There were many ways a commanding officer of a ship or fleet could choose to decorate his or her private chambers. Some opted for a more spartan appearance, reflective of their cold, calculating natures. Others lavishly decorated their cabins, indicating their greed and arrogance. Onboard the Imperial I-class Star Destroyer Chimera, however, the commanding officer of the Seventh Fleet and Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy had a different taste.
His chamber was covered in sculptures, paintings, drawings…
Art.
At first glance, one might have thought that the greatest military mind in the galaxy was an eccentric collector, gathering pieces from across space to collect dust in a private art gallery.
But this man was no mere "collector". Unlike what most people thought, art did not just have aesthetic purposes
Know your enemy, and you need not fear the results of a hundred battles.
Mitth'raw'nurudo, known to the galaxy proper as simply "Thrawn", opened his eyes and studied the Arcadian flag before him, noting the flowing, powerful lines of the golden eagle, which appeared to be flying towards a brilliant three-pointed star of the same color.
Ascendant. The eagle designates their belief in justice, order, authority, and independence. The star is evocative of their religion, which is tritheistic. The deep red is symbolic of their commitment to duty, and their memory of those who shed their blood before them in defense of the "Fatherworld". The Eagle is holding the star, indicating a defensive mindset.
He next moved to a portrait of King Lysandus and his family. In particular, he studied the face of the now-deceased king's son, one Alexios Beniko.
Tense jaw, trimmed beard, hard eyes. Indicative of a stubborn nature. Most likely iron-willed. Most probably will give no quarter, and fight to the last. Might necessitate Base Delta Zero procedures on the capital to ensure planetary surrender.
He frowned. This was something he had no wish of doing. He hoped that once the defense network went down and their shield generator was destroyed, he could appeal to their sense of honor and have them surrender without further loss of life, though this was admittedly a slim, fleeting hope at best. He would do what was required of him to prevent further casualties that would result from a greater war, and then he would turn his attention to where it truly mattered…
If Palpatine permitted it, that was.
The Emperor grows more suspicious of my true loyalties with each passing day, he cursed. If he finds out that I am supplying my homeworld with information, he will kill me first, and then burn the Ascendancy to the ground. I cannot allow that to happen. He sighed. But we need the Empire if we want to survive the coming storm that threatens to consume us all. The tide of cold and death that has been unleashed in the Unknown Regions.
When he had originally come to the greater galaxy from the Unknown Regions, he had done so with the intent of securing allies against the Grysk, who was then the greatest threat to the Chiss. Nearly a year ago, however, that had changed, and not for the better.
Entire Grysk fleets and worlds had started to disappear without a trace. Occasionally, the Chiss would pick up frantic signals calling for help, begging to be saved from "monsters" and "undead freaks". What was more unnerving, however, was what they heard in the background: shrill, guttural shrieking and what sounded like harsh wind blowing, followed by nothing but silence.
Now, Thrawn was rarely a man who showed fear, even when he felt it. He had every bit to be confident in his abilities as a commander of men, and there wasn't an opponent yet that he had met that was his equal or even his better. But those things…these White Walkers…they terrified him, immensely so.
The Ascendency alone does not stand a chance against this "Army of the Dead", he mentally reasoned. Their numbers grow by orders of magnitude with each passing month. If the Arcadians and the Rebels are not defeated now, my people will be wiped out and the Empire will be caught flat-footed. Trillions will die, at the very least. This cannot be allowed to happen.
There was also the small matter of the dictate that the Emperor had given him on capturing Arcadia- he expected nothing less than complete victory, and he need not remind Thrawn of what failure would mean for both himself and the Seventh Fleet.
Thrawn frowned. If the battle did indeed turn south, and he was left with few other options, was it not more advantageous to give an orderly retreat and learn from one's mistakes? Wars were rarely won in one battle after all, and even if they managed to capture the capital, the Arcadians had other armies and fleets scattered throughout Hutt Space- forces that could flee and join the Rebellion to avenge their losses. Complicating that fact was that even if King Alexios didn't retreat from his capital, his family may very well escape his grasp and continue the fight elsewhere.
He grimaced. He could afford no more partial victories, not after Atollon and both the Emperor and Vader breathing down his neck ever since. He had to ensure complete victory here and now, if for no other reason than to save the lives of his men, his homeworld, and the lives of everyone in the galaxy, for if he failed here…
The galaxy could very well descend screaming into the nine Corellian hells, dead from either the Night King's ice or Palpatine's fire.
