Grand Admiral

The flap of the tent, which on Ghost Island served as a substitute for prefabricated residential and work modules, was flung open with such force that it created a distinct gust of wind.

Shteben looked up from studying the schematic of a dismantled projector, casting a questioning glance at the newcomer.

The facial expressions of a Mere were difficult to decipher and understand. Despite the time the operative had spent among the fighters of the Mere Resistance, he had not fully mastered the ability to read them.

But the irritation on Sol Sixxa's face was so evident that no deep knowledge of xenophysiognomy was required.

— Have you finished? — His voice was sharp, his tone demanding, his movements jerky.

— You could say that, — the Dominion operative nodded, cracking his neck. — The saltwater has thoroughly damaged the circuits, contacts, and connections. The projector will burn out upon activation.

— Take everything with you, — Sixxa ordered.

— Are we leaving? — Shteben allowed genuine surprise to seep into his voice.

— Yes, — an angry gurgle erupted from the amphibian's throat. — Dominion patrol ships are approaching.

— What in the name of a Hutt? — Shteben maintained his role. — You said this place was safe!

— It was! — Sixxa declared.

Something had clearly happened.

And Shteben had a good guess as to what.

— Our scouts saw LAAT/i gunships circling near the Ghost Strait, but they found nothing. Now, they're clearly surrounding us. The outer observation posts report that the farthest ones have already been attacked by Dominion forces.

— Bantha poodoo, — Shteben began packing his tools into his workbag. — I'll need help to take all this with me. Do we have a fallback position?

— Yes, — Sixxa said after a moment's thought. — An old Trade Federation mine in Mount Merakan. There's an underwater branch leading to a cave. We'll hold out there—food and weapon supplies are available.

— Then send some Mere to help me carry the projector, — Shteben stepped out from behind the worktable, pointing the hydraulic wrench in his hand at the disassembled device. — You know they don't listen to me.

— They don't listen to anyone but me, — Sol said proudly, turning his back to the operative.

Shteben let out a heavy sigh.

How crude… Clumsy and foolish.

But it was time to end this—he was tired of eating half-raw fish, the only food the Mere Resistance fighters had in stock.

Revolutionaries with peeling scales.

The hydraulic wrench traced an arc and…

The agile Mere was no longer there.

— Now I know who tipped them off, — Sixxa hissed, assuming a combat stance. Vibroblades appeared in his hands. — Foolish Imperial. I set up one final test for you! Your allies are far from our island and will never find it! Take him!

Two lanky, agile Mere, waiting for the command outside, rushed into the entrance.

Sol himself lunged at the exposed traitor, aiming to plunge a blade into the operative's stomach.

Shteben swayed slightly back and to the side, dodging a punch from one of the charging Mere while simultaneously kicking out, dislodging the heel containing a hidden transmitter, cutting off the encrypted signal.

And those working with the captain should react accordingly. Because Sol was mistaken about one thing.

The hydraulic wrench, however, did exactly what it was meant for in a human hand.

It struck the throat of the first Mere, whom Shteben had positioned as a shield. Sol's vibroblade sank into his kin's body.

Pushing the dying Mere toward the pirate leader, Shteben grabbed the arm of the second fighter, threw him over his shoulder, and delivered a finishing blow, snapping his opponent's neck.

Sixxa, emerging from under his kin's body, tried to slash Shteben diagonally. Waiting for the blade to pass, the human kicked the Mere in the chest, sending him flying backward.

The vibroblade slipped from the Mere's hand, and he launched into a new attack unarmed.

Captain Shteben leaped, spinning to deliver a roundhouse kick to the opponent's head.

Like a felled tree, the legendary "Ghost" collapsed to the ground and did not rise.

The operative approached the defeated enemy, leaned down, and confirmed the Mere was still breathing.

Satisfied that the Mere was alive, the Dominion operative looked disapprovingly at the stocky, gray-skinned alien standing under the tent's flap.

— Mushkil! — he said reproachfully to the Noghri. — What took you so long?

— My apologies, Captain Shteben, — the Noghri flashed a menacing smile. — We were occupied.

— And I was just lounging around, was I? — the human grumbled, gesturing at the three defeated foes. — I took down three thugs here…

— You are a great warrior, Captain Shteben, — the Noghri bowed. — But we had forty-three opponents. And only four Death Commandos.

— Bet you took them all out? — Shteben teased, binding the sole living prisoner.

— You wound me, Captain Shteben, — Mushkil chuckled heartily. — All captured alive.

The operative glanced again at the two dead Mere and the unconscious one, then spat on the ground.

— Boasting isn't nice, Mushkil, — he said without malice.

— Then don't boast, Captain Shteben, — the Noghri laughed softly.

— To Hutt with it all, — the operative sighed. — I'm switching to counterintelligence. I'm done with combat Jawas lecturing me.

The response was four quiet, mewling chuckles.

So, the whole squad was here.

Well, good job, what else was there to say…

***

Alex vented his frustration as a third green beam of coherent fire flashed past the Scimitar, vaporizing yet another heavy cruiser—this time, one shielding the Void Wanderer.

