Grand Admiral

As anticipated, the ambush executed with exemplary precision.

Captain Harbid stood on the bridge of the *Death's Head*, observing as his TIE Interceptors and bombers made another pass at the ravaged hull of a Mon Calamari star cruiser, its once cream-white surface scarred by turbolaser fire.

Drifting nearby, a Nebulon-B escort frigate, riddled with breaches, emitted smoke and debris, feebly returning fire against three *Dreadnought*-class heavy cruisers circling it. The *Dreadnoughts* had no intention of destroying the frigate outright—such a storied vessel deserved better than to be reduced to scrap by mere turbolaser salvos.

Instead, Gamma-class assault shuttles latched onto the frigate's hull, disgorging Dominion stormtroopers supported by droidekas. Sweeping through the ship, they would soon seize full control.

Harbid turned his attention to the Mon Calamari star cruiser.

It resisted desperately.

Its remaining turbolasers painstakingly tracked the heavy cruisers pummeling it. A pity no one had informed its commander that resistance was futile.

By persisting, the commander merely prolonged the ship's agony—an agony that could have been avoided.

Dominion stormtroopers would board the cruiser regardless. However, by the time it inevitably fell under Grand Admiral Thrawn's command, there might be no one left alive to be sent to a prisoner-of-war camp.

Captain Harbid stood on the bridge of his Star Destroyer, savoring the spectacle of the New Republic fleet's humiliation.

In the years since the defeat at the Battle of Endor, only now had the moment arrived when the Empire—or rather, the Dominion—could strike back with the full might of its military machine.

There was, however, one nuance.

The Galactic Empire remained entrenched in its sectors, fortified by millions of troops and thousands of warships. Meanwhile, the Dominion, under Thrawn's command, delivered repeated blows to the New Republic's military apparatus. The Grand Admiral was undeterred by the fact that his fleet was smaller than even a sector fleet of the Galactic Empire's prime.

Captain Harbid stood on the bridge of the *Death's Head* with the firm conviction that he was part of something greater.

Thrawn had not shared the intricacies of his plan with Harbid or the other commanders of operational-tactical units. Yet none of the Star Destroyer captains doubted the brilliance of the Grand Admiral's strategy.

Each of them was a component of that plan.

A small cog in a vast machine, grinding the New Republic's armed forces into fragments.

This was a splendid day.

More such days would be welcome.

***

Captain Aban did not consider himself a genius of tactics or strategy.

He was as straightforward as a durasteel plate—a dutiful officer, moderately competent, moderately resourceful, and moderately initiative-driven. An average Star Destroyer commander.

Yet, at this moment, as he watched a Mon Calamari star cruiser vanish beneath salvos of turbolasers and ion cannons fired from all directions by the *Bellicose*, six *Dreadnought*-class heavy cruisers, and a dozen Corellian corvettes, Aban could not suppress a smile.

Truthfully, this was his first battle under Grand Admiral Thrawn's command in which his ship sustained no damage whatsoever.

Yes, there were losses among the fighters, one corvette limped out of combat with its stern shattered, and one heavy cruiser had its starboard side scorched, requiring the replacement of all its weaponry—a task necessitating a mid-level refit.

But the *Bellicose* remained unscathed.

The triangular Star Destroyer unleashed salvo after salvo, stripping the armor from the trapped enemy capital ship, ensnared by the gravity well of an interdictor.

Its escorting Nebulon-B frigate smoldered thirty units away, having attempted a desperate charge at the *Bellicose*'s assigned interdictor. What could a frigate achieve against even a modestly armed destroyer?

Aban smirked as he observed the frigate's smoking hulk, held fast by the interdictor's tractor beams, swarmed by assault shuttles.

The frigate's crew had ignored reason, refusing to surrender and save their lives. Thus, they would be eliminated. Every last one.

Though no genius, Aban fully grasped Grand Admiral Thrawn's logic: when the Dominion held numerical or qualitative superiority, capturing enemy ships was paramount, regardless of their type.

For territorial defense, convoy escort, or system and sector patrols, nearly any starship would suffice—provided spare parts were available.

And lately, those parts were becoming increasingly abundant.

While Star Destroyers operated on the front lines, captured Mon Calamari cruisers could serve as flagships for system defense squadrons. To think, without the capacity to produce new starships, Thrawn was relentlessly expanding his fleet.

Yes, such operations incurred losses.

Yes, ships often required repairs after nearly every engagement.

But the fact remained.

The enemy had deployed fragmented forces: three Star Destroyers, four star cruisers, and seven escort frigates. According to real-time operational reports, nearly all these detached task forces en route to Ketaris had been captured.

Moreover, Thrawn himself awaited the enemy fleet in the fortress-planet's system. There was little doubt that the entirety of the opposing fleet would soon fly Dominion colors.

The *Bellicose*, following its commander's orders, adjusted its position in the ambush formation, shifting to the starboard side of the Mon Calamari star cruiser, continuing to pour fire into the enemy.

