Headquarters of the 13th Sectoral Army had been buzzing like a stirred-up hive since early morning.
Our get-together with the officers had ended toward dawn — around five in the morning local time. And at eight, I was already being woken by an urgent summons.
"General Dougan," the Moff's adjutant looked agitated, and he spoke quickly. "Emergency meeting at army headquarters in half an hour. Your attendance is mandatory. Senior Clone Commander Nyx has been notified."
Before I could answer, the officer signed off.
It took me a couple of minutes just to come to my senses. Another minute to get out of bed. On the third try, I even managed to get myself presentable with the help of a brief meditation.
Activating my comlink, I contacted Nyx, who answered immediately and promised to pick me up on his speeder bike in ten minutes. Damn military. Always on top of everything.
I habitually donned my armor and, with a pounding head, made my way out of my quarters in the command staff dormitory. Nadia and Kira occupied the neighboring quarters. While I had been deep in a long conversation with the navy brass yesterday, the girls had been busy deploying the legion. They'd returned the wounded to duty, quartered the clones and militia, and organized food and rest. The ARCs and Nyx, who hadn't been part of the night's conspiracy, made sure the army's supply officers didn't get a wink of sleep until the remains of the Convincing's crew and the additional squadrons arrived aboard my Hammerhead-class cruisers.
By the time Nyx and I arrived at the headquarters, hidden in the ancient rock, a fair number of people had already gathered there. Staff officers were dashing back and forth like they'd been worked into a lather; an atmosphere of anxiety hung in the air. Familiar faces from yesterday kept appearing. However, the tense situation didn't allow for even a minute's pause to talk.
"Do we know anything?" I asked Nyx. The clone, who shared command of the legion and fleet with me, was walking quickly beside me.
"Absolutely nothing, General," he said.
Officers scurried past us, trying to formulate theories on the fly about what had happened and the reason for the urgent meeting, but they couldn't come up with anything concrete.
Entering a spacious assembly hall that had clearly seen more visitors in its day, I noticed the seats were arranged in a semicircle. In the center stood a massive holographic terminal, similar to the one I'd seen on Odessen. On the other side of the projector was a large table where Moff Bailur, intelligence chief Darill, chief of logistics and personnel Major Dialo, and Vice Admiral Var were already seated.
I spotted Pellaeon and Kreeves sitting in the front row. Behind them were about a dozen officers I didn't recognize, with rank bars ranging from lieutenant to captain. Interestingly, the officers had clustered by their respective ranks. Among the first group, I noticed my recent acquaintance, Lieutenant Rogriss. He sat apart, even from his fellow lieutenants. Seeing that the young man recognized me, I greeted him with a barely perceptible nod.
A couple of minutes after our arrival, as soon as the commander of the flagship Venator appeared in the hall, the massive armored door lowered, sealing the entrance.
Bailur nervously activated the holoprojector, which displayed a detailed map of the 13th Sector Army's area of responsibility.
"Gentlemen! All forces of the 13th Sectoral have been placed on combat alert! Confederate forces have launched an offensive across the entire galaxy. I regret to inform you that the remains of Jedi General Ares Nun's squadron have been discovered in the Fyu system. His fleet has been completely destroyed; there are no survivors. Sector Command is concerned. We do not know what weapon the enemy is using. The Jedi Order assures us they have dispatched search forces to capture and destroy this new CIS weapon. However," the Moff pursed his lips, "this is not the first search group. You know the result. Therefore, vigilance must be tripled."
He waved his hand, and a holographic map of a specific planet appeared.
"Monastery," he explained. "The orbital battle over Filve is over. The planet is under our control. This means we now fully control the space along the Corellian Trade Route from Christophsis to Pakvepor. CIS forces have retreated to Monastery, where Rear Admiral Stryklen is fighting a desperate battle."
Approving murmurs sounded in the hall. A victory, at last.
The Moff waved his hand again, and another image of a planet appeared.
"The siege of Ryloth has ended with the rout of General Ima-Gan's naval group from the 14th Sectoral. Fortunately, the General managed to save his ground forces by landing a massive assault force on the planet. All seven Acclamator-class ships were lost. The remaining five Venators are retreating to our system to regroup. They will arrive by the end of the day. Major Dialo, you need to ensure the ships are repaired as quickly as possible."
The officers began whispering, discussing the news. The losses of their neighbors were, to put it mildly, disheartening.
"And what about the General's light forces?" one of the lieutenants inquired.
"They were completely destroyed."
All eyes returned to the Moff. Ignoring the assembled officers, Bailur waved his hand again. The map of the Ryloth system switched to another.
"Command considers it unacceptable to lose General Ima-Gan's force grouping. According to available intelligence, he commands forces of approximately thirty thousand clones. Sector Command is working on an operation to restore control over Ryloth. Our forces will play a significant role in the upcoming operation."
The gathering erupted in noise.
"Quiet," Admiral Var called for order. He then turned to the Moff. "Sir, we do not have sufficient forces for such large-scale operations in space."
"I managed to get us additional forces," the Moff said proudly. "An armada of thirty ships will arrive within the day. Captain Darill, the floor is yours."
The intelligence officer rose, smoothing his mustache.
"We've been allocated ten operational groups of Dreadnought-class cruisers," a murmur of disappointment rippled through the hall. "These ships have undergone modernization and each carries two squadrons of ARC-170s. We plan to use them for the defense of strategically important worlds under our control, thereby freeing up the newest ships for the planned attack."
