The Imperial: Arrowhead Command Chapter 1, a star wars fanfic

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 1 – Endor

It was an uncommon honor to be a member of the vaunted "Death Squadron", the personal fleet of Lord Vader himself. To have one's ship and name inducted into the official registry was the goal of many an Imperial officer – from lowly lieutenants all the way up to many of the rare Grand Admirals. Most gain their positions through acts of great heroism or through astounding victories that caught the attention of Lord Vader or one of his attendants. Fleet admirals might even see their own squadrons inducted wholesale if they were truly impressive enough.

Blitzer Harrsk was one such fortunate soul. An Admiral of considerable skill and accolades, Harrsk had made a name for himself across the Empire and beyond. His personal friendship with Admiral Firmus Piett, second-in-command of Death Squadron, managed to convince him to attach his fleet to Death Squadron for the final triumph against the Rebellion.

This meant that Blitzer's subordinates were – at least temporarily – inducted into Death Squadron alongside their commanding officer. A dream many had achieved because their commander knew a ranking officer within Death Squadron.

Beggars cannot be choosers.

This is my story, the tale of a Captain set adrift in a rapidly collapsing galaxy. A tale of victories and defeats, heroism and villainy, triumph and failure. This is the story of Captain Rivejer Tullius, through the final days of the Galactic Empire.

I cannot claim to be an especially skilled commanding officer. That is not to say I am incompetent by any means, just compared to my commander and peers I might not be quite up to snuff. My name is Rivejer Tullius, Captain of the Conqueror and of the 2nd Flank Squadron. My job under Admiral Harrsk is as can be expected from the name: to guard the flanks of the main force during operations. This job might appear a little beneath the composition of my squadron, that being the Conqueror and Intimidation – Imperial-I Star Destroyers – and an odd assortment of a dozen support craft, but Admiral Harrsk's aggressive style necessitated sizeable coverage… At least, necessitated in theory. Admiral Harrsk was as old-guard as old-guard came. Not in regards to his age, but rather because of his tactics. Harrsk was trained and experienced in classical forms of naval warfare, with focus on capital ship brawling and large, cohesive formations. A symptom of the Clone Wars, or so I've been told, but hopelessly ineffective against the current threat in the galaxy. Unlike the Separatists of yesteryear, the Rebellion does not fight in pitched battles, nor do they strive to meet in open combat. Admirals like Harrsk often spend their time hunting down small skirmishing forces, bogged down by their relatively slow tactics and ships.

To make a long-winded explanation slightly less so, my actual job within the fleet was to ensure the upkeep of both "my" ship – technically I am only leasing the Conqueror and Intimidation, complicated business with my commission but that is a discussion for another day - and my squadron. Neither my ships nor I have ever been in a pitched, proper ship-to-ship battle the likes of which Harrsk always drilled the fleet for. I was decidedly neutral about that fact. On one hand, the Imperial in me wanted the chance to prove my competence and bathe in the blood of our enemies. On the other, the reasonable sentient in me was decidedly against exposing my squadron along whatever extended flank Harrsk left us with. I, as an inexperienced officer, was not itching to die until I was well along my career. I might have only obtained my position through dumb luck rather than my accolades but getting myself or my men killed did not sit well.

Of course, had I known then what I know now, I might not have been so dismissive of Admiral Harrsk and his lot.

We were stationed over Yag'Dhul, at the intersection of the Rimma Trade Route and the Correlian Trade Spine, when the new orders came in. The fleet had been given temporary leave after our last operations in the outer reaches of the Slice turned up no recent sign of the rebels. We had been resupplying and resting over the planet – the Givin were equal parts courteous but clearly disdainful of our presence – before a missive was sent out across the fleet.

Harrsk rarely held large meetings – in-person or otherwise – so for him to call all the ranking Captains and Lieutenants to his personal flagship was a rare occurrence indeed.

'Captain Tullius,

Report to the Whirlwind immediately.

Captain Bolla Thoath'

Short and to the point; Thoath was not a man of many words.

"Inform Lieutenant Milgern that the squadron is his and prepare my shuttle." As a Core-World native, my accent held a certain cultured quality to it, making hiding my apprehension mildly easier. However, I held no such ideas about my body language. I was a nervous man by nature, and thus struggled with hiding my ticks; hand wringing, stroking my half-shaven sideburns, pacing, et cetera.

My eyes did not move from the datapad that held my new orders, not that I needed to ensure the comms officer or my second aboard the Conqueror were following my orders. One of the few rare things I had confidence in was the effectiveness and professionalism of my crew. Imperial training was very strict; the officer spoke and the crew acted. While I did not have the commanding presence of other men of my rank, the ranking insignia on my chest ensured compliance.

