Grand Admiral

As I observe the starships emerging from hyperspace, a simple thought crosses my mind, one echoed by several characters from a well-known computer game across the Commonwealth of Independent Systems.

"They learn nothing and have no desire to learn…"

The quote may not be exact, but the sentiment remains unchanged.

I am beginning to lose grasp of my adversaries' logic.

Surely, there must be some form of feedback, confirming reports that the target is in place, that the operation is proceeding as planned.

No one launches a fleet attack without reconnaissance support.

That would simply be foolish.

And what if there's an ambush?

No, not "if." There *is* an ambush here, in orbit around Soulless, and it has been meticulously arranged.

It only *appears* that there is but a single Star Destroyer here…

— Sir, — Lieutenant Tschel said, swallowing hard, addressing me as the acting captain. — Perhaps we should withdraw to a more advantageous position?

The young commander's apprehension was understandable, for this was the second time in a short period that he found himself commanding a Star Destroyer in battle against a numerically superior enemy.

The *Chimaera*, as in the previous engagement, was positioned halfway between Soulless and the vector used by the enemy ships' emergence.

Save for the Corellian CR90 corvette concealed beneath our hull, our only support was a *Raider*-class corvette, requisitioned from Captain Makeno and his crew.

At this moment, the *Raider* was pulling away from us at maximum speed, closing in on Ennix Devian's fleet.

And, truth be told, there was indeed much to fear in the impending battle.

— There is no need for that, Lieutenant, — I said calmly.

Turning my head, I glanced at Captain Makeno, standing a few meters away alongside Major Tierce.

— Thank you for your honesty, Captain, — the special forces officer cast a wary glance in my direction.

— What exactly do you mean? — Orsan asked.

— You did not lie, — I clarified. — Warlord Devian does indeed possess top-tier ships of the Imperial Starfleet.

And what magnificent vessels they are…

Five *Raider*-class corvettes, advancing in a wedge formation as the first wave of attack.

I studied the data on the *Raider* with great interest and, I confess, a strong desire emerged to replace our Corellian support corvette with this type of vessel.

While comparable in size to the CR90, the *Raider* is better armed, faster, and comes factory-equipped with stealth and encryption systems. It can also deploy a squadron of TIE fighters or interceptors into battle. This is, in truth, a fully capable combat unit, able not only to shield a starship like the *Chimaera* with its rapid-fire weaponry.

As this corvette type exists in multiple configurations with varying armaments and equipment, most *Raiders* are equipped with six dual laser cannons designed to engage fighters, bombers, shuttles, and other small craft. For heavy artillery, they boast one or two turbolasers capable of destroying ships of comparable size.

Given that *Raiders* were essentially the Galactic Empire's response to the Rebel Alliance's hit-and-run tactics, their designers included a pair of ion cannons for disabling enemy starships for subsequent boarding.

On the *Raider II*, which we currently possess, missile launchers for concussion missiles were installed, making it even more formidable in combat, though at the cost of sacrificing its turbolasers.

This alteration, however, does not impact its assigned role—protecting against enemy fighters. On the contrary, it enhances the ship's specialization in countering and pursuing small enemy starships.

What is most pleasing, however, is that the *Raider*'s dimensions allow it to be housed in the main hangar of the *Chimaera*, and thus any *Imperial*-class Star Destroyer.

This is undeniably intriguing.

Swift by design, lethal against fighters, equipped with robust shields and top-tier systems… Such a starship could replace the CR90 as an escort and support for Star Destroyers. Considering that Corellian corvettes are secured in hangars with magnetic clamps, no modifications would even be necessary. Simply deploy and utilize at will.

Two *Gladiator*-class Star Destroyers, positioned in the second line, clearly intended to deliver a massive missile barrage with their ten onboard missile launchers. Identified as *Bloody Ambition* and *Insidious*. Unfortunately, these names mean nothing to me.

Absolutely nothing.

I had heard of this ship type somewhere, read about it, even seen images (as with the *Raider*-class corvettes), but in all my time in this galaxy, I had neither seen them in anyone's service nor heard them mentioned in conversation.

