Author's Note: Here's this week's chapter, and my first attempt to do space combat in this story. I hope you like it!


Orbit around Ophidia, 2.21 AVY:

Flight Lieutenant Luke Skywalker dove towards his target, laser cannons blazing, bolts of energy converging in front of him on an enemy point defense battery. He veered his TIE fighter upwards just in time to avoid the fireball; that gun turret wouldn't trouble the Empire any longer. Pieces of debris tumbled through space, along with clouds of gas and what may have been the bodies of alternate humans.

"Beta Two, Beta Three, you still following?" he asked over the squadron net, as he banked around.

"Affirmative."

"Roger, sir."

"Great. Keep with me, and we'll destroy the next gun."

No casualties yet in his flight of three ships. Fifth Squadron as a whole had only lost one fighter, out of a force of twelve, but the wing's standard TIEs—slow, graceless, and undergunned compared to the more elite Interceptors—were suffering heavily. As he swung around for another attack run, he saw a TIE caught in the red beam of a laser; one of its hexagonal solar arrays sheared off, sending sparks flying, and the craft spun out of control, its journey culminating in a fiery explosion on the side of the hostile space station.

The battle was between the strike craft wing of the Star Destroyer Steadfast and an orbital defense platform. Seventy-two fighters, bombers, and interceptors against one fortress half a kilometer across, with the guns of the Steadfast providing covering fire even as they bombarded the planet below. There were other Star Destroyers in this fight, of course, and other defense platforms, but Luke had not earned the rank of Flight Lieutenant by worrying outside his purview.

He completed his loop through space and headed back towards the station. It comprised two square slabs of ornate metal, with a narrower neck between them, and it bristled with weapons, some designed to take on capital ships and some, much smaller, intended for fighter craft. Gothic arches and decorative gargoyles abounded, lending the structure the air of some alien temple more than anything else. These people had a strange taste in architecture.

Beneath it, the planet was a vast blue, green, and tan sphere, speckled with clouds and blurring around the edges with atmospheric haze. Flashes of light and concomitant shockwaves spread across its surface as twenty Imperial ships rained down turbolaser fire.

Three TIE Interceptors hurtled past him, bound for one of the gun emplacements on the top of the station. There were fourteen anti-starfighter turrets on the upper level and sixteen on the lower; these, comprising both projectile and laser weapons, had to be taken out before the more vulnerable TIE/sa bombers could close in.

A near-blinding column of light streaked from the platform, aimed towards the Steadfast. Some sort of laser. Hopefully the shields would handle it, or Luke would have to find a different hangar to land in.

"Status, Beta One?" radioed Sal Yurvel, his squadron leader, in one of the TIE/INs that had just flown by.

"Alpha One, my fighters and I have taken out one of the lower gun emplacements. We're heading back in to engage."

His helmet was stuffy and entirely too warm, but he couldn't remove it. The cockpit around him was depressurized, to save flight mass, and was no different from the vacuum of space.

"We'll have cleared the way for the bombers in no time. Keep up the good work!"

"Sure thing, Alpha One."

He approached the next gun turret. It was small, at least compared to the size of the station, and lightly armored—the combined firepower of three TIE/INs made short work of it. Lashing flames leapt out and grazed the wings of his interceptor as he banked away.

On the way out, Luke sensed danger. He wasn't sure how, but he followed his instincts and swerved to the right, only for a flash of light to erupt on his left. Around where he would have been.

"Beta Two and Beta Three, sound off," he said.

"Beta Two, reporting."

That was all he heard.

"Beta Three?" His hands sweated within sealed gloves. The pilot of Beta Three was Wes Hernano, and regardless of the Imperial dogma—pilots were expendable, casualties inevitable—Luke didn't want to be the one to tell the rest of the squadron that Wes was dead.

"Beta Three, do you read?"

Not a sound. At this rate the Empire would lose some of its best airmen, and for what? The planet down below wouldn't be of any use to anyone after this battle was over.

"Sir, I still see him," radioed Beta Two, real name Murkel. "Check your radar."

The radar display was up and on the left. There were still two ships following him, maintaining almost perfect formation, with a TIE Interceptor sitting exactly where Wes was supposed to be.

"His radio's out!" Luke exclaimed. He thumped a fist against the side of the cockpit. "That bastard's still alive!"

"Could you repeat, Beta One?" said Sal.

"Sorry, sir. Just got excited."

"Try not to be." As Luke turned into his third attack run, he saw Alpha One and his accompanying fighters engaging one of the station's larger, anti-capital-ship batteries, to little effect. Apparently they were running thin on targets. "We're almost done here, Beta One. Gamma and Delta Flights, engage the last remaining bombers. Beta Flight, fall back and escort the incoming bombers."

Gamma One and Delta One radioed swift affirmatives. Luke frowned, wondering how it could possibly be fair that he was the one assigned to escort duty. But he knew better than to complain to his superior during a battle.

"Copy that, Alpha One. All right, people, you heard the squadron leader: form up behind me. We're going to screen the bombers." Against what, he did not know. The enemy had not deployed any starfighters yet, though he wished they had—then this would be a proper battle.

"One question for you, Beta One," said Murkel. Wes was still silent, though he remained close behind Luke and could evidently hear orders.