No, my mind was presently occupied by theories as to what Harrsk was planning. Yet, no matter how long I stared at the five-word message, no answers leaped out to me. I cannot claim to be the most politically active – my decision to join the navy was one driven by the desire to escape my overbearing mother and the constantly disappointed gaze of my father – even I had not heard of any operations or situations pressing in the Slice or beyond. I could not theorize very well simply because I did not have the foggiest idea.

Deciding I had wasted enough time, my finger flicked the switch on the side of the datapad, deactivating it. The computer was then passed off to the nearest technician as I passed him. The man disappeared into the sea of grey and black uniforms, leaving me to navigate the miasma and begin the arduous trek to the hangar bay.

My arrival by tram was greeted by my shuttle – a standard Lamda-class with its alphabet soup of a model designation – and a pair of armored Stormtroopers. The men somehow managed to straighten their posture even further as I approached, the blasters held tightly to their chests.

I did not speak to the troopers as I climbed the ramp to my shuttle, nor did they speak to me in turn. Something I had learned early(er) in my career: Stormtroopers were meant to be seen but rarely heard. They were the fists of the Empire, intended to appear inhuman and unapproachable to the common folk. This stand-offish behavior might have been irritating to another officer, but I found them oddly comforting. Silent guardians who neither judged nor questioned, perfect for someone like me who questioned his true worth in this prestigious position nearly constantly.

The troopers filed in close behind me, claiming the seats nearest to the docking bay and I sat to the rear. Pulling the small hand communicator from my belt, I opened communication with the cockpit.

"Pilot, take us to the Whirlwind. Once I disembark, return to the Conqueror until I call you back."

"Yes, sir." And with that, the communication was closed. A few moments passed – the pilot likely running through the pre-flight procedures – before we set out. While the inertia dampeners did an admirable job of completely negating the feeling of flight, the subtle shifts of the shuttle told me we had set out.

The arrival was as untroublesome as the departure, and soon I was sat among a crowd of my peers around a large conference table. Again, showcasing how out of my depths I was, many of the captains and even lieutenants were several years my senior with many of those being veterans of the Clone Wars. They had earned their place here through blood, sweat, and seas of battle droids, a far cry compared to my skirmish with some enterprising pirates.

My usual self-deprecation was briefly silenced as a hush fell over the assorted officers. All eyes – mine included – were drawn to the new arrival at the front of the head of the conference table. Admiral Blitzer Harrsk, his severe expression lightened into a rare half-smirk, marched around the table before taking the head seat. As he went, he greeted some of the more notable officers quietly. Unsurprisingly, he passed me without comment.

"Gentlemen," Blitzer began before he sat, sharp eyes gliding over the crowd of officers, "I have recently received a request from an old friend, Admiral Firmus Piett – who I am certain you are all familiar with."

Indeed, I was. Firmus Piett, Admiral of Death Squadron and former Captain of the Executor. The man was a legend in the officer circles – at least those I was actually part of before being brought into the Arrowhead Command – for not only surviving under Vader for years but also being one of the skilled or fortunate few to be granted command of a Star Dreadnought.

"I received word that the Emperor himself has concocted a plan to destroy the insolent rebels once and for all. A new Death Star has been in construction, and we have been granted the enviable honor of defending it under the banner of Death Squadron." Harrsk, ever the dramatic orator, declared this to the crowd, standing again with a fist raised in the air heroically. The sea of Imperial loyalists, stoked by his words and the promise of victory over their decades-long foe, cheered and applauded the announcement.

Another Death Star? My mind was racing at the possibility, even as I rose from my seat and applauded alongside my peers.

In my old circles, thoughts on the Death Star – now the First Death Star – were mixed at best. The most patriotic members were for the battle station wholesale, viewing it and its destruction of Alderaan as a necessary evil for the safeguarding of galactic security. Others saw the Death Star as a colossal waste of resources, especially given that it was destroyed so soon after being unveiled. Others still – a silent minority – viewed the Death Star as an abomination and the destruction of Alderaan a horrifying tragedy. I was of another opinion entirely: the Death Star was a necessary evil in principle. I was but a child during the Clone Wars, but I was old enough to remember the stories shortly after its conclusion. In a galaxy without order, there will only be destruction and death. The Death Star was the ultimate deterrent – a weapon capable of destroying the next Geonosis, Serenno, or Raxus Secundus – against rebellion and war. However, actually using it to destroy a peaceful, loyal world like Alderaan, which had been a major proponent of galactic history for as long as there was history? That I could not agree with. Official records and testimonies state that the late Moff Tarkin, driven mad by his love and loyalty to the Empire, targeted the planet to force the hand of the treasonous Leia Organa, but how could a man driven by love do something so vile? It was a question I did not have an answer to, but it didn't make much sense.

Still, another Death Star alongside the infamous Death Squadron? Harrsk had given us nothing on the current plan, but those two forces combined would be untouchable. Arrowhead Command was a powerful fleet by itself, but combining with Death Squadron and whatever other forces were being compiled?