The MC80 had lost its artillery to the *Bellicose*'s bomber wing, rendering it defenseless from this vector. As TIE Interceptors engaged the remnants of the New Republic cruiser's fighter complement, Aban's other ships methodically disabled the cruiser's weaponry, ensuring no threat to the incoming assault shuttles.

It was a time-consuming, somewhat thankless task, but necessary. Better to spend extra minutes neutralizing enemy artillery than risk losing a transport—or more—to a single precise shot.

Captain Aban gazed at the smoldering stern of the enemy cruiser, smirking at the folly of its Republican commander.

Outnumbered, with its escorts and cover destroyed, its engines so damaged that maneuvering was a luxury—what commander would not be absolved of treason for surrendering under such conditions?

Yet this one fought on stubbornly.

Foolish.

If that was the enemy's will, so be it.

The best Republican was a dead Republican.

***

When the gray triangle bearing New Republic markings was yanked from hyperspace by the artificial gravity of the Immobilizer 418-class interdictor cruiser *Constrainer*, every ship commander in Captain Schneider's operational-tactical unit knew their role.

This included the tractor beam operators, who were performing an unconventional task—not pulling fighters into the Star Destroyer's hangar but launching them outward with maximum acceleration.

The commander of the *Nemesis* glanced at the tactical display, observing as turbolasers and ion cannons fired in unison with Corellian corvettes, TIE Fighters from the heavy cruisers, and interceptors from the *Nemesis* rushing toward the enemy ships.

Their primary task, per tactical doctrine, was to defend the mother ship from enemy fighter attacks. But why absorb punishment when a swift ambush could prevent the enemy from launching fighters at Dominion ships?

Schneider stood on the central platform, hands clasped behind his back, watching as a brutal melee unfolded around the Star Destroyer *Moon Shadow* and its escorting Nebulon-B frigate.

With his eight starships, Schneider had effectively surrounded the enemy vessels near their emergence point from hyperspace within the first five minutes of combat.

As protocol dictated, the *Constrainer* remained outside the main fray. Not only was the Immobilizer 418 ill-suited for fleet combat, but its crew had long been assigned to the Morshdine sector's defense fleet, leaving them with minimal combat experience.

Captain Schneider addressed this issue.

The *Constrainer* was assigned a firing vector, allowing its gunners to engage enemy starships. Its fighter wing participated in the battle, rotating squadrons: once the first completed its task, it withdrew to guard the mother ship, and the second took its place, and so on.

Not the most efficient training method, but effective, enabling every pilot and gunner to contribute to the fight.

Unlike most other unit commanders, Schneider had the honor of reclaiming two former Imperial ships.

The *Nemesis*'s central computer identified the engine signatures of both ships, noting their prior affiliations and even their old call signs. A fine haul, especially considering that *Moon Shadow* was an Imperial II-class Star Destroyer in excellent condition, according to scanner data.

It should be so. Delivering Imperial property to the Dominion as scrap would be unacceptable.

Schneider resolved to ensure it remained in pristine condition.

— Open a comm channel to the *Moon Shadow*, — he ordered after noting the success of the initial assault, which had damaged the enemy ships. A trio of heavy cruisers had drawn the escort frigate away from the Republican destroyer through sustained fire and was now mercilessly battering it. — Holographic transmitter.

The communications officer promptly complied, fulfilling the commander's request to speak face-to-face with his opponent.

The portable communicator projected a small blue-white hologram of a Duros clad in a brown New Republic admiral's uniform.

— Admiral Kir Vantai, — the former Imperial addressed his counterpart. — I am Captain Von Schneider, commander of the Dominion Star Destroyer *Nemesis* and the unit you are currently engaging. Out of humanitarian considerations and to preserve the lives of your subordinates, I urge you to act prudently and surrender your ships. I guarantee no one will be killed, and no torture or oppression will be employed in captivity.

The Duros emitted a derisive snort.

— You presume too much, Captain Schneider, — he declared. — An Imperial's promises are worthless in these times.

— Perhaps an Imperial's, but I serve Grand Admiral Thrawn's Dominion, — Schneider corrected, watching as his unit's fighters decimated the New Republic's fighter complement. — Surely you've heard of it.

— Those confident in their strength never negotiate, Captain, — the Duros remarked.

— Unless they wish to avoid needless bloodshed, — Schneider countered, noting that the escort frigate had lost its shields and was now smoking from its stern, fiercely returning fire.

As if that could change anything…

— We were en route to our base at Ketaris, Captain! — the Duros pressed. — You attacked us…

— The Oplovis sector declared its allegiance to the Dominion long before you were ordered to Ketaris, — Schneider rebutted. — The sectoral government demanded your forces vacate Oplovis territory. Yet you chose to hold the Stronk and Ketaris systems. Furthermore, we know you fragmented your reinforcements into small task forces to support Admiral Jid'ida's squadron at Stronk and strike Grand Admiral Thrawn's battle group at Ketaris.

The Duros's eyes narrowed.

— Is that so? — he said. — Well, Captain, thank you for confirming our worst fears. Your spies continue to operate on Coruscant. I hope you won't stoop so low as to deny my request to report this to Coruscant?

