The sight was breathtaking.
The corvettes and frigates came first, fast, powerful scout ships in line abreast. Behind them, the main body, bulky Dreadnaughts and the angular, deadly Victory Star Destroyers, the heavily armed and armored cruisers, were next to enter realspace. Finally were the massive, ungainly transports and their small escort of warships. The battle line stretched for over fifty kilometers end to end, the rows of brilliant white hulls resembled a constellation of so many deadly, regimented stars.
***
"All ships have entered realspace and are at General Quarters, sir" the comm officer on the Victory's bridge announced.
"Excellent, Commander. Prepare to transmit orders."
"Standing by, Admiral," the Commander replied. Haas seemed to develop a sudden glimmer in his gray eyes, he noticed, or maybe it was just a trick of the bridge lighting. Yet he had heard stories about the Old Man from those who had served with him in combat, how his sharp tongue and temper in time of peace were replaced in battle with an even sharper mind and unshakeable courage.
He hoped these stories were true.
"Scouts are to take up position twenty kilometers forward and arm torpedoes. Upon firing they are to retire to the rear of the battleline and reload. Rear Admiral Otti's ships are to be held as reserve. The rest of the cruisers will launch fighters and deploy them in a defensive screen. No one is to open fire without my orders on pain of court martial, should they live so long."
"Yes sir," the Commander replied, transmitting the Admiral's orders to the fleet.
Haas turned to the Victory's commander, Captain Malar. "Status?"
"All systems online and standing by, sir."
"Good. I'm going to hit them hard with the frigates, engage at close range, and then send Otti up the middle and the frigates around on the flanks."
"A wise plan, sir," the blond Corellian Captain responded.
***
"General Fett, numerous capital ship contacts on approach vector to the planet," the watch officer of the massive battlecruiser Lord Bane announced
"The enemy has arrived," Fett replied, eager to smash the Republic armada and the invasion fleet. This was the moment he had lusted after for years, to command a massive, powerful striking force, worthy of the name, and he would not fail to make the best of his opportunity.
"Order all ships to proceed as planned."
***
The Mandalorian vessels, blood red in contrast to the white of the Republic ships, of hulls of raked angles speaking of deadly purpose, began to congregate from their stations around Aldera, heading for a position opposite the course of the Fifth Fleet, forming up into their own massive line of battle.
In minutes, a clash of forces on a scale not seen in nearly a thousand years would take place.
Meanwhile, unseen, on the opposite side of the planet, the Lord Bane's twin, the battlecruiser Lord Maul and her two escorting frigates dissappeared into hyperspace.
**
The bridge of the frigate Invincible was a place of barely-restrained tension. None of the crew had seen combat before, and now they found themselves in the position of firing some of the first shots in the largest battle ever seen since the Republic's formation.
The smaller vessels had moved well ahead of the cruisers, and Haas had given orders. Frigates and corvettes, with their light guns, thin hulls, and small size, packed a relatively large punch given their excellent sensors and heavy armament of proton torpedo launchers and concussion missiles. Fleet doctrine was that when operating with the battleline, the scouts would attack the enemy capital ships with missiles from extreme range, attempting to cause damage before the cruisers clashed. However, Haas had insisted that Invincible and her companions were instead to target the enemy scouts.
The vessel's commander, Leutenant Commander Varka, thought it a splendid plan. Counting on the enemy's adherence to convention, by separating the scouting line from the main body, by the time the Mandalorians were in torpedo range of the cruisers, they would be vulnerable. Varka knew that the victor in combat was often the one who fired the first shot.
The ensign manning the sensor station looked up from his screen of glowing blips. "Target locked in, Sir. Enemy frigate range one-five-zero kilometers, angle on bow five degrees to starboard, pitch angle neutral."
"Excellent," Varka acknowledged, "transfer data to the torpedoes," he ordered, providing the guided weapons with an indelible binary impression of their target. "Weapons?"
A young lieutenant, the Tactical Officer, turned from his post ahead and to the left of the Captain's station. "All tubes loaded, Sir."
"Deploy launchers to firing position."
A mechanical whine sounded as the missile tubes, sixteen quad-tube launchers spaced all along the frigate's flat surfaces, folded out from their recessed bays in the hull.
