Part XXI
Major Grawdin Yortevin stared dispassionately out the viewport of his flagship, the Red Hand. His superiors seemed to be in a state of confusion at the moment; first, his orders had been to await the arrival of the apprentice Xela, before launching his massive combined force; then, that he was to await the coming of Moff Croyel himself, and the secret leader of the underground organization.
Well, he'd waited this long, he supposed. Twenty years, he had spent isolated from a galaxy he hated, waiting for the right time to strike back at those who had torn the Empire to shreds and replaced it with a shadow of a government, a government that allowed outside invaders to nearly destroy everything. And very soon, they would seize that government, after dismantling its military forces fleet-by-fleet.
His armada was a beautiful thing- combined with the smaller fleets of the rogue Moffs who had staged their own diversion at Bastion, it was more than large enough to easily conquer any one of the Galactic Alliance fleet groups. He just waited for Alurin to give him the coordinates and the word, and he would pound them to slag.
"Sir!" a young sergeant called to him. "Ships approaching on vector twenty six point four."
"Oh?" he turned and scanned, waiting for the telltale shimmer of reverting from hyperspace. Was this Croyel already? "How many?"
"Uh…" before he could get an appropriate reading on instruments that were, admittedly, not state-of-the-art, space began to move…
And an entire fleet materialized before them. Yortevin growled a low challenge; he had wanted a fight, and the fight had come to him. Efficient.
"They're hailing us, sir."
He waved his hand dismissively. "Put it on," he smirked. "Let's hear the last words before their fleet is demolished under our extraordinary strength."
A few seconds passed, and then a loud voice boomed over the comm channel. "Red Hand armada! You will surrender to Admiral Bwua'tu of the Galactic Alliance Fifth Fleet, or you will be destroyed."
Yortevin's lip curled. "They dream that they can outmatch us?" he said aloud to no one. "Captain!" he barked at his ship commander. "Alert the armada to stand by- damaged vessels, retreat on a six point seven vector. We attack on my signal."
He stared at the oncoming ships, growing larger by the second, yet still thousands of kilometers away. "Captain, on my mark…"
"Major, new ships incoming… thirty two point one…"
He whipped around just in time to see a new fleet emerge from hyperspace thirty degrees starboard of the Fifth Fleet. "Armada!" a new voice rang out. "In the name of the Galactic Alliance First Fleet, under Admiral Kre'fey, surrender, or be destroyed."
Yortevin glanced at the sensor analysis and did some quick calculations. They still easily outgunned the two fleets, though with several ships still out of commission, it would be slightly closer to even… but only slightly. "They're fools," he murmured. "Captain, change course, let's take them out one at a time rather than be caught in the middle. If we flank the Fifth, the First will be unable to fire around them."
"Yes, sir." The dreadnaught slowly began to turn in tandem with the rest of the formation. The First Fleet began to move to match their maneuver, but one of the advantages of having more, smaller ships was the heightened maneuverability and speed while doing so. They were nearing range, when the same sergeant spoke up quickly, and a bit haltingly.
"Sir… new ships…"
"Where?" Yortevin barked. He did not need an answer. As he spun on the deck of the bridge, he saw the shimmer of reversion through the aft transparisteel viewport. His voice died in his throat.
A new voice. "Armada, this is your final warning from Admiral Niathal of the Galactic Alliance Third Fleet. You have ten seconds." Yortevin just stood and stared, wondering how Croyel had so severely miscalculated… "Commanders, you have your targets; fire at will."
Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.
Kyp Durron set the charge and the timer before hurrying away to join the other three Jedi at a safe distance.
The world of Gree Baaker was just as dreary up close as he had envisioned from the shuttle as he landed with Xela and Tahlia a week earlier. It was hot and arid, with a prickly predominance to the plant life that must have made this a miserable place for a prison camp. Which, he supposed, was the idea. Happily, they had only landed a couple of kilometers outside the small complex which was already in sight.
The charge blew- the four of them ducked reflexively, but there was no need. The relay station was enveloped in smoke and flames for several seconds before sparking and crackling, clearly out of commission.
"Okay," he muttered, signaling them to move on, "if I'm right, that should have wiped out their long-range comm abilities which hopefully includes communication between the bunker and the surface."
Saba Sebatyne hissed appreciatively, tail flicking back and forth in anticipation of the fight to come. "Should these onez also take out the power?"
"No," Kyp murmured, "the last thing we want to do is to trap them kilometers below the surface; it wouldn't surprise me if these people have enough supplies stashed to last them ten years down there. Not that it would do them much good without life support…" he shrugged. "I'd rather not deal with that scenario."
"Agreed," Hamner said. "Then, uh… what's the plan? Is there a plan?"
Kyp shrugged. "Depends if they've realized we're coming, I suppose."
"How very… reassuring," Zekk grumbled. "You're sure there are only six of them or so?"
Kyp nodded. "Should be; the entire placed is based on absolute secrecy and impenetrability. Obviously they overestimated their own cunning," he said wryly, "but either way, they shouldn't have had time to call in reinforcements, even if they were willing too. No, the thing we have to worry about now is that they've already fled. If not… I am aware of one guard, the Moff, the leader, and maybe… four or five apprentices. And," he hesitated, "there are two of them who I don't think will be much trouble- if one is still alive, that is."
