Scheduled chapter. And extra chapter tomorrow for reaching 250 power stones.
***
Ten years, six months, and fifteen days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-fifth year, sixth month, and fifteenth day after the Great Resynchronization.
(One year, two months, and thirty days since the Arrival.)
The counter-intelligence team worked professionally and swiftly, with knowledge of their trade and clear objectives.
One tactical and psychological ploy followed another, but the prisoner was in no hurry to fall for the provocations.
Admiral Trell'yar showed not the slightest agitation; he behaved calmly, even excessively comfortable.
The interrogation had been going on for a week now, with breaks and rotating counter-intelligence officers, and the Bothan had not once opened his mouth to say anything beyond his name, rank, unit, and a demand to be handed over to the New Republic under the provisions of the POW exchange agreement.
Interestingly, that document had been written over a thousand years ago and had come down to the present day virtually unchanged.
The details aren't of interest; something else is notable — neither the Galactic Republic after the Ruusan Reformation, nor the Empire, nor the New Republic, nor the Galactic Alliance had ever denounced it.
That's a rather remarkable point from the perspective that new authorities always try to demonstrate their involvement in the population's problems as strongly as possible and thoroughly ruin their predecessors' legal system.
The second interesting point — we had previously exchanged prisoners with the New Republic.
But it was done not under the specified legal act, but in accordance with specific agreements.
First, we demonstrated our desire to return prisoners; the opponent put on a proud face as if they had nothing to do with it, then did what they were supposed to do, and everyone was satisfied.
Now... everything is different.
More interesting.
The Bothan felt right at home in the interrogation room and made it perfectly clear he had no intention of sharing information with us.
"Hmph... not much," Pellaeon grimaced, scanning the list of negative reports. "So much effort, and all for nothing."
The battle and defeat of the New Republic forces, orchestrated by the Bothan, had proven a decent training exercise for our Defense Forces of the Karthakk system, but the operation to loosen the commander's tongue seemed to the Captain to be a waste of time.
He didn't hide it.
But the reason here lay precisely in the fact that he himself had tried to get our high-ranking prisoner talking, but predictably achieved no results, just like the counter-intelligence officers.
Admiral Trell'yar knows how to keep his mouth shut.
Not surprising, given his past.
"Sir, he has no intention of cooperating," Pellaeon added to his thoughts. "Wearing him down with talk is just a waste of time. I suggest sending a couple of interrogation droids to him."
I continued watching the Bothan's actions on the monitor screen.
I had already studied the culture of his people thoroughly, and I understood the general behavioral traits of the race.
But, I dare say authoritatively, that Mitth'raw'nuruodo hadn't spent enough time on the psychological profiles of his opponents.
Art, to my considerable surprise, truly offers unprecedented scope for analyzing peoples.
It's also excellent for understanding personality, especially after more than a year of being in this universe.
But psychology is more constructive in the context of evaluating a specific individual.
In my opinion, naturally.
As the saying goes: "If you don't have what you need, you make do with what you have..."
"In your specific case, without access to the works of art to which Admiral Trell'yar is connected, evaluating him by the 'Thrawn method' would be quite difficult for me."
"So we'll use other trump cards."
"Let's not rush, Captain," I said. "Our prisoner truly hopes that before we tire of breaking his will and resort to specialized means to extract testimony, he will be rescued and exchanged on any terms."
"Yes, sir. Should we begin work with the interrogation droids?" asked the commander of the Guardian.
No, Pellaeon isn't bloodthirsty.
He just doesn't know something.
"Not yet, Captain," I cooled his ardor. "Admiral Trell'yar's misconception regarding an exchange is forgivable."
"Sir?"
"There will be no exchange," I stated categorically. "This Bothan will not leave Dominion territory. Recall the counter-intelligence officers—their work is unnecessary. This Bothan will not give testimony as long as he is confident he will return home."
The officer entered the corresponding codes on his deck.
The officers conducting the interrogation reacted immediately as soon as the order from the commander of my flagship arrived on their personal computers.
Admiral Trell'yar smiled, for the first time displaying his emotions and attitude toward what was happening, watching the Dominion counter-intelligence personnel leave the interrogation chamber.
Excellent.
I did not miss his sigh of relief and the movement of his fur indicating relaxation.
He's catching his breath.
Then the Bothan, as if casually, tilted his head back as if to lean back in his chair.
