The message ping from the comconsole on the far side of her quarters stole Asori Rogriss' focus. With a soft, semi-petulant sigh, Asori put down the book she was reading—Stellar Duty, an absorbing family saga set during the Stark Hyperspace War that she'd stolen from her father's shelf on Agonizer the last time she had been aboard—setting it on her nightstand next to the glass of wine and what was left of her evening snack.
The windows set into the wall of the officers' quarters aboard Termagant were all false, piped in from external datafeeds. Both the ship's bridge and Asori's quarters were buried deep under the hull armor of the ship for maximum protection—one of the many design alterations the UREF had made to the traditional Imperial designs—and therefore she had no view out on open space. Not that there was anything to see: even the mostly empty starscape wasn't visible to anyone aboard at the moment. Hidden under a cloaking shield, Termagant and her three sisters were silent and still, immersed in perfect blackness.
But that cloaking shield also meant that no communications could reach the flotilla. To stay in contact with Admiral Pellaeon, therefore, Asori regularly dispatched small craft and probe droids to edge just beyond the cloaking shroud long enough to send and receive updates. She checked the chrono, and sure enough one of those 'periscope' craft had just returned; the message that was now waiting for her surely had been delivered that way.
She pressed the blinking button as she settled into her desk chair.
The image formed into the familiar face of the commanding officer she knew best. The collar of his uniform was unsnapped and his face was unschooled, and she smiled fondly as Teren Rogriss spoke with a warm humor kept under tight rein in every other aspect of his life.
"Asori, I just want you to know that I recorded this message while I was off-duty and I requested it be delivered to Termagant while you were off duty. That way I could speak to you as your father, and not as your superior officer."
Asori rolled her eyes, smiling. This had been a long-standing tradition between the two of them, a way to reckon with his frequent absences. He often pushed her to step outside of the well-defined, regimented roles of superior and inferior officer and take the much-less-well-defined roles of father and daughter. She never let him, of course—the Imperial Starfleet was a professional force, and she always intended to play that part to perfection.
But to her surprise, gentle amusement wasn't what she saw on her father's face. Instead, there was a sad seriousness. "I know you just laughed at me, but I'm not joking. Sometimes I feel like it's been years since the last time we got to be family." Her father sighed softly. "I still remember the last time we were all together on Anaxes, before the New Republic captured it. I think back and that was the last time, wasn't it? The last time we were really family?"
After her mother's passing, she, her brother Terek, and their father had aligned their leaves to return home on her parents' wedding anniversary. It became a tradition they maintained for five years, but the fall of Anaxes had made its continuation impossible.
The last time they'd been together had been particularly somber. Had her mother still been alive, it would have been Teren and Astora's thirtieth wedding anniversary. They'd made an effort to keep the gathering light, but by the end of the evening (and halfway through a fourth bottle of wine) there had been quite a lot of tears.
Her heart clenched at the anguish on her father's face, and for the first time she realized that all her very necessary efforts to maintain the formal distance required by their shared profession had not just been a shared joke.
"Since Baron Fel brought us out of the Empire proper, I've been thinking a lot about the choices I made. You know your mother wanted me to resign from the Judicial Forces when Palpatine formally reformed us into the Imperial Starfleet, and you know I didn't. I chose to stay in the fleet because it was all I knew. I was still a young man then, but I'd spent my whole life in the service and I had no idea what else I could go or what else I could do. Being a fleet officer was my whole life, with Venators more of a home to me than Anaxes at that point." He looked away and sighed. "In some ways, I was more married to the Fleet than I was to your mother." He shook his head sadly, slowly. "But if I'd known then the consequences that decision would have for you, I'd like to think I would have made a different choice.
"Asori, you joined the fleet because you thought you had to. The pressure was so much greater for you, growing up on Anaxes. For Anaxans the fleet isn't just a profession, it is a way of life, and everyone expected you and Terek to follow in my footsteps. And so I have to ask, Asori… did you ever feel like you had a choice?
"Because I know you felt like you didn't have a choice after you started at the Academy. The Imperial Starfleet is not something you can simply leave—not without severe repercussions. But you didn't just survive your time there, you thrived. In my life, my proudest moment was your graduation ceremony. You had accomplished so much and had proven you were capable, that you had so much to give.
"But… and forgive me, Asori, I had a long talk with Gilad after our meeting with Grand Moff Ferrouz. The old fellow is dealing with rather a lot himself, I'm afraid. All the choices he's made over the years are a lot to come to terms with. All the choices I made are. But then I realized that you never had a choice."