Look at me. I thought. Going up in the galaxy under no actions of my own. Again.

But I continued to applaud all the same.

The Conqueror dropped out of hyperspace, far from the gas giant planet of Endor. Even from this great distance, I could make out the dark shape of the Death Star. Having never seen the original in person, my first experience was certainly memorable. While it was dwarfed by the furthest moon that the battle station orbited, and certainly by the gas giant, the mere fact it was visible at this range unlike the fabled Death Squadron was a testament to its size.

"There it is," I murmured breathlessly, noting absently as the rest of the Arrowhead Command dropped out hyperspace around my ship, "The Death Star."

My awe was joined by the crew. A brief survey of their expressions brought a small amount of amusement, as the usually rigorous bridge staff stopped what they were doing just to stare for a few moments.

It was Lieutenant Ashsca Screold that broke from her stupor first, turning her gaze from the distant battle station back to me.

Screold was the youngest of my ranking staff by at least half a decade. She was a shorter woman, with the sort of rounded and cutesy face that hid her severe and no-nonsense personality. Even as a younger junior officer, she had earned a reputation as a hard-ass who did not suffer incompetence or excuses lightly. I had discovered her aboard my new ship and knew soon after our first meeting she would be my ideal second on the bridge. She had managed to worm her way onto the bridge crew not a year later through sheer competence and stubbornness and commanded such a presence that even the veterans were impressed. I could have chosen a Clone Wars veteran to be my second, it was certainly advised by some of my staff. My reasoning for picking her was twofold; one for strategic reasons and another for entirely personal. Regarding the first, I needed fresh blood to set new protocols and standards so that I would not need to conform to the old. Second, as an even younger officer and someone lacking the pedigree of being a Core Worlder or a veteran of any combat, Screold lacked the assuredness in command to contest me or go behind my back. She had the presence, yes, but not the ambition or cut-throat attitude older officers had.

While I oversaw the tactical side of command, she ruled the bridge with an iron fist. A sign of her hard-headed professionalism came soon after snapping out of her stupor.

"Captain, the Intimidation has dropped out of hyperspace. Only the Viscount and Intrepid are unaccounted for."

I nodded at her words, keeping my expression decidedly neutral. While my more nervous and defeatist disposition was an open secret on the ship, I did my best to appear the imperious Captain I was supposed to be. My words came out level and cultured, as my training dictated.

"Very good. Order the Intimidation to fall in on our left flank and the auxiliaries to follow Fortress formation. The Viscount and Intrepid will join upon their arrival."

The Fortress formation is one of the most self-explanatory and simple doctrines under my belt. Given the general fragility of Strike cruisers, like the Viscount, they needed to be protected by larger craft. In essence, the two Star Destroyers would form a barrier to the front – that being the Conqueror – and one to the open side – the Intimidation – while the remaining flank was the main fleet formation. Within this pocket would be the rest of the ships, providing supporting fire and being able to move between the two heavier craft. If the flank were to be extended to the point that the Star Destroyers could no longer completely cover the who squadron, Victory-class cruisers like the Intrepid could fill the gaps. Though less durable, Victory-class cruisers were still well-armed and armored for their size, especially while supported by the rest of the squadron. For the time being, we would be glued to the Arduous, an Alliegance-class Battlecruiser. Much like all of its sister Alliegance battlecruisers, the Arduous entirely lacked fighter support or major point-defense weapon systems.

"Yes, Captain." Screold saluted me before turning about and barking orders to those crew members that had not yet shaken their individual awe. Knowing she more than had the ability to see my orders enacted, I returned my attention to the scene before me.

With such a force present, how could we possibly lose?

The Battle of Endor began a week later, though how much was to plan remained a mystery. As a lowly Captain, I was not made privy to what designs the Emperor and Admirals hatched, but from my position, I could only bear witness to its effectiveness.

Far from the gas giant and its moon, my small squadron had been sent on the greatly unimportant task of guarding the outer reaches of the system. It was to be expected – my ships were fairly outdated, and my experience was lacking – but it still hurt my ego to be sidelined in such a fashion. The crew shared the sentiment to greater and lesser effects if their quiet grumbling was anything to go by. Still, thousands of kilometers away, I was able to watch one of the largest single battles in modern galactic history. Hundreds of the Empire's finest ships and officers against all that the Rebellion had to muster certainly made a spectacular show. From our position near the primary hyperspace point, my crew and I witnessed the destructive power of the Second Death Star as it effortlessly destroyed rebel ships with a single stroke. One of my attendants was set near to the sensor officers, marking down the tactics, and actions, and creating a play-by-play report. Even if I could participate directly, I could still learn from the battle by watching. The experiences learned would be applied to my playbook of tactics, to deal with any future rebels that would rise after this.