"Ask away," Luke said.

"You dodged that laser beam before it fired. How did you see it coming?"

That was a good question. Luke didn't know the answer, himself. "Just a hunch, I guess."

"Keep it up, and you might survive this war." Murkel chuckled. "Can't say that for the rest of us."

"There's always a war going on, somewhere. I wouldn't be so sure of my chances."

Twelve bombers were up ahead, arranged in four parallel groups ahead of the looming Steadfast. They were a double-hulled design, with separate modules for pilots and payloads, and their collector panels bent inwards, much like the wings of his own TIE/IN.

Now that the platform's anti-fighter weapons were all but neutralized, he could afford to let his mind wander a little. Murkel was right. Luke had an unnatural talent for flying, a certain agility and precognition he didn't understand. It had been evident in his T-16 skyhopper back home on Tatooine, and in the simulators, and finally in the TIE Interceptor he now flew through an alien galaxy. Ultimately it was what had landed him the rank of flight lieutenant fresh out of the Academy. Even though he knew Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru had disapproved of his joining the Empire, he hoped they'd be proud if they knew how far he'd come.

Aboard the Steadfast, 2.21 AVY:

One Imperial-class Star Destroyer could level a planet. Twenty of them was overkill. Captain Pryde looked out through an arc of trapezoidal windows, his arms folded in front of him, and watched as his ship and others laid waste to a world of the Imperium.

"It's beautiful," he said. The ship was angled directly towards the target so that the entire main battery could fire. Bolts of green energy rained down onto the surface like hailstones, detonating on impact, boiling seas and melting the crust down to a depth of several kilometers. Nothing would survive. A quarter of the planet's surface was already magma, and most of the rest was covered by swirling clouds of vapor and atomized rock.

"I said the same thing at Jedha," said Director Krennic, standing beside him on the walkway in the center of the bridge. To either side, recessed pits held various officers going about their duties, oblivious to the magnificent sight just a meter above their heads.

"Sir?"

"It was not long before the Victory at Yavin." Krennic's blue eyes were fixed on some point far, far in the distance, perhaps beyond the planet. "The first live-fire test of the Death Star. I wanted to destroy the entire world, but Governor Tarkin doubted the power of the weapon I had created, and he ordered only a single reactor ignition. Just enough to obliterate their Holy City. It was very much like this, except it took only a single shot."

Pryde knew of the rivalry between Krennic and Tarkin. He also knew that it was a sensitive subject for the director, so he had to tread carefully.

"Odd that he held you back, sir. The Death Star has been used at full power countless times."

"Yavin IV, Alderaan, Quarzite, Metellos… he had no qualms using the Death Star's full potential after he was in command of it. But it was my achievement. Not his."

The captain nodded. "Surely the Emperor will reward you well for this latest conquest."

"He had better. I've come too far, and I won't stand to be in the shadows any longer while Tarkin takes all the glory."

Pryde didn't mention that he had doubts about the whole venture. This world, Ophidia, the first they had visited, was putting up stiff resistance. Batteries in orbit and on the surface had already damaged Merciless and Terror. The new universe was unlikely to yield quick victory, especially if some of the legends—xenos, Titans, the Angels of Death—were true.

The Steadfast shook under their feet. Another hit from the orbital defenses. The Star Destroyer's entire TIE wing was out there, engaging the batteries, trying to whittle them down so that the main guns could focus more on bombardment, but that meant there were a few points of resistance standing which might otherwise have been space dust.

"Shield status?" Pryde asked.

"Holding, sir," reported an officer from down below, braced against a wall. Pryde and Krennic had no such support. If another blast rocked the ship, it would be embarrassing to fall over in front of the men.

"Sir," said another lieutenant, from a console near the back of the bridge, "Our bombers have neutralized the nearest defense platforms. All major and minor weapons emplacements have been taken out."

"Very good. Move on to the next."

"The next is on the other side of the planet, sir, and Terror is already engaging it. Do we want to send our fighters that far afield?"

"Hm. Good point." Ophidia was all but defenceless, now—they could easily hover here unmolested for another hour, raining a hail of devastation, and then their work would be done. Another Base Delta Zero for the Empire. "Have the Interceptors mount patrols, bring the other craft back to the hangar."

"Right away, sir."

"Well, director"—he turned back towards Krennic—"looks like we've broken them. Even with the amount we've already bombarded, shockwaves, tsunamis, and earthquakes will have taken out most of the remaining cities."

Analysts had estimated a population of 6.7 billion, based off of probe data. Their deaths were a necessary sacrifice. The Empire maintained its rule through fear, and fear was instilled in subject peoples—or soon-to-be-subject peoples—by demonstrations of strength.

"Let us hope the next fifteen targets prove about as easy," Krennic said. "This shall be only our opening salvo, Captain Pride. Imagine what we'll be able to accomplish once we have a hundred Star Destroyers through the portal? A thousand?"

"Indeed, sir."

The turbolaser bolts continued to rain down, and they burst among clouds of ash.


Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Next week, tune in for some starfighter action, and the introduction of the Adepta Sororitas! Also, stay on the lookout for a new "Gifts of the Blood God" chapter; I'll write it when I have time.