"All torpedo mounts in firing position, warheads have acquired targeting data."
"How long until we're in range?" Varka asked the ensign at the sensor display.
"Fifteen seconds, Sir."
"Stand by to fire on the Admiral's order."
**
All along the line, the Republic frigates were deploying weapons. On the bridge of Victory, Haas waited for each squadron commander to report in when the ships were in missile range.
"Squadron twenty five standing by," came the voice of the Sullistan commanding the final group to report in.
"This is Victory, open fire."
**
The space around the frigates erupted in blinding displays of light as in seconds, thousands of proton torpedoes and concussion missiles blasted out of launch tubes, streaking toward the enemy, closing the distance with frightening rapidity.
**
"Multiple high speed contacts in sector twelve! Missiles, commander, we have incoming missiles!"
"How *many,* Ensign?" the commander of the Mandalorian frigate Malice snapped.
"Sixty-three, Sir."
"Damn!" the Mandalorian captain cursed. He suddenly realized that things were starting out far more badly than he had feared. "Evasive maneuvers!" he barked, "Flank speed, down twenty degrees, starboard thirty-five. All guns open fire on those missiles!"
The frigate's guns exploded into action, from her primary turbolasers to the small rapid-firing anti-starfighter turrets - but there were too many targets, each one very small and moving at high velocity, and no time to destroy all of them. Fifteen were intercepted before the first torpedoes slammed into the vessel's shields, more and more hits following in horribly rapid succession. Malice and her crew lasted another thirty seconds.
Most of her compatriots met the same fate, overwhelmed and with no time or room to evade. Dozens of the red vessels exploded in orange, yellow, and white fireballs, leaving massive gaps in once-orderly formations. A few managed to return fire, but the small number of hastily-fired shots did no damage to the Republic fleet.
**
Captain Malar was astonished to see Admiral Haas let out a whoop of exaltation. "By the Force! We caught them with their pants down, Captain!"
Is he a genius, or just crazy? the Captain wondered.
Haas switched on the Fleet comm. "Scouts withdraw and reload. Task Force 1, close with the enemy with all available speed. Don't let them recover!"
**
Hundreds of heavy cruisers traded broadsides from close range. Volleys of heavy turbolasers and ion cannons surged back and forth, the brilliant orange of the explosions mingled with the neon streaks of cannon fire. In between the capital ships, thousands of tiny starfighters dived, climbed, turned, and sped, firing their own blaster cannon and torpedoes, the larger ships answering with streams of fire from thier smaller anti-fighter turrets. Each minute, officers, crewers, and pilots on both sides died by the hundreds.
***
The huge cruiser shuddered with the impact of a hit.
"One got through, Captain," the Victory's damage control officer announced, "Hull breaches in compartments 1081-1083. Damaged sectors have been sealed off, though we lost a turbolaser battery."
"Shields?" the Captain asked.
"80 percent, Sir."
Victory fired another salvo, the shots burning through the shields of the enemy cruiser she was dueling. Through the bridge window, Admiral Haas watched brilliant explosions blossom from the ship's midsection, flinging men, molten metal, and debris out into the vaccum. The cruiser's bow dipped as she lost directional control. A second volley from Victory blew off a hundred meters of the ship's stern.
The bridge crew cheered.
Haas turned back to the large tactical display monitor. He turned to the Victory's commander. "We're being pressed hard on both flanks," the Admiral said, noticing the Republic's lines bending back on the ends, "but we'll hold, and we're hurting 'em bad in the center."
"Should we send forward Otti's reserves, Sir?"
Haas paused for a moment. "I believe so, Captian, smashing through the center will tip the momentum of this battle in our favor." He grabbed his mobile comm. "Admiral Otti, send in your task force."
***
Twenty of the Victories, arrayed in a hollow wedge, advanced from below and to the rear of the battleline. Fighters spilled from the massive ventral hangars as the formation closed on a Mandalore heavy cruiser inflicting severe damage on a Dreadnought opponent. The lead trio of Victories fired all weapons at once, and the Mandalorian vanished at once in a brilliant flash, the ensuing explosion damaging her frigate escort and wiping out a clone fighter squadron.
