Prologue

Admiral Ulan Hasses, commanding officer of the Fondor Shipyards and surrounding sector of space, stood at rigid attention as he waited for the doors before him to open, but while his arms, legs, torso, and even his head remained focused in precise military stance, his eyes were wondering around his surroundings. This was the first time he had been to Imperial Center since before the debacle of Endor, and while much of the city itself had not changed, there were subtle differences in the way the government was being operated, almost as if with a colder and deadlier fashion than when the Emperor and Lord Vader were alive.

The waiting area to which he had been escorted to was nothing more than an archway, standing between the door to which he had been summoned to and the lift car that had taken him there. He could see no visible windows, no electronic devices, no monitoring equipment, and no defensive technology, but he knew that he was being watched. Subtle, with no overt motion from their direction, they had been watching him since the moment he arrived, and he had no doubt that they could cut him down within two seconds were he to try anything.

His eyes darted to the two Royal Guardsmen flanking the door, searching to see if he could detect any kind of expression behind their black faceplates. He had heard stories about their ferocity, their abilities, and especially their unwavering loyalty, but had never had the experience of having seen them in person before. They were, indeed, intimidating, for which they had been made to do so, and for the briefest of moments Hasse wondered how anyone could command their devotion the way the past and present masters of the Galactic Empire had done so.

"Admiral Hasse," came a very low and even voice, the doors opening slightly. "Come in, Admiral, we have much to talk about."

Giving the two Guardsmen one more look, Hasse pulled slightly on his uniform tunic and stepped through the doorway and into the most expansive office he had ever seen on Imperial Center. Because of the enormous population in the planet-wide city, space was at a premium, even more so than that of a ship cosigned to war, and to see such lavish and expanse in the heart of clutter made his heart skip a half a beat. Briefly, he wondered how such an office could even exist on this planet, but concluded that such was the way with ultimate power: once you had it, there was no one who would dare to attempt to take it away.

Unless, of course, they were Rebels.

Before him, behind a large fijisi wood desk, sat a strikingly handsome woman with flowing black hair augmented by two white streaks. She wore an Imperial military uniform with the rank of a full admiral, but instead of it being gray it was a blood red, and there were no code cylinders present. Her face was lean and stern, and one would almost dare to call it beautiful if not for the mismatched eyes she had, one being a molten red, the other an icy blue.

She was, of course, Ysanne Isard, Director of Imperial Intelligence and the de facto ruler of the Galactic Empire.

And she did not seem to be pleased.

"Have a seat, Admiral," she said in a cold, pleasant tone, gesturing to a chair in front of her desk.

Hasse did so, his expression as neutral as he could make it, and he dearly hoped that he had not in some way displeased her. While it was true that Isard was a gifted tactician and strategist, she was also known as being very deadly when things did not go the way she had envisioned. In fact, he mused to himself, had she been fully in control of the Empire at the time when his forces came under attack by the Rebels at Fondor instead of still consolidating her newly gained power, he had no doubt that she would have dealt with him in an excruciatingly violent and horrendous fashion for his failure in the battle. Perhaps that's why I'm here now, he thought to himself.

As if she could sense his thoughts, Isard leaned forward and peered down at the man, despite the fact that he was a good ten centimeters taller than her. "You are not here to be punished, Admiral Hasse. In fact, you're being rewarded."

"Rewarded?" he said in disbelief.

"Yes, rewarded. Rewarded with the chance to both placate your own vengeful pride and to eliminate a growing obstacle in my plans for the future. You are, no doubt, familiar with who Vice Admiral Corben Ull is, and his Third Fleet?"

Hasse stiffened in his seat and did his best not let the resentment show. "I am, Madam Director."

"Have you been keeping up to date on his actions of late?"

He paused cautiously, forming the words in his mind before he responded to her; an incorrect response could be just as deadly for him as an error in military judgment. "I know that his forces made a successful capture of the Anaxes Shipyards, as well as a few, but mostly erroneous, subsequent operations around the same sector of space. I'm afraid I don't know much beyond that, Madam Director."

"Honesty is good, Admiral," she said with a cold smile. "It has come to my attention that the Imperial forces in that sector are not having much success is dissuading Ull's incursions. In fact, I've recently learned that besides a single task force and some static defenses, the rest of his fleet is constantly probing the various systems around Anaxes for any sign of Imperial decline. This brings about a rather interesting notion for me."

Hasse waited patiently, knowing full well from his own experience as being a flag officer, that when a superior was explaining things to a subordinate, they did not usually offer open-ended invitations for comments or suggestions. In fact, he rarely heard of any military commander who did, and had often considered it a universal rule for military forces.

"I'm sending you to that sector, Admiral, to take command of all Imperial operations and to, for once and for all, put an end to the Rebel presence in the area. I take it you would not be averse to smashing Ull's fleet out from under him?"

"Not at all, Madam Director," replied Hasse with complete honesty. "However, what will become of Fondor in my absence, if I might inquire?"

"It will be left in the capable hands of another admiral, you need not worry about your little military empire out there." She folded her hands on the desk and continued to peer down at him. "Now then, before I send you on your way, I wanted to inform you that you'll be given a senior subordinate, your main operations person. I want you to utilize this person because he has a reputation for being ruthless when needed, and docile when wanted. He'll be able to put forth any operation you have planned with the best of his abilities."

"If I may inquire as to whom this person is, Madam Director?"

"Vice Admiral Orlando West."

The name was like a vibroblade in Hasse's gut, twisting in such a fashion that it would never close clean. Everyone above the rank of commodore knew about West and his rise within the hierarchy of the Navy, but only a select few knew just how ruthless and unmerciful he was capable of displaying. The man made Krennel look good, and that was a stretch. "West, Madam Director?"

"Yes. He's had mild success in dealing with elements of Ull's Third Fleet, and, like you, he has a personal score to settle with them. Surely you would not begrudge having a man of his talents part of your command?"

Hasse knew he was being tested, and despite the dangers he knew he would find himself in, he wanted very much to give an honest answer to Isard's question. However, he also knew that he would more likely than not end up dead by doing so. "No, Madam Director. He's a fine and capable officer, and I look forward to working with him."

"Excellent," she said, a false cheerfulness coming across her face. "Then I shall not keep you any longer; your official orders, of course, will be relayed to you through the proper chain of command, but I wanted to let you know about this personally."

"Thank you, Madam Director," Hasse managed, his mind still reeling with the twist this assignment had just given him. "How else may I please you?"

"By destroying the Rebel's Third Fleet and returning victorious, Admiral," she said, standing behind her desk. "That is all I have for you."

"Thank you, Madam Director," Hasse said, standing and giving a sharp salute in her direction, despite the fact that he knew it would not be returned. He waiting two seconds, then withdrew his salute, turned, and walked towards the doors, which opened as if sensing his approach. He continued through, not bothering to even subtly look at the Guardsmen this time, and strode right into the lift car, the doors sliding shut behind him and the car beginning to move downward.

It took only a matter of minutes for the car to stop, and the doors opened once again, this time on the secondary shuttle bay that he had arrived in earlier. Looking around he spotted his personal pilot, standing patiently beside the Lambda-class Shuttle that they had arrived in and started walking towards them both. It didn't take long before he had greeted his pilot, walked up the ramp of the shuttle, and settled himself into the VIP crash chair inside the inner cabin.

A few minutes later he heard the engines start up, and soon after the small, almost undetectable movement as the shuttle lifted off the deck and moved forward. It was several minutes more until he felt the slight inertia as the craft went through the atmosphere, past the planetary shield openings, and out into the vastness of space. It was even several more minutes until he felt the lurch of the vessel making the jump to lightspeed as it flew towards Fondor.

It was only then, nearly an hour after the meeting had ended with Isard, that Hasse felt comfortable enough to even think about how very much he was up to his hips in Bantha droppings.

Captain Leucas Miller stood in front of the main landing pad, his hands behind his back and legs slightly spread in a standard parade rest formation. He looked up and saw the Dx-9 Stormtrooper Transport descending towards the pad and felt his throat tighten in brief anticipation. He had known for nearly four months that this day was coming, that he would finally be held accountable for the actions of what happened...and yet, he was almost calm and indifferent to the situation.

The plan was simple, and for the most part worked: he and others had believed that if they were to leak the supposed location of an important scientist–one who was believed to have been responsible for the creation of the Death Star battle stations–then the Rebels would send in a special operations team to retrieve him. The team would then be ambushed by Imperial forces and terminated on the spot, depriving the Rebels of a highly valuable unit, and, indeed, the majority of the operatives were killed, but not all of them.

Thanks to the actions of a squadron of X-wings and the surprise intervention by a pair of Headhunters and a YT-2400, the special operations unit was not completely wiped out, and Miller had no doubt that they had already began rebuilding and training. Perhaps they were already engaged in new operations, but all of his contacts within Imperial Intelligence did not know for certain one way or the other–either that or they were under strict orders not to tell him. However, while the entire unit had not been killed, he was able to capture one of the pilots from the X-wing squadron.

Miller's right hand instinctively went up to the scar on his head that he had received due to dealing with that prisoner. He gave a slight frown as he remembered being foolish enough to allow him to escape, and in doing so, Miller had assured his eventual destruction at the hands of Director Isard.

He returned to his parade rest formation as the transport began its final touchdown procedures on the pad, his mind reeling from the ramifications of its arrival. It was a scheduled arrival, to bring relief troops and supplies to the Esseles System's garrison, but Miller knew, almost instinctively, that they had also arrived because of him. In that spirit, he also knew that either he would die soon on the planet, or be taken to Imperial Center to see Isard herself; and yet, he still felt no fear from that realization.

The transport eased onto the pad and began it's shutdown procedure, Miller waiting patiently nearby. It wasn't long until the rear hatchway opened and out walked a quintet of Humans, four Stormtroopers in a box formation with an Imperial Naval officer in the center. The officer was about the same age as Miller, perhaps slightly younger, and also held the rank of a captain, and was also carrying a black case in his left hand.

The quintet walked towards him and the officer in the center came to attention and saluted. "Captain Joehansin, on orders from Command, here to relieve you of your command of the Esseles System garrison."

Miller returned the salute. "I stand relieved, sir. Do you have orders for me?"

"Yes, sir," said the officer, as he opened the case and took out a datapad, handing it to Miller. "I'm sure you'll find them...intriguing."

Miller eyed the man for a moment, not sure what he meant by the comment, and then took the datapad. He looked at it intently, reading carefully to make sure he didn't mistake anything, and felt the corners of his mouth tug into a smile. He had expected the orders to contain a description of his impending death, but instead they outlined his new assignment; command of the Imperator-class Star Destroyer Conflagration , flagship of the Sixteenth Imperial Fleet.

He had cheated death again, although he was not happy finding out that the Sixteenth had been recently put under the command of Admiral Hasse. The man was a competent enough flag officer, but the battle at Fondor had eroded popular support for him amongst his subordinates. Nevertheless, Miller was getting a second chance to prove he was of some worth to Isard. And this time, I won't let someone as misguided as that nurse get in my way.

He placed the datapad in his pocket and saluted Joehansin once again. "Thank you, Captain. I assume that the transport and these escorts are for me?"

"That they are, sir." He returned the salute. "Good luck, sir."

"And to you, sir." Miller turned slightly and walked towards the transport, the Stormtroopers falling into step around him. He walked up the ramp and headed for the cockpit while the hatchway closed behind him. And so begins a new chapter.

Chapter One

Vice Admiral Corben Ull frowned slightly as he sat at the conference table, the hologram of Admiral Ackbar standing before him and two of his task force commanders. "Sir, with all due respect," said Corben, "I realize the need to maintain security around this installation, but we've been here for six months. Surely if the Imperials were going to strike back at us with enough force to attempt to recapture Anaxes, they would have done so by now. We can't afford to limit ourselves to this one area."

"I agree with you, Admiral," came the grave voice of Ackbar, "but the fact remains that we cannot afford to leave the shipyards undefended while the Sixteenth Imperial Fleet is still in operation throughout the Azure Sector. Can you give me an update on your progress against the Imperials in that regard?"

Corben turned to the two task force commanders and gave a brief nod in their direction. "That's why I asked Rear Admirals Maxe and Joon to sit in on this meeting, sir. Their task forces have been the ones who've had direct contact with routing the Imperial forces from this sector. Admiral Maxe, if you would, please."