And immediately after that, a ripple ran through his fur.
However, that was the only change in his behavior.
Outwardly, he remained impassive.
"It looks like he's relaxing before the next stage of interrogation," Pellaeon offered, echoing my own thoughts.
"Precisely," I nodded. "Nothing remarkable in his behavior, is there?"
"Remarkable?" Pellaeon repeated, frowning as he scrutinized the prisoner on the monitor screen. "With all due respect, sir, I don't see anything that would indicate..."
"Nor do I," my agreement made the commander of the Guardian frown even more. "There's nothing unusual about a sentient accustomed to an interrogation schedule realizing that the current series of investigative actions with him has ended, is there?"
Pellaeon pursed his lips.
"With your permission, Admiral, I doubt he's keeping track of the interrogation schedule."
My red eyes narrowed slightly.
"You forget, Captain," I said quietly, "that we are dealing not with an ordinary military officer. He was not involved in a standard New Republic operation. He led a support group for an enemy with which his state supposedly has no ties."
"Covert operations," nodded Pellaeon. "Nothing new. We do it, the Empire did it... Everyone does it."
"Precisely," I agreed. "The only problem is that for this raid, the Bothans used only their own compatriots. A curious fact, isn't it?"
"Partly," the clone objected. "For operations of this level, units with the greatest command trust are used. Those with special training, relevant experience... maximally loyal and incapable of talking if captured."
"And besides—not spreading word of their activities among fellow servicemen," I finished the commander of the Guardian's thought. "On the surface, that's exactly it. That's why Admiral Trell'yar is agitated, realizing that this interrogation was cut short in the middle of the usual schedule. Did you notice how his fur bristled?"
Pellaeon looked closely at the prisoner.
"It's not visible now."
"Review the recording."
The commander of the Guardian did so.
"Bothans have extremely sensitive nerve endings and musculature," I explained. "Their reaction to emotions, despite external impassivity, is reflected in their fur. Where a human would be betrayed by facial expressions, a Bothan is betrayed by fur. Admiral Trell'yar is agitated. We have conditioned him to a certain order of questioning. As an experienced agent, he understands perfectly that no investigative action stops until the interrogator either exhausts all his tricks or achieves a result."
"So he's worried because the interrogation stopped at an unusual time?" clarified Pellaeon.
"Exactly. Our prisoner is agitated. And not without reason—he has something to hide."
"Judging by his personal file, he was accused of collaborating with the Empire," the commander of the Guardian recalled. "He went to ground while his kin tried to shake Cracken's agents off his trail."
"Isn't that an interesting turn of events?" I smiled. "One of the best agents of Bothan intelligence, the Rebel Alliance, and the New Republic was suddenly accused of ties with Imperials. There is no data on this even in the Republic Intelligence archives we possess after the attack on Coruscant. What conclusions can be drawn from this, Captain?"
Pellaeon stared thoughtfully ahead for several seconds.
"Sir, does that mean someone cleaned his file? Both his personal record and the Republic Intelligence archives."
"Don't rush, Captain, learn patience," I advised. "And broaden your horizons. There is no such thing as superfluous knowledge. Only a lack of it."
"Sir?"
"Any cleaning leaves traces—Mr. Ghent wouldn't lie, nor would any of his clones," I nodded slightly toward the two blue-haired men from the decryption department sitting nearby. "It's much more interesting. General Cracken simply did not store compromising material on this sentient in electronic form."
"What's the point of that?" Pellaeon wondered. "Extra inconvenience from physical data storage. Especially since if there's no copy of the data in the system, it can't be restored..."
"Exactly," I agreed. "And that being so, it's easy to get rid of. For example, when the Bothans come to power. And I'm not talking about the situation after the division of the New Republic. I'm talking about the period when Borsk Fey'lya was in charge of New Republic defense."
"At that time, Bothans infiltrated every power structure," the clone recalled information copied from Gilad's mind. "We were eliminating influential New Republic figures, and Bothans replaced them. Many of them remained in their positions even after Fey'lya's removal and are still there. But how does this relate to Trell'yar's behavior in the current circumstances?"
