The Rebel Faction

Excerpts from Imperial Peace Initiative

"The Coalition broadcast by their Prime Minister was, for all intents and purposes, a declaration of war. By his blatant attempt to incite civil rebellion among the populations of factions they consider their enemies, there can be no other explanation."

"In the Coalition broadcast, they make plays on words to indicate to which galactic neighbor this aggression is directed at. However, their lack of specifics indicates to a critical observer a much wider and much more aggressive posture to anything 'not Coalition'.

And because of that danger, now THIS becomes a galactic issue. In naming the Coalition as 'THE only hope', they discount the various multitudes of individual sovereign governments and peoples that inhabit this galaxy. In indicates an intent to absorb these factions into their fold for, according to them, peace cannot be achieved unless a faction is a part of this Coalition.

They try to simplify galactic politics into black and white. One is either a part of the Coalition and 'good' or they are not, and therefore 'evil'."

Kaine's eyebrow rose in an expression one could call ironic, "And who is not a part of the Coalition but the rest of the galaxy?"


Kaine's voice became hard.


"In any event, it no longer matters, for the question we face is: Do we finish the job militarily what couldn't be accomplished diplomatically? And we could do it. We have the logistical support as well as the necessary war materials to accomplish this. All I have to do is sign the order and our fleets will cross the borders striking into the corrupt heart of this Coalition and ripping it out once and for all! Never will we have to worry about these war-like aliens making threats over holonet. Never will our citizens have to worry if today will bring a surprise alien attack. Already their blatant attempts to incite insurrection has caused deaths among our citizens!

And this will stop!

…

The galaxy will no longer tolerate the war speeches of the Coalition!

The galaxy will no longer tolerate their hate of the Empire or of humanity!

The galaxy will no longer tolerate their efforts to instigate war among their galactic neighbors!


To be a galactic power, one must adhere to certain responsibilities or forfeit their right to be a galactic power. Those responsibilities extend to one's neighbors.


And to these responsibilities, the Coalition has failed miserably.

…

I ask all galactic nations to take my offer and let us meet to protect our Coalition neighbors from themselves. For the alternative is simply too terrible to contemplate.

I implore the Coalition leadership to bury their hate. I implore the Coalition leaders to humble themselves and grasp the hand of peace!"

And Simon Kaine's face became one of resolve. "For I have failed once. I will not fail again."


The gauntlet had been thrown down, the challenge laid. The Empire had called to the Coalition, and called, one last time, for peace. And they had been trodden upon, the desecrated bodies of the doves left to rot as the armies of the Coalition marched forth with much pomp and ceremony.

To war!

To death!

To glory! And a red sun’s rising!



The transmission had been playing across the holonet since INS had gotten a hold of it: Regard, standing before the people of his Coalition, calling for blood. The spinmasters at INS had done their own work, interweaving clips of the last war into the Prime Minister’s address: shots of the massive invasion fleet bearing down on Corellia, video of the violent oppression of Kamino, images of the devastation left behind by the destruction of Cloud City on Bespin.

Sound bites from the last war reminded everyone what the Coalition was all about. Jan Dondanda, admitting to the murder of hundreds of innocent Kaminoians. And the promise made the last time: “we are coming for you”.

Into billions of homes the Coalition’s threats were beamed, the spectre of total war hovering just in the background. The devastation wrought by the Galactic Coalition, their bloodlust and hatred for any government not their own, would not soon be forgotten within the walls of Imperial sanctuary.

Yes, the Coalition’s message was making its way into every household, every office, every school in the Empire. And preparations were being laid.

For war was coming, and the Empire was anything if not prepared.




Yaga Minor

The great holographic representation of the galaxy dominated the room, as it often did these days. The map took up an entire wall, stretching floor to ceiling, from one end of the room to the other, crafted in exquisite detail. It was a tool Grand Admiral Thrawn would have killed for - a tool Grand Moff Bhindi Drayson had killed for. The Emperor’s domains were highlighted in blue, a colour that dominated the centre of the map and radiated outward, like an ink stain seeping into a piece of flimsy.

The Emperor’s dominion over this galaxy was nearly completed, with only a few bastions of independence still holding out. The Galactic Coalition, represented by the crimson colour of blood, held positions scattered across the galaxy. An indefensible Empire, spread across the breadth of the galaxy, with a thousand different species and a plethora of sub-factions, each with their own beliefs, cultures, and ideals about how and where their government should be run. Given enough time, the Galactic Coalition would splinter and break apart, as had the two Republics that had preceded it.

Down in the Eastern frontier of the map, several worlds blinked slowly, indicating conflict. Indeed, the Galactic Coalition was embroiled in a war with the Black Dragon Empire. Resources had been pouring down the Perlemnian trade route for months, untold billions of credits spent on the Coalition’s conflict with the Tion Hegemony. By all accounts their war machine was exhausted, their people clamouring for an end to the near-constant war the leaders of the Coalition had thrown them into, seemingly without heed to the consequences thereof.

Bhindi Drayson studied the map with interest. It was not the East that drew her attention, however. The Coalition’s war was predictable: the Black Dragon Empire was ultimately powerful within its own borders, but it did not possess the strength or the interest to continue the war outside of its space. The Coalition would lose there, grow tired of throwing troops and money into the fruitless battles, and retreat.

No, it was the Onxyian Commonwealth that had attracted the Grand Moff’s view. Intelligence had picked up on the actions of Joren Logan, the old upstart who had led his so-called New Alliance in war against the Empire. Now he served the Coalition, still (it seemed) intent on destroying the Empire. Imperial Intelligence had long ago labelled him an anarchist, though that did not make him any less dangerous. Indeed, his penchant for chaos made him, if anything, more dangerous.

The Empire figured a war was coming. Regard’s meant he had to either go through on his word, or risk losing face in front of his constituents. Not that seemed to matter, since the idiots had elected him even after he lost them their last major war and threw them heedlessly into a third.