"General Dougan," the Moff addressed me. "Your task is becoming more difficult." The Moff pointed at the planet's hologram. "This is Ukio. An important agricultural world in our sector. It is currently controlled by significant enemy forces. Your mission is to escort the transports to the destination, after which you will strike Ukio and capture the planet."
A whisper ran through the assembled officers.
"Are your ships ready?" he said with a slight smirk.
"Yes, sir," I gave a short bow. "The remaining crew of the Convincing have filled the fleet's personnel shortages. Admiral Var arranged it, and we received the standard complement of small craft. My fleet is ready to carry out the assigned task. What are the orders regarding the ground operation?"
"At your discretion," the Moff cut me off. "But the planet must remain ours."
"Then a ground assault will be necessary," I said confidently. "I'll need equipment up to TO&E, and even beyond it."
Seeing the Moff's sour expression, I continued. "I requisitioned the remnants of the 117th Legion to replenish my losses. The wounded troopers of the 204th have also been returned to duty. So the legion is slightly over strength. But not knowing the enemy's forces, it's better to be safe."
The Moff narrowed his eyes slightly. He clearly hadn't expected such shrewdness. But he apparently refrained from dressing me down.
"Very well," he noted. "Take whatever you need. You move out in one hour. Captain Darill will provide you with the latest reconnaissance data. The convoy has been formed."
"Yes, one more thing," I added. "To capture Ukio, I'll need planetary assault capability. The Hammerheads aren't exactly suited for that."
"Your suggestions?" the Moff snorted.
"Captain Pellaeon could easily deliver my forces to Ukio," I didn't mince words.
"Out of the question," the Moff objected. "The system will be left practically defenseless."
"Ships from Ryloth will arrive by the end of the day," Var reminded him. "A single flagship can guard the system for half a day."
The Moff paused for a moment, analyzing his subordinate's words. Then he agreed.
"Furthermore, we will need to strike enemy groupings on Lainurra, Formos, Aduba-3, and relieve our garrison on Riin..."
Half an hour later, the Moff closed the meeting with a pep talk. However, as everyone left the assembly hall, each person present understood that their peaceful service had come to an end.
* * *
"You could call it a victory," Pellaeon whispered to the Jedi as they left the assembly hall.
"We'll see," Dougan replied vaguely. Distracted for a second, he sent the clone to the legion's position with an order to move to the landing pad and load onto the Equalizer. As soon as he left, the Jedi continued the conversation. "How long until we can move out?"
"I think we have a couple of hours," the captain estimated. "I've already contacted my senior officer. The cruiser will land within half an hour. We're loading materials to set up a base. It's unlikely luck will smile on us and we'll be able to send the Equalizer for construction materials."
"Dialo should help us with that," the general said convincingly.
"Here's all the information on Ukio," Darill said, handing over an info chip as he approached. "The data is just over a week old."
"Thank you, Captain," the Jedi nodded, pocketing the chip.
"Oh, the Moff has taken a dislike to you," the trio of officers stepped aside to avoid standing in the middle of the foot traffic. The intelligence officer looked worried. "Ukio isn't a simple CIS outpost; there are significant forces there. Rumor has it they're commanded by Dooku's new warlord — someone named Grievous. He's carrying out a veritable genocide on the planet."
Hearing that name, the man winced.
The intelligence officer became interested. "Do you know anything about him, General?"
"I've heard rumors," the man replied vaguely. "According to my information, he's a cyborg — the CIS saved his life, essentially making him more machine than man."
"But that hasn't made him any less dangerous," Pellaeon noted.
"I doubt Grievous himself is commanding the CIS forces on Ukio," the Jedi remarked skeptically. "According to my data, he's behind the new superweapon that wiped out Ares Nun's fleet."
"Where did you get that information?" the intelligence officer became wary.
"A reliable source," the man waved dismissively.
"And what did your source tell you?"
"A new superweapon," the Jedi lowered his voice. "It's a super-dreadnought. It carries a massive ion cannon. With a single salvo, it can disable the systems of an entire fleet."
Pellaeon whistled. Some superweapon.
"Can you vouch for the reliability of your source?" the intelligence officer was clearly interested.
The Jedi just spread his hands. "Nothing but words," he admitted. "The source reports that Grievous's target will be a medical station in orbit over Naboo. I don't claim the laurels, Captain, so if you want to make use of this information..."
"I understand you, General," the intelligence officer replied dryly. Checking his chronometer, he cited urgent business and left, melting into the crowd.
"You're still understrength on junior officers," Pellaeon reminded the man watching the intelligence officer leave. "And you don't have a flagship commander, or a fleet commander..."
"Let's solve problems one step at a time, Gilad," the man requested. "First, let's check in with logistics..."
* * *
Looking at the Nu-class assault shuttle sitting on the landing pad, Mara couldn't quite figure out how she felt. On one hand, they were finally departing for an active fleet. On the other, she had no idea where or under whose command... The major in logistics had just given them a direction without going into detail.
"These guys are clearly not ordinary," Griff remarked, pointing at a pair of clones in strange black-and-silver armor.
"Agreed," Teradoc backed his friend. "Unknown armor..."
Clones were bustling around the landing pad. The massive maw of an Acclamator was swallowing evenly marching boxes of clones, as well as an enormous amount of military equipment. Walkers, artillery, speeders... in a thin stream, three abreast in a long line, militiamen ascended the cruiser's ramp. They wore practical clothing — green tunics and loose-fitting trousers — and carried backpacks and blaster rifles. Young men and women, middle-aged people... All of them were tanned, with short hair styled like military cuts. Some wore light body armor. But every single one of them wore a patch on their right shoulder — a five-pointed emblem with a silver outline and patterns on a black background.