Asori half-raised a hand and formed her mouth to object, before stopping. Her father wasn't there, this wasn't a live communication, so she couldn't give him the response he needed, she wanted to give. She wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that she had plenty of choices. A childhood on Anaxes had pressured her to join the fleet, but she didn't need to cave to that pressure. He would have been able to assure that!
"And so I just wanted to tell you that I was sorry. I wish…" her father paused and lifted a snifter of liquid to his lips, took a sip, and put it back down again. "I wish I'd listened to your mother," he said, finally. "And I love you, and I'm so proud of you, and I want you to know that now you do have a choice. I know you won't abandon your ship or your crew, any more than I could abandon Agonizer. But when this is over, when we've finished off the New Order and the galaxy really has a chance to start over, I want you to know that whatever you do, I just want you to make your own choices, not choose to do things because I did them or because you felt like you had to make me proud. And I wanted to tell you this now, because I don't know when we'll next have the chance to just be father and daughter, and not Admiral and Captain. I've lost too many opportunities over the years already. Too many."
Her father straightened and took another sip from his glass. "Well. That's all I had to say, Asori. I've recorded something similar for Terek." His lips quirked in that gently amused smile she had first expected. "I mean, that's all, Captain Rogriss," he corrected. "Go finish your wine, enjoy my book, and get some sleep. Your crew needs you rested and relaxed."
The screen blinked out. The lower right corner illuminated. RECORDING COMPLETE, it said. REPLAY?
She sniffled and told the computer to save the recording for another time. She felt her belly crawl with remembered tension at an Imperial Admiral expressing doubt through official communication methods—had they been with the New Order, this message would have been monitored and gone into her father's official record. It probably—no, definitely—would have earned him a psych evaluation.
Just the fact that he had been willing to send it at all revealed everything she needed to know about the differences between the New Order and the UREF.
For the next few minutes she paced slowly around her quarters, finishing her wine. The next time she saw her father, she promised herself she'd make an opportunity to put the uniforms away for a while so they could talk. And she should make the effort with Terek, too, because how long had it been since she and her brother had—
Her reverie was shattered by a shrill battle klaxon, and instantly Asori transformed from Teren Rogriss' daughter into Termagant's commanding officer. She slapped the bridge intercom. "Status report!"
"Sir, the sentry picket just ducked in under the cloaking shroud," came the voice of her Chiss executive officer, her professional tones finally spiced with an undercurrent of nervousness. "They report the arrival of at least eight Imperial-class Star Destroyers. It looks like the New Order is mounting a full assault."
"Send to squadron: Stand to action stations and heat up the guns," she said, nearly by rote, slapping an anti-intoxicant stim patch on her arm as she grappled with her uniform. "I'm en route to the bridge."
Admiral Pellaeon and Commander Dreyf huddled over the combat plot on Chimaera's bridge, watching as the enemy ships came out of hyperspace. "Sensors and scouts now report twelve Impstars in three diamond formations," Dreyf said, hand to his ear and confirming what the sensors were feeding the table. "Messy reversion, but they're formed now and are approaching our perimeter on converging trajectories."
Pellaeon's hand skimmed over the map to trace the routes of the enemy Star Destroyers. Whoever was in command of this New Order Fleet had adopted a relatively straightforward strategy for concentrating firepower—it wasn't Daala, he could tell that immediately from the shaky nature of the formations.
His own fleet was outnumbered, but not as badly as the raw numbers indicated. A dozen of his Enforcers were still absent, receiving repairs and refits at Nirauan, but he still had his own four Imperials—Chimaera, Exigent, Gonfalon, and Basilisk. That meant he had eight fewer of the class than the enemy, but he also had thirty Enforcer-class Heavy Cruisers and a strong advantage in starfighters. With that force distribution, had he been in command of the enemy force, he would not have mounted this assault.
The irony of that last fact was not lost on him. Pellaeon had grown used to lacking starfighter strength compared to the New Republic, but Carida's pilots had chosen to join to him in overwhelming numbers and that advantage persisted. After Carida's loss, the New Order had neither the manufacturing to produce TIE fighters nor the academies to train pilots in any significant numbers.
"We're going to go out to meet them as they hit the perimeter," he decided. "They're going to try to englobe us so they can get as many of their batteries on us as possible, but they've also divided their forces. If we can crush one of the three formations quickly, we can deal with the remaining two in turn." He quickly manipulated the map, designating the enemy groups as Aurek, Besh, and Cresh. "Commander Dreyf, please dispatch the following instructions."
