The Strike-class medium cruiser with the formidable name Striking exited hyperspace. The Intonn II system, located in the Sluis sector, greeted them with calm and deathly silence. The last notes of the combat alert siren's aria were fading in the air, but Commodore Akrey Dobramu barely reacted to them.
Commander of the Strike-class medium cruiser Striking,
Commodore Akrey Dobramu.
— Raise the deflector shields, scan the space, charge the launcher. Launch the fighters, — he ordered. And even though they only have one and a half squadrons on board, it doesn't negate the fact that the enemy, hiding on the ground, also has small aircraft. And something heavier.
That's why the Striking did not rush to enter orbit, continuing to maintain the necessary distance to avoid a possible attack.
They did not arrive here to engage in a prolonged confrontation. Their task was to inflict feasible damage and conduct reconnaissance.
— Has the recording in the ship's log started? — he asked his first officer.
— Yes, sir, — the lieutenant replied.
— Good, — the commodore said. — Monitor the enemy. They should react.
Grand Admiral Thrawn had designated three targets for the three medium cruisers in this sector. They were operating in conjunction with the Executrix-class Star Destroyer Vindicator, which was to distract the enemy forces with its own mission, about which neither the commanders nor the crews of the three Strikes knew anything at all. Captain Branday also didn't utter a single word at the last briefing before the attack. But no one complained – if they weren't informed, it meant it was necessary.
Innthon, Bpfassh, Ortho systems. Three targets that they need to "probe."
While the commodore knew enough about his target, he could only guess about the other two, based on publicly known data.
Ortho, the home world of the Ortolan species, was an ice-covered astronomical object. But despite its external unattractiveness, the planet was of great importance for the entire sector. A large amount of heavy metals was mined here, as well as radioactive fuel used in shipbuilding and servicing starships being built and repaired at the shipyards of Sluis Van. The medium cruiser Judicious would strike these industries. Although, in Akrey's opinion, it would be logical to land several units on the planet and raid the warehouses of mining companies – there can never be too many resources in war. Moreover, from the base on Sluis Van, it would take the enemy at least five hours to reach Ortho. In the absence of any serious protection, the planet could be properly robbed... However, he didn't know what order the commander of the Judicious had received. Maybe it was something really worthwhile.
Bpfassh was the location of a Republic patrol base. A small planetary garrison whose only purpose was to maintain order. At best, some tub for orbital inspections. One cruiser was quite enough to disperse this gathering of military uniform enthusiasts. Or whatever order they gave to the cruiser sent to this system?!
But Intonn II was a much more serious matter.
On this planet, during the Clone Wars, the Separatists organized their own base, using a light Arquitens-class destroyer that had crashed on the surface. According to Imperial records, the Separatists never finished building the base and abandoned it due to surrender and defeat in the war. The Imperials bombed it from the surface, but judging by the fact that droid scouts detected the movement of a Y-wing squadron and activity in the ruins of the Arquitens in this system.
BTL-B Y-wing starfighter (aka "Wishbone").
Therefore, it was necessary to check how combat-ready this base was, what forces it had, and how quickly it reacted to an invasion. And find out where it was located at all. Once these goals were achieved, they were to retreat.
— We're registering enemy ships, — came a report from the observation console.
— Vector of approach? — he asked a new question.
— 4-9-7, — followed the answer. — Twelve marks. Rising from the surface of the planet. Formation - wedge.
— Transmit telemetry to our fighters, — the commodore ordered. — Direct the squadron to intercept. Keep four fighters in reserve as cover. Send two along the vector to the surface to confirm the location of the enemy base. Prepare the anti-aircraft positions to repel the attack! Use standard defensive formation.
The Striking, at medium speed, moved towards the danger.
Y-wings, also known as "Wishbones" in pilots' slang, were not the youngest machines – sometimes there were those that had seen the Clone Wars. This machine was heavy, unwieldy, well-armored – hence the problems with acceleration. The rebels had learned to partially mitigate this drawback by removing "unnecessary" armor elements from the engines. To some extent, this helped, increasing speed and maneuverability. But they were still far from Imperial machines such as the TIE in these aspects. However, they surpassed them in armament, possessing not only enfilade but also rear-firing (in some modifications) guns. Not to mention the presence of launchers on Y-wings, from which they could easily fire proton torpedoes, which energy deflector shields could do absolutely nothing to. Therefore, the rebels used this type of starfighter as bombers – provided there were escort ships, of course. But in the absence of the same T-65s, the BTLs turned into heavy fighters. With weighty "arguments" in their arsenal.
A proton torpedo was mostly a kinetic weapon, and deflectors wouldn't hinder it in any way. And no one in their right mind would install a particle shield on warships as standard – it was insanely expensive. And the load on the reactors was considerable.
But a proton torpedo could cause a lot of damage – from a hull breach to damage to superstructures, detonation of the reactor (if it penetrated the thick armor), and engine nozzles. And what if there were twelve of them? Or twenty-four?
With such damage, a medium cruiser wouldn't last long. In fact, few ships would survive such an attack – except maybe a Star Destroyer. But even that wasn't guaranteed. If you knew where to shoot, and didn't just bombard the ship with projectiles "just so it hits and breaks something," then you could destroy even a Death Star with a couple of torpedoes.
Meanwhile, the battle was raging.
TIE fighters clashed with BTLs. Commodore Dobramu suddenly remembered that captured rebel pilots spoke of Y-wings as "Wishbones" because of their partially unarmored fuselage. All for the sake of speed and maneuverability...
However, it wouldn't help them today.
Imperial fighters, in the absence of heavy armor on them, had amazing characteristics, which they demonstrated in battle with the enemy.