He breathed deeply once more and cleared his mind for the coming battle ahead. There was no reason to doubt his victory, he reasoned. He had studied his opponents thoroughly for months in preparation for this moment. They were more flexible than the Empire in many ways, but also quite set in their ways. They would try to play it safe, relying on their long-range and their quality equipment to try to win the day. He would close the distance with his more numerical TIE Fighters and his better Defenders first, then swoop in for the kill with his frigates and destroyers. Once the shield was down and the Home Fleet was knocked out, the battle would be all but over, and Hutt Space would be theirs, along with all the wealth therein. Perhaps then the Emperor would finally see the value of the TIE Defender as the true tool for which to secure his rule and scrap that ridiculous waste of money and resources known as the 'Death Star'… though an ever-increasing doubt in the back of his mind gnawed at him.
The TIE Defender had proven itself through multiple engagements, first at the Archeon Nebula where Governor Pryce had stupidly let the traitor Mon Mothma and that curious freighter, the Outrider, escape through her grasp, then at Atollon where they had shot down numerous Rebel fighters and corvettes without the loss of his prototype. A true snub fighter that could be piloted with skill by even the modestly trained, not to mention far cheaper and more flexible than any planet-destroying superweapon.
So why is the Emperor still insisting on funding the Death Star?
It was a question that was increasingly bothering him, little by little, day by day.
It was then that a familiar voice stirred him out of his reverie.
"Bridge to Admiral. We have passed Phase Line Besh and are one hour out from our ETA," his ever-faithful captain, Karyn Faro, reported to him over the intercom.
He suppressed an urge to smile, instead electing to give a brief affirmation and then made his way to the bridge.
He had the battle to win, and people to keep safe.
The city had a different air to it, Ezra observed grimly as he watched the troops in their tan armor man their positions along the massive walls that compromised their main line of defense. All along the wall, various anti-infantry and anti-armor ordinance were being set up, as tanks and APCs drove up to various fighting positions both behind and outside the wall, while more soldiers were finishing the last touches on the trenches, foxholes, and weapons pits they had been digging for the past six hours, turning the city into a near-impregnable fortress. Behind the walls, anti-air batteries and vehicles patrolled the streets, ready to intercept any airborne threat that made it through. An impressive defilade of fire, all things considering, though Ezra doubted if it could stop the overwhelming numbers the Empire would bring to bear against them.
All civilian traffic had been shut down, as the citizens had been ordered to either shelter in place or evacuate out of the city. There was only the rumble of tanks, the shouting of orders, the priming of guns, and the whine of repulsorlift engines as gunships and transports scurried to and fro.
And the bells…
Yesterday morning, they had rung for the wedding of a then-prince and his bride. Now, at four in the morning, they rang for horror and the coming of war to this world.
He absentmindedly twirled the hilt of his lightsaber in his right hand, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling his armor was giving him. He would have preferred to wear his shirt and trousers, but the King insisted on his protection, and he didn't want to wear some hand-me-down from the armory, so he had elected to wear Revan's old armor instead.
He looked behind him, past the skyscrapers and the other buildings. In the distance, Sabine was working on the communications tower along with Queen Theodora. He prayed to the Force and whatever gods were out there for her safety, mentally sending her his love.
He prayed as well for Robb, holding Arcadia's most holy mountain with only thirty thousand men, for Theon who was getting his commando team assembled, and for Rau, who was preparing for his first flight in an X-Wing.
It was then he noticed the King standing right next to him, observing the troops on the walls will that same face of stone he always seemed to wear, his eyes betraying nothing of his inner thoughts.
"Your grace," Ezra greeted, remembering his courtesies.
"Commander Bridger," Alexios responded curtly, using his rank in the Alliance forces. "It seems we picked a clear night to die on."
"We should hold out, though…" Ezra began to disagree, but then reminded himself that he was still the king's guest, war be damned.
"If that smuggler doesn't try to betray us and we can hold them long enough, yes," Alexios tepidly agreed. "But it doesn't hurt to prepare for death in any case. A Jedi should know that I would think," he added, then appeared to think for a moment. "Do you ever wonder what it's like on the other side?"
"I'd get to see my parents again, Force willing," Ezra replied, neglecting to add that he had technically already been to the other side.
"Force willing," Alexios scoffed. "I'm to believe that the same Force that tore my mother away from me when I was a boy and my sister a babe by the flu, of all things, is supposed to be just. I'm to accept that the same gods who neglected to punish Moreena for her treachery and instead let my father be murdered by a butcher are fair," he ranted, then turned to Ezra. "You Jedi never learn. The Force isn't a god or divinity to be worshipped. It's a tool. It cares not for good and evil, right and wrong. It is a powerful tool, though, and the Empire and its traitorous rulers have proven unworthy of that tool."
