Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars nor am I associated with those that do. This is a non-profit fan work written for the purpose of entertainment.
The Imperial: Arrowhead Command
Chapter 11 - Galantos VI
Captain Rivejer Tullius
The sight of the Conqueror, still trapped in the docking clamps of the Black-15, was a calming balm. I kept my good hand braced against the window as I stared out over the carnage, the ruined remains of the docking bay. My gaze followed the corpse of the nearest of my soldiers, a younger man that might have been present when I first boarded Black-15. I couldn't remember, not that it mattered anymore. He was dead, caught in an explosive ambush and likely sucked out into the void before he could react.
Bad way to go out.
I took in a breath through my nose, calming the panic rising in my heart. The ringing I hadn't noticed at first faded, replaced by the discontent murmuring of the gathered Imperials. Confusion on where to go next, but above all else was fear. It permeated off of their muttered words like waves. I couldn't blame them, I was a hair's breadth away from a panic attack myself - but it would not do for a Captain of the Empire to entirely fall apart.
No, that came later.
Besides, above that fear was an frankly overwhelming amount of anger. I wanted to find the nearest Yevethan bastard and cram my one good fist straight up its misbegotten-
I took in a deep breath through my nose, calming myself. Later.
Later, later, later.
I gave the dead one last glance before turning to my collection of the fearful and the injured, a sorry lot if ever there was one.
"Captain Heruuk," I raised my voice, despite the man standing right next to me. He jumped, turning suddenly to face me with a surprised expression, "The shuttle bay, I'll assume this station has one?"
"It… Has a few." The man said after a moment, his tone unsure as he was brought back to the present.
"One nearby?" I asked impatiently, snapping a finger at a technician - one of the engineers, still lugging around his plasma torch - and pointed at his datapad. I accepted the device, quickly writing out a message - until communications were back online, I had no way to contact the assault team. Assuming they survive and make it this far, they would need direction on where we went next. I set the datapad down next to the door, in plain sight. Any Yevethan could find it as well, but it was the best I could do until I got to the Conqueror. I glanced back out the airlock, seeing my flagship still trapped in the docking clamps.
"Bay Aurek-2, about twenty minutes out from here." Surprisingly, the Lieutenant spoke up first, his face brightening.
"At our current speeds?" I asked, pushing through the crowd to get to the other side.
"That's at our current speeds, not unless we can find a tram to carry the infirm." Heruuk allowed with a grumble, following the Lieutenant and I to the front of the group. The enlisted and non-commissioned officers appeared content to let us hash out the details, so long as it looked like we knew what we were doing the chance of a panic or worse was reduced.
"Twenty minutes it is," I said, turning to the crowd. I picked out four of the healthiest and least winded looking Navytroopers, signaling for them to play scout for our group - after ensuring they knew which way to go.
Once again, I was perhaps the least qualified officer to be directing this group. I had no idea what the Lieutenant was the officer of, his uniform denoted navy, and Heruuk was fried after directing his impromptu last-stand. Neither man was a combat officer, or a dedicated one at least. So that left me, one of the lower ranking commissioned officers, or Nereus. The junior officer group was a single nearly-comatose Sub-Lieutenant missing an arm, so he was right out. Nereus may have his background in naval command, but he was a governor first in the eyes of the soldiers. Political officials did not engender confidence in these sorts of situations, leaving me.
My hand twitched, running along the grip of my holdout blaster as my injured arm twinged sorely.
Our trek through the bowels of Black-15 was still largely quiet, a fact that became more disquieting the longer we went without resistance. Where once that was a relief, the lack of even the odd patrols of rebelling Yevethans was a cause for concern. If the Yevethans were indeed behind the destruction of the docking bay, then a lack of action from a species willing to bomb a space station they, themselves, were aboard made me more nervous. However, when we came across life again, my relief was short-lived - engulfed in the fires of paranoia.
Somewhat like those dead Yevethans.
I watched as a trio of figures used a flame projector on a crude pile of charred Yevethan bodies while aboard a space station. Unfortunately, their choice of weapon was not the worst of my concerns. No, as the three men wore the black body suits and padded white armor of CompForce. They represented perhaps the single most reviled organization in the Empire - and the one subject that the Army and Navy could agree upon. The Imperial Security Bureau was disliked, distrusted, and perhaps even feared. COMPNOR? The most fanatic naval officer paled before the pure, concentrated lunacy that pervaded even the lowest COMPNOR ranks. It was their duty to enforce the New Order, and human-centrism upon which the Empire was built, and CompForce was the militaristic army through which they accomplished their goals. I had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting members of the Observation arm of CompForce. They were as close to ISB agents as one could get in the organization, far more suited for rooting out treason. These three? They were Assault, with all such a name entailed.
The group turned to face my group at our approach - or two of them, in any case. The third continued to spew flame, so enamored was he with his pyromania. I swallowed thickly before stepping from the front of my group - for hiding at the back would do little to engender faith in my leadership - and passed the scouts I had assigned. I kept a respectable distance from the men, raising my voice to address them.
"Captain Tullius, Arrowhead Command," I announced myself, keeping my good hand on my belt - and near the holster of my holdout blaster, "I don't suppose you know if the path ahead is clear?"
The two men shared a glance, reaching some unspoken decision, before one stepped forward. The other brought a hand down on the shoulder of their blissfully unaware third member, distracting him from his… work.
"Captain Rivejer Tullius, 2nd Flank Squadron, Arrowhead Command. Arrived via Pollillus. Yes, we know you," Unfortunately, CompForce were often not filled with morons, as their fanatic reputation might lead one to expect, "Admiral Paret began recalling the fleet after your arrival. Your arrival also followed our lack of communication with the Empire and preceded this… rebellion."
A chill ran up my spine as the operative spoke, not from his tone - the man sounded completely normal, which was a terrifying notion in itself - but because he knew who I was. Having a CompForce operative know me by name was not something I desired - now or ever. Especially when they were not so subtly hinting I might have been involved with everything that was happening. Technically, they were correct on the account of Admiral Paret, but I had nothing to do with whatever was happening in the Deep Core or with the Yevethans.
"Ah…" I said, mind racing to formulate some response, "I… Assure you, this is a series of coincidences - I need to get to my ship, to assist in… retaking the system."
I lied, I had no intention of staying here. The moment I was back aboard the Conqueror, I was burning as fast as I could out of the system. Obtaining Paret's code cylinders would hopefully buy me some good graces in Imperial space, going that my men were successful in their operation. However, under no circumstance was I staying in this system to fight this mess of a battle.