— What kind of mini Death Star is this? — he fumed, watching the six-hundred-meter ship disintegrate. — And why the Hutt is it breaking apart?

Tomax, banking the bomber onto its left wing, pulled the craft out of the path of concentrated fire from their own fleet, which was pummeling the enemy's flagship starship.

— Camouflage, — Tomax said through gritted teeth, activating the PLAE.

Two seconds later, the Yatagan appeared a few units from the enemy starship.

— Since when did the Empire build destroyers like that? — Alex asked. — Torpedoes ready!

— It's the Twilight project, — Tomax explained. — A side project of the Death Star. A year after the Clone Wars ended, on Vader's orders, they built a Star Destroyer equipped with a superlaser. A hybrid of a Venator, Victory, and Imperial-class. Small crew, but enough power to annihilate a small asteroid in one ship.

— And how do you know about this?

The Scimitar spiraled, evading fire from Vulture-class droid fighters that appeared out of nowhere. Tomax pulled the trigger, blasting a couple of particularly persistent enemies into pieces.

The targeting computer locked onto the target—the bow of the enemy destroyer.

A Star Destroyer with an axial turbolaser.

— At the Academy, only the lazy don't talk about it, about the Conqueror, which was destroyed in the Mustafar system, and other superweapon projects, — enemy shots rattled against the deflector. — Torpedoes away.

Tomax pulled the control yoke, sending the Scimitar "upward," simultaneously activating the PLAE.

Just for a second, but enough to escape the blast radius.

Thirty-six proton torpedoes, guided by the targeting computer's data, streaked toward their target. Several were intercepted by droid fighters, which the enemy used in place of standard starfighter wings on their destroyers.

But over twenty torpedoes found their mark.

Crimson beams of kinetic projectiles tore into the hull of the nameless Star Destroyer, vaporizing a massive portion of the ship.

Losing its bow, the destroyer—by now resembling an illegitimate offspring of a Victory and a Venator, inheriting the former's side pylons and the latter's tail extension—had not yet finished suffering.

A chain of internal explosions rippled from the forward section to the stern, blasting away chunks of hull and upper decks.

The detonation of power sources is always terrifying—especially for starships equipped with a solar ionization reactor.

The Twilight project starship had such equipment.

And it was the reactor that put an end to the superweapon's existence.

A blinding flash instantly vaporized the ship, sending a shockwave and debris crashing into nearby Star Destroyers.

The enemy fleet's ships, having survived the TIE bomber assault, were riddled with massive breaches.

Punctured decks and clouds of debris became their constant companions.

But these were barely noticeable in the ocean of green fire exchanged between the Dominion's Star Destroyers and those of the Imperial warlord.

— Back to the Chimaera, — Tomax announced, steering the ship toward the flagship.

— If we survive, I'll paint this destroyer's silhouette on the fuselage, — Alex declared resolutely. — By the way, what's it called? Twilight?

— Twilight is the operation's name, — Tomax clarified. — The destroyer's name is unknown.

— Let it die nameless, then, — Alex said venomously. — Took out three destroyers! Destroyed three cruisers! Good thing we finished that bastard off!

***

With a sigh of relief, Captain Pellaeon glanced at Grand Admiral Thrawn, sitting impassively in his command chair.

— The enemy flagship is destroyed, — the Star Destroyer's commander said, unable to hide his joy.

— The triumph is premature, Captain, — Thrawn remarked, his eyes fixed on the sight of the Dominion fleet's six Star Destroyers' fighter wings disarming the enemy ships. — We have not yet won.

Five Star Destroyers from X1's fleet, fending off attacking interceptors and bombers, began maneuvering, rapidly closing with the Dominion's forces.

Or rather, what remained of them.

Grand Admiral Thrawn had brought six Star Destroyers to the Mustafar system, two of which had already lost their superstructures and were barely combat-ready. A rare case where the superstructure—and with it, much of the ship's officer corps—was destroyed.

Judging by the fact that Death's Head and Bellicose, positioned on the flanks of Thrawn's destroyer formation, had ceased aimless drifting and erratic firing, command and control had been restored. Another point in favor of Thrawn's foresight, having ordered senior officers to remain at auxiliary command posts.

A few minutes of uncontrolled drifting, and both destroyers had sustained significant hull damage.

Without shield generators or scanners, relying solely on the SEAL system, they wouldn't last long.

— Reports confirm the deaths of Aban and Harbid, — Pellaeon said, reviewing the damage reports from the affected destroyers.

It was obvious, but… there's always hope that colleagues might survive. Not this time, though. Even with clones and a stockpile of genetic material or matrix imprints, it wasn't quite the same as dealing with the originals.

— Move Death's Head and Bellicose to the rear of the forward detachment, — Thrawn ordered. — Use them for support and rotation. Corvettes are to provide cover.

As the watch officer reported the execution of orders, Gilad kept his eyes on the unfolding battle.

The damaged Star Destroyers slowed, allowing Chimaera, Void Wanderer, Relentless, and Red Gauntlet to take the lead, engaging in a close-quarters clash with X1's five destroyers.

The enemy had the numerical advantage, but in terms of quality…

Dominion Star Destroyers were equipped with SEAL systems, allowing them to withstand fire longer than their opponents. The Dominion's fighter wings consisted of TIE Interceptors, while the enemy relied on Vulture droid fighters, which were already running low.