— I'm afraid that's beyond my authority, Admiral, — Schneider replied. — There are certain communication issues here, so… your attempt to warn Admiral Jid'ida that he's leading his ships into a trap, resulting in another slaughter and the capture of his squadron, won't succeed.

The New Republic admiral's expression suggested he hadn't expected his ruse to be so easily uncovered.

— Enough, Schneider, — he said. — You wouldn't be speaking with me if you weren't eager to rush to Thrawn's aid. He's outmatched by Jid'ida's squadron, so I'll do everything to keep your unit here as long as possible.

A partially valid point—Schneider's unit was only a few hours from Ketaris at full hyperspace speed, the closest of all. But Schneider had another reason for wanting to be there.

— My condolences, — Schneider said.

— Are you sure those are the words you meant? — the Duros asked, surprised.

— They're not for you, — Schneider clarified. — They're for the families of those who won't return home. Even in sealed caskets.

— What are you talking about, Schneider? — the Republican admiral smirked. — My *Moon Shadow* will handle your *Nemesis* and then tear your escort cruisers to pieces.

A gross exaggeration.

— You know, — Schneider glanced at the tactical monitor. The necessary time had been gained. — I'm almost pleased you'll depart this life with such thoughts.

— What nonsense…? — the Duros began, but Schneider was no longer listening.

He turned to the communications officer and issued a single command:

— TIE Bombers, activate engines and strike.

A dozen fighters, drifting silently with inactive systems since the *Moon Shadow*'s emergence, were now perfectly positioned.

Tractor beam operators had been "flinging" the bombers toward the enemy destroyer since the ambush began. With the enemy's fighter wing nearly annihilated and *Moon Shadow* lacking effective point-defense systems, the bombers delivered their strike.

Concussion missiles obliterated the bridge, stripping the *Moon Shadow* of deflectors and communications. A second salvo gutted the command center, neutralizing central control.

Seizing the enemy's disarray, Captain Schneider ordered assault shuttles to commence boarding.

Interceptor pilots and Corellian corvettes suppressed the sparse remaining artillery fire…

Captain Von Schneider undoubtedly wished to be in the Ketaris system—not to aid Grand Admiral Thrawn, but to witness him humble yet another Bothan. This time, a true admiral from Bothawui, not a "Fey'lyan lackey."

***

— Has the enemy rejected our demand to surrender or voluntarily leave Oplovis sector territory? — I inquired.

— Affirmative, sir, — confirmed a voice I hadn't heard on the bridge in some time. — They intend to fight.

May the interstellar void be their grave, and may Jawas leave their tombs undisturbed.

The Force knows I did all I could.

— Quite intriguing ships we face today, Lieutenant, — I remarked, cross-referencing the New Republic starships' identifiers as they formed their battle line.

— Sir? — Lieutenant Tschel, acting captain of the *Chimaera*, stood to my right. His posture betrayed extreme tension: back rigid, veins bulging on his neck, arms pressed to his sides, breathing rapid. The young man was clearly anticipating battle but striving to maintain composure.

— Have we received all reports from our operational-tactical unit commanders? — I asked, redirecting his focus to a matter not directly tied to the impending engagement.

— Y-yes, sir, — he replied. — Commodore Darron from the *Captain Rensen* reported concluding combat with the final reinforcement detachment headed to Ketaris.

— Thus, we expect no further uninvited guests, — I concluded. — At least, not unanticipated ones.

— Yes, sir, — Tschel licked his lips.

— Calm yourself, Lieutenant, — I advised. — There is nothing here we cannot handle.

Tschel looked at me with bewildered eyes.

What had I said amiss?

On our side: the *Chimaera*, *Steel Aurora*, *Crusader*, one Corellian corvette, two Corellian DP20 gunships, and a pair of Strike-class medium cruisers. The latter were primarily for show, having already fulfilled their role, leaving us to wait.

The enemy fielded two Mon Calamari star cruisers: the familiar MC80 *Memory of Alderaan* and its newer variant, the MC80 *Liberty*-type *Justice*, serving as Admiral Jid'ida's flagship. Accompanying them were six Nebulon-B escort frigates and four Corellian CR90 corvettes.

The distinction between *Memory of Alderaan* and *Justice* might have remained unnoticed, as a standard MC80 closely resembles the *Liberty*-type, but the New Republic neglected to deactivate their transponders in combat. While this aids in friend-or-foe identification, how could one mistake a Mon Calamari star cruiser for a Star Destroyer in this battle?

Utterly baffling.

It was time for a disciplinary thrashing.

— *Steel Aurora* and *Crusader* are to hold the flanks, — I ordered. — Acclamators to the front. Lieutenant Tschel, advance the *Chimaera* toward the enemy at one-third cruising speed.

— Y-yes, sir, — the man replied, sweat beading on his forehead.

Unnecessary.

As my flagship Star Destroyer broke formation and moved forward, forming the spearhead of the attack, both Victory-class destroyers followed, trailing by a few hull lengths. I had no doubt Captains I-Gor and Kalian had their launch tubes primed.