Imperials and rebels have been fighting each other for a very long time. Long enough for experienced pilots to study each other's combat vehicles and their capabilities. And this knowledge was passed on to the new generation of pilots to some extent.
Even though those currently piloting TIE fighters were young and had minimal combat experience, the time spent in virtual simulators was showing its effect.
The Imperial machines took advantage of their machines and mercilessly bombarded the enemy with fire. But they themselves had found that the pilots of "Wishbones" weren't just green recruits either.
— Two fighters shot down, — the first officer stated. — Another one withdrew from combat with a damaged solar panel. It will enter the tractor beam range in a minute, and we'll bring it aboard.
— Target enemy ships operating away from the main skirmish, and fire on them with ship's artillery, — the commodore ordered. Catching himself, he added:
— Warn them about our intervention in the battle.
— Yes, sir, — came the voice of the communications officer.
There was a great risk in firing ship's artillery in the thick of a battle of light forces. Firstly, the excessive power of the turbolasers to destroy maneuverable targets. Secondly, there was a high chance of hitting their own machines. That's why the commodore ordered to fire on those enemy machines that were leaving the skirmish. No matter how the rebels tried, their clumsy fighters on turns were not faster than turbolasers, and especially laser cannons.
After the second volley, the gunners managed to blast one of the "Wishbones" that had flown out of the general mess of the dogfight into stardust. A short yellow flash – and neither the combat vehicle nor its pilot remained. Or perhaps two – depending on the modification of the enemy ships. But this issue was not critical now – it would be possible to understand exactly which fighters were destroyed after the battle by checking the ship's sensor readings.
— Telemetry from the reconnaissance pair, — the first officer reported.
— Report, — the commodore watched the battle, without taking his eyes off the carnage.
— The base has been located, — the first officer said tersely. — One fighter lost, the second is returning. Heavy anti-aircraft cover. No deflector shields detected.
— Are new enemy starships detected? — how many losses. Too many to consider the mission completed "excellently." But on the other hand, who expected a different result? If even young people, who had never smelled Tibanna gas, were being sent to Star Destroyers, then cruisers were manned by the same young people, but even less professional.
— No, sir.
— Good, — Akrey smirked. Let the fighters entertain themselves, he had another idea. — Order the last scout to join the battle. Yes, and four of our escort fighters as well.
— S-sir? — the lieutenant stammered. Dobramu almost cursed. Oh, this youth! Everyone relied on fighter protection. But they had a cruiser in their hands! And not the weakest one at that.
— Execute, first officer! — he roared, following with his gaze the officer who had only graduated from the senior command staff training courses a month ago. He had come straight from the Academy. And that was despite the fact that he had not served a single day on board a starship!
Oh, how bad were things with qualified personnel in the Empire! They had to throw boys into battle... That was why there were such losses – they hadn't matured yet. And in the meantime, they were fighting with the rebels, and surely – not the worst of them.
After giving the new order, Akrey began to watch as the ship bypassed the site of the fighter battle. A couple of "Wishbones" chased after them, and chaotic green flashes of fire reached out towards them in the hope of driving away the annoying companions.
After five minutes of fierce firefight, they succeeded, but...
The Striking shuddered as if it had been punched in the gut.
— Breach on the seventh deck! — notes of hysteria sounded in the first officer's voice. — Frames broken, air leak, destruction down to the seventh section!
— Lower the blast doors! — the commodore commanded, wincing. Yes, it was unpleasant, but not critical. The rebels managed to hit his cruiser with their proton torpedoes – and they simply didn't have anything else capable of piercing the shield and hull with one volley. — Seal the bulkheads in the area of the breach! Artillery – intensify fire on the enemy squadron! Take us into orbit above the enemy base!
Ten minutes into the battle, it became clear that only half of the sixteen fighters remained intact. The ninth MFS with damaged solar panels was being urgently repaired in the hangar in case it was needed to participate in the battle.
The enemy lost three machines. The rest bore traces of a good beating, but still, the "exchange" was clearly not in favor of the Empire.
Well, that was easy to fix.
— Cruiser at the designated point, commodore! — the first officer reported. — The rebel fighters are moving towards us to defend their base and...
— Flatten it, — Dobramu growled.
— But, sir, the order prescribed only reconnaissance and... — the first officer stammered.
— Destroy the enemy base! — Akrey roared, literally burning his subordinate with his gaze.
— Yes, sir, yes, sir, — cries were heard on the bridge. The officers, stunned by the direct violation of the commander's order, fussed around...
"Youth," the commodore thought with relief, who himself had only recently passed his third decade of life. But before that, he had served on board a Star Destroyer. And the captain had hammered into the head of each of his subordinates - no rebellious scum should consider themselves victorious in a battle. This destroys the prestige and authority of the Empire and allows the enemy to consider themselves stronger.
The enemy built the base on the site of the one the Separatists had – around the crashed and rusting Arquitens-class light destroyer. The mountainous terrain gave the rebels some shelter from orbital scanners, so Akrey relied on the readings of the enemy fighters' approach vector and the telemetry of his own reconnaissance pilots. He knew perfectly well that the power of his ship would not be enough to destroy the base – there were not enough turbolasers and time before the enemy's reinforcements arrived, which they would certainly call.
But the commodore was not going to waste time on an exhausting planetary bombardment with his artillery.
The proton torpedoes were the first to go, spat out by the launcher again and again until the artillery magazine was empty. The crew managed in a few minutes. And then the inferno of ground destruction was diluted by turbolaser glares, sweeping away everything in its path: buildings, communications, enemy manpower...