"Directly related, Captain," I said. "We pulled a lot of dirt from the Republic intelligence archives. Very dangerous information that could have harmed many political and military figures of the young New Republic. We also know that Cracken and his people tried to put pressure on Admiral Trell'yar for collaborating with the Empire. But it was said outright that doing so would be very, very difficult. It's not just that the suspect was hiding. It's politics. But then Borsk Fey'lya rises to power, and Trell'yar, under his own name, rises to the heights of military command. Although by profession he is a spy and saboteur. We observed his abilities on the battlefield—they are basic, lacking finesse. Consequently, he rose not due to his tactical skills. What explains the change from espionage and intelligence work to military specialization?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Distancing from the past," I explained. "Admiral Trell'yar and his patrons needed him to be spoken of exclusively as a military commander, with his past forgotten. Think—what could General Cracken have stored on paper or other physical media that he was afraid to put into the system? When considering this question, remember that Bothan specialists are the best in their field at gathering information on the HoloNet."
"What could he have stored?" Pellaeon repeated. "Something... very dangerous. Something far more important than corruption among senators, deals with criminals, compromising material on military personnel, and details of covert operations against the Empire. Something... much more dangerous."
"Something that could have split the New Republic and cost it Bothan support," I smirked. "Something that explains why the New Republic's top leadership, before the division, tolerated and at the same time hastily distanced themselves from the Bothans as soon as the opportunity arose. That is precisely what Admiral Trell'yar is worried about now—copies of those documents. His biggest secret. The thing he thought of first when our operatives left and he looked at the chronometer above the door. He thinks we have that compromising material. At least for the first few seconds after the interrogation ended, those were his thoughts."
"Data on his collaboration with the Empire?" clarified Pellaeon.
"Yes," I said. "Exactly that. However, as an experienced agent, he calmed himself with the thought that if we had such data, we would have presented it immediately, not wanting to waste time. So he calmed down. He believes we can do nothing to him. That one way or another, besides the attack on the Karthakk system, we have nothing on him. And he knows for sure that as soon as information about the defeat of the combined force reaches his kin, they will demand his exchange. On any terms."
"Arrogant of him."
"Oh no," I smiled. "He is confident in his own importance to his comrades. Precisely because they know what the destroyed documents said. And they won't take risks."
"Then they shouldn't have sent him."
"Captain, Bothans love and often practice getting their hands dirty if it brings dividends," I reminded. "In their time, they obtained from the Emperor, who considered xenos no more than dust under his feet unless they were useful to the Empire, the concession that the Bothan Sector would have no full-scale Imperial military presence or administrative apparatus. For what services do you think Palpatine agreed to that?"
"I recall a similar discussion. Caamas."
"Exactly, Captain. The Bothans eliminated a threat to the Empire and earned loyalty. Those who did it were agents reliably hidden from the public. Professionals of espionage and sabotage. Sentients too valuable and too knowledgeable for their patrons. Such people are not disposed of. They are used, because dangerous knowledge is a double-edged sword. On one side, they clearly won't try to kill you. On the other—for Bothans, nothing is more valuable than power. Any agent wants his piece of glory. Admiral Trell'yar is a typical Bothan. One operation, and you're stripped of everything a Bothan lives for. Terrorist acts aren't bragged about. But power is always desired. What could be simpler?"
"But then it turns out that it wasn't the patrons, but Trell'yar himself who wanted the fleet command appointment."
"Perhaps," I said indifferently, looking at the computer specialists. "It makes little difference to us at the moment. When he breaks, he'll tell us everything that interests us."
"Will he break?" clarified Pellaeon.
"Of course," I glanced at the 'slicers' once more and gave the command. "After all, we didn't spend all those days conditioning him to defend against a monotonous method of information extraction for nothing. It's time to demonstrate something else. You may activate when ready."
"Yes, sir," the 'slicer' clones understood the order was addressed to them and began working.
After a while, colored holographic projections of pictures and recordings from the HoloNet appeared in Admiral Trell'yar's cell.
As well as from the Ubiqtorate archive dedicated to the investigation of the Caamas planet destruction.
Admiral Trell'yar stared in horror at the burning planet, the lines of data about the deceased Caamasi, the numerous versions of what happened, from which the program snatched specially simulated fake news from the Dominion's virtual news broadcasts about Bothan involvement in the destruction of Caamas.
"How long are the videos?" I asked the clones.
"Seven hours, sir," one replied.
