves, was to go on the offensive along the Parlemian Trade Route and reach the Mon Calamari sector via the main route. Commodores Sagoro Autem and Vos Parck, with their Scimitar and Sledgehammer squadrons attached to his group, had orders to hold the approaches to Lantilles and Gizer. While the Shield fleet of Osvald Teshik, moving behind us, was to pay a visit to Centralia, after which the operation in this part of the galaxy was supposed to end with local encirclements of individual Separatist groups, the relief of Luminara Unduli's forces, and the subsequent mopping up of the encircled systems and sectors with fresh forces. The Dagger fleet of Peccati Syn was defending Kamino, where, thanks to supplies of donor material from Boba Fett, production of new clones was about to begin, and the Mace fleet of Demetrius Zaarin, which had effectively already occupied Rothana and was preparing to launch our ships. Unfortunately, both of these groups had to be significantly reduced, using them to reinforce the other formations — in particular, my Blade, and the fleets of Teshik and Makati. Even the Ord Pardron Defense Fleet of Admiral Ilisio Vahr had to be cut down, sending most of the ships to Lannik — to secure Kreeves's rear, may he rest in peace.
At the same time, Rear Admiral Joseph Grunger and the Sling fleet entrusted to him were smashing the Separatists on Vogel; Rear Admiral Martio Batch with the Scythe fleet was holding positions on Chardaan, where Adi Gallia's headquarters was located; Rear Admiral Miltin Takel, commanding the Hammer fleet, was bogged down in the meat grinder on Artezzi, where more Separatist corsairs had unexpectedly crawled out; and the squadrons of Commodores Jan Dodonna, Teren Rogriss, Trauten Teradoc, and Adar Tallon were advancing our forces on a broad front toward Malastare, Za Heza, and Sanfariks, which, like the entire Grumani sector, were under Separatist control, thereby bringing us to the borders of the Ninth Systems Army in the south.
Rear Admiral Rufaan Tigellinus and his Stiletto fleet were to go on the offensive in the south and southwest, capturing key systems — Omwat, Cabal, Zagoba, Sevarcos, Kirdo — with a subsequent advance on Utapau. Which, supposedly, was neutral, but we knew...
Given that the enemy had fairly large but stretched-out forces along the entire front, only in some places united into large groups — as in the case of Grievous and Trench — they would have to do some serious running from the south to the north of the galaxy to gain an advantage over us. Or else — split their forces. They had no other way — I thought, before TX-65 leaked that information to Dooku.
But one way or another, it was this full-scale counteroffensive operation that was supposed to establish a unified front and clear our rear of Separatist remnants. A little over a month was allotted for it — given our communication problems. It was precisely by that deadline that new equipment models and clone reinforcements were supposed to start arriving for the army and fleet from Rothana, Rendili, Geonosis, and Hypori. A positive resolution of the situation would allow us to connect the territory of the Empire and the armies under my control in the southeast of the galaxy. A little more time after that — and that's it, the second phase would be completely finished.
The army rearmed with new types of weapons, the fleet equipped with starships superior to the Venators and Predators, the Rebels and Providences; a uniform clone army on the front lines and volunteer corps as rear units — controlling the worlds already occupied by the Empire. The perfect pazzak hand.
Which Grievous the Hutt had ruined! Showing up exactly where and when he wasn't needed!
The destruction of Kreeves's group was an open road into the heart of the Ghent. Vahr's ships, covering Lannik — the next planet on Grievous's path — wouldn't just fail to stop him; they wouldn't even delay him. And then — all the way to Christophsis, only patrols and small squadrons, whose task was merely to create the appearance of our presence...
Bitch!
I underestimated that bastard. I underestimated him badly.
"As we can see, our illustrious Commander-in-Chief is clearly proving that the myth of the invincibility of the Ghent Systems Army under the leadership of Jedi Rick Dougan is just a fairy tale. We will keep you informed of events and update you..."
Ahsoka, sensing my reaction through the Bond, touched the projector, turning it off. Silence fell on the bridge, broken only by the hum of equipment.