The artillery preparation lasted another hour, and during that time, the rebel base turned into a crater of molten slag. The Empire lost another three fighters, the enemy – only one. Striking got another proton torpedo, and this had a sobering effect on the commodore.
— Artillery barrage, — he ordered, seeing the "Wishbones" taking the attack course. — Return our pilots and get out of here to the rendezvous point.
Four minutes later, after shooting down another New Republic starfighter, the Imperial medium cruiser broke the light barrier and left the Intonn system, leaving only a huge black stain of slag and the skeletal remains of numerous corpses on the second planet from the local star.
***
Baron D'asta remained expressively silent.
We were sitting in a luxuriously furnished study, and had just finished another seemingly insignificant conversation about everything and nothing at the same time. But it only confirmed the aristocrat's stated intentions to directly support my vision for the further development of the confrontation between the two galactic superpowers. More than once or twice, so-called "control questions" came up in the conversation – a way to check what had been said earlier. The meaning was ridiculously simple. First, the first question was asked with clear wording. And after receiving an answer, after some time in the course of the conversation, the same question was asked. In a heavily rephrased form. However, the semantic load remained the same. And if the answers differed, it was a direct indication of dishonesty.
When a sentient being spoke the truth, it cost him nothing to repeat it. Both an hour later, and two hours later, and a year later. But if it was a lie, invented "on the fly," it was sometimes very difficult to remember it – because it would require you to slightly weaken your attention to the conversation. And the answers would be "off." Quite a few operatives in their time fell down on this simple check.
But in this context, I had nothing to hide. I really believed that a truce should be reached – but only when the New Republic and the Empire were on equal terms for negotiations. Otherwise... excesses were possible. And given that an entire hostile civilization would visit the galaxy in the foreseeable future... No, I really didn't want to live, and especially not to govern a state that was not able to properly defend itself.
— I think we can help you, Grand Admiral, — Baron D'asta said thoughtfully.
— This step will not go unnoticed, — I replied.
— At the moment, my possibilities are somewhat... limited, — the aristocrat said. Well, a veiled version of the answer "Not all at once." Actually, no one had promised a "merger of capitals" for the sake of coincidence of philosophical reflections. — But I can provide you with, say, ten CR90 corvettes. Not the newest ones, of course, but I cannot undermine the defense capability of my sector at the moment. The New Republic bases are not that far away. So far they are afraid of me, but if they find out that I have withdrawn a significant part of my fleet – they might take a chance and attack. It already happened after we lost the cruisers that were given for the assault on the Hasts shipyards – a combat group of five Mon Calamari star cruisers, not counting the escort ships, was sent to my sector. It was... not easy to fight back.
— I will be grateful for this too, — because in this case I had much more than I could afford by waving credit chips.
— However, that is not all, — the baron said. — As far as I know, the Imperial Ruling Council does not have the opportunity to finance your campaign sufficiently.
— The reduction of the territories of the Imperial Space has unpleasant consequences in the form of a number of problems, — I noted. — Including a decrease in tax revenues. A shortage of funds is a logical result of our policy. There is nothing to be surprised at here.
— My financiers will transfer two hundred and fifty million to your accounts, — the baron said, watching my reaction. And there was none. Yes, the money was huge for an ordinary inhabitant of a galaxy far, far away. But it would be too little to finance a victorious campaign. And on the other hand – quite a lot. A lot, if you didn't waste it and carefully planned the expenditure side of the budget. This one financial injection would be enough to ensure my fleet's combat capability for a long time. However, judging by the expression on his face, the baron was clearly not done announcing his support. And certainly not making such a grand gesture for no reason. After all, for that kind of money, he could build himself several Victory-class Star Destroyers at the Imperial shipyards. — Unfortunately, I am also slightly limited financially – it takes a lot of money to keep the fleet combat-ready and pay salaries. However, my sector is able to offer you feasible assistance not of a monetary but of a material nature.
— Oh, really? — I was intrigued.
— We are a completely self-sufficient sector, — Baron D'asta said. — In the Selanon system there is a factory that will provide your soldiers with uniforms, — it should be understood that we are only talking about fabric uniforms. I had hinted vaguely at the increase in the number of personnel in our conversation over dinner. The baron rightly reasoned that this was a question of recruiting volunteers. I didn't dissuade him, because in some ways he was right. — Unfortunately, we are not in a position to produce stormtrooper armor. And we buy uniforms for the regular army in the Imperial space.
It was both good and bad at the same time. Firstly, we would not have to worry about what to dress the clones who were joining the fleet and strengthening civilian personnel. Secondly, it would not be so easy to raise an army of clone stormtroopers.
— The gas giant Isen in the eponymous system provides us with reserves of Tibanna gas, but the volume of its supply cannot be large, — the baron said. — The needs of my own fleet, you understand.
— Of course, — I said. — I was told that you have the technology to produce small aircraft of the TIE type. Can I count on replenishing my losses at your factories?
The baron shook his head.
— I'm sorry, Grand Admiral, — he said. — I sold the production lines two years ago to the Ciutric Hegemony to Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel. My fleet is switching to domestically produced fighters due to the impossibility of obtaining cheap raw materials for the production of TIE equipment.
— However, you must have TIE-type fighters and other fighters if not in service, then in warehouses? — I assumed. Nothing supernatural – a simple guess. Because even the Empire itself took years to rearm with more modern weapons. D'asta sector might be a profitable territory, but not enough to do it on a large scale.
— Yes, we have them, — the baron agreed. — We are selling them in small batches to the Imperial Remnants.
