Chapter Two: Storm of Violence

The gathered admirals were tense and disturbed. Worry added lines to the aged faces. These were men who had reaped the benefits of the Rebellion. They were born from affluent, politically-influential families and made good use of their rank to elevate themselves into the echelons of the New Republic. But the New Republic died and was replaced by the fledgling Galactic Federation of Free Alliances—they had to begin their climb to power all over again.

They started small, taking on assignments along the Inner and Outer Rims, confident that there would be few obstacles to bar their return to prominence. The fringe territories were wild, barbaric, but surely admirals of their intellect and caliber could tame such worlds and bring them to their knees. It was not to be so. They encountered pirate navies, well-trained and crafty, led by warlords seeking conquest over their little domains.

They ruled over small pockets of civilization, lorded over tiny, insignificant worlds that were only barely part of the galactic democracy. But they had power—more power over those planets than the admirals did. To assuage their wounded pride, the admirals went to war. They failed to defeat the organized pirate fleets.

And then came Angela Marshair.

The beautiful young Jedi Knight led a small corps of mercenaries into one of the pirates' bases and wiped it out in a day. She captured ships and took the leader prisoner. These she presented to the admirals with the hauteur of a highborn woman and the authority of a seasoned warrior. There was a dangerous light to her eyes, but the admirals could not deny her ability. They had sought to incorporate her into their plans, but found that she turned their gambits against them. Now she held four of their capital ships and the loyalty of their crews. Now they saw her as a threat.

And the admirals grew bitter and turned their schemes against her.

"Marshair grows stronger with every victory," rasped Admiral Ronso, emphasizing his point by pounding his fist on the table. "I've reports that say she's sent Cragg to the Federation in chains! She even paraded him before her troops. Her arrogance is astounding."

Admiral Moltos placated his peer with a stern look. "We must not move rashly. She is a capable tactician and a Jedi, a powerful combination as we have seen. Moving against her now would be foolish. She would learn of any plans we make and destroy us. Believe me when I say this: Angela Marshair is only waiting for the opportunity to eliminate us."

"And with good reason," agreed Admiral Stempson. "We are her chief rivals along the fringe worlds. We control the military bases that she has to dock at to supply her ships and feed her men. Let us use that against her."

"She's already thought of that," said Moltos. "When was the last time she docked at any of our bases? Two months ago. She did not have enough supplies to last one month. Where do you think she is getting her resources? From the pirates—she takes their rations and their fuel and their repair droids when she conquers them."

"In other words, she's self-sufficient," growled Ronso. "But this proves that she is no better than the scum! If we alert the Federation to her actions—"

"And run the risk of being branded as incompetents?" interrupted Moltos. "Don't be a fool, Ronso. This is a delicate matter. Marshair isn't an official member of the military. The Federation only allows her to retain a fleet because she has made astounding victories where we only found defeat. To go crawling to the government with demands to have her removed when her reputation is so sterling is to commit political suicide."

"Then what do we do, Moltos?" sneered Ronso. "Or would you simply have us cower with a our tails between our legs like curs?"

Moltos ignored the barb. "We discredit her. We find something, anything, that can be used to break down her reputation. And I have a plan in the works that will do that."


A loud bang sounded throughout the bridge. Angela pounded her fist onto her armrest again, causing another bang. "Those fools cut off my supplies again," she growled upon receiving the communications from the Tatooine port authority. "They plot against me even this far out in the Rim!" Her fury, rarely seen by any, sent her subordinates cowering in their chairs. Upon seeing their fright, she took a deep breath and forced herself to calm. "I apologize for my outburst," she said sincerely. Her crew relaxed visibly.

She looked out the viewport at the yellow dustball that was Tatooine. They had come to pick up a month's shipment of rations and medical supplies, as well as to order proper repairs for the Sentinel and the various starfighter squadrons that had been damaged during the assault on Cragg's base. Normally, she just looted what she needed from her foes. But pickings had been meager lately and the Sentinel required extensive repairs, such that normal looting was insufficient.

She had come to Tatooine for what she needed because there were no Federation military bases there. But her rivals, the Federation's admirals, had sent instructions in advance to purchase and route all available resources to other hotspots, where the other Federation ships were fighting the pirate lords. It did not surprise her that those vessels were loyal to her political enemies.