His saturnine subordinate paused, attentive, with two fingers to his earpiece again, and waited for the word. It was not long in coming as Pellaeon thought, sketched a plan, and spoke with cool deliberation: "Orders to Captain Evander to take four Enforcers and harass Aurek group; delaying tactics only. To Captain Hischier, take another four Enforcers and keep Besh group honest, but they're to stay within the firing envelope of our Golans. Get me a heavy-edge formation with the rest, Enforcers to engage once our Star Destroyers have their attention. We're going to kill Cresh formation before they can converge. Engines, to flank speed, we're going to want as much flexibility as possible." He nodded, looked over to Lieutenant Tschel, who stood attentively. "Execu—"
"Status Change!"
Pellaeon stopped before he could finish giving the order and turned to examine the plot. The enemy formations had suddenly proliferated on the sensor screen; the large icons representing Star Destroyers were surrounded by a multiplying cloud of much smaller icons. To his astonishment, those icons doubled, and then doubled again, and then doubled again.
It was impossible. The New Order couldn't have that many TIEs. There weren't enough TIE pilots left in the whole New Order! They must have taken every TIE pilot from every garrison left in the Remnant, not to mention every pilot in Daala's undermanned squadrons in the core. And even then they should not have these numbers! His TIEs would be outnumbered three to one!
"Sir, they're not typical designs," Dreyf said, his voice thankfully calmer than Pellaeon's own poleaxed thoughts. "They look slightly smaller than a typical TIE, and I've never seen that wing configuration before."
"Launch our fighters," Pellaeon ordered, re-assessing his battle plan. His Enforcers were more capable anti-starfighter platforms than his Star Destroyers, and those TIEs were suddenly the most pressing threat to his squadron. "Rescind previous orders. Destroyers adopt standard box formation, with Enforcers in a double-layer anti-fighter screen, rotating at the discretion of each division commander. Guns, prepare for incoming fighters!"
"Baron Fel! On the authority of the Grand Moff, I really must insist—"
Soontir Fel ignored Ferrouz's protocol droid as it harangued him. He was already in his favorite flightsuit, the one with he perfect amount of wear to fit just right, and his TIE Defender—painted with the classic red stripes of the 181st that he'd ordered the techs to adorn his unit's fighters with for the better part of two decades now, from back when they'd been the "One-Eighty Worst"—was already humming on its launch gantry, ready for a preflight check. Elsewhere in the private hangar the other three Defenders of his flight were likewise prepared for action.
"Grand Moff Ferrouz insists that it is too dangerous for you to risk yourself in starfighter combat! Baron Fel!"
"Tell Ferrouz that I'm safer in my cockpit than I am in his strategy room," Fel retorted without looking at the droid. "And that he is not my superior and he cannot give me orders, anyway."
The droid huffed indignantly. "This is quite irregular. I have lodged several protests!"
Fel smiled darkly as he grabbed his helmet off its stand and hooked up the oxygen hoses "See that you do, but be warned that you and the Grand Moff will be in line behind my wife."
"Sir," chittered the droid, "your wife does not outrank the Grand Moff!"
"That's what you think," Fel growled, pulling on his helmet before he climbed up the ladder. He jumped into the cockpit and dogged the hatch closed above him before keying his helmet com. "Worst Leader, ready for launch."
"Worst Two, ready for launch," echoed Turr Phennir from his wing. The hard-edged blond had been with Fel and the 181st for a long time and had been one of the first people Fel had recruited out of the Empire after rising to command of the UREF. Phennir was of the perspective that Fel had essentially become the Emperor of his own little square of space, and if Phennir had to choose a Warlord to follow, he would choose Fel.
Fel didn't think of it that way, but he used what he had.
"Worst Three, ready for launch," came a second voice. Chiss pilots didn't usually fly TIE Defenders, but Fel's personal guard knew the importance of being able to travel through Imperial space without drawing undue attention.
"Worst Four, engines and shields green, lasers charged."
"Orders, sir?" asked Phennir.
"The New Order seems to have found a number of TIEs somewhere," Fel said. "I know we're only four fighters, but we're going to reinforce Admiral Pellaeon's squadrons and provide some up-front leadership."
"Four fighters against six hundred," Phennir mused. "I've seen worse odds, but not many." Fel could almost see Phennir's sardonic smile. "Maybe after this, Rebel pilots will stop going on and on about how we've never dealt with the odds they have."
"We do have a few hundred on our side, Two," pointed out Four, a legalistic Chandrilan pilot who had been with Fel since Derra IV.
"Worst Flight, launch!" Fel ordered sharply. Using the fighter's repulsorlifts he lifted it six meters off the ground, then pitched the fighter back. As the gravity pulled him down, he pulsed the fighter's engines and sent it roaring into Poln Major's sky, his wingmates trailing him.