Yet, judging by appearances, these starships were mass-produced, not some custom-built assembly. Thus, there must be data on them in the Imperial archives. I will need to thoroughly review those to gain at least a general understanding of all Galactic Empire ships we may encounter.

*Gladiator*-class Star Destroyer.

Bringing up the rear were five *Venator*-class Star Destroyers.

All ships, without exception, gleamed with gray hulls, traditional for Imperial starships, devoid of paint. Repainting camouflage or markings after every battle would be prohibitively expensive.

— Ah, — the special forces officer said, clearly embarrassed. — No thanks needed, Grand Admiral. But… are you seriously intent on fighting an entire line formation?

— If it comes to that, of course, — I replied. — However, I would prefer to avoid bloodshed among Imperial officers. We all swore the same oath—to serve and protect. It would be far too tragic to break those vows and destroy well-trained officers and specialists merely because they chose the wrong leader.

— Your diplomatic skills are impressive, — Makeno said, ostentatiously pulling an aurodium ingot from a pouch on his belt. — Perhaps if you had more of these, you could sway those ships' crews to your side and avoid destruction?

— Why cheapen everything? — I countered. — To ensure a sentient makes the right choice regarding their loyalty, one must first demonstrate superiority over their adversaries. Weak and wealthy commanders are served only as long as their credits last. My goal is to attract to the Dominion those sentients willing to fight in the front lines for ideological reasons and loyalty to the Dominion, understanding that they are doing what is right. Purchased loyalty shifts its allegiance the moment someone offers a slightly higher price.

Makeno grimaced.

— During our last conversation, I thought you were a pragmatic sentient. Now I see you're an idealist with a touch of pragmatism.

I had no intention of dispelling his assumption. Why bother, when time would set everything straight?

— As you wish, Captain, — I said neutrally. — Remind me, what name did you give your former corvette?

— *Herdsman*, — Makeno replied.

— An intriguing name, — I remarked. — So be it. Lieutenant Tschel, — the acting commander tore his gaze from the central viewport, through which he had been greedily studying the arriving enemy formation like a starving traveler spotting free bread. — Transmit an open-channel offer to the enemy ships to surrender.

— Yes, sir, — Tschel muttered, moving to the communications station.

He was gone for about two minutes before returning to report:

— They ignored us, sir.

Which, in the diplomatic language of the Imperial Starfleet, translates to: "We outnumber you, and you will be defeated, disgraced, and captured."

This is all rather unfortunate.

— We may commence the battle, — I said, glancing at Tschel.

Judging by his brief silence, the lieutenant had momentarily forgotten why we were here.

But he quickly recovered.

— Yes, Grand Admiral, — he nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. — Proceeding. All hands, — he spoke into the comlink, — this is the commander. Battle stations!

I felt Captain Makeno's gaze on me, understanding his confusion.

A lone Star Destroyer with two support ships against seven destroyers. They may not be in the same weight class, but they clearly outmatch us in firepower. And then there are the five *Raiders*… Considering the possible outcomes with the current conditions, yes, we would inevitably lose this battle.

Simply because we are outnumbered.

One destroyer, two support corvettes, five understrength squadrons of TIE Interceptors, one squadron of fighters, and an incomplete squadron of bombers.

That's all, in the eyes of Devian's enforcers, that we can muster against five *Venators*, each capable of deploying hundreds of fighters, five corvettes with equivalent squadrons, and two *Gladiators*, each able to field two squadrons of fighters. Not to mention that each of those destroyers' missile launchers could unleash a combined six hundred missiles before their magazines run dry.

Yes, I did review the data on this ship type.

I'm unsure why the *Gladiators* are called destroyers—they fall short in both size (a mere half-kilometer in length) and armament. Against our turbolasers and their heavier counterparts, the enemy can only field five batteries of light turbolasers and two batteries of laser anti-aircraft guns.

It seems someone simply wanted a "pocket destroyer" in the days before the *Procursator* was developed.

While we may be on par in terms of firepower, the enemy holds the advantage in both starships and fighters.

It's no wonder the enemy commander didn't even respond to our surrender offer.

A sense of self-importance is a sin that sometimes leads to death.

One might say I shouldn't overreach with a lone, battered Star Destroyer…

But my opponent is unaware of something.