"We are headed to the shuttle bay as well," The man said after a long moment, pulling the rifle from his shoulder. I had to force down a flinch as he brandished the weapon, "We will join you to ensure your safe arrival at your flagship and successful entry into the ongoing battle."
I offered the man a brittle smile.
"Capital."
Commander Mils Milgern
"Communications are back online, Commander!" I perked up at the voice, my communications officer rising from his seat and signaling me with an upturned thumb. I nodded to him, rising from the seat I was waiting in and approaching the command center's holo table. It flickered to life, briefly showcasing the holographic figure of the Intimidation. As we reestablished our localized battle net, more connections were made - the Intrepid and Steadfast first, followed in short order by the rest of the section. The Escapade was the last, but their arrival heralded a cavalcade of voices. They demanded answers, requested orders, a general panic that briefly set my mind spinning before I righted myself and spoke.
"Order," I barked, forced to repeat the order for silence before these officers remembered their training and fell silent, "I want all status reports forwarded to the Intimidation within the hour. If you have not already brought your crews to full combat readiness, now would be the time. Designate the Intimidation as section flagship - we will be bouncing all communications off of our primary relay."
"What is the status of the Conqueror?" A voice spoke up in the lull, Captain Zanus of the Steadfast. I manipulated the holotable, zooming out from the section to showcase the entire system - or what our sensors could see in any case. A veritable sea of Star Destroyers, assorted supporting vessels, and space stations filled my view. I blinked, briefly blinded by the display before focusing.
The first group I noticed was the collection of blue-marked vessels belonging to Tullius's section, identified by our shared communications channel. Unfortunately, the days of identifying friendlies via Arrowhead Command IFF codes were passed - Tullius didn't have the authority to grant the appropriated Bakuran or Ssi-Ruuk vessels their unique tags.
The rest of the holograms were marked yellow, indicating that they were unconfirmed as either friendly or hostile. With the complete mess that was in-system communications at the moment, trying to find out who was still friendly would be a challenge. Names flickered in and out, briefly identifying individual vessels before vanishing again. The auxiliary bridge crew were working overtime to manually update the battle net, trying to identify vessels based on pervious recordings from our sensors. All in an attempt to figure out some pattern, identify groups of ships working together or adopting some formation. Thusfar, they had been unsuccessful. Only three ships were certain, the immobile forms of the dreadnoughts.
However, getting stock of the situation was not my main purpose for zooming out - my eyes were drawn to Black-15, one of the largest non-defensive stations in the system. Three Star Destroyers were still docked, all marked yellow like the rest of the system.
"Paint the Conqueror." I ordered, and a moment later the leftmost Star Destroyer changed colors - we could not yet hail the section flagship.
"Attempts to hail the Conqueror or Captain Tullius have been unsuccessful," I explained unnecessarily to the officers, "Given that they have not undocked with Black-15, we must assume that the station is currently unable to release them. There is no point in further speculation until we can reopen contact. We will set out for Black-15 in one hour, any questions?"
I had never been given the reins for the whole section before, at least in a combat situation such as this. Barking orders at a few Carracks was far different from trying to maneuver the whole lot of them into some semblance of order. Still, I answered what questions I could and directed our oddball ships where I thought they fit in our developing formation. Unfortunately, the Escapade continued to be a 900-meter long thorn in my side - as it was essentially a capital ship sized freighter at this point. Thawne sounded like he was at the end of his rope as is, I did not want to test his stringent control over the vessel by throwing it into combat.
Fortunately, the four other ships liberated by Tullius were in working order - though running on skeleton crews. None of the ships in the section were running at a regulation battle readiness. The Intrepid lost its bridge and entire command crew, the Steadfast had been destroying her engines since Endor trying to scout, the cruisers and frigates were never meant to be active for this long, and the Lancers damn near melted their barrels at Bakura. The Intimidation was thankfully undamaged, though the same could not be said of the Conqueror.
"Course plotted for Black-15, sir," My first officer announced from the forward bridge. I nodded in his direction, not used to commanding from the rear section.
"Good," I said, glancing back at the holotable display. The rest of the section had fallen back into formation, leaving the form of Black-8 behind. The station had neither responded to our hails or made any attempt to stop our flight, so I opted to ignore them for the time being. We moved in a fairly standard line, a departure from Tullius's preferred formation. The light cruisers held the front, acting as our vanguard. Far closer were the Lancers, a solid shield sitting perpendicular across the capital ship line. On the portside of the Intimidation, the Strike Cruisers moved in a pursuit line - moving parallel to the capital ships. The bulk of the capital ship line hid them from view, and they expected to break cover and chase down disengaged enemy vessels. The main line itself was almost comical on the holotable, in part due to the bulbous mass of the Escapade lingering at the back of the formation.
While there was nothing more exhilarating than one of Tullius's charges into an enemy formation, I had been classically trained - I did not subscribe to whatever school of thought Eriadu taught him and Harrsk compounded. In their minds, all ships worked toward that single decisive engagement between capital ships - an all-or-nothing approach.
Madness, I thought, before amending, Successful madness.
Unfortunately, the smooth crossing I had hoped for would not coalesce, and my ability to command would soon be put to the test.
"Commander, Star Destroyer Unbroken has…" the man paused for half a heartbeat, "Broken from the main fleet. It burning on an intercept course with us - contact in fifteen."
I turned from the officer I was speaking to, watching the holotable. Sure enough, one of the Star Destroyers was baring down on us - its current course constantly adjusting to keep pace with the Intimidation's starboard side. An Imperial-II, the holotable supplied. While several steps above the Intimidation in pure firepower, it was well out of its league against the whole section.
"Any support ships?"
"None, sir."
"Can we hail them?" I asked, stepping up to the holotable.
"No response."
I hummed for a moment, drumming my fingers on the table. Finally, I fiddled with the holotable and hailed the Spite."
"Spite, we have a Star Destroyer on an intercept course - she is not answering our hails. Maintain your current distance, but redeploy to our port at 110 degrees," I ordered, creating a spherical bubble around the Intimidation on the holotable, the exact distance the Carracks were expected to maintain, "Once they are in range, I want warning shots across their bow. Best case scenario, they are a very confused loyalist."
"Received, Intimidation," The Spite's communications officer droned, and as one the quartet of Carrack cruiser flipped and burned to their new position.
"All ships, match our speed," I order before quickly addressing the helmsman, "Helm, bring us-"
Before remembering that I was in the rear section of the bridge. I turned the communication channel with my first officer back on, "Commander, bring us to half ahead."