— Can I be added to the list of regular customers? — an affirmative nod from the aristocrat perfectly conveyed the fact that he was well aware of my needs. And he certainly didn't intend to miss a chance to somehow recoup his investments. He had a firm business grip. Friendship is friendship, but profit is separate. He had supplied me with funds and given me ten Corellian corvettes. But he clearly didn't intend to squander his assets just like that. TIE-technology was in demand in the worlds of the Imperial Space. Therefore, it was quite a profitable venture for the baron: on the one hand, with his financial injection, he demonstrated to me his desire to contribute to my successes, and on the other hand, official trade relations between us would remove all suspicions of double-dealing. Not to mention the fact that regardless of whether I succeeded or not, he would be a winner in any case. I was sure that if necessary, he could return these funds in simple ways through his daughter.
— Your soldiers are armed with Imperial-standard blasters, — I said. — Independent production or purchases?
— The first, — the baron said. — A small weapons factory. I am ready to supply you with blasters and explosives. However, I must note that we use maranium as an explosive substance, which does not meet Imperial standards.
— That's not critical, — I noted. — Can I ask for food supplies from Nez Peron for my people?
— Of course, — the baron agreed.
After discussing the details and the price of the material assistance provided, we fell silent again. The baron was smoking a cigar, his gaze wandering around his library, the shelves with information crystals of which were placed around the entire perimeter of the office.
— Your assistance will significantly affect the implementation of our plan, — I noted. — When the time comes, you will not be forgotten.
— I very much hope so, Grand Admiral, — the baron said, puffing out clouds of smoke. Yes, even if he was such an idealist on foreign policy issues, after a substantive conversation with him regarding the amount of assistance and his cooperation, there was no longer any suspicion that the baron was trying by all means to push the Republic away from his borders. And he perfectly understood that it was much cheaper for him to finance my fight than to continue to inflate his own fleet. After all, he clearly realized that one day he simply wouldn't be able to maintain it in the necessary combat readiness. And the New Republic might get very angry when they saw the build-up of armed forces in the pro-Imperial sector.
During our conversation, the baron had repeatedly pointed out the problematic nature of his neighborhood. It was a practically undisguised hint. Most likely - a check of our preliminary agreement. I had indicated during our conversation on the walk that cooperation under the new order should be mutually beneficial. The baron probably wanted to test the sincerity of my words in practice. And I was sure that the battle in the Hast system - the Imperial attack on the shipyards of the then Rebel Alliance, mentioned in the conversation was not just for show.
— How much did you lose in the battle for Hast? — I inquired.
— The entire strike force of my fleet, requisitioned by the Imperial admiral, — the baron looked at me with interest. — This defeat severely hit my business connections and resulted in colossal losses. Some of my clients simply stopped using the services of our transportation companies, reasoning that the loss of cruisers would not allow us to continue to successfully carry out our transportation and provide their protection. More than a hundred major clients have refused our services and rely on the transportation companies of the Five Star Confederacy. And this, in turn, is hurting the profits and the authority of the D'asta family and the entire sector. I could have directed the lost billions of credits… — the baron pretended to be thinking. — In a more productive direction.
Well, there was no need to explain. A hint in my direction. You to me - I to you. A condition under which I was ready to cooperate with the Ubiqtorate. On much less favorable terms. Now, I was actually given a "generous advance."
Without joking, it was difficult to underestimate the baron's proposal with the amount of funding, the transferred ships, and material supplies. Such acts were called – "a royal gift." Even if I had to spend seriously on some part of it.
And he hoped for a reciprocal favor. With a hint that this would increase the level of trust between us and that the amount of support given to me would be increased. If the question was about billions... then it was worth it. Because for one and a half or two billion credits, one could build a Executor-class Star Dreadnought. And that was a completely different level of implementation of my own plans.
— But if you demonstrate a strong response, albeit a belated one, the negative consequences can be mitigated, — I suggested.
— Yes, — the baron said without flinching.
— Given the volume of destroyed ships and the time that has passed, the response measures should be a large-scale punitive operation, — I continued. D'asta only nodded slightly.
— As your ally, I cannot stand aside, — I said, realizing that my own plans would most likely have to be shifted according to schedule. — The target is the shipyards and the space base of the New Republic in the Hast system?
— The site of the disgrace of our ships, — D'asta confirmed. He reached under the table and took a small infochip out of the drawer. — Here is all the information that I have managed to collect over the last few years, having withdrawn from power in the Imperial Ruling Council. It is no more than half a year out of date.
— Intelligence data can always be updated, — I philosophically noted, putting the crystal in my pocket. — I cannot promise an act of retribution in the near future – only when a suitable plan is prepared.
— By no means do I rush you with providing assistance, Grand Admiral, — the baron said. — However, I would like the issue of restoring the reputation of my family to be resolved before the Imperial Ruling Council's tenders for the selection of a carrier throughout the Imperial Space are held. The loss of these contracts will leave tens of thousands of sentient beings in my sector unemployed. The amount of lost funds will be ten billion Imperial credits.
In my understanding, the sum was infinitely huge. Considering the scale of the projects I had in mind, if I had at least a tenth of that money – there would be no problems with the implementation of my plans. On the contrary, by spending time solving Baron D'asta's problem, I would not only be able to strengthen our allied relationship, but also to accelerate the implementation of my own plans due to the increase in funding.
And so we had formed an alliance...
— If you don't mind, baron, — I got up from my chair, politely nodding to the owner of the study as a sign of respect, — I need to return to the fleet to start planning the operation on Hast.
— I dare not detain you, Grand Admiral, — the baron said calmly, handing me another infochip. — Here is the information about the account where the money has been transferred. Ten corvettes are already ready for transfer – only crews are needed for them.