"Show him the decrypted version of the Caamas Document last," I ordered. "And repeat the procedure without sleep or food until he loses consciousness. Then patch him up in the medical bay and repeat until he starts talking."
"Yes, sir."
"Is the recording of the admiral running?"
"Yes, Grand Admiral. As you ordered, the lenses capture only him, not what is shown to him."
"Excellent. Continue."
"Psychological breaking?" Pollaeon clarified.
"Just a game of nerves, Captain," I explained, rising from my seat. "Even Bothans have a conscience. I expect him to break when the videos of Caamasi parents who lost their children in that catastrophe start playing. Not the first time, of course, but eventually he will break."
"And what is this for, sir? You have the decrypted recording of the Caamas Document."
"Exactly, Captain. But I don't intend to waste time tracking down every person on that list and their accomplices. Admiral Trell'yar will tell us everything himself. And help restore justice."
"I doubt a Bothan will turn against another Bothan, sir."
"When will we arrive at the orbit of Yavin IV?" I asked.
"Another half hour of flight, sir."
"Excellent. There, a sentient with experience in such matters awaits us."
"Such matters?"
"You don't think, Captain, that I intend to personally mete out justice to the Bothans and personally burn Bothawui? No. At the right moment, that will be done by the direct perpetrators of the Caamas extermination. Repentant and aware of their wrongdoing."
"You want to do this right now?"
"Of course not. Everything in its time. We need the Bothans and the New Republic to counter Palpatine. Given what Darth Ziilenlos is doing and how closely he is tied to the Bothans, they will hold out. But I don't want them among those who deliver the final blow to Palpatine and destroy his armada and superweapon. The Yuuzhan Vong are close. Every year counts. We will not destroy effective means of defeating the enemy. Not under any circumstances."
* * *
Once, the planet Chuzalla in the Tammuz Sector was a paradise for pirates.
Here stood a town built by the Imperials, which at one time became a transshipment point for Imperial transport ships carrying recruits from remote planets for future service to the benefit of Emperor Palpatine's totalitarian regime.
Planet Chuzalla.
After the Battle of Endor, the Imperials withdrew their presence from Chuzalla, as well as from the Tammuz Sector in general.
The infrastructure left behind was entirely and completely subordinated to scattered groups of pirates and slavers.
It was believed that they had emerged after Imperial power in this region fell, but intelligence reported that this was not the case.
Crime in the Outer Rim had existed as long as hyperdrives.
If under the Old Republic criminals simply ignored the weak state forces, then closer to the end of the Clone Wars and during the heyday of the Empire, the villains merely curtailed their public activities.
And became firmly fused with the bureaucratic apparatus.
Four years before Endor, after the Battle of Yavin, when the Rebel Alliance announced to the entire galaxy that even the Empire's most terrible weapon could be destroyed by the brave, this sector was already under the control of organized crime.
The planet Shola, located in the sector, became the place from which the reincarnation of the 'Zann Consortium' began to spin its corrupt networks across the galaxy.
With the final fall of the Empire and the defeat of Tyber Zann's group, numerous criminal elements on the planet gained independence.
For a long time, they plagued the local population, which was unable to resist them.
A vivid example of such a forced fate is the planet Tammuz-an, long terrorized by the pirate Gih Kibo Ren-Cha, who dreamed of building his own empire.
Tammuz-an fought back with its last strength until the Dominion came to their aid.
Their auxiliary forces, according to intelligence reports, first destroyed the group of Gih Kibo Ren-Cha.
Then, apparently having bribed or intimidated the planet's government, Dominion mercenaries obtained the right to use Tammuz-an as a temporary base.
Occupied with fighting Thrawn, the New Republic was unable to learn in time what was happening in this sector on the farthest edge of the galaxy's eastern part.
Meanwhile, the situation here was developing rapidly and very unfavorably for the Galactic Alliance.
Mercenaries from the corporation 'Kavil's Corsairs' did not stop at capturing Tammuz-an.
Their campaign to seize the Tammuz Sector continued.
And while the Dominion attracted attention in the known part of the galaxy, their puppets cleared the sector's territory of competitors.
Admiral Arkh looked at the documents and could not comprehend how this had slipped past Alliance intelligence's eyes.
The fact is that, besides its location far from inhabited sectors, the entire Tammuz Sector lay along the Triellus Trade Route.
Thousands of light-years of hyperlane distance had fallen into the hands of Dominion mercenaries.