"Aye, sir. Half ahead."
I watched the Unbroken continue to burn toward us, the distance indicator continuing down at the same speed. It only adjusted course to match our new speed. The entire time, my communications officers continued to send hail requests, only changing to open communication warnings as it neared the outer range of the light cruisers.
When the Star Destroyer passed into the effective range of the cruisers, the Spite followed my orders and opened fire. Bright lances of plasma flashed on the hologram, intentionally missing the incoming vessel. At last, its commander returned to his senses and abruptly changed his heading - sweeping in a course roughy parallel to our own. What happened next was a somewhat awkward exchange.
The Imperial-II opened up with a broadside of its port turrets, aiming at either the Carracks or the three ships behind the Intimidation. However, while the octuple barrelled turbolasers were devastating in capital ship warfare, they were not the main long-range batters at the ship's bow. They were heavy, but not heavy enough to effectively do damage at this range. That was discounting the fact that it was shooting at Carrack cruisers, which could just move out of the way, and Victory Star Destroyers - which redirect all their shields to their starboard side and took the hits.
The Carracks returned fire, but this was mostly to dissuade the Star Destroyer rather than with the expectation of damaging it. The Unbroken's commander seemed to realize that he would not win a head-on engagement, and so was using his vessel to harass us.
If I were operating a full complement of snub craft in the section, I would send bombers to chase them off. Unfortunately, the Intimidation was the only one that had most of an intact complement (most of which were stolen from the rest of the section).
"Why send a Star Destroyer to shadow us?" One of my officers muttered, arms crossed as he looked at the hologram, "They have to know it cannot leave."
While the Star Destroyer had shown no sign of breaking its following with the section, the officer was right in that I would not let it get away. The Strike cruisers would get their time to act like a pursuit line and harass the Unbroken, either forcing it to turn and engage them or suffer destruction under a horde of light turbolaser batteries.
It was a rule even hyper-aggressive officer like Tullius and Harrsk understood - never send a Star Destroyer without support!
"Is Black-15 responding?" I asked, leaning against the holotable now. I watched as the Unbroken moved into range again, only to give up as the Carracks dissuaded it.
"No, sir. We're still being jammed."
"And the Conqueror?"
"They should be in range, sir. They aren't responding."
I sighed, pushing off from the table and turning from the hologram - through the open blastdoors, I could see the shape of Black-15 dominating the forward view screens. To the left, caught in docking clamps, was the same trio of Star Destroyers - immobile. All of them were covered in lights, indicating that they were still active at least, but no sign that the ships could move.
"Any signs of activity on the station?" I asked, turning away from the blast door and focusing back on the hologram. The Unbroken had stopped following us now, maintaining a safe distance from Black-15 - a good sign, hopefully that meant the station hadn't fallen.
Unless the Unbroken was loyalist, and thought we were party to whatever madness was ongoing. I eyed the station with a bit more incredulity with that thought.
"Nothing so… Huh?" After a moment, "Commander, the… docking bay is gone?"
I perked up, turning to the rear bridge sensor officer.
"Gone?" I asked as I approached, "Gone how?"
The man's screen was a live feed from a sensor on the Intimidation's hull, pointed at Black-15. A long bay stretched across the four docking bays on this side of the station, and between an empty bay and the Conqueror, a massive hole had ripped the bay open. It was still there, but everything to the port side of the Conqueror was obliterated. I felt the blood in my veins chill, the insanity of this situation growing. Someone did not want the crews of those ships to get back, or else were planning to catch someone in a sure-fire assassination. Despite the fact that Tullius was unlikely to be the target, I hoped he was still alive.
"Commander, we have an incoming communication," I was once again dragged across the room by a new voice.
"The Conqueror?"
"No, sir. Some sort of short-range communicator, not one of ours. It's using an access code: 'NO-900192-A12'." I mouthed the code for a moment before snapping my fingers.
"Ashsca's serial number! Open the channel."
"Sir."
They worked for a moment before handing me a headset, which I happily took and placed over my ears. At the operator's thumbs-up, I spoke.
"The is the Intimidation, identify yourself." I ordered, keeping my tone level.
"NO-900192-A12. Emergency Access Code Aurek-Delta-Vev-Usk. Sir, you are a sight for sore eyes." The officer nodded at me again, signifying that Screold's codes were good.
"I wager so. This is not the Conqueror's communication array."
"It is an army array Maab stole from Bakura, the station has us locked down. Sensors, weapons, engines, communications - we only realized you were here because someone looked out the window." I nodded slowly, a grudging acceptance of the recently revealed kleptomania of the security commander now that it was proving helpful.
"And Tullius?" The billion-credit question.
"The Captain has not returned from Black-15." The connection quality was horrendous, but even through the feedback, I could hear the steel that entered her voice at that declaration.
"Are we sure he was not caught in that attack?" I asked, glancing back out the forward view screens as I spoke.
"We are working to confirm his status." This was a polite way to say that Maab was probably tearing the station apart and flooding it with troopers.
"What is happening?" I wondered aloud, crossing my arms now as I leaned against the console, "The major stations have gone dark, and the fleet has turned on itself… Do you think it's Zaarin?"
Grand Admiral Demetrius Zaarin, one of the twelve Grand Admirals uplifted by the Emperor, and the only one to turn against the Empire. There was quite a buzz over his coup attempt and attack on Imperial Center; Arrowhead Command had been mobilized in force during those days. Half of the Core-based fleets had been on the move to fall like a hammer on Zaarin's head, and then… it was over. Stories were conflicting, with a hundred different reports and theories. Claims that the Emperor himself had been kidnapped, that Zaarin had been defeated, that he had escaped. The worst part was that, officially, there was no coup. The matter was buried, and attempts to discern what happened were ignored. The build-up to Endor served to distract me from keeping up with news and theories, but the specter of Zaarin lingered at the periphery.
"The fleet is fighting?" Screold asked, her tone alarmed. I had to remind myself that she had no idea what was happening outside the Conqueror, and whatever forces she had aboard the station.
"Each other, yes."
"The Yevethans- Ah, the local slave species, they are rebelling. At least, on Black-15. Could this be related?"
"Or they could be capitalizing on the opportunity," I grunted, thinking for a moment before continuing, "Hopefully, Tullius has more information - when he makes his appearance."