***
On the bridge of Lord Bane, near the center of the Mandalore line and so far not yet committed to battle, Jango Fett paced with nervous tension. At last, a vast fleet was under his command, he had received a chance at his dream - an epic battle against a powerful enemy - and he relished every minute.
"General, the enemy has just sent in strong reserves," Bane's Captain reported. "We're managing small gains on the flanks, but our center is in danger of rupture."
Fett paused. "The enemy's new cruisers are more formindable than we imagined," he remarked. The dagger-shaped vessels were extremely well armed and capable of shrugging off vast amounts of incoming fire, and in the center, where most of the new ships were concentrated, they had proved deadly. "Yet our main target is virtually unprotected. Send the signal to Lord Maul - return and engage."
***
"Six, you have two on your tail, coming in high"
"BREAK, Yellow Lead, BREAK NOW!!"
"I got him!"
"Good shooting, Five"
"I've taken a hit in my starboard eng...."
Anakin listened to the comm, set to one of the fighter channels, imagining thousands of dogfights and maneuvers. The impressions in the Force with each voice were varied...fear of a first combat, desperation for an endangered ship or wingman, elation of the first kill or a narrow escape from death, or surprise, pain, and after that eternal silence.
His Headhunter was on standby, repulsorlifts set at minimal power, ion engines spooled up and ready for the fuel that would stream in when he so much as twitched the throttle, resting in the launch bay of Freedom's hangar. Ahead of him he could see Blue's One Flight, and he knew his four pilots, the rest of Blue, and Red Squadron were behind him.
He hated the waiting, sitting in the cramped cockpit and glancing over the instrument panel for the hundredth time, waiting for the launch order that might never come. Instead of being on the front lines, speeding and gyrating in the freedom and elation of flying a high-performance starfighter, he was stuck guarding the transports, ordered on standby to save fuel.
Suddenly, however, an ear-splitting alarm shattered his thoughts. "All squadrons launch immediately, all squadrons launch immediately! Enemy ships have entered realspace in Sector one-oh-seven!"
The corvettes and frigates came first, fast, powerful scout ships in line abreast. Behind them, the main body, bulky Dreadnaughts and the angular, deadly Victory Star Destroyers, the heavily armed and armored cruisers, were next to enter realspace. Finally were the massive, ungainly transports and their small escort of warships. The battle line stretched for over fifty kilometers end to end, the rows of brilliant white hulls resembled a constellation of so many deadly, regimented stars.
***
"All ships have entered realspace and are at General Quarters, sir" the comm officer on the Victory's bridge announced.
"Excellent, Commander. Prepare to transmit orders."
"Standing by, Admiral," the Commander replied. Haas seemed to develop a sudden glimmer in his gray eyes, he noticed, or maybe it was just a trick of the bridge lighting. Yet he had heard stories about the Old Man from those who had served with him in combat, how his sharp tongue and temper in time of peace were replaced in battle with an even sharper mind and unshakeable courage.
He hoped these stories were true.
"Scouts are to take up position twenty kilometers forward and arm torpedoes. Upon firing they are to retire to the rear of the battleline and reload. Rear Admiral Otti's ships are to be held as reserve. The rest of the cruisers will launch fighters and deploy them in a defensive screen. No one is to open fire without my orders on pain of court martial, should they live so long."
"Yes sir," the Commander replied, transmitting the Admiral's orders to the fleet.
Haas turned to the Victory's commander, Captain Malar. "Status?"
"All systems online and standing by, sir."
"Good. I'm going to hit them hard with the frigates, engage at close range, and then send Otti up the middle and the frigates around on the flanks."
"A wise plan, sir," the blond Corellian Captain responded.
***
"General Fett, numerous capital ship contacts on approach vector to the planet," the watch officer of the massive battlecruiser Lord Bane announced
"The enemy has arrived," Fett replied, eager to smash the Republic armada and the invasion fleet. This was the moment he had lusted after for years, to command a massive, powerful striking force, worthy of the name, and he would not fail to make the best of his opportunity.
"Order all ships to proceed as planned."