"Guys," Mara was struck by a thought. "I have an idea about our assignment..."
"Midshipmen," a vocoder voice sounded very close by. Startled, Mara turned towards the voice.
Standing in front of the group were the same clones who had been waiting by the shuttle.
"I'm ARC Captain Alpha," the speaker pointed to the second clone. "This is ARC Captain Balda. Welcome to the 204th Legion."
Mara felt like slapping her palm to her face, watching the four guys staring at the clones with wide, enthusiastic eyes. Oh boy. The 204th Legion — the very one that had crushed the enemy on Christophsis. Whose general had just been sitting at the same table with them... And now they were supposed to join this unit.
"You can admire it later," Alpha cut off her train of thought. "Get to the shuttle on the double, we've been waiting just for you."
* * *
Unlike the other ships in the fleet, the Wanderer had received a command compartment adjacent to the combat bridge during its modernization. Originally, there had been some kind of utility room here, which had been ruthlessly cut out and replaced with command equipment. This included a state-of-the-art tactical holoterminal, around which Nyx, the ship's new commander, and I were now gathered. Despite his youth, I had decided to bet on him, remembering his exploits from the Expanded Universe. Of course, he wasn't Thrawn, but not all of us are Nakhimov. Someone has to start with the basics.
A holographic projection of Pellaeon, whose ship was currently holding the center of our cruising formation, stood frozen beside us. The captain was finishing his report.
"We're loaded to the gills, General," the captain lamented. "I never thought we could take 200 ARCs on board..."
"War teaches us to adapt, Captain," I grinned, recalling the raid on the warehouses. Thanks to that, and my acquaintance with the head of the logistics service, the legion had equipment and spare parts exceeding the norms by more than double.
At that moment, the doors to the command compartment slid open, admitting the five midshipmen, escorted by Alpha.
"Midshipmen Teradoc, Griff, Dreis, Torsil, and Cross," the clone named the arrivals, removing his helmet.
Looking over the line of young officers, I commanded, "At ease!" then introduced those present.
"And flag-captain — Lieutenant Teren Rogriss," I introduced the new commander of the Wanderer. "You've already met him."
Smirking at the bewildered looks of the midshipmen, I continued.
"Midshipman Teradoc — report to the Pelta-class frigate following alongside the Equalizer. From now on, you are the commander of our medical ship. Come up with a name for it — the serial number isn't very becoming. Midshipman Griff," the young man snapped to attention, his heels clicking. "You are the new commander of our fleet's intelligence and counterintelligence section. Midshipmen Dreis and Torsil — take command of the flagship's squadrons. And finally, Midshipman Cross," I addressed the young woman. Noticing her eyes darting around the compartment, as if trying to memorize everything in it, I grinned. "Welcome to the position of Chief of Fleet Operations."
Mara stood there, mouth agape. An appointment to such a high post, given her rank, was more than just an advance. In other units, similar positions were held by at least seasoned career officers. Whether the ship crews returned home or not depended primarily on a properly planned operation.
"Congratulations on your appointment," the Jedi smiled. "In one hour, I expect a report from Midshipman Cross on the state of our fleet. For now, dismissed. Get to your battle stations on the double. We depart in half an hour — I advise you to get to the Pelta quickly, Midshipman Teradoc."
Watching the midshipmen dash off to execute the order, I met the gaze of Pellaeon's hologram. The compartment doors closed, leaving us in our planning environment. The captain, who was the unofficial commander of the fleet's forces, cautiously noted, "Will they manage it? They're too young."
"They have to," the Jedi snorted. "Lieutenant Rogriss vouched for each of them with his rank and reputation. You weren't given a command bridge posting at the Academy just for your pretty eyes."
"Yes, sir," the young officer nodded. Noticing beads of sweat on his face, I said instructively, "Teren, I believe you have a great future. Remember — friends are friends, but duty is duty. Don't make allowances — and in the future, your friends will only thank you for it."
"Understood, sir," the lieutenant swallowed. "I won't let you down."
"I'm sure of it, Teren," I clapped the lieutenant on the shoulder. Then, staring at the holoterminal, I said, "Since everyone's assembled, let's discuss what we're going to do with our convoys."
* * *
Our destination was the world of Nar Kaaga — a border planet in Hutt Space, where our convoy, a dozen massive freighters, was supposed to be handed over to the protection of Hutt mercenaries.
However, instead of a cold, swampy world, the fleet's view screens showed a blue ball called Rishi, its tropical continents submerged in pristine oceans. The first and only stop on this journey.
Traveling through hyperspace is a complex science. Moving along well-trodden hyperspace routes, one could get from one end of the galaxy to the other in record time. But flying along poorly charted routes required significant preparation. And good navigators, incidentally.
Smugglers had long since charted hundreds of new routes across the galaxy, using them to deliver goods while bypassing official authorities. To save time, or to avoid catching the eye of patrols. Or pirates.
Twenty Hammerhead-class cruisers moved in a huge "cocoon" formation in the Rishi system, where a battle for the tracking station on Rishi's moon had taken place not too long ago. That battle became a prelude to the battle of Kamino.
Holding in the center of their formation ten ancient YT-970-series transports — rectangular container ships whose holds could easily carry a couple of corps' worth of equipment, as well as our Equalizer and Teradoc's frigate following it — the fleet dropped out of hyperspace, bristling with weapons and launching one screening squadron from each vessel.