Six ships—three destroyers and three escorts—against twelve. The six Nebulon-B frigates could pose a significant threat to any capital ship. It was unsurprising that Admiral Jid'ida positioned them as flank guards, keeping both star cruisers at the center. The Corellian corvettes operated in pairs in the upper and lower echelons relative to the main force.

— The *Black Asp* has activated its gravity well generators, — Lieutenant Tschel reported.

I glanced at the diminutive interdictor cruiser, positioned under the protection of the Strike-class cruisers. So small and slender compared to the Acclamators, yet its role in the battle was arguably paramount.

— What do you know of Mon Calamari star cruisers, Lieutenant? — I inquired.

— They're converted passenger liners, sir, — Tschel promptly replied.

Well… as a certain academy colonel once said: "Incomplete answer, cadet. Go scrub the refreshers." And scrub we did, until we passed the retest. How we managed, in our youth, to juggle duties and study material remains a mystery. Truly, "if you want to survive, you'll bend over backward."

— Correct, Lieutenant, — I affirmed. — In the future, dedicate more time to studying the technical specifications of enemy starships. Often, that knowledge holds the key to successful engagements.

— Yes, sir, — Tschel replied, subdued.

— Broadly, you're entirely correct, Lieutenant, — I continued. — They are former passenger vessels, each differing from its counterparts, not only in internal compartment layouts but sometimes even in size. However, the issues with this class of starship run far deeper.

Fortunately, we already possessed such trophies and knew how to neutralize them efficiently. Completing our analysis of the MC80b captured at Ciutric IV would further enhance our capabilities.

— One cannot convert a civilian ship into a warship and expect its origins not to hinder it, — I said, observing the enemy starships rapidly closing the distance. Remarkably, they seemed unconcerned by the gravity wells' operation. — The Mon Calamari lacked the time to equip the MC80 with powerful reactors to support extensive shipboard artillery. This led to the installation of only forty-eight main-caliber guns, half the number on the *Chimaera*. Technical analyses indicate their weapon systems are inferior to those on Imperial ships. Their fire control systems are similarly subpar. The power deficit explains why MC80-series ships lack light laser cannons capable of engaging small, high-speed targets like fighters and bombers.

As if to contradict me, New Republic fighters began swarming around the enemy ships.

— Order our interceptors to deploy, Lieutenant Tschel, — I instructed. — The enemy must believe we're adhering to standard counter-course engagement protocols.

— Yes, sir, — the acting commander replied.

— Let us continue, — I said. — Due to their limited numbers, the enemy's fighter complement relies on its qualitative advantage—deflectors. Their tactics boil down to two options: either attack our capital ships and tie our fighters near their own guns or defend their carrier from enemy fighters. The choice depends on the commander. In this case, a Bothan, whose mindset, unlike a Mon Calamari's, does not prioritize defensive tactics. Observe. — I pointed to the enemy fighters swiftly approaching from both flanks.

— Affirmative, sir, — Tschel confirmed. — The enemy is forcing our interceptors to defend near the *Chimaera*.

Given that an MC80 typically carries fewer fighters than a Star Destroyer, the Bothan's strategy of attacking with two fighter groups from different angles was sensible. It could leave us without fighter cover, giving their fighters a chance to strike.

Tschel pondered for a moment.

— Proton torpedoes, sir, — he said. — If their fighters breach our screen, they could strike the *Chimaera* with proton torpedoes.

— Or concussion missiles, — I agreed. — This partially compensates for their fleet's lack of firepower. However, this tactic has two outcomes: success could damage our ship, but failure risks losing their carrier, their operational base. Without fighters, an MC80 relies solely on its shields, which, thanks to rapid recharge generators, can withstand significant punishment.

— Yes, sir, — Tschel affirmed. — But we have shields too.

— Oh, no, — I said with a slight smile. — Our SEAL system generator is far superior to theirs. After capturing the *Mon Adapyne*, I ordered its recharge system installed on the *Chimaera*. But the enemy need not know that. Ensure our shields appear to weaken with each hit.

— Yes, sir, — Tschel replied, still puzzled but beginning to grasp the plan.

— Let's return to the analysis, — I suggested. — Comparative data shows that the total firepower of an Imperial-class Star Destroyer's artillery far exceeds that of an MC80 *Liberty*-type or its predecessor. Their twenty ion cannons do little to redress this imbalance. Missile or torpedo launchers would be useful here, but the Mon Calamari neglected to equip their upgraded ships with them. Likely, the cost deterred the credit-strapped Rebel Alliance, and the near-bankrupt New Republic cannot afford to advance its shipbuilding program.

Turbolaser blasts danced across the *Chimaera*'s deflectors, but no breaches occurred at this range—nor could they.

Our gunners, meanwhile, held their fire.