And now, having tracked them down, Arkh was forced to state that indirectly the Dominion had gained control of a critically important hyperspace route running along the galaxy's eastern extremity.
Tammuz Sector.
Intelligence only noticed this because General Iblis had sent two autonomous groups to search for enemy raiders.
Admiral Arkh did not know what General Solo was doing, but using his own connections, he directed intelligence to investigate thoroughly.
And, after conducting a series of raids against 'bounce bases' in various Alliance sectors, he managed to locate the enemy mercenaries' base.
Planet Chuzalla.
The Dominion had killed all opponents in the sector, and it was supposedly now ruled by the leaders of Tammuz-an.
Who had something like a non-public alliance treaty with the Dominion.
However, the rulers of Tammuz-an directly informed diplomatic representatives of the Galactic Alliance of this.
They rejected the offer to join the Dac, stating that they did not wish to turn their sector into a war zone.
They were satisfied with neutrality in any conflicts and peaceful development, and the armed forces and military equipment coming from the Dominion were needed exclusively for self-defense.
An interesting position.
Completely false, but that doesn't diminish its relevance.
Those who know how to think understand what is not said in words but noted by agents and reported by the opposition.
The Dominion provides protection to the sector and its population as long as their mercenaries do not destroy organized crime and prepare an army from the local population to replace them.
A rather inventive tactic.
And a lie.
The Dominion will not leave here.
The Tammuz Sector is rich in mineral resources, which the locals mine and sell to the Dominion.
In exchange, they sent their mercenaries, who destroyed the pirates and supposedly established Tammuz-an authority in the sector.
Intelligence, based on data from the local opposition, clearly indicated that the government here is a puppet, and the situation is controlled by numerous fighters of 'Kavil's Corsairs.'
The latter were once only a small team of privateers with pro-Imperial positions.
Now they have turned into a private military company with its own army, a fleet of ships (albeit outdated), equipment from the Clone Wars era, but well-modernized.
Currently, they are busy training the supposedly independent army of the Tammuz Sector, which allegedly should independently defend the sector after 'Kavil's Corsairs' leave the territory under their control.
An interesting interpretation of occupation and the creation of additional forces through recruiting scum and corrupt locals into their service.
Arkh had lived a life and knew all the rules of war.
Including the use of mercenaries.
He understood perfectly what 'Kavil's Corsairs' were doing here—creating additional forces.
When the Dominion demands they act in another part of the galaxy, the soldiers they trained will control the sector.
Over time, either the current pro-Dominion government or a successor will declare their desire to join the Dominion.
And then another point of tension will appear at the Galactic Alliance's doorstep—the Tammuz Sector.
Its population will be ideologically indoctrinated and militarily trained by Dominion mercenaries.
A bad situation.
Therefore, the sooner he defeats the mercenaries, the sooner he achieves two goals at once.
First—he destroys the enemy forces using Tammuz as a base for attacks on the Galactic Alliance.
Second—he will surely prove to the local opposition and population that mercenaries are nothing against the regular, well-trained army of the Galactic Alliance.
The corrupt government will be overthrown, and the Tammuz-an will join the Galactic Alliance in the fight against dictatorship.
But first...
Planet Chuzalla.
The location where one of the enemy raiders is based.
"Admiral," the commander of the flagship battlecruiser addressed him. "We are ready to exit hyperspace."
"Sound battle stations, t-ts-ts-ts-ts," said the Harch, all his eyes fixed on the tactical holographic projector.
The second battle group, led by the Star Tide, appeared in the orbit of Chuzalla in the complete silence of the vacuum.
Like a huge predatory flower that had bloomed solely to swallow its prey whole.
The formation of warships emerged with frightening suddenness, dragging a fiery tail and bristling with weapons.
The smooth curves of the Mon Calamari-built starships were immediately illuminated by sparks, catching the rays of the local star with their hulls.
Each was protected by escort frigates and light cruisers.
As were three medium interdictor cruisers—the Gravstrikes were perhaps the most important starships in the battle group.
For it was they who were to seize control of the enemy ships' hyperdrive operations.
No one and nothing would escape from here without Admiral Arkh's permission.
"T-ts-ts-ts-ts," chattered the Harch, watching as the forward warships, moments after exiting hyperspace, began taking damage from the enemy's defensive perimeter.