Surveying the formation, I noted that the ships in the center had formed an arrow. First the Equalizer, then the freighters behind it. And bringing up the rear was Teradoc's medical frigate. The latter hadn't managed to come up with a name for his ship, so, with my light touch, the Pelta had been christened the Abode of Quacks. Fortunately, none of my real-world compatriots were around to contradict my assertion that "quacks" were noble sanitarians of society on my home planet, men who honored their duty and placed the health of the sick above all else. I think Russians, hearing that, would have appreciated my sarcasm.
At the moment our jump ended, Mara Cross and I were in the command compartment. The girl, still flustered by her appointment, was chattering something to me about the estimated time to plot the next jump — this time straight to the Hutt planet. I, however, was mentally with the crew of a completely different ship.
The door panel admitted the Wanderer's captain.
"Jump complete, sir," Teren reported. "The entire fleet is in position; no stragglers."
"Excellent, Lieutenant," I smiled. The tactical holographic projector showed our cruising formation, which ensured our objectives couldn't escape the trap they had sailed into.
"Rogriss," I addressed the young man. "You know the plan. Now it's your decision — you can stay with us to the end, and it could cost you your career and your life. Or you can act according to your conscience, as an officer should. These are times when honor is no longer a marketable commodity."
"Not for me, sir," the young captain shook his head. Checking the reports on the captain's deck, he said, "Everything is ready, General."
"Sir?" Mara said, bewildered. I hadn't briefed the girl or any of the other young officers on what was happening. The details of Operation Kick the Hutt were known only to my loyal people — the legion command, Pellaeon, and my fleet's direct subordinates. For everyone else, what was happening was a test of loyalty. Anyone who didn't pass it would get to find out just how cold the vacuum is. The campaign against the Moff was perfect for weeding out the unreliable elements.
"Sound general quarters throughout the ship and the fleet," I ordered. At that very second, buzzers howled through the air. The lieutenant was as efficient as ever. "And arrange for inspection parties to be dispatched."
Ignoring the bewildered girl, I opened a communication channel.
"Attention, all ships. This is General Dougan. I have received information that the cargo we are escorting is contraband intended for the Hutts. I order all ships to target the transports."
"Captain, connect me with the transports," I ordered. A confused Rogriss relayed the command.
"Attention, trade convoy," I announced. "Shut down your engines and prepare to receive inspection parties."
* * *
A plan is good until you start implementing it.
Naturally, after my announcement, the transports tried to flee. Scattering in all directions, they attempted to break through the formation of Hammerheads. Firing turbolasers across the noses of the merchants didn't smarten them up.
Gritting my teeth, I ordered the fighters to shoot out the engines of the fleeing ships.
The ARC-170s swooped down on the unwieldy traders like a flock of kites, blasting chunks out of their main drives.
A few minutes later, it was all over. Belching streams of radiation into space, the helpless freighters froze in place, filling the ether with chaotic cursing. Detaching one ship to each transport, I ordered an assault shuttle to be brought up.
"Jam their signals, Teren," I ordered. "No one must know what's happening here."
For the inspection, I chose the convoy's flagship — the one that had been traveling right behind the Equalizer. Pellaeon, contacting me, also joined the inspection party. Dozens of Nu-class shuttles sped toward their prey to check the holds under the threat of weapons.
I'll admit, I hadn't considered that I might be making a fool of myself with this attack. I had little firm basis for believing this convoy was another paid voyage. But there was no other opportunity. My suspicions about illegal cargo were only confirmed by the traders' attempts to flee.
Flying into a small hangar bay, our shuttle took a spot next to an identical one from the Acclamator. Squads of clones poured out of our ship's hold, tasked with conducting the inspection under the leadership of Alpha, Balda, and Nyx.
"General," Pellaeon, who had met me, nodded toward the pair of men waiting for us. "The Moff's friends want a word with you."
"Yeah, I noticed," the pair, spotting me, walked quickly toward us.
"Jedi!" one of them greeted me with a deep growl. "I protest against this act of piracy! We are honest traders; you are supposed to protect us, not rob us!"
"Show me the person who robbed you," I asked impassively. Seeing the confusion on both their faces, I nodded toward Pellaeon. "Provide the captain with the customs declaration and cargo manifest."
"This is outrageous!" the second one stammered.
"Outrageous is smuggling contraband using fleet protection," I cut him off. "You have five minutes to provide us with the documents. After that, we'll take your ships apart bolt by bolt."
* * *
The results weren't long in coming. I don't know about anyone else, but the crew — three Devaronians, two Rodians, a Trandoshan, and a Nikto — was a gang in and of itself. I would have spaced them just for their faces. But I had to make do.
According to the documents, the transport held a cargo of construction droids, fresh frozen meat products, some grain, and an entire hold full of scrap metal.
"And what do you need all this stuff for?" I nodded toward one of the holds, filled with numerous mangled metal structures. Construction beams, trusses, some other junk.
"We'll sell it for a good price in Hutt Space," one of the men declared. The leader, apparently.
"Right," Pellaeon chuckled into his mustache. "The Hutts are famous connoisseurs of metals."
The man preferred to ignore the remark. As the convoy leader, he accompanied us all over the ship while the inspection was conducted. On the other vessels, their own captains handled it. Everywhere, the same picture.
The ships were large ovals. In the upper and lower parts were small holds, totaling half the volume of the main one, with standard bay doors. In the middle of the hull, on the left side, was the main cargo hold, which had a ramp for unloading. In the forward part of the ship was the single landing bay. And in the right part of the ship were all sorts of mechanisms, systems, etc., transitioning into the stern engines.