Ezra frowned. This line of thought went against all his teachings that Kanan, Ahsoka, and even Master Yoda had imparted to him. If Alexios didn't believe in the will of the Force, then just what did he believe in?
"Forgive me, your grace," he began, unsure of how he should begin, "but aren't Arcadians supposed to be…religious?" he asked, not willing to get into an argument with him about the nature of the Force.
Alexios sighed. "Indeed. My people are a pious and devout lot, and if it helps them believe that they'll win this battle against the Empire, then so be it. But any god that is so inclined to rob a boy of his parents when he needs them most is a god that deserves no worship. My devotion is to duty, my pilgrimage is to the law. That is enough for me, as it should be for any man worth his salt."
Ezra decided to drop the conversation right there, deciding it was pointless to continue this train of thought. The two had come from similar backgrounds in that they were technically both robbed of their mothers at a young age, yet it seems that Alexios had become embittered by his experience- or more hardened if one wanted to take a milder approach to it.
Soon, Alexios strode off, obviously to go attend some other matter. Ezra remained on the wall, looking out to the vast plains ahead…plains that reminded him strongly of Lothal. He could spot waves of wheat and barley, rows of corn, and a multitude of other plants growing in fields stretching as far as the eye could see. In the distance, the peaks of the Orthyian Range could barely be made out, with Mount Theron the tallest among them. It was on that far off-peak that Ezra could spot a dim, shimmering glow coming from the summit- the shield generator hard at work.
To his left, he heard laughter and the playing of music. Looking in that direction, he spotted a few soldiers taking advantage of the calm before the storm by playing one last game of Sabacc, replete with a song playing over a portable speaker. He strained to hear the song, taken in by the music.
It was a heavy isotope song, that was clear, but the band also sounded folkish, singing in what sounded to be either Huttese or Aqualish. Some of the men were singing along with the song- very badly, at that, as they couldn't match the tone or accents of the men in this band. From the little Ezra knew of Huttese, it sounds like the band was singing something about "black thunder" or some such.
"Yip, you cheating fuck!" one exclaimed. "how the fuck do you manage to get three winning hands in a row?"
"Luck of the draw, Theo," the other shot back. "Not my fault that Sofios favors me and not you."
"Yeah fucking right, ya ginger cunt!" Theo laughed. "Ya probably hid a damned 10 card up your sleeve. Now, what do ya say to all in?"
The banter continued, though Ezra decided to tune most of it out. His heart was panged. Zeb would have loved this kind of talk. Hell, if he were still around, they would have gladly joined in and played a few rounds of Sabacc with them. He was tempted, yes, but he simply was not in the mood, for he worried for his friends in this battle, for Kanan and Hera fighting on other fronts against the Empire, and for the future, as he simply could not get Melisandre's words out of his mind.
"The Long Night is coming, Ezra Bridger and only the Prince that was Promised can bring the dawn."
All of a sudden, throughout the city and across the planet, klaxon sirens began their eerie wailing. The men, who had been so eagerly playing Sabacc the moment before, jumped up to their feet, turned off the music, and began rushing to their positions, putting their weapons on "red" while making sure their armor was on and proper.
For his part, Ezra decided to put on "his" helmet- that old, battle-damaged relic from centuries past and looked towards the night sky.
In the distance, he could spot hundreds of slivers of light popping up into existence. This had to be Thrawn's armada.
He gulped and prayed to whatever god was watching over him that they lived through this battle.
Amid the Orythian Mountains- the longest and highest mountain range on the planet- stood the tallest and most sacred peak, the one whom according to the legend that Arcus Beniko received a divine vision from the gods upon, telling him that this would be a new homeland for his people.
This was Mount Theron, the Holy Mountain.
And the home to the Royal Military Special Weapons Branch.
Deep within the mountain was an immense labyrinth of workshops, weapons ranges, and laboratories, defended by state-of-the-art weapons emplacements and bunkers all around the mountain and the surrounding peaks, now reinforced by thirty thousand of the best shock troops Arcadia had to offer.
And here Robb was in the middle of it, surrounded by monitors and control panels in the largest command-and-control center he had seen, yet.
He sighed to himself, as the flurry of activity never ceased around him. It was, in many ways, entirely alien to when he had commanded at the front in the distant past, riding with his men and fighting with them in the thick of it. The soldiers he had commanded back then he had eaten with, laughed with, and knew quite a few of them by name. These? These men and women, brave they may be, were foreign to him, and he to them. To make matters worse, they were going to be hit hard by the hard heart of Thrawn's forces- presumably in the form of the mighty AT-AT walkers he's heard horror stories about.