Moff Vilim Disra watched with satisfaction as the battle began, only flicking a few nervous glances at the center of Invincible's bridge, where Emperor-Regent Halmere sat silently on an encompassing throne like Palpatine's that he'd had installed for the mission. The crew watched together as the first flashes of turbolaser fire spat towards the distant enemy. Standing near him, the very junior Admiral Valentin—who, prior to ISB's purges of disloyal Starfleet captains had been merely the politically-savvy captain of a Victory-class Star Destroyer—gave orders with a burbling, almost juvenile enthusiasm.
Disra himself felt nothing but satisfaction. He'd spent the last year working himself into Halmere's inner circle, and the recent New Order purges of the Starfleet and other Imperial domestic agencies had provided him an excellent opportunity to advance in both authority and importance. Disra had quietly placed the previous head of Imperial Intelligence and his deputies on ISB's purge list, and then maneuvered men he owned in to replace them. Consequently, Disra enjoyed unfettered access to everything Imperial Intelligence had to offer (and the ability to keep certain pieces of intelligence out of unfriendly hands).
It had been a stroke of genius, he thought with satisfaction. The fact that the idea had originally come from one Fliry Vorru, and that Vorru had also enjoyed access to all that intelligence through his access to Disra, was something that Disra chose not to think about. Soon enough he would have manufactured enough intelligence to protect himself from Vorru's blackmailing, and then he'd turn the tables on the meddling Corellian former-Moff.
The scanning plot showed the traitor vessels commanded by Pellaeon had seemed to jump in alarm and then clustered together in a protective box formation. The lighter Enforcer-class heavy cruisers started to fire as the TIE droids came within range.
"We're still in the early skirmish phases," Admiral Valentin said to Halmere, with the earnesty of a schoolboy hoping for praise. "Our TIEs just need to keep them off balance and prevent them from using their own TIEs to assault our Star Destroyers. Once we have the range on them it'll all be over. There's no way those Enforcers can stand up to our heavier guns, and their alien crews can't possibly be any match for us!"
Halmere's total lack of response seemed to diminish Valentin's enthusiasm. The young admiral tried to cover that by acting even more enthusiastic. "All ships! Today we end Admiral Pellaeon's treason against our New Order and prove once and for all the superiority of the Empire! Always remember, loyalty is life, and disloyalty is death!"
Disra fought a sigh as the bridge crew went about their duty unaffected by the young twit's yammering, performing the complex choreography of combat with all the enthusiasm of a professional dilettante. Silently, Disra wondered how hard it would be to see Valentin charged with treason so that he could be replaced with someone who would be loyal to Disra, someone with just enough brains to run a fleet but not enough to try and challenge his… guidance. Not very, he decided.
Fel's helmet fans were fighting incipient condensation from his own sweat, his canned air had the same stale, dry taste it always did, and the world was a muted haze beyond his sensors and eyeplates. None of that was atypical when rapidly approaching a bunch of people who wanted to kill him.
And yet, it had been some years since Baron Soontir Fel had felt so relaxed. There was something to be said for the simplicity of space combat compared to running his own off-the books fiefdom. Or raising toddlers. He rarely had the chance to fly, given all those responsibilities.
When Thrawn had recruited him, promising sanctuary for Fel's wife and children and the opportunity to serve an Empire of actual worth, Fel had felt neither the ability nor the inclination to refuse. If he had said no, Thrawn might have killed him and his family just to keep the secret of UREF, and the Empire he proposed to build—with himself in charge of course—was a far cry from the one Fel had turned against.
Still, Thrawn's death had unexpectedly elevated Fel to leadership and in his heart he still wasn't sure why Thrawn had chosen him for that role. The recorded orders that had established his new position, released on the occasion of Thrawn's death, had not fully clarified why the decision had been made. It had been a long time before Fel had truly come to terms with his new reality.
You were born a farmer and became a teacher. Thrawn's short, unsigned note had said. Farmers spark growth, and teachers never stop learning and asking 'Why?' Grow, remain inquisitive, and ensure all you recruit are worthy of the organization's promise.
That weight had never been easy to carry, but since he had come to terms with his new reality, he now had obligations. The UREF was not just a military force in search of a cause. The UREF was a half-dozen Imperial colony worlds where the families of his crews and construction workers lived. It was a network of alliances with dozens more alien species in the Unknown Regions, whose people joined and fought in the UREF military. And it was a cause, a responsibility, a vital task, one that Fel could no more set down than he could breathe in vacuum.