Construction equipment in the main hold, and food and scrap metal in the two upper ones. The same on every ship. My gut feeling was screaming that they were trying to pull the wool over my eyes. I mean, really, why load ten ships with identical cargo using identical cargo manifests? The source of all the cargo was the little planet Doom-Bradden in the Outer Rim — the area of responsibility of the 14th Sectoral. Something was bothering me. It just didn't add up! What was the point of such a strange layout on each ship?
Even more questions were raised by the residual traces of radiation in the reactor zones of the ships — given the latest-generation ship reactors installed. The ship captains explained that purchasing such units was a far more profitable investment — the vessels were no longer in their prime, and the reactors the design had originally called for had long since given out. So they'd replaced them with new ones. All ten. On all ten freighters. As for the residual radiation — that was left over from the old reactors. Considering that traders across the galaxy tried to minimize their losses and transportation costs by running their ships until the hull plating practically fell off, such enormous expenditure seemed sheer idiocy. Which only reinforced the suspicions.
Having considerable service experience, Pellaeon just smirked when he heard that. As soon as the technicians arrived with scanning equipment, the deception was exposed.
Few officials wanted to receive a radiation dose while poking around in a reactor's active zone during an inspection. And why would they? What dangerous could you hide in a reactor zone that was also radiating? So the trick had always worked.
As it turned out, it was simpler than simple. In two of the ten hulls — the first and the last — the declared devices were indeed present. And much more powerful ones than had been declared, at that. Small traps with radioactive elements on each reactor housing created a field that blinded any scanner — and kept those who weren't supposed to be seen by customs officers or random passengers sitting tight.
Slaves. Eight reactor housings (each the size of a two-story building) held nearly a thousand "contracted" workers. Mostly Twi'leks from Ryloth. A few half-blood Arconians. About a dozen young Wookiees. Each one wore an electro-collar ready to snuff out their life at any second or make them writhe in pain.
"Damn it," was all I could say, watching as the clones, after disabling the traps and neutralizing the radiation, led the exhausted beings out of their prison. They were escorted to shuttles and then delivered to the fleet's ships. There they'd be fed, given water, and treated. Clothed, finally. Seeing the rags these beings were dressed in, a lump rose in my throat.
"Nyx got the information out of them," Alpha said, walking up to me and holding out a data chip. "Their confession is recorded here."
"And in general terms?" Pellaeon inquired. The clone, seeing how close the slaves were passing to us, quickly led us aside.
"Their buyer is Graksol Kelvyn, a slaver from Ryloth," he explained. "While the Republic and CIS are fighting, his thugs capture entire families and sell them to the Hutts. There are even Ryloth militiamen here. This shipment — the biggest one. Most of the proceeds were supposed to go into the CIS command's pockets to fund more caravans."
"Monsters," I concluded.
"They'll be tried," Gilad shrugged.
"Don't rush," Alpha shook his head. "If you think slaves were the only cargo — you're wrong."
"What else were they carrying?" the captain asked in surprise.
"In the piles of scrap metal — caches of ryll and Republic infantry weapons," he added. "Anything lost on the battlefield and still functional — all of it's there."
"Clever," Pellaeon snorted. "No scanner would spot weapons in a pile of metal that size."
"What do we do, General?" Alpha asked.
"Lock them all up in the brig and hand them over to the authorities," Pellaeon suggested the most sensible option.
"Or we just execute them all," I offered. Pellaeon's eyes nearly popped out as he stared at me in surprise. Cursing under my breath, I quickly corrected myself: "Document everything properly, Captain. We'll have to put these bastards on trial."
"Life sentences for slave trading and narcotics," Gilad noted.
"If they're convicted," I grimaced. "Remember that story about the slave-trading senators? They couldn't even be tried — they'd covered up the slave trade for years, and when they were caught, they were put under house arrest. From which they escaped without a hitch. And now they're in the enemy camp."
"But…" Gilad tried to object. "We're a civilized state…"
"Humanity is a good thing," I agreed. "But it's one thing to keep a petty thief in prison, or exile murderers to the mines. It's another to feed these bastards for the rest of their days. In my book — put them all in an airlock and open the outer hatch."
"Unconventional for a Jedi," Gilad remarked. "You're the proponents and guardians of democracy, with all its trappings."
"Others might be," I nodded. "But I have serious disagreements with them."
* * *
Yukio greeted us… unfriendly.
Twenty-four Lucrehulks and Munificents. Quite a reception committee.
"Fleet to battle stations," I ordered. "Launch the fighters."
"Wings are airborne," Teren reported. The captain stood beside me, peering through the bridge viewport of the Wanderer at the swarm of approaching fighters. "Contact in thirteen minutes."
The alarm buzzers in the room went silent, and now the quiet hum of working equipment and the low chatter of operators could be enjoyed.
"Scared, Lieutenant?" I caught the waves of anxiety coming from Rogriss.
"Yes, sir," he nodded. "This is my first space battle."
"Mine too, Lieutenant," I smirked. Clapping the ship's commander on the shoulder, I said, "Don't worry, we'll make it through."
* * *
We met the oncoming avalanche of enemy small craft with concentrated artillery fire. Unlike CIS ships, the Hammerheads and the Equalizer could concentrate fire in the forward hemisphere.
"Two light-minutes to the enemy," an operator reported.
"Multiple explosions among enemy small craft," another echoed.
"Our fighters are to focus on defense," I ordered.
The enemy had arranged their ships in three lines in three-dimensional space. Each line rose above the previous one. The first — the "base" ten Munificents; the second — the "layer" four similar frigates, flanking the Lucrehulk in pairs; the third — an exact copy of the first.
This tactic allowed the Seps to launch massive waves of small craft and fire from heavy turbolasers.