Without a doubt, Admiral Arkh knew the enemy was using space mines to shield the planet from a sudden attack.
So first went the unmanned, outdated starships that were expendable in this battle.
Immediately, a multitude of small ships appeared.
Star fighters deployed into a spherical defensive formation.
The Star Dreadnoughts and the battlecruiser formed its center, also serving as mother ships, launching more and more Small craft from their flight decks.
It was necessary to support those brave souls who had spent dozens of hours in their cockpits on a non-stop flight from the starting point to Chuzalla.
The advantage of the second battle group was the presence of a large number of modern star fighters and bombers of the K-wing type.
"We've lost the first ten interdictors, sir," the flagship commander reported to him. "Minefield clearance is at thirty percent."
"Tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk," Arkh clicked. "Send the fire-ships forward. Keep the fighters in defensive formation. But don't hide them too early — the enemy must see that we want to engage them with small craft. Make sure all ships in the battle group have their deflectors activated."
"Yes, Admiral."
The first strike using interdictors was calculated specifically to breach the far end of the enemy's defensive positions.
The enemy has now detected the incursion and is taking measures to emerge under cover of their minefields to firing range and destroy what they believe is a second wave of interdictors.
But these are fire-ships.
They are usually used to blow up an enemy ship, but Admiral Arkh reconsidered this long-outdated tactic.
His fire-ships are packed not only with explosives but also with a large number of fragmentation elements.
The techs had to work hard to turn each ship into a huge analogue of a ground-based anti-personnel directional mine.
The fire-ships weren't properly shielded, because their task wasn't to survive as long as possible under enemy fire.
On the contrary.
They were meant to die.
That is the meaning of their existence.
And the fire-ships were being destroyed by the enemy.
Admiral Arkh felt his chelicerae twitch involuntarily as he watched the fire-ships explode one after another under enemy fire.
The enemy didn't understand the reason for such an easy victory.
And they wouldn't understand until it was too late.
The silence of the approach was broken only by the fleet's communication stations, which crackled as they transmitted and received encrypted conversations between Galactic Alliance ships.
Before it could form into battle order, the Kavil's Corsairs fleet began suffering heavy losses from the first minutes.
One battlecruiser and a dozen light and long-outdated Arquitens-class cruisers tried to stop the enemy, acting in sync with the Galactic Alliance fleet.
"Gravity mine vectors set, enemy ships are blocked," the commander of the Star Tide reported.
"Continue simulating an attack with small craft," Arkh ordered. "Tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk, how much of the minefield has been cleared?"
"Forty percent, sir!"
"Is the second wave of interdictors ready for launch?"
"Yes, Admiral."
"Deploy them."
Another batch of outdated ships rushed forward, leaving behind long trails of burned fuel.
According to intelligence, the enemy had so thoroughly packed the moon with various structures and weapons that no large ship could approach the satellite.
However, Arkh had no intention of approaching there with his main forces.
Not yet.
The engine boost didn't do the fire-ships any good, given the state of the ships, but this was their final flight.
"Sir, we've lost two assault frigates!"
Arkh looked at the tactical display.
Two old Mk1-class frigates had emerged from hyperspace too close to the edge of the minefield.
Space mines reacted to their appearance, and within a couple of minutes the starships were blown to pieces.
The Admiral saw a bright flash of light on the screen, then a second — a final salute in honor of the hundreds of sentients who had died on the assault frigates.
But there was no time to mourn losses.
Signals from dozens of ships and spy satellites flashed wildly on the monitors.
New reports streamed continuously from the coordination center.
The attack plan was too well-crafted for a few deaths to interfere with its execution.
Admiral Arkh turned away and began studying the tactical battle plan.
We'll mourn the dead later.
The mercenaries showed their lack of wit by mirroring the second battle group's maneuver and launching their own Small craft.
Old TIE fighters, piloted by clearly not the brightest pilots, acting crudely, monotonously, and exactly by the book.
Cadets or freshly trained replacements.
Harsh looked at the ship's chronometer.
Calculated the time since the fire-ships exploded.
Did the necessary computations in his head, and then…
No one currently in orbit around Chuzalla expected what was about to happen.
No one, except a few sentients, one of whom was the commander of the second battle group himself.
The remnants of the minefield in the breakthrough zone, as well as the enemy fighters behind them, began to explode.