Towering metal machines over twenty meters high and twenty meters long treading forth on long, armored legs, sporting weaponry that could vaporize bunkers and trenches in a matter of mere seconds, impervious to all but the heaviest of anti-armor munitions. Robb had read reports from what few survivors had encountered these mechanical behemoths, about how they were able to wipe out entire battalions of rebel soldiers with frightening ease… and if the weaponry and armor weren't enough to give him worry, there was also the fact that each walker could carry an entire platoon of soldiers, making these things not only tanks but also armored personnel carriers, combined.
He furrowed his brow as he studied the holomaps before him. Credits to cashews he would bet that the troops they would be carrying wouldn't be regular stormtroopers, but elite shock troopers, who were far a cut above the regular rank and file. Not to mention that there would also be storm commandos and Imperial Navy Special Forces operating in tandem with them.
All in all, this was going to be a hard slog…and he suspected that even if they won this battle, the war was just beginning.
A war that comes at a time when it was not needed.
He thought back to the wights they fought on Valaryos, and to his brother's warning. The Night King had returned. He didn't know how, yet, but that was irrelevant. The very survival of the galaxy was at stake, and if the warring factions could not put aside their differences, it would mean the end of them all.
He would not allow that to happen.
He doubted a man like Palpatine would see reason, though. Those hungry for power and slaughter never did. Too self-centered and arrogant to see the error of their ways.
As arrogant and selfish as he had been.
He cleared his mind of those thoughts. The White Walkers and the wars to come could wait. He needed to focus on winning the battle ahead of them.
It was just then the alarms blared.
"Sir," one of the aides- a major whose name he had forgotten already- called out to him. "Numerous Cornau radiation spikes detected in sector 32A. Count of spikes matches intelligence provided by MININT."
"Right on schedule, then," Robb murmured. "Let's see just what this blue bastard is made of." He turned to the aide in charge of planet-wide communications. "Is the Argo fueled and ready to go?"
"The droid pilot reports in the affirmative, sir," the aide replied after a few seconds of confirming.
"And the Home Fleet?" Robb asked.
"Holding on the far side of the planet, as ordered, and ready to engage on your word."
"Solo reports he's ready to go as soon as the enemy armada is damaged by the Argo," another aide reported.
"All forces in space and ground report green, sir," the major added in.
"Very well," Robb nodded. "Send the communique to the droid on the Argo. Operation: STALWART is green."
The major nodded, then keyed into his com. "Breaker One, this is Archangel Two. Be advised, STALWART is Osk Mern. I say again, STALWART is Osk Mern, over."
"Roger, Archangel Two. Breaker One is Cresh Mern. Breaker One, out. May the Force be with us all."
Robb took a good look at the holomap. Before the planet were hundreds of red triangles, each representing an Imperial vessel. Behind the planet, holding position until otherwise ordered, were a hundred or so blue triangles representing their fleet, and coming up from the planet was one, blue square, representing all their hopes and prayers.
He offered a quick, silent prayer to his brother and to whatever other gods they could get on their side.
Please…do not fuck us now…
Admiral Kassius Konstantine was many things. Handsome, Core-born, wealthy, and connected to name a few. He could trace his pure-born human lineage back to the early days of the First Republic, as far as back as 1050 CRC, and was born to one of the most prominent families on Coruscant. His position over the Fourth Fleet had been given to him by the Emperor himself, a reward for his family's long service to the ruler of the galaxy.
So why in the kriff did he have to serve under an arrogant bastard of a non-human?
It was insulting! Why did Palpatine favor Thrawn over him, a pure human? Here was that alien filth getting all the glory, all the funding, and all the credit, and meanwhile true Imperials like him were being ignored.
Sure, Thrawn had won many victories against otherwise elusive Rebel cells like those they had crushed on Atollon, but why should they be denied the glory?
He gritted his teeth. The Grand Admiral always had it out for him, giving him meaningless assignments and placing him charge of paltry operations. It was only by the Emperor's and Tarkin's insistence that he was placed in charge of the left flank of the task force- Thrawn would have left him out of this operation otherwise. He was sure of it!
Well, there would be no more of that. He would prove the Admiral wrong in this battle and regain his lost recognition in the eyes of the Emperor.