— In the artillery duel the enemy imposes, a lone MC80 or MC80 *Liberty* stands no chance, — I said as my flagship opened fire on the Republican ships at seventy units, the port side targeting *Justice* and the starboard side the second cruiser. Both Victory-class destroyers joined, focusing solely on artillery. — Hence, during the Galactic Civil War, the enemy used them as mobile bases or raiders, delivering fighters to strike points. But after capturing Coruscant, their tactics shifted. We have fewer ships; they have greater confidence. The enemy commander believes six escort frigates can occupy our Victory-class destroyers while the MC80s place the *Chimaera* under crossfire, hoping to quickly deplete our shields and destroy the hull.

— Sir, deflectors at eighty percent, — Tschel noted.

— Thank you, Lieutenant, — I replied. — Continue monitoring. You'll receive orders to restore shields when needed.

The enemy formation had closed to fifty-eight units.

— The moment of truth approaches, Lieutenant, — I said. — We'll soon learn if the Republicans installed launchers on these ships.

Such weapons have a range of sixty units. If we didn't detect them now…

— Excellent, — I said, smiling. — No proton torpedoes or concussion missiles.

— And… now what, sir? — Tschel asked.

— What else? — I replied, surprised. — The *Steel Aurora* and *Crusader* will strike with their launchers. Isn't that obvious?

Tschel didn't pretend otherwise:

— No, sir, — he shook his head. — Not at all.

— All the worse for the enemy, — I remarked.

***

What could be more logical than launching sixty anti-ship missiles from launchers against an enemy lacking missile defense systems?

Captain Kalian saw no reason why the enemy admiral fell for such a simple provocation.

— Bow and broadside launchers—fire! — he ordered, watching as the *Steel Aurora*'s turbolasers harassed three escort frigates guarding the *Justice*.

Sixty anti-ship missiles left their silos, making way for the next volley.

Trailing smoky exhaust, the missiles streaked across the fifty-five units separating the Victory I-class Star Destroyer from its target.

In terms of survivability, the *Steel Aurora* was inferior to the MC80 *Liberty*, despite comparable deflectors. The cruiser's shields could recharge twice as fast as an Imperial destroyer's, enhancing its resilience.

But the MC80's advantages ended there. Its artillery and fire control systems were significantly less potent than those on the enemy ship. The *Steel Aurora* and its sister ships' combined salvo power exceeded the MC80's by one and a half times.

How tragic it must be for the soldiers and crew aboard those ships, realizing as anti-ship missiles approached that neither rapid shield regeneration, a Class 1 hyperdrive, redundant systems, high automation, nor the frantically firing laser and light turbolaser batteries on escorting corvettes could avert the inevitable.

The missiles would reach their targets.

Whether the first salvo, the second a minute later, or the third—the missile magazines were full, and the enemy hull's damage threshold would be reached far sooner.

Escape was impossible, as was victory.

Escort ships and scattered fighters, suddenly aware of the threat to the star cruisers, fired wildly, attempting to intercept the kinetic projectiles—enough to not merely disable but annihilate the enemy ships.

Even multiple redundant systems, auxiliary generators, and reactors wouldn't save them…

The *Steel Aurora* launched its second salvo before the first sixteen missiles, surviving the New Republic's defenses, struck their targets.

The targeted ship erupted in a series of explosions, reducing its combat effectiveness by nearly a third. Gun batteries and blisters burst, and oxygen in breached compartments ignited, incinerating everything nearby and beyond.

It became clear to all, including the Republicans, that subsequent salvos would not only disable the cruiser's weapons and defenses but also its engines, eliminating any chance of escape.

As Grand Admiral Thrawn predicted, the enemy, realizing defeat was inevitable, began a withdrawal maneuver.

The operation entered its "thrashing" phase.

The missiles' homing warheads posed a greater threat than commonly assumed. Once launched, such a missile either hit its target or was destroyed trying.

Moreover, it seemed the Republicans were unaware that anti-ship missiles could be programmed for more than direct strikes.

Otherwise, they might have reconsidered maneuvering under the threat of a second salvo.

Thrawn had been explicit: only the first salvo targeted the flagship cruisers. Subsequent ones aimed for the escorts' engines.

As the six escort frigates completed their turn, they were stunned when missiles struck their unprotected sterns, devoid of laser or turbolaser coverage.

Engine nozzles tore like flimsi, and flames engulfed compartments and technical corridors. Insulation melted, equipment liquefied, and internal detonations threatened to eject the ships' contents through their hulls.

This was not a fair fight—it was a massacre.

Ruthless and uncompromising.

Captain Kalian understood that on Ketaris, every sentient was glued to screens broadcasting the battle's chronicle.

Grand Admiral Thrawn, fighting outnumbered, had driven the enemy into retreat. Repeated attempts by ships like the Corellian corvettes to turn and intercept missile waves met only suppressive fire from the destroyers' turbolasers and ion cannons. Unwilling to be destroyed, the corvettes retreated, using afterburners to escape the Dominion's zeroed-in gunners—three ships that could rout a fleet four times their size.

— Targets hit, — Kalian's senior aide reported.