To be entirely candid—he is utterly devoid of operational intelligence.

I glanced at the chronometer. Ten minutes had passed since the enemy's arrival, three-quarters of an hour late for the battle.

Fifty-five minutes in total.

It will take Devian's fleet another seven minutes to close the distance and reach the maximum range of their turbolasers and missiles. They'll be within effective striking range in another five.

Twelve minutes before our guns speak… The problem is, the slaughter will begin sooner.

Well, I did genuinely offer to spare their lives and leave their ships untouched.

The enemy ignored me. Clearly, they value neither.

So, I'll take their ships for myself.

They're more useful to me.

***

— This isn't an enemy, it's a salad! — Tia squealed indignantly, turning one of the enemy's first fighters into a cloud of superheated gas. — Where did they get so much of this junk?

Creb wanted to remind her that the Dominion had plenty of "this junk" as well but chose to keep his thoughts to himself, focusing instead on blasting an ARC-170 with a short burst, the clumsy fighter attempting to outmaneuver his agile TIE Interceptor on a turn.

It earned itself a long, quadruple burst to its underbelly, slicing the ship from nose to stern despite its deflector shields. The engines exploded, scattering the fighter into fragments.

But that was no longer relevant—Creb and his wingman had already found new targets. They latched onto them with a clear intent to destroy before they could breach the *Chimaera*'s outer defensive perimeter.

The enemy formation's commander made what he believed was the best decision—sending hundreds of Alpha-3 *Nimbus*-class V-wing starfighters in a frontal assault on the Dominion's trio of ships.

*Alpha-3 Nimbus-class V-wing starfighter.*

With significant air superiority, the enemy had a strong chance of drawing the *Chimaera*'s fighter wing away to deal with their fighters and interceptors. This would expose several attack vectors, clearing the way for multiple squadrons of ARC-170s. Those heavy machines would then only need to reach positions for torpedo salvos against Grand Admiral Thrawn's flagship Star Destroyer.

*ARC-170 starfighter/aggressive reconnaissance fighter.*

In principle, Lieutenant Creb agreed with *Black Two*'s remarks.

The enemy had indeed deployed not just a heterogeneous mass of starfighters and interceptors but deliberately used them in tandem to achieve specific objectives.

While the *Nimbus* fighters, with their speed of seventy-five megalights, overwhelming numbers, and decent maneuverability, were meant to sweep aside the standard TIE fighters typically equipping Star Destroyers, things did not go as the enemy planned.

Thrawn's forces had no more than one squadron of standard TIE fighters (the second, belonging to the *Guardian*'s fighter wing, had been partially restored but was guarding the super star destroyer). These were deliberately kept close to the Dominion's trio of ships, alongside the bombers.

The outer perimeter was held by nearly five full squadrons of TIE Interceptors. Close to sixty machines clashed with over a hundred *Nimbus* fighters and half as many ARC-170s…

A near two-to-one advantage for the enemy—and that was just on the frontal axis. There were still the flanks!

The *Chimaera*'s Operations Control Center diligently supplied pilots with updated information.

The situation was becoming clearer with each passing second.

The enemy was attacking the *Chimaera* from three sides, aiming to break through to the destroyer and damage it. They likely wouldn't destroy it—more likely, they'd attempt to capture it.

Otherwise, the *Gladiators* would already be firing missile salvos, not single shots as they were now.

Thus, the primary focus was on air superiority. But this plan failed—thanks to their superior maneuverability and speed, the TIE Interceptors were pushing the enemy back, destroying them with each engagement. The issue was the Dominion's limited numbers.

They had to hold the enemy at bay, preventing the new types of Republic-era machines pouring from the *Venators*… No, it was clear that Warlord Ennix Devian's pilots were inside, but the markings on their fuselages indicated that the Dominion's pilots were, against their will, caught in a new wave of the Clone Wars.

Before the Dominion's pilots was a classic assortment of nearly every notable fighter from the Clone Wars and the decades that followed. Despite being outdated, the V-19 *Torrent* light interceptors, Eta-2 *Actis*-class interceptors, the aforementioned *Nimbus* fighters and ARC-170s, BTL-B Y-wing starfighters, and Delta-7 *Aethersprite* interceptors—known as "headhunters"—posed a significant threat to Dominion pilots.