Meanwhile, all scanning stations noted that there wasn't a single shot fired at most of the destroyed targets.
As if magic were at work.
But that was just an illusion, created specifically to panic the enemy in the first moments of the battle.
And that panic, judging by intercepted enemy comms, was succeeding.
The mercenaries didn't understand what weapon was being used against them, and those who survived intended to fall back, closer to their large ships.
But there was nothing magical about it.
Just physics.
Just refractory materials with which the fire-ships had been purposefully filled.
The essence of the trick was simple.
There was a long-standing expression from ancient eras: there is no better anti-air weapon than a bucket of scrap metal thrown at an incoming small craft.
Relative velocity, mass of fragmentation elements, and the design features of the target craft — that's all you need to remember in such matters.
Admiral Arkh didn't have buckets, nor did he wish to wait for the enemy to attack on their own.
Instead, he used fire-ships.
The exploding ships didn't cause much concern in the enemy — and that was a grave mistake.
Because each starship exploded twice.
First, the forward sections, damaged by enemy mines and interdicting fire.
Then the engines and the stern of the fire-ship.
The second explosion was certainly more powerful and came moments after the first, so the enemy wouldn't notice.
That second explosion was what imparted momentum to the fragmentation elements packed inside the fire-ship.
In an environment like vacuum, where drag can be ignored, the fragmentation elements from a directional blast rush everywhere except toward the second battle group.
Mostly — forward.
And in their path stood enemy mines and fighters.
Ships with thicker armor weren't significantly harmed by the refractory fragmentation elements.
But that wasn't their purpose.
"Tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk," Harsh clicked, rubbing his forelimbs with satisfaction. "Is the enemy minefield cleared?"
"Sir, the interdictors have reached clear space and engaged the enemy," the watch officer informed him.
"Order them to launch landing craft," Admiral Arkh commanded. "Cover the drop pods with interceptors."
The second wave of interdictors, unlike the first, though piloted by droids, still carried sentients in their holds.
In this case — helldivers.
The distance from the inner edge of the minefield to geostationary orbit of Chuzalla wasn't so great that the enemy, relaxed and feeling completely safe in the Tammuz sector, could react in time to the newly cleared channel.
And their fighters had been recalled to the rear.
Meanwhile, from the holds of the interdictors, fast assault boats and shuttles, pods and other landing craft shot out, bypassing the line where the planetary shield was supposed to be and entering Chuzalla's atmosphere.
Right under the enemy's nose.
A whole battalion of elite helldivers, with superior training, first-class weapons, and a will to victory as hard as beskar, was now landing on the planet.
Their task was to attack the enemy's ground forces, take control of or destroy the Planetary Defense and planetary shield equipment, allowing a full-scale landing on the planet.
Meanwhile, while the mercenaries were distracted by the suddenly appearing landing force right under their noses and trying to shoot it down with everything they had, the second battle group passed through the minefield along the cleared channel.
They lost a few more ships — after all, it's impossible to completely clear a minefield this way, so losses had to be accepted.
This was war, not exercises.
In war, sentients die.
"Breakthrough complete," a lieutenant at one of the consoles reported. "Group deployment is complete."
"Tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk, good," Arkh commented, watching the Star Tide, supported by three MC80b ships, encircle the desperately firing enemy Yavin.
A ship captured by the enemy and used as a raider in the Galactic Alliance's rear.
One of two.
"Execute according to Aurek," the Admiral commanded. "Tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk, main forces — destroy the enemy fleet."
The second battle group split before his eyes.
A second later, three cruisers and their escorting bombers broke formation.
They took a new course, across the planet's south pole toward its aurek moon, where the main enemy fighter base and planetary defense batteries were located — batteries that could inflict irreparable damage during the ground force landing.
But they had to act carefully, because the moon's core was explosive gas used by pirates as fuel.
According to data from the opposition, this moon housed a large number of turbolasers and ion cannons that could fire at the rear of ships as soon as they took up a convenient position for a direct landing on the capital.
If the mercenaries were smarter, they'd never have invited anyone from the Tammuz sector government to their base for a "new technology" demonstration.
Among the government were oppositionists well-hidden from detection.
Thanks to their help, this plan was honed to perfection.
Several fast asheks were sent to destroy the poorly armed orbital sensors and communication satellites.
They fired with unerring accuracy, turning their targets into sparkling clouds.