X1's destroyers were rapidly losing their armaments, falling victim to bomber strikes. A second sortie by six squadrons using concussion missiles effectively burned out the enemy's side batteries. Now, they were left with only turret artillery, which wouldn't last long either.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

Both Immobilizer 418 cruisers, four Acclamator-class assault cruisers with landing forces, a Venator with an ion cannon, and half a dozen Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers… all were now lost. Permanently.

The pair of Immobilizer 418s had been part of the Ciutric fleet, placed under the Grand Admiral's command after the Battle of Ciutric IV. Now, only four such ships remained in the Dominion fleet—Black Asp, Hunter, and the cruisers acquired during missions against Lieutenant Donell and the Lumini pirates, plus four Interdictor-class Star Destroyers currently operating in task forces disrupting enemy communications.

No more such starships existed in the fleet.

Of Ennix Devian's fifty Star Destroyers and assault cruisers, only four Acclamators were knocked out and currently outside the battle.

Neither side intended to retreat—each saw victory within their grasp. Nor was there much point: Devian's ships had blocked clear space for the Dominion's starships to withdraw, while the Dominion, in turn, blocked X1's destroyers.

— X1 is alive, — Grand Admiral Thrawn said unexpectedly.

Gilad, looking at the commander with surprise, wisely chose to remain silent.

— Observe how they continue to fight, — the Chiss said. — Synchronized turns, precise targeting… We've trained for half a year and are constantly in combat, yet we no longer possess such skill.

— X1 is controlling them like C'baoth controlled our troops, — Pellaeon gritted his teeth, feeling his hands grow clammy.

He prudently took a long step toward Thrawn's chair, placing himself within the safety of the ysalamiri.

— I'm not certain it's at that level, — the Grand Admiral said. — Order the heavy cruisers and corvettes to begin a systematic retreat toward our detachment and hold the enemy forces until we eliminate X1's forces. Death's Head and Bellicose are to support these forces with their artillery fire. Red Gauntlet is to follow us. Implacable and Void Wanderer are to join the containment group. The containment group's primary target is the Venators. Deprive the enemy of their ability to rotate their fighters. And now, — he said, stroking the ysalamiri, — begin reforming into a two-ship line, Captain. Chimaera leads. Course seven-three-zero.

Pellaeon mechanically relayed the order, pondering what was happening.

None of the obvious, well-practiced tactics were applicable now.

The most obvious move would be to engage in a "brawl," locking the enemy ships in individual combat, but Thrawn clearly had other plans.

A "feint" was out, as the Dominion's Star Destroyers, under concentrated enemy fire during a turn, could simply be shredded, turning the decks into a slaughter: presenting a minimal silhouette while inflicting maximum damage.

The Marg Sabl maneuver was inapplicable, as the fighters and bombers were already deployed and near the enemy starships.

The Ackbar Slash would only cause more harm, as the enemy's Star Destroyers, with their turret artillery, would pulverize the lead ship on approach, leaving Red Gauntlet alone against five destroyers and…

— Bombers are returning! — the watch officer reported.

— Excellent, — Thrawn cut in before anyone could speak. — How many squadrons remain?

— Five, sir. The bombers from Bellicose were destroyed.

— Two squadrons to Chimaera, three to Red Gauntlet, — Thrawn ordered swiftly.

— Aye, aye!

Pellaeon was about to address the Grand Admiral but was preempted by Thrawn's own words:

— Kindly locate the transponder signals for "One" and "Two" and connect me with them, — the Grand Admiral's voice was calm and composed, as always.

As if he hadn't just lost over ten starships in the first phase of the battle. And now he intended to attack while outnumbered, targeting a smaller enemy group while his other starships held off a motley enemy force and…

— It will be done, sir, — Gilad said. Unable to resist, he asked:

— Sir, isn't it time to retreat? We're outnumbered, outgunned. Continuing the battle will only worsen our losses.

— We will lose some ships, Captain, that is certain, — Thrawn said, his eyes fixed on the Chimaera's bow deflectors absorbing wave after wave of enemy turbolaser fire. *And they haven't missed once, have they?* — But if we turn back now, our stern will be blasted by the enemy, followed by boarding. We have no choice but to attack, defeat this destroyer group, and then redirect all our forces to disable the enemy's Star Destroyers. Inform the hangar to prepare droidekas for deployment. We are one step from victory, Captain Pellaeon. Don't you see it?

Gilad felt his left eyelid twitch.

*One step from victory,* he said?

No, Thrawn might be a genius, but they were pinned against Mustafar. What victory could there possibly be when…

The Chimaera's commander blinked once.

Blinked twice, staring at the tactical screen.

Blinked a third time, realizing Thrawn intended to drive two destroyers through the enemy's formation where their flagship had just been.

Then he correlated Thrawn's orders and actions…

How many times had he sworn in such moments not to panic or doubt the Grand Admiral's judgment?

No, the only one making mistakes here was Pellaeon himself.

Thrawn was executing an Ackbar Slash. It was clear and undeniable.

