Ten years, two months, and twenty-two days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, second month, and twenty-second day after the Great Resynchronization.
(Nine months and seven days since arrival).
Kreb walked slowly across the deck of the upper-floor balcony, from which the notorious "rod" was stretched across the width of the launch bay, on which the TIE "Avengers" were mounted.
The man looked straight ahead, marching as if on parade.
He put his right hand into a glove, securely fastening it and adding an extra element to his jumpsuit.
Then he did the same with the other hand.
As always before takeoff, he glanced at his ship.
A matte black machine, brought to perfection, gleamed its hull in the artificial light of the launch bay.
No other color, not the slightest extraneous element.
Only the blackness of the paint and the metal covered by it.
He slowly climbed the steps of the ladder, reaching the same level needed to board the "Avenger's" cockpit.
He cast a grim glance at the other machines in the squadron.
Hatches sealed, engines running at low power.
Now, according to regulations, all fighter combat systems are being checked – this will confirm the readiness of all squadron machines for departure.
However, no one doubted that there would be no system failures on any aircraft.
His squadron has good technicians.
They adhere to regulations and never do anything wrong in repairs or maintenance.
Kreb looked at the mechanic hurrying towards him, holding out a datapad.
"Sir, all machines are ready for departure," he reported. "No remarks. No unauthorized personnel approached the machines."
"Unauthorized?" Kreb frowned, but it was not visible under his helmet's visor. "What is the point of this clarification, mechanic? It is not part of the standard procedure."
"I know, sir," he replied, smiling nervously. "But last time there was a misunderstanding when a female cadet misled me..."
Good thing he had a helmet on.
And no one could see his facial expression.
"I understand what situation you are referring to, mechanic," Kreb replied, signing the datapad with a stylus. After all, an emergency departure of machines was not foreseen, so the procedure of the mechanic reporting to the squadron commander was observed. "Thank you for your service. Judging by the fact that you are here, did the reprimand motivate you to approach your service and implement protocols correctly?"
"Glad to be of service, sir," he replied. "Yes, that's right. At first, I was offended by you, but then I sorted myself out... Thank you for the lesson, sir. Now I understand how important what I do is to me. I apologize for that incident. I assure you that it will never happen again."
"It won't happen again," Kreb echoed, standing at the edge of the hatch leading into his ship's cockpit. "There's no one to repeat it."
"Sir?" the technician asked a little quieter.
"She died," Kreb explained. "In one of the battles."
"Oh," sadness appeared on the man's face. "I'm sorry for her... I didn't know, I was transferred almost immediately... She was a cheerful girl."
"Yes, she was," a heavenly thank you to whoever put vocoders on the pilots' helmets. No one could decipher the intonations either. "Do you want some advice, technician?"
"Advice?" he was taken aback. "Y-yes, of course, sir. To hear advice from a legend like you is a milestone in life!"
"Then live it happily, technician," Kreb said. "With someone who opens your eyes to the fact that you are not just a killing machine. And besides the control stick and pedals, there is also life beyond the cockpit canopy."
"Oh... I understand, sir," the technician said, embarrassed. "I... I'll try."
"I believe in you," Kreb's phlegmatic face also had a smile that was not visible to an outsider.
But it was enough for him that he himself knew about its existence.
Sitting down in the seat and sealing the cockpit, the squadron commander automatically secured himself with the seatbelts, connected the deflector power, increasing the reactor's output.
After that, he looked at the extreme upper part of the control panel.
A small element that was not part of the design of this type of starship.
A static holophoto.
More precisely, a combined cut from two photographs from the pilots' personal files.
One – his, obtained from the personnel department.
The second had to be obtained from the archive, where the personal files of deceased pilots went.
The man's stern, phlegmatic expression, and the slight half-smile of the Twi'lek girl.
Even in the holophoto for official documents, she was smiling.
Kreb ran his thumb over Tii's photograph, as always unable to say anything.
Only another barely perceptible guilty smile, telling of the understanding of his own mistake.
Time was lost, the past cannot be returned.
After which he looked at his reflection in the cockpit's transparisteel.