I positioned my ships according to the canons of the Eternal Fleet. Overlapping each other's shields, the ships poured devastating fire into the enemy fighters. Though with mixed results. Met by massive salvos of turbolasers and concussion missiles, the enemy's small craft, after taking significant losses, shifted to a more maneuverable fighting style. The droid fighters, trying to break through to our ships, didn't care about casualties.
The Wanderer shuddered as several anti-ship missiles slammed into its side.
"Breach on the lower deck," came from the operators. "Workshops and the tech crew's quarters damaged. Blast doors are sealed, damage contained."
"Sir, will we hold out?" Teren asked worriedly. "The Praetorian reports engine damage. We won't last on just the Aureks and—"
"And here they are," I smirked, pointing at the multiple contacts that had appeared behind the CIS armada. "Push the engines to full and move toward the enemy. We need to support our ARCs."
The ARC-170 — an aggressive reconnaissance fighter — was a joint development by Incom Corporation and Subpro. ARCs have a narrow fuselage with two large engines on the sides, equipped with unfolding panels needed for heat dissipation and shield generation. This same trick also gives the fighter extra stability during atmospheric flight.
Unlike other fighters of the time, which were built small, fast, and maneuverable at the cost of heavy armament, shields, and hyperdrives, the ARC-170 was large, reliable, and capable of long independent operations. And, as the cherry on top — these ships had a launcher with six proton torpedoes.
Mass swarms of small craft — that was standard CIS tactics. So the counter-tactics were designed accordingly.
We had twenty mixed squadrons of Aureks and Claws, and thirteen squadrons of unmodified V-19 Torrent fighters. About four hundred fighters in total. This mobile air wing was supposed to hold back the onslaught of the enormous armada.
While two hundred ARC-170s made a hyperspace jump to the rear of the CIS ships, which had been foolishly left without adequate small craft cover.
Had you ever seen a mass salvo of proton torpedoes? An indescribable sight. Especially when the crimson-orange tails of the torpedoes were followed by spectacular explosions of CIS ships.
With the first salvo, the CIS fleet lost every single frigate from the first and third lines. The mass extermination of the frigates had a sobering effect on the CIS command.
Cut off from their small craft by a good ten minutes of flight time, the CIS forces attempted a desperate resistance against the second ARC raid. I don't know what drove the enemy, but the final brilliant thought — to run — visited the commander only just before the last remaining frigate exploded.
Blazing with fires, filling the void with clouds of smoke, the Lucrehulk jumped to lightspeed.
The battle for Yukio had begun.
* * *
Sev'rance Tann lightly, almost carelessly, stepped aside, letting the body of the Jedi she had slain fall to the ground like a sack. The body, in which the Force still flickered, received a kick from an elegant boot, tumbling down the steps of an ancient structure.
Another one.
The girl closed her eyes, letting the Dark Side flow through her. Her passions, her rage, churned inside her body, sharpening her senses.
"Don't hide, Jedi," she said with a smirk, addressing the second Force adept.
He stepped out from behind the colonnade. A very young boy — about fifteen, no more. A Padawan. An apprentice.
The Chiss looked him over appraisingly. Curious. So young, yet already powerful in the Force. What a pity he was doomed.
The human gripped a blade of cold blue light in his hands. A mask of rage was fixed on his face.
With the elegance instilled by Count Dooku's training, the girl assumed a combat stance.
With a roar, like a wounded animal, the Padawan charged at her, pouring all his anger, fury, and pain over his slain master into his strikes.
The girl smiled almost imperceptibly. How simple it all was.
A couple of minutes later, she left his dead body behind her as well…
* * *
Two days. Any well-versed being will tell you how many hours, minutes, seconds that is. Though it's useless information at the moment.
For me, this time felt like sheer hell. It took me exactly two days to enter the Yukio system and bring it under control.
First, a bit of statistics. Yukio — a well-known agricultural planet located in the eponymous star system in the Abrion sector of the Outer Rim. It lay on the Mandian Trade Route, connecting the planet to Mando, Rishi, and Molavar. I have to admit — the planet was quite… earthly.
Terrestrial type, with light winds, calm weather, and a mild climate. A temperate climate across the entire surface, which barely changed through the year due to the slight axial tilt. Three massive continents were crisscrossed by hundreds of small rivers, providing the enormous pastures and arable land with a natural irrigation system that remained almost constant through the seasons. The planet had low gravity.
Closer to the Republic's victory over the Brotherhood of Darkness, Yukio joined the Galactic Republic. The former Sith resource world became a major exporter to the Core Worlds. Two years before the Clone Wars, Yukio seceded from the Republic. The local leader, bearing the title of Supreme Suzerain, was unhappy with the Republic's predatory export duties. Understandable — few people like it when an honest business is legally robbed.
And the planet found refuge in the CIS.
According to intelligence reports, however, Grand Master Yoda had managed to persuade the rulers and secure the return of the valuable resource partner to the Republic's fold.
But the CIS fleet, arriving before the Republic, had brought the planet back under its control.
On top of that, Thrawn had once captured the planet, turning it into his own resource feeder. And he did it masterfully — the locals didn't even realize they'd been duped. Ugh… if only I had an admiral like that…
Fortunately for me, Yukio hadn't yet acquired planetary shields. So a landing operation wasn't long in coming.
The CIS had approached the occupation quite responsibly.
The planet had a massive Sep base — a specially constructed structure with a landing pad, a complex of buildings, fenced off by permacrete walls and fixed defensive emplacements. By modest estimates, the base area covered about five square kilometers. A stationary shield protected the base from orbital or atmospheric bombardment. In front of the main gate was a permacrete plateau — an equipped landing pad that we used in the early stages of the operation.