One wondered if the so-called ‘democracy’ the Coalition claimed to adhere to was anything more than a sham, with Regrad as the grand puppet master.

In any event, Imperial Intelligence had been hard at work since the announcement, eyes and ears alert for whatever signs of trouble.

The business at Glee Anselm had only made worse their worry: indeed, II had been as active as they had ever been since the mysterious desecration of the League of Nations world. A threat with so little regard for life so close to the Empire was concerning in the extreme.

Intel had not found the perpetrators of that crime (though they would, given time). What they had found, though, was much more concerning: not far from Ord Mantell, and assembly of warships to rival those thrown at the Empire during the last war. It was done subtly, almost as if by accident: ships were diverted from their assigned duties, sector fleets looted, reserve vessels and unassigned ships slipping quietly into the system as the call was put out.

And when it was done, a fleet had formed, bearing the colours of the Coalition’s cross section of sub-factions. Onxyian, Azguard, Cren, and Contegorian, all were accounted for as the fleet came together.

The question was, where would they strike?

“It will be one of these two.” Bhindi Drayson said, pointing to the two likeliest targets of Coalition aggression. “There’s nothing else in the region worth hitting.”

Indeed, to any military mind, it had to be one or the other. Fondor or Bilbringi. Two of the Empire’s most critical production facilities.

And, naturally, two of the most heavily fortified worlds in the Empire. But odds and military logic had never been a grand part of the Coalition’s planning: indeed, where that the case they would have surely surrendered a long time past.

“It doesn’t actually matter where they strike,” Simon Kaine said, eying the map, “if we deploy our fleets here,” he pointed to a location on the grid, “then we have an equal response time to either of those two. Not to mention if they happen to hit any of the other planets that way.”

Bhindi nodded approvingly.

“Bilbringi is the more heavily defended of the two-”

“Which means that’s probably what they’ll hit first.” The Supreme Commander said, his eyes cold. The Coalition had never been much for strategy, preferring instead to throw as many ships and soldiers as they could muster at the biggest thing that moved.

Already the Fleet was mobilizing, general quarters issued. The build-up of ships along the Coalition’s borders was a cause of grave alarm, especially considering their penchant for leaving the border unguarded, home to pirates and privateers. In any event, the build-up was certainly being taken seriously by the Imperial brass.

Bhindi looked back to the map, eyeing the border between the Onxyian Commonwealth and the Empire. That no-man’s land had been shrinking steadily, and the attack on Glee Anselm…

She almost wondered – but the Coalition, for all its ills – surely wouldn’t. Reckless warfare against an ideological enemy was one thing. But a chemical attack on a defenceless world, the desecration of an entire population…

Regrad would never allow it. She was reminded of the words of an Intelligence analyst: “the Coalition is growing fast – too fast. Regrad cannot possibly know everything that’s going on.”

And then again, were the Coalition to act, it was Joren Logan that would be the driving force behind it. He was the one brave – or foolish, depending upon your point of view – to take what action ‘needed’ to be taken.

Did that include, she wondered, an attack against the Empire? Was Logan foolish enough to commit the Coalition to a war it could not win? A Coalition, stretched to the breaking point, its Eastern Province devastated by Phage and war with the Tions?

“Strike damn it!” She willed, as though the map were mocking her. “Strike!”

For if the Coalition did, it would surely spell their doom.




Bilbringi

Traffic into Bilbringi had slowed to a crawl.

The renewed threat of terrorism from the Onxyian Commonwealth meant security measures had been tightened considerably. For Bilbringi, a system that already boasted some of the highest security in the Empire, that meant that nothing got into the system with anything less than a full inspection.

And nothing got near the yards without the Empire’s express knowledge.

Being an asteroid field, there were only a few entrances into the system. Of those that were of sufficient size and safety for a hostile fleet to use at anything faster than a snail’s pace, there was only one.

It was along this route that the Imperial fleet had set up.

As it was, those ships that entered the Bilbringi system found themselves in for something of a surprise: the Imperial fleet, arrayed for battle some distance from the main yards, oriented at what would otherwise be a very odd angle. Constrainer pickets defined a tightrope that approved ships could follow into the system. Nothing made it past the blockade.

The Empire had learned long ago how to defend its worlds: as had happened at Corellia, every civilian ship was assigned a recognition code signifying they were friendly. Any ship emerging from hyperspace without the proper code would be destroyed. This was war time, and certain measures – and sacrifices- were made in the interests of security.

And so the waiting had begun in earnest. At Fondor, not far away at hyperspace speeds, similar preparations were being laid. Civilians had been briefed, INS’ extensive informational supplements doing their jobs. The people were dug in for a siege.

The Fleet… the Fleet was itching for a fight.

Maintaining battle readiness for extended periods of time was a serious job, but it was not unusual for the Imperial Fleet. Still, tensions were high, and with no sign thus far of their enemy, and protocol demanded a rigorous schedule be followed.

Crew changes were done at regular intervals, with no officer standing watch any longer than another. When the battle came, shift changes would be more frequent still – the last thing any commander wanted or needed was a tired crew manning essential systems.

As was General Vladimeer Tagge, charged with the defence of Bilbringi. He stepped, clean-shaven and alert, onto the bridge of his flagship, breathing in the scent of a taxed bridge. The officers were fresh faced, this watch having just begun, but the seats they occupied reeked of sweat from the soldiers who had come before them.

Such were the costs of being on red alert status.

The Fleet was ready, the only thing lacking an enemy to engage.

If they were even coming: he had not heard, but they were perhaps already engaged at Fondor, or even one of the lesser worlds lying nearer the border.

Tagge would be somewhat disappointed, though, if the fools chose not to strike Bilbringi. It had been some time since he had been involved in a proper fight, and he was eager to take the fight to the damned aliens.