A lean woman in her late forties with a crisscrossed scar on her left cheek cleared her throat slightly before leaning forward in her seat. "While we've engaged several ships throughout the sector on various occasions, we have had little success in destroying their forces. We have, however, had some victories; the destruction of a supply convoy, the capture of a Victory-class Star Destroyer, and so on, but those are relatively small victories compared to the overall abilities of the Sixteenth Imperial Fleet. Despite those setbacks, however, we have in comparison lost little in the way of our own forces. We're in a standoff, tactically speaking."

"I would have to concur with that assessment," said Rear Admiral Ulec Joon, a Sullustian. "I've likewise encountered many situations such as the ones that Admiral Maxe has outlined. To be frank, sir, the Imperial forces in this sector are not well coordinated, and they're a bit more fractured then one would see this close to the Core worlds, but they're still competent."

"Unfortunately , their abilities have most likely just jumped up a notch or two," said Ackbar, his bulbous eyes blinking. "NRI has just communicated that the Sixteenth is getting some new additions to their order of battle, as well as their command structure. The Wisdom of the Emperor is being sent to take command of one of their task forces under the command of Vice Admiral Orlando West, which I am sure you have read about."

"Yes, sir," said Corben. "The Morning Star had several encounters with him during their escort of Councilor Organa months ago. However, I, personally, have never had to deal with the man."

"No, but you have dealt with the new commanding officer of the fleet. Admiral Ulan Hasse has been given command of the Sixteenth, aboard the Conflagration. NRI contacts have been able to find out that he has been charged with pushing us out of the sector at all costs; I'm afraid, gentlemen, that your encounters with the Imperials are about to escalate drastically."

Corben frowned visibly towards Ackbar. "Hasse? I thought he was in command of the Fondor defenses? And considering what happened during the battle there, I'm still surprised that Isard hasn't booted him out of an airlock. She's not exactly known for being forgiving of failure."

"Yes, our analysts have come to much the same conclusion, but I can only surmise that she's using his desire for vengeance against your assault on Fondor to help him in his operations within the sector. He's likely going to start with a scouting mission of the Anaxes system to see about the possibilities of a direct assault against your forces. I'd suggest that you begin preparing appropriate defenses."

Corben thought for a moment before replying. Normally, he kept at least two of his four task forces on a station keeping defense of the shipyards while the other two were split up into smaller flotillas and single ship scouting units to patrol the nearby systems. However, for a full defense of the shipyards, his entire fleet would have to be present, which would severely hinder his offensive abilities in the region.

Unless...we make Hasse think we're too weak to warrant his complete force.

"Admiral, if it is alright with you, I'd like to confer with my officers and staff and see if we can come up with a defensive measure that wouldn't require us to put too much in the way of firepower. I've fought Hasse, sir, and I can say for certain that he is not the most brilliant of tacticians. We can fool him, I am certain of it."

"Be careful about pride, Admiral Ull, lest it bring forth a fall you are not capable of surviving."

Corben felt his cheeks redden at the rebuke, but knew that the Mon Calamari admiral was speaking from extensive experience, having seen Grand Moff Tarkin take immense pride in his accomplishments before he fell into death and destruction aboard the first Death Star. "Of course, sir. I would never let my personal feelings get in the way of my duty and ability to discharge them for the New Republic. I was merely stating that I believe Hasse will let his own assessments of the situation win out against the logic of the situation; he did that at Fondor, and from what I've been able to ascertain from his dossier, he has a predictable pattern of doing so."

"Very well then, Admiral, meet with you people, and let me know what you plan."

Captain Devin Tremmel looked out the forward viewport of the Nebulon-B-class Frigate Vendetta, staring at the various starships rendezvousing in deep space, far away from the peering eyes of the Rebels and their damnable spies. And, sadly, far away from civilization, too. He took one more look at the starships, several of them Star Destroyers of varying classes, and gave a wistful inner sigh before turning away.

Nearly a year ago, he had been in the command of a Star Destroyer; in fact, he had been in command of a small flotilla of starships, until the Rebels came and ruined everything. He could still remember the lashing that Director Isard had given him, and he continued to dislike the idea of the Empire being under the command of the Director of Imperial Intelligence, but he dared not voice that opinion outside of his own thoughts; the woman had a penchant for spies amongst the military.

A brief flash caught his eye and he turned to see the silhouette of an ISD passing by him as the ship decelerated from hyperspace. For a moment, he couldn't recognize the starship, but then noticed the subtle changes in design than that of a standard ISD and gave a curse under his breath. He had known that the Wisdom of the Emperor was going to be coming, and had known that West would be one of his direct superiors, but knowing did little to placate the feelings he was experiencing. To him, West was a ruthless, merciless man who cared for little else than his own desires; sadly, much the way many in the Imperial military were following the death of the Emperor.

Tremmel turned away from the viewport and walked towards the command chair on the cramped bridge. The Nebulon-Bs were not built for space; indeed, they were not even built to be a longstanding ship of war, but due to the way the war was going, they had become a often-seen vessel throughout the galaxy. The fact that Tremmel himself had come to be in command of one was a situation that still made his blood boil, and knew that he would get his revenge eventually.

"Captain."

Tremmel looked up at his communications officer with a slight annoyed expression on his face whenever he heard that rank being uttered to him. "Lieutenant."

"Sir, we've just received a communiqué from the Wisdom. Admiral West sends his compliments, and wishes you to attend dinner aboard his ship this evening."

He frowned slightly and then nodded his head. "Yes, I'll attend." I won't like it, but I'll attend.

Hasse sat down at the head of the long dinning table aboard the Wisdom and grunted to himself. Traditionally, he would hold such a function aboard his own flagship, but Admiral West had been the first to invite him–and several others–aboard his starship for a dinner amongst the various commanders of the fleet, the most junior of which was Captain Devin Tremmel of the Vendetta, a somewhat minor and comparatively unimportant starship within Hasse's main task force. He had, of course, accepted the invitation, and had turned it into his own gathering.

He smiled and took the glass of Corellian ale in his right hand, holding it up above the surface of the tabletop. "A toast," he spoke softly, though his voice was loud enough to be carried all the way down the table. "To the day when we have finally routed the Rebels from the galaxy, and order will once again be returned to the Empire. To order!"

"To order!" shouted the various officers along the sides of the table, though Hasse took note that West, sitting at the other end, did not seem to share his sentiments.

"A problem, Admiral?"

All eyes shifted to the other end of the table and Hasse felt a slight sympathy for the man; no one liked to be addressed to in such a casual fashion, and hardly an admiral in the Imperial Navy. But, apparently West was able to take it all in stride. "I would just like to remind the admiral that even the Emperor was unable to rout the Rebels, and he died because of such a mistake on his part. One would be foolish to believe that they are so easily defeated, and one would be even more foolish to think that they had the power to do so while everyone before were unable to do so."

The room was a deadly silence, even the stewards not daring to move after the statement made. To word such open defiance towards the Empire's leadership, past and present, was to invite a sudden and often deadly response from a superior, perhaps even from the highest echelon of leadership. Clearly, everyone was waiting for Hasse to make a response to what West had said.

However, Hasse knew that West was not just acting on his own volition. After doing some more digging into the man's file, he had been able to discover that West was very loyal to the Empire, to the its ideals of a New Order throughout the galaxy, and to the slain Emperor Palpatine himself; if he had made a statement like the one he had just made, he did so knowing that it would bring about a response from the others around him, and he would do a somewhat census on just who was loyal Empire and who didn't care.

Because of this, Hasse chose his words carefully. "I will agree that the Rebels have been surprisingly effective against our forces, both at present and in the past, but what the Emperor failed to do was crush them when he had the chance. I am not disloyal to him or to the Empire, but His Imperial Majesty lured the Rebels into a trap and waited a bit too long to spring it on them. Had he done so earlier, I doubt that the Rebels would have survived the encounter, or at the very least only a small portion of them would have."

Everyone seemed to nod at his response and Hasse could sense that West believed it to be alright as well. "As you say, Admiral."

Hasse eyed him once again, but didn't give it much more thought; he had much more important things to deal with at the moment. "Gentlemen," he said, once again addressing the various officers seated at the table. "I just want to say that I hope to make this command an example throughout the Empire, a model to show that we are still here and we are to be dealt with. We'll deal with the Rebels; and in doing so, I wish to announce my intention to send two squadrons of deep-space fighters to do a reconnoiter of the Anaxes System, to determine the strengths and capabilities of their defenses."

Several of the officers around him spoke with approval, but, again, West seemed not to be one of them. "Begging the admiral's pardon, sir, but wouldn't that be tipping our hand? Alerting them that we're taking an interest in their placement?"

"Perhaps, Admiral, but I doubt that the Rebels have the ability to adequately defend against an invasion force; the reconnoiter is just a measure to determine what appropriate force to send to take the facilities away from them. After all, it is much easier to invade than it is to defend."

"Very well, sir, then I recommend the Black Twelve and Viper Squadron, they're two of the best Gunboat units in the fleet."

Hasse looked at him with a surprised expression on his face. "Apparently you've been doing some late night reading, Admiral West."

"One should be well prepared for one's new posting, Admiral. I assume you were equally as vigilant in your preparation for this command?"

He bit back a harsh response and simply nodded. "But of course. And I will take your recommendations into consideration when I make my final selection tomorrow. Until then, however, I suggest we enjoy the dinner. After all, it's not that often that I get a chance to dine with my fellow officers, and on the eve of such a momentous occasion. So," he continued, bringing his glass up once again, "I toast once more; to order!"

"To order!"

Corben looked at the tactical hologram of the Anaxes shipyards and surrounding starships, his mind focused on one of the three primary transit routes that freighters and haulers tended to use as they entered the area. Each of the three vectors were defended by a friend-or-foe ion minefield, insuring that even if some spacer was slow in sending his recognition signal, they would only be disabled instead of destroyed. A cruiser and its compliment of starfighters also defended them each, but that was nowhere near the force that had previously defended the vectors.

On the advice of his NRI liaison, and after going over the plan via a secure HoloNet transmission with Admiral Ackbar, Corben had ordered all but nine starships to vacate the Anaxes System, under a pretext of patrolling the surrounding systems for possible Imperial incursions. However, what they were really doing was sweetening the Anaxes System itself for a strike by a small portion of the Sixteenth Imperial Fleet instead of a large portion of it.

Corben looked over in the direction of said NRI liaison and asked him, once again, "Are you sure this will work? I mean, I know Hasse is overconfident to a fault, but this might be tempting fate just a little too much, you know?"

The black furred Wookiee gave a long "Waaaarrrr!" in response to Corben's question and looked as if he were about to come over and pull the admiral's arms right out of their sockets. If there was one thing a Wookiee hated, it was having their honor put into question, and, despite the fact that Elebacca was acting on behalf of New Republic Intelligence, he tended to take his duties as a personal quest.

I guess that can be said about ALL Wookiees and their charges.

"Okay, okay," responded Corben, his hands out in front in a calming gesture. "I was only asking, because if this doesn't work, we lose our best chance at taking those Imperials. Remember, they're better armed and have a much better numerical ratio compared to us."

"Sir," came the voice of the Maria's tactical officer, cutting off any response the massive Wookiee was going to make. "I'm picking up a hyper footprint at the edge of the system, Transit Vector Alpha. Signature suggests Imperial Assault Gunboats. Count is twenty-four, repeat two-four, and they're move in at a standard reconnoiter profile. No indication that there are any starships following."

"No surprise there," came Corben's reply. "Hasse would want to know exactly what he's up against before he were to send in a larger force. Who's stationed at TVA?"

"The Morning Star, sir."

"Comm," he said, turning towards the Bothan woman sitting at the communications console, "inform Captain Ru'kaart to intercept those Guns, but to make sure he allows at least one of them survive. We want them to return to their base, after all, and tell Hasse how badly undermanned we are."

"Aye, sir," said the Bothan, already turning in her chair towards the console.

"I hope this works, Ele," Corben said once more as he turned his focus back towards the tactical hologram, enlarging the area marked Transit Vector Alpha.

"Alright, Reds," said Rob into his headset as he maneuvered his A-wing into a standard box formation with the rest of his unit, "make sure you don't play this hand too much. We want at least one of those ‘boats to make it back to their base, so remember, shoot like you mean it, but don't follow through too hard if you see the number of red dots dwindle on your sensors."

There were a number of acknowledgements and then came the voice of Chris Layne spoke up. "Lead, what about Blue?"