— I am sure that this will not be a problem, — I replied calmly, taking the second chip and leaving the study.
It wasn't customary to say goodbye in Imperial circles.
***
On Bpfassh, you could die of boredom.
A parched binary planet orbiting a common center of gravity. Moderate climate. And lifeless wastelands all around. Not just for a kilometer, two, three... Any piece of land in this world was one lifeless planet.
It was surprising that a Jedi Praxeum could have once been located here, considering the locals' attitude towards the Order. Negative, even hostile.
Fodeum scratched his bristly chin, watching the New Republic fighters return to their base. Fires were still raging in some places, and medical airspeeders were scurrying around in others. But it couldn't be said that the rulers of the galaxy had suffered much damage. The Imperials had just messed around on the planet, shot at the base for intimidation, shot down several enemy machines, lost a couple of their own – there, the skeletons of downed TIE fighters were burning a little north of the outpost. And that was all. The raid and dive-bombing of the ground object had failed.
That was the end of the raid.
— What a load of rubbish, — he said thoughtfully, sipping his caf. Since when did the Empire become so merciful? Previously, during their raids, they had flattened everything they could reach with tectonic plates – they didn't care about the victims among the local population loyal to the New Republic. But now... something was incomprehensible.
Or was he simply not seeing the whole picture, as his mentor liked to tell him? No, that was nonsense. What did he care about all this?
He was young – just over thirty. Well-built, with a handsome appearance. His ship was in the spaceport, and Fodeum was very worried during the raid that the Imperials would start tearing everything apart.
But his worries faded into the background almost immediately when the Imperials' target became clear – the New Republic base. It was as if they weren't interested in anything else at all. Well, maybe that was the case.
— Drinking again? — a young Twi'lek sat down opposite him, businesslike appropriating a bottle of cheap soft drink. The girl uncapped the container, sniffed it. — Juice?
— Did you expect Corellian whiskey here? — Fodeum chuckled, taking another sip.
— You have such a habit, — Vex frowned. Actually, his partner had another name, but that didn't negate the fact that she was constantly unhappy about something. A nasty person. Who had recently decided that she had the right to tell her captain when to drink alcohol and when not to. — Usually, by lunchtime you're already drunk as a Sarlaac.
The man glanced at his wrist chronometer.
— I still have about fifteen minutes, — he said with a smirk. The Twi'lek tsked disapprovingly, clearly preparing to say something outrageous. No, that wasn't interesting.
— Is Graceful Lady okay? — he inquired, looking around with satisfaction. A small open-air cantina on the very edge of the spaceport. Minimal visitors – mostly the same easy money seekers as the two of them. But now there was not a soul here – the locals preferred to sit out at home after the raid. For an hour and a half, the streets would be quiet – until the Republic patrols swept the area. And what were they looking for anyway?
— Yes, — the girl snorted. — Me too, by the way.
— I noticed, — Fodeum smiled. He wasn't a bad person. But he wasn't good either. He just liked to tease his assistant and friend.
— You could have asked if I was okay, — the Twi'lek showed him her tongue with offense. Ugh, women-women. She was no younger than him, and yet she behaved like a little girl.
— Why? — he smiled. — It's all visible anyway. Arms and legs in place, clothes on you, lekku okay. And your bottomless eyes...
— It would be better if we had bottomless pockets full of credits! — the girl blurted out. — If you've forgotten, we've already unloaded the goods. The transportation contract has been closed. And we need to find a new job if we want to finally fix the anti-gravs and not have any more problems with the authorities about the way we land.
"And what's so terrible about us descending on the maneuvering engines?" thought Fodeum tiredly. "It's just a roar all around, as if the rancors are having mating season."
Fodeum Sabre De'Luz and Vex.
— Do you have any plans? — he inquired. The girl shook her head in the negative.
— And you? — she asked a little quieter.
— Same thing, — he had to admit. — There's nothing...
They had been working together long enough to understand each other without unnecessary words.
While Vex was delivering the goods to the client, Fodeum had scurried off to the coordinates he had bought from an information merchant for a tidy sum. But he hadn't managed to profit from the ruins of the Jedi Praxeum. He hadn't found anything that he could sell for at least some money. And the Force was silent...
— And I told you that the locals had cleaned everything out there, — the girl threatened him with her finger. — So many years have passed! But you are stubborn, Fodeum Sabre De'Luz! Everything has to be the way you want it!?
— An attempt isn't torture, — the man shrugged. — It could have been a good score.
— And it turned out to be another stupid waste of money! — the girl said offendedly, folding her arms across her chest.
— You didn't say that when we bought you delicacies, — Fodeum chuckled. — And they cost us almost a thousand credits, by the way - three times more than I paid for the map.
— But I was happy for a whole week, — Vex noted. — And you didn't roll your eyes with the words: "Woman, stop eating my brain!".
— That's why you're still alone, — the man chuckled. — Your appetites are immeasurable.
— No, it's just... — the girl wanted to blurt something out, but stopped herself. Sabre De'Luz tensed up, seeing the Twi'lek looking somewhere behind his shoulder. — Don't turn around.
— Or a rancor will devour me? — Fodeum chuckled. And immediately felt that the Force was insistently telling him about the danger. He put his hand on his blaster to fall off his chair and shoot behind his back, but someone's strong hand fell on his shoulder, and the barrel of a blaster poked between his shoulder blades. "Well, damn it...!"
— Hands on the table, buddy, — a voice came from behind. Judging by the accent, it was a human. — And you, exotic, too!
— I am a Twi'lek! — the girl snapped. But still, her graceful hands found a place on the table top. — And not some kind of monster...