"Coming out of hyperspace in 3…2…1…" the helmsman reported. Before them, the swirling blues and whites of hyperspace gave way to the black canvas of realspace, dotted by distant stars. In front of them lay a blue and green marble, once the mighty Shield of Nal Hutta, but now almost utterly defenseless- no match for the overwhelming might of the Galactic Empire.
"Admiral, I'm not picking up any enemy vessels on my scopes," one of the technicians reported.
Konstantine frowned. Odd. He would have expected the weaklings to put up a fight, at least. He then smirked. No matter. This victory would be all the easier, then.
It was just then that the person he hated the most spoke over the fleet-wide communication system.
"All vessels under Task Force Shieldbreaker- you are to hold your current position until further orders. Things to not appear to be as they seem. Stay vigilant and watch for an enemy counterattack."
Konstantine could only stare blankly for a few, terse seconds. Then, he felt the dam burst.
No! Thrawn was trying to rob him of his glory yet again. He can't let it happen again. He would not let it happen again!
"The Fourth Fleet will move forward and engage the planetary defenses around the capital," he ordered briskly, ignoring the looks of shock and horror that his bridge crew was just now giving him.
"Sir…" the XO began to caution, "is it wise to ignore a direct ord-,"
"I DO NOT CARE ABOUT THE GRAND ADMIRAL AND HIS 'PLAN'!" Konstantine snapped. "Do as I order, or I'll throw the lot of you out the airlock!"
The XO sighed, clearly not agreeing with the order, but duty-bound to obey his immediate superior at any rate. Thus, the order was carried out, and the entire left flank- nearly a hundred Star Destroyers and their escort vessels in all- began to move forward to assault the planet.
It was then that Konstantine's commlink beeped, and when he picked it up, he got a very annoyed Chiss at the end of it.
"Konstantine," the Grand Admiral began, his voice seemingly calm yet carrying an edge of anger towards it. "I explicitly ordered you to remain where you were."
"I've had enough of your games, Grand Admiral," the lower-ranking officer snapped back, before turning off his commlink. He would not be robbed of his glory today!
As the Fourth Fleet moved closer and closer to the planet, Konstantine thought that he could see a small object in the distance.
"Admiral, we're picking up a single vessel! Coming straight at us!"
"Then train all batteries on it. Nothing gets through this fleet. Not even a freighter," was Konstantine's brief command.
Soon, the object became larger and larger, and it became apparent that this was some sort of cargo ship. A tanker, to be more precise.
"Sir, I'm not detecting any life-forms aboard that ship. It appears to be on autopilot," one of the technicians reported.
Konstantine frowned. Why would the Arcadians send them a single ship, and an autopiloted tanker, at that?
He sighed. It was probably some malfunctioning droid who assumed that there was a delivery to be made and wasn't shut off in time.
"Fine. Allow it through. Not like a tanker can do much damage to this fleet, anyway."
As the tanker got closer, Konstantine could begin to make out the name on its side.
Argo
He scoffed. What a pretentious name for an old freighter.
"Sir…" a technician warned, "I'm detecting an extraordinary amount of radiation coming from that tanker. Isotope matches the element known as…" he trailed off as his eyes went wide in horror.
As did Konstantine's.
"Rhydonium…"
Too late did he realize the danger he was in.
"All ships, steer clear of that tanker!" he frantically ordered, waving his hands about in sheer desperation. "You hear me? STEER CLEAR!"
"Sir! I'm detecting a massive buildup in energy coming from that vessel. It's going to blow at any minute!"
For the first time in his life, Kassius Konstantine truly panicked. He looked this way and that, finally bellowing out his final command.
"EVERYONE! GET DOWN!"
They would never get the chance.
To their immediate right, the payload aboard the tanker was unleashed, consuming everything in a thousand-kilometer radius in a bright, white ball of irradiated fire.
And for the briefest of moments, Kassius felt searing, hot, burning pain…
And then he felt nothing at all.
A/N: The battle has begun.
Apologies for not getting this to y'all sooner. I was quite busy doing schoolwork and working, though this has all changed now.
For the astute readers out there, you might notice that I've labeled this chapter differently from the others. This is because the three-part battle will be named after an old Latin phrase. People versed in Roman history might know this saying, which is very relevant to the current event in this story.
To switch over to real life, it seems that we are entering our version of the Long Night once again. Plague grips the Earth while locusts ravage Africa, as the economy enters a period of depression, and rumors of another global war begin to stir.
To those sitting at home, quarantined into their homes out of fear of plague and war and rioting, I urge you to have faith. The sun will rise yet again, and we will come out of this stronger than before. A vaccine will come, jobs will return, and hopefully, war will be averted. We must all fight this together, though.
For when the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.