"The tin cans prepped well," Nyx remarked, peering at the massive base structures bristling with dozens of gun barrels.
The planetary landing went like clockwork.
Despite the total annihilation of the enemy in orbit and the seizure of orbital control, the first wave of troops landed via gunships under fighter cover. The cargo variants of the LAAT dropped a dozen AT-TEs for infantry fire support.
We took the enemy by surprise, as they say. The first wave was dropped practically in full view of the garrison. The tin cans didn't respond, passively watching. But as soon as the Equalizer's red-hot underbelly appeared in the upper atmosphere, the droid command snapped to action.
Several dozen Vultures shot toward the cruiser, only to be almost immediately destroyed by the ARCs and V-wings. This time, the advantage in small craft was on our side. The brief atmospheric battle proved to us that the enemy lacked heavy planetary defense guns like the J-1 we'd encountered on Christophsis. This made our job much easier.
Still, the base could cause us trouble with forty medium turbolasers and a hundred small emplacements that studded the perimeter walls. And that was counting the hundreds of units of equipment our scouts had spotted during reconnaissance.
Nevertheless, the Equalizer landed carefully, its landing struts touching down on the landing pad. The cruiser's bow, pointed toward the base like a giant arrowhead, lowered its ramp, from which boxes of clones marched out in even rows. As if on parade, the black-and-silver-armored troopers of the 204th and the soldiers of the 117th Legion, gleaming in snow-white armor, marched down the center of the ramp with blaster rifles at the ready, leaving the ship's hold. A thin stream of militia descended along the edge of the ramp.
Our little act of piracy had allowed us to standardize the armament of the main and auxiliary forces. The days of using the inconvenient CIS carbines were behind us.
"Sir," Nyx nodded toward the snow-white ranks of the expropriated soldiers from the 117th Legion. "Why didn't we make them repaint their armor? Even the wounded from the 204th repainted theirs."
"First — these aren't our units; who knows, they might be taken away after this mission," I said. "And second — it would be an insult to those who went through the meat grinder on Christophsis."
"But I wasn't there either," the officer noted, flaunting the black color of his armor.
"You're different. You're second-in-command of the legion, after me. It wouldn't be right for you to stand apart from the unit."
"Consider it an advance," Balda, standing nearby, simplified. "If you don't live up to the trust — we'll wash it off."
"Something like that," I chuckled.
Nyx, running his hand over his bare scalp, smiled and put his helmet back on. Time to pay off the debts.
* * *
The objective — keeping the CIS base intact — wasn't a priority for me.
So, watching a hundred fighters make their third bombing run of the evening on the enemy base, raining concussion missiles and proton torpedoes down on the Sep positions, I was completely indifferent to the consequences.
Kinetic weapons freely penetrated the shield, turning the space inside the protective field into plumes of debris and explosions. Little could have survived such chaos, and it didn't matter anyway. Time after time, the fighters made their runs, leveling the base to the ground. Only after the shimmering shield vanished — meaning its generator had ceased to exist — did I move my troops forward.
Taking a position on the roof of one of the AT-TE walkers, I watched from a height of several meters as the tanks, stretched out in a line, with infantry marching in the same formation between them, advanced toward the enemy.
At my command, scouts on speeders shot ahead of the formation, the first to rush into the smoking ruins of the base. Marching across the perfectly level plateau, my troops quickly closed in on our mission's objective. Once in direct engagement range, the clones shortened the distance with a quick march and burst onto the enemy's territory.
Moving among the burning and smoking wreckage, the soldiers spent an hour sweeping the ruins, finishing off the few surviving droids. Then, as soon as the facility was under our control, the banner of the 204th Legion fluttered above the surviving part of the headquarters building in place of the CIS flag.
* * *
The High Council of the Jedi Order had seen better days.
War was not doing the Jedi any favors. In six months of war, nearly a thousand Knights, Masters, and Padawans had found peace in the Force. Yoda felt their passing more and more keenly. The recent CIS counteroffensive had brought another dozen funeral processions to the Temple.
Council members were almost always absent, carrying out various missions across the galaxy. Right now, besides Yoda, only Adi Gallia was in the Temple's tactical room. Together, they listened to yet another report from a Jedi. To put it mildly, a hysterical report.
Yoda sighed.
"Reinforcements we will send as soon as a chance appears," he promised. With a light motion, the Grand Master turned off the comm system.
"We don't have the resources, Master," the woman reminded him. "Neither men, nor ships, nor…"
"Remember this I do," the Grand Master grumbled angrily.
The logistics problem in the GAR had appeared only recently — as soon as the second generation of clones entered combat, the sector command had proven unable to supply the troops with everything they needed. Jedi in the field were requesting support, reinforcements, provisions, medical supplies. Everything was in short supply. The moment something appeared in the warehouses, other commanders would snatch it up, almost fighting for it.
The CIS had no such problem. Their mechanical soldiers didn't sleep, didn't eat, and knew neither fatigue nor hunger.
And, as if that weren't enough, the Senate was stalling further purchases of clones, ships, and equipment. Endless sessions where senators haggled over every credit were disheartening. In Mace's absence — he represented the Jedi in the Senate — Yoda did it himself.
The so-called Loyalist Committee, which included the Alderaanian pacifist Bail Organa and the former Queen of Naboo, Padmé Amidala, was using the uncertainty of the majority of senators to create every conceivable and inconceivable obstacle to continuing the war. As if they didn't understand that the outcome of battles on the ground would determine whether CIS droids would march on the streets of Coruscant, the senators started yet another round of verbal sparring.