But the *Steel Aurora*'s commander already saw three Nebulon-B frigates, their sterns ravaged by Dominion missiles, veering off course, trailing smoke and debris.

— Report to the *Chimaera*, — Kalian ordered. The flagship undoubtedly observed this, but protocol demanded confirmation.

***

The *Crusader*'s targets fared little better.

Unlike the younger Kalian, Captain I-Gor had experience countering the Republicans' favored ship type.

The first escort frigate was struck in the bow by a missile group as it began maneuvering, the warheads exploiting the enemy gunners' blind spots.

The second and third ships took devastating hits after turning.

Engine flares, boosting output to accelerate, illuminated the void even brighter as missiles shredded their nozzles.

Not all were destroyed, allowing the crippled ships to limp on, but escape was futile while the artificial gravity field persisted.

The next missile salvo targeted the frigates' weapon emplacements, clearing the starboard side for boarding. Defensive turrets had to be neutralized.

While the *Steel Aurora* closed with the enemy to give its gunners practice, I-Gor preferred long-range missile strikes.

Kalian was young and eager, craving the front lines.

His prerogative.

I-Gor opted to pound the enemy from afar. Missiles were plentiful, and each salvo reduced the enemy's weapon count…

No risk to his crew.

Fewer Dominion deaths, more enemy casualties.

As it should be, now and henceforth.

***

When lightsabers clashed again, filling the arsenal with their characteristic hum and crackle, Ahsoka flashed a cheeky grin at Asajj's rage-contorted face:

— Tell me, is it a compulsion to charge every time you're caught red-handed?

The Dathomirian shoved the irritating Togruta away and executed a backflip.

— How many times must I defeat you before you stop getting in my way? — she hissed through clenched teeth.

Tano paused, considering.

— You know, if you think about it, you've never actually beaten me, — she said.

— Oh, really? — Ventress lunged again, aiming a diagonal double strike to cleave the thorn in her side into three pieces.

— Of course, — Tano sidestepped, denying her a sparring opportunity. — Let's see: all my limbs are intact, no scars from your blades, never been your prisoner… So…

Tano fell silent, parrying the frenzied attacks of the Dathomirian witch. Ventress struck like a wild beast, thrusting, slashing, counterattacking…

But Tano deflected each aggressive move, rendering the assaults impotent. Not one of Ventress's strikes landed.

— Victory by points isn't our way, Ventress, — Tano giggled, almost childishly, locking one of Ventress's blades with her own. — Why are you so mad, huh?

— Your— — an overhead strike — smile— — a thrust to the side — irritates— — a feint to the neck — me.

Only the final strike did Tano deign to block firmly, while she let the others slide off her blades.

— You know, — Tano said, feigning concern, — I'm no psychiatrist, but you're clearly obsessed with me. Want to talk about it?

— Shut up already! — Ventress roared, charging…

…only to fly back a few meters, struck in the chest by Tano's boot.

— Sometimes I know my tongue's my worst enemy, but I love that part of me, — Tano shook her head, watching Ventress sprawled on the floor, struggling to breathe. — You okay there, old lady? Still alive?

— By the sacred Corriban dead, why didn't you die like Skywalker or Kenobi? — Ventress growled, rising.

— I'm too good to be skewered by a lightsaber, — Tano declared with theatrical flair. — I don't know if it's my charm or my inherently positive nature, but every sentient I know wishes me long life, family bliss, and happiness.

— You're mistaken, — Ventress grated, charging again.

This time, she flew farther and to the left, struck by a spinning kick from Tano's right.

— Granny, give it up, — Tano advised. — I'm telling you, I don't want to fight. I'd rather talk.

— Never! — Ventress snarled, drawing on the Dark Side to clear the fog and ringing in her head from the last blow. — I can't stand your prattle!

— You know, — Tano parried her strike and counterattacked, so carelessly exposing her flank that no lifelong acolyte or mercenary could resist such a blunder…

The uppercut Tano delivered stunned Ventress with a crack of her lower jaw…

Collapsing, the Dathomirian looked around dazedly, searching for her lightsabers.

They were in Tano's hands, who was clipping them to her belt.

— Fine, — Tano said, looking at her with pity. — Let's not wreck everything here. — Ventress glanced around. When had they smashed the nearby racks and crates? — I get that you're a bit older and annoyed that I've adopted your banter-during-combat style, but you know imitation's the sincerest flattery. It took me fifteen years to understand you. Honestly, I hold no grudge. I'd ask Kenobi or Skywalker, but they've been gone for ages. And I've no particular desire to meditate and see their Jedi faces.

— Wha' you blabberin' 'bout? — Her broken jaw garbled her words, and the fracture site was swelling rapidly.