"Maybe it's just disinformation," Racha Sitra tried to sugarcoat the pill, but... It was hard to deny the obvious. In the background of the recording, the burning hulks of my ships were clearly visible. The planet near which the cyborg had defeated Kreeves was none other than Daalang, which had recently come under our control. The question remained — which Jedi had Grievous managed to kill there, when there were almost none on the planet?
"No," Aayla looked at the report from one of the communications officers who had appeared near our group. "Received confirmation from General Jin. The Anvil fleet and its attached forces have ceased to exist. Two hundred forty-seven ships destroyed, over thirty thousand crew members dead. Grievous bombarded the surface — nothing alive remains on Daalang. All the volunteers, all the equipment..."
"We shouldn't have taken that shield off the planet," Padawan Whie Malreaux said.
Oh, really, Captain Obvious Padawan! If I'd known the cards, I'd be living in Sochi.
Bitch! I just can't believe what's happening.
According to the plans Vos had given me, Grievous wasn't supposed to go to the Gamorr Run — the CIS command had ordered him to smash Zsinj's group...
"Is there anything else?" I asked hoarsely.
"Yes," Secura nodded. "Kreeves managed to gather data on Grievous's fleet. It's half the size previously reported — just over five hundred line-class ships. Intelligence reports that similar forces are currently on Gamorr — Zsinj has gone on the defensive, anticipating an attempted breakthrough through New Cov."
"Not all of Grievous's ships could have survived that battle," Xiaan shook her head. "Some must have been damaged, or even destroyed..."
"Kreeves managed to destroy almost two hundred ships," Aayla added. "Mostly Generous-class... Grievous's line core wasn't touched..."
"General Grievous never liked the Banking Clan's ships," Tallisibeth suddenly spoke up. "Sometimes he would abandon entire squadrons on the battlefield to escape..."
"Then it's clear why he sacrificed them," Utrila nodded. "He sent them ahead like you did the fireships at Hypori..."
"Minesweepers," I corrected. "Ships designed to clear minefields are called minesweepers. Fireships are the ones you load with explosives and send to detonate on collision with enemy starships."
"Then why did you call the minesweepers fireships at Hypori?" Rennax asked.
"Seriously, blue-hair?" Oli shook her head. "That's what's bothering you right now?"
"I was just asking..."
"Everyone, be quiet," I asked. Thoughts raced through my head like a herd of unbroken mustangs... and not a single useful one among them.
"What are your orders, Grand Moff?" Declann asked quietly.
Lifting my eyes from the holoterminal, I studied those present.
They were worried. Because everyone except the five Padawans was familiar with this plan. And they all understood, to a one, that everything hung by a thread. The foundation of the plan was secure rear areas and worlds under our control. Breaking through the front line, Grievous would start a massacre on our supply lines. And even after we took Saleucami, even if the second phase was completed, we'd be left with nothing. Because all our logistics, all our supplies... everything would be destroyed.
Damn it! On Christophsis, a bunch of younglings were still waiting for Uncle Dougan to let them fly to Almas to meet with other Jedi.
And the worst part was that even if we turned back now, we wouldn't make it. Christophsis was a day and a half away. Grievous, even with his clone of the Sinister, was just over a day out.
A stalemate... no matter where you moved, you wouldn't make it in time. No one would make it — not a single squadron or fleet, stripped bare by me to a truly unpleasant state, could oppose Grievous...
Unless...
So... how long would it take them to get there? Suppose Grievous moved at maximum speed, available to his flagship... That means... Hutt, we still wouldn't make it — Grievous was just a stone's throw from Lannik, about five hours... The others would take three times as long. And if we reinforced the group just to delay them...
Hutt... Either way, by the time a force capable of destroying Grievous arrived, Var and his ships would cease to exist. Because to save the entire operation and billions of lives, we'd have to sacrifice the lives of tens of thousands of beings... Sacrifice them like pawns in a chess game. To win the match.
Well then, in the best traditions of Emperor Vitiate.
"Admiral," I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and looked at Nial. "Connect me through the station's relay to Jabba, Admiral Var, and Admiral Shirano. I'll speak with them in the tactical room. Alone."