Moreover, Creb had even flown an *Actis* during his cadet years. But once he earned his first officer's bar, he piloted only TIE-series craft.

The Prefsbelt IV fleet academy wasn't considered the best of its kind solely because it produced many of the Galactic Empire's ace pilots. Its training equipped pilots to operate nearly any craft in the Galactic Empire's arsenal, even in remote garrisons.

If your mind is sharp and your limbs are where they should be, you're now frantically recalling lectures on the types of small craft from the not-so-distant (at the time of training) past.

Burning into your subconscious are the strengths and weaknesses of the Great Army of the Republic's machines.

— *Black Two*, left! — he ordered his wingman. Her machine obediently veered left, positioning itself behind an Alpha-3 *Nimbus*. Tia fired bursts at the *Nimbus*'s engines, but its deflector shield merely laughed off her efforts.

The enemy executed a dive, leveraging its maneuverability to disengage, banking onto its left wing…

But Creb was waiting, finishing off the deflector with precise shots, blasting off the cooling panels, and then, with a well-aimed salvo, detonating the enemy's generator.

As always in such cases, the astromech, positioned between the generator and cockpit, was the first to go. A moment later, the blast wave incinerated the light interceptor entirely.

— *Black Wing*, — he addressed the squadron, — the *Nimbus* fighters have deflectors. Work in pairs.

This would be far easier—eight guns could quickly dispatch an enemy craft, rather than struggling alone against the not-so-weak shields of these interceptors during a "free hunt."

The circumstances, with the enemy's overwhelming numerical superiority, further necessitated protecting their rear.

TIE Interceptors were faster, more maneuverable, and their cannons more powerful than the enemy's. But unlike their foes, Dominion pilots were fewer, and their craft lacked deflector shields.

Thus, they had to work diligently to ensure they destroyed the enemy without sustaining losses themselves.

*Black Two* banked onto her right wing, dodging fire from another ARC-170. Creb cursed under his breath—the girl was taking unnecessary risks, trying to tackle such a robust opponent nearly solo while he was finishing off a wounded *Nimbus*.

Her interceptor darted beneath the fighter-bomber, setting up for another pass.

But the enemy craft's crew, seeing the chaotic dogfight, opted not to charge straight ahead. Instead, they slowly and majestically turned, intent on attacking *Black Two* from the rear.

A single shot from the ARC's heavy cannons would obliterate the interceptor without a trace.

Not today.

Lieutenant Creb, clearly displeased that his wingman had abandoned him mid-pass to boost her own kill count, rushed to her aid.

Attacking an ARC-170 from the rear was a thankless task, given that its third crew member was a tail gunner operating a dual laser cannon.

With the craft's deflector shield, attempting to down it before it turned Tia into a cloud of superheated vapor was futile.

He needed to use cunning and knowledge of this flying tank's weak points.

And there weren't many weak points on a heavily armored, heavily armed machine equipped with proton torpedoes and deflector shields generated by its extendable S-foils.

In fact, there was only one applicable in these circumstances—its low maneuverability. The rear dual laser cannon had a decent firing arc, making a rear approach impossible. Another viable attack vector was from the sides, at a right angle to the ARC's axis of movement relative to the interceptor.

The forward guns covered the front arc, the tail gun blocked attacks from above and behind.

And, to some extent, from below.

But that was the problem—only *to some extent*.

— He's on my tail! — panic crept into the girl's voice.

— Hold on, — the pilot advised.

— Creb! — green streaks from the fighter-bomber's laser cannons flashed past her fuselage. — Get him off me!

"I'm not exactly stopping for lunch," Creb thought.

— *Black Two*, — he reopened the comm channel with his subordinate. — Be ready to climb sharply. Then spiral with lateral rotation and course deviation.

— Hutt's spit! Creb! — a plasma streak grazed her right wing. The craft began to smoke. — This isn't the time for aerobatics! I'm hit!

But it didn't explode.

— Do as I said! — Creb growled through clenched teeth.

— Creb, I… — despair laced her voice.