Those were responsibilities and tasks to which he did not always feel well-suited, which was why sitting in the molded cushion seat at the center of a TIE Defender cockpit tracking enemy targets was such an incredible freedom. Even if they were outnumbered three to one.
He made minute adjustments to his inertial dampener, his targeting computer, and his attitude thrusters with the seasoned nerves of a professional. Then he put his love for his family in a small box deep inside his chest and let the killer out. "Worst Flight, make sure your IFF is updated, then weapons free." He heard naught but double-clicks of acknowledgement as the four fighters filled the space ahead of them with hard light and missiles.
The melee surrounding Pellaeon's squadron had grown to include hundreds of TIEs. The small, boxy enemy TIEs, with their cut-out rectangular solar panel wings, were nimble craft and their pilots clearly had their internal compensators set on maximum—they kept pulling maneuvers which would have placed incredible stress on a human body. A quartet of the enemy fighters were making a run on one of Pellaeon's Enforcers, their lasers flashing as they flitted over the heavy cruiser's hull. In response the heavy cruiser's lighter guns sent a scattering of dispersing fire, forcing the TIEs to take evasive maneuvers.
The one Fel was tracking made a quick stutter-step, left to right, and then tumbled, swapping end for end to come back towards him. The abrupt turn was one that Fel would have been hard-pressed to make, but also one that Fel had anticipated. As the enemy fighter completed its flip, Fel caught it cleanly with a quad-burst of his lasers. The New Order TIE vanished in a cloud of fire and debris.
Fel sent his fighter into a spinning turn, grazing just over the Enforcer's shields. He shot along the ship's hull, then throttled up and brought his fighter back around to target the other TIEs menacing him.
There was something familiar about these enemies.
Baron Soontir Fel had long had a reputation as the best pilot of his generation. Others challenged him for the title: He and Han Solo had competed while at Carida together, though Fel had always scored higher than Solo on all the exercises, and Rogue Squadron had several pilots who stood in contention for the title. Fel nonetheless knew that he remained the consensus choice for best, and he also knew just what it was that made him so good.
Fel's situational awareness was second to none.
He didn't have the fastest reflexes, though he was close to the best. Nor was he the best at long-range targeting, or at dealing with the physical strain that came with starfighter combat. Instead, his true strength lay in observation. What Fel could do that almost no one else could do, and that no one could do as well as he could, was see a battlefield, see an enemy, and recognize almost instantly what it was he was seeing.
Few pilots were as good as he was overall. Skywalker didn't fly combat much these days and Fel hadn't flown against his brother-in-law recently; neither of them was near his equal in combat awareness. The only student he'd ever trained who could come close was Tycho Celchu, with his own sort of unmatched, clinical perfection.
He trusted his instincts, tracking his lasers over a second enemy TIE. His targeting reticle flickered green, indicating that he had a good shot, but he held his fire.
The TIE Fel was tracking made a quick stutter-step, left to right, and then tumbled, swapping end over end to come back towards him. Fel pulled the trigger and sent a quad burst of green fire neatly through his enemy, leaving behind a cloud of fire and debris.
On the com, Admiral Pellaeon was relaying orders. "—TIE bombers prepare for firing runs against—"
Fel pressed the red button on his communications unit. "This is Baron Soontir Fel. Hold bomber launch! TIE squadrons, disregard all previous orders…"
As the lead destroyer in Pellaeon's formation, Captain Nidal's Exigent opened the engagement. Her nose swung towards the enemy in concert with her sisters, and she shed sheets of verdant turbolaser and skittering blue ion blasts like she deserved a category eleven lightning warning. Each of his four Star Destroyers had no fewer than six Enforcer-class cruisers offering fire assistance and cover, and the space around Exigent illuminated with a thunderous storm as the enemy TIEs engaged.
If that had been all, Pellaeon was sure his squadron could handle the enemy. The TIEs alone were dangerous, but manageable. But the twelve Imperial-class Star Destroyers that had brought the TIEs to the battle were quite another matter. Approaching on three divergent paths, their heavy turbolaser fire was chewing at Exigent and her escorts. The engagement was still at quite a long range, so the enemy fire was not as effective as it might have been, but that would change.
"Order our TIE bombers to launch and prepare for firing runs against the leading enemy Star Destroyers," he ordered. With the sheer number of enemy fighters, that would be suicide for a number of his bombers, but he had to find a way—
To Pellaeon's astonishment, the communications station blinked, letting him know that his orders were being overridden. "This is Baron Soontir Fel," the comm blared, and that was Fel's voice. "Hold bomber launch! TIE squadrons, disregard all previous orders. I want all fighters to focus on engaging enemy fighters when they are between four and six klicks from their hard targets. The pilots you are up against are untrained and repeat evasive maneuvers…"
The anger Pellaeon had felt at being cut off faded as Fel quickly took the squadron's TIE pilots through an engagement strategy. Apparently, Fel believed that if the enemy TIEs were engaged as they attempted proton torpedo runs, they'd be vulnerable and would always respond to threats in an identical manner.