"Blue's flying CAP for the Star in X-wings, just in case any of those ‘boats break through and attempt to make a run on the cruiser. If Intel is correct, this is just a recon mission to see how much in the way of firepower Third Fleet has positioned here, so the chances of the ‘boats being armed with torps or rockets are low, but the universe has a way of changing the rules on us."

"Understood, Lead."

Rob looked at his forward sensor screen and focused on the two dozen red dots growing brighter by the second. He ran through his targeting computer and brought up the profile of the lead gunboat, noticing it was still almost eight klicks away. He frowned at the sensors and tried his best to understand their tactic. If it were a simple recon mission like suggested, the gunboats would have jumped in closer to the transit vector, catching any defenders by surprise; but, by coming in almost twenty klicks away, it gave the defending forces ample time to respond. It was not the best decision that could have been made, and Rob found himself wondering about the tactical abilities of the commanding Imperial admiral.

"Four, Lead," he spoke into the headset. "Coordinate your missile fire control with mine, single fire, aim at the exact spot I am; when I say ‘now,' turn off your targeting computer."

"I'm going to need Initial telemetry, Lead," responded Jamie.

"Sending to you now, Four," said Rob as he punched a series of commands into his CMD computer. "Fire when I fire, then follow me as I break."

"Understood."

"Squadron, Lead. Choose your targets at your discretion. Make it look good."

Rob began a slow and steady stream of banking his A-wing back and forth to get a good angle on the approaching gunboat, and then, just as the distance indicator reached two point five zero kilometers, Rob shut off his targeting computer and hit the fire button on his flight stick. "Now!"

Jamie's single red missile moved past Rob's A-wing and raced through space towards its target, flying dumb, but not blind. The two A-wings pulled back towards port and swung around the incoming fighters as the two missiles struck the engines of the lead gunboat. Reactivating his targeting computer, Rob sighted on the damaged starfighter and sprayed a volley of red light into it, Jamie following suit. In a matter of moments the gunboat blew apart and Rob moved on to his next target.

He took a brief moment to check on the progress of the other Reds and was pleased to see that two more gunboats had been destroyed in as quick a fashion as his. "Morning Star Control, Three bandits down, twenty-one more to go," he said into his headset.

"Copy that, Red Leader, we're monitoring your progress," came the voice of Jack Uoart.

He brought his A-wing around to sight on his targeted starfighter and let loose a deadly spray of laser fire, the impacts illuminating against the shields of the gunboat. Had it not been for the superior maneuverability and agility that the A-wing had over the gunboat, Rob knew that the superior weapons of the gunboat would have outmatched him. Comparable to that of the New Republic's B-wing Heavy Assault Fighter-Bomber, the Assault Gunboat was just as deadly, and not quite as lagging in design equality.

"Four ‘boats are breaking formation and making for the Star," commented Chelsey over Rob's headset.

"We see them," came Andew Dobson's voice. "Moving to intercept."

Rob watched as four of the Imperial fighters moved towards the massive Mon Calamari starcruiser and winced—almost against his own will—when the X-wings of Blue Squadron suddenly pounced on them. "Good work, Blue Leader, I'll buy you a drink when we get back."

"Anytime, Red Leader."

Rob checked his tactical display and grinned when he saw only six Gunboats were left. "Okay, people, time to slow down. If you're able to tag one of them, do so, but coordinate so you don't go after different ones." A series of double-clicks answered him as he brought his fighter around to focus on the nearest enemy starfighter, frowning slightly as he tried to move his arms in the small confines of the cockpit. The A-wing, while exceptional in its role as a high-speed interceptor and short range reconnoiter, was little more than a seat with engines. I miss my X-wing.

He came in close behind his target and didn't even bother to turn on his targeting computer; instead, he switched over to dual warhead control and let two red flares fly out on a dumbfire mode, but then gave a loud curse in Sy Bisti as the Gunboat did a hard dive, letting the missiles overshoot by mere meters. "Okay, time to get serious," he muttered, diving after the heavy assault fighter.

He switched on his targeting computer and changed the fire control mode over to lasers, single use. Despite the tonnage and size of the Gunboat, it was maneuvering with advanced agility, and for a moment Rob was wondering why the starfighter wasn't as widely used as the TIE series. He pondered on it for a few more moments as he opened fire on the Imperial ship, pouring red laces of energy into the shield and then into the hull, stripping away the plating. Finally, as if to punctuate his progress, Rob fired off a single concussion missile and broke hard to the right, his shields flickering as they absorbed some of the backlash from the Gunboat's explosion.

"MSC to all units," came Uoart's voice again," sensors show only three Gunboats left, bugging out. You are instructed to return to ship for debriefing."

"Copy that, MSC. You heard the man, Reds, form up and head for the hanger bay. Red Leader to Blue Leader."

"Blue Leader here, Red."

"I'll see you in the FishTank for that drink."

"Don't worry, Biggs, we haven't forgotten. Blue Squadron, head for home, CAP is officially over."

Hasse stood on the bridge of Conflagration, waiting patiently for the return of the scouting mission. Normally, he would not be so interested in a lowly type of mission, but because of the ramifications of what the scouts would bring back, he awaited in anticipation. He hoped, desperately hoped, that they would bring him good news, that he could use his a portion of his fleet to quickly snuff Ull out and return to his command in Fondor, and more so to the point so he could appease Isard with his victory.

However, what he did not anticipate was the presence of West aboard his flagship, there under the pretense of attending a "staff meeting" with various command level officers. In truth, he knew that the admiral was aboard ship to spy on Hasse and to "offer his advice" at times in the hopes of maneuvering himself closer to the credit. At present, the man was hovering at the edge of the bridge's security foyer, his gaze alternating between the tactical readouts and Hasse himself.

"We're picking up three new contacts," came the voice of the tactical officer. "They're from the Black Twelve, sir."

"Where are the rest?"

There was a brief pause and then the communications officer next to the tactical station turned in Hasse's direction. "They report that they're all that survived, but that the system defenses are not as high as our worst projections estimated. They're uploading their data to our systems now, sir."

Hasse turned towards the security foyer and walked over to it's tactical readout station, forgetting that West was there as well. He cursed himself inwardly when he had to come stand next to the man in order to view the sensor readings; however, it was well worth it when he saw what was on the screen. Apparently he was right in their assessment that the Rebels didn't have the firepower needed to maintain hold of the shipyards and maintain their defensive patrols of the surrounding systems. "Excellent," he said as he reviewed the data a second time, noting specifically how the defenses were set up and the main approach vectors. He turned to Captain Miller and gave a nod in his direction. "Signal all ships in First Task Force that I expect their captains and tactical officers aboard ship within one hour for a strategic planning session."

Miller gave a salute and headed over to the main communications console while Hasse turned and was about to head to his office to go over the details with a little more speculation when he nearly bumped into West. The other admiral stood at a casual parade rest fashion and his eyes darted between the tactical readouts and Hasse once more. "Might I inquire as to what you are planning, sir?"

"I should think it would be obvious, Admiral. I plan on taking the First Task Force to Anaxes and pummeling the Rebels into dust, then call in for the remainder of the fleet to come in and secure the system."

"You plan on taking only a single task force to strike against the Rebels? You're walking into a trap, Admiral, and you would be foolish enough to allow your pride and wonton desire for vengeance to influence your tactical decisions. Take at least two task forces with you, maybe three, that way there can be no doubt that you can retake Anaxes and lay waste to the Rebel forces. The fear of the Emperor will be in their eyes when they spot three full task forces converging on their pathetic little defenses, and they will know that they have been on the wrong side of this war from the beginning."

Hasse just looked at the man for a moment before shaking his head. "The decision is mine, Admiral West. And to show that I have no fear of the Rebels, I am personally leading the attack. You," he continued, jabbing a finger in West's direction, "will remain here and command the rest of the fleet in my absence, short-lived though it may be. And furthermore, Admiral, you will stop with this constant questioning of my orders and my competence, or I will have you brought up on charges of insubordination and mutiny towards a superior officer. Is that clear?"

West snapped to and saluted briskly. "Yes, sir."

"Then I suggest you get back to your own flagship; I don't want you here. Dismissed."

West turned and began walking out of the bridge, but turned just once more and gave a gesture with his head in the opposite direction of where Hasse was standing. He continued forth out of the security foyer and into the lift car, waiting patiently until his companion arrived before activating it. "I take it you caught the exchange?"

Miller gave a nod in West's direction. "Yes, sir, it was a bit hard to miss. I am sure the majority of the bridge caught it as well. You play a dangerous game, Admiral; I've seen men killed for lesser offenses."

"I have my reasons, Captain, which I am sure you are well aware of, for defying Admiral Hasse." He turned towards Miller and glared at him. "You agree that sending in a single task force is foolish, considering the awesome firepower that we have at our disposal?"

"Yes," replied Miller. "It is arrogant and foolish to believe the Admiral Ull did not anticipate Hasse's arrival to this region. Despite Director Isard's best efforts, Rebel Intelligence has a knack for obtaining some valuable information. This is a trap, and he's walking right into it."

West nodded silently, thinking things over. There was no way he could stop Admiral Hasse, and it would take time before he could communicate with Isard to countermand his attack orders. Hasse was an tactical idiot, and because of his lack of abilities, he was going to sentence several men to die. "I'm afraid there is nothing I can do at this time. However," he said, turning towards Miller once again, "ensure that the admiral returns, so that he may face whatever comes from his actions. Is this understood, Captain?"

"It is understood," replied Miller softly, just as the lift car stopped and the doors opened to the secondary shuttle bay.

Major Chelsey Maxfield slowly walked through the various fighters on the flight deck until she saw the bulky and somewhat ugly outline of the YT-2400 that was common on the Morning Star for the last year. While she was still unsure as to why the captain allowed Rob to keep the craft onboard the starship, she knew that the colonel would almost always spend a great deal of time working on it, despite the fact that it was generally in usable conditions and couldn't be improved upon much.

She walked around the forward landing struts and worked her way towards the boarding ramp when she heard the faint sound of music coming from the interior of the craft. Tilting her head to one side, she listened closer and knew for certain that she was hearing some sort of heavy rock music. Grinning to herself, she walked softly up the ramp and into the interior of the Pride of Alderaan, searching for her commanding officer.

It didn't take her long, however, until she came upon Rob, sitting at the engineering console in the main hold, banging his head up and down like some sort of thrasher at a Dead Rebels concert. She tried to stifle the giggling that wanted to start in her, but couldn't contain it and thus let loose a large amount of laughing. Rob turned to her with a sudden jerk of his neck and, noticing who she was, fumbled with the controls on the console. Suddenly the heavy metal rock turned to an almost soothing operatic form of classical music that Chelsey had no doubt was from the world of Alderaan.

"Having fun, Rob?" she asked with a grin.

"Uh, yes," he stammered, gripping a hydrospanner in his right hand. "I was just, uh, testing the internal speakers to make sure they were aligned properly...according to the technical specifications, of course."

"Oh, of course," repeated Chelsey, the grin still on her face. "You know, it wouldn't be such a bad thing to admit that you have fun once in a while. That stoic selflessness of yours can be a bit, well, annoying after a while."

Rob looked at her with half a grin then turned back towards the engineering console. "Are you saying that I am a stoic, selfless person? Why, whatever gave you that idea? After all, if I were selfless and stoic, would I have become a pilot, destined to save the galaxy against the evil doings of the Galactic Empire, in a quest for peace and equality for all beings throughout the universe?"

"Yes."

"Sith, you got me."

She just shook her head and walked over to him. "However you may want to cast yourself, now is not the time. I've been asked to bring you to a strategy session that the captain is organizing, as part of the trap we'll be setting for the Imperials upon their return to Anaxes. He's like your tactical input."

"Chelsey, I am neither a strategist nor a tactician. I am a pilot and a transport craft engineer, and I doubt I could offer anything of substance to such a planning session. Besides which, we're relatively low ranked to be in on such a session; wouldn't that be more of a thing that ship commanders and their tactical officers should sit in on?"

"I wouldn't know, I'm relatively low ranked."

Rob smiled at her and then got up from his chair, placing the hydrospanner down on the console and turning fully towards her. "Okay, then, let's get going. We don't want to keep the captain waiting. I just hope this doesn't end up with me getting a court martial."

"That only happened once, and nothing actually came of it."

"Yes, well, I wish not to test the patience of the almighty Gods of the Stars too much."

Chelsey shook her head slightly with a grin. "An admiral is not a God of the Stars, Rob."

"Perhaps," he said as he started walking towards the ramp. "But they command the loyalty and devotion of many, so they might very well be one."