There was the Whirlwind, pummeling a smaller rebel cruiser with its heavy batteries. The Avenger, former flagship of Admiral Piett, was moving nearer to the gas giant alongside two other ISDs to engage Rebel forces on the flank of their fleet. The Eviscerator of Admiral Versio sat on the back line, providing supporting fire for the Executor. In the who-is-who of the Imperial Navy, nearly everyone who was anyone was participating in thebattle. There were a few notable names missing – Teradoc, Zsinj, Kaine – but a large component of the Empire's best and brightest were here at Endor.

"And I get to watch the whole thing…" I muttered to myself, unsure if I was honored or bitter.

"Sir?" Screold, who I had not realized had approached me during my internal ruminations, asked with her usually stoic voice. Internally, I jumped at her unexpected voice, turning to her sharply.

"Nothing, Lieutenant. Something to report?" I asked, quickly changing the subject away. Screold straightened, clicking her heels with the motion.

"Sensors report several unidentified vessels entering the system. They aren't displaying Imperial transponder codes, so it is likely they are rebel reinforcements."

"Do we have them on scopes?" I asked. Screold nodded, stepping aside and signaling back into the depths of the bridge.

"The technician was pulling them up as I left. This way, sir."

The pair of us moved back through the bridge, finding our way to the bridge officer in charge of the long-range sensors. He was one of the older members, a veteran of the Clone Wars that had been brought aboard the Conqueror after his old ship – a Venator, I wager – was decommissioned. He was good at his job and had the sort of grandfatherly disposition that made him a delight to speak to, at least outside work. When he was seated in the technician chair, Mallee Hossax vanished, and Lieutenant Hossax came to the forefront.

"Report, Lieutenant," I commanded as I approached, arms folding behind my back as I did so. The technician turned and gave a short salute from his chair, the expected greeting during combat situations.

Not a good sign. I mused as I came to rest at his left shoulder.

"Captain," The man greeted before turning back to his console, indicating towards one with an agitated gesture, "Five rebel ships dropped out of hyperspace at the edge of the system, scopes place them at twelve-thousand meters. Composition is one cruiser, four light carriers."

"So close?" I asked, furrowing my brow as I took in the ships before us, "Have they spotted us?"

The largest was one of the rebel cruisers, an MC-80 if memory serves. Its mass dwarfed the out four ships – which appeared to not be anything more than light hangars with engines. The exotic cruiser sat between my fleet and the collection of carriers, facing toward Endor rather than us.

"Unknown sir. They haven't moved from their current position, and there hasn't been any identifiable chatter between them and the main fleet." The comms officer, seated next to Hossax, stepped in there, pulling his headset off to address the group.

"Reinforcements?" Screold asked, drawing my attention. She had brought one hand up to her mouth, subconsciously gnawing on her index fingernail as she studied the console.

"Or latecomers," I offer, turning away from the console, "But I don't want to give them the chance. Helm, take us 90 degrees starboard, pitch three down by our keel, keep her so." I ordered, moving towards the front of the bridge again.

"Aye, sir. Ninety degrees starboard, three degrees by the keel." The helms officer repeated from the lower deck, repeating it again to the helmsman.

"Very well. Comms, order the Intimidation to follow our movements but maintain distance. I want the Victory picket to mirror them on the port side. The remainder of the squadron may move at their digression, but remain within the formation."

The comms officer's affirmation was barely audible over the energized chaos that had taken the bridge, but it was heard all the same. I could forgive his breaking of protocol by not repeating the order back, for I was probably as excited if not more so than my men.

My first real battle, against a real foe. I thought, taking a few soft, calming breaths when I was alone at the front of the bridge. Stay calm, Rivejer. There's one real ship in that lot, this'll be a walk in the park. Like taking your XP-38 out, smooth and simple.

"Squadron in position, sir." The comms officer repeated from his station, silence greeting him now as the bridge crew awaited my orders with bated breath. The Conqueror had turned enough for me to see the hostile force, as distant as they seemed from here. Only the bizarrely shaped MC-80 was visible with the naked eye, serving as a confirmation that they were there, and this skirmish was happening.

"Very well. Helm, set engines to cruising speed, steady as she goes. Have the squadron match and ready long-range weapons. Hold fire until I give the order."

The squadron set forth at a steady pace, warily scanning the area around the newcomers for any sign of a trap. Their lack of a reaction to our approaching precession boded poorly, but I would not waver. If there was some trap at hand, then I would have faith in my men to execute their tasks accordingly!

"Turbolaser batteries will be in range in thirty seconds, sir!" Hossax announced from his position, a report received from the Master of Arms, no doubt.

"Very well. Chief Matread," I turned to address the Fighter Tactical Officer, Chief Wyatdrew Matread, "Scramble all first-stage fighters, priority on any enemy bombers."

Matread, seated at a series of consoles opposite Hossax, saluted from his position and turned to begin relaying the order. Soon after, hordes of TIE Fighters flowed from the fleet, their familiar scream hidden muffled by the vacuum of space and the thick hull of the Conqueror. The glow of their engines made a dazzling light show in front of the fleet, like a wall of titanium and quadanium.