"Yes, sir," I felt the relief emanating from the admiral. The military hated uncertainty. Hearing a clear order in a situation like this was the best cure for dark thoughts.
"And what about our mission?" Tolm asked.
"The operation continues," I said in an icy tone that made every Force-sensitive on the bridge, without exception, feel uneasy.
Then, turning my back to my people, I slowly walked toward the tactical room. A series of unpleasant conversations with subordinates lay ahead. And first of all — I needed to give Vos a dressing-down.
* * *
"Your insubordination is unforgivable, General Grievous," Dooku deeply regretted that he couldn't destroy the overreaching cyborg across the thousands of parsecs separating them. "Your task was simple — destroy Republic forces on Umbara, get behind the defenders of the Second System Army, and finally annihilate the Republic fleet in the Allantina IV area. And what did you do?"
"What I had to," the hologram rasped. "I carved up the Republic scum where you said to. And destroyed a battle group that could have damaged our allies in the nearby sectors."
"We no longer have allies there, General," Dooku reminded Grievous. "The half-breeds from the criminal organization calling itself the 'Shadow Collective' conducted nuclear bombardments of Emberlene and completely destroyed their armed forces. Those sectors no longer hold any interest for us. And I'm inclined to think you knew that. You couldn't not know — you're always up to date on the operational situation."
"My memory failed me this time," Dooku could clearly sense the cyborg's deception. As could Quinlan Vos, standing beside him. "I offer my apologies. For destroying an entire Republic battle group."
"You shouldn't apologize for the latter," Dooku grimaced. "You would have destroyed them anyway — just a little later. After finishing off Rear Admiral Zsinj's battle group and opening a path to Christophsis via the Corellian Trade Route. Instead, you'll have to take a roundabout way to get there, which, given your divided forces, risks heavy losses."
"I told the general the same thing," Vos chimed in, his expression making it clear what he thought of the cyborg. "But the general decided to be clever — sending me to deal with the Republic fleet at Chardaan."
"Is that so," Dooku snorted. "I don't recall my servant being under your command, General..."
"I needed a talented commander on that front," Grievous growled. "That Jedi defector isn't one of them. Wasting nearly a hundred ships against a fleet half that size takes real effort."
"The general told me it was your order," Vos said, ignoring what he'd heard.
"This is getting more interesting," Dooku thought. But he wasn't about to make a scene in front of the acolyte.
"Yes, I recall something like that," he lied. "Still, General, with your improvisation, you made a grave strategic error — you let Dougan slip away. And killing him is your priority objective. Instead, you burned some backwater planet."
"The general obviously thought he could either catch Dougan or lure him into a trap at Daalang," the former Jedi snorted. "It looked pathetic. Just like that deception of yours about killing fictional Jedi — as if Dougan doesn't know where the Order members under his command are. He doesn't have that many of them, hard to forget, and he knows where he sent each one."
"Your agent provided false information," Grievous noted. "By the time I arrived, Dougan was already gone."
"Yes," Dooku didn't deny it. "Information has a tendency to become outdated. That's exactly why the plan was built around attacking Christophsis — the jewel of Dougan's army. He would have rushed to save it in an instant. Now his location is a mystery. He never arrived at Christophsis to replenish his corps, battered during the assault on Daalang."
"Perhaps," Grievous rasped maliciously, "I should burn a few more of his worlds to make him reach me as quickly as possible?"
"Or perhaps," Vos countered, "we should return to the current plan?"
"I prefer to finish with this pathetic group at Lannik," the cyborg waved a manipulator toward the transparisteel separating his flagship's bridge from the vacuum.
"Indeed," Vos smirked. "That 'pathetic group' of Admirals Var and Shirano held you up for how long? Nearly fifteen hours! And that's with only a dozen modern ships — the rest is pathetic old junk — Dreadnoughts, Thrantas..."
"Was," the cyborg reminded, watching with immense pleasure as another Republic ship turned into a miniature supernova. "Two dozen Recusants lost in this battle are nothing."