Constrainers dotted space around them, their gravity cones preventing unauthorized entry to the system. Further out, Surveyors monitored the hyperlanes, their powerful sensors able to detect the passage of sizable ships in hyperspace.

When the word came through, the defenders would have valuable moments of warning.

Spread out across the single entrance into the system was the defending fleet, bolstered by ships from the surrounding systems, the Black Fleet’s finest warriors waiting for an enemy that they hoped would show up.

They would not be disappointed.

The first warning came from the second of the three Surveyors, indicating the passage of a number of ships, coming from the direction of the border. Immediately orders were issued, fighters launched through shield gaps, missiles primed and weapons readied.

All of this took only seconds: on alert, the Imperial Fleet was the fastest and most able fighting force in the galaxy.

Warnings were issued to all civilian traffic to evacuate, even as the shields protecting the massive shipyard facilities began to power up. Epsilon Station cast its own sphere of energy over the entire facility, the massive polar stations generating more power than most worlds would use in their lifetime.

As the first of the enemy ships were pulled from hyperspace, one of the Dictator FCV’s transmitted its message: Bilbringi is under attack!

“Reversion, General! No codes!” The cry came from the sensor station. “They came out just short of our pickets!”

“Begin bombardment.” He ordered calmly, checking his sensor view of the enemy fleet. His own ships were arrayed in something of a claw, four great deadly talons made up of a mixture of Eternal Star Destroyers, Thorne Dreadnaughts, and Fire Class Frigates (as well as a smaller number of heavier ships) emerging from the centre, where his flag lie with the group’s heaviest firepower, including the pair of Corellia class Star Defenders that had been captured from the Coalition in the last war and refitted for the defence of the Empire. These two aside, the rest of the fleet conformed much more accurately to Imperial standard, with a plethora of wedge-shaped Star Destroyers and their ilk lined up like rifleman on a field of battle. Gun for gun, discounting the reserve fleet that guarded the yards proper in the distance, the two forces were near evenly matched. If anything, the Empire was probably at a slight disadvantage in capital stock, though superior training and drilling would no doubt pay off. In fighter craft, literally thousands of ships filled the sky, with still more rising from around Bilbringi to join in the fight. TIEs of every colour, with a great number of Devils among them, screaming towards the sight of the impending battle.

The result was that the enemy fleet would be under fire from all directions save dead astern, while the Imperial fleet could pound from one direction.

The deck of the Requiem shuddered as the first shots of the dance lanced out from her heavy guns, and the rest of the fleet joined in.

And with that, the battle was joined.

Line-Captain Sean Devaro had seen a lot of battles, but not many on this kind of scale. The fleet of the New Coalition hesitated as they emerged from hyperspace – and rightly so, Devaro though, for to find the Imperial Fleet arrayed against one, like some ancient monster, was enough to make even the most hardened of commander’s blood run cold.

Presently, the bridge officers on those Coalition ships would be realizing that their supposed sneak attack had been second guessed by the Imperial brass. Devaro knew the logistical impossibilities of hiding a fleet rally on such a scale of the enemy’s – it was impossible, a lesson the Coalition had seemingly failed to learn in all their bloody conflicts. How the Coalition had assumed to hide the build-up was beyond him, but it was evident just from looking it had been rushed. The various alien elements of the enemy fleet were uncoordinated, their crews obviously unused to working with the other species and commanders that made up the group. Ironically, too, by rushing the rally the Coalition had tipped their hand as well: ship reassignments were poorly implemented, with little work done to disguise their true intent.

The Coalition, likely, would not see it as such. They would scramble, trying to find the traitor who must have sold them out. It was far easier to believe that there was a traitor in their midst than to admit that their own planning had betrayed them. And they would spend valuable time looking for whoever had given their plans away, instead of hanging the damn fool of a commander whose poor planning had spelled doom for their fleet.

Knowing they were coming had been the easy part. Stopping them would be harder, but Devaron was fully confident in the Empire’s ability to do that. For Captain Devaron knew a little of the plan in place, and the Coalition’s destruction at Bilbringi would be complete.

The deck of the Requiem hummed as the ship’s weapons spat out their destructive energy, the Imperial fleet taking this early chance to land its most critical blows. The enemy fleet was vulnerable as it launched its starfighters, that action requiring that shields be lowered, and, caught off guard by the Empire’s trap, suffered greatly as concentrated volleys slammed into unshielded undersides. Many starfighters, leaving the protection of their hanger bays, were cut to pieces, entire squadrons decimated by diamond boron missiles and antifighter fire fire from the Imperial fleet.

“Concentrate fire on that Star Destroyer,” General Tagge ordered from behind the Captain, indicating the ship that had broadcast the message (short, Devaron noted, as the ship fell under fire).

The Star Destroyers and ships of the Fleet were deployed each talon at 90˚ to one another, so that their fighters might find safety in the sheer bulk of their superstructure, and that their heaviest guns might be able to target the enemy fleet all at once.

Space in the middle of the formation was a killing ground. The claw was a dangerous formation in a small battle, for the risk of hitting one’s own side was great. But here, in what amounted to a slugfest between the two sides, there was little chance of that. What surprised Line-Captain Devaro most was that the enemy commander did not manoeuvre his ships as expected: the standard response to a claw formation was to move your ships in close to the enemy, where the battle would come down to capital ship slugging and not any kind of cohesive tactical manoeuvring. It was elemental, and highly dangerous for both sides, but it had proven effective.

What they did instead was to maintain formation and course, heading straight into the centre of the Imperial formation, where the Requiem lie: the hard point of the Imperial defence. It was a bold move, and as the Line-Captain watched the situation develop, something occurred to him.