— Damn it, woman! — the usually composed pilot snapped, incinerating an unexpected *Nimbus* with his cannons. The light craft shattered like a nut under a press. — Do what I say!

— Creb! My life support is failing! — another burst of laser fire scorched her cockpit. — I'll suffocate!

— Tia, — Creb pleaded, clinging to his last shred of composure. — Just do it. Trust me.

Tia's TIE Interceptor veered aside, dodging another salvo. But it was clear the damaged craft was struggling with even basic maneuvers. One more hit, and she'd be a memory.

He had to break the pattern.

Now!

*Black Two* shot upward like a candle relative to her original course. The ARC pilot hesitated for a moment but began climbing after his prey.

Creb, abandoning a wounded *Nimbus*, raced after the primary target, ignoring his onboard computer's warnings about extreme G-forces.

And the spreading crack across his cockpit's transparisteel.

A glancing hit he'd barely noticed. But it was too late to back out.

Such maneuvers would keep Tia on course, teasing the fighter-bomber's crew with the illusion of an easy kill while disrupting their aim and preventing a quick finish.

At least until Creb executed his plan and eliminated the threat.

Using his interceptor's speed advantage, Creb overtook the enemy craft in a straight line. Confirming on his scanners that Tia had followed his orders, he spun his craft back, executing a wild ascending half-roll, aligning parallel to the pursuer.

The enemy craft was climbing, exposing its unprotected underbelly. Only its deflector shields stood between its fuselage and the TIE Interceptor's laser cannons. The *Black Wing* commander fully exploited his craft's rapid-fire advantage.

— On my command—dive! — Creb ordered. *Black Two* acknowledged with a comm click.

Perfect. Now to finish the job.

The white haze around the ARC's fuselage turned crimson on the second burst, signaling its weakening shields.

The enemy pilot, realizing his fate, abandoned the chase for *Black Two*, leveling off to meet Creb with his broadside cannons.

Two seconds—a matter of life and death.

— Dive, — Creb said coolly, rolling his craft ninety degrees and letting the ARC's laser cannon shots pass above and below his interceptor.

He closed head-on, overloading the ARC's deflectors with pinpoint fire.

From above, precise bursts struck the craft.

The weakened deflector gave way.

A green torrent of laser fire hit the weapons operator's cockpit and the astromech socket in the ARC's center.

Creb yanked his craft downward, evading the wave of fire and shrapnel from the exploding debris.

Executing a pirouette to shake a persistent *Nimbus*, he forced it to break off pursuit, with Tia coming up behind it and firing an unaimed burst at its rear.

The *Nimbus* veered right to safer space, and Creb mirrored the maneuver, finishing off the retreating craft.

— *Black Two*, status, — Creb ordered on their private channel. He forced another enemy craft to retreat with a burst of cannon fire.

— Life support's gone, — Tia replied, her voice hoarse. — Reactor's not at full power. One engine…

— Malfunctioning? — Creb clarified, pulling alongside her interceptor to assess the damage.

And he realized a simple truth.

— Shut down the right ion engine, — he ordered, watching the damaged unit begin to melt its nozzles.

— I'll lose half my speed and—

— And withdraw from the fight, — Creb commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

The *Chimaera* was fifty units from their position.

No one was nearby, as the interceptor pilots had disrupted the enemy squadrons' formations, turning their orderly groups into a chaotic herd fighting for survival.

This was Tia's chance.

— Look, I can keep going, just… — she protested.

— Climb two echelons higher, — Creb continued issuing orders. — And return to the *Chimaera*. I'll inform OCC—*Herdsman* will cover you if possible.

The corvette was only twenty-seven units to the right, fiercely engaging the enemy with its impressive arsenal. Whoever was commanding that ship, thank you for generously spraying fire from your cannons at light fighters and interceptors and obliterating fighter-bombers on the right flank with homing missiles.

— Creb, I… — Tia stammered.

There was no time for debate.

Either she shuts down the engine, loses speed, and becomes a liability and potential bait with a high chance of dying from any hit, or she heads to the hangar. There, if the technicians have the chance, they'll repair her craft faster than she might expect.

— Disobey, and you'll never fly again, — Creb said, his voice trembling slightly.