"What are we going to do now, Commander?" one of the ensigns asked. "We don't have enough food to last us another week."

Angela thought quickly, tapping her temple. Her mood immediately brightened and a cunning grin split across her face. "Open a channel to Lieutenant Vale. Ah, Lieutenant. Firstly, I want to express my thanks for your good work—the information you got me made our victory at Cragg's possible. Secondly, I have another assignment for you. Get me as much data on the pirate Oppo Recees. He's the one disturbing the peace along the Wellisk Trade Spine. I want sightings, combats with the local militias, starfighter and gunship complements, levels of combat skill—everything."

"Another pirate lord, so soon?" Vale sounded surprised and with good reason. Angela Marshair was not noted for her recklessness in tactical affairs. "Our resources are stretched thin as it is, Commander. We don't have what it takes for another assault. Surely you see that."

Angela suppressed an irritated, impatient twitch of her eye. With her enemies' interference fresh in her wounds, she was not in the mood for even the lowliest insubordination. "Lieutenant, you only have to obey my orders and trust in my judgement. Bring me the information I requested. I want it on my desk in three days." She shut off communications with an abrupt click. "Ensign, hail Captains Taisho, Ullwar, and Nico. They are to prepare their squadrons for a standard frontline assault. And tell Alpha and Epsilon Squadrons to meet me in my war room in an hour."

Her rivals sought to put her out of the game, sought to take down her victories by starving her fleet. Such a gambit would not work on her, for she had foiled them again and again and again. This was merely another childish attempt to defeat her, but it would not work. It had surprised her, yes. She did not expect their arm to reach this far out into the fringe. But she was not worried. Oppo Recees was quite the successful pirate—surely his holds contained much fruit for her and her men to feast on. Already, the seeds of another plan were sown in her mind, which would carry her to victory and, more importantly, to supplies.

She watered those seeds and watched them germinate as the two starfighter squadrons filed into the war room. "I'll be brief," she said. "I am staging an assault on the pirate lord Oppo Recees. Chances are, a frontline assault will not work, but that is not the meat of my plan. That will merely be a cover. Instead, you will be training for an infiltration strike. I want you to escort a space transport or a bomber carrying explosives to Recees and blow him up."

"That sounds sketchy, Commander," Major Isano noted.

"At the moment, yes it is," Angela agreed. "But within three days the plan will be more detailed. I am expecting further information soon. In the meantime, I want you all to prepare yourselves for stealth operations. Modifications to your standard training regimen will be instituted as my plan develops. Dismissed."

The next three days were hectic for everyone in the fleet, but even more so for her. She preferred a hands-on approach to directing her forces, and so personally reviewed every report and training regimen nightly. She did not find a moment's sleep during those three days, for she was drawing up plans and tactical layouts the entire time. She met with other lieutenants, other majors, other captains to discuss and clarify her stratagems, ensuring that her men performed precisely as she wanted. Her nights were heavy-lidded and exhausting, accompanied only by a warm muffin or cup of caffa that rapidly cooled from inattention.

But then came Lieutenant Vale's reports, twenty hours earlier than she had anticipated. The four hundred pages of papers and datacards revived her, lent her new energy. She eagerly devoured their words and figures and she determinedly applied them to her operations. The emptiness of space flew by her in a timeless dance, with her working amidst the lonely light of a lamp, finishing the last bits of her strategy.

The next morning came and she tiredly took her seat on the bridge. But a smile lit her face.

"Status report," she demanded, suppressing a yawn.

"We've just entered the Wellisk Trade Spine, Commander," reported one of the navigators. "As per your instructions, Omega Squadron is on escort duty and Alpha and Epsilon Squadrons are hiding behind the Intrepid and Interloper."

"Are they powered down?" she asked. "Are they still magnetically attached to the ships?"

"Yes, Commander. As per your instructions."

"Good. And the bomber?"

"It is attached as well, and fully loaded."

"What about the Sentinel?"

A tactics officer answered her. "The Sentinel is at the other side of the Spine, Commander. It is standing by and waiting for your orders. As per your orders, it is maintaining radio silence."