"Of course," Vos said with mockery in his voice. "Getting your entire fleet stuck in a minefield — that takes real talent..."
"The fact itself is unpleasant," Dooku interrupted. "But not critical. However, we should visit the new masters of Hypori and hold them accountable for transferring space mines to the Republic."
"I still think we should return via the Gamorr Run back to the Corellian Trade Route and begin the offensive on New Cov," Vos said. "That was the plan..."
"I left enough forces on Gamorr to crush Zsinj's forces," Grievous waved dismissively. "If Dougan doesn't show up soon, I'll order Aut-O to wipe out all the Republic forces on New Cov. Then Dougan definitely won't have the strength to repel an attack from any direction."
"Don't be so overconfident, General," Dooku said instructively. "Dougan has Rothana under his command. And that's a practically inexhaustible source of starships, little inferior in shipbuilding to the Kuat Drive Yards. We still don't know the coordinates of that world or exact data about it."
"Then we can strike at Kamino," Grievous said with anticipation. "Deprive him of his source of clones..."
"Last time you barely escaped from there with your skin," Vos reminded him. "Why should it be any different now?"
"I'm forced to agree," Dooku nodded. "With your actions, General, you've simply shuffled all our cards. The Separatist Council and I are literally at a loss — the Republic has clearly begun attacks on our key worlds — Generals Kenobi and Skywalker are attacking Mygeeto, which is driving our allies in the Banking Clan into a frenzy. While you're playing soldiers here, General, we're losing our positions in the Core Worlds! You've been given enormous forces to finally destroy these pathetic groups of Jedi and clones! But this can't go on forever! The Council is willing to sacrifice minor worlds, but if the Jedi capture the homeworld of one of the Separatist leaders, or strategically important planets, as happened with Geonosis and Hypori — your loyalty to our movement will be called into question."
"Speak plainly, Count Dooku," the hybrid of being and high technology rasped. "Do the Separatists no longer trust me?"
"For now, I can hold back their dissatisfaction," leading Grievous by the nose — who would sooner kiss his own rear than acquire influential friends in the CIS leadership and be able to refute the Count's lies — was far too easy. "For a time, they'll be satisfied with your destruction of Admiral Kreeves's fleet, but... This won't last too long. Don't risk your reputation, General — once lost, it won't be easy to regain."
"I understand you, Count," the cyborg made something resembling a bow. "I appreciate what you've done for me and for achieving the main goal on the Outer Rim... However, I must note that the destruction of the HoloNet relays..."
."..Allowed you to deal with the enormous Republic forces in the shortest possible time," Dooku interrupted him. "And it was intended that you would crush them all!"
The General rasped-growled something unintelligible, after which Quinlan Vos took the floor.
"My Lord, I consider it absolutely necessary to return to the original plan — gather all forces into a fist, destroy the last somewhat significant pocket of Dougan's resistance, and only then finally deal with the extermination of enemy personnel and equipment in the rear."
"The remaining forces on Gamorr are sufficient to handle the Republic," Grievous snarled. "We can kill two womp gerbils with one stone — destroy Zsinj's battle group and conduct a raid on the rear. Combine business with pleasure."
"Your detachment has suffered significantly," Vos reminded him. "You've lost practically all the Generous..."
"But I preserved the line forces!" Grievous snapped back. "The value of those frigates is overrated — the placement of their guns is more suited for siege and intimidating worlds than for line combat."
"Still," Dooku noted, "we can't pull ships out of a vacuum. For your information, General, yesterday the shipyards at Gwori were attacked by Banking Clan ships."
"Have the Muuns betrayed us?" Vos asked in surprise, while Grievous burst into a stream of curses.
"No, this is the personal initiative of the Chairman of the InterGalactic Banking Clan, Rush Clovis," Dooku smirked. "He decided to collect arrears on loans provided to the Confederacy of Independent Systems."
"And what were the results of his attack?" the cyborg squinted.