Captain Rivejer Tullius
I let out a pained hiss, dropping to a knee and glaring bloody murder at my holdout blaster. Its barrel was smoking, glowing an angry red - I knew firing the damned thing point-blank had been a bad idea, and it seemed the heat dispersion was all messed up because of it. I slapped the weapon angrily on the durasteel barricade I was cowering behind before letting it drop on the ground. Glancing back, I looked first at the Navytrooper also crouched behind the barricade. He had his blaster propped up on the barricade's lip, spraying indiscriminately down the hallway toward the Yevethan position.
Between us was the still form of another Navytrooper, his eyes wide and staring sightlessly toward the ceiling. I reached across the young man's body and grabbed the blaster pistol from his hip, mindful of my shoulder lest I jam it against the wall. A couple of tugs got the blaster free. I turned and leaned my back against the barricade, clumsily flipping the pistol the right way around.
I glanced over my shoulder, through the transparisteel window near the lip of the barricade. Down the hallway, two identical shields flanked a large mounted turret, a shield protecting its operator from the wild return fire of my party. Bodies littered the hallway where they had fallen in our taking of the first line of defenses, but the second enjoyed far heavier weapons.
An intersection separated the two sides, and around that corner, two of the CompForce operatives were hunkered down. Their fanaticism did not translate to suicidally rushing a fortified enemy position, but it was a near thing.
Unfortunately, that sense of restraint was not shared by the last member of their group. I watched as the flame-wielding madman suddenly darted around his barricade a half-dozen paces away from the intersection. The turret, which had been swinging to the other side of the hallway, suddenly changed course to aim at the CompForce operative in his charge. Miraculously, the man closed within a few meters of the wall. Blaster bolts impacted his armor, slowing him down, but through pure spite he made it.
And then he fell, dead.
I sighed and shifted my weight before breaking cover, taking a few potshots at the Yevethan line. I didn't see where my bolts went, forced back by suppressive fire.
The rest of my men were spread out further back, forced to their cover and content to hunker down. Ordinarily, I might have understood their position, none of us were Stormtroopers and certainly weren't trained for this.
I rolled back to my feet, peering around the shield and at the downed CompForce operative - he was lying over his flame projector. An idea began forming in my mind - insane, but one that could work.
I sucked in a breath, trying to bring my breathing into control, and then kicked off the shield. I ran with all I could muster, keeping my head ducked and my form low. Blaster bolts silently jet passed me as I reached the rear line of shields, sliding around the last one and-
When!
My boot slipped, and my head slammed into the durasteel floor. All I saw was stars as I groaned pitifully on the floor. Hands roughly grabbed my ankles and dragged me unceremoniously the rest of the way, agony lancing up my arm as I went. My back was up against the cold durasteel of a barricade, and fingers began pulling at my hair. I tried to slap them away, to no avail.
"Tullius, what in the blazes was that?!" Demanded the familiar tone of Nereus. I opened my eyes and stared blearily at the man where he knelt across from me, brows furrowed in alarm at my inelegant arrival.
"I'm never wearing dress boots again," I growled, finally successful in batting the nearby medic's probing fingers away. I could worry about a concussion and head trauma when we weren't staring down a blaster cannon. After taking a moment to right myself mentally, I looked around at the gathered Imperials. Besides Nereus and the medic, we were surrounded by three black-uniformed Navytroopers.
"Governor, we need suppressive fire on those Yevethans."
"We have been trying," Nereus said, his tone flat, "To little avail."
"All at once, volley fire if we have to," I snap, annoyance leaking into my voice as I glare at the man, "I need cover if I am to reach those CompForce stooges."
Nereus stared at me blankly for a long moment. His eyebrows knit together again before a long-suffering sigh escaped his lips. When he didn't speak again, I pointed to each of the Navytroopers and barked out directions for them. A signal, two arm pumps from me, would tell them when to break cover and open fire as a collective. It was a primitive way to give this order and a brute force way to suppress the Yevethans, but we had neither the time nor the manpower to sit here forever.
I holstered my stolen pistol, feeling it wobble around loosely in the ill-fitting leather. The medic made one last aborted attempt to check me over as Nereus spoke.
"What, exactly, is your plan, Captain?" Nereus finally asked, though it almost sounded as if he regretted the question.
"Get to the flame projector, torch that turret," I explained simply, standing again and bringing my arm up. I felt a bit like a fool, pumping my remaining good arm, but it was as good a signal as any.
"You're what-"
A veritable sea of grey uniforms and black plastoid helmets peaked out from cover, sending a wave of crimson blaster bolts over my head. I rolled around the cover and took off, keeping low once more. It was far more daunting, charging toward the Yevethans rather than away from them, but I pushed aside my fear as best I could and focused on my goal. The return fire slowed to a trickle as the Yevethans jumped for cover once more, with even the turret falling briefly silent.
I slammed, good shoulder first, into the barricade I was originally cowering behind. I nodded to the Navytrooper still there, who stared back with wide eyes.
"Sir?" The man asked with a shrill voice. I nodded to him before looking back toward the friendly line. I repeated the motion before getting ready. The cacophony returned, and I moved alongside it.
This stage was far more tricky, as I had to run across the width of the hallway without any cover as opposed to the initial approach. Smooth, featureless durasteel offered little in ways of protection, and even a blinded turret could fire indiscriminately enough to kill me. I made three steps before the turret operator got wise and returned fire, though thankfully he appeared either unaware of my presence or uncaring of a single Imperial not firing back.
I stumbled the last few steps, nearly tackling the CompForce operative - whose name I could not remember - at the corner. The man caught me, keeping us both standing, but his muttered curse was not missed.
"Captain, what in the Emperor's name are you doing?!" The man hissed as I took his place at the corner of the wall, trying to peer around and catch the gaze of the Navytroopers.
"What's the range on that projector?" I asked, ignoring his question and not sparing either of them so much as a glance. A black arm reached up and waved in my direction, before suddenly pulling down to avoid being shot off by the withering Yevethan fire.
"What?" The incredulity in the man's voice set my teeth on edge, since when did CompForce ask unnecessary questions? They were a group whose entire culture was built around "shoot first, and then shoot again"!
"The flame projector," I repeated, slower as I glanced in his direction, "The one your man was carrying, what's its effective range."
"Thirty meters, give or take," The other CompForce operative spoke. His voice was high and oozed with Core Worlder culture, and it was then that I realized I hadn't heard him speak before now. I turned back to the intersection, clenching my teeth as I mentally prepared myself for what came next.
Why would he get so close? I thought, before realizing the answer with a sigh, Yes, Rivejer, why would a CompForce madman want to be closer to the aliens he planned to burn?