A faceless black helmet in a black jumpsuit, whose hands were hidden in black gloves.
The smile slid from his face, an emotionless expression returning, frozen like a mask under the pilot helmet's visor.
Man's time was over.
The moment of the killing machine's return had come.
***
The sight truly amazed with its scale and magnificence.
Sixty-four combat starships.
Of which forty were Revenge-class frigates, the rest Aggressor-class Star Destroyers.
Not the slightest hint of transports or escort starships, no convoy with military equipment.
Above and slightly behind, emergency lights flashed, and the battle alarm buzzer grated on the ears.
But nothing—neither the nervous Captain Tschel nor the Chimera's preparation for battle—distracted me from the crucial moment.
Observing the enemy—that's what I needed now.
From their actions, movements, and maneuvers, one could understand what they knew and what they had realized about being suddenly ripped out of hyperspace in the middle of interstellar void.
After all, there was no object nearby with any gravitational properties capable of doing such a thing.
No black hole, no wandering planet, not even the remnant of a huge meteor, not even a comet with a tail the size of a small moon.
And no ships with gravity well generators were observed, either visually or on scanners.
The question was how they would react further, realizing they were still in an artificial gravity zone.
"Spy droid sensors report that the enemy ships have compensated for their main engines and stopped their forward progress," Tschel reported, trying to control his voice. He partially succeeded. "It seems they've figured out they've entered a minefield."
"Don't jump to conclusions, Captain," I advised. "The enemy commander did what he had to do upon a sudden exit from hyperspace. He doesn't know the specifics, but he's aware of what we did to the New Republic's First Fleet before the attack on Coruscant—he stopped the ships' movement to avoid flying into cloaked asteroids. For now, they don't know there are none there. And the enemy will soon realize it."
"Damn it," Tschel exhaled. "A single Star Destroyer, and a defense station against a whole armada…"
"You're forgetting the Chimera isn't alone here," I reminded him.
"Sir, it's an armada!" the Star Destroyer commander insisted. "I'd advise preparing the main engines at full power and getting ready to break the light barrier. This battle will be the last in our lives, sir, and for the support starships!"
"Prepare everything for a jump… as a backup, Captain," I continued in an icy voice. "Inform the duty pair of ARC-170 scouts to move to vector six, simulating a hyperspace exit. And continue their movement, reporting to the nearest regular fleet patrol about the Dominion border violation until an order to cancel the previous directive is given. I want their transponders on."
The Chimera's commander breathed heavily, not understanding what was happening or how just two long-range scouts could turn the situation in our favor.
As I've already said—delusion is the key to defeat.
"Tschel, calm down," I advised. "You're making the crew and watchstanders nervous. Ensure all flagship systems are ready for the start of the battle. Considering our location under the cloaking field, activate the deflector shields."
Captain Tschel looked at me as if I were insane at first.
Then, having subdued his panic, he slowly exhaled.
The order to release the scouts was given, and soon on the tactical display, we could observe two green dots rapidly appearing from the Chimera's stern, breaking through the cloaking field at full thrust and slowing down.
A quite decent imitation of completing a hyperspace jump.
Which, judging by the enemy's animated chatter, did not go unnoticed.
"Pay attention to their actions," I pointed out that the Revenge-class frigates had opened fire with their turbolaser cannons. But they weren't shooting at our scouts—a distance of one hundred units made it impossible even in theory, and they were firing around their own formation. "The enemy commander is taking measures to prematurely detonate the cloaked asteroids. I think in a few minutes they'll understand what's what and continue their advance with small forces."
"Yes, sir," Tschel's voice was firm.
Good.
"I apologize, sir," he said. "I panicked…"
"But you regained control, didn't you?" I clarified. "Before your panic became detrimental to the entire plan."
"Yes, sir."
"Then make sure this doesn't happen again," I ordered. "We're not running. We'll fight here. And we will win."
"Grand Admiral, but how?" the voice of my flagship Star Destroyer's commander broke, like a teenager's. "Lure them with two ARCs, under the guns of the Chimera and the Golan? As far as I remember, our nearest patrol is near the planet Galaanus in the Korva sector. And they're 'greenhorns,' recently transferred from the Defense Forces to heavy cruisers. We can't hold out!"