But they were also the first to take enemy fire.
Several ion cannon batteries opened fire from the surface of the aurek moon in a vain attempt to protect the orbital "eyes."
That only gave away their positions to the gunners of the Republic assault cruisers.
The cruisers' powerful laser beams covered the batteries, blinding ground sensors and providing ranging fire for other ships.
No return fire came, and the heavy guns of the Star Destroyers opened fire, methodically turning enemy batteries into black, smoking craters.
"Enemy orbital satellite group completely destroyed," the flagship commander reported to Arkh.
"Tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk," Harsh's chelicerae trembled again. "We've blinded their ground forces…"
And also cut their long-range communications.
"Sir!" the senior direction-finding officer addressed Arkh. "We've detected a transmission from the second moon!"
"Tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk," that was already unpleasant. "Neither the opposition nor intelligence reported any structures on the second moon. Were you able to decrypt it?"
"They didn't even encrypt it much, sir. It's an alarm signal. And it's directed toward Tammuz-an. But there's additional text, in high encryption. We just finished decoding it and…"
"What is the message content?" Admiral Arkh blinked all his eyes, looking again at the holographic projector's display.
A perfect combination to finish off the enemy.
The signal would reach Tammuz-an instantly, but flying here would take several days.
In that time, he would manage to destroy the enemy fleet, and even the raised planetary shield would soon be deactivated, allowing them to raze their base to the Chuzalla surface.
"Enemy is trapped. Begin the purge."
Admiral Arkh looked at his flagship commander with incomprehension.
The same expression was frozen on the latter's face.
"Admiral, sir!" the scanning station operator shouted. "Numerous enemy ship contacts in our rear! It's… It's the Tatooine! And with it, a whole fleet!"
"They're engaging our interdictor cruisers."
Which had been left under the cover of only a small number of escort ships.
After all, a fast rear strike had been calculated and deemed impossible!
The opposition had reported that the rest of Kavil's Corsairs ships were currently at Tammuz-an…
Was it the opposition?
Or Dominion agents?
A Hutt would tear those Alliance Intelligence fools apart!
"Tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk," Arkh said. "All available ships are to withdraw to the channel. Without communication satellites, the enemy can't disable the minefield. Immediately after that, begin jamming all signa—"
"Sir, something's wrong with the Yavin and its escort!"
"Tsk-tsk-tsk, explain!"
"They, they…"
Admiral Arkh no longer needed an answer.
He saw it himself.
Using engine boost, the light Arquitens-class cruisers attacked the second group's Star Dreadnoughts and assault frigates by ramming.
Feigning attempts to break through the largest enemy formations, they closed to a dangerous distance and then self-destructed.
The crippled Galactic Alliance starships drifted in space as helpless hulks.
But worse was something else.
The Yavin exploded.
And in one blow, it deprived Arkh of three MC80b ships, crippled the Star Traveler, and vaporized half of the defensive air group.
But even worse was something else.
The five-hundred-kilometer sphere of the aurek moon — which by all rules should have been called a large asteroid — didn't wait for the fifteen hundred Galactic Alliance fighters to approach.
It exploded.
Admiral Arkh experienced firsthand what it meant to use a tiny moon as a directional fragmentation fire-ship mine.
On the brink of victory, he found himself trapped between the planetary shield, the enemy minefield, and out of the two hundred ships of all types in the second battle group, he had just over half left.
And they weren't the best ships — most were damaged and unable to continue the battle.
"Sir, we're being hailed!"
"Tsk-tsk-tsk, on screen!"
A fraction of a second later, a smiling face of a sentient appeared on the monitor.
"Admiral Arkh, I am Captain Irv. With me is the head of Kavil's Corsairs, who very much wants to hang your corpse as his trophy. And, as it happens, the Tammuz sector doesn't like invasions. It has declared war on the Galactic Alliance for invading its sovereign territory. Are we surrendering, or shall we shoot?"
"Tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk," Harsh unexpectedly laughed, drawing attention to the tactical hologram.
According to which, another ship had appeared in the system.
A Corellian YT freighter.
"Today is clearly not your good day, Captain," he said, ordering the comms cut.
Looking at the exploding icons of the interdictor ships, the Admiral pushed aside thoughts of how masterfully he had been betrayed.
Time to fight.
He would learn the lessons of this campaign later.
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