— I don't care, — the barrel pressed even harder into Fodeum's shoulder blades, as if trying to make a hole in him without the help of Tibanna gas. — Is your ship running?
— You see, we have some minor technical problems... — the man tried to talk the uninvited guest's ears off, while simultaneously calling on the Force for allies, in the hope that...
— I'll make a hole in your chest the size of a fist right now, — the unknown man promised. But the captain of the Graceful Lady had already guessed who was behind his back. And why the Republic soldiers were prowling around the city so fiercely. — And then in your exotic too!
— And then the patrol will come here and make holes in you, Imperial, — Fodeum continued the thought. — You hardly climbed out of your ship just to die in a pointless shootout.
— You don't understand much, — the pilot of one of the downed Imperial bombers snorted.
— What do you need from us? — Vex screeched with her pearly teeth.
— Our new friend wants to get off the planet, — Fodeum answered for the Imperial. — So I understand, the raid failed and your guys left, forgetting to pick you up?
— You talk too much, — the man standing behind pressed the blaster barrel so hard that it almost broke through his thick vest. — Access codes to your ship!
— It won't help you, buddy, — Fodeum shook his head. — There are biometric scanners on the ignition. For me and my partner, — it was a good thing Vex kept silent, not exposing his bluff. — I spent a hundred thousand on them — but not a single hijacking attempt has worked. So you'll need us alive – or you can carry our dead bodies. But then you won't be able to use the voice interface of the lock on the ramp...
— But we can help each other, — Vex said unexpectedly. Fodeum looked at her in surprise. The Imperial, judging by the weakened pressure of the blaster in the back of his hostage, also did. — You want to get off the planet, Imperial?
— Yes, — he answered. Fodeum allowed himself to turn his head. A tall, stately man of middle age with red hair and a short beard. And even though he was dressed in rags that he had obviously stolen in the yard of the nearest house, the captain of the Graceful Lady would bet that under this disguise he was in a black jumpsuit of Imperial pilots. At the very least, the regulation boots on his feet spoke in favor of this assertion.
— And we have a ship and a desire to make some money, — Vex continued. — Your superiors will be grateful to us for our freighter delivering you to the base?
— Yes, — the Imperial didn't think for long. Or maybe he was just lying. Fodeum reached for him with the Force, but to his surprise, he didn't detect any sense of deception coming from the Imperial.
— Well, enough playing the proud fighter with exotics, let's go to the ship, while the patrols are searching other areas, — Fodeum suggested, secretly winking at Vex. Well done, she figured it out! — Your disguise isn't the best. And your face is like that of a cutthroat.
Feeling a light slap on the back of the head, Fodeum yelped.
— Move to the ship, — the Imperial pilot ordered. — If you try to betray me, I'll kill you on the spot.
— No one is going to turn you in to anyone, — Vex sighed. — The New Republic doesn't pay citizens rewards for ordinary soldiers. If you were a spy, it would be another matter.
Fodeum looked at his partner in a new light. And where, tell me, did she know such details from?
— So, put away your blaster and make your face look nicer, — Vex continued to mock the Imperial. — Otherwise, the police will take notice if they just look at you.
— Talk less, exotic, — the Imperial jerked his blaster, making it clear to Fodeum that it was time to get up. He got up without protest. — Do more.
— As you say, — she shrugged, also getting up from the table. — Do you even have a name, Imperial?
— Captain Tomax Bren, — he spat through his teeth.
— Fodeum Sabre De'Luz, — his captor introduced himself to the Imperial. — And this lovely talkative person is Vex.
— That's not my name, — she was offended.
— I don't care, — Captain Tomax Bren said, noticeably pushing Fodeum in the back with his blaster. — Move it, both of you!
Captain Tomax Bren.
With a weary sigh, Fodeum Sabre De'Luz, the failed defender of the Jensaarai, along with his partner and fellow unfortunate, walked along the narrow streets of the spaceport towards his ship.
***
Left alone with Rukh in the compartment allocated to us on the Stormhawk, I began reviewing the information received. And also – summing up the interim results.
A little over a month had passed since I found myself in this universe.
I had inflicted a sensitive defeat on the enemy, crushing, albeit weakened, but still, the sectoral group of the New Republic.
I had a forward base on the planet Linuri - in the center of the southern part of the galaxy occupied by the enemy.
I had a rear base – the entire Morshdain star sector, with an Imperial fortress world. There was a second-type orbital repair shipyard, capable of not only repairing, but also assembling ships up to the rank of a Star Destroyer. The capital world of the sector was guarded by a fleet consisting of one Immobilizer 418-class Interdictor cruiser, two Strike-class medium cruisers, two Nebulon-B-class escort frigates, a Mark-1-class assault frigate (but I already had an idea on how to use this marvel of technology in a more profitable way, and therefore, as promised, Moff Ferrus would need to be given another Strike), a Carrack-class light cruiser. And twelve Tartans – one for patrolling each star system under the Moff's control.
I also had a fleet of nine Imperial-class Star Destroyers, three Victories, three Interdictor-class Star Destroyers, one Immobilizer 418-class Interdictor cruiser, Strike-class medium cruisers in the amount of seven pennants, another eight Tartans, twelve CR90 Corellian corvettes, one DP20 Corellian frigate, and Star Galleon-class frigates...
I also had Spaarti cloning cylinders. Camouflage device technology based on hybrideum. An ocean of asteroids in orbit of Tangren. Extraction of raydonium. Eighty-one working "diggers" and fifty not-so-working ones.
Somewhere out there, a Golan II-class defense platform was making its way to us. And Nemesis was flying to Tangren with Captain Hoffner inside. And through him, I would have the opportunity to reach the Katana Fleet...