"Still alive?"
"He… assisted our getaway, in a manner of speaking. It shouldn't have looked that way to Wrynn, but it was still a failure, if not a betrayal in his view…"
They neared the edge of the complex and fell silent. Kyp could sense presences alert and aware… he wasn't sure if that was because they had seen them land, or had realized the communications had been knocked out. Possibly both.
The four of them slipped inside the hangar through a hole unceremoniously cut by Sebatyne in the blast door. A quick scan of the bay suggested to Kyp that they had not yet fled, everything still looked in place- save the shuttle he and Leyla had stolen.
"Well?" Zekk murmured.
"I think we've made it in time…"
The door opposite opened and Kyp spun, bringing his blaster to bear in his left hand, lightsaber unlit in his right. The four slunk into the shadows under a blastboat as the guard Kyp had stunned a week ago walked in cautiously, followed by Croyel.
"There's no one here," Croyel muttered, and Kyp glanced over, noticing the convenient placement of Saba's hole in the blast door, masked behind an assault shuttle.
"No," a cold voice rang out from behind him. "They are here; I can feel them." Wrynn strode into the hangar, followed by Xela, Tahlia, and two apprentices Kyp had not met. Vulcor was not among them. He raised his voice, peering around the darkened hangar. "Come and face me honorably, Kyp Durron," he raised his voice, and the hangar was suddenly flooded with lights. "No more tricks and deceits; we will settle this as noble warriors."
Steeling himself, Kyp stepped out from the shadows of the blastboat, flanked by the others. He spared a glance over the four apprentices, noting the narrow coldness of Xela's eyes and the wide hurt of Tahlia's. The others were impassive- more or less.
"It's over for you, Wrynn," Kyp said. "You can surrender to us and face the judgment of the Jedi; this does not need to end in bloodshed."
Wrynn's hard, dark eyes swept over his face, and Kyp felt an involuntary shiver go down his spine at his expression. Predatory, cunning, mocking… and he knew that it would come to a fight- but Wrynn was going to play with them first.
Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.
Jacen Solo stepped through into the chief-of-state's temporary new office while the upper levels of the Republic Executive Building were being reconstructed. He had been summoned without being given a reason so he was, naturally, curious.
Ferrin Belotab gestured him inside and then backed out, closing the door behind him. Jacen looked up and found himself looking at the smiling faces of Cal Omas and Sien Sovv. "Jacen," Omas came forward and took his hand, "come, sit, sit." Mildly bemused, he did so, taking up one of the comfortable chairs opposite Omas's desk.
"What can I do for you today, Chief Omas? Admiral?"
"Oh, my dear boy- nothing. Rather, we wish to extend our gratitude at your hard work these past weeks and- now that the conspiracy seems to be routed and exposed- explain to you just what you've helped us defeat."
His brows rose and he glanced between them.
"Jedi Solo," Sovv spoke up, "just two hours ago, I received a transmission from Admirals Kre'fey, Niathal, and Bwua'tu of the First, Third, and Fifth Fleets. Acting on information acquired by General Antilles, they ambushed a massive rebel fleet, the combined forces which attacked the Fourth Fleet at the same time as Bastion. This intelligence was actionable solely due to your efforts here which enabled those commanders to rout the spies in their midst."
"I," Jacen was speechless. "Really, I was just trying to find my niece," he admitted wryly.
Omas smiled in a fatherly sort of way. "Be that as it may, you have quite possibly saved the Galactic Alliance as we know it from a decades-old plot originally hatched by Palpatine himself. And your niece has been found and is safely reunited with your sister and her husband and, at this very moment, a strike force is gunning for the head of this organization- Red Hand. With their military destroyed and spies uncovered, they are helpless, and once the strike force succeeds, they will be ended completely.
"Jacen, this level of coordination across all fleets would have been impossible without your tireless efforts here on Coruscant; therefore, Admiral Sovv and myself would like to extend to you the sincere thanks of the Galactic Alliance government and its military. And," he added wryly, "if you ever consider a career in Intelligence, let me know- we could use people like you."
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Wedge Antilles read the report from Admiral Kre'fey and smiled in grim satisfaction. No prisoners had been taken among the original armada though, perhaps unsurprisingly, a number of vessels belonging to the Moffs' fleets had quickly surrendered when the big turbolasers started firing from three surrounding fleets at once.
In his experience and understanding, survival had always been more important to Imperial Moffs than strong convictions.
And with Jacen Solo's investigatory work wrapping up the loose ends nicely, that just left the small strike team's work on Gree Baaker to take care of the head of the monster, killing it absolutely.
As he sat there, still staring at his screen, he thought back on the stunning revelation about Kyp Durron which Leyla had accidentally uncovered. Jag had come to explain to him briefly, and apologize for not having told him in the first place. But Wedge was the first person to admit that he had a grudge against Durron, so maybe it hadn't been such a bad idea.
He still couldn't quite make the math add up- with Leyla's age, the falling out between Jaina and Durron, the beginning of her relationship with Jag… there was some piece of the explanation that Jag wasn't offering. But maybe, he thought- he didn't want to know.
End Part XXI