"Excellent." Angela settled back in her chair and allowed her eyes to shut, giving them a much needed rest. "Are all ships slaved to jump to Delta Squadron?"

"Yes, Commander."

"And where is Oppo Recees?"

"Delta Squadron is tailing him now, Commander," said another officer. "Recees' forces are raiding the farming planet of Catara." The officer visibly winced at saying the name. Quietly, he added, "It's my homeworld, Commander."

Angela opened her eyes and gave him a reassuring smile. "We'll save it, don't you worry about that. Just do your duty, officer, and put your faith in your fellow crewmembers and me. Oppo Recees' days of piracy are over starting this minute."

She stood, knowing that her authoritative appearance as both a leader and a Jedi would inspire her crew. "Open a channel to all our forces—including the Sentinel. This is Fleet Commander Angela Marshair. All forces, commence operations!"

As one, her fleet entered hyperspace, reappearing only seconds later behind Delta Squadron. Before them were the green world of Catara—and the seven capital ships of Oppo Recees.

Oppo Recees was one of the more powerful of the pirate lords along the fringe. Having stolen ships from both the New Republic and the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances, he had one of the strongest fleets around. But not even his seven dreadnoughts would save him from Angela Marshair.

Her fleet spread out like a fan. The Intrepid and the Interloper moved in from the flanks, while Angela's Impermeable drove right through the center. The pirates turned their attention from the planet to their new enemies, and dozens of fighters spilled into space like little metal insects. In response, Angela's three capital ships deployed their own squadrons—though Alpha and Epsilon remained hidden and unused.

Angela watched the battle with interest, her lethargy forgotten and shed like a cloak. "Gamma and Omega Squadrons are to attack the engines of that cruiser, the Tooth of Nail," she said. "And Intrepid, turn your guns on the Ugly Mate. Beta and Delta Squadrons are to attack the Long Talon. Keep it from joining up with the Ugly Mate." The amendments to her attack plan were carried out with lightning-fast speed and bull's eye precision. She grinned tightly as she saw the Tooth of Nail halt dead in its tracks, its engines sputtering and finally exploding. The Long Talon never made it to the Ugly Mate's side, and its sister ship fell to the greater firepower of the Intrepid. The pirate ship sat gutted and listless.

"Intrepid," Angela said, "press your attack. Head for Recees' flagship, the Terror of Hell. Interloper, move in to support. Sentinel, come out of hiding and destroy the Long Talon. Prevent it from attacking the Interloper."

Suddenly, the Sentinel dropped out of hyperspace, having been slaved to the Interloper's position. It opened fire, razing the shields and hull plates of the already-damaged Long Talon. The pirate vessel spewed atmosphere and fire, a clear sign that it was disabled. The Intrepid and Interloper lumbered past the pirates' lines of defenses, heading straight for the Terror of Hell. But Angela saw two more pirates vessels coming up right behind them.

"Sentinel, move in to protect our ships," she said. "Helm, take us to full throttle. We're going to intercept those two pirates. Have Delta and Gamma run interference."

She saw the Interloper and Intrepid move within firing range. They opened fire on the Terror of Hell, which was accompanied by a massive gunship called the Eternal Flame. The four ships unloaded an intense burst of laser fire upon each other, tearing through shields and metal.

Angela gave the order for the coup de grace. "Alpha, Epsilon—drop your bomb." Immediately, sixteen starfighters poured out, dancing across the Terror of Hell's bridge. With them came the bomber like a great bulbous balloon waiting to pop. It came right up to the bridge, its starfighter escorts destroying any opposition in its path. Its cargo bay opened, spilling hundreds of small metal blocks.

"Alpha, Epsilon—break formation and get out of there," Angela ordered.

The metal blocks struck and the Terror of Hell was engulfed in flames. The plasma bombs tore apart the bridge and engines, gutted the shield generators, disintegrated the first six levels of the ship. By the time the fires died in the coldness of space—only mere seconds—the Terror of Hell was no more than shards of twisted durasteel.

She sighed, feeling victory in her hands. "Open a channel to the pirates," she ordered. "This is Fleet Commander Angela Marshair. I demand your immediate and unconditional surrender," she said, calling upon the speech she knew by memory. "You're captain is dead and you have lost your flagship. Three more lie disabled in our wake. Surrender and you will be given a fair trial. Continue to fight, and you will suffer the consequences—such as the fiery fate of the Terror of Hell."