Which meant both Dominion ships were about to face a blistering fight.

The problem was, X1's destroyers faced an even more dangerous and unenviable fate.

— Transponder signals "One" and "Two" located, Grand Admiral! — reported the officer responsible for scanning systems.

— Excellent, — Thrawn's gaze burned like hot coals. — Connect me with them. Captain Pellaeon, inform Major Bren of the new combat objective. And send the second set of coordinates to Commodore Shohashi.

Gilad, fully understanding the implications, looked questioningly at the Supreme Commander.

— Since we're here, X1 is here, and Ennix Devian is here, his base and inhabited world are minimally defended, — Thrawn explained calmly, his eyes never leaving the battle. — It's time to use all the advantages of our position.

*Advantages of our position?*

He must be joking!

***

Lieutenant Creb effortlessly evaded the fire of a TIE fighter pilot, neither harming the Dominion pilot nor allowing damage to his own craft.

Only then did he activate the comlink for transmission.

— Understood, Chimaera OCC. We're disengaging, — he said, switching to the frequency connecting him with his wingmate. — Black Two, we're pulling out. Point three-two-six.

— Copy, — Tia responded.

The TIE Avenger and its twin deftly slipped out of the battle's chaos, performing dizzying loops as if pursuing a pair of Dominion interceptors.

If anyone forgot, this is what a TIE Avenger looks like.

The Black Wing squadron colleagues took kindly to the escort, continuing to lead the way through the enemy's fighter forces.

No one fired on them, as the dispatcher had already reported their identifiers as "friendly."

But soon, the enemy pilots would notice—when the distance to the enemy rarely exceeds half a kilometer, not attacking someone doesn't go unnoticed.

A pair of TIE Defenders flashed by, causing Creb to grind his teeth.

One of his interceptors had been blown to pieces in a very distinctive way.

— Black Two, maximum alertness, — the lieutenant ordered. — We weren't wrong—Rogue Squadron is in those Defenders.

The eight pilots they'd traveled with in the freighter to Devian's warlord base hadn't sat well with Creb from the start.

For one, there were aliens among them. And that was supposedly fine. Yes, Devian's pilots included non-humans, but that was the exception. Even after Endor, the Empire would never have allowed non-human pilots into an elite squadron, especially under Colonel Wessiri's command.

That man might pretend to respect others, even admire someone, but the fact remained—he acknowledged only command. Everyone else was expendable. Non-humans, even lower. Something extraordinary, like the galaxy reversing its rotation, would have to happen for Colonel Wessiri to let a non-human into the cockpit of his precious Defenders.

Creb knew this better than anyone.

Secondly, these sentients didn't even try to disguise themselves properly. Maybe Devian's lazy grunts and con artists were fooled by fake beards, dyed hair, and prosthetic scars, but not a professional pilot.

Zooming past an interceptor with its cockpit canopy blasted off and the interior scorched by laser cannons, the lieutenant gripped the yoke tighter.

Corran Horn's signature handiwork.

Yes, it could be learned with extensive training, but pulling it off on the fly? Never.

Horn was definitely at the controls of that Defender. Which meant the other seven pilots were Rogues. The intelligence warning was accurate—Rogue Squadron had lost four pilots in the battle at Dystna.

But they didn't know something about their comrades. At the very least, they didn't suspect two of them were still alive.

Good. There'd be plenty to discuss when the time came.

Another Defender went head-to-head with an interceptor. Before Creb could react, the enemy executed an advanced maneuver and obliterated his second subordinate with a single salvo.

That was Celchu.

Tycho Celchu, Imperial-trained, student of Baron Fel, traitor…

Two out of eight confirmed.

No need to speculate about the other six—it was already clear.

In the time Creb had secretly admired the Rogues' piloting skills and trained his squadron to be the best, hoping to face Rogue Squadron in battle, he'd studied all their moves. All their improvisations. Learned to think like them.

— Nine, — he heard his "commander's" voice in his earpiece. It was Tycho Celchu. — Targets eliminated, return to your assigned task.

— Copy, — Creb replied, maintaining his course.

The rendezvous point with the Scimitar was three seconds away.

Meanwhile, the Defenders—Horn and Ooryl Qrygg's pair, plus Celchu and his wingmate—clearly suspected something was amiss.

It didn't take a genius to figure out something was wrong—two Avengers had positioned themselves behind the stern of Warlord Devian's flagship Star Destroyer. While the flying scrap, like Delta-7s and other unmodified Clone Wars-era junk, was dying in droves at the front. Yes, there were more of them, but the Dominion pilots outclassed their opponents, not just in equipment but as clones of Grand Admiral Thrawn's finest pilots. It didn't matter what they flew.

— Nine, I said…!

Celchu's voice cut off as, at a higher echelon, the Scimitar emerged from a microjump.

— Major Bren, — Lieutenant Creb greeted his commander, switching to the appropriate channel. — Welcome. Shall we begin?

— Cover me, Black One, — Bren said calmly, turning the Scimitar's nose toward the superstructure of Devian's destroyer. — On combat.

***

Corran vented his thoughts aloud about Warlord Devian's pilots, pushing his Defender to the full thrust of its ion engines.