***
The Mandalorian vessels, blood red in contrast to the white of the Republic ships, of hulls of raked angles speaking of deadly purpose, began to congregate from their stations around Aldera, heading for a position opposite the course of the Fifth Fleet, forming up into their own massive line of battle.
In minutes, a clash of forces on a scale not seen in nearly a thousand years would take place.
Meanwhile, unseen, on the opposite side of the planet, the Lord Bane's twin, the battlecruiser Lord Maul and her two escorting frigates dissappeared into hyperspace.
**
The bridge of the frigate Invincible was a place of barely-restrained tension. None of the crew had seen combat before, and now they found themselves in the position of firing some of the first shots in the largest battle ever seen since the Republic's formation.
The smaller vessels had moved well ahead of the cruisers, and Haas had given orders. Frigates and corvettes, with their light guns, thin hulls, and small size, packed a relatively large punch given their excellent sensors and heavy armament of proton torpedo launchers and concussion missiles. Fleet doctrine was that when operating with the battleline, the scouts would attack the enemy capital ships with missiles from extreme range, attempting to cause damage before the cruisers clashed. However, Haas had insisted that Invincible and her companions were instead to target the enemy scouts.
The vessel's commander, Leutenant Commander Varka, thought it a splendid plan. Counting on the enemy's adherence to convention, by separating the scouting line from the main body, by the time the Mandalorians were in torpedo range of the cruisers, they would be vulnerable. Varka knew that the victor in combat was often the one who fired the first shot.
The ensign manning the sensor station looked up from his screen of glowing blips. "Target locked in, Sir. Enemy frigate range one-five-zero kilometers, angle on bow five degrees to starboard, pitch angle neutral."
"Excellent," Varka acknowledged, "transfer data to the torpedoes," he ordered, providing the guided weapons with an indelible binary impression of their target. "Weapons?"
A young lieutenant, the Tactical Officer, turned from his post ahead and to the left of the Captain's station. "All tubes loaded, Sir."
"Deploy launchers to firing position."
A mechanical whine sounded as the missile tubes, sixteen quad-tube launchers spaced all along the frigate's flat surfaces, folded out from their recessed bays in the hull.
"All torpedo mounts in firing position, warheads have acquired targeting data."
"How long until we're in range?" Varka asked the ensign at the sensor display.
"Fifteen seconds, Sir."
"Stand by to fire on the Admiral's order."
**
All along the line, the Republic frigates were deploying weapons. On the bridge of Victory, Haas waited for each squadron commander to report in when the ships were in missile range.
"Squadron twenty five standing by," came the voice of the Sullistan commanding the final group to report in.
"This is Victory, open fire."
**
The space around the frigates erupted in blinding displays of light as in seconds, thousands of proton torpedoes and concussion missiles blasted out of launch tubes, streaking toward the enemy, closing the distance with frightening rapidity.
**
"Multiple high speed contacts in sector twelve! Missiles, commander, we have incoming missiles!"
"How *many,* Ensign?" the commander of the Mandalorian frigate Malice snapped.
"Sixty-three, Sir."
"Damn!" the Mandalorian captain cursed. He suddenly realized that things were starting out far more badly than he had feared. "Evasive maneuvers!" he barked, "Flank speed, down twenty degrees, starboard thirty-five. All guns open fire on those missiles!"
The frigate's guns exploded into action, from her primary turbolasers to the small rapid-firing anti-starfighter turrets - but there were too many targets, each one very small and moving at high velocity, and no time to destroy all of them. Fifteen were intercepted before the first torpedoes slammed into the vessel's shields, more and more hits following in horribly rapid succession. Malice and her crew lasted another thirty seconds.
Most of her compatriots met the same fate, overwhelmed and with no time or room to evade. Dozens of the red vessels exploded in orange, yellow, and white fireballs, leaving massive gaps in once-orderly formations. A few managed to return fire, but the small number of hastily-fired shots did no damage to the Republic fleet.
**
Captain Malar was astonished to see Admiral Haas let out a whoop of exaltation. "By the Force! We caught them with their pants down, Captain!"
Is he a genius, or just crazy? the Captain wondered.