At last, the rebels appeared to recognize the force bearing down on them as Imperial, as the cruiser had turned to face my ships. The small, arrow-shaped carriers had rapidly fled behind the cover of their larger comrade, but it would be to no avail.

"Turbolasers in range, Captain." At last, the words I had been waiting for reached my ears. My heart raced, my palms grew sweaty, yet the grin I hadn't even realized I had been wearing grew vastly.

"All ships, fire at will! Tear that cruiser apart!"

My words were greeted by a cacophony of raging turbolaser fire, igniting the dark void with vibrant green, all sent in a cascading storm towards the unfortunate rebel ship. The shield, originally hidden from view, suddenly glowed a bright blue as it struggled to maintain cohesion under the unrelenting barrage. The deadly bolts of my turbolasers were soon joined by blue ion blasts and glowing, crimson missiles launched by the Victory cruisers.

The rebels were not entirely lethargic, fighters and other assorted snub craft spilling from the cruiser's hangar bays. The cruiser itself, now finding its own weapons within range, began a desperate return fire. Instead of spreading its turbolaser fire between all its assailants, it focused on just one: the Conqueror.

Red bolts of energy impacted close to the hull of my ship, dissipating on its considerable shields. Evidently realizing the futility of their current actions, the rebels' return fire became focused on the typical "weak points" of the Conqueror. The heavy turbolasers located next to the command tower, the two shield generators on top of the bridge, and the massive reactor bubble on the ship's underside.

"Captain, the enemy carriers are retreating." I paused for a moment, looking from the cruiser to the area behind it. The carriers, which I had not been paying attention to until now, had vanished from view behind the large cruiser. While their fighters and bombers continued to flit about, the latter of which was constantly harassed by my own fighters, the carriers themselves were hidden.

"Lieutenant Screold has the conn," I ordered, turning away from the view screen and marching back through the bridge. Screold snapped off a salute before barking her own orders out to the crew. My attention was drawn to the comms officer.

"Open communication with the Intrepid," I ordered, taking one of the extra headsets hanging on the officer's console. The man nodded sharply before setting about his work, bringing the communications array online. Whilst he worked, I turned my attention to the sensor officer's console. My squadron's arrow-headed formation acted as the focal point of its display, centered on the Conqueror. A short distance in front of us was the oddly shaped rebel cruiser, its sizeable mass hiding the four wedge-shaped carriers from direct view.

"Intrepid here," The commanding officer of the Victory picket crackled through the connection, his tone severe and uncompromising.

"Lieutenant, do you have a line of sight on the enemy carrier group?"

"… Negative, Captain. The enemy cruiser is blocking our firing arcs. Permission to break formation and pursue?"

"Denied," I responded after a moment of consideration, "Maintain formation and focus fire on the cruiser. Conqueror out."

At my command, the comms officer quickly changed communication to the Intimidation.

"Intimidation reporting." Milgern's stately voice, far clearer thanks to the Intimidation's more modern communication array, droned through the headset.

"Do you have a clear line of sight on the enemy carrier group?"

"… Affirmative, Captain, but that cruiser is blocking our firing arcs. Orders?"

"Pursue and destroy, those carriers cannot be allowed to escape," I was confident – for the most part – that my remaining ships could handle the cruiser. It did not have the firepower to break my flagship's shields and it was only a matter of time before its own shields fell, "Take a pair of auxiliary cruisers."

"Received, Captain. They won't escape."

Soon after Milgern cut his communication, the Intimidation drifted past the Conqueror, over the starboard side. Its considerable mass was shadowed by two of the Strike cruisers. Though he had been given the task of hunting down the carriers, Milgern evidently did not want to waste the opportunity to get a few hits in on the enemy cruiser. Bright green and blue lances continued to blast out from his port weapon systems as he passed the smaller ship.

"Enemy shields dropping!" Was heard over the dull roar of turbolasers and the din of crewmembers working. I turned to face the front of the bridge quick enough to witness the shields of the cruiser collapsing. Detonations erupted across its thick hull, sheering off durasteel and support systems alike.

"Open communication across the entire squadron," I ordered the comms officer, covering the microphone to my headset for a moment. Once the man had executed my order, I addressed the squadron as a whole.

"All ships, priority targets are the weapon systems. Cripple these rebels and then finish them off!" A cheer erupted across the bridge at my words, invigorating the crew further with the sweet taste of victory. Though my words were imperious and commanding, I was not so calm on the inside. My emotional state could best be described as giddy, my first true victory was at hand. These were not pirates pushing spice with jerry-rigged starliners, or Separatist Remnant radicals with barely maintained frigates, but a true cruiser.