— What kind of nonsense is this? — exclaimed Rogue Twelve, Inyri Forge, referring to the starfighter that had appeared out of nowhere on the scanners.

— Came out of hyperspace, — suggested her lead, Rogue Seven, Myn Donos.

— No, — countered Rogue Two, Bror Jace. — That wasn't a jump…

— To Hutt with theories! — Horn roared, starting to lose his temper. — Leader, we need to stop it! If they hit Devian's destroyer bridge, his entire fleet might scatter!

— We can't let that happen, — chimed in Rogue Ten with his distinctive accent. Ooryl caught on quickly. — This is our chance to take down Thrawn.

A problem for first graders.

On one side: many Star Destroyers and mediocre commanders.

On the other: few destroyers, but a genius commander who loves dropping bombs on civilians.

Question: Who wins?

Answer: If Devian dies, Thrawn wins hands-down. While the local warlords squabble over power, the Grand Admiral's forces will finish incinerating the last assault cruiser with ion cannons. All the losses the Dominion took in the opening moments of this battle will mean nothing. Because Thrawn won't miss his chance—lose a dozen mid-tier starships to gain ten to fifteen Star Destroyers.

— This is the most disgusting thing we've ever done, — Celchu sighed. — Helping one group of Imps escape another. To battle! Gavin, contact Coruscant—transmit the coordinates of Devian's base in the Ghost Nebula and our current location…

Corran didn't need to wait for the order.

He took a deep breath, clearing his mind of stray thoughts, letting the Force fill him… *Well, old man C'baoth, let's be honest—not all your lessons sank in right away, but they've come in handy.*

During transit, no one would've dared send such a message—nor while in the Ghost Nebula.

But now, in the chaos of battle, why not? Especially since the Imps were clearly intent on cutting each other's throats.

Mustafar wasn't far from the nearest New Republic base: Sullust, Sluis Van… Take your pick!

Clearly, after this battle, no one was going anywhere and would be stuck repairing. In field conditions, that'd take days, so a fleet dispatched here would arrive within a day. And it'd finish off the survivors. Not to mention, they could always set up a blockade on the Hydian Way and intercept the Imps during their retreat.

All they needed was to keep everyone here!

Meanwhile, the unknown starfighter had aligned for a bombing run, revealing its true nature.

— Your Hutt-damned…! — Myn Donos couldn't hold back.

Four proton torpedoes, with no one to intercept them, slammed into the superstructure of the enemy Star Destroyer at breakneck speed.

Detonating inside, tearing through the rectangular "box" with a series of explosions, the torpedoes fulfilled their purpose—Warlord Devian's Star Destroyer lost control.

No one at the auxiliary command post managed to take over—if anyone was even there.

The destroyer began veering off course. The other ISDs nearby, realizing the danger, slowly turned away, belatedly opening fire on the "traitors."

Both Avengers deftly twisted away from the Defenders' fire.

Corran furiously pressed the trigger, but his laser beams missed the sterns of both Imps. The missiles launched at the unknown fighter, not just one, streaked forward and…

The unknown ship simply vanished.

It smeared across space, leaving the homing missiles useless, detonating as their target left their range.

— What kind of trick is that? — Inyri Forge was stunned.

And she was the first to die.

Rogue Twelve lost her vigilance for a split second and was too late to evade an oncoming missile from the wingmate Avenger. Her Defender clumsily rolled onto its right wing—and precise laser fire from the same ship first sheared off the upper panels, then ripped open the cockpit like a can opener.

A brief flash inside the cockpit showed Inyri died quickly, without suffering.

Next, the wingmate's missile caught Donos, shredding his craft into tiny fragments.

Corran, opening his mouth to speak, barely dodged a missile launched at him.

— What the Hutt! — Horn roared.

But he already knew "what."

Celchu was on the tail of "Nine"—the lead Avenger—firing his cannons to bring the bastard down.

But the latter clearly had no intention of going down easily.

His wingmate, launching a missile at Bror Jace, didn't escape unscathed—one of his panels took a long, molten gash.

— Avengers have missiles too? — Derek "Hobbie" Klivian asked in surprise, joining the chase.

— Yes, — Celchu replied quickly. — Two more than each of us.

So, sixteen between them.

Three already spent.

— Switching to missiles, — Horn said grimly into the comlink, addressing Ooryl.

— Ooryl copies, — this time Qrygg referred to himself in the third person. Either habit or shock.

But that didn't matter now. The priority was to destroy those who killed their friends.

Here and now.

Because right now, it didn't matter that another destroyer's bridge vanished in a pillar of fire, struck by a pair of proton torpedoes.

To Hutt with the Imps.

Here they were—this slippery pair.

They had to die.

For Myn.

For Inyri.

— Listen up, you filthy Imp, — Corran switched to the squadron's channel, certain "Nine" couldn't have disabled it. — I don't know who you are or what you think of yourself, but you just killed two of my friends. And I don't forgive that…

— The feeling's mutual, Corran Horn, — came a calm but clearly young voice in response. — My name is Lieutenant Creb. I command Black Claw Squadron. Pleased to meet you.

By the end of the sentence, the kid was practically gasping.

At first, Corran didn't understand why, then it clicked.