That seemed absurd. Besides which, what was Fel doing in combat! And in a TIE no less! Was he trying to get himself killed?! "Get me Fel!" Pellaeon ordered Tschel.
"I'm trying sir!" Finally, Pellaeon's voice finished his instructions, and Pellaeon heard an echo of confirmations from the fleet's TIE squadron commanders. Tschel gasped in relief. "I have him, sir!"
"Baron Fel, what in the nine hells are you doing?" Pellaeon barked. "If you get killed—"
"It didn't sit right, me sitting in a bunker somewhere with four of the galaxy's finest starfighters just resting on the permacrete," Fel's voice came back, his bass rumble belying a dark humor. "Admiral Pellaeon, I need command of the fleet's air wing. I know what we're fighting. The enemy TIEs are droids. I recognize their behavioral packages; they're identical to the early-generation Clone Wars-era Vulture droid starfighters we ran sims against at the Academy."
"Droid starfighters?" Pellaeon gaped. "The Starfleet would never use droid starfighters! We spent a decade destroying them all!" But despite his denial, Pellaeon watched as Dreyf brought up the behavioral profile of the enemy starfighters and his disbelief faded as he watched them in action. He had joined the Old Republic's Judicial Forces, and he'd spent a disproportionate number of his years as a young man fighting Separatist droid starfighters. It had been a long time, but there were some things that had been trained too deep to easily forget after even a lifetime. "I'll be damned," he gasped. "Command granted! I'll fight the fleet, you run the fighters."
"Consider it done." Apparently, Fel did not feel either the need to gloat or to reprimand Pellaeon for his reaction. "Admiral, do you still have a periscope connection to Captain Rogriss?"
"We do, sir," Dreyf responded.
"Exigent reports loss of her forward shields!" called one of his officers. Pellaeon forced himself out of the conversation about the TIE droids and turned to deal with his fleet. "Captain Nidal, Make your course ninety degrees to port and prepare to roll if you lose your starboard shield! Second Enforcer squadron, screen Exigent's forward firing arc and redouble your fire against enemy Star Destroyers! Prepare to shift all fire to anti-ship!"
When he turned back to the conversation with Fel, the Baron was already three quarters through his orders, with Tschel preparing to relay them to Rogriss. "—then tell Rogriss that I want her Clawcraft to do exactly what I tell them…"
As he watched the combat plot from the bridge of the Imperial Star Destroyer Invincible, Grand Moff and interim Director of Imperial Intelligence Vilm Disra felt the weight of those titles as his enthusiasm for the battle and its prospects waned almost instantly. The New Order had arrived with twelve Star Destroyers and six hundred TIE droids, outnumbering their enemy three-to-one in both. But the advantage in TIEs was proving to be less of a factor than he had anticipated. At first, the sheer advantage in numbers had seemed overwhelming, but Admiral Valentin's increasing—and quite obvious—nervousness was a compelling argument against that belief.
"Order our droid fighters to concentrate on wiping out the enemy TIEs," Valentin was saying, with the tone of a man searching for an answer, rather than someone who already had one. "Once we've eliminated their fighter screen, our Star Destroyers can close without risk from the TIE bombers they must still have in reserve. And order our Star Destroyer formations to concentrate on Exigent! Once we've liquidated Captain Nidal, their spirits will surely break."
But that too was proving to be more difficult than they had anticipated. Pellaeon's Enforcers were more capable—and dangerous—than their size suggested. Valentin had been so sure that the smaller ships would pose no real threat, and—not for the first time—Disra lamented that ISB had purged all of Kaine's former senior staff. How hard can it be to find a single competent officer in the Imperial Starfleet? he lamented silently.
As Disra's enthusiasm waned, his fear started to grow. Halmere had not yet responded to the more-difficult-than-expected battle. He simply sat in the center of the room, motionless, staring out the forward window and watching the flashes of green turbolaser fire, punctuated by explosions. They could see, in the distance, the Star Destroyer Exigent, her massive broadside turned towards Invincible and her New Order sisters, rolling slowly to continually present recharged shields to incoming fire. Behind her, the noses of Pellaeon's other Star Destroyers flashed with torrents of green fire, and they were surrounded by a mass of smaller ships, each themselves firing defiantly back at the New Order formations. Smaller ships that Valentin had believed to not be a threat… but which were proving otherwise.