And yet, he is too young.
He will have to be taught longer than Pellaeon.
Although, Gilad also faltered before superior enemy forces at first.
I gestured for Tschel to be silent.
He has potential.
More patience is needed for his training and to gain independent confidence.
"Look at the tactical screen, Captain," I ordered, nodding towards the panel displaying data transmitted by the spy drones. "Let's take a look around first before deciding whether to engage or retreat, shall we?"
"Yes, sir," Tschel replied restrainedly, his cheeks flushing from his lack of composure.
"So, we see that the enemy, puzzled by the interruption of their flight, has chosen a waiting tactic," I continued. "They fired into the space ahead of them and made sure there were no cloaked asteroids in front of them. And now they've seen our scouts, and they 'know' for sure that there are observer drones here, which reported the appearance of border violators. This will mean very unpleasant consequences for the enemy if one of our Super Star Destroyers is here; they are clearly aware of at least one." And in the near future, the enemy will send a reconnaissance unit to confirm their assumptions—that there are no cloaked asteroids here. As soon as they are convinced that the path is clear, they will move on to avoid problems with possible reinforcements. I think they are still aware of where our patrols are. And at least they assume what the Galaanus system is like.
Two frigates detached from the enemy ship array, accelerated to cruising speed, and moved in a straight line, occasionally firing into the space around them with turbolaser cannons.
"Note, Captain, that we have a rather intelligent opponent," I commented. "If they had fired mass drivers, they couldn't have expected to hit conditional targets. Only with a high probability could a small projectile damage the cloaking field projector or the detonator. With turbolasers, they achieve roughly the same effect, but without expending their limited ammunition of slugs for mass drivers."
"But these are simple metal projectiles, why save them?" Tschel wondered.
They are precisely copying the Republicans' tactics when they repelled our asteroid launch in orbit around Coruscant.
"Consequently, we can say that the Zann Consortium observed our campaign last year," Tschel stated, drawing the correct conclusion from my words.
"Correct," I confirmed. "That's why, being in a zone of gravitational distortion, they understand that coincidences are by no means coincidental. They believe and want there to be a trap here that they can eliminate to advance further into our territories. By the way, what do you think about the composition of their fleet?"
"These are strike ships," Tschel stated definitively. "The boarding parties are minimal, if present at all."
"And no transport starships in the convoy," I reminded him. "From which we can infer that the task of the first wave is to break through our defensive lines and advance into operational space. Note that there is lively information exchange between the enemy starships, indicating coordination of actions and some confusion among the ship commanders. Conclusions, Captain?"
"They're panicking," Tschel reported. "In conditions of uncertainty—that's understandable."
"Yes," I nodded. "But we can also conclude that the enemy ships, at least the commanders—are not clones."
"How did you figure that out?" Tschel wondered.
"Having cloning cylinders, why create copies of the incompetent?" I inquired. "No, they clone the best. That's what we do, that's what the Empire did, and even more so the Zann Consortium. But the criminals didn't have enough cloning capacity to put the most combat-capable and competent clones on the bridge. And they appointed individual sentient beings to command positions. Who are panicking, coordinating all their actions with the fleet commander."
"Yes, I see," Tschel peered at the data from intercepted enemy radio communications for a few seconds. "The greatest amount of information exchange is with the Aggressor, under the codename 'twenty'."
"That's the flagship," I confirmed. "And the officer on board is giving real-time instructions to his subordinates. I'll venture to guess that it's a clone commanding the flotilla. However, that's not particularly important anymore. The flotilla ships have begun to move, following their scouts. Curious," my gaze was drawn to the fact that the enemy moved forward, strictly along the original trajectory, following the scouts, maintaining their formation. "I expected them to at least try to get out of the artificial gravity zone, or at least send mobile groups to investigate the cause of such an effect. By the way, Captain, did you notice that the enemy sent ships without their own fighter wings against us?"
"That's what bothers me the most, sir," Tschel admitted. "Yes, they have many starships with mass drivers, but not enough for all the fighters the Dominion can field against them."