I brought a hand up and pumped it twice. The CompForce officer started to speak, but I turned him out - leaping out from cover as the hail of crimson blaster bolts hurtled by. Time itself felt like it slowed, the fortifications of the Yevethans look far more daunting this close. The E-Web operator did not stop firing this time, taking the hits on his shield and returning fire with fury.
I dragged my eyes down to the dead CompForce operative, still slumped over his flame projector. A pilot light flickered dimly at the barrel (nozzle, whatever), which told me at the very least that it wasn't broken. Those last few steps brought a new clarity to my mind, as I came to the realization that I had no idea how to operate a flame projector. Surely, it wasn't as easy as 'point and shoot'.
The following voice screamed in my head, demanding "what the ever living Hell am I doing?!". It was pushed back; ignored as I dove to the floor and bodily landed on the dead CompForce trooper. His body rolled partially, exposing his face - the strain from his last agonizing moments, but my hand sought the projector still caught in his durasteel grip.
I grit my teeth and pulled, dragging the weapon closer to me. My left arm twinged with pain, utterly useless at this moment, so I planned to use the body beneath me. To leverage the barrel and fry those damned Yevethans.
I looked up, and my heart all but stopped. Even as I pulled, the barrel of the E-Web swiveled in my direction, sweeping low and fast as the operator realized I was there. I tried to aim, tried to bring the barrel around, but the damned CompForce wouldn't let go-
The Yevethan's head popped into view. He - or she, the face structure was more similar to the females - had to stand on the crate the E-Web was resting on, just to aim low enough. Someone among the Imperials got lucky, or else were better shots than I could ever have hoped. A blaster bolt, one amongst the dizzying horde, hit the Yevethan in the head. They crumpled on the spot, pulling the E-Web with them and forcing its barrel up to the cieling. Relief flooded my mind and I barked out a maddened laugh, finally wrenching the projector free and balancing it over the man's armored chest. The weapon hissed as I pulled the trigger, but fate was smiling upon me that day. An angry stream of flame roared out from the barrel, engulfing first the E-Web - and its replacement officer - before I turned. The fire traced along the wall of barricades, erupting against the durasteel but catching limbs and heads where they poked out.
I let the trigger go as the handle went hot. Not a second too soon, the pair of CompForce officers raced by me and reached the wall of barricades. They turned the wall against the former defenders, firing down the hallway at those not caught by the flame projector.
The heavy beating of my heart slowly calmed, and I could hear again - something I regretted almost immediately. There was the barking of blaster rifles, but my mind focused on the results of my actions. The screaming, and moans of the injured and maimed, but the smell… Stars, the smell.
Against my will, my mind raced to draw comparisons, to give a name to the roiling stench of cooked flesh. My stomach clenched as illness tried to claim me, and I nearly lost what was left of my stomach there and then. The sight of the Yevethan I had caught in the initial burst, the way the flame clung to flesh like oil-
I forced down the dry heave, focused on the here and now. I had taken life before. Indeed, if you counted my operations as of late, I had been directly responsible for the deaths of countless organics. But those were impersonal, disconnected. It was one thing to watch a rebel cruiser detonate under turbolaser fire, it was another to point-blank execute your attacker, and it was another entirely to wield so terrible a weapon as a flame projector. That would-be assassin had been my first kill with my bare hands, a fact I had not had a chance to process.
Once again, I pushed my pity party aside and slowly pushed myself to my hands and knees. Heavy boots slammed by as Navytroopers raced to join the CompForce operatives. Figures knelt next to my sides, helping me into a sitting position as I fought to catch my breath.
"Daring for a Navy officer," The lead CompForce operative's voice made me turn my head up to stare at the man. Despite his continued tonelessness, there was a glimmer in his eyes - his lips pulled back to show his teeth in what could have been a smile. The Core Worlder, now that the Navytroopers had taken over the line, was openly gaping at me.
"Yes, well… Someone needed to take care of this, didn't they?" I groused, taking the hand the man offered me and pulling myself up. I pulled the flame projector with me, its body leaving burn marks on the armor of the dead CompForce operative. I thrust the weapon into the chest of the Core Worlder, happy to let it go.
"Refrain from dying, if you would. I'd rather not use it again."
My show of daring-do was enough to break whatever suspicion the leading CompForce officer had, as he barked out a harsh laugh. He had nothing more to say on the matter, turning to his fellow and nodding. The two of them joined the Navytroopers before vaulting over the wall of the barricades, and moving onward.
"That was your plan?" Nereus asked as he reached me, looking thoroughly put out, "Why did you not send the Navytroopers? That is what they are here for."
I looked at the sorry assortment of battered and exhausted Naval Security officers and decided Nereus had a higher standard for their capabilities than me. Of course, the realization of what I had just done hadn't set in quite yet. A contraband bottle of hard liquor awaited me in my quarters for that.
"I will hardly order any man into a situation I myself would be unwilling to enter." That was what I said instead. Strangely enough, Nereus just nodded his head and sighed.
I felt that the battle earned the men, and myself, a short reprieve before we continued. Our numbers were thoroughly pruned, many of the men dead or injured in the aftermath of that engagement. The ratio of combat-capable men to the injured was rapidly increasing in favor of the latter, a fact that became more grim when one considered the size of the enemy force here - and what likely awaited us ahead.
Fortune shined down on us again, though, as a new group approached our motley assortment. My Stormtrooper guard, alongside the Navy Commandos and surviving security droids, approached us at a jog - thankfully not as thinned in number as I feared.
Three Stormtroopers led from the front, blasters held at ready even as they came closer. The Navy Commandos fanned out at the edges, fewer than I remembered but more than I could have hoped. Only a few KX-series droids survived the encounter, their towering forms marching quietly at the back of the formation. Between them, a repulsor-lift sled carried an immobile form: a Stormtrooper, the last of their quartet.
The destroyer droids were noticeably absent, but that was not unexpected. The droids had been cheap pre-Clone Wars equipment, reliant on a central computer to be commanded. Unfortunately, communication was in short supply at the moment - so pre-programmed orders were all we could rely on. No doubt whatever was left of them were wandering the administration levels, butchering any Yevethan unfortunate to wander into their sights.
"Sir," The leading Stormtrooper said at my approach, stopping and saluting shortly. I forgave the breaking of the procedure with a nod, studying the group.
"I don't suppose you brought more of those?" I asked hopefully.
"No, sir," The clone sounded genuinely apologetic with his answer, but I waved him off.
"Shame. I noticed Paret is not among you."