“They’re not here for a battle.” He said to himself, observing the Coalition fleet as it closed the gap between the two sides. Indeed, the enemy seemed intent on ramming through the Requiem’s position and continuing past to the yards. But that left the rather poignant question of what they were here for: it was true that the combined bulk of the Coalition advance outgunned the main group of the Imperial fleet, and a determined enemy commander could likely break through the line and make a run for the yards.

But he would then have to contend with the reserve fleet, not to mention the Golan defence stations and plethora of other devices that stood sentinel over the construction facilities. In any event, a reduced Coalition fleet could hope to neither take the yards nor wreck them before Imperial reinforcements arrived. And even if they managed to do so, the Coalition mission was a suicide one: they would never penetrate the yards and make it out again alive. Not here, in the midst of an Imperial stronghold. Any damage they did to the Empire would be paid back a hundredfold by the loss of their attacking fleet.

Which begged the question: just what the devil were they doing?

Sean Devaron did not have an answer for that question, nor did he have time to ponder it. He watched with interest as the Coalition fleet continued doing exactly what it had been doing: the advance towards the main group had not slowed, and presently they fired what seemed to be a wall of missiles towards the defending fleet. Devaro was reminded of an old story, and something said by an overconfident attacking commander: “our missiles shall blot out the sun and the stars”, to which the vigilant defender had responded, simply, “very well, then we shall fight in the shade.”

And so it seemed to happen here: Devaron watched the first wave of missiles lance out, and for the first time since the battle had begun he felt afraid. Missiles were the bane of any commander, as the Empire had learned the hard way, and now they faced what looked like an insurmountable number of them.

“Do not fear, Captain.” Tagge said, his voice strangely calm. “Elementary physics, it seems, are not something our dear enemy commander has taken to studying.”

Indeed, for the sheer number of missiles launched here worked against the Coalition fleet. Many were struck by flak fire form the Imperial formation, and these exploded, and their blasts created a chain reaction that left gaping holes in the approaching mass.

Of course, a significant number of missiles made it to strike the shields of the waiting fleet, but this was exactly the purpose shields had been designed for: the initial volley (or rather, what was left thereof) detonated rather uselessly against the shields of the Guardian FDVs, whose shield walls rose invisibly against them, leaving the ships of the line unharmed behind them.

The second volley was more worrisome, or rather, would have been, but for one caveat.

The first salvo had left behind it a fair amount of debris, the remnants of missile casings and burnt out TIE fighters. What was more, because the second volley followed so closely the first, this debris was still superheated, and as the missiles passed through a number were detonated prematurely.

The Guardians had rejuvenated their shields, their reactive systems proving their worth, and while the second wave suffered even more losses because space between the opposing fleets was now filled with superheated debris, the shields of the defenders could not hold. They shimmered, turning almost entirely opaque for a brief moment, and then faltered.

Leaving the Fleet to rely entirely on their own shields.

“Pull the Guardians back,” Tagge ordered in that calm, focused voice. “Reinforce our forward shields, have the TIEs cover our rears.” Without the need for constant forward momentum, the Fleet was able to divert a great deal of energy from its engines into shields, leaving enough balance to manoeuvre, but greatly increasing the resilience of their defences at the same time.

The Coalition fleet was still coming on strong, charging down the throat of the Imperial defence, but taking fire from all directions as they did. The Imperial ships, by contrast, now concentrated their shield power in one direction against the Coalition fleet.

A message scrolled across Devaron’s screen, and reading it, he smiled thinly.

“General, High Command reports: ‘Message acknowledged.’”

A smile made its way to Tagge’s lips, and he nodded.

“Very good, gentlemen. Let’s show these bastards the meaning of war. Bring our Interdictors online, pre-assigned vectors. Order the Freedom of the Press to initiate long and short range jamming procedures.”

The Coalition fleet, their communications compromised and any hope of retreat quashed, crossed into effective firing range, and the full onslaught of the Empire’s attack made itself clear: turbolaser blasts splashed against enemy shields, missiles wound their way through the battlefield to slam into enemy hulls, starfighters wheeled through space, dogfights breaking out spontaneously as the two sides clashed.

Captain Devaron stole a glance at Tagge. The General was sitting in his command chair, a look of content on his face, as if he had some knowledge Devaron was not privy to. Then Devaron’s attention was taken back to the task of commanding his ship.

“Gunnery, make sure battery sixteen is in sync.” He barked, a smile coming to his own face, “we aren’t in the academy here, this is war!”

Battery Six, RCD England’s Rose

The ship shuddered violently as another turbolaser volley struck home, sending gunnery officer Pete Gage against his restraints. Taking a deep breath, the young man squeezed his eyes and bought his weapon around, directing a steady stream of fire against the massed Coalition fleet had he been told were his enemies.

“You ever been in a battle before, kid?” The battery commander asked, his dark eyes scanning Gage’s. The gunner shook his head: this was his first battle. “You’ll get used to it quick. Just don’t stop firing.”

The ship shuddered again as more enemy fire assaulted it, throwing up a wall of translucent pink energy where the warship’s shields protected it. Watching the fire come in, Gage realized why it was that so many called war hell. His heart beat painfully against his ribcage as he squeezed down on the trigger’s, sending deadly green energy lancing towards the enemy fleet, as he tried not to think about his family back home. Or the families of those aboard the enemy ships…

*

The battle, Captain Devaron though, was going rather well. The lead enemy Star Destroyer had taken a beating from the Requiem until it had fallen back, allowing the rest of the fleet to take the brunt of the defence.

“What the devil are those things?” He asked, irritated. “They look like fucking dildos.”

“That is a Claymore class Battle Cruiser, Captain.” General Tagge offered, his unnervingly calm voice floating across the bridge. “Grand Admiral Desria encountered a number of them at Tynna. They’re designed for lighting attacks, not slugging matches. As such, they’re not very heavily armed. Ah, there, you see.”