Silence followed for several seconds.

The enemy, as if sensing that the two TIE Interceptors moving at half their cruising speed were vulnerable, decided to test them.

The computer reported three *Nimbus* fighters heading their way. Why won't you all just run out already?

— Understood, Commander, — Tia said, her voice utterly defeated. — Returning to the hangar.

In silence, he escorted her to safe space, then pushed his engines to full power, diving back into the fray and immediately reducing one of the three *Nimbus* fighters to zero.

***

— Four minutes until arrival, sir, — Lieutenant Tschel said quietly, mesmerized by the *Chimaera*'s gunners collapsing the deflector shields of an enemy corvette proudly named *Instigator*.

— Arrival of whom? — Captain Makeno asked skeptically.

— Launch the shuttle, — I ordered, ignoring the question. — Begin the radio deception. And pull the third interceptor squadron back to defend the *Chimaera*. Replace them with fighters.

The third squadron had suffered the heaviest losses—seven pilots down. They'd destroyed at least three times that number, but I wouldn't let the unit be wiped out entirely.

— Yes, sir, — Creb responded.

I kept my eyes on the *Instigator*, which, after launching a salvo of missiles, began turning away, clearly unwilling to sacrifice its hull's integrity.

*Raider II-class corvette firing its missile launchers.*

Commendable. Now we know for certain that among the five *Raiders* in the attacking formation, at least one is a *Raider II*, equipped with missile launchers, like our *Herdsman*.

The gunners operating the ion cannons, however, made it clear to the enemy corvette's crew that exposing their engines was a grave mistake.

Blue lightning arced across the *Instigator*'s rear, and with its dissipation, the white glow of its engines vanished.

The starship, now unable to move under its own power, shuddered as its hull was drawn toward the *Chimaera*.

Correct—if there's an opportunity to remove a starship from the heat of battle, it must be taken. And the stormtroopers will enjoy establishing a new order aboard the *Raider II*.

A pun, but that's beside the point.

— The shuttle has left the hangar, — Creb reported.

— Excellent, Lieutenant, — I said. — Are the droids managing?

— Affirmative, sir.

— In that case, patch me through to the shuttle's comm frequency, — my request was promptly fulfilled. — Lieutenant, use encrypted frequency four for the warning.

— It will be done, sir.

— Planning to fool the enemy with a decoy shuttle? — Makeno asked.

— An unconventional but effective idea, — I replied, catching Creb's instructions to the formation's personnel out of the corner of my ear. Though calling it instructions was generous—just a phrase warning them not to believe what they'd hear on the open channel. — If you wish, you may step closer; the view of the proceedings from here is remarkable.

Makeno glanced suspiciously at Tierce, who remained impassive.

No surprise that the captain decided to step up and stand beside me.

Meanwhile, the shuttle was already forty units away, moving erratically on a course meant to take it to a system-exit vector.

— This is Grand Admiral Thrawn, — I said into the comlink.

My voice echoed from the bridge speakers, broadcasting the same message. Logical, as the *Chimaera*'s antenna relayed my words from the comlink to the shuttle, which then transmitted them on an open frequency across the system, including to the destroyer's own receivers.

The only way to avoid this feedback during battle is to disable the receiving equipment. But then we wouldn't hear our own people… sentients, to be precise.

— The operational situation requires my presence at another theater of operations, — I continued. — You will remain here to defeat the enemy and return to the Dominion in glory. Captain Makeno, plot a course to the system…

I lifted my finger from the headset's button, as if issuing orders to the shuttle's pilot. In the heat of battle, few would notice such theatrics.

Or that the skin under my thumbnail had turned pale again.

— Thrawn, — Orsan's face twisted into a mask of anger. — What are you playing at? Why did you broadcast my name?

— Take your place, Captain, — I said coldly, gesturing toward Tierce. — The operation is proceeding precisely as planned. Do as you're told, and you'll receive double the hundred million I paid for the corvette and the delivery of my people to this system.

— Still reminding me about the aurodium? — Makeno grimaced.

— As I said, your betrayal was generously rewarded, — I reminded him. — Now, about that course…

Yes, I could have devised something more creative, but my experience aboard the *Reaper* points to obvious truths.