"It's because the enemy has more than just slugs in their arsenal," I explained.
"Meaning?"
"Rear Admiral Shohashi managed to capture several frigates of this type from Jendolsun," I explained. "It wasn't easy and was quite dangerous for the boarding parties—out of three starships of this type, the enemy managed to destroy two while our droids were boarding them. Only one was saved. And something interesting was found in the mass driver arsenal. In fact, we received similar data from the Mandalorians who captured the planet Flintaria. The ship we gave the Mandalorians from Kal-Thorn was disabled by a single projectile, one meter in diameter and five meters long."
"Did it damage something important?"
"It mangled the entire stern," I explained. "The fact is, as you correctly noted, the Zann Consortium observes our actions and tactics. The idea of loading asteroids with explosives led them to create mass driver projectiles with a charge of very powerful explosives. This is not standard baradium, as one might think—something rare and very effective. And, undoubtedly—quite complex. I think by the time of our counter-offensive, we will already know what's what."
"They turned their slugs into shrapnel?" Tschel clarified. "Quite… unusual."
"On the captured starship, there were less than a third of such projectiles," I explained. "I assume this is how they intend to counter our fighters. Considering that the Zann Consortium doesn't have that many starships capable of hitting us with squadrons, the enemy is betting on these new types of weapons. At least the Rottaran, thanks to this type of ammunition, albeit of the anti-ship class, is no longer worth repairing."
"I recall they also had mass drivers on the Keldabe," Tschel recalled. "The main caliber…"
"Yes, that was the case in the past," I agreed. "But in confrontation with the Zann Consortium, we have nothing to fear from the appearance of Keldabe-class dreadnoughts. At the moment, they pose no threat to us."
"Sir, but…"
"Ah, here's what I was waiting for," my eyes caught the relevant line in the enemy communications data. "The flagship sent a transmission outside the sector. We intercepted the transmission vector and will soon know where it was directed. Inform the scouts to cease their transponder operation and jump from this point."
"Obviously, they were reporting that they encountered gravitational distortions," Tschel speculated. "And reported that there were no asteroid minefields accompanying this anomaly. The scouts are gone."
I saw that myself—two markers, identifying a pair of ARC-170s modernized in the Dominion, disappeared from the tactical monitor.
Given the natural hubbub on the airwaves, one short transmission from an external device would not go unnoticed for a while.
"That's exactly what I'm counting on," the explanation caused bewilderment on the Chimera commander's face.
"But you said there were no asteroids…"
"At their hyperspace exit point—of course," I confirmed, watching as the enemy's forward scouts turned into two fireballs, silently spreading into small debris across space. "No asteroid barriers were planned along the enemy's entry course into Dominion territory. But I didn't say there were no minefields here."
A sarcastic smirk appeared on Captain Tschel's face.
"So they were firing turbolasers, looking for cloaked asteroids, but couldn't hit mines?"
"Why not," I said, leaning back in my chair, stroking the ysalamiri. "The density of the minefield is such that they probably even destroyed some. It's statistically impossible to miss such a densely seeded barrier, even if you try hard."
"But… We didn't see any explosions!"
"Of course," I confirmed. "And we never would have seen them. The 'Perimeter' system is designed so that starships with Dominion transponder signals can pass through it without the slightest problem."
"They're deactivating minefields!" Tschel understood.
"Not specifically them," I explained. "The 'friend or foe' recognition system handles that, signaling the mines to deactivate all systems. As long as a Dominion ship is here, the mines are deactivated. As soon as it leaves the system—they activate. We borrowed this technology from Kuat Drive Yards. They used it to defend a secret hyperspace route to the planet Rothana. We adopted it and improved the system."
All new is well-forgotten old.
Considering that scoundrels in Palpatine's service paid attention to this technology, it is more than worthwhile.
So I decided not to reinvent the wheel, knowing that it had already proven itself well.
The system works, and it's just a matter of having a good recognition system.
It is for this purpose that the defense station is here.
Our recognition system is computer code embedded in the root programs of the central computer.