Haas switched on the Fleet comm. "Scouts withdraw and reload. Task Force 1, close with the enemy with all available speed. Don't let them recover!"
**
Hundreds of heavy cruisers traded broadsides from close range. Volleys of heavy turbolasers and ion cannons surged back and forth, the brilliant orange of the explosions mingled with the neon streaks of cannon fire. In between the capital ships, thousands of tiny starfighters dived, climbed, turned, and sped, firing their own blaster cannon and torpedoes, the larger ships answering with streams of fire from thier smaller anti-fighter turrets. Each minute, officers, crewers, and pilots on both sides died by the hundreds.
***
The huge cruiser shuddered with the impact of a hit.
"One got through, Captain," the Victory's damage control officer announced, "Hull breaches in compartments 1081-1083. Damaged sectors have been sealed off, though we lost a turbolaser battery."
"Shields?" the Captain asked.
"80 percent, Sir."
Victory fired another salvo, the shots burning through the shields of the enemy cruiser she was dueling. Through the bridge window, Admiral Haas watched brilliant explosions blossom from the ship's midsection, flinging men, molten metal, and debris out into the vaccum. The cruiser's bow dipped as she lost directional control. A second volley from Victory blew off a hundred meters of the ship's stern.
The bridge crew cheered.
Haas turned back to the large tactical display monitor. He turned to the Victory's commander. "We're being pressed hard on both flanks," the Admiral said, noticing the Republic's lines bending back on the ends, "but we'll hold, and we're hurting 'em bad in the center."
"Should we send forward Otti's reserves, Sir?"
Haas paused for a moment. "I believe so, Captian, smashing through the center will tip the momentum of this battle in our favor." He grabbed his mobile comm. "Admiral Otti, send in your task force."
***
Twenty of the Victories, arrayed in a hollow wedge, advanced from below and to the rear of the battleline. Fighters spilled from the massive ventral hangars as the formation closed on a Mandalore heavy cruiser inflicting severe damage on a Dreadnought opponent. The lead trio of Victories fired all weapons at once, and the Mandalorian vanished at once in a brilliant flash, the ensuing explosion damaging her frigate escort and wiping out a clone fighter squadron.
***
On the bridge of Lord Bane, near the center of the Mandalore line and so far not yet committed to battle, Jango Fett paced with nervous tension. At last, a vast fleet was under his command, he had received a chance at his dream - an epic battle against a powerful enemy - and he relished every minute.
"General, the enemy has just sent in strong reserves," Bane's Captain reported. "We're managing small gains on the flanks, but our center is in danger of rupture."
Fett paused. "The enemy's new cruisers are more formindable than we imagined," he remarked. The dagger-shaped vessels were extremely well armed and capable of shrugging off vast amounts of incoming fire, and in the center, where most of the new ships were concentrated, they had proved deadly. "Yet our main target is virtually unprotected. Send the signal to Lord Maul - return and engage."
***
"Six, you have two on your tail, coming in high"
"BREAK, Yellow Lead, BREAK NOW!!"
"I got him!"
"Good shooting, Five"
"I've taken a hit in my starboard eng...."
Anakin listened to the comm, set to one of the fighter channels, imagining thousands of dogfights and maneuvers. The impressions in the Force with each voice were varied...fear of a first combat, desperation for an endangered ship or wingman, elation of the first kill or a narrow escape from death, or surprise, pain, and after that eternal silence.
His Headhunter was on standby, repulsorlifts set at minimal power, ion engines spooled up and ready for the fuel that would stream in when he so much as twitched the throttle, resting in the launch bay of Freedom's hangar. Ahead of him he could see Blue's One Flight, and he knew his four pilots, the rest of Blue, and Red Squadron were behind him.
He hated the waiting, sitting in the cramped cockpit and glancing over the instrument panel for the hundredth time, waiting for the launch order that might never come. Instead of being on the front lines, speeding and gyrating in the freedom and elation of flying a high-performance starfighter, he was stuck guarding the transports, ordered on standby to save fuel.
Suddenly, however, an ear-splitting alarm shattered his thoughts. "All squadrons launch immediately, all squadrons launch immediately! Enemy ships have entered realspace in Sector one-oh-seven!"