— I'm saying the past is past, — Tano simplified. — I'm no longer a Jedi or serving the Republic. You're not Dooku's lapdog. We were both used and discarded when deemed disappointing add-ons. I've no reason to fight you—unless we're reminiscing, sparring… See, over the years, decades since we last met, I've grown so enlightened that…

— Kill me, — Ventress pleaded. — My brain's gonna burst…

— I thought we'd be friends, — Tano sighed, unexpectedly offering a hand. — I don't know if you felt something in the Force four months ago, but I did. Like a lightning bolt. Something changed. The future, already uncertain, became even murkier. I searched for the cause and found him. We're sort of allies now, and, I'll admit, I initially wanted to end him in true Jedi fashion. But meeting him in person… For now, he lives. The Force insists he's the only one who can save the galaxy from decades of bloodshed and innocent suffering, protecting it from… a great evil. I don't know what drives him, but I watched out of curiosity. He's doing good work, and there's a prospect of peace, stability, law, and order…

— Shut up already, — Ventress glared at the Imperial Guards looming in the doorway. — What'd I ever do to you?!

— Nothing, — Tano shrugged. — But I believe it's no coincidence I'm here. The galaxy's in turmoil. Enemies become friends, and vice versa. If I'm wrong, and Grand Admiral Thrawn brings more chaos than Palpatine, I'll need someone I trust to watch my back to eliminate that problem.

— You're insane, — Ventress shook her head, grasping Tano's hand. — Utterly deranged!

— We're all a bit mad, — Tano sighed, returning Ventress's lightsabers. — You, me… Up there, a Star Dreadnought's commanded by a man whose mere glance makes me want to hide in a corner and call for my mother. But, laugh if you must, he's doing good work.

— You're all lunatics, — Ventress concluded. — I just wanted to slip away and forget this nightmare…

— Won't happen, friend, — Ventress flinched as Tano draped an arm around her shoulders. — If the old guard doesn't step up, the young ones will make such a mess that history books will blush like Naboo maidens… So, you with me?

— You're insane, — Ventress repeated, shoving the giggling Tano away. — I need to meet this commander who's got you so scared…

Tano grinned childishly.

— Commodore Shohashi will definitely appeal to you. A principled maniac, just like you… Who knows, you might sort out your personal life, stop attacking everyone…

Ventress shot Tano a look that once made Neimoidians soil themselves. Tano merely blinked.

— What'd I say? — she asked, instantly resuming her calm demeanor, infuriating Ventress further by outwitting her in her own Dathomirian style. Unacceptable! — Should've talked less during our old scraps—I'd still be guessing what throws you off.

*I'll escape at the first chance,* Ventress thought. *Just leave me alone…*

***

— The enemy's escorts are damaged and unable to provide cover, — Lieutenant Tschel reported.

— I see, — I replied. — The flagship and second star cruiser are accelerating, shielded by four Corellian corvettes.

— The *Steel Aurora* and *Crusader* are neutralizing weapon emplacements on the New Republic frigates, — Tschel continued.

— Excellent, — I confirmed. — Inform those destroyers that capturing the frigates is at their commanders' discretion. Our targets are the star cruisers and corvettes.

Corellian corvettes were too versatile to ignore. They could support in combat, fend off fighters, raid, or even serve as couriers… I needed as many such ships as possible.

Likewise with escort frigates.

Though their current designs deviated from the Dominion's sleek aesthetic, they were being gradually refitted to Mark-I and Mark-II standards, better suiting their assigned roles.

As for the star cruisers…

As the Rebel Alliance, the New Republic used them as raiders. Through subtle intrigues, some of my ships of this type continued that practice, eroding Lady Santhe's trust in Coruscant's government—and vice versa.

But that tension had yet to peak. Soon, the "teakettle would boil over"… and all Lady Santhe could do, hoping to end Republican raids, would be to futilely cry, "Pot, stop cooking!" But it would be too late…

Enough yeast had been kneaded into that dough to feed the galaxy.

— Sir, at current speeds, the enemy ships will exit the gravity anomaly in forty-five minutes, — Tschel reported. — Shall I increase speed?

— Absolutely not, Lieutenant, — I replied, already calculating the enemy's course. Their deviation from the initial entry vector was evident. — Instead, inform our heavy cruisers it's time to appear and cut off the enemy's retreat.

— Yes, sir!

The cruisers were positioned at the system's far edge. Moving them farther was unnecessary; their appearance was needed sooner than hours later.

Their role was to act as beaters, forcing the enemy to turn and flee to the only refuge available.

— Cruisers have arrived, — Tschel reported. — The enemy is turning.

— Splendid, — I smiled. — Now it's time for the enemy commander to conceive the idea of seeking aid from Ketaris's allies.

— Allies, sir? — Tschel tensed.

— Naturally, — I nodded. — You may not have noticed, but we repaired three orbital defense stations—the ones the enemy will now pass, using their speed advantage, on a shallow trajectory. Ensure their bombardment further reduces our shield strength.

— Sir, forgive me, but I don't understand, — Tschel admitted. — Why play the wounded prey when we could engage and defeat them?

— Of course we could, — I agreed. — The *Chimaera* alone would suffice. But this battle has different objectives.

— Sir, if I may… — Tschel hesitated.

— You must, Lieutenant, — I corrected. — I'd be disappointed if you didn't seek clarification. Allow me to explain. First, we have a brief exchange with the enemy. Would you kindly order the gunners to target the Corellian corvettes with ion cannons and the cruisers with turbolasers?