Every time a starship approaches the metropolitan perimeter control station, the central computer automatically sends its identification code in response to a hidden incoming query from the station, and, more importantly—the starship's specification.
This is an extremely voluminous protocol, containing over a hundred criteria.
If even one does not match—mass-shadow mines will rip the starship out of hyperspace right in the middle of the minefield.
And then the identification problem will be resolved with the nearest patrol.
While the Chimera or another ship in our area was under a hybrid cloaking screen, no signals passed through it, including the transponder, and the minefield was activated and, as intended, guarded our borders, passing precisely along the artificial gravity area.
The ARCs deactivated the mines, allowing the enemy to enter the very center of the minefield, and now, being fifty units away from us, they presented excellent targets.
The number of 'Vengeances' has decreased to thirty ships since the first detonation—after all, one must understand that enemy starships of this type have advanced armor.
"Now, as impartial observers, Captain," I continued, projecting a hologram of the events using data from our spy drones, "we can observe with a high degree of probability the effectiveness of our defensive structures against various types of nearby enemy starships."
And the Zann Consortium's starships, meanwhile, continued to detonate.
The 'Aggressors,' unlike the 'Vengeances,' held up poorly against the barrier mines.
"Note, Captain," I pointed to the statistics that the Chimera's central computer was summarizing for us. "Our barrier mines, equipped with magnetic grapples and short-impulse engines, are incredibly effective specifically against destroyers."
The 'Aggressors' were torn apart as if a huge invisible child had decided to tear off 'unnecessary parts' from the somehow beautiful starships.
Stiffeners and armor arrays, engines and weapons, frames and bulkheads—all of it exploded, twisted, and deformed.
"The large hull surface area allows more mines to attach," Tschel nodded understandingly.
"Precisely," I continued. "In our mines, we combined the developments of Balmorra, Warlord Zinj, and the Kuati, creating an absolute weapon for destroying ships made of metal. A mine brought to combat readiness, upon detecting a starship that does not meet the recognition criteria as 'friendly,' rushes towards it, setting its course with a short engine burst. The absence of resistance in a vacuum guarantees that the mine will reach its target—the ion charges with which the mines are equipped detonate in close proximity to the enemy, deactivating their engines. The impulse the mine receives delivers it to the target, after which the magnet attaches it to the hull, making it impossible to detach. Of course, unless we intervene. But we won't."
"Ion charges," Tschel groaned almost imperceptibly. "And I couldn't understand why the enemy wasn't moving properly."
"The primary task of the mine is to immobilize the enemy starship and deprive it of communication means," I explained. "Currently, engines and communication antennas, long-range and active scanners—are destroyed. You undoubtedly noticed that silence has fallen on the airwaves?" Tschel, raising his eyebrows, indicated that his attentiveness had not been at its peak this time. "At the same time—note that our devices rarely explode individually. The mines are set for collective detonation—the minimum criterion: when there are two or more. This increases the shock wave and detonation force, causing greater destruction inside and on the starship's hull."
"The Aggressors are destroyed," Tschel stated.
"Yes, they are not the most worthy opponents for mines," I said. "But note how effective the Vengeances' mass driver cannons are against them."
And indeed—the 'Vengeances' held their ground not only due to their enviable durability but also because of firing their cannons.
"Shrapnel," I was pleased by Captain Tschel's correct statement. "As with fighters, it allows enemy ships to increase their area of effect."
"That's right," I agreed.
The mass drivers, spitting out reduced versions of the projectiles that disabled the Mandalorian Rottaran at enormous speed, indeed conducted effective barrage fire.
"This is precisely why this test is set up, Captain," I explained. "You can't create a weapon and expect it to have no weaknesses."
"So the mass driver isn't entirely useless," Captain Tschel remarked. "As a means of breaching minefields, or as an anti-aircraft gun…"
"Consider the energy costs for operating such installations, the volume of artillery magazines, comparable to the number of shots our anti-aircraft guns make during battle, the danger posed by the bomb-shells stored in one compartment…"
As if in proof of my words, several frigates detonated simultaneously on the hologram.