Indeed, the enemy ship, taking the full force of the Requiem’s fire, could not hold up. The Claymore burst apart, the fire from the much larger ship no longer so much directed at it as through it.

“Interesting, isn’t it Captain,” Tagge commented idly, “how our dear enemy commander offers up the lives of his subordinates to protect his own.” He offered an ironic smile. “If only for a while.”

“Yes, sir.” Devaron said, returning his attention to the battle. The Star Destroyer’s screen had protected it from the most obvious threat of the Requiem, but it was caught in the centre of the Empire’s net, and fire continued to pour in on it from all directions.

It would not last much longer.

“Instruct gunnery to direct its fire against the target’s command tower. Let’s put the fear of God into Mr. Logan.”

Devaron stopped the command he was typing, turning to the General.

“How-”

“Simple, Captain. You see there representatives from every part of the Galactic Coalition. Those smaller Star Destroyers belong to the X?X Confederacy – the Black Fleet encountered a number of their like at Muunilist. Those phallic ones are Central Government ships. There too we see Cren ships, and a few Azguard ones.”

The Captain nodded, not understanding. Tagge obliged him with a thin smile.

“That leaves only the Onyxian Commonwealth. As you might know, the Commonwealth has been cutting costs by rebuilding destroyed Star Destroyers. That particular example is the shell of an Imperator class.”

“Logan is supposed to be dead.” Devaron said simply. If it were indeed Joren Logan commanding the enemy fleet… Devaron did not doubt Tagge’s leadership, but Logan had a reputation for ruthlessness, and he had lived through enough battles to know a thing or too. Won his fair share, too.

“So we are led to believe.” Tagge said mildly. “And it offers the Coalition a rather nice scapegoat when the Empire confronts them about this attack. And a scapegoat for Glee Anselm, I imagine, too.

“Is there something else, Captain?”

Devaron nodded slowly.

“If it is Logan out there… he has to have more up his sleeve than a slug fest with our capital ships. He wants something.”

Tagge’s smile grew taut, and his eyes glittered cruelly.

“Indeed, Captain.”

The finality in his tone told Devaron that the conversation was over, and reluctantly the Captain turned once more to the battle. The lead enemy Star Destroyer was still taking heavy fire, the debris of the destroyed Claymore not provided any sufficient cover as the gunners of the Imperial ship fired straight through it into the enemy formation.

“Captain, have the rest of the fleet prepare to shift their fire to the enemy Claymores and Longswords. On my mark, they should track and fire at will. Pass this on to the Thornes in the main group: prepare to engage.”

Devaron nodded, typing out the commands and sending them to the other ships’ displays.

“And send a battle update to Command, with those last orders attatched.”

Copying the data, Devaron sent the final message, turning back to the General.

“You will understand in due time, Captain.” The glint had returned.

The battle progressed well, the enemy fleet absorbing wave after wave of fire from all directions. Then, moving in scattered groups as the communications jamming compromised coordination, the Coalition’s fastest ships began to break off, groups of them driving into the Empire’s main line.

“Mark.” Tagge said, his voice infuriatingly calm. At once, the Empire’s fire stopped, and a moment later erupted once again, this time into the Coalition Second Wave ships. The talons, out of range of the fast ships, continued their fire against the main bulk of enemy ships.

“Keep it up until they’re past.” Tagge ordered calmly. “Inform our Thorne commanders they are free to engage as they will.”

The Second Wave ships reached the Imperial line, still taking heavy fire. Some did not make it past the line, but a number punched through, their speed taking them behind and away from the Imperial ships.

The Thorne’s, almost equal to the Coalition ships in speed, gave pursuit, their heavy weapons lancing out into the sterns of the enemy ships. As the second group drove towards the Empire’s second line, the remainder of the Fleet concentrated its fire on the now-outnumbered main group of Coalition warships.

Devaron’s console beeped, and he brought up the message.

“General, High Command sends, ‘message received, posting’.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

*

Peter Gage let out a breath had had not known he was holding, wiping the sweat off his brow as the enemy ships passed out of range, the Thorne group in hot pursuit.

“Good shooting, kid.” The commander said, “Keep it up.”

Gage nodded, turning the turbolaser back towards the enemy fleet and squeezing the triggers down.

Super Star Destroyer Acheron

The bridge of the Black Fleet’s flagship was abuzz with activity. Officer’s moved back and forth between stations, checking and double checking the great ship’s preparations under the careful eye of Captain Stremmins Joda. The ship had not seen combat since its construction, relegated to parades and shows of force throughout the Empire.

Until now, that was.

“All systems check out, Captain.” The ship’s Executive Officer gave the hourly report, his uniform somehow still fresh in spite of the tension on the bridge. The data stream coming in from Bilbringi gave everyone an idea of what was happening at Bilbringi, but sitting here doing nothing while the Empire fought its age-old enemy was taking its toll.

Fortunately, it did not look as though that would be the case for long. Joda dismissed the XO as his console lit up, indicating a message. Scanning the text briefly, he rose and marched to the rear of the bridge, where Bhindi Drayson was engrossed in her own work.

“Admiral,” he said, saluting smartly, “word from General Tagge.”


Epsilon Station “Bilbringi Sabre”, Bilbringi Defence Force

The command deck of the orbital command facility was deathly silent. The battle raged between the Empire’s first line, the reinforcements under the command of General Tagge, and the Coalition attackers. But the shipyard’s, far back and presumably safe from the enemy fleet, had not been targeted so far, leaving their defenders to wait, watching the battle unfold.

The destruction of the enemy Longsword earned a cheer from the solemn bridge crew, quickly silenced as enemy fire took its toll on one of the Imperial Invincible class Dreadnaughts, the ship bursting into flame and drifting listlessly away from the battle, locked into its last manoeuvre and escape pods were jettisoned en mass.