— Yes, sir!

The moment the *Chimaera* and the enemy fleet crossed paths lasted no more than ten minutes. After ensnaring one ion-battered Corellian corvette with a tractor beam, the two star cruisers and three remaining escorts bypassed our Victory-class destroyers, continuing toward Ketaris's orbit.

— What, in your view, is happening in the sector, Lieutenant? — I asked.

— Uh… we're fighting the New Republic fleet, sir.

— That, among other things, — I confirmed. — In truth, we're winning the minds and hearts of the sector's inhabitants, showcasing our strength and ability to repel any attack. Seven of our operational-tactical units engaged enemy detachments and prevailed, with minimal losses. We'll deliver damaged ships to the local shipyard in the Vosteltig system for repairs. First the yard workers, then the system's populace, and eventually the entire sector will learn we were prepared, intercepting and neutralizing the enemy.

— There'll be many questions, sir.

— Civilians always have plenty, — I shrugged. — Answering each would leave no time for great deeds.

— Understood, sir, — Tschel said. — But…?

— Why not use the *Red Dragon* to obliterate and capture all enemy ships at once? — I clarified.

— Yes, sir.

— Even simpler, Lieutenant, — I said, tenting my fingers. — Turn the *Chimaera* and apply maximum engine power. We've driven our prey to the shore—now let it beach itself on the rocks.

— Uh… yes, sir! — Tschel said, flustered by the nautical metaphor. — Sir, here in the system…?

— We disabled Ketaris's orbital defense stations with the *Red Dragon* to showcase our weapon to the locals, — I explained. — Many sympathize with the New Republic, so despite the planet's allegiance to us, data about this battle and the *Red Dragon* have already reached Coruscant. But like the second and third distress calls, they'll arrive late—we disabled the nearest relay. Coruscant will draw conclusions from the delayed data, noting the intervals between the *Red Dragon*'s salvos.

— You ordered those intervals deliberately! — Tschel realized.

— Indeed, — I confirmed. — Now the enemy believes they've identified the superweapon's vulnerability. We'll use the *Red Dragon* similarly a few more times to cement their confidence. But that's only part of the *Red Dragon*'s issue.

— There's another? — Tschel asked, surprised.

— Of course, — I agreed. — If you demonstrate victory solely through a superweapon, expect two outcomes: first, it will be taken or destroyed; then, you'll be struck and betrayed. By eliminating the enemy's reinforcements and defeating their squadron while outnumbered, we show witnesses that our victory stems not only from a superweapon but from tactical acumen and military superiority. Now, — I gestured to where Admiral Jid'ida's task force, after exchanging access codes, entered the space between two Golan platforms, — by simulating *Chimaera*'s damage and "exposing" ourselves, we played on the admiral's fear of deception and defeat. He rushed to the platforms' protection, but alas…

At that moment, turbolaser bursts lit the upper stratosphere, where the New Republic ships lingered.

— It seems Ketaris's populace doesn't wish to save or aid them.

— But our troops control the planetary defense systems! — Tschel noted.

— Indeed, — I agreed simply. — Admiral Jid'ida and his subordinates don't know that. Nor that our gunners exclusively operate the Golan platforms' targeting systems.

— Sir, so now… — Tschel watched as the communications officer read a message on his monitor. If I was correct about Pellaeon's diplomatic skills, then…

— Sir, we've received a ratified copy of the agreement with Ketaris's government for their integration into the Dominion, — Tschel murmured. — I don't understand why it was sent via open channel…

— So the enemy ships' communications officers would receive it, — I explained. — Sooner or later, they'll return to the New Republic and recount how Ketaris's treacherous inhabitants lured them for aid, only to betray them by firing on their ships and drawing them into orbital weapon range while pledging loyalty to us. The New Republic will never again accept the fortress-planet Ketaris. The local government will recognize this, as well as their vulnerability without our protection if they attempt to leave the Dominion. This will only strengthen their resolve to remain under our control…

— Sir, a message from Admiral Jid'ida, — the communications officer announced. — He surrenders his ships and crews, requesting a ceasefire…

— Very well, — I agreed. — Congratulations on the victory. A pity we couldn't stall longer for Captain Dorja.

— Forgive me, sir, but why was such a delay necessary…?

— To allow Captain Dorja to test the ISD-III in the Stronk system, — I explained, pointing to the tactical display. — As you see, the *Amber Clad* just entered the system with the captured star cruiser Admiral Jid'ida left to defend it. All today's objectives have been achieved. Permit the crew to rest, Lieutenant Tschel.

— Yes, sir! — Tschel barked, brimming with emotion.

— Should the need arise, — I said, rising from my chair, — I can be found in my quarters.

I must devise the most stinging method to present this defeat to Coruscant and the galaxy.

For while the residents of Ketaris and the Oplovis sector now grasp the inevitability of my fleet's triumph, instilling that realization in the minds of others is another matter.

Challenging, but not impossible.