An explosion erupted across the cruiser's starboard side, sheering one of its wings from the main body. The force of the explosion – perhaps a fuel line or ammo stockpile – sent both surviving parts drifting in opposite directions. With our ion cannons silenced, additional power could be allocated to the turbolaser batteries, to devastating effect. The enemy's hull, weakened by the barrage, at last crumpled. Explosions branched out from within the cruiser, the surviving crew desperately returning fire in a bid to take one of us down with them. It was a pointless gesture, as at last the reactor went critical and involuntarily shut down all remaining sub-systems. The superstructure of the cruiser, exposed to the void as it was, had nearly been split in twain, held together only by lines of durasteel to the ship's rear. An unintended consequence, I could now see past the cruiser and witness the fates of its carrier comrades.

The Intimidation, which had since bypassed the doomed cruiser, used a combination of its ion cannons to disable the carriers and its turbolasers to finish the job. The escorts were mostly superfluous, their comparatively limited firepower adding little to the overwhelming weapons of the Star Destroyer. Two carriers remained, those that had been at the head of the route no doubt, but their time to escape was cut short. Both small craft suffered the full firepower of either side of the Intimidation's mirrored weapons.

The whole battle lasted all of ten minutes, ending with the total destruction of the opposing force for limited losses on our side – the fighter battle was still ongoing, but one-sided now that the rebels had lost their command structure. The infamous X-Wings were overwhelmed by sheer numbers, destroyed, and left their bomber counterparts to protect themselves.

The bridge erupted into cheer, elated by their victory over the rebel ships. I allowed myself a small smile, basking in what I felt to be my first earned victory. I allowed the celebrations to carry on for a minute or so before addressing the comms officer.

"Very good. Comms, order the Intimidation to fall back into formation and the fleet to—"

"Hyperspace contact!" A voice – the sensor officer – cut me off, effectively silencing the bridge to the point that nary a breath could be heard, "No Imperial transponder, and she's big… Fack, she's jumping right on top of us!"

"Language, Lieutenant—" Screold began to admonish the officer, but was interrupted by my own expletive.

"Fack. Tell the Intimidation to turn about and prepare to receive." I barked, pointing at the comms officer. The man quickly relayed the orders as I turned to address Screold. Her slightly betrayed look – I was breaking protocol regarding language – was ignored as I continued, "Lieutenant, I leave the ship to you; keep us alive."

"Sir," The woman saluted her earlier irritation at my language choice forgotten as the gravity of the situation seemed to fall over her. While the sensor officer was not specific on how big this newcomer was, he was stunned by its sensor profile in hyperspace was telling of what we were dealing with.

Please be Imperial. I thought desperately, standing at the front of the bridge with my headset still on. Please, by all the stars of Naboo, be Imperial.

And then it appeared.

The new ship was – as the sensor officer predicted – massive, nearly equal to my Conqueror in length alone. Its bulbous shape and tan hull immediately told me we were not dealing with an Imperial new arrival. Any officer in the Imperial Navy could recognize one of these monsters, and many secretly feared the day he would face one.

It was an MC-80 Home One-type, one of the largest capital ships at the rebellion's disposal.

In Imperial Officer circles, there were few ships believed capable of fighting an Imperial-class – or any of its myriad of variants and successors – on equal footing. Perhaps the most "common" was the Lucrehulk-class; monstrous ships capable of carrying thousands of fighters and hundreds of weapon systems while still having space to spare for thick armor. Not only did they have the means to meet modern Star Destroyers gun-for-gun – at least the old Separatist battleship variants – they easily surpassed them with shields and armor.

Second was the Bulwark-class battlecruisers, namely the Bulwark-III. While its predecessors were decent warships in their own right, at least as far as Clone Wars ships went, the Bulwark-III held significant firepower and armor worthy of their title. Thankfully, they were even rarer than Lucrehulks and most found their way to the Corporate Sector.

Modern battlecruisers and dreadnoughts could best Star Destroyers with relative ease, but most of those were under Imperial control. Most Clone Wars-era ships, even the infamous Providence-class Dreadnought, weren't really a match for the vaunted ISD. Indeed, it was a challenge to find many modern ships that could. The "Star Destroyer killers" came and went, but only one ever stuck: the Home One-type. While its hull was not as well made or as durable, its shielding surpassed anything used in the Empire. The shielding alone allowed the cruiser to punch way above its weight class, especially against the mainstays of the Empire.

And sitting right in front of my flagship was one such cruiser, its sides bristling with firepower.

I nearly jumped as the Conqueror's guns roared to life, peppering the port flank of the MC-80 with everything it had. Lances of green and blue impacted the shield, showing no notable effect despite the short range and unrelenting focus. The auxiliary craft of my squadron joined their fire with that of the Conqueror, and no doubt the Intimidation was desperately pummeling the large ship as well. Even with this combined might, nothing got through.

"Helm, reverse thrust!" Screold barked out, evidently noticing the lacking effectiveness of our turbolaser fire.