And now, yet another Jedi General was on the line, once again asking for ships and troops. He hadn't managed to break through the droid defenses on a remote world. Having lost nearly all his ships and attached forces, he'd returned to the sector army headquarters and was arrogantly demanding that he be given forces for a rematch.
Losses were too great. The Jedi had commanded armies for far too long. Almost a thousand years had passed since then. And now they had to learn the science of war on the fly. Of course, there were individuals born for war, it seemed. Like A'Sharad Hett, Anakin Skywalker. But that was just a drop in the ocean.
The only thing that consoled Yoda was that such military specialists across the entire galaxy could be counted on one hand.
The projector flickered, and a new Jedi appeared before the Grand Master's face. The one who had caused quite a stir in the Council, the Senate, and indeed throughout the galaxy. Rick Dougan.
"Grand Master Yoda," the man bowed. "Master Gallia. Yukio is again under our control. The enemy squadron has been destroyed — only the flagship managed to escape. The ground forces have also been dispersed — the Separatist base is almost completely destroyed. We have begun constructing our own fortifications and sent envoys to the planet's government."
"Praiseworthy this is, Knight Dougan," Yoda acknowledged. Seeing that the Jedi wanted to say something else, he asked a direct question.
"I and a group of officers from the 13th Sector Army have uncovered evidence of smuggling and slave trading covered up by Moff Bailur."
"That's a serious accusation," Adi Gallia warned. "Do you have proof?"
"Absolutely," the man smirked, leaning down to insert a chip into his holo-terminal. "Here is all the information we've gathered — testimony from former slaves, ship crews, and their leadership. For now, they're all with us, because I simply have nowhere to put them — the transport ships are disabled. We'll try to tow them into orbit. No sense in letting the cargo in their holds go to waste, right?"
Yoda, quickly scanning the lines of text, grew stern. A Moff covering up the slave trade. Using the fleet to guard trade convoys. An outrageous fact. One that could prove immensely dangerous if made public.
"Substantial your evidence is," Yoda admitted. "Inform the Chancellor of this we will, and take measures to arrest Moff Bailur. For now — remain on Yukio."
"Secure the planet and organize a defense," Adi added. "We cannot afford to lose it again."
"As you command, Masters," the Jedi bowed and added, "My fleet needs reinforcement in small craft and light ships. Besides twenty Hammerheads, one Acclamator, and one medical Pelta, I have no other ships. We're virtually defenseless against enemy fighters — the battle for Yukio showed the inadequacy of the Hammerheads' small air wing. Though I do have some thoughts on ensuring the security of the planet and the entire region."
The council members exchanged silent glances.
"We're listening, General," Gallia said again, deciding to take part of the conversation. This Knight… A reasonably successful commander, but what was happening around him was, to say the least, alarming.
"We are very close to Kamino and Rothana," at the mention of the planet's name, Yoda narrowed his eyes. Rothana — the biggest secret of Kuat Drive Yards, where weapons, equipment, and ships for the Grand Army of the Republic were forged in secrecy from everyone. The Separatists exhausted themselves searching for this planet but never got even a hint of its location. And only Council members and a handful of people in the government and army knew of the planet's existence. "I would propose organizing a large military base on Yukio or Rishi, which in the event of another attack on Kamino and Rothana could provide support or absorb part of the strike. Besides, this would bring stability to the sector and help us control Yukio against future attempts to return the planet to CIS control. Additionally, we could supply the nearest armies with food from here — this would reduce the burden on supply convoys from the Core Worlds, replacing them with shipments of weapons, equipment, and gear."
Adi Gallia glanced at the Grand Master. The thoughts expressed by this Knight sounded logical, well-reasoned. Dougan was showing concern not only for his own unit, but also for the 13th Sector Army and nearby armies. Behavior worthy of a Jedi, yet so rarely encountered even among Masters, let alone Knights.
"Your plan is approved, Knight Dougan," the Grand Master nodded. "Prepare the necessary documents — help you with men and equipment, we will try."
"Already done, Master," the man smiled, sending another file to the Temple. Yoda looked at the female Master with a smile.
"Permission to act you have," Yoda countersigned the Jedi's document and sent it back. "May the Force be with you."
"And with you, Masters," the Knight bowed once more and terminated the call.
"And what was that just now?" Master Gallia voiced her thoughts. "Did he know in advance that we would agree?"
"Ruled out it cannot be," Yoda admitted. "Watch him closely we must."
The Grand Master inserted a data chip into the slot, copying the Jedi's investigation report onto it.
"Show this to the Chancellor we must," he explained. "The decision to remove the Moff falls to him."
* * *
Well then, I had carte blanche. I pulled myself away from the holo-terminal.
Standing behind me, Pellaeon, Nyx, Balda, and Cross silently waited for my comments. Alpha and a squad of clones were paying a visit to the planet's ruler.
"It went better than expected," I said. "The Council backed us. Now it's up to the Chancellor."
"Interesting," Gilad murmured. "Who will be the new Moff?"
"Does it matter?" I shrugged. "He's unlikely to be as much of an idiot as Bailur. And the Council will be watching our army closely now. Speaking of which — shouldn't we use the remnants of the CIS base to build our own?"
"First we need to bring the freighters here," Gilad reminded me. "Without construction equipment, we won't be able to do much."
"Agreed," I nodded. "Can the Equalizer handle the towing?"
"A couple of transports at a time," the captain confirmed.
"Well," I smiled. Making a gesture to Cross, I waited until she loaded the plans for our new base on the terminal. The three-dimensional image drew the attention of those present. "Let's take a look at our future home."