As if reading his thoughts, the holocommunicator dinged. Rise'hara keyed the channel open. A bloated Mon Calamari appeared in blue, his crisp uniform struggling to restrain his mass.
"Admiral Rise'hara," the alien spoke with the lilting thick accent of his homeworld. "The rest of your fleet will be spared if you surrender. You will be stripped of your rank but you will be guaranteed to a fair trial."
"Only now you contact me to negotiate a surrender?" Rise'hara almost laughed. The Rebels were starving for ships yet this commander was willing to destroy three quarters of a fleet before a surrender.
"I have tried numerous times. You refused to answer." The Calamari shook his finned head.
Rise'hara raised an eyebrow towards his second in command. Kjal simply nodded. He knew Rise'hara's temperament. Kjal had known there would be no surrender so he'd ignored the Calamari's holo.
"I appreciate the offer. However, a Rebel 'fair trial' would find me under the death penalty. I choose to die as I lived—fighting for the Empire. Long live the Empire, commander." Rise'hara calmly ended the communication.
Inside, his blood boiled for war. He didn't admit it but his vision was blurry. He would die but would it even be worthwhile? Rise'hara's mind flashed to the message he had received after the Emperor's death. The message had spoken of hope that the tragedy of a dead emperor would lead into a reformed empire. Palpatine had wanted the Empire to go on.
What good are the words of a dead man? Didn't the Emperor's death prove he wasn't always right? Glancing under his eyebrows at the bridge, he saw the crew was fearful. Rise'hara felt the same hopelessness in his own heart but he refused to acknowledge it. He stood straighter and squared his shoulders. The Corellian Fleet would die a noble death.
"Kjal. Prepare a holorecorder and broadcast it to the entire fleet." Rise'hara ran a shaking hand through his thinning hair. When did that happen? He'd been fighting too long. One last glorious battle for the Empire.
Kjal quickly set up the recorder.
Thinking of Thrawn, the mysterious commander of the Empire of the Hand, Rise'hara tried to emulate the alien. If Rise'hara could project confidence, the Imperial Fleet would fight the bloody battle to the death.
The recorder counted down. I cannot bring the Empire back. But maybe I can prepare the way for the next Grand Admiral to bring it back.
As the timer hit zero, Rise'hara wished the blue skin and glowing red eyes of Thrawn would manifest before him. A man who could turn a nebulous losing battle into a clear victory—that was the type of commander the fleet needed now.
The camera started. "Corellia's Fleet! Hear me now. I am not some wise old man as our Emperor was. I cannot offer an instant victory. The Emperor failed us. He ignored the threat and you can see where it has led us. Millions of our fellow men die cold in space. I cannot save our fleet, even the Emperor's rumored powers could not do that. Instead, let us go out as the fighting Imperial men that we are. With our blood, we'll show the galaxy the Empire never will surrender. Fight for Corellia, fight for the Empire, and may your deaths inspire millions more to take up arms against the Rebellion. Long live the Empire."
Rise'hara saluted, feeling a weight in his words. He stood in silence as the recorder shut down. Silence reigned over the bridge while more Imperial and Rebel ships were destroyed above Corellia.
Then, a slight change came over the Imperial Fleet. Imperial vessels fired with more ferocity, striking out wildly against the Rebellion. The Rebel craft recoiled at the sudden Imperial ferocity. Dozens of Rebel ships shattered in silent fiery balls.
Imperial ships still died but they died in blazing Imperial glory. Rise'hara swelled in pride.
"Fire everything we have," he commanded. Was that happiness in his voice? A dozen proton torpedoes slammed into the prow of the Binder. That was happiness. Only a dozen Imperial ships were still alive. Rise'hara found an odd overwhelming peace in knowing he died doing what he loved. The remaining gravity projectors crumpled as X-wings blasted them to pieces.
"It was a good run," he whispered, running a hand along his command post.
The Binder's shields buckled and died, exposing the bridge to enemy fire. Rise'hara squared his shoulders, set his face towards the viewport, and prepared to meet oblivion.
"…sir?" lieutenant Vhel's voice crept nervously into the quiet bridge. "We've got two thousand more ships entering the Corellian system."
Rise'hara's heart skipped a beat.
"And they're Imperial!"
Rise'hara checked the scanners. Two thousand Imperial ships, hundreds of Star Destroyers and Allegiance-class battlecruisers with thousands more support ships. "It's really them," Rise'hara muttered to himself.
The Coruscant Fleet had arrived.
The beautiful Imperial vessels crashed into the unguarded back lines of Rebel craft, sending chaos through the Rebellion's ranks. In an instant, the absolute victory of the Rebel fleet was dashed. Rise'hara wasn't one to sit idly by as the battle recommenced in full fury.
Rise'hara issued command after command, contacting the newly arrived and fresh ships of the Coruscant Fleet. The fleets fought for an hour. At the end of the battle, hundreds more ships were dead. Yet the Imperial fleet had survived.
Maybe the Empire can survive, Rise'hara thought in rising hope as he issued orders to reestablish the Empire.