"Pay attention to the detonation sites," I said, zooming in on the detailed hologram. "The mines detonated the artillery magazines. The ships literally vaporized."
"And in case of a tanker detonation with a tibanna turbolaser battery, we would lose only the battery and a piece of the hull," I continued. "The Vengeance has a reactor with an output power close to those installed on the Victories. But with its help, the Zann Consortium engineers managed to power six mass drivers and two turbolaser batteries. And our specialists—over a hundred turbolasers and lasers. It seems to me that such mathematics does not require more thorough comparative analysis."
"And yet, proponents of turbolaser artillery would find a few more positive points," Tschel stated. "For example—higher rate of fire than terbolasers."
"To ensure that, a reliable barrel cooling system is necessary," I explained. "The Zann Consortium uses carbonite for this. Not a cheap and not entirely effective means. But even with its use, mass drivers have a slightly higher rate of fire than lasers and turbolasers."
"By twenty percent, sir."
"But the projectile launch speed is an order of magnitude, or even two, lower," I countered. "It's almost impossible to dodge a turbolaser shot. A laser shot—with sufficient skill. A mass driver shot—you can only dodge if the stars align favorably."
Tschel did not answer.
He, like me, watched the beating of the Zann Consortium's fleet, whose numbers were melting before our eyes.
"Sir, may I ask a question?"
"Of course, Captain," I replied.
"Shouldn't we take prisoners?" he asked. "Capture trophies?"
"We don't need that, Captain," I replied. "We already have everything we need to defeat the enemy. Moreover—the Zann Consortium doesn't know it yet, but their attack has already failed. We are destined for victory—the only question is at what cost—excessively little blood, or just a little."
"The number of mines is decreasing," Captain Tschel stated, pointing to the tactical display. "The enemy still has ten frigates in a relatively combat-ready state, moving towards the opposite side of the artificial gravity zone from us."
"That's right, Captain," I agreed. "The enemy realized that the minefield in their immediate vicinity is thinning. Therefore, those starships that can still move are hurrying to leave the dangerous zone and go to faster-than-light speed. But there's a nuance."
"What, sir?" Tschel became interested.
"The minefield has worked, and the mass-shadow mines have expanded the artificial gravity area," I explained. "Not much—just ten units in each direction. But, believe me, it will be enough for our enemy to be completely routed."
Tschel looked at me as if he wanted to ask something, but after a second, thinking, he decided not to spoil the surprise for himself.
"Today is an educational day, Captain," I said, watching as the five Revenge-class frigates abandoned by their comrades, immobilized, self-destructed using the self-destruct system. "We have clarified for ourselves the strengths and weaknesses of the 'Perimeter' defense system—at least this section of it. We have learned that enemy ships can be commanded by ordinary sentient beings, prone to panic. We have confirmed our assumptions that the enemy strikes at the path of least time expenditure for flights. And now we are observing that starships not controlled by Zann Consortium clones are still self-destructing to avoid becoming subjects for study and trophies. This is very valuable information about our enemy. For—" I looked at the chronometer, "—one hour of battle without personal participation in the firefight, we have gained a huge amount of information about our enemy."
"As have they about us, sir," Tschel stated, pointing to the Zann Consortium starships that had already almost reached the far boundaries of the artificial gravity zone from our position.
"Let me remind you—the enemy is deprived of communication means, Captain," I said. "All they reported to base was the presence of an artificial gravity zone here. Possibly—that they were attacked. But by the time they understood what was what—their scanners, engines, and communication means were already inoperative."
By the way—a not unimportant fact of this revision.
Scanners and communication means are disabled on all enemy ships.
Engines—as seen with the leaking Revenge-class frigates—not on all of them.
Another drawback has been identified.
There is something to work on.
As an immortal military commissar once said: "We will turn your ailment into a feat."
"Those who survived this battle will definitely report everything they know to their commanders," my flagship Star Destroyer's commander explained his rather obvious thought.
"Yes, of course," I agreed. "That's why they are in such a hurry to get away from here. They are glad they survived. And their self-preservation instinct has dulled so much that they don't see the danger."
"Danger, sir?" Tschel wondered.