Problems with the maintenance, feeding, and arming of the fleet could be partially solved due to the benevolence of Baron D'asta.
Rounding out the "best day" was the understanding that the problem with money had been partially solved.
Two hundred and fifty million Imperial credits - from Baron D'asta. And they would still have to be "worked off."
Two hundred million credits - seized aboard the Coral Vanda. Together with Mr. Hoffner.
Twenty million and a huge pile of "trophies" - from the plunder of Nkllon.
And if you made the calculations, the funds I had left from what was at the disposal of the original Admiral Thrawn were enough to "top up" the piggy bank to half a billion Imperial credits.
A good sum. You could build three Imperial-class Star Destroyers. All you needed was to wait a couple of months. Or half a year – depending on the shipyards that would execute. You could buy Golan II-class defensive platforms. You could just buy weapons with all the money...
There was a lot that could be done with such amounts. But they were needed for the war.
And ships were also needed for the war. And the ships, in particular, the Katana Fleet, would need repairs and spare parts. And I would have to try very hard to make everything go well. These ships should not only be repaired, but also partially modernized. Otherwise, they would become easy prey. Very easy.
The presence of twelve CR90s pleased me - these ships were able to be in the hangar of the Imperials during the flight. Therefore, all nine Star Destroyers would now be equipped with them. Such ships were not suitable for the Victories - the size of the hangar was smaller. But the size of the DP20 allowed it to move along with the Victory. So, we would have to find two more such gunship frigates. Because the Victories would have to be recalled from their guard-sabotage missions as soon as Steel Aurora and Crusader completed their assignments. Should Unwavering be recalled from guarding Weyland? No, probably not. "Officially," it was known that I only had two Victories. Let it be so. Therefore, it was necessary to increase the firepower in the line fist. What was suitable for this? Star Destroyers. So it was time to pull the forces into a fist. Doru on Garos IV could be replaced. The Interdictor in the Chasin system could also be recalled. What to replace them with? There was something – Strikes and Tartans. There was one Immobilizer 418. It could be sent to the Chasin system to continue patrolling. Reinforce it with one Strike with no less zealous commander Akrey Dobramu, who had managed to get damaged in a simple mission. In general, they punished for this, but judging by his service record, he was a good officer. He needed to be sobered up a little. The dull patrol service as part of a squadron consisting of one medium cruiser, a couple of Tartan patrol ships and an Immobilizer would be good for him.
The liberated Interdictor could and should be put to use. After all, it was a Star Destroyer with gravity well projectors. Like its brethren, these two ships actually brought the number of first-line Star Destroyers to eleven units. Good, but not enough. We needed more. I already had some ideas for one – the plan should begin to be implemented soon. A quick review of the information on the shipyards of Hast was also encouraging – there was something to profit from. And there was also an awareness of the fact that such an attack would not go unanswered. And it would change too much both in the behavior of the New Republic and in the Empire.
Therefore, either the blow should be delivered in such a cardinal way as to discourage or deprive the opportunity to retaliate, or it was necessary to have resources to repel the counteroffensive. While there was an opportunity to calmly plan – it was good. As soon as the events began to spin like a squirrel in a wheel, there would be miscalculations and shortcomings in the planning "on the fly." Each of them could cost me ships and lives. This was unacceptable - for now anyway.
The Hast system... A secret rebel shipyard where they had brought a huge amount of damaged Imperial equipment, hoping to restore it someday. Judging by the available data, there were at least four Imperial-class Star Destroyers and up to two dozen ships of lower rank undergoing slow repairs there. A huge amount of equipment, including TIEs... which were being dismantled for metal.
This fact alone made me feel indifferent and hurt. I, on the one hand, was having problems with all of this, and the New Republic, on the other hand, was just taking and cutting up good equipment!? That was not okay. But it would have been worse if they had finished their activity. Due to a lack of funding, the workers at this shipyard were dismantling what could be repaired for spare parts from what was too long and expensive to repair. This... was unpleasant.
Therefore, it was necessary to speed up the execution of my plan.
Leaning back in my chair, I briefly calculated the odds.
I was playing the card of attacking the shipyards of Sluis Van. And preparations were being made specifically for such an attack. Now I was being unequivocally indicated that I should correct my plans (whatever they were in Baron D'asta's opinion) and strike at the shipyards of Hast. Considering that Sluis Van was practically unprotected, while Hast... I really didn't want to get involved with the enemy fleet guarding this cemetery of Imperial equipment. But otherwise, I would lose the support of the Baron and the D'astan sector, and it was more than necessary for the implementation of my own final plan.
To repeat the same trick twice? No, that wouldn't work. The scale of the "tragedy" was too large. The enemy wouldn't fall for the same trap twice...
Unless I gave them time to figure out what had happened!
So, the plan would have to be adjusted again. And on such a scale... Would I have enough strength? The baron didn't seem to be in a hurry, but he named clear deadlines - before the conclusion of contracts for transportation. The exact date was unknown to me, but I was sure that finding it out upon my return to Tangren would not be a big problem.
So, I had the "deadline" terms. And they were hardly too long – a month or two at the most. Should I apply now? No, that would look too suspicious. There were smart people in the Empire, too. It would be easy to establish a connection between the request for the timing of the transportation tender, for the victory in which Baron D'asta was applying, and my visit to his sector.
Therefore, I would have to speed up. It was necessary to solve the problems with Haipori, New-Kov, Garm Bel Iblis, and Niles Ferrier as soon as possible. Not to mention the Katana Fleet. And while the mechanical problems with the latter could be solved with additional funding and cloning technicians, it would not be easy to provide these ships with crews and additional equipment. Very not easy.