Due to the Empire's subpar life-support systems, their pilots were limited to short phrases in combat. The Rogues had to tinker extensively with those "chest boxes" to boost air supply beyond standard.

— Our acquaintance won't last long, kid, — Corran promised, launching a missile.

Ooryl mirrored his action, adding fire from his own cannons.

The kid and his wingmate…

They simply accelerated and split in opposite directions, gaining altitude.

Before Corran could react, the Imps, on converging courses, shot down the pursuing missiles.

— They don't teach that to rookies, — Jace muttered.

— Interesting piloting, — Hobbie remarked, turning his craft…

And in the next instant, precise fire from the wingmate Avenger stripped his deflector, and a single missile from "Nine" pierced the cockpit canopy.

The third Rogue died at the hands of some greenhorn…

— He's a dead man, — Gavin said harshly, throwing his craft into pursuit.

Now only five remained.

Tycho, Bror, Gavin, Corran himself, and Ooryl.

Against two!

— I don't know who taught that kid to fly, but he's good, — Bror said as the lead Avenger barrel-rolled, baffling the homing missile's guidance until it crashed into the side of an assault cruiser.

"Nine" veered away at the last moment, and the missile obliterated a turbolaser turret busy firing at a smoldering Dominion heavy cruiser.

— The one whose unit you supposedly flew in, — came an unexpected reply on the squadron's channel. It was clearly Lieutenant Creb.

Somehow, he'd positioned himself to Bror's right and fired two bursts into his shield.

— Still haven't figured it out, Horn, — were Jace's last words as Creb surgically sliced off his cockpit with his cannons.

Another brief flash of decompression and exploding equipment.

No matter how many debates—whether Bror or Corran was the better pilot—had been had, or in what tones, they never crossed beyond friendly rivalry.

And now, with the Thyferran gone, Corran felt an emptiness inside…

Another friend lost…

Another…

— I'll strangle you with my own hands, — Horn declared, chasing "Nine."

He and Ooryl had split the Avengers.

They pursued the lead, while Tycho and Gavin went after the wingmate.

— I learned that trick from you, Corran Horn, — Creb said unexpectedly. His voice carried a boyish pride. And pain. — Many of my pilots died gruesome deaths from shots like that.

— And now I'm tempted to do the same to you, Wessiri's spawn, — Corran didn't hide his emotions.

He launched a missile, then another.

After burning through the shield, he nearly hit with an ion cannon shot, but the slippery kid deftly climbed.

Spiraling, Creb not only varied his trajectory and rotation speed, preventing both fighters from hitting him, but also caused Corran's missiles to collide and explode.

— It's mutual, — Creb replied. — My pilots' deaths won't go unpunished.

— Like you said, it's mutual, — Corran said.

— You have no honor to grant a pilot a quick death, — Creb said, his voice tinged with offense.

— There'll be enough for you, — Gavin said viciously.

His Defender doggedly targeted the wingmate Avenger's stern shield, but it refused to expose itself to an ion shot, and Darklighter had already spent his missiles.

The wingmate hadn't.

The Avenger pulled a steep climb, entering a "scissors" maneuver with its pursuers and launched a missile at each.

Now Tycho and Gavin were performing piloting miracles.

Corran managed to burn out the enemy's shield but missed a lethal burst, while the wingmate somehow shot off one of Ooryl's panels with a missile.

The wingmate, spinning, struggled to regain control, so Tycho, having evaded his pursuing missile, caught his ally's craft with a tractor beam.

Gavin, still dodging a missile and pursuer, cut across Corran's path.

Horn, feeling a familiar whisper of the Force, pressed the trigger.

Two ion shots devoured the weakened shield of the wingmate Avenger, and four green energy beams precisely carved the cockpit, separating the canopy…

The cockpit flared, and one Avenger vanished from reality…

— Tia! — Creb's scream echoed on the open channel.

A cry filled with pain, the collapse of everything… As if the kid had lost something he cherished without realizing it.

Corran shook his head, dispelling the haze.

Only now did it hit him that he'd avenged Myn and Inyri… The first two killed in this fight… And now their killer from Ryloth was gone too.

— That girl meant something to you, didn't she, Creb? — Corran asked caustically, flooring the accelerator to chase the fleeing Avenger. — Don't you want to avenge her? Didn't she call out to you when my cannons carved her cockpit?

— Horn! — Tycho raised his voice. — Stop it! We're better than this!

Creb was silent for a moment.

His craft, which Corran noticed had several holes in its solar panels, was pulling away. Chasing him was pointless, but the moral satisfaction for Hobbie and Bror's deaths demanded it.

— Run, kid, — Corran said venomously, turning his craft toward the trio of Defenders. — The Force will bring us face-to-face again. It's certain, boy. And then your canopy will explode just like your half-trained pilots', like your girlfriend's…

— Corran, I said stop! — Tycho roared at the Corellian. — This is war! Don't turn a battle into a personal vendetta! Don't you dare mock…

— Fine words, Colonel Celchu, — a new, well-modulated voice cut in on the squadron's frequency. No one had heard it before. — Correct, but untimely. It's a pity you didn't teach your pilots to fight honorably, to kill quickly, rather than inflict horrific suffering with decompression and transparisteel shards.