Chelsey just followed him out of the craft, stepping into line beside him as they walked towards the lift car. Several of the mechanics nearby watched the pair, pointing to them, and Chelsey frowned as she tried to understand why. She looked around and then understood as soon as she spotted the tattered and grease-slicked clothes that Rob was wearing. She hadn't really noticed them before, and the only reason she noticed now was because of how much they stood out on his duty uniform than they would have on working overalls.

"Er, Rob."

"Hmm?"

"You might want to change uniforms before we go see the captain."

"Ah. Yes, that might be a good idea. Let's just hope that the Imperials don't attack while I'm down to my skivvies." He stepped into the lift car gingerly.

"Thank you, Rob," said Chelsey as she stepped in after him. "I really needed that mental scaring image."

Captain Chris "Pip" Layne sat in the Fishtank with the most of the starfighter pilots aboard the Morning Star . Apart from the few either on patrol, in some meeting, the rest were all here. Next to him, on his right, sat his new wingman, as well as the newest addition to Red Squadron, Flight Officer Chris "Fist" Hart and to Pip's left was Flight Officer David "Wild Cat" Fate, a long standing friend within Red Squadron.

In front of him sat the last member of his flight, Second Lieutenant Iddo "Wire" Geva. Iddo was the member of Red who'd spent the most time in it. He'd known Wire to be a quiet man, but a good pilot. Also joining in their drink was Blue's Blue Six, Flight Officer Deanna "Dee" Hashi, and her friend in Red Squadron Second Lieutenant Jeni "Angel" Courtner.

The rest were scattered about—Red's Operations Officer, Second Lieutenant Jamie "Shadow" Wetherill with Captain Steve "Schmitty" Michadick, ex-Red Pilot and now Blue Squadron Operations Officer. They seemed engrossed in a conversation and drinking Hot Chocolate… if Chris remembered correctly, Shadow and Angel were set to fly Patrol next–Flight Officer Chad "Kulgon" Maxfield and Travis "Freqi" Morgan were out there right currently–and Steve just didn't drink alcohol.

Chris picked up his own mug of Ale and took a long drink from it, as if he'd offended the mug on the table in from of him.

At the table close by sat various blues… seemingly engrossed in a game of Sabacc. Flight Officers Hans "Lobo" Allen, Sara "Red" Ayana, Mike "Switch" Michadick, and Nuba "Sonic" Pek. From what he could see, Hans was starting to pay lots of rounds.

"I think that we shouldn't of let any of those gunboats escape today," said David out loud. Today's skirmish with Gunboats had left some of the pilots wishing that they had finished them all off. The less the enemy knew about the Fleet the better. "I mean, the Imps are going to come anyways."

"I suppose they are," Chris replied, a grin raising on his face. "But better to let them know how few ships we ‘have' at our disposition." He picked up his mug and took a long drink from it. "Survivors tell tales and the Imps might come with a weaker task force and we'll be able to fight them off easier, I suppose."

"And you left your Tactical Officer position, why, again?" Jeni asked with a laugh.

Chapter Two

Hasse looked out at the ships of the First Task Force as they assembled into their prearranged alignment for the upcoming assault. For a brief moment he reflected on West's suggestion, that perhaps they really should bring more than a single task force to Anaxes so they can be sure of their victory; but he quickly pushed away any such thoughts. He had more than enough firepower at his disposal to take on any sizable resistance, and, if he were honest with himself, he would enjoy employing such means against the Rebels.

There was a brief flash of light from the center of the viewport and Hasse turned to the tactical officer down in the crew pit with a questioning look on his face. Almost as if he were able to tell what Hasse was about to ask him, the young man cleared his throat and looked up. "Long range scout has returned from Anaxes, sir. Sensor readings indicate that the three vector points are abandoned and they ships that were protecting them are not in orbit around Anaxes' prime shipyard facilities. Strength is equivalent to that of a reinforced flotilla; my guess is they're waiting for us."

"I concur," Hasse stated, placing his left hand under his chin in a thoughtful gesture. "However, we still outnumber them almost with a two-to-one ratio, and we have more fighters. We'll proceed." He turned his head and looked over to the communications officer and gave a nod. "Signal the task force to prepare for the jump to lightspeed; the attack is a go."

"Aye-aye, sir, attack is a go."

He turned back to the viewport and looked off to the port, the silhouette of an ISD hanging against the blackness of space and allowed a vengeful smile to appear. West would be proven just how wrong he was when they returned with the hull of the Maria as a trophy to be displayed in the Imperial Grand Museum of History; and, more importantly, Hasse would be transferred back to Fondor where he could relax due to the relative safety of it's massive Imperial military presence.

"All ships report ready for hyperspace jump, Admiral."

"Very well, Comm, send the order: all ships, jump."

A moment later the stars in front of him sped towards him at blinding speed and then suddenly disappeared as a white spinning tunnel engulfed the Conflagration and the rest of the task force.

West watched the ships go and gave a grave sigh. He almost wished he was going with them, believing that if he were present he could forestall the trap that they were walking into; but, deep down, he knew that even his mere presence wouldn't be enough to tip the scales of balance in the Empire's favor. He knew himself to be arrogant and even self-centered, but he also knew that he was not the end-all problem solver for the Imperial Navy.

"Sir," said his communications officer softly as he walked up beside West. "I have Director Isard standing by on your private HoloNet channel, sir."

About time. "Transfer it to my ready room, Lieutenant, and make sure that I am not disturbed."

"It shall be done, Admiral."

West turned on his heels and walked over to the private ready room that he had had installed into the Wisdom's development planning; most Star Destroyers didn't have a private room for their captain near the bridge, and West considered that to be quite foolish and wasteful of time. If a captain or admiral had to view sensitive materials without the possibility of being overheard or seen, then it would be much wiser to have a private ready room nearby than to have to use the lift car to go to their personal quarters several decks down.

As he walked through the door the Holo-projector sense him and came to life, projecting a hologram of Ysanne Isard in her signature uniform, which was no doubt the same blood red it always was, despite the fact that the hologram gave no color schemes it. West stood in front of the projector and snapped to attention with all earnest. "Madam Director, thank you for returning my call."

"I'm not in the mood for pleasantries, Admiral, so you may dispense with them. Why have you disturbed me?"

The tone of her voice told West that he needed to be very careful with how he worded things; Isard's reputation for retribution was legendary. "I regret to inform you that, despite my best efforts to dissuade him, Admiral Hasse is on his way right now to what I believe to be a trap set specifically for him and his task force."

"And to which reasoning do you come to this conclusion."

West quickly relayed the recent events to her and he could tell immediately that she thought much as he did about the situation. "I contacted you immediately after I left the flagship, but I'm afraid it was not quick enough; his forces just left for the attack minutes before your transmission."

"It would seem that my expectations of Admiral Hasse were misplaced. Very well, Admiral West, you know what to do if he should return."

"Indeed I do, Madam Director. I thank you for taking the time to respond to my call."

Isard just scoffed at him and cut the transmission, the hologram disappearing quickly.

Tremmel bit his lip absently as he waited in the command chair, his eyes continuing to look at the chronometer every chance he got. This was the first actual offensive action he had been a part of since he was transferred here a year ago, and he was itching to give back to the Rebels what they had given him.

He closed his eyes gently and tried to calm himself, forcing his mind to relax and focus on the upcoming battle and not the ghosts of the past. True, he wanted revenge, and he knew he would stop at almost nothing in order to achieve that revenge, but he also had a duty to fulfill, and if he didn't, he would be transferred and demoted even more than his current position was. Isard might even deign to place him in the Unknown Regions, a thought that made Tremmel shiver with fear.

The white tunnel continued to shimmer and then the warning light came on, indicating that they were approaching a mass shadow. "All hands," he said as he straightened up in his chair, "prepare to return to normal space."

A moment later the white spinning tunnel of hyperspace melted away and Tremmel saw the outline of several shipyard facilities orbiting the massive planet of Anaxes, with a half a dozen or so starships in a standard patrol formation around them. He immediately recognized the Maria, but was surprised not to see the Morning Star. According to information brought back from the initial reconnoiter of the system, the Star was one of the ships defending the system, and had, in fact, been responsible for ninety-two percent casualties that the scouting units had sustained.

And, he thought with bitter amusement, I was looking forward to repaying them for their misdeeds against me.

He looked at the tactical display on the arm of his chair and saw the other ships of the First Task Force drop out from lightspeed around him and maneuver to begin a strike against the main cluster of ships, his own Vendetta taking up the lead. He might actually learn to enjoy this operation, the countless slaughter that he was about to bring before the Rebels whetting his appetite for appeasement.

"Message from the flag, sir," said his communications technician. "'Launch all fighters; don't let them have a chance.'"

"Very well, Senior Chief, relay our compliance and launch all fighters. Then, press forth and—"

His voice was cut off as an alarm klaxon sounded, blaring throughout the bridge. He turned to his tactical officer and gestured for him cut the annoying sound. When the bridge fell silent again he cleared his throat and spoke with determination. "What's going on?"

"Sir, sensors are picking up several ships leaving hyperspace all around us!" The mans fingers danced on his console and a holographic tactical display appeared in the center of the bridge, with blinking dots appearing in a spherical formation around the Imperial task force. "I'm picking up transponder codes from the Democracy, the Naboo's Pride, the Battle of Brentaal IV, and several more starships! We're being surrounded by what looks to be a task force and a reinforced flotilla!"

Tremmel peered at the hologram, his face twisted in disbelief, when suddenly several dozen dots appeared on the display. His face almost turned white as he looked back at the tactical officer, whose own face wasn't any better.

"Fighters! Fighters! Scores of them, from interceptors to bombers!"

Tremmel cursed loudly and was about to shout out an order when the tactical officer interrupted him once more.

"New contacts, right on top of us!" He stared at his console for a moment and then looked up at Tremmel, his face even more a ghostly expression than it was a minute ago. "It's the Morning Star, with X-wings and B-wings flying in formation; they're heading straight for us!"

Steve Michadick brought up his targeting computer and focused on the frigate right in front of him, the Imperial ship already turning in a vein attempt to engage the New Republic fighters. He almost grinned when he saw the transponder code of the frigate and let out a happy grunt. "Well, well, well; I remember you." He reached up and tapped his headset, turning it on to the shared squadron frequency in use by all of Blue. "This is Five, I've got a confirmed status on the frigate; it's our old friend, the Vendetta."

"The Vendetta?" came the confused voice of Han Allen in Steve's ear. "I thought we got rid of that ship back when we faced off with those Imps belonging to Admiral Whatshisname's forces."

"Tremmel," Steve clarified. "And we never had any visual confirmation about the Valiant or the Vendetta being destroyed. Isard must have split up the two following their failure; I wonder if Tremmel's dead."

"He's either dead or in a posting that makes him wish he were," commented Deanna Heshi. "In any event, let's focus a little more on the here and now, shall we?"

"Six is right," came the voice of Richie Vogel. "Break by flights and do some damage to that frigate; let's let them know that Blue is still around and kicking!"

Steve gave a slight grin as he brought up the fire control system of his B-wing, switching it over to warhead and letting the reticule drift over the bow of the frigate. The rectangular Heads Up Display started to flash yellow until it locked into a blood red, the matching "target locked" tone emanating from his monitor. "I've got two birds at the ready; Fox Two!"

He squeezed the trigger and two blue fiery arrows shot out from his tubes, racing through the blackness of space towards their target. A couple of moments later he was joined by eight more pairs of B-wings, their own warheads moving forward towards the frigate. It didn't take long for the torpedoes to impact the shields of the warship, and the status of the Vendetta dropped considerably on Steve's screen.

"Round two'' he said into his headset microphone. "Fox Four!"

Another wave of blue fire lanced through the dark before impacting the shields at first, and then ripping through the hull. Several sections of the frigate were aflame, its oxygen burning the fires into the vacuum of space and the vessel started to tilt to it's right before the long spine connecting the bow and stern split into two. A moment or two later, the remnants of the starship were engulfed in fire and an expanding cloud of ionized gas; once the gas cleared, the ship was gone and all that remained were scattered bits of hull floating in the void.

"Scratch one frigate!" shouted Andrew.

"We see it, Blue, good work," responded Uoart's voice over the main tactical channel. "Now get back to it; we've still got a few more Imps to take care of."

"As ordered."

Hasse was shouting orders at his officers, trying to maintain some sense of control in a desperate situation, but knew that he had lost even before the first shot had been fired against his forces. He turned towards the tactical station and rushed over, literally grabbing the on-duty officer by his neck collar. "Is there nothing you can do, man!?"