"How in blazes are its shields up?" One officer near me said aloud, his voice alight with either fury or jealousy, "He just got out of hyperspace!"

"Mon Cal ships have heavily redundant shielding, more cost-effective than one big barrier like Star Destroyers." Another responded.

Any further conversation was silenced as the MC-80 finally began to return fire. Unlike its smaller cousin, this cruiser did not need to focus its fire on any one target, instead spreading its weapons out across my entire squadron. While the return fire was ineffective in its current intensity against my ship, the Victories were another story.

"The Torment reports shields are at seventy percent and dropping, Captain!"

"Enemy shields are still holding!"

"Turbolaser bays fifteen through twenty-three are overheating and will soon be inoperable."

In a moment, certain victory devolved into certain defeat. I could only stare, truly awe-struck, by the rebel ship before me. My main warships were divided, unable to focus their fire on any one location. My fighters were out of position and the bombers were still trapped in the hangar bay – trapped by the hail of turbolaser fire pummeling our shields. My auxiliary ships were too soft to engage the MC-80 directly to buy us time and the Victory cruisers—

A bright flash briefly blinded me.

"The Torment is lost, sir."

Stars above.

I was going to die here. Me, my entire crew, and my squadron were going to die because I didn't question why the rebel ships were just waiting for us. I didn't think to prepare for a potential ambush and sent my second Star Destroyer off to chase down a few inconsequential carriers. Now, some rebel ship with a fraction of its effective shields was going to wipe out my entire squadron in its first engagement…

I looked out at the MC-80, hopeless and terrified. I watched as ion cannon fire impacted the shield, followed by a concussion missile that slipped through the opening and into the—

Wait.

Blinking, I stepped away from the communications officer and looked more closely at the shield of the MC-80, waiting for something to happen again. I did not have to wait long as one of the ion cannons scored a hit on the shields. A turbolaser bolt, which had been following the ion cannon blast, managed to slip through and detonate on the cruiser's hull. The damage was inconsequential compared to how massive the cruiser was – a little plasma scoring if anything – the answer to my predicament came.

Swirling heck, I'm a moron.

"Lieutenant Screold, I'm taking the conn."

"Aye, sir. Captain Tullius has the conn." Screold, always one to take things in stride, responded, stepping back and returning to assisting the other officers. I returned to my position on the bridge, hands folding behind my back. My next path was clear, not I just needed to see it through. After all, there was only one enemy ship.

"Weapons, cut power from the turbolasers. Funnel that and any auxiliary power we have into the ion cannons." I ordered, pointing down at the weapon's officer. The man looked up at me, confusion melding with desperation as he tried to understand what I was doing. Still a man to follow orders, he merely saluted.

"Aye, sir. Cutting power from turbolaser batteries and redirecting to ion cannons."

"Very well. Comms, send an order out to the squadron: the Conqueror will focus its fire onto one spot, follow our lead with turbolasers and missiles only. Chief Matread," I turned to point at the Flight Chief, who straightened when he was addressed, "Be ready to scramble your bombers, they'll have their chance soon. Keep the enemy fighters away from the auxiliary craft, they'll need all the cover they can get."

"Captain." Matread responded, returning to his console with the utmost haste.

The barrage from the Conqueror slowed until not even a laser cannon was firing; I was moving a large amount of power across my weapon systems, so I could not waste any on superfluous systems. It took all of about three minutes to completely shift power, but the rebel cruiser did not remain stationary. Perhaps sensing weakness from my flagship, the massive ship began to turn, bringing more of its weapons into range. The barrage of turbolaser and ion cannon fire briefly blinded me as they impacted the shields, but the system soon compensated and allowed us a view back into the void. Despite the fact that I commanded an Imperial-class Star Destroyer, I was awed by the sheer firepower this cruiser could bring to bear. Incomparable shields, monstrous hangar space, and a commendable number of weapons.

If the Mon Cal built dreadnoughts, we would be lost in a month.

But it was all for naught. Forced to continuously siphon power into its shields, the cruiser could not dedicate enough energy to break the Conqueror; not without more time, at least.

And time had run out.

"Ion cannons ready, Captain."

"Bombers are awaiting commands, Captain."

"Squadron ready, Captain. What are your orders?"

The rebel cruiser had finally managed to bring its bow about, pointing towards my flagship in a last, desperate bid to provide a narrower profile and bring more of its weapons into position.

"All ships, target the enemy cruiser; center mass. Follow our lead, fire!"

And all hell broke loose. Bolts of blue energy lanced out from my ship, empowered by the energy from the turbolaser batteries. The shield bubble of the rebel cruiser flickered, desperately holding on until, at last, it broke. There was no dying scream, no flash of light; one moment, there was a shield, and the next, there was not. Ion cannon blasts ineffectually impacted the hull of the cruiser, which served as a signal to the squadron. All at once, the turbolasers and concussion missiles returned, streaking past the Conqueror and into the opening we had made. Individually, the ships of my squadron would have been a nuisance at best to the cruiser: light damage they would be forced to accept before the shields came back online.