"Dead," The trooper said, offering me a quartet of code cylinders tied up in a length of twine. I accepted it, undoing the binding. There was no visual difference between them and the cylinders on my chest, but the authority they brought was astronomical. One of them allowed the late Paret to command an entire star dreadnought - one of the kings of the star dreadnoughts. Despite their diminutive nature, the cylinders felt heavy as gold in my hand.
"Not unexpected… What of the other two? The Admiral and Commodore?"
"They weren't among the confirmed dead." I let out a breath through my nose. If we were lucky, the Yevethans had not captured either and the two dreadnoughts were already active on… whoever's side wasn't the Yevethans. Some small part of me still hoped that the Yevethan uprising here was merely a moment of opportunity, despite the level of its organization telling me otherwise.
Still, with Paret's code cylinders, we could deny the strongest ship in the sector to the Yevethans. At least temporarily, but every hour they wasted trying to crack the Indimidator's security was another hour we had to escape.
"Governor, Lieutenant, and you," I turned and pointed to Nereus, the Lieutenant, and the Core Worlder CompForce operative, signaling them over. At their approach, I handed a code cylinder to each of them, explaining, "We keep these separate until we're on safe ground. Don't die."
With that, I slid the cylinder into the pocket of my tunic, sitting it next to the cylinder that held my security codes as Captain of the Conqueror. The other three hid them similarly, Nereus and the Lieutenant adding the cylinders to their collection while the CompForce operative hid his under his armor. That situated, I turned back to the trooper, eyes drawn to his downed man.
"We have medics left, see to him. Any other injuries we should be aware of? I'm running out of men."
"None to report, sir," The clone said simply, gesturing for the security droids. One pushed the gurney and passed us toward the throng of resting Imperials, followed by most of the Navy Commandos. Only their officer, a man who was differentiated only by his orange pauldron, remained.
"Good, then if there is nothing else pressing?" I asked rhetorically, but unexpectedly there was something. The largest of the four clones, the one lugging the blaster cannon, stepped forward and lifted a… ice box. It was small as far as ice boxes went, maybe as tall as my head, and slightly longer. It was nice, a deep maroon body with a white lid, the roundel of some corporation I did not recognize tastefully stenciled into the lid.
I quirked an eyebrow, reaching over to open the box.
"Far be it from me to refuse refreshments trooper, but this is hardly the time or- Ah." Unfortunately, it was not libations (not even the bottle I had gifted Paret, which I was missing right now), though I now severely wished that it was. Instead, too human hands sat buried in the ice - cauterized at the wrist. I stared for a long moment, unsure how to react. Nereus let out a long breath through his nose while the Lieutenant made a distressed noise.
That about summed up my thoughts.
"I'll… assume these belong to the late Admiral?" I asked, hoping that my guards were not going to make a habit of chopping people's hands off and giving them to me.
"Yes, sir."
The beginnings of a new thought began to form in my mind, one far more insane than my race for the Conqueror or using the flame projector. One that involved a Super Star Destroyer, the four code cylinders, and the biometric fingerprint of a dead Admiral.
Later. Later, later later.
Yet even as I thought this, the idea would not leave my mind.
In hindsight, I should not have been surprised by what greeted me, the closer I got to the shuttle bay. Instead of increasingly fortified and numerous Yevethans, I found the remains of those same Yevethans. Their efforts faced not a desperate last stand of station security, but the worryingly over-armed forces of my ship.
"Captain Tullius," Colonel Maab, reclined in a mechnochair, greeted me as I entered the hangar bay. The hangar bay was a sea of action, Navytroopers and station security moving hardware from a stream of incoming shuttles - a sure sign that Maab intended to do more than hold his position here, "That Lieutenant of yours was certain you would find your way to us. Never doubted you survived for a second, of course. Just underestimated your panache."
I did not know what a "panache" was, but I decided to not take the word as an insult.
"Colonel," I greeted the man in turn, moving my eyes around the activity, "You have my thanks all the same. I was worried we would need to fight our way to the shuttles, liberate pilots, and make a daring last stand until reinforcements arrived. It warms my heart to know-" No, that sounded like a doubted them, "- to be reminded of my crew's daring nature."
There, now I sounded less worried about the pattern beginning to form - one involving my crew deciding to attack hostile stations and occupy rebellious cities without orders.
"Of course, Captain. With your back, we can begin preparations to retake the station in earnest. It has been impossible to track you down, but we need not worry about that now."
"Tempting," I lied, though a part of me did want to flood the station with my forces and pull the Yevethans out, root and stem. Alas, two large reminders of why time was of the essence still remained in the system, "But another time, perhaps. We are on a time limit. Colonel, begin recalling your men."
"Captain." Maab sounded none too happy about it, but he followed my orders all the same. He stood up from the mechnochair and began barking orders at his nearby officers, "Call back the forward teams, and empty those shuttles! I want us packed and gone in two hours, move it!"
"I need transport back to the Conqueror as well, do you have a communication line with them?" I asked, drawing the Colonel's attention back to me. The man pointed me toward one of the shuttles touched down on the far side of the bay.
"I came over in the Valiant, over there. Communications have been cut, we are relying on couriers for now."
"The Valiant?" Nereus spoke up at last before a mortified expression began to form on his face, "My shuttle was called the Valiant."
"Hmm. Strange."
"Strange-" I raised a hand, cutting the man off, and nodded my thanks to Maab. I turned to Nereus, hoping to placate the man.
"Another time, Governor. I am sure Colonel Maab had no idea the shuttle belonged to you when he… appropriated it from Bakura."
Nereus took in an uneven breath, agitation bleeding off of him with every glare, but he kept his mouth closed. Relieved I would not need to placate an irate Governor right this moment, I led the group toward the Valiant. I quickly reclaimed Paret's code cylinders from those that had them.
"Governor Nereus and Stormtroopers - yes, the injured one too - are to come with me. The rest of you will take the next shuttle over," I order, ensuring my tone brooked no argument. Captain Heruuk looked furious at being left behind, and the Lieutenant was crestfallen, but I was not in any mood to deal with bruised egos.
Unfortunately, I was not confident enough to refuse the CompForce operatives when they boarded. That one was a system too far for me to jump.
"Remind me, when we get to the Conqueror," I said, speaking to no one in particular, "Set up a meeting with Colonel Maab."
"Leaving Black-15 in alien hands," The CompForce officer was speaking now, "That is… inadvisable, Captain."