My improvisations are unconvincing to many.

But those sentients authorized to make decisions have their own opinions.

Based, primarily, on their worldview and their understanding of what a given sentient can or cannot do, given the information known about them.

— Proton torpedoes fired at the shuttle, — Tschel commented. — The droids are beginning evasive maneuvers.

— Good, — I nodded, glancing at Makeno. He stood hunched, clearly not understanding…

I rested my hands on the chair's armrests, glancing at the calmly sleeping ysalamiri. Should I give it a name?

Then again, why would this unflappable creature need one? It won't respond to "Fetch!" or join me for morning runs around the training grounds. No name needed.

In the next few seconds, I witnessed two ARC-170s' torpedoes reduce Dominion property to fragments.

Despite its vaunted reliability, the shuttle couldn't withstand three proton torpedoes, erupting in a brief flash. Small debris likely remained, but at this distance, they were no longer our concern.

Nor were they visible.

— Continue the operation, — I ordered. — Intensify the push on the front.

Given the withdrawal of one squadron's remnants and its rotation with another, losses among our fighter wing could increase at this moment. If turbolaser salvos could mitigate this, why not use them?

— You set me up, Thrawn, — Captain Makeno said in the near silence.

My chair swiveled slightly toward him.

— You think so? — I asked.

— Yes, — there was no anger or other negative emotions in the special forces officer's face or voice. — You made it so Devian's commander believes I betrayed them and joined you. That's why you staged this performance.

— Your insight deserves applause, — I said. — But I don't have that habit.

— Was it worth it? — Makeno asked. — Sacrificing a valuable ship for one mercenary?

— We'll build a new shuttle, — I assured him. Really, I wasn't about to tell him it was a barely restored wreck from the *Guardian*'s stock, physically incapable of hyperspace travel due to a missing hyperdrive. — Gaining the loyalty of specialists like you and your subordinates is a far more critical task. Lieutenant Tschel, are we detecting outgoing transmissions from the system?

— Affirmative, sir, — the acting commander of the *Chimaera* confirmed. — Immediately after the shuttle's destruction, a coded message was sent from *Bloody Ambition*.

— Intercepted? — I asked.

— Affirmative, sir, — Tschel repeated. — Standard Imperial encryption. The cryptographers have prepared the message.

A personal datapad appeared in the lieutenant's hands.

I took it and, without looking, handed it to Makeno, who had approached at my gesture.

— I think you'll find this useful. Lieutenant Tschel, send a copy of the encrypted message to Mr. Pent. Ask him to pause his current task and begin work per protocol seventeen.

This implied deploying a search-and-tracking program into the HoloNet to trace the encrypted message.

But I had no intention of discussing this—or revealing that Mr. Pent and other clones of Zakarisz Ghent had their own operational protocols.

Compartmentalization of classified data always has and always will exist. No matter your level of clearance, you'll never know all the secrets. This exponentially enhances their security and prevents leaks.

The captain scanned the datapad's screen, his face betraying no emotion. That's the mark of proper training and composure.

We could use more such specialists.

And I know exactly how to achieve that—and ensure their loyalty to my cause.

— *Exotic destroyed. Makeno is a traitor. Also destroyed. Continuing battle. Chimaera will be captured, Lord Devian,* — he read, returning the device, which made its way back to Tschel via my hands.

— So, you've cut off my way back, — Makeno said thoughtfully.

— On the contrary, Captain, — I countered. — Thanks to this simple ruse, which the intellectually unburdened enemy commander took at face value, I've freed you and your people from the fate of being eliminated by Devian for failing to assassinate me. Hired killers leave no witnesses. With your "death," no one can accuse Devian, who styles himself an Imperial, of shying away from eliminating me personally. My assassination would earn him political clout and prestige among his subordinates. It would create a compelling legend of how a champion of the New Order and loyal servant of Palpatine dealt with a grand admiral who dared to act independently. Your gain in all this is that you can now start anew—new names, new documents, vast sums in your pockets. You're free. No one will hunt you. Alternatively, you can join us and become part of the Dominion's armed forces, serving in your specialty as special forces, not mercenaries.