“Sir! Enemy ships have broken through the line! We have incoming.” The sensor operator’s voice cut through the silence, startling the Imperial soldiers into action. A quick glance at the TAC showed a number of enemy ships, identified as Birds of Prey, leading a squadron of larger vessels inbound for the second line.

“Plot their courses, I want to know what they’re targets are.” General Herst, the long-time commander of the Bilbringi defences, ordered. He remembered the last time the Coalition had staged an attack, here. And he remembered how bitter their defeat had been.

He had no plans for the outcome this time to be any different.

“Plots indicate they’re heading for the shipyards, Sir.”

Herst nodded. The last time the Coalition had attacked Bilbringi, they had managed to do some damage to the yards before the Empire had chased them off. This time, with the massive construct of the Bilbringi Sabre standing between them, they didn’t have to worry about that.

They just had to worry about doing as much damage to the enemy fleet as possible.

“Right. I’ve studied the reports on those ships, and they’re a fair bit faster than anything we’ve got. Manoeuvrable fuckers, too. So we’re going to have to hit them hard.”

The enemy ships were twitching now, trying to avoid the fire of the defenders. The enemy ships were quick, but they were still big targets, and turbolaser fire found its way to them in great numbers. One enemy ship blew apart as it took fire from two sides, the Imperial Thorne Dreadnaughts not slowing down as they continued the chase.

The enemy ships were almost in range of the shipyards, now, and not slowing down.

“Have fire control cease fire, alter target coordinates for likely break off points.”

The gap closed, and one by one the Imperial ships and stations fell silent, their turbolasers and missile batteries waiting for the inevitable.

“Enemy in range, Sir.” The sensor officer reported, his voice apprehensive. The enemy ships, though, surprised them. Instead of attempting to break the lines, they slowed, dropping shields and launching starfighters.

“Order half the guns to target and fire on the enemy ships while they’re mobility is compromised.” Herst ordered softly, barely believing what he was seeing. The enemy ships, which until now had managed to evade a good portion of the Empire’s fire, were allowing themselves to be torn to shreds as they sat, shieldless, under the guns of their enemy, to launch fighters.

Two enemy ships were blown apart even as fighters launched, the blast consuming the fighter squadrons they had just deployed in a terrible waste of life and material. Herst could only wonder at the enemy’s tactics as the Thornes, still travelling at full speed, overshot and flipping on their axis, the ships displaying their unparalleled agility to continue to fire on the enemy fleet.

“Only in the Coalition navy…” Herst though, shaking his head as the enemy task force continued to absorb damage,


CSD Requiem

“Enemy is launching more fighters, Sir.” Captain Devaron reported dutifully, barely daring to look up from his display. The action taking place behind them was fascinating, so much so that the Captain had guilty found himself engrossed in it and missed the last manoeuvre the enemy fleet had made. They had clumped together, allowing their shields to overlap and reinforce one another. It was a highly dangerous move, and it meant that any blast would now be directed against several ships, instead of one. But in the interim it had worked, for the Empire now found itself trying to overcome not one ship’s shields, but several.

What was more, the enemy had somehow managed to coordinate their fire against several of the Empire’s ships. That was of little worry in the short term: the Imperial fleet was still able to direct its shield strength in one direction, and the ships in question were mostly of the Star Destroyer class, and designed to take a large amount of punishment.

“Thank you, Captain. Bring some of our TIEs forward, I think we shall need them.”

Over the course of history in the galaxy, there were few technologies that had inspired so many copy-cats as the TIE Devil. The tiny fighter, less than three meters in length and width, was designed as a space superiority vessel, far too small for any but the best of enemy pilots to hit. The enemy Swarm fighters were, to be fair, a decent reproduction thereof, but the Empire had been building TIE Devils for years, and had learned a thing or two about how they worked.

Starting with the fact that, no matter how good the droid backups, they were never as good as a real, living, human pilot. And with the Dictator still blanketing the system in communications blackout, the link between the Strykers and their homeship was compromised, at best. The fighters’ responses were sluggish or incomplete: how long it would take the enemy commander to realize this was anyone’s guess, but Devaron, watching the enemy ships as they were shot to pieces, put his money on sooner rather than later.

“Sir,” He began, looking away from the battle, “the Acadia is reporting shield failure. She won’t be able to hold out much longer.”

The Acadia was one of the older Imperator class Star Destroyers taking heavy fire form the enemy fleet. She was well built and maintained, but Devaron knew it was possible for even a Star Destroyer to be destroyed.

“Very well, have her captain fall back. The Maranello can take its place.” Tagge’s voice was still calm, and Devaron stopped as he returned to his post, curious.

“Sir-”

“Do not worry, Captain. In exactly one minute, however, I want you to have the fleet prepare to enact the pincer movement, exactly as we planned.”

Devaron nodded, setting his chrono and preparing the orders as he settled himself into his seat.

And watched as the battle went from simply lopsided to grossly unfair.


Super Star Destroyer Acheron

“Very good, Captain Joda. Send this back, ‘message acknowledged, posting.’”

With a smart nod, Stremmins Joda returned to his post, relaying the appropriate orders to the fleet as he did so. By the time had had strapped himself in, the Super Star Destroyer had made the jump to hyperspace. The journey was short – at the onset of the attack, the fleet had moved to within a microjump of the Bilbringi system, simply awaiting the Grand Moff’s approval to intervene.

“I want weapons operational as soon as we’re out of hypersace,” Drayson reminded the crew from her own position, also strapped in. “We’re going to crush the Coalition here and now.”

Minutes later the massive dagger-shaped Star Destroyer was filling the Bilbringi system, yanked out of hyperspace by the carefully positioned interdictor fields laid out by the defending fleet.

Two inconsequential Coalition ships exploded spectacularly as they found their shields overwhelmed by the point-blanc fire of the Acheron: still more now found themselves under fire form all directions as the Imperial trap closed around them.