They were surrounded, but they were fighting and Disra was no longer sure the New Order would win. And if they lost… he took another peek at Halmere. The Emperor-Regent remained still, his hands resting comfortably on his black-clad knees, white armor surrounding him like fortress ramparts. He seemed impervious to all that was going on around him.
Despite his presence, Invincible's bridge still felt like fear, and Valentin's voice grew ever more shrill.
Exigent was dying. The final relay from her periscope craft made that quite clear. Asori Rogriss assessed the damage and ran the calculations of how many people on her old ship would survive in escape pods and how many would die by fire, or shock, or empty vacuum, and felt a combination of despair and cold fury. Despair, because Exigent would die before she could get there to save them; fury, because she was in an excellent position to exact plenty of vengeance for their deaths, and she intended to do just that.
Termagant's bridge held the taut promise of well-drilled professionals, crackling with the static energy before a lightning strike; commands were clear and in an understandable cadence, and her squadron maintained its formation perfectly.
And then it was time.
Her four Lively-class frigates finally emerged from the dampening blanket of their cloaking shields. Her twelve squadrons of Clawcraft raced ahead at full throttle, slightly encumbered by attached box torpedo launchers. Already well within proton torpedo range of the four Star Destroyers she was flanking, they locked on and prepared to launch, dodging what little turbolaser fire came their way easily.
In the distance she could see the nine glowing circles, each arrayed in lines of three—the classic arrangement of Star Destroyer engines. Those engines were full in her view because she had used her periscope scouts to put herself directly behind the nearest of the three enemy Star Destroyer formations. Every Star Destroyer captain feared being flanked, because while those massive engines gave Star Destroyer's impressive speed for their size and mass, they also left the Star Destroyer's rear firing arc almost entirely undefended.
She tutted silently at the New Order commander who had planned this little engagement. Despite his evident inexperience, what she was about to do to his fleet wasn't entirely his fault. He had no idea that she and her ships were here… and he was about to pay for that lack of knowledge, because he hadn't left so much as a picket ship in his wake.
She keyed her comm headset "All fighters, timed launch. Service target one on my mark. Then two, and three. Then proceed ahead on your own initiative unless otherwise ordered." She heard the echo of acknowledgments from her Clawcraft commanders, watched the plot, waited, and waited a few moments more, leaning forward in her command chair, perched and anticipatory. "Mark!"
Two hundred proton torpedoes shot out from the leading edge of her TIEs. A minute later they slammed into the rear of the New Order Star Destroyer Firestorm. All three of Firestorm's engines went from bright spots of light against the starscape to empty voids. She watched in awe as the entire rear of Firestorm exploded, splintering. It almost appeared as if Firestorm had abruptly split into a swarm of insects, one enormous, invincible ship becoming tens of thousands of smaller ones. Then the Star Destroyer finished disintegrating, its nose coasting forward under momentum, spiraling and burning.
"Target two!" she ordered. The order was entirely unnecessary; her squadrons of Clawcraft were already angling on the second Star Destroyer. This time the range was too close for two full volleys—and they only had two left—so they launched only one. One was all Asori needed. More than a hundred torpedoes slammed into the shields and engines of the Star Destroyer Goliath. The Clawcraft sprinted away, leaving an open firing lane and a viciously wounded, entirely vulnerable Star Destroyer in their wake. "Open fire!" she barked, and her four ships poured heavy fire into the wound.
Bursts of blue light, distinct from the showers of green, slammed into Goliath's three engines. One had already been destroyed by the torpedo volley; the other two winked out of existence under her torrent of fire. She waited another ten seconds as Termagant's guns vaporized armor, blazing deep into Goliath's hull. Goliath's bridge tower vanished, and the leaderless, crippled Star Destroyer began to drift.
"Target three!"
The targeting reticle flicked green and Soontir Fel pressed his use-worn firing stud with unthinking precision. Another TIE droid vanished as his TIE Defender's superior firepower lashed out against its smaller, nimbler, and more fragile foe. Beside him, Turr Phennir's Defender unleashed a stuttering exclamation of laser and ion cannon fire, taking out a trio of TIE droids which had been flying in a tight formation.
The enemy advantage in starfighters had vanished. Outnumbered two to one at the start of the engagement, the TIE droids' piloting patterns had, once identified, made them easy targets. They were still deadly and had swarmed and destroyed at least forty of his TIEs—nearly a sixth of Pellaeon's original strength—but their complete disregard for their own safety and lack of creativity meant that for every TIE Fel lost, his pilots or an Enforcer's guns reaped four New Order droid starfighters.