"I'm sorry, Admiral, but I can't make them disappear simply by wishing it were so!"

Hasse spat a curse and almost threw the man into his console as he turned back towards the holographic display. The trap he had walked into had already destroyed a frigate and two strike cruisers, and the remaining ships were not fairing well. Five were Star Destroyers, two being Imperator-class—including the Conflagration—while the other three were of the much older Victory-class design, and by all rights had the best chance of surviving the encounter, but only if they left right now.

He cursed inwardly as the realization hit him. In order to save himself—and, more importantly, the men under his command—he had to do the most distasteful thing he had ever thought of: abandoning the field of battle. He had never before done such a thing, and he knew of several commanders who faced a court martial—or worse—for having done so, and he had no desire to be a part of that list.

But he also knew he had no choice in the matter.

"Signal all ships! Retreat from the battle zone at best possible speed!"

There was an awed silence on the bridge as all eyes turned to him, surprise evident on their faces. They, too, must have realized just what such an order would mean for him.

He had not heard the confirmation from the communications technician, and knew that such a delay was not good for his authority. He pushed the thought of a court martial aside and stood as tall as he could project himself. "Comm! I gave you an order! Now carry it out or else I will have you relieved of your duties and someone more competent will take over; is that clear?"

The young man nodded and then spoke with a broken voice. "Y-yes, sir! Signal all ships, retreat from battle, aye, sir!"

Hasse turned to see if anyone else was looking at him and was gratified to see that they had all returned to their duties. Well, he thought to himself, I don't know how much longer I'm going to be at this post, but at least I know that they'll do their jobs.

Corben looked at the tactical display and forced a smile onto his face when he saw the remainder of the Imperial task force try and break free of the battle. The Star Destroyers—at least the two ImpStars—would surely be able to wedge past the New Republic forces surrounding them, but there was little chance of any of the others being able to. Their hulls were just not designed to take the constant punishment that the warheads and lasers were giving them in such concentrated doses.

A blinking red dot disappeared, and then two more, indicating the destruction of three more Imperial starships. He studied the display closely and focused on the lead ImpStar—most likely the flagship—as it finally broke through the lines and jumped into hyperspace, one of the Victorys following close suit. The remaining ImpStar likewise broke through, but just as it started to make the jump to lightspeed, its engines caught on fire, causing the starship to blow apart almost dramatically.

Soon the remaining starships likewise met their end, and the few surviving starfighters that had been able to launch during the battle either signaled their surrender or—if they were capable—entered hyperspace.

Corben turned from the display and cleared his throat. "Stand down from alert; secure all sectors and stations. Comm, signal Admiral Maxe to prepare to move out within two hours and to stand by for a conference transmission. Tactical, coordinate a trace upon the entry of the Imperial ships and the exit vector they took; triangulate a specific place and give your results to Admiral Maxe. I'll be in my office, in conference; let me know if there are any new developments."

"Sir!" came the simultaneous response from several people.

Corben walked to the lift car and slowly entered, giving a nod of approval in the direction of Captain Yuliese as the doors slid shut. He punched in the destination for his office and waited patiently as the lift descended to the appropriate deck, then got out and walked to his door. He slid a card into the access port and punched in a passcode, causing the door to slide open and allow him inside.

A blinking red light on his desk indicated that a transmission was waiting for him; he stepped over and cleared his throat. "Recognize Ull, Corben, Admiral, Third Fleet commanding officer, New Republic Armed Forces. Decode and begin transmission."

The Holo-Projector in the corner came to life and the slightly older, sterner face of Maxe appeared before him. "Admiral."

"Admiral," Corben said in response. "Are you ready to give them a run for their money?"

"Of course sir, but I don't think a single task force is going to be enough to deal with the remainder of the Sixteenth Imperial Fleet. They only sent one task force after us, there has got to be at least two, maybe three, more out there. I would prefer to have some backup if at all possible."

Corben shook his head with a frown. "I'm afraid that's not possible. We've tipped our hand in terms of just how well prepared we are to defend this system; if we send out more than a single task force, we're leaving ourselves open to a reprisal attack from the Imperials."

"How?"

"Tactics, Admiral Maxe." Corben folded his arms and habitually leaned back against the bulkhead. "If I were the enemy commander—despite the lack of competence thus far shown—and I had made the mistake of allowing them to track us back to their staging area, then I would evacuate the area, leaving a minimal of ships behind to deal with any pursuers while I took the majority of the fleet and either set up a new staging area or made a surprise attack on the shipyards, thus believing that they were now left undefended." He raised his right hand and let the index finger point out towards the hologram. "It's too much of a risk."

"I understand. When do you want us to get underway?"

"Within two hours. Currently the tacticians are going over the entry and exit vectors to triangulate the point of origin. I'm sure you can devise your overall strategy and plan by the time that's done, yes?"

"Of course. And we'll make you proud, Admiral."

"Of that I have no doubt; just be careful."

Andrew Dobson stood at the lectern and looked out at his assembled pilots, all of them still in their flight suits and looking either excited or tired. Those that were expressing their excitement tended to either keep tapping their feet or their fingertips, whereas those that looked tired had the look of wanting to crawl into bed and just sleep.

"Okay, I know that a lot of your are tired from the engagement; it's probably the most action we've seen since the Feint at Chandrila, but it's not going to be the last. Upon recommendation of captain Ru'kaart, Blue Squadron will be attached to the task force that is going after the escaping Imperials. Because we'll most likely be making strike attacks against enemy capital ships, we'll remain in the B-wings; in fact, our birds are being prepped and armed as we speak."

Andrew turned around and used his laser pointer to detail holographic image floating beside him. "The majority of the task force will be jumping into the system at this point," he stated, letting the laser dot drift over a specific area. "However, Blue and Amber Squadrons, along with Bantha Squadron and a pair of Corellian Gunships for support, will be arriving at this point." The laser moved over to an area that was several dozen kilometers further into the system than the first location. "The reason for this is to provide a tactical surprise for the Imperials, hoping to catch them off guard and allow us to soften them up a bit for the main force. Yes, Schmitty?"

Steve put down his hand. "We're only going in with two bomber squadrons, an A-wing squadron, and a pair of gunships? Does Command really think we can make a dent against a large enemy force with such a small strike group?"

"I do not presume to make assumptions about Command's tactical decisions, Captain; I live a lot longer that way. However, based on what intel I've been able to receive, we're not expecting a large welcoming reception and therefore will not be completely and overwhelmingly outmatched." He clicked a button on the pointer and the hologram changed to that of a spinning array of massive chunks of rock. "There are no worlds orbiting the massive Red Dwarf star in this system, but there is a rather large asteroid field that points to there once being at least one planet. We do not believe this to be the central operational staging area for the Imperials in this sector; such a position would be ideal for New Republic forces, but the Imperials prefer to make their presence a little more known and accessible to their ships. This is likely just the forward staging point for their assault against us."

Andrew clicked the switch one more time and a profile of an ISD Mark II appeared. "This is the Conflagration, Admiral Hasse's flagship. It was severely damaged in the engagement, but was still able to escape. We hope to be able to either destroy or capture it—and Admiral Hasse—but even doing that will not make that much of a difference in our fight against the Imperials in this sector. If you get a chance, however, to render this vessel useless to the Empire, take it."

He shut down the holographic display and turned to look at his pilots more fully. "Launch window is within the next hour; we're going to be deploying from here—the enemy already knows our location, and so hiding it would be useless—and will move into the system within our birds. Are there any questions?"

"Sir," commented Deanna, "why isn't Red Squadron a part of this operation?"

"I couldn't answer that, Dee, I'm not privy to the information that Command sees, nor do I sit in on the conversations that General Uve`lon and Admiral Ull have. My guess, however, is that since this is a strike mission, they're being left behind to deal with clean up and patrol. Any one else?" He waited a moment and then nodded. "Then get to your ships and prepare to disembark. Dismissed."

Hasse surveyed the officers around him, acutely aware that they all seemed to be watching him with a disdainful expression on their faces, disgust ever present in their profiles. And who could blame them, to be honest, for he had, indeed, done the unthinkable. To do so while under Imperial military command was in and of itself an unpleasant thing, but to do so while the cold-hearted and somewhat childlike Iceheart was in charge of things was to open himself up to reprisal of the worst—and most likely vicious—kind.

The one person who troubled him the most in the situation, however, was Captain Miller. Being the most senior of the officers, Hasse had expected him to be the most vocal and outspoken, to be the one everyone else would funnel their awe, furry, pain, frustration, and annoyance through. But the man had been almost civil, as if ordering the retreat was just another military order to which he was expected to carry out without exception or change. Perhaps he knew something that Hasse did not, an indication of what they would face upon their return? No, thought Hasse, he knows no more than I do of the fate that will befall us.

"Leaving hyperspace, Admiral," came the voice of the helmsman from behind him.

Hasse turned his head slightly to the left and saw the bleeding white tunnel evaporate slowly into single pinpricks of stars against a vast black ocean of space. His first reaction was a sigh of relief as he noticed that no ships were standing in a flanking position, ready to pounce on the Conflagration in order to punish him for his transgressions.

His second reaction, however, was to notice that only one starship was even visible within the asteroid belt, and that there were several new types of space rocks present.

He instantly turned towards the communications station, ready to bark and order to the technician present, but was interrupted when the technician said; "Admiral West is on the line for you sir, priority one."

"Pipe it into the security foyer holoprojector, Chief."

"I'm sorry, sir, West says that he must broadcast in front of the crew as well, as the transmission concerns them as well."

Hasse just stared at the man for a few moments, noting that the technician was neither afraid nor intimidated by the admiral's gaze. Sensing that he'd lost all of his credibility, and that trying to force the issue would only make things worse, he capitulated and nodded slightly. "Very well, Chief, run it on through."

"At once, sir."

A moment later the bluish, see-through image of Orlando West filled the center of the command walkway, his hands clasped behind his back in full uniform. Why he was in full uniform, Hasse couldn't figure out, but that was not exactly what was on his mind at the moment. "Admiral Hasse," West said pleasantly.

"Admiral West," Hasse returned with equal false pleasantness. "Admiral, might I inquire where the rest of the fleet is, and what the meaning is of these new contacts I am seeing on the sensor screen?"

"You may." There was a slight pause and then West let out a slow breath. "You see, Admiral, I was preparing for when you came back—and I knew that you would be back—so that we might at least inflict the pursuing Rebels some damage when they come to this place. And we're almost finished, too," he said as he looked off to the right for a moment before returning his gaze at Hasse. "It won't be long before they're all in position and ready to go."

"What are you talking about?"

"Admiral, I'm afraid I must be the bearer of some rather bad news. You see, your overconfidence has presented the Rebels the chance they needed to drive a spike through the heart of this fleet. You did not take my advice—and it's nice to know that I was, indeed, correct, too—about needing a more significant show of force against the Rebels, and you've ordered a retreat—a failed one at that, too, counting the ships that arrived with you. I would have hoped that perhaps I might have been wrong in my tactical analysis of the situation; however, I was not, and you are a fool to the end."

Hasse felt the anger rising in him like bile, a bittersweet taste forming on his lips. "Let me remind you, West, that I am in command of this fleet, that it is I who will make the decisions about what to do in response to the Rebels possible pursuit of our retreat. And because of your insubordinate attitude and display, I am placing you under arrest immediately!" Hasse raised his voice and leaned into the pickup of the holoprojector's transmitter. "This is Admiral Hasse to all personnel aboard the Wisdom of the Emperor; Admiral Orlando West is hereby to be placed under arrest and place within the brig until such a time that a tribunal can look into his actions."

There was a long pause, silence stretching it even more, while he waited for officers or crewmen to take West away in stun cuffs, but no one appeared to be coming towards the holographic figure and Hasse could not see any indication of West looking away from the projector.

Then, West gave a very sardonic, chilling smile at him. "I'm afraid, Admiral, that you no longer have the authority to give orders to anyone within the fleet, or the whole of the military. Because of your actions, several thousand Imperial crewers and pilots are dead or captive at the hands of the Rebels, and our ability to drive the Rebels from this sector is greatly diminished. Therefore, Admiral, you are relieved of command, per orders given by Ysanne Isard, Director of Imperial Intelligence."

Hasse's fists clenched as he tried to find something to say in response, and then his mind registered the rank insignia on West's uniform and snarled at him. "I see you've been promoted, Admiral."