— You're not one to talk about humanity, — Corran scoffed.

— Nor you about discipline, Lieutenant Horn, — the voice remarked.

— Who am I speaking to? — Tycho asked.

By now, they'd drifted so far from the main battle that it was odd to see half of Devian's destroyers smoking with ruined superstructures, while the Venators had vanished entirely.

Thrawn's ships had lost most of their heavy cruisers, now down to no more than ten. One destroyer, damaged early in the battle, was so riddled it was unlikely to see action again. Death's Head seemed truly dead.

Countless Corellian corvette wrecks mingled with destroyed assault cruisers… Of Devian's fleet, only five destroyers and ten cruisers remained combat-ready, clearly intending to retreat, aligning on an escape vector.

So where was this voice coming from?

— Major Tomax Bren, Yatagan Squadron, — the voice replied calmly, intruding on the Rogues' frequency.

In that instant, the scanners picked up that same unidentified starfighter-bomber.

It materialized near the stern of one of Devian's five intact destroyers, unloading a salvo of proton torpedoes into its engines before vanishing again.

Next, it struck an Acclamator, obliterating its "tail" and disabling its hyperdrive.

In a flash, four of Devian's destroyers and nine Acclamators vanished into hyperspace.

Before the Rogues' eyes, Thrawn's two destroyers—Chimaera and Red Gauntlet—sliced through the formation of the five destroyers present at Mustafar from the battle's start.

The latter were painful to look at, as TIE bombers swarmed from beneath the Dominion destroyers, hammering the enemy ships with concussion missiles and proton torpedoes so brutally it hurt to watch.

This was surreal… Half an hour ago, Devian could've easily crushed Thrawn, but now the latter was the only one with combat-ready ships.

How does this even happen!?

Corran opened his mouth but found no words.

— I respect your reputation, Major, — Tycho said diplomatically. — However, your pilot was the first to provoke mine…

— That's not up for discussion now, Colonel, — the Imperial stated. — Your reputation speaks for itself. Pilot behavior in combat is a separate matter, for which the unit commander is responsible. We condemn sadism. I once thought it a rumor, but now I've seen confirmation. Your pilots lack respect and honor…

— We're leaving, — Tycho ordered the squadron. — Ooryl's regained control of his craft. Hyperdrives all functional?

A confirmation tick, like a lightsaber to the heart.

— The next time we meet Rogue Squadron, expect no mercy, — Major Bren declared.

— We'll be waiting, — Horn snorted. — Ready anytime.

— Prepare better, — the Yatagan commander advised. — Tia piloted an Avenger for less than a month and took out two of you. Creb, no longer. When we clash next, even your vaunted X-wings won't save you from our wrath.

— We're leaving, — Tycho repeated.

Having suffered fifty percent losses in this short but fierce battle, the Rogues retreated into hyperspace, unwilling to continue a pointless conversation.

***

Chimaera and Red Gauntlet, which had cut through the enemy formation like a knife through butter, could hardly be called combat-ready.

The flagship was riddled with depressurized decks, a shattered superstructure, hull breaches, and one of its two deflector shield projectors destroyed.

The SEAL system had saved them while the lead ship endured the brunt of concentrated enemy fire.

But now, breaking into open space behind the enemy's formation, which had shifted from a "front" to a "bowl," both destroyers, while the enemy was busy fending off fighters, could execute the Grand Admiral's plan.

Pellaeon shook his head, watching as his Star Destroyer's ion cannons systematically disabled the main engines of three enemy destroyers, while Red Gauntlet did the same in the opposite direction to two others.

Stripped of deflectors and armaments by the bomber wings, these ships, driven by X1's malevolent will, kept fighting, relying on remaining artillery and droid fighters launching from the surface.

Chimaera, hammering X1's destroyers with its right side, used its left for orbital bombardment, targeting the enemy's landing strips and turning Mustafar's familiar fiery slag into buildings and defensive fortifications.

The remaining bombers operated from the upper atmosphere, dropping proton bombs on barracks and anti-air artillery sites, sweeping everything in their path.

There was no doubt that the 501st Legion would soon land. Captain Makeno's naval special forces had already done their part, covertly advancing on anti-air artillery positions and neutralizing ion cannons, preventing fire on the Dominion's destroyers.

— They escaped, — Thrawn said, staring at the tactical screen.

Gilad, raising a brow in confusion, ordered the suppression of turret guns on a destroyer that had maneuvered to face Chimaera broadside. Its three surviving turbolaser turrets were blanketed by ion cannon fire the next moment.

Why destroy what can be disabled?

At great cost, but this battle was won.

Yet why did the Grand Admiral's voice carry notes of dissatisfaction?

— Only four Rogue Squadron pilots, — Pellaeon noted. — We've effectively destroyed their unit, sir.

— The Rogues have a remarkable ability to replenish their numbers, Captain, — Thrawn said. — But that's not the issue. Today, we saw clear proof that even this renowned unit can suffer heavy losses at the hands of mere pilots like Lieutenant Creb and his late wingmate. However, we missed the most obvious source of information on Ysanne Isard's whereabouts and plans. Now, we can only rely on tracking the movements of Star Destroyers she likely controls.