The communication channels were instantly bombarded by messages of capitulation.

Angela waved a hand, and a communications officer shut off the channels. "Commander," the officer began, "we don't have any other bombers."

The brown-haired girl smiled widely. "I know, but they don't." Then she laughed and her crew shared her mirth. "Have salvage crews gather what we can from the Terror of Hell," she said. "Use what you can to repair our ships. Send troops to pacify the crews of the remaining pirate vessels. I want control over them. Put all the pirates in the Impermeable's brig."

She looked down at the Cantaran officer. "Congratulations everyone," she said to the crew while keeping her eye on the officer. "We've just saved a good planet." The officer smiled with tears of gratitude and joy in his eyes.


Capturing three pirate ships turned out to be most fruitful, for each carried enough supplies for six months. With eighteen months' worth of material, her fleet was practically self-sufficient. However, she lacked the manpower to operate an additional six capital ships. The Tooth of Nail, Long Talon, and Ugly Mate would take time to repair, but eventually even they would join her fleet—another three ships, if she waited long enough. Yet she was loath to leave such fine vessels behind. The problem was soon rectified, however.

The thankful people of Catara had sent her an invitation to a feast in her honor. She and her crew were their heroes. Angela agreed and went with her officers onto the surface of the farm world. Her officers wore pressed and elegant dress uniforms. She had such a uniform in her wardrobe, along with the standard uniform of a Fleet Commander. But she never wore either of them, for she was a Jedi at heart. Like always, she wore simple black tunic and trousers, the only item of significance—her lightsaber—hanging from her belt.

Angela found the Catarans peaceful and accommodating. They were friendly and praised her and her men. They had heard of her efforts and valiance across the frontier worlds, and she heard many tales of her own exploits exaggerated to such a degree that she sounded like a goddess of war. Angela was surprised to learn that many young Catarans want to leave their hoes behind to join her in her heroic deeds.

The news that she had an enormous pool of potential recruits staggered her. She had never anticipated her deeds to inspire so many. She had always thought her role as a military leader would be confined to the fleet. But it had expanded without her ever realizing it.

"They respect you," Captain Taisho said to her during the banquet. "You are their savior and even before then, they heard much about your war against the pirates. You're doing the stuff of legends, Commander Jedi."

"But why join me?" she mumbled, sipping a glass of wine. The grapes were very fine on Catara, and they made a pleasing drink. "War isn't a place for heroics. It may result in them, but more often than not, people just get killed."

"Look at it from their perspective, Angela," the old soldier said. His use of her name, a sign of familiarity that she never divulged to anyone, went unnoticed by the brown-haired Jedi. "Look at them and then look at how they see you. You're young, vibrant, beautiful. Even in simple black, you cut a stunning figure. You're a Jedi Knight, a commander, and a heroine. You've succeeded where others failed. They say you're a goddess because you are like a goddess: powerful, wise, intelligent, unstoppable."

"It's nice of them to say so," Angela said absently, even more stunned. "I never really considered myself anything like that. I've just been doing what I thought had to be done. Those fools in the military are just after the political rewards, Taisho. They're losing because they're too cowardly to face reality. I just wanted to make things better."

"And you have," he agreed.

"But I didn't ask to become their heroine!"

He chuckled. "My daughter used to want to be an actress, Commander. Around your age, she got her wish. She hated the attention after a while. Guess you two share that much in common." With that, he stood and went to refill his drink.

Angela sighed, but a part of her—the thinking tactician—was already trying to turn the unexpected situation in her favor. In the darkest hours of slumber, she would toss and turn in her bed over her decision. But her duty to the Federation overcame her hesitation. She sent out an offer to all the young men and women of Catara: if they wished to save other worlds from the pirate threat, they could join her. Almost fourteen thousand did.

Training them took time, and her fleet stayed inactive for over three months on Catara, using the fields for educating her raw recruits in military life. But by the end of the third month, she had seven capital ships with full crews and another three close to flying status. The expanded fleet sailed off into the starlit abyss of space, Angela Marshair proudly at its head.