Together? All firing at the same exposed spot?

No contest.

The hull didn't crack so much as it melted under the intense heat, weakened metal being blasted away by the concussion missiles of my heavier cruisers. The bombers sent their proton torpedoes into the cacophony of ordinance, proton torpedoes punching through what armor was left in the bath to the cruiser's soft interior. Even the Intimidation, trapped on the other side of the cruiser and thus far ignored, began a bombardment of its own – if the explosions to the cruiser's rear were anything to go by.

No doubt realizing the danger it was in, the cruiser began to redirect its firepower away from the Conqueror and towards the nearest threat: one of the two surviving Victory cruisers. It was too little, too late. Even as the guns to my ship fell silent and the process to normalize power distribution began, the rest of the squadron was not so hindered. The shields of the cruiser fell wholesale, exposing the rest of the superstructure to attack. At my command, the lighter auxiliary ships began targeting the enemy weapon systems, crippling them in their death throes.

Much like its smaller cousin, the Home One-type found itself ripped apart, exposing its crew and delicate interior to the merciless vacuum of the void. The reactor, nestled deep within the ship's hull, was evidently hit by a glancing turbolaser or punctured by a concussion missile, as its end was far more violent than the other MC-80. A multicolored explosion erupted from the heart of the cruiser, finishing the job my ships had started in splitting the cruiser.

Unlike the victory over the smaller MC-80, silence gripped the crew. Was it shock that they felt now? I could not say, for the only emotion I felt at the moment was relief; relief for surviving what could have been a catastrophe.

And then? Cheer. The crew, many either years out of practice or inexperience greenhorns, erupted into jubilation. To destroy a smaller cruiser was one thing, but to best a ship equal to a Star Destroyer was another entirely, especially with as minimal of losses as we suffered. There would be time to grieve those lost, but we survived another day.

"Lieutenant," I turned to face Screold, who had a smile on her face despite the serious façade she tried to put forward, "Order the Intimidation to return to the previous position alongside the squadron, and the conn is yours."

"Of course, sir." The woman responded with a crisp salute before a more serious – albeit in a mocking sort of way – expression overtook her face, "And I would suggest removing your smile, sir. It would not do for the men to start thinking you are human like the rest of them."

Briefly taken aback, I brought a hand to my mouth. As the woman said, my lips curled into a full smile of their own accord. Giving Screold a nod of thanks, I forced my expression into something more serious and befitting an officer of the Navy. Still, I allowed the crew their jubilation. After all, it was a day of victory for us all: the Empire, the squadron, and the crew.

The Conqueror turned to face the battle once more, but something was different this time. For a moment, I could not place my finger on it. The fleet of Star Destroyers was still present, as was the rebel force, as reduced as both sides appeared to be.

"Hey, where's the Executor?" One officer dully asked. His voice was somewhat lost against the generally good cheer of the bridge. Now that he pointed it out, I also noticed that the flagship of Death Squadron was missing in action. Its destruction was preposterous, so the question was why it retreated or left. Had the rebels managed a lucky, crippling strike against the monstrously sized—

An explosion ignited in the center of the battle, blinding me even at this tremendous distance. I threw up an arm to cover my eyes, wincing at the intensity of the flash. Fortunately, it passed as soon as it came, forcing me to blink spots from my eyes. I wondered for a moment if I had been partially blinded by the light, and in the moment after that, I wished I had.

For the second Death Star was gone, and in its place was only slagged metal and broken pieces.

A/N: For those of you that care about such things, like me, below is Tullius's fleet composition and the names of those that have been revealed. If you went to name a ship in the fleet or have one named after you, do not hesitate to ask in reviews or PMs.

I want this story to have a higher level of audience participation. As mentioned in the summary, this story will go more AU as time progresses, centered around Tullius or as a result of his actions. If you have a direction or event you want him to participate in, do not hesitate to ask.

Reprisal of the Force shall return soon. The creative juices are flowing, let's hope I can keep them that way.

Capital Ships:

Conqueror – Imperial I-Class Star Destroyer – Captain Rivejer Tullius & Lieutenant Ashsca Screold

Intimidation – Imperial I-Class Star Destroyer – Lieutenant Milgern

Cruisers:

Intrepid – Victory I-Class Star Destroyer – Lieutenant ?

Torment [Destroyed] – Victory I-Class Star Destroyer - ?

? – Victory I-Class Star Destroyer - ?

Viscount – Strike-Class Medium Cruiser - ?

? – Strike-Class Medium Cruiser - ?

Frigates:

? – Carrack-Class Light Cruiser - ?

Corvettes:

? – Lancer-Class Frigate - ?