"It was not my idea, but I welcome it nonetheless."

"Well, then," said Hasse, noticing that everyone on the bridge was looking at him, some with pity, but most with a sense of satisfaction on their faces. "What becomes of me now, hmm? Am I to stand before a tribunal and face my peers?"

"I'm afraid not, Admiral." West gave a short nod behind Hasse.

Hasse suddenly felt a sharp pain in his backside, and then a twisting pain. The admiral staggered forward slightly and fell to his knees, his right hand running along his lower back until he felt the telltale outline of a vibroblade with the power turned excessively high. He tried to turn around to see who had stuck him with the weapon, but the pain was just too great for him to manage.

"I'm sorry that it had to end this way, Admiral, but when you fail the Empire, you pay the price."

Hasse groaned and closed his eyes against the pain, trying to force it out of him. He fell onto his back, the blade jabbing more into him; he screamed out in excessive pain and blinked his eyes open just in time to see Miller salute him. And then, suddenly, everything stopped.

Chapter Three

Steve sat in the cockpit of his B-wing, waiting patiently until the pre-mission time clock finished its slow, almost crawling countdown. He was raring to go, ready to give the Imperials some payback for their attempt to attack the shipyards, eager to give them what they had coming to them just for being in existence, but he forced himself to calm down and let the relaxation techniques that Mark Hagues had taught him take hold of him.

He frowned as he checked over his status board once again; it was not like him to get overly excited like he was, but Sooli had told him just who the commanding officer of the Vendetta was, he couldn't help it. He was still in a sense of shock; Tremmel was dead, and he more of less was part of the reason why. Despite the fact that he welcomed the news, a part of him gnawed at the prospect of being the one who handed him his destiny.

He shook off the ghosts and shook his head slightly. There was a subtle, yet deadly, truth to war, no matter whose side you fought for: people die. Over the years he had seen his share of death—more than he hoped to have ever really seen in his entire lifetime—and he knew that he was far from seeing the end of it, and while he normally didn't give much thought to it due to most of them being faceless pilots flying enemy starfighters, occasionally the image of a specific person popped into his mind.

While he had not known Tremmel personally, he knew of him, and had fought against him in the past. Therefore, he felt as if he knew the man, knew much about him, his tactics, his history, and the like. Granted, most of the information came to him after he actually first dealt with the Imperial, but that didn't diminish it's impact on him.

"All forces, prepare to enter hyperspace on my mark," came the voice of Rear Admiral Maxe.

Steve shook himself back to the present and did another check of his systems once more. Everything was in the green, and he was fully loaded for assault. "This is Blue Five," he spoke into his headset, transmitting over the Blue Squadron frequency, "I'm good to go."

"Roger that, Five," responded Andrew in his ear. "Stand by."

It took only a few moments. "All forces…go!"

Steve pulled back on the lever and shot into a blindingly white tunnel.

Orlando West looked out at the slowly spinning chunks of rock around him and nodded in acceptance. The plan was risky, it was even foolhardy to some extent, but it was also the only way of allowing the remaining forces of the fleet to gather elsewhere while the Rebels came here to follow Hasse.

He looked over at the bridge's chronometer and then at the asteroid field. He had originally contemplated converting one of the larger rocks into a base of operations, but because of Hasse's idiotic attempt to strike at Anaxes, the idea was abandoned. Oh well, at least I'll be able to extract some sense of vengeance against the Rebels.

"Admiral," came the voice of his tactical officer. "We're picking up multiple contacts exiting from hyperspace near where the Conflagration arrived. Profile and numbers suggest a single Rebel task force with escorting fighter screen." There was a slight pause and then the man looked up again. "I'm also picking up a smaller number of contacts from the other side of the asteroid field; looks to be at least two squadrons of heavy assault fighter-bombers, and possibly some escorting corvettes."

"Hmm, better then I gave them credit for," West muttered to himself. "Secure all stations, bring us about, and prepare to enter hyperspace once we've reached the entry vector. Do not, I repeat, do not engage the Rebels, even if they fire upon us."

"Sir!" came the response of several officers and crewers around him.

West turned back to the viewport and watched as the ship turned towards port, and the slight vibration as the engines came alive and pushed the monstrous contraption forward. While he knew that Ull would not be quite as stupid enough to do the same that Hasse had, West wished he had been stupid enough to bring more than a task force into the engagement zone. The loss of so many ships would be a blow to the Rebels in the sector—and would please Isard to no end.

He watched the tactical hologram floating beside him, looking at the blinking dots that indicated enemy combatants. They came ever closer to the center of the hologram, which represented the Wisdom's position, and moved in a surrounding stance. Very wise, he commented in a thought; by spreading out and coming at us at different angles, the commander of those squadrons has effectively allowed it so that the defensive batteries will not be able to cover all possible vectors.

A flash began from one of the dots, then from another, and so on until all flashed. All had fired at least one salvo of warheads at the Imperial ship, yet that did not worry West in the least. He glanced up at the tactical positioning overlay with the hyperspace vector and grinned when it aligned perfectly.

The warheads began to approach within the minimal safe distance to which a laser battery could destroy them without inflicting blast damage on the ship itself. In two seconds, they would impact the shields and the hull of the huge triangular starship.

One second passed, and the Wisdom entered the deep white sea of hyperspace. There was no need to count the remaining second.

"Blast!" said Andrew as he pulled back on the flight stick, bringing his B-wing around on a new heading towards the exit vector of the now-gone Imperial starship. "Mission Command, this is Blue Leader, we have no joy on the target; she's bugged out, sir. Request instructions, over."

"Blue Leader, this is Admiral Maxe; our primary mission's been scrubbed, obviously. Form up on the last known trajectory of the Wisdom and await the rest of the task force as we maneuver through the asteroid field. Once through, we'll see if we can catch the Imperials, but don't get your hopes up. Stand by for our arrival, Mission Command, out."

Andrew cursed mentally and brought his B-wing to a gentle stop, the rest of the fighters and gunships doing likewise. "Okay, everyone, keep an eye out for any surprises; just because the Imps aren't here doesn't mean they didn't leave behind some sort of welcoming committee for us. They knew we were coming."

"How can you be so sure?" asked Hans.

"Wouldn't you expect the enemy to follow if you had cut and run from such an overwhelming force?" He shook his head at himself. "I'd have set up some sort of trap for the enemy, to take them down a notch or two from their overconfidence, and let's face it, we're a bit overconfident after smashing apart that task force."

"But there's nothing out here but floating rocks," countered Hans. "Granted, the iron ore deposits are interfering with the sensors to a certain degree, but you can't exactly hide something as big as a strike force in this asteroid field. About the only thing we really have to worry about are the rocks themselves."

Hans' comment jerked Andrew's head up and he looked out at the asteroid field with a sense of fear. "Oh, blast!" His left hand flew over the controls of the targeting computer and sensor board, running through the various floating, lifeless rocks within the asteroid field until something showed up out of the ordinary parameters. "Oh, Sith!" He switched back over to the command frequency and shouted into his headset. "Mission Command, break off, break off! It's a trap!"

As if attuned to his warning, several asteroids opened fire with turbolasers, impacting on the shields and hulls of the task force starships. One ship, a modified CEC corvette, came under continuous fire from multiple directions and blew apart like a fiery supernova. The rest of the task force began to come about, retreating to their previous entry vector, but because of the close proximity of the asteroid around them the maneuver would take time.

"Oh, this is not good. Blue, Amber, lock on to those weapons platforms and blow them apart! Be sure you get a solid lock if you're going to use torps, the field is pretty dense where they are. Break and attack!"

Andrew turned his craft around and hit the throttle to full speed, redirecting some of the power from lasers into the engines. He glanced at the sensors again and cursed, as several red dots were now visible on the monitors; apparently they had been programmed to remain dormant and shadowed from sensors until the pursuing New Republic ships had gotten within a certain range. Clever, he commented to himself, and altogether ruthless.

A bright explosion caught his attention and he looked up to see that another starship had just been destroyed, this time it was a Nebulon-B-class Frigate. His headset crackled to life as the stressed voice of Rear Admiral Maxe spoke in his ear.

"Blue, Amber, what's your status? It's starting to get a little lonely over here!"

"This is Blue Leader, we're moving in to attack the weapons platforms, Admiral. Stay tight, we're working on it."

"This is Amber Leader, we're close to the first set of platforms, but there's quite a bit of them. We'll do our best, sir."

"Please make it fast, we're losing good people out here!"

Andrew winced a little from Maxe's obvious panicked voice, but pushed the thought from his mind. The admiral's courage was the least of his worries at the moment. He watched his sensors once more and gave a satisfied grin as he came within range of one of the weapons platforms. He switched over to his targeting computer and painted a lock on the platform, a constant tone forming gently in the cockpit. "Two away!" he screamed as he pulled on the trigger.

Two blue streaks of proton warheads moved away from the center of his fuselage and towards the asteroid-like weapons platform. A few moments later, however, the weapons platform redirected its fire to his incoming warheads and shattered them apart. "Stang it!" He tapped his headset again to activate the microphone. "Blues, Ambers, heads up, the platforms have threat detection software. Go to blind fire mode, but try not to get too close if you can help it."

"Roger that, Blue Leader," came Richie's response.

Andrew did a circle approach, to come in on the platform again, and this time shut off his targeting computer. He pulled the trigger again and another pair of warheads moved forward. He watched with anticipation as they crawled closer and closer to their intended target until they finally impacted against the shields. The damage wasn't as extensive as it could have been, but at least it was a hit.

"This is Admiral Maxe to all ships: put it to the red line, people! We'll soon be clear of the field and able to get back to Anaxes! Krif the damage, we've got a shipyard that can repair us; they can't repair us if we're dead, however!"

Out of curiosity, Andrew punched up the Lexington on the targeting computer and noticed that the flagship was dangerously low on it's shields and hull integrity. "Oh, this is not good."

Another bright flash caught his eye and he noticed that one of the platforms had been destroyed, and then another one near it. Three more bright flashes on the other side of his cockpit drew his attention, but when he hoped to see that more of the platforms had been destroyed he was met with a display that chilled him to the core. The Lexington, having misjudged the room needed to maneuver, had collided with a light Mon Cal cruiser and a CEC corvette, causing all three to blow apart due to the extensive damage they had already sustained.

There was a brief moment of silence following the three-ship collision; even the static over the communications channel seemed to fall silent. Then, a very light, soft, and trembling female voice came across the channel. "This is Commodore Garret to all forces; I am now in temporary command of the task force. Continue to retreat; that is all."

Andrew gave another curse, not caring if it went over the channel, and redirected his attention on the weapons platforms. He fired another set of torps at the first one that he had attached and watched as it finally exploded, then moved his attention to two more nearby. He fired three at the first one, then three more at the second one, emptying his tubes, then switched to linked lasers and ions. Ignoring the safety protocols that had been established for strafing runs against such platforms, Andrew throttled up to full and began to fire indiscriminately at the first platform.

Sensing that it was in trouble, the platform began to target Andrew's B-wing and opened fire with a volley of green turbolaser fire. He jinked and juked to avoid the fire, all the while keeping the platform in his reticule and holding the trigger with his finger. It took a while compared to the damage that the torpedoes did, but finally the rock surface shattered and the internal structure of the platform blew apart. Andrew smiled savagely and turned his attention to the second platform, repeating the process.

"All forces," came Garret's voice again, "enter hyperspace as soon as you have cleared the field, don't wait for anyone else."

Andrew checked his sensors and noticed that what remained of the task force was near the outer edges of the asteroid field, but still within danger. Soon the assault frigate carrying Garret entered hyperspace, followed by a strike cruiser, and then a pair of Carrack-class cruiser. The last ship, a CEC corvette, was close to the edge, but didn't make it before she was blown apart by every single weapons platform nearby.

"Okay, that's everyone. Blues, Ambers, Banthas, and escorting gunships, make your jump immediately. This didn't turn out the way we liked it, but at least some of us can return home."

He broke off his attack on the platform and shunted all his available power into engines and shields, racing for the edge of the asteroid field. His sensors started to show green dots winking out of existence as the starfighters and gunships entered hyperspace. It wasn't long until he, too, reached the edge of the asteroid field and pulled back on the lever, his computations already entered into the navicomputer. The blackness of space disappeared as a shining light filled his view.