“Status?” Drayson called out, unhooking her crash webbing now that the jolting return to realspace was over.

“The fleet is in position, as per your orders, Admiral. Interdictor nets are established, we’ve cut the system off.” Joda reported, also unhooking his crash webbing.

The Grand Moff nodded, a tight smile on her lips.

“And ourselves?”

“Engineering reports slight strain to our hyperdrives – the return was a little bit rougher than they anticipated. Nothing they can’t put right, though – they’re already working on it. Shields are operating at full capacity.”

The Coalition fleet, split between the shipyards and the main battle, now found itself grossly outnumbered. Under attack from every direction, it was only a matter of time until they cracked.

“Maintain our position. I don’t want any of these scum escaping.” Drayson ordered, watching the enemy fleet scramble to meet the new threat.

SSD Acheron

“Admiral, we’ve analyzed their attack patterns and there is a threat to the yards.” Captain Joda reported, offering the mandatory salute to the Imperial Grand Moff. Bhindi Drayson stood now at the end of the Super Star Destroyer’s command walkway, watching as the massive ship delivered a death blow to one of the enemy cruisers.

“General Tagge is aware of the enemy’s plan.” She responded calmly, as the Acheron commenced firing on the enemy command ship, its way now cleared as the other Star Destroyer reeled and broke formation. The enemy flag had proved resilient, taking the damages thrown at it in stride, but the constant battering from the Requiem and the other ships of General Tagge’s line had done their job. As the Acheron now moved alongside and directed its substantial firepower against that ship’s side, the Admiral watched entire sections of the enemy Star Destroyer melt away.

“Orders, then, Admiral?” Joda asked, hesitantly. The enemy’s second line was battered, the majority of the lightly armoured Birds of Prey being destroyed or crippled as they foolishly stopped their attack to launch fighters.

“Let General Logan have his fun,” Bhindi said, with a small smile, “I imagine he thinks he has earned it.”

The staying power of the enemy fleet had been impressive, but the battle was taking its toll, and quickly now. Of the original fleet that the Coalition had brought in, perhaps three quarters were still fighting. The rest were either destroyed, or floating aimlessly away from the battle, unpowered and likely to stay that way. The Empire’s superior tactics and positioning had given them a significant edge in what had quickly turned into a slugging match between opposing capital ships, and now the enemy fleet was caught in a killing field of Imperial metal, their only escape route a long drive through the largest concentration of Imperial ships, to the edge of the interdiction field.

“Bring the fleet to a stop,” Bhindi ordered, watching as the Coalition fleet arrayed itself to better combat the new threat. “And send the order to General Tagge that he is to commence his next manoeuvre as he is ready.”

Joda nodded, shrugging off the Grand Moff’s nonchalance to the threat to the yards, and relayed the orders.


Bilbringi Sabre

“General, Sir. Update from General Tagge. We’re to be alert for a renewed attack, but take no action.”

Herst, moving away from the station he had been looking at, tilted his head.

“No action, ensign? Are you certain?” He asked.

“Those are our orders, Sir. Countersigned by Grand Moff Drayson herself.” Herst had no response for that: he respected the female Admiral greatly, recognizing the victories she had achieved over the Empire’s enemies. But these orders… they went against what he had worked for much of his professional career to build.

“Put me through to the Grand Moff,” he said, looking now at the copy of the orders. Indeed, they boar the electronic signature of Bhindi Drayson. But they made no sense.

“Link established, Sir. Line three.”

Activating his privacy shield, General Herst opened the line and found himself staring at a hologram of Bhindi Drayson.

“You have an issue with my orders, General?” She asked sweetly, but the gentleness in her tone did not carry to her eyes, which remained dark and foreboding.

“Ma’am, my orders from High Command are to protect the shipyards here at all costs.”

Bhindi nodded.

“And so you shall, General. Follow my orders, and you will receive a commendation.”

General Herst looked as though he was about to speak, and the Grand Moff cut him off gently, “You do not need to understand, simply obey.”

Her eyes flash, and Herst understood. These orders were not open to questioning or interpretation.

“Very good, Grand Moff. Sabre out.”

“Sir?” The ensign asked, approaching the shaken General. “The orders stand.” He breathed. “Whatever this attack is, let it happen. And may Hyfe protect us if she turns out to be wrong.”


CSD Requiem

Captain Sean Deavron read over the order one last time, then took it to General Tagge. The General glanced over it, and smiled thinly.

“Excellent, Captain. Relay that to the fleet – we’ll soon see the end of this pathetic little battle.”

Devaron nodded, sharing the General’s smile. The orders were simple, and they would spell the doom of the Coalition’s small task force. Seating himself and bringing up the main battle on his TAC, he typed out the orders for the Interdictors to increase their output so that the entire system was cut off. For any ship to make the jump to hyperspace would require no less than an hour’s travel at normal speed to the edge of the field, or the destruction of the pair of Interdictor FSVs sitting at the rear of the first fleet group.

The next order turned the entire battle upside down. The ships of the four talons, those still with operational manoeuvrability and weapons functioning, oriented themselves towards the enemy fleet and moved forward. Explosions filled space in front of the Requiem as the talons moved into point blanc range and opened fire with a full barrage of missiles and turbolaser fire, their coordinated efforts penetrating shields to burn through hull plating and vent enemy atmosphere – and crew – into space.

The net closed rapidly, the Imperial ships in their element as they commenced broadside attacks at close range, their heaviest guns chewing through the enemy formation. The Acheron had turned her full attention against the enemy flag, and that ship now found itself belching oxygen and debris from a gash running the length of her side: she was listing heavily, though Devaron could not tell if that was the result of the Super Star Destroyer’s attack or from the grip of the vessel’s tractor beams.