When the Clawcraft entered the engagement, whatever advantages the TIE droids had were entirely lost. Asori Rogriss' twelve squadrons of Clawcraft had jettisoned their awkward torpedo box launchers and flashed through the ongoing melee decisively, their blue lasers—charrics, the Chiss called them—tearing through TIE droids with casual ease. The TIE droids, which like the Clone Wars era Vultures that preceded them had been designed to swarm an outnumbered enemy, were simply not up to the task. Red dots vanished en masse on his HUD, scythed away by the arriving Clawcraft, and in the distance a third enemy Star Destroyer brewed up in a spectacular chain of detonations.
Fel activated his com. "Admiral Pellaeon, now you may launch your bombers."
Pellaeon's lead Star Destroyer was lost to flame, transforming from pristine armor plates to burning hulk; Exigent's defensive spin continued now out of momentum rather than intent.
But Vilm Disra felt an icy fist of fear close around his heart.
Their sensors confirmed kills on a few squadrons' worth of fighters from Pellaeon's TIE squadrons, a half-dozen dead Enforcers, and Exigent, but that was all. In exchange the New Order had lost three Star Destroyers and nearly all their TIE droids, and the dying had only just begun.
Sheer, unadulterated terror closed at his throat. His hands were as white as his remaining hair under the dye as he clenched the bridge rail.
Admiral Valentin was in full-blown panic. He was sprinting around the bridge, shrieking orders at anyone in his vicinity—especially junior officers, who were not responsible for this debacle and could do nothing to fix it from their posts—demanding that they launch the TIE reserve he had already committed or that the other Star Destroyers destroy the enemy, without providing any guidance as to how.
Halmere fixed him with an absent, silent stare.
"Emperor-Regent!" Valentin pleaded. "This isn't my fault! I didn't know about their other ships! We need reinforcements, with another few Star Destroyers I promise—"
snap-hiss
The Emperor-Regent, who had sat with eerie stillness in his command chair at the end of the bridge walk for the entire engagement, had moved in a flash. A collective gasp went through the bridge as a pillar of ruby fire erupted through the center of Valentin's chest, the lightsaber ending Valentin's career, his pleading, and his life with decided finality. The young, well-connected and impeccably-dressed Admiral slid down the blade, collapsing to the deck nearly in pieces.
"All ships, retreat," Halmere ordered. It was all he said, but abruptly the entire Imperial formation turned to do just that without thought for maneuvering or an orderly withdrawal. Enemy fighters and Enforcers had closed to point blank range and were firing angrily, doing their best to cripple the New Order ships and prevent their escape. Far worse, a swarm of fresh TIE bombers were emerging from Pellaeon's Star Destroyers, lining up the closest foes for their own devastating attack runs.
Minutes passed like hours. The communications station reported losses with the rote metronomic precision of New Order-banned Verpine music. Twelve Star Destroyers had become nine, and then seven, and then the Star Destroyer Krakana's entire port side vanished in a torrent of flame as the combination of Enforcer and TIE bomber fire chewed through shields and armor with insulting ease.
Invincible fled and there was no one on her bridge who did not know that they were running away in ignominious defeat.
Disra was frozen. Few of their Star Destroyers had escaped into hyperspace, and Invincible had only escaped because the other ships of her squadron fought valiantly to ensure the Emperor-Regent's escape. The enemy had possessed ships—both capital ships and starfighters—of unknown design which had proven to be viciously effective. None of Imperial Intelligence estimates had ever even guessed that Grand Moff Ferrouz and Admiral Pellaeon might have additional resources—how could they, this was wild space, there was nothing out here!—but clearly they did, and the battle had started to turn bad even before those mystery ships had gutted the New Order formation!
He could not speak, he could not think. He could only wait in abject terror.
Heavy footsteps came to a rest on the bridge walk beside him and he turned to look into the depths of Halmere's eyes. The Emperor-Regent had a mask of calm, but Disra could almost feel the rage emanating from the former Inquisitor.
Rage directed at him.
"Emperor-Regent," he babbled, trying to sound respectful, but all he could hear from his own voice was Valentin's senseless rambling. "Clearly, our intelligence estimates—"
There was another snap-hiss, and a sudden, aching pain in his chest, and Dira looked down and saw the crackling fire of Halmere's blade thrust through his meticulously-arranged rank insignia. He gasped a last superheated breath and used it to cough out a laugh as he collapsed on Invincible's deck.
And he'd gotten so close to finally getting out of Vorru's shadow…