West sat in his quarters, looking at the data recovered from the ambush, his left hand gently stroking the stubble on his chin. While the ambush had, indeed, succeeded in destroying several Rebel starships, only the equivalent of a flotilla been denied to the Rebels; he was hoping for the entire task force to be destroyed, depriving Ull of almost one third of his forces, but he was still somewhat happy with the results.

He had actually contemplated making another strike against Anaxes, but had discarded the thought after careful planning. Ull was too clever to let his defenses fall or grow complacent, especially in the wake of the ambush, and would most likely keep at least one full task force on station to deal with any new assault, not to mention static defenses such as the shipyards, spacedock control, and gun emplacements. No, a direct assault would not be beneficial to the longevity of his men; better to take the Rebels at a piecemeal pace.

He put away the datapad and turned towards a stack of others. Picking one up, he thumbed it on and surveyed the data displayed. Hmmm, he thought to himself. Fleet internal repairs are starting to dwindle; no doubt as a result of shortage of manpower.

Manpower aboard ships on detached service was often a problem; there were, of course, several ways to counter the situation, but most of them involved the quartering of conscripts. Usually, when something like that was brought about, the Rebels always found a way of discovering them and liberating the majority of the convey, which not only gave a morale boost to the Rebels, but also provided them the chance to capture several freighters and transport craft as well.

West thought for a moment and then he suddenly came up with an idea that made him grin. Well, then, that is certainly something to attempt. He reached over his desk and hit a button; a moment later the voice of the communications officer-on-duty came back at him. "Communications, Ensign Liex speaking."

"Ensign, please make a transmission to Director Isard, top priority. I have something I wish to discuss with her."

Rob tugged at the tunic of his dress uniform and tried desperately to adjust the sash as best as he could. "I am going to kill the person who designed this blasted thing."

"I don't know," said Chris Layne with a grin, "I think it makes you look regal, almost… Imperial."

"Keep it up, Captain; just remember, I make up the roster."

"Yes, sir."

Rob shot Chris one more glance before turning around and boarding the Lambda-class shuttle that was sitting idle on the flight deck. He made his way through the passenger cabin until he found an open seat next to Andrew Dobson and plopped himself down into it. He glanced over at his comrade and cleared his throat gently. "How bad?" he asked.

"Bad enough," was all that Andrew would answer with.

Deciding not to press the issue, Rob settled in his chair and surveyed the cabin. He noticed Captain Ru'kaart conversing with Lieutenant Colonel Nosnern, but Sooli Kitz seemed to be starring out of the viewport with an almost eerie detachment from her surroundings. Figuring that she was contemplating something that had to do with Steve, he opted to leave her alone; even if she wasn't thinking of Steve, this was hardly the appropriate time or place to discuss anything unrelated to their solemn duty.

The shuttle gently rose, the reverberations making it almost a soothing experience, and soon the brief jolt of momentum as the craft sped forward out of the hanger bay. The ride itself would not take long—a matter of minutes—but it was still enough time for Rob to contemplate things. He stared out the view port as the shuttle headed towards the rather large and imposing flagship of the Third Fleet, the Maria. He watched the many ships—some of which were undergoing emergency repairs in the shipyard facilities—as the tiny specs of ion exhaust indicating transport craft and the more faster and agile patrolling starfighters moved from the background of space to that of armor hull platting.

The shuttle began its landing procedure in the port hanger bay and Rob watched as the MagCon field passed before him, to be replaced by lines of starfighters and technicians in a uniform formation. He saw the images slow and then come to a complete stop, and then felt the shuttle settle gently down on its landing struts, the loud "bang!" of the ramp making contact with the deck plates reverberating throughout the cabin. He gave a sigh and stood up, smoothing out his uniform tunic before moving into the aisle, then walked up to the procession line forming at the front.

Per old Galactic Republic tradition—something that the Office of Military Protocol decided to adopt for the New Republic Armed Forces—the most junior officer would disembark a vehicle first, and the procession would continue upwards with the highest ranking officer disembarking last. In this instance, Sooli disembarked first, followed by Andrew, Rob, Nosnern, and finally Ru'kaart.

They were not alone in the hanger bay; several officers from all branches and commands of the military were present, taking up a rank and file position around a closed casket with a small dais in front of it. From what he could tell, there were command officers from every single unit assigned to Third Fleet, from the commanding officer of the Marine Expeditionary Unit on down to the resident Intelligence officer for each starship. Considering the mass of people who had died in the ambush, this was not a surprise; especially given that Rear Admiral Gail Maxe was among those lost.

There was a middle-aged man in dress uniform with the rank pips of a vice admiral standing between the dais and the casket, looking anything but happy with the situation. Rob knew the man well, as he was the overall commanding officer in this area, Corben Ull. He waited until the new arrivals took their places, and then gave a nod off to his right and the lights in the hanger bay began to dim considerably. He then took a step forward and stood at the dais, the microphone switched on and picking up his breathing.

"I wish we were here under better circumstances today, for the only time when people en masse gather is to celebrate a victory, or to mourn a defeat," began Ull with a solemn and calm voice. "This time we are here to mourn in the wake of an ambush that took from us the lives of so many souls aboard the Orion, the Crimson, the Judicial, the Pride of Corellia, the Battle of Brentaal IV, and the Lexington, along with the lives of many souls who fought so bravely in defense of their comrades." He paused a moment and swept his gaze across those gathered. "I only wish that their sacrifices meant more.

"We are gathered here today to pay our respects to these souls, our honored dead, who, just as many before them have, died in the pursuit of freedom and independence for the galaxy. Their specific reasons for joining the military might have been different in the beginning—the desire to avenge the death of a loved one, the personal obligation to see life brought back into their homeworld, the inability to continue living under the heel of Imperial oppression—but their reasons for staying with the military were uniform in design, if not in practical sense. For we are all here to bring about a change to the way life is for us; to bring about a change that will shatter the corrupt regime of the Galactic Empire and bring back a golden age of prosperity and freedom of expression that made the Republic grand."

Ull was silent for a moment and then cleared his throat with a light cough. "I pray to the Force that we never have to have such a ceremony again for as long as we all live, that we can find some way to bring about the desired change without the high costs that usually accompany it. And while it may seem foolish to believe such a thing is possible, it is nonetheless what makes us different than that of our enemies. Unlike the cold and calculating Imperial military war machine that produces a seemingly endless supply of troops, weapons, and vehicles, we strive to make every inch of ground, every kilometer of space, a victory for our future. And while we have shed blood in the progress of those goals, we are still united, strong, and resilient."

This time, as he looked out into the crowd, Rob could swear that the man's dark eyes looked directly at him, as if he was purposely seeing Rob and focusing on him. The contact made the pilot shiver slightly, and he was thankful for when the admiral turned his gaze onto someone else.

"Let us never forget that while we have lost comrades, friends, loved ones, even children, we are still strong and united in our task to break the crushing yoke of oppression that has been placed upon the galaxy. While the deaths of Emperor Palpatine and his chief servant, Darth Vader, have helped, the dark designs and cold calculations of those that have risen to power in their wake are still a force to be reckoned with. Let us avenge these souls by bringing about that which they fought and died for: freedom."

Ull stepped back from the dais and a Master Chief Petty Officer stepped towards the casket and sucked in his breath. "Ah-ten-shun!" Everyone on the flight deck snapped to military attention in uniform precision, but he wasn't done yet. He turned on his heel towards a line of six uniformed persons, one each from the Navy, Marine Corps, Starfighter Command, Army, Security Forces, and Intelligence. "Pre-zent… Arms!" The six individuals lifted up the rifles that were at their sides while the countless officers on the flight deck saluted. "Ready… Aim… Fire!" Red blaster bolts shot out through the MagCon field. "Fire!" Another round. "Fire!" And another. "Fire!" And finally, a fourth round break through into space.

Ull stepped back up to the dais after saluting the casket once more. "We commit these souls to the deep of space from whence we all came. May the Force watch over them as they make the transition from this world to the next." He hit a switch on the dais and the casket jetted forward and passed through the MagCon field with gentle precision.

The Master CPO who spoke moments ago turned on his heel again and faced the gathering of officers. "Company…. Dismissed!"

Rob broke from his posture and turned towards Sooli, but found that she was already making her way to the rather tall and imposing form of a Wookiee near the front of the dais. Hmmm, I guess she needs to talk to Colonel Elebacca… I'll talk to her later.

Ull looked at both Elebacca and Captain Kitz with a sense of horrified surprise on his face. "You're certain of this? This informant, he's reliable?"

"Aye, sir," said Kitz calmly, "I'd trust him with my life, and he's been an informant for many years. Normally the information he passes along is about the security of Imperial convoys carrying supplies through the sector of space—medical supplies, spare parts, things like that—but every now and then he comes across information such as this. I found out just before I left the Star, and figured that you and the Colonel would like to know immediately."

"I certainly appreciate the diligence in your work, Captain Kitz, and if, indeed, the information is right, then we've been handed a lightsaber likely to blow up in our faces."

Sooli Kitz sat at the small briefing table and looked back and forth between the three officers present. Normally it would have been just Rob and Chelsey, but because of the logistics of the operation that Sooli was presenting to Red Squadron, it also called for a Tactical Officer or Operations Officer to be present in the initial planning stages. While no replacement had been named for Chris Layne in the wake of his desire to no longer be the squadron's Tactical Officer, Jamie Wetherill had recently been promoted to the rank of second lieutenant and given the position of Operations Officer. Thus far he's been doing a fine job, but it was easy to deal with day-to-day operations when the unit wasn't planning a full-scale attack.

"Colonel, Major, Lieutenant," she began politely, "thank you for coming. I know that all of you have been busy the last couple of days since the memorial service, but the Admiral has decided that the information we have received—which has been verified at least twice—is of paramount importance. There's no easy way to say it, so I'll just come on out and say it: Admiral Hasse has been executed, the Sixteenth Imperial Fleet is no longer under his command."

Rob leaned forward in his chair and gave a shake of his head. "Let me guess; Iceheart was not exactly happy with the ambush we gave his forces when they tried to take Anaxes back."

"That's a fair assessment of the situation, yes, but it looks to be as though we're getting a short end of the stick as a result."

"How so?" asked Chelsey. "Without their commanding officer, whoever steps up to take the reigns will not be able to effectively combat us. And if they send someone to take over, it'll at least be a few days before they can arrive, in which case we can take advantage of the situation."

"Someone has, indeed, been promoted within the fleet to take over, and it's the worst possible outcome possible." Sooli sighed and let it out slowly. "Vice Admiral Orlando West has been promoted to full admiral and given complete command of the fleet and all Imperial forces in the sector."

A chilly silence was her response as she watched the expressions of her fellow officers. All of them were familiar with West, having faced him and his forces previously less than a year before, and they all knew that the man was as ruthless as they came, but the mere fact that he was Isard's choice to take over command of an entire Imperial fleet made every single one of them consider the man to be just that much more dangerous.

Finally, Rob swallowed and looked at Sooli with an expression of terror in his hazel eyes. "Please tell me you're joking, Captain Kitz."

"I'm afraid not, Colonel, it's been confirmed by independent and NRI sources. In fact, that ambush that Admiral Maxe's task force walked into was set up by him."

"He always did have a flare for the sneaky." The young man ran a hand through his hair and gave a sigh. "Okay, what's the other shoe?"

"Colonel?"

"You didn't pull us into this meeting just to tell us something that we would have been told eventually. So, why don't you go ahead and let the other shoe drop and let us know just what this has to do—specifically—with Red Squadron?"

Sooli gave him a lopsided grin. "You know me too well. Yes, there was another reason for this little gathering; you're being given a mission, along with a detachment of marines to help you in this regard. You see, the informant who first brought West's promotion to our attention did so in regards to an Imperial convoy that is being sent to the fleet. Normally this wouldn't exactly be a high priority; we'd send in a low-profile squadron to interdict the convoy, perhaps capture it, thus denying the Imperials of their supplies, but this is a somewhat special case." She hit a button on the conference table before her and a holographic representation of a world appeared in the center of the room. "I am sure that you all know what this world is."

"Kashyyyk," spoke Jamie, who had been silent up until now. "I do not like where this is going."

"Apparently, West does. Your suspicions are correction, Lieutenant; it's a conscription convoy carrying Wookiees."

Rob pounded a fist on the table. "Somehow I think I know what our mission is, and I agree to it one hundred percent."

"Easy there, Colonel, let me finish." She hit the button again and a profile of several different freighter craft appeared. "Due to their sheer physical strength and inability to reliably control under normal circumstances, all of the conscripted Wookiees are being transported in cargo holds with no access to them other than a docking port, to help prevent their ability to take over their ships. This actually works in our favor; we won't have to worry about facing an onboard fire-fight with internal security when we board the freighters."