"The 'Perimeter' system does not have a single staffing form, Captain," I explained. "It is multifaceted. Each passage into the Dominion is blocked in its own way. The technologies are the same, but the combination of the 'pie' is different everywhere."
"Why complicate it so much?" Tschel was taken aback.
"So that those who attack us and encounter no visible obstacles or threats ahead of them will tell their comrades that there is nothing to fear," I explained, allowing myself a slight smile. "In fact, our enemy recently informed the other groups about this. And now those who will attack our strategically important systems will learn that the security of the Dominion metropolitan perimeter is 'excessively exaggerated'."
Tschel frowned so much that even Yoda's thoughtfulness would be honored.
"When they entered the system and moved forward, you said there were no mined and cloaked asteroids in front of them," he said slowly. "And you weren't lying—because there was a minefield there, into which you lured them. Now the minefield is thinned, but they don't have the strength to continue the attack on the target they designated for themselves."
"Correct, Captain," I approved the Chimera commander's deductions. "They are sentient beings overcome by panic. Who have survived the nightmare of extermination. They are emotionally and physically exhausted. In your opinion, what will they do in such a situation?"
"Retreat," a spark of intrigue lit up in Tschel's eyes. "But for that, they need to get out of the artificial gravity field in the opposite direction, as the clearest from mines."
"That's what they're doing," I confirmed.
"But the boundaries of the field have been expanded by the mass-shadow mines activated when they illegally crossed our border," Tschel's voice held the excitement of a scientist building a rigorous scientific theory from scraps of information.
"Correct," I agreed.
"You said that each section of the 'Perimeter' is composed differently from another," the Chimera commander continued. "But they are equipped identically in each section of the border."
I didn't bother to clarify that the 'Perimeter' is a 'pie' of dozens of layers, added month by month, and the combination of defense lines is chosen by the border sector commandant.
After all, today we were testing a scenario where the enemy broke through all previous defense lines and was caught only at the last one.
But it's too early for Tschel to know this.
"Everything is correct, Captain," now even I am interested to see what conclusion the young man will reach.
"So, each section has mines, stations, and cloaked asteroids," Tschel said.
"All correct, Captain."
"The station is to our port side, the minefield is in front of us, but when the enemy was moving towards us on a counter-course, you said there were no cloaked, mined asteroids in front of them," Tschel looked at me with the gaze of a victor, and received an affirmative nod from my head. "Because when the enemy ships exited hyperspace, the cloaked and mined asteroids were behind them!"
"Precisely, Captain," I applauded the man softly. "We allowed the enemy, against their will, to exit hyperspace into territory that lay between the minefield and the asteroids."
"But the activation of the minefield expanded the artificial gravity zone, and now this territory is gone," Tschel said triumphantly, looking at the hologram on which the enemy ships had already exited the artificial gravity zone. "And now they…"
"It would be better for you to demonstrate it," I said, switching the tactical monitor image on the armrest.
Instead of diagrams and schematics, a highly zoomed-in picture appeared—a live broadcast from one of our spy drones.
At first, nothing happened, and then…
After exiting the artificial gravity zone, the hyperdrive needs some time to accumulate a charge for the subsequent jump through space and time.
A very short time.
In 1973, the film "Sannikov Land" was released in the Soviet Union.
The brilliant composer Alexander Zatsepin wrote the music to the magnificent words of the author Leonid Derbenyov.
And a song titled "There is Only a Moment" was born.
And there are beautiful words there:
"There is only a moment
Between the past and the future
It is this moment
That is called life."
The enemy ships had only a moment of life, between exiting the artificial gravity boundaries and their hulls, battered and deformed, unwillingly breaching the cloaking field's shell.
As the hulls of enemy starships crossed the boundaries of the cloaking fields, the detonation conditions for raidonium were met.
And those who survived the beating on the minefield were torn to shreds, turned into interstellar dust.
"That's all, gentlemen," I commented on a few flashes in which, for a moment, the colossal asteroids appeared, each the size of a destroyed frigate. "The first act of our performance is complete."