— You're so certain Devian would hunt me for failing to kill you? — the special forces officer looked at me questioningly.

— In his time, Emperor Palpatine built two world-ships, also known as habitable spheres, — I said. — They orbited Coruscant, each comparable in size and profile to the *Death Star*. One was meant for Devian, the other for Grand Moff Kaine. Both were rewards for their contributions to the Empire, gifts from Palpatine to his loyal servants. After Endor, Devian stole both. Yet these spheres had no purpose beyond being residential and recreational complexes.

— I heard about that, — Makeno said. — Devian wanted to spite Kaine, so he used Kaine's sphere to let the Rebels destroy it while he raided their shipyards. Settling old scores and exacting revenge.

— Now consider what such a petty and vengeful man would do to you and your people if he learned you not only failed to eliminate me but also gave us a lead to his base?

— You think you can trace my message from the *Herdsman* and pinpoint Devian's base?

— My specialists are already working on it, — I assured him. — They're the best in the galaxy.

And we have the intercepted message from *Bloody Ambition*, which can just as easily be traced to its destination. Moreover, it will lead us to—

— Sure, — Makeno snorted. — If you recruit all the best like this, no wonder they'd pull oxygen out of a vacuum for you. Slicers, as a rule, aren't exactly equipped for critical thinking outside their digital world.

— Regardless, the deed is done, — I said. — You helped me, albeit unwillingly, lure Devian's fleet here. I trust the sum I paid adequately compensates for your efforts?

— I've never lured an entire fleet into a trap, — Makeno smirked. — You're a damn dangerous man, Grand Admiral.

— Thank you, — I nodded, glancing at the ship's chronometer. Fifteen seconds. — But I'm not human.

— You could be a Hutt in Palpatine's skin for all I care, — the special forces officer grinned crookedly. — I'll discuss your intriguing offer to join you with my people. If you promise not to pursue those who decline, some might want to return to the deck. But as special forces, not guards for some warehouse or station.

Exactly… Misuse of their skills is a sore point for fleet special forces.

— Thank you for your honesty, Captain, — I said. Five seconds. — If it's not too much trouble, you may stay on the bridge to witness the finale of this tragedy for two enemy fleets.

— Two fleets? — Orsan's eyes widened. — You mean another one's coming?

— Not coming, — I corrected, noting the faint engine flares accompanying the release of residual radiation from hyperspace exits. — They're already here. Allow me to introduce, Captain, another group relentless in their pursuit of my demise: the First Battle Division of the New Republic Defense Fleet. Ten Mon Calamari MC80 *Liberty*-type star cruisers and other variants, six MC40a light cruisers, twenty-three escort frigates, and sixteen gunships.

— Impressive, — Makeno mouthed, realizing I'd listed the enemy's forces before they fully emerged into realspace and appeared on the tactical display. — Forgive me, but are you seriously planning to destroy this armada with one Star Destroyer?

A distinct chuckle came from Lieutenant Tschel. His composure needs work.

— Destroy? — I echoed. — Fear the Sith, Captain. That's beyond my power. We'll capture them.

Makeno looked at me as if I were mad.

I understand, Captain—not the first, nor the last. You'll get used to it and fit into the team soon enough.

— What, all of them? — Orsan asked, his voice dripping with irony as he eyed me skeptically.

— All of them, — I nodded. — Except one, — I pressed a button on the armrest, enlarging the image of one star cruiser on the nearest screen. — This ship is known to every self-respecting Imperial.

— *Home One*, — Makeno growled.

— Under the command of the legendary Admiral Ackbar, — I confirmed. — And now we'll give them a proper thrashing.

Makeno, and to be honest, Tierce and Tschel, looked at me with suspicion. My apologies—it slipped out.

— Fleet orders, Lieutenant, — I said, not giving my subordinates time to recover. — Begin.

— Yes, sir.

The *Chimaera*'s transmission system activated.

And before Devian's forces and the New Republic realized they were here for the same purpose, two events unfolded simultaneously.

First.

Behind the New Republic fleet, dozens of faint flashes from residual radiation discharges became visible.

Second.

Behind the *Chimaera*, the *Guardian* materialized.

And the guns spoke.