"The shipyards are significantly damaged, and we no longer control them," Dooku said indifferently. To be honest, the loss of Gwori didn't particularly sadden him — very soon the Bulwark fleet would break out of the blockade at Foerost. And then the loss of this remote shipyard of the Gwori Revolutionary Industries company would prove completely insignificant. Especially considering that the Gwori system was located far out in the Outer Rim — where the forces of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker had been raging. And in general, Gwori was one of the last significant contributions of the Muuns to the Separatist cause. With the loss of this shipyard, it would be possible to reduce the influence of the rebellious Banking Clan representatives within the Confederacy and curb their hysterical demands to begin a full-scale offensive on Mygeeto — the jewel in the crown of the bankers' prosperity.
"We must conduct a punitive operation against Clovis!" Grievous declared. "Burn Scipio and..."
"You must finish what you started, General," Dooku said coldly. "Clovis will answer for his betrayal, but later."
"But the shipyards..."
"Deal with Dougan — and the CIS will have enough shipyards, reclaiming everything lost in previous periods of the war..."
A servant droid appeared in the Count's field of view, handing him a datapad with an urgent report. Ignoring the renewed argument between the cyborg and the fallen Jedi about exactly how to destroy Dougan, the Count immersed himself in reading... And from the very first lines, he understood things were bad...
"General," Dooku tore his eyes from the datapad, looking at the cyborg's hologram. "It seems you were wondering where Dougan is?"
"That's all that interests me right now," the former Kaleesh responded with anticipation, cracking the servomotors of his metal claws. "I'll crush him like a piece of ice on a hot day..."
"I think you'll have that chance," the Count said coldly. "Our spy on Christophsis received information about the location of the Blade fleet and confirmed Dougan's presence there. With more than a dozen Jedi..."
"Where?" Grievous literally demanded an answer. Simultaneously, in the background, the last Republic ship exploded. Well, in this battle, Dougan had lost two more of his admirals.
"First, General," Dooku didn't take his eyes off the cyborg's hologram. "You must understand that what Dougan is doing now is a strike at the very heart of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. And this became possible only because you decided to deviate from the plan."
"It seems," a smirk appeared on Vos's face, "something out of the ordinary has happened..."
"Exactly," Dooku confirmed. "Dougan's fleet has blockaded Saleucami and is currently successfully destroying the ships you left there..."
"Impossible!" Grievous flared up. "The tactical super droid left in command of that fleet should have informed me if something went wrong..."
"I'm afraid the droid Kraken, so beloved by you and Admiral Trench, along with the long-range communication centers, were destroyed by the Republic first," Dooku shared the information. "It seems that before the attack began, Dougan deployed his incubator commandos to the planet and the flagship of our fleet..."
"We must head to Saleucami!" Grievous declared. "The Republic can wait. If the Techno Union loses this world too, their faith in our cause could waver and..."
"What bright thoughts," Dooku sighed. "But Saleucami isn't just the fiefdom of the Techno Union. It's also the home of several Geonosian hives. And a secret laboratory for cloning Morgukai warriors — a secret weapon against the proliferating Jedi, who were too quickly thinning the ranks of his Dark servants, whom the Count barely had time to recruit and train in the art of the Dark Side."
"I'm glad you understand, General," Dooku nodded. "Proceed to Saleucami immediately and throw Dougan out of the system. By any means necessary..."
"I'm afraid," Quinlan Vos said in a level tone, pointing somewhere toward the viewports, "we have big problems."
Grievous spun sharply in the direction the Kiffar indicated and hissed angrily.
"Shields to maximum! Prepare for battle!"
"What's happening, General?" the Count grew worried. The sudden change in behavior of the recently triumphant Grievous alarmed him.
"The Republic has sent reinforcements to destroy us," Vos noted indifferently.
"But they don't have the forces to threaten your fleet," Dooku recalled.
"Yes, I thought so too," Grievous growled with rage. "Dougan sacrificed tens of thousands of his people, by the Hutt, to hold me here!"
"You have a large fleet and the most powerful dreadnought in the galaxy," Dooku reminded him. "What do you have to fear?"
"Two Kuat Mandator II-class dreadnoughts," Vos said with incomprehensible cheerfulness, "which, accompanied by a dozen Marauders and one Valiant, have just cut off our escape route."