Even as the Captain zoomed in on the stricken Star Destroyer, her conning tower exploded as a rain of fire from one of the first talon Star Destroyers tore through it, blowing glass into space and certainly killing her bridge crew.

Imperial losses were no less concerning: at least two ships Devaron could see, the Apache and the Pastoral Embrace, both Star Destroyers, had broken off from the attack and were veering away, flames expanding from pockmarked superstructures. But the damage issued was much greater than that received: the Imperial ships, with their shields in much better shape overall, and in far greater numbers, pierced the enemy formation and broke through, crossing paths and catching several enemy ships in the crossfire. Those ones died almost instantly, unable to deal with the simultaneous attack from all directions.

As the Imperial fleet reoriented itself, the talons now swapped, they left in their wake the flaming wreckage of no less than a dozen major enemy ships, and perhaps half that number of their own kin.

And they did not let up: now close in to the enemy, the Imperial fleet poured fire from all directions into the centre. The Acheron, in the midst of it all, turned its attention from the crippled enemy flag to the smaller ships that surrounded it, blasting swathes through the battlefield as the enemy ships, not capable of withstanding the punishment, withered under her fire.

So engrossed was Devaron in the destruction of the Coalition fleet, that he did not notice as an Imperial Golan station, itself trailing flames, crashed through the asteroid field to strike a portion of the shipyard facilities.


Bilbringi Sabre

“General, I think we’ve isolated the incoming attack,” the ensign said, offering General Hert his datapad and indicating the fighters that filled the display, “we tracked these fighters launching from one of the enemy ships before it was destroyed. We’re trying to determine what they are, but their speed and manoeuvrability are characteristic of heavy assault bombers.”

Herst nodded, recognizing the smaller ships that escorted the bombers: a fairly standard bomber run, then. The question was what, and why?

“Where are they headed?” He asked, moving to his console so that he could better track the ships’ movement. The ensign brought up the appropriate image, showing the enemy ships making their way seemingly unhindered across the battlefield.

“This Golan station,” he said, pointing out the darkened station. “It’s not operational, in fact I checked it against our records and its scheduled to be decommissioned and scrapped. It predates Yavin, if you can believe it.”

Herst could – the Empire had worked hard to make Bilbringi into a bastion of impenetrability, and by and large had succeeded, but with the operational life of such a station near fifty years, there were a few remaining in service from the days of Grand Moff Tarkin. Most had been moved to lower-priority sectors, but this, the last one of its generation at Bilbringi, had not yet been reassigned. Instead it hung off to the side, not even in the battle line. Of little consequence.

“Is there any crew on board?” He asked.

“No, sir. Just the slave circuits, although they’re probably not in great shape.”

“No, ensign, that will do just fine. Have someone get into the station’s systems: I want a basic firing pattern in the direction of those incoming fighters. It doesn’t have to hit anything, just give the impression that the station is active. And prime its self destruct systems.”

The ensign turned to relay the orders, then stopped, “Sir, stations of that generation weren’t equipped with self destructs. They weren’t exactly designed to be taken…”

Herst shrugged.

“Then hack into the main computer and override its reactor safeguards, I don’t care. Just make sure when it blows up, it makes a real pretty boom.” The ensign nodded, already speaking into his comlink, and Herst smiled.

Bhindi Drayson may yet be right: he would be earning a commendation here today.


SSD Acheron

Captain Joda stopped what he was doing as the Golan station was struck, its repulsor units flaming out as the explosion tore through that section of the station. The enemy bombers turned to flee, and he smiled only thinly as a lucky shot form a turbolaser turret scored a direct hit, turning one of the craft into a flaming ball of rapidly expanding debris.

Then the station went silent as its orbit (such as it was) deteriorated, the station losing ground as the asteroids below it sucked it in. Joda held his breath, knowing that whatever the station struck would be obliterated as the two behemoths collided.

If there was sound in space, it would have been horrifying. The grinding of metal on metal as the Golan met the slipway, its massive bulk collapsing supports and buckling bulkheads. Then the Golan, trailing debris behind it, slammed hard into the asteroid below. It did not explode, as in so many holodramas, but rather broke apart. Large sections of the station tore away, bouncing and rolling across the surface of the asteroid in the weak gravity.

A cloud of dust rose, obscuring the visual sensors, and Joda let out his held breath in a long curse. A Golan like that had no less than ten thousand men on board – ten thousand good men, dead for nothing. The Golan had not even been involved in the fight!

He turned his gaze to Drayson, and found her smiling.

“Admiral?” He asked, not understanding.

Bhindi indicated the dust cloud, and explained.

“General Logan no doubt believes he has secured a great victory today. That our production capabilities will be damaged beyond repair.” She shook her head. “If he had studied our defences, he would have known that the facilities are all protected under shield.”

Joda nodded, understanding. The Golan was intended to brought down on the shipyards, wrecking whatever construction was going on there. Instead, it had careened into a slipway from the outsystem repair depot, a smaller off-site facility to repair Imperial ships between skirmishes.

“And the station?” He asked.

“Condemned.” Bhindi returned easily. “You’ll note that it only managed to shoot down one of the enemy bombers. No Imperial Golan crew would be so incompetent. Not one under General Herst, especially. No, I imagine that was his little addition, once he realized the enemy’s goal. And a good one, too, for the enemy must certainly believe they at least destroyed a perfectly good Golan station. General Herst, it seems, is finally displaying some initiative. It might be time to promote him and give him a more active charge.”

Joda nodded.

“Yes, Admiral.” He turned away, stopping halfway to ask, “and the enemy fleet?”

Bhindi’s smile vanished, her eyes hard. Far below them, the Golan’s reactor finally overloaded. The explosion took the asteroid it had impacted with it, and as it expanded debris bounced into the shields of the construction facilities and disintegrated.

“Complete their destruction, Captain. Nobody escapes this system.”