"What are the orders, sir?" Tschel inquired briskly. "Will the 'Chimaera' head to another system?"
"Why?" I raised an eyebrow in surprise. "We have destroyed a large grouping of the treacherous enemy through our efforts. Naturally, we are staying – others will arrive soon."
"Others, sir?" Tschel blinked.
"Of course, Captain," I smiled. "The commander of the lost flotilla did us a favor."
"By contacting the other starships beyond this territory?" the commander of my flagship clarified.
"Precisely, Captain," I smiled. "Trapped, the rodent rushed towards the treat, not noticing that its neck had already kissed the blade of the guillotine. And, moreover, Captain. Given their failures on other fronts, I foresee that the warlord of the 'Zann Consortium' will throw all his forces at us in this direction. Defeats make people myopic and eager to finally achieve the planned result. Even at any cost. This is where we will destroy them all."
I don't know why, but Tschel shuddered all over.
Twice.
"Change of plans," Jerid announced, entering the bridge of his flagship. "We're heading for the Korva sector. The third smuggler's route."
"Understood, Admiral," the ship's commander responded languidly – a tall Nautolan, on whose tattooed skin one could trace the chronology of his detentions in the galaxy's harshest prisons.
As well as the crimes he committed.
Murders.
Robberies.
Piracy.
Slave trading.
Human trafficking.
Child trafficking.
Organ trafficking.
Child organ trafficking.
Cannibalism.
Anthropophagy…
The rest of the tattoos were hidden under his sleeveless vest, and Jerid clearly didn't want to know what else was there.
Frankly, he didn't care – this cutthroat kept the crew in line excellently and controlled their every step.
They committed nothing that went beyond the bounds of what was permissible for cutthroats from the 'Zann Consortium's' combat wing.
And the rest didn't concern Sykes.
"Did something happen?" his protégé asked, smoothing her peculiar weapon dangling from her belt.
"Too much of everything," Sykes snapped. "Flotillas one through three, and ten through twelve, are destroyed."
"How so?" his interlocutor wondered.
"We were expected, isn't that clear to you yet?" Sykes asked.
"Banta puudu," the ward hissed, clenching the grips of her weapon out of habit. "Zann will be displeased."
"He will be furious," Jerid specified. "And this time, a simple disciplinary talk won't suffice."
"This time, he'll destroy us for the failure," the black-haired woman pursed her lips, reflexively touching the nearest severed part of her body. "All of us who are involved in the failure."
"There is only one option," Jerid said. He didn't ponder for long. "We must attack with all our might in one direction. I have already ordered the other detachments and flotillas to move in our direction. Instead of fifteen scattered strikes, there will be only..."
"Two?" the woman supposed.
"Two," Sykes shook his head. "Mieru'kar – they will start there first – and Korvo. We will gather the forces of the first and second waves, concentrate them on fulfilling all the set tasks for the 'assault' and 'occupation' units. The only chance to survive is to capture both strategically important enemy systems and hold them. If we achieve this, Tyber's wrath will be much milder than if we achieve nothing."
"But it won't save us from his fury," the protégé winced.
"I'm an optimist, so I wouldn't count on that," declared the commander of the 'Zann Consortium's' combat wing. "Our losses already exceed what was planned. If we lose the remaining forces too, he'll have to postpone the attack on the eastern grouping. And he's already been delaying it for too long. He won't tolerate another failure. If we lose, we can shoot each other with disintegrators. Because hiding from Zann's wrath is impossible. So do what you must, and let fate decide. Contact our operational base – they have a day to send all transport ships to us."
"Consider it done, Jerid," the woman smiled nervously. "Honestly, I'd rather run away."
"Yes," the man nodded. "You – perhaps. You're used to it. I have a different ideology."
"Victory or death," the interlocutor recited with displeasure.
"Yes, Maris," the warlord added a little quieter, looking her straight in the eyes. "Victory first. Then death. We can't count on a better outcome."
The black-haired woman with pale skin shivered, realizing that this arrangement did not suit her.
Death had never been part of her plans.
But her mentor, who dreamed of making her a field commander, better not know about this.
She would always find a use for her talents.
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: Granulan