— Sir, this is a major victory, — Pellaeon insisted. — Yes, we lost our entire landing convoy, but we have six legions on the destroyers. Two Immobilizers were destroyed, but we have others, including two recent acquisitions soon to join the fleet. Besides Dragon-V, we have four more such ships. Losing thirty-three outdated heavy cruisers and forty-seven Corellian corvettes in exchange for eleven destroyers, twelve Acclamators… Only Death's Head was heavily damaged, but with full repair efforts, it'll be jump-ready on its backup hyperdrive soon. The damage to Chimaera, Relentless, Void Wanderer, and Red Gauntlet is non-critical—technical crews will fix them shortly. This is a fair trade. We've strengthened the fleet immensely. And near the capital, a Bellator-class dreadnought and four more destroyers await! Sir! We're one step from crushing the self-proclaimed Sith Lord, not to mention Commodore Shohashi's mission! We destroyed the Twilight project, finally!

Thrawn remained silent, lost in his thoughts.

Honestly, Pellaeon couldn't tell if Thrawn was disappointed or not. But, by the Emperor's black bones, how could anyone be dissatisfied?! All that remained was a ground operation on Mustafar, and the goal would be achieved! Fifteen Star Destroyers in a couple of weeks! Another Executor! Not to mention smaller ships like Acclamators and transports.

And if you counted what Shohashi had captured… Come on, blue Hutt, smile! Half an hour ago, we could've been smeared across Mustafar's crust, and now we're the masters here! This planet has dozens of factories, an excellent source of raw materials mined straight from the lava! Fast! Simple! Reliable! And it doesn't cost a single decicredit!

— Order Red Gauntlet to assist our destroyers, — Thrawn instructed, setting aside a datapad with incoming encrypted messages. — The capture of trophies must be completed as quickly as possible.

What's the rush? All of Devian and X1's starships have been hit with ion cannons. Boarding parties are already fighting, and droidekas are proving their worth again, sweeping through everything. Especially on X1's former destroyers, where the fanatics are nearly unstoppable.

Contrast that with Devian's "rags," who surrender as soon as they realize they'll suffocate on their own ships without evacuation!

A week to rest, bring in new crews and secondary spare parts via transports for a comfortable journey, and…

— I fear we won't have even three days, Captain, — Thrawn said, as if reading his flagship commander's thoughts.

— Sir? — Gilad looked at the Chiss in surprise.

— It's simple, Captain, — Thrawn's fingers danced over the keypad built into his armrest. A holographic map of the galaxy's southwest quadrant appeared, including the final segment of the Hydian Way, near which Mustafar lay.

— We're in quadrant L-19, Captain, — Thrawn said. His finger traced from the end to the last third of the Hydian Way. — Quadrants M-17, M-18. Which New Republic planets do you know are there?

— Sullust, Sluis Van, and a good dozen others, — now he understood. — You think the escaped Rogues called for reinforcements.

— We didn't jam communications due to Death's Head's disablement and the absence of Eternal Wrath with the fleet, — Thrawn reminded him. — A reminder that we must increase the number of ships in the Dominion capable of suppressing enemy communications. The distance between us and the New Republic bases is barely two quadrants. Most of the route is an excellent hyperspace lane. Whether the New Republic comes here or we move out via the shortest route doesn't matter—we're doomed. Note that in the first case, they don't need their newest starships. Two dozen MC80s from Sluis Van's defense fleet would suffice to crush us.

— In the second case, they'd just set up a blockade, — Pellaeon exhaled heavily. — They could do it on the Corellian Run's final branch, using ships from the Naboo base.

— Precisely, Captain, — Thrawn said. — A standard day and a half, and the New Republic fleet will be here. I'm certain they'll opt for both an assault and a blockade for insurance. While they think I'm sitting here, rejoicing over a fifty percent increase in my Star Destroyer count, they'll come and destroy us all. Meanwhile, the planet below has dozens of factories, thousands of fanatics, a mad Jedi clone, and a cloning facility at his disposal. If we leave, we risk handing the New Republic's fleet to X1. They'll land to investigate the structures. Orbital bombardment won't guarantee the destruction of X1's cloning facility—it requires a ground sweep and confirmed elimination.

— That cloning facility would be useful to us, — Pellaeon sighed. — The personnel losses are heavy—an entire watch on Chimaera is gone, and we weren't even in the thick of it. Maybe we leave the cloning facility's destruction to the New Republic and focus on repairs?

— We must start repairs, — Thrawn said. — On both our ships and the captured ones. And don't forget to collect the Twilight project's wreckage. Nothing related to the superlaser must remain in the system. All starships that can be brought to operational condition within a day must be repaired. The rest—abandon.

— Not destroy? — Pellaeon asked, surprised.

— No, — the Grand Admiral confirmed.

— But the New Republic will capture and repair them to use against us, — Gilad protested.

— Exactly, Captain, — Thrawn agreed too readily. — That's why we'll take what we can. We can't make such generous gifts to the enemy. It could jeopardize the entire plan.

Another plan?!

When does he even find time to make them?!