Strangely enough, the man did not sound as accusing as when we first met. His eyebrows were knit together as he spoke as if trying to work through a particularly challenging puzzle. I did not pretend to understand the mentality of COMPNOR and its stooges, but the flame projector his partner held forced me to think up an excuse.
"I'll not leave my men to take that station, not so long as those dreadnoughts dangle over our heads," I said, trying to sound forceful. I sniff, continuing, "It's no way to die, entombed in a space station. Having no way to strike back."
Hopefully, the idea of not wanting to die while unable to fight back would resonate with the CompForce operatives. Otherwise, I might need to have them killed once I was back on the Conqueror.
I shuddered, the last few months were trying if I was treated execution with such a casual tone.
Thankfully, neither man challenged me, content now with leaning back in the surprisingly soft seats. Nereus still appeared mullish, eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms. The Stormtroopers all appeared to relax somewhat now, blasters resting across their knees. The last of their company was still laid atop the hovering bed, helmet and breastplate removed to expose blackened skin. He was a Clone, though that much I already knew, though his face was strangely young.
The rest of the trip was silent, our pilots quick to bring us aboard the Conqueror.
"We have arrived, Captain." A voice spoke over the loudspeaker, followed by the shudder of the shuttle touching down. I turned and pressed a button, opening a communication line with the cockpit.
"Very good. Return to Black-15, Colonel Maab will have further orders for you."
"Yes, sir."
The boarding ramp hissed before slowly lowering to the durasteel deck below. I rose to my feet, patting my trousers for invisible dust before stepping toward the opening.
We had landed in the main ventral hangar for the Conqueror, though it was nearly impossible to recognize it. A great deal of cargo was strewn about, lining walls and climbing toward the ceiling. Much of this was obviously not going to Black-15, such as those AT-AT walkers in the far corner (walkers I was certain the Conqueror did not have, I needed to read Screold's report). There appeared to have been order in the bay at some point, with pathways moving between pillars of crates and containers, but that had long since devolved into this uncontrolled chaos. Walkers and lifts flittered this way and that, grabbing boxes to move aside to make room for whatever equipment Maab needed.
At the foot of the boarding ramp, a pair of grey-uniformed technicians walked over - expressions exasperated and exhausted. Yet, the moment they laid eyes on me - and what a sight I must have been, uniform a mess and one arm held in a sling - and froze. It took two entire seconds for the men to have their minds about them, an eternity of this was my bridge, before they jumped to a salute.
"Captain Tullius!" "Sir!" They spoke over each other, earlier exhaustion forgotten in their haste. I stepped down the ramp, followed by my cadre of fellow survivors.
"Who is overseeing this operation?" I demand, waving away their salutes with one hand as I studied the chaos.
"Quartermaster Miraan, sir."
"Bring me to her."
The technicians were quick to lead my group through the throng of stacked containers, bringing us to the center of it all. Standing on a raised dais, barking orders down at two uniformed naval officers, was a stately woman. Her uniform was identical to mine, albeit in a far better state. Even given my typical grooming standards however, she was a step above - near spotless despite the chaos of her workplace. Her face was narrow and severe, matching her meticulously maintained regulation hair style. In many ways, she was the opposite of Maab. Where he was short, wide, and crass, Miraan was tall, thin, and orderly.
Quartermaster Shiela Miraan, Major of Naval Security and overseer of all cargo that entered or left my ship. That she had not run to me the moment Maab tried to load heavy walkers in my hangar bay was telling of their cooperation, but I would overlook that err in judgement for now. Besides, it was neither the time nor the place for such reprimands - and those stolen goods had been working in my favor so far, so best not insult my crew over boons.
"Major Miraan!" I called up to the woman, making her turn that sharp gaze in my direction. It was like being scrutinized by a schoolyard matron, despite the fact that she and I were around the same age. Miraan reached for the glasses dangling from her rank cylinder pocket, pulling them on. In a flash, her severe expression vanished with a widening of her eyes, her hands tight around the guardrail she was leaning over.
"Captain Tullius?!"
"In the flesh. Call off further supplies to Black-15. Maab is pulling out, and I want those shuttles empty and sent his way!" I called up, "And a tram, if you have one."
"Immediately, sir. Are we evacuating the system?"
"I need to take stock of the situation," I said noncommittally, mindful of the two CompForce operatives behind me, "As you were, Major."
I turned and continued toward the now-visible exit to the hangar bay as Miraan called the two officers she was yelling at before to come back, now completely changing their orders. The hallway beyond was the same level of mess, with boxes and crates stacked along the durasteel walls. Still, enough of a path in the middle had been cleared so as to allow a tram room to pass. One awaited me, a cargo hauler instead of a passenger carrier but it would suffice. With the help of a Stormtrooper, I clambered onto the back.
"Nereus, get in. The rest of you, get to your duty stations… or find one, I suppose," I pointed to the ice box before taking it into the back of the tram. Nereus clambered in after me, his face disgruntled and agitated, but he did not voice his complaints yet. I patted the driver's shoulder and he took off.
Half laying, half sitting in the back of the tram, I had to awkwardly position myself to face Nereus. In doing that, Nereus finally decided to speak up.
"Is this a… normal state of affairs in Arrowhead Command, Captain?"
"Would you believe me if I said 'no', Governor?" I sighed, laying back slightly and resting my ruined arm, "No, this is far from normal. However, if I have learned anything through this all, then it is this: I am not setting foot on a single space station or planet again without a small army at my back."
"That would be wise, I think."
A stretch of the trip was spent in silence, neither of us having anything worthwhile to say. However, as we reached around half-way to the bridge, I spoke to the driver.
"Stop here."
He did, so I turned back to Nereus.
"Go to the communication array station. Find out what's going on down there," I paused, "Do you know how to get there? Follow this hallway down-"
"I know how to get to the CommRelay station, Captain," Nereus sighed, kicking his legs over the side of the tram and dropping down heavily. He turned again to face me, looking up with a frown, "Shall I remain down there?"
"For the time being," I said, sitting up again, "Until we have reliable comms again. I apologize for any insult, Governor-"
"If it aids my survival, I will suffer the indignity, Captain."
I only realized he might have been joking as my driver sped off.
"Captain on deck!" I strode past the Navytroopers, dusting my stained tunic as I went. A futile gesture, my tunic was singed, blooded, and battered - I looked positively dreadful. I pointed at a lower officer as I passed him.