"But eventually they'll have to be dealt with if we want to rescue all of the slaves; there's no way we can place all of them on boarding transports," pointed out Chelsey.

"I'm getting there, but first the mission outline. Red Squadron will be the starfighter contingent on this mission. We're not expecting much of an escort force, perhaps a couple of corvettes and some heavy assault fighters such as the Assault Gunboats, but that's it. They're even taking a little known transit route to try and keep off our sensors. Red will neutralize the enemy combatants and then interdict the convoy. If you have to, take out their engines, but don't destroy the craft itself—for obvious reasons. Once the convoy has been neutralized as well, the boarding transports will move in and dock, first securing the cargo holds and making sure the slaves healthy. Then, they will undock with the cargo holds and dock with the maintenance port on the ships and take command of the vessels. Granted, the point of entry will make for an effective defense against our teams, but this way no noncombatants will be caught in a firefight. The marines will be able to make do; I am sure we can all attest to that."

Rob nodded his approval and poked his finger at the hologram. "It's a solid plan. And during the boarding operation, Red will fly a perimeter defense, as well as having at least an element on standby to shake up any crew if they decide to be a little rambunctious in regards to our insertion teams. When's the operation?"

"Tomorrow morning, so make sure you brief your pilots and get a good night's sleep. With West now in charge, we're all going to need it."

Chapter Four

West looked over the various reports sitting on his desk and gave a slight sigh of exasperation. He knew that taking command of a sector fleet would bring about a lot of responsibility and bureaucracy to his life, but he never imagined that it would be quite this much. He had to approve every command decision made by every single one of his subordinate command officers, such as a task force commander straight on down to ship commander. It was tedious and repetitive, to say the least, but it was the way that such militaries functioned in the galaxy: no arbitrary decisions. It was mostly due to Director Isard taking the reigns of the Empire, as the intelligent woman believed foremost in making sure that no one was trying to break up any more of her galactic powerbase.

Idealy, it was a sound concept; it allowed her to keep tabs on everyone with a papertrail leading back to anyone who did not follow the proper procedure for something. In practice, however, it was a mixed blessing. West was certain he could achieve his goals that much more effectively if he had more of a free hand in things, but realized that such a thing could bring about his downfall if someone were to play politics with him. So, he continued to follow established protocol and did as he was supposed to.

A beep stirred him from his thoughts and he hit a button on his desk. "West."

"Sorry to bother you, sir, but you said you wanted to be told when the convoy was leaving Kashyyyk. It'll be here in twenty standard hours."

"Thank, you, Chief." He hit the button again and then settled back in his chair. In a few hours his trap will be sprung, and the Rebels will pay dearly for their insolence. Oh, how I do so love the taste of defeat.

Chris Layne looked at Rob for a brief moment, which gave him a nod in return, and then stepped up to the podium in the pilot's briefing room. He swore he would never do this again after he asked to no longer be the Tactical Officer, but a replacement still hadn't been named, and Rob had asked him personally to do this. He gave a small sigh and then tapped his knuckles on the surface of the podium. "Okay, let's get together; we've got quite a bit of work ahead of us."

All eyes in the room turned to him and Chris felt himself flinch from the attention. "Now then, first order of business is that we're being deployed on a mission in deep space; no planetary bodies, no lifeless chunks of rock, nothing, so we have no natural or artificial means in which to use as an observation post before we strike. We move in immediately after emerging from hyperspace and engage our targets."

"And those targets are?" asked Chris Hart, his wingmate.

"Freighters." He touched a key on the podium and a holographic representation of a standard bulk freighter with Type A containers floated in mid-air before him. "We're not entirely sure the exact composition and type of freighters, but we believe them to be anything from the standard bulk type to Mobquets. We're also not sure of the composition and number of an escort force, but standard Imperial doctrine dictates that a pair of CEC Corvettes and some long-range heavy assault starfighters, such as the standard Assault Gunboats, will accompany them. Yes, Angel?"

Jeni put down her hand and cleared her throat slightly. "What's the objective of the mission? Deep strike?"

"No, actually, it's capture and recovery." There was a slight murmur from the pilots assembled and Chris had to clear his throat in order to bring everyone back to attention. "The reason as to why it's a C&R mission is because of the cargo; conscripted slaves. We've been informed that the Empire, feeling that their manpower in the sector is low, has decided to bolster their workforce with conscripted Wookiees; the New Republic, to say the least, is not about to let it happen, and we've been selected to be the ones who'll take the Imperial slime running the convoy out."

Rob cleared his throat slightly to get Chris' attention and then gestured to the podium. Chris took the hint and brought his focus back onto the subject at hand. "Our mission is to interdict the freighters and to prevent them from entering hyperspace. To do this, we'll do flybys of the command section, letting them know we mean business, and, if need be, we'll blow out their sublight engines. We are not to destroy their hyperdrive unless it is a critical situation; the sublights can easily be repaired by field mechanics, but hyperdrives are something else entirely."

Chris took a step back form the podium and sat down as Rob came forward. "That's the basics of the operation. We're going in, suppressing any combatants, and then interdicting the convoy while boarding craft deal with the crews aboard the freighters. Elements of the Fifty-Third Marine Expeditionary Unit will oversee the capture operation while we maintain a perimeter defense. Oh, and one last thing to mention; this convoy was requested by the new commanding officer of the Sixteenth Imperial Fleet… Admiral Orlando West."

Chris snapped his head up instantly and stared at Rob's expression. Save for the newest members, everyone in the room had experience dealing with West. However, he was not a full admiral at the time, but apparently he had found a way to gain favor with Isard.

"I know that it must be a surprise to most of you, but please try to focus on the mission at hand. We leave tomorrow morning, Oh Four Hundred, so make sure all of you get a good night's sleep. Dismissed."

Chris stood up and thought about turning towards the doors at the rear, but instead walked towards Rob and snapped to attention. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Knock it off, Chris," responded Rob. "Say what you want and get on with it."

"Why didn't you inform me about West when you went over the details for the operation with me? Surely you don't think that this mission is exactly a cut-and-dry milk run, not if he's the one who specifically requested for the convoy. There has to be an angle."

"I agree that there is certainly an angle, but unless we know what that angle is, we cannot effectively combat it. So, instead of trying to come up with a solution to a problem that we don't know, I believe it is better to focus on the problems that we do know about." Rob sat down in a chair and propped his feet up on the holoprojector. "The result is, in any case, that we have to attempt to liberate those slaves. Abolition of slavery has always been one of the driving forces for the Rebellion and the Republic, and the fact that Empire considers non-humans to be inferior is one of the biggest reasons why we want to bring an end to their corruption."

Chris blinked for a moment as he took a seat himself. "I didn't know you were a philosopher, Colonel."

"I'm not; I find the whole thing to be rather skewed and a waste of time. I am, however, a man who stands true to his beliefs, and would do almost anything for them." He stopped for a moment and then took a good look at Chris. "You sure you don't want to be Tactical Officer anymore?"

"No, thank you. And next time, please, don't ask me to give another briefing."

"Just wait until I make you XO," said Rob with a grin.

"That's not even funny."

Rob pulled back on his lever and returned to normal space with a slight jerk, the white tunnel fading into single points of light against a black curtain. He swung his flight stick around and brought the X-wing to the port slightly, making sure to give enough clearance so the rest of the squadron could reenter normal space smoothly. Normally there wouldn't be need to worry about the proximity to one another, but during the ambush at Anaxes, one of the Reds had accidentally bumped Rob's craft after the microjump, and ever since Rob had made sure that they gave plenty of margin for error.

"Squadron, Lead. Flights One and Three, we'll be hitting the combatants as soon as they arrive. Flight Two, you're in charge of interdicting the convoy until we're finished with the combatants. Please try and be somewhat diplomatic, Six."

"I'm always diplomatic, Lead," replied Chris Layne.

"I'll be sure to note that in my report. Lead, out."

He surveyed the space around him again, noticing how utterly barren it looked without anything taking up residence, such as an asteroid field or a planetary body. He used to enjoy such emptiness when he was a cargo runner, but now he regarded such open space as a prefect place for a timed ambush; with no places to hide behind or weave in and out of, a dogfight could become a death sentence for one of his pilots.

Of course, it also levels the playing field; no Imp pilot can use cover, either.

A series of monotone beeps from Twitch drew his attention back to reality and he watched his sensor readouts register several new contacts, all of them with hostile IFF codes. He gave a sardonic grin to himself and then brought his fighter around to orient himself to the new targets. "Squadron, Lead," he said again into his headset. "New contact alert, reading two CEC corvettes, two CEC modified corvettes, and a full squadron of Assault Gunboats escorting twenty freighter craft of various classes and types. Break and attack. Lead, out."

It didn't take long for the Imperials to notice that they were not alone, and a full flight of gunboats broke off their escort and headed towards the New Republic fighters. Rob checked his threat display and saw that it wasn't registering any missiles from the enemy ships, but that didn't mean they didn't have any. He hoped they didn't, as dodging missiles tended to add to the time spent in combat—not to mention the mortality rate of his pilots—but he would just have to wait and see for himself.

He selected the lead gunboat as his target and swept his targeting reticule over it passively. The closing distance between the two groups was still at least two kilometers, but it was enough of a distance to actually be worried about the prospects of enemy fire.

Sure enough, a few seconds later, the two groups got within maximum fire range and a display of green laser lights lanced out towards the X-wings, who aptly dodged the incoming maelstrom. Rob grinned at the exchange, momentarily reliving one of Neill Magill's lectures about combat tactics. The man had stated—and quite correctly, Rob assessed—that it was best not to open up fire at long range, because the chance of hitting something substantial was virtually nonexistent; Instead, it was best for the enemy to waste their time with such a show of force while they got closer, making it much easier to score critical hits along their shields and hull.

The opposing forces finally came within what Rob considered "acceptable range" of one another and the X-wings opened up with a full salvo of red fire against the blackness of space. Several of the shots scored hits against the shields covering the wings of the gunboats, and at least one of the Imperials broke off in and effort to minimize the damage done to him.

Rob pulled back on his flight stick and came in behind the pilot, lancing the gunboat's aft shields with a heavy volley of laser fire. It didn't take long for the shields collapse in the rear quadrant, and Rob didn't waste any opportunities; he switched over to torpedoes, fired off one, and then broke off to get out of range. The gunboat soon exploded into an expanding cloud of metallic debris and the red dot disappeared from his sensor screen. "Scratch one."

"Make that two, Lead," came Jamie's voice over the squadron channel.

Rob glanced to his right and saw that his wingmate had, indeed, disposed another gunboat. Good; the Imperials are in bad shape today, and we're doing well.

A shrill beeping from Twitch brought his attention to the sensor screens and he noticed that the remaining gunboats had broken off their escort of the convoy and were headed towards the X-wings. "Heads up, people, we've got the rest of the welcoming committee coming to greet us. Six, give me a sit-rep."

Static came back over the channel, but soon he heard Chris' response. "They're being a bit uncooperative, Lead. I'm going to give them one more chance to stand down before I start blowing things up."

"Be sure not to blow up anything we absolutely need, Six. Remember; sublight only, no hyperdrives."

"I remember, sir."

The channel clicked off and Rob glanced in the direction of the convoy, watching the cumbersome forms of the freighters and the quartet of corvettes. He frowned slightly and brought up a detailed tactical overlay of the surrounding area, focusing on the available transit points out of the system and into hyperspace. There weren't that many due to the gravitational distortion of some of the nearby star systems—probably one of the reasons why this system had been picked as a transit point for the convoy—but there were more than enough for the Imperials to make use of should they get past Red Squadron.

He was about to click on his headset again when the flight stick was pulled back sharply, hitting him hard in the abdomen. The X-wing flipped end-over-end and Rob cursed loudly in Corellian dialect. "Twitch!" he grunted with exasperation. "This is not… the time!"

The flipping ended shortly, and he was about to launch into another series of expletives until he noticed that a pair of concussion missiles had flown through the area where he had just occupied. They must have been dumbfired, so my threat warning wouldn't pick them up. "Er… Thanks, Twitch, but next time, be a little more gentle."

The astromech responded with the equivalent of a snobbish "hmph!" but didn't attempt to make any more changes to the flight path of the starfighter. Rob gave a sigh and looked at his sensors to locate the gunboat that had shot at him, and found that Jamie was already