It would take fourteen days to create a batch of clones resistant to madness – let's assume that the medical examination of the clones would be completed in the near future and would show positive results. There were currently sixteen thousand Spaarti cloning cylinders functioning. To provide crew members for just one dreadnought, two thousand sentients were required. Therefore, in one batch, I would be able to staff only eight dreadnoughts. In a standard month – thirty-five days. Therefore, in a month, a full cloning cycle would be available for only two batches – thirty-two thousand people. That was sixteen dreadnoughts. Taking into account the remaining seven days of the calculated month, we would make corrections... In two months, it would be possible to produce five full batches of clones. Eighty thousand people. This was forty dreadnoughts staffed with crew members. If it was possible to return the four thousand cloning cylinders currently out of operation to service, then it would be possible to produce one hundred thousand clones in two months - and that was ten more staffed dreadnoughts.
There were nearly two hundred such ships in the Katana Fleet now. Therefore, I would need four to five months of continuous cloning for the entire fleet to be combat-ready.
This... was long. But it corresponded to my calculations for attacking Sluis Van by the end of the year so that it was the massacre in the Sluissi sector that would become the finale of Thrawn's campaign, and not the Battle of Bilbringi.
Should I refuse partnership with Baron D'asta? No, that would be a very stupid idea. At the very least, because otherwise, I would have to look for other sources of supply, and at the very least, food for the army of clones. At the same time, I had no doubt that the baron would be able to use his influence for revenge. I was sure that Grand Moff Ardus Kaine would not fail to deal with me on some contrived pretext. For example, on charges of treason.
Therefore, it was necessary to comply with the agreements, even if they led to the violation of the main plan. Which would have to be adjusted again...
Okay, let's break down the situation "bone by bone." I wouldn't be able to pull off the same trick twice. I couldn't postpone the attack on the Hast shipyards, and I couldn't allow the attack on Sluis Van to fail. But I wouldn't have enough ships to attack both shipyards at the same time – even after getting the dreadnoughts, I just wouldn't have time to put them into service by the right moment. I would simply not have time to complete them.
To organize recruitment of volunteers? Yes, this would allow to "gain mass." But judging by the quality of the volunteers flocking to Tangren, it was clear that the most qualified personnel were not arriving. Therefore, this jeopardized the very existence of the ships due to the incompetence of the crews – the attack in the Inklonn system demonstrated this. In fact, they had been outsmarted by a squadron. Just one squadron...
The warlord Zinj, at one time, attracted mercenaries and pirates to attack Kuat. And he generally managed to carry out his plan. But it would cost a lot of money... But I had money...
So, it was possible to adjust the plan once again and... return to the relatively initial conditions. Sluis Van as the finale of the company.
Another point was that if I planned to expand my fleet, including through Star Destroyers, then I needed even more clones – on one Imperial alone, the crew numbered more than thirty-seven thousand people. That was two batches of clones and a little bit more on top...
Okay, let's solve the specific problems. It was necessary to study the issue of copying the Spaarti cloning cylinders. Would we be able to increase their number on our own? Or was the best we could hope for just the restoration of the existing ones? Frankly, I doubted the former, but I really hoped for the latter.
The "Errant Venture." That was the most obvious and promising goal. An Imperial Imperial II-class Star Destroyer. And there was an opportunity to get it.
The Katana Fleet. I had to take it – no question. Crews were a separate issue. In the end, it was an automated fleet, and the number of crew members on board could be minimal - a hundred people, for example. Yes, it was a very risky step, but...
I really didn't want to resort to K'baoth's help now to attack Hast, despite the fact that it was a gift from fate. Because the mad magister would certainly start reminding me once again about the Jedi and...
Stop. I had fixed the thought.
C'baoth. Jedi.
The mad cloned Jedi knew about Corran Horn – from me. Corran Horn was a pilot of Rogue Squadron. This unit was currently in the Dafilvean sector. They would probably be transferred to the Sluissi sector now to investigate what happened there.
But at the same time, Corran Horn was also a Corellian. This nation of rebels, free-thinking people, almost always did everything the way they thought they should. If it concerned their loved ones, there was no enemy more terrible and thorough than a Corellian. And if he was also Force-sensitive and had been trained as a CorSec operative – then he was a top-notch detective. He would unravel any event related to the danger to his loved ones, no matter what it cost him. If necessary, he would leave the service and ask for help from those he didn't particularly get along with.
Corran Horn was married to Mirax Terrick. As far as I remembered, they were both crazy about each other. At the same time, the father-in-law disliked his son-in-law for his "CorSec" past, since Horn's father had put Mirax's father on Kessel. True, it was a long time ago, but Corran's father-in-law was such a person – he never forgot anything. And he loved his daughter more than anything in the world.
Mirax Terrick's father was Booster Terrick.
Booster Terrick owned the "Errant Venture." The destroyer didn't have full armament or defenses. But it was a destroyer, and it was mobile, and it was dangerous even in this state. Terrick had connections in the criminal underworld and contacts with Talon Karrde.
I was hunting this Imperial Star Destroyer. K'baoth was hunting Horn. Booster Terrick disliked Horn. Talon Karrde was too dangerous a figure in this game to leave him alive. But after capturing the Katana Fleet, I wouldn't need him alive. Alive, with all his plans and information, he was too tempting a target for those who intended to divide this galaxy.
Interestingly, I was too. But I was only afraid of the mad Palpatine.
Therefore... Hmm, interesting thought.
The plan was formed. The circle had closed.
Soon... it would be interesting.