"Go to my quarters and get me a new tunic. There is a tram at the bottom of the elevator." The man was quick to salute and run off. I had not stopped my stride as I made my way to the forward bridge, ignoring the pointed stares of my crew as I passed. The rear bridge was noticeably empty, most of my usual command staff not needed at the moment. The forward bridge was not so barren, crew members loudly speaking as they worked - there was quite a buzz.
Screold met me at the door, her eyes wide as she took me in.
"Captain, your shoulder!"
"I'll live," I said shortly, "Status report."
Worry warred with duty of Screold face, but it was the latter that won out. She snapped her heels and quickly spoke.
"Sir. Black-15 has not restored control of our external systems - we are blind and most deaf. Colonel Maab is currently overseeing operations to retake the station and find you, it appears he succeeded in one of those."
"And he may well complete the second," I agree, deciding not to mention that it was my party that found him rather than the reverse. I looked out the forward viewscreen, seeing only the dark mass of Black-15, "How many did we lose in the bombing?"
"Twenty-three. Twenty Naval Security, two technicians, and an officer - Lieutenant Tiel Torfan."
Blasted Yevethans. I was tempted all over again to let Maab have his fun and purge the station, but we still did not have time to waste. The weight of the recovered code cylinders lingered in my pockets, and the ice box I carried in my free hand. Screold continued to glance at it, but I ignored her wandering eyes in favor of getting more information.
"And the section?"
"Commander Milgern brought them here - he's holding a cordon around the Conqueror. Unknown Star Destroyers are shadowing his movements - the Unbroken and Avarice, but they are refusing to engage."
"I thought communications were down?"
"They are, but we are running communications through an army array. Hardly efficient, but we can talk to Milgern. So long as those docking clamps are on us, we cannot talk to anyone."
I bit my tongue, thinking for a moment. They could lock our weapons, shields, and out-going communications, but internal communications would require a powerful jammer. The more I had to deal with these Yevethans, the more I leaned toward the camp that this was all planned. The potentially hostile Star Destroyers not-withstanding, the radio silence, sudden ambush, and fleet chaos were all too convenient.
It was this kind of stuff that made me miss the ORSF. You went where you were told, shot what you were told to shoot, and that was that.
However, getting the Conqueror unstuck from the docking clamps was the current problem that needed dealing with. As I considered the possibilities - such as making Maab turn back around and continue his assault - Screold spoke up.
"Sir, I believe we have a way to get out of Black-15's docking clamps," There was an odd cadence to her tone that made me turn my attention back to her, something telling me I would not like what I was about to hear, "That will save us the time needed to seize the station."
"I am open to recommendations, Lieutenant," I said slowly.
"... Unlike in typical stations, Black-15 is holding the Conqueror with only two docking clamps - starboard and port sides near to the bow. They are attached to arms that extend out a ways past the Conqueror. Commander Milgern could maneuver the Steadfast and Intrepid so as to-"
"Shoot out the clamp arms," I finished, a throbbing rising in the back of my head. Exhaustion warred with abject horror, and I felt that distant twinge to raid some combat stims, "Lieutenant, you are aware we are attached to the station, correct?"
"Yes, sir," She said, before quickly adding, "But, we do not have time for Colonel Maab to forcibly take the station. It's only a matter of time before more Star Destroyers are committed, and the Conqueror cannot defend herself currently."
"That is-" Utterly insane? The worst idea I have ever heard? Screold, did you forget that we cannot raise shields to defend ourselves from our own allied missiles? But I did not say that. I tried to reason a way that we could not shoot at my flagship, but unfortunately I was out of ideas and time. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose, "Likely our only feasible option at the moment, short of cutting them off."
"In that case, it would be faster to send Colonel Maab." Ashsca agreed.
"Very well, let us see if your scheme works, Lieutenant," I turned, though not before seeing the woman's face become set with grim determination. I walked over to the communications officer, addressing them as I approached.
"Do we have the Intimidation?" I asked, taking a headset and sliding it over my ears when they nodded, "Patch me through."
"You are connected, sir."
"Intimidation, this is Captain Tullius," I said without preamble, "What is our status?"
"Captain," The voice of Milgern responded almost immediately, heavy with relief as he spoke, "I am relieved to hear you survived Black-15. We feared the worst."
"These Yevethans have been rather troublesome," I said, "But I hear you have some sport of your own?"
"... Yes, sir," Milgern's voice sounded oddly weak at that. Strange, "Two Star Destroyers are holding outside out range, but a third one is incoming. None of them are responding to our hails."
"No support ships?" I asked, surprised. Three Star Destroyers were a tall order, but not insurmountable considering our numbers - especially considering our numbers.
"Nothing."
"Strange… Then time is of the essence. Has my Lieutenant informed you of her plan?"
"Yes, and I wish to lodge an objection, sir."
"Objection noted," I fought back a sigh. Instead, I took in a breath and continued, "Commander Milgern, shoot us out."
Capital Ships:
Conqueror – Imperial I-Class Star Destroyer – Captain Rivejer Tullius, Lieutenant Ashsca Screold, Commander Rius Harand, Chief Wyatdrew Matread, Commander Ciena Ree, & Colonel Barton Maab
Intimidation – Imperial I-Class Star Destroyer – Commander Milgern
Escapade (Shriwirr) - Shree-Class Battlecruiser - Lieutenant Commander Thawne
Cruisers:
Intrepid – Victory I-Class Star Destroyer – Lieutenant ? (Dead)
Steadfast – Victory I-Class Star Destroyer - Captain Zanus
Viscount – Strike-Class Medium Cruiser - ?
Contester – Strike-Class Medium Cruiser - ?
Absolution – Strike-Class Medium Cruiser - Lieutenant Pax
Valor – Strike-Class Medium Cruiser - Commander Titus Cain
Frigates:
Spite – Carrack-Class Light Cruiser - ?
Loner – Carrack-Class Light Cruiser - Lieutenant Lo Bannick
Dugnad – Carrack-Class Light Cruiser - Lieutenant Axel Aalberg
? – Carrack-Class Light Cruiser - ?
Corvettes:
Overlord – Lancer-Class Frigate - Captain Forster
Justice – Lancer-Class Frigate - Commander Titus
? – Lancer-Class Frigate - ?
? – Lancer-Class Frigate - ?
Fjørtofta - DP20 Frigate - Lt. Commander Terje Haugland
? - Marauder-Class Corvette - ?
Bakura II - IR-3F-Class Light Frigate - ?
Bakura V - IR-3F-Class Light Frigate - ?
Thank you for reading this chapter of "The Imperial: Arrowhead Command". I'm setting this section aside for a few announcements.
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