The 13th Sectoral Army headquarters had been buzzing like a disturbed hive since early morning.
Our gathering with the officers had ended close to dawn—around five o'clock local time. And by eight, an urgent call was already waking me.
"General Dougan," the Moff's adjutant looked agitated and spoke quickly. "An emergency meeting at army headquarters in half an hour. Your attendance is mandatory. Senior Clone Commander Nyx has been notified."
Without giving me a chance to respond, the officer disconnected.
It took me a couple of minutes just to come to my senses. Another to get out of bed. On the third attempt, I even managed to pull myself together with the help of a light meditation.
Turning on the comlink, I contacted Nyx, who answered immediately and promised to pick me up on a speeder bike in ten minutes. Damn soldiers. They're always on time.
Habitually donning my armor, I climbed out of my compartment in the command staff quarters with a heavy head. The neighboring compartments were occupied by Nadia and Kira. While I was having a long talk with the navy men yesterday, the girls were busy placing the legion. They returned the wounded to service, quartered the clones and the militia, and organized food and rest. The ARCs and Nyx, who didn't participate in the late-night conspiracy, saw to it that the army supply officers didn't close their eyes until the remnants of the Convincing's crew and additional squadrons arrived on board my Hammerheads.
When Nyx and I arrived at the headquarters, hidden in ancient rocks, quite a crowd had already gathered. Staff officers were scurrying back and forth as if lathered; an atmosphere of anxiety hung in the air. Every now and then, I caught sight of yesterday's acquaintances. However, the tense situation didn't allow for even a minute to stop and talk.
"Do we know anything?" I clarified with Nyx. The clone, with whom I shared command of the legion and the fleet, walked quickly beside me.
"Absolutely nothing, General," he said.
Officers scurried past us, trying to build theories on the fly about what had happened and the reason for the urgent meeting, but they couldn't suggest anything concrete.
Proceeding into the spacious assembly hall, which had clearly seen larger crowds, I noted that the seats were arranged in a semicircle. In the center was a massive holographic terminal, similar to the one I had seen on Odessen. On the other side of the projector was a massive table where Moff Bylur, Intelligence Chief Darill, Logistics and Personnel Chief Major Dialo, and Vice Admiral Var were already sitting.
I noticed Pellaeon and Kreevz sitting in the front rows. Behind them were a dozen officers unknown to me, with rank bars ranging from lieutenants to captains. Curiously, the officers huddled together based on their ranks. Among the former, I noticed my recent acquaintance—Lieutenant Rogriss. He sat apart, even from his fellow lieutenants. Seeing the young man recognize me, I gave him a barely perceptible nod of greeting.
A few minutes after our arrival, as soon as the commander of the flagship Venator appeared in the hall, a massive armored door lowered, sealing the entrance.
Bylur nervously activated the holoprojector, which displayed a detailed map of the 13th Sectoral Army's area of responsibility.
"Officers! All 13th Sectoral forces have been placed on high alert! Confederate forces have launched an offensive across the entire galaxy! I am forced to inform you that the remains of Jedi General Ares Nuun's squadron have been discovered in the Phui system. His fleet was completely destroyed; there are no survivors. Sectoral command is concerned. We do not know what weapon the enemy is using. The Jedi Order assures us that they have sent search forces to catch and destroy this new CIS weapon. However," the Moff chewed his lips, "this is not the first search group. You know the result. Therefore—you must triple your vigilance."
He waved his hand, and a holographic map of a specific planet appeared.
"Monastery," he explained. "The battle in Filve orbit has ended. The planet is under our control. Thus, we completely control the space along the section of the Corellian Trade Spine from Christophsis to Pakvepor. CIS forces have retreated to Monastery, where Rear Admiral Strickland is leading a desperate battle."
Appreciative voices were heard in the hall. A victory, finally.
The Moff waved his hand, and another image of a planet appeared.
"The siege of Ryloth has ended with the defeat of General Ima-Gun Di's naval group from the 14th Sectoral. Fortunately, the General managed to save his forces by landing a massive ground force on the planet. All seven Acclamator-class ships were lost. The remaining five Venators are retreating to our system to regroup. They will arrive by the end of the day. Major Dialo, you must ensure the ships are repaired as quickly as possible."
The officers whispered, discussing the news. The neighbors' losses were, to put it mildly, depressing.
"What about the General's light forces?" one of the lieutenants inquired.
"They were completely destroyed."
Everyone turned their gaze back to the Moff. Ignoring the assembly, Bylur waved his hand again. The map of the Ryloth system was replaced by another.
"Command considers it unacceptable to lose General Ima-Gun Di's grouping. According to available information, he has forces of about thirty thousand clones. Sectoral command is developing an operation to restore control over Ryloth. Our forces will take a significant part in the upcoming operation."
The assembly grew noisy.
"Silence," Admiral Var called for order. In turn, he addressed the Moff. "Sir, we do not have sufficient forces for such full-scale operations in space."
"I have managed to get additional forces allocated to us," the Moff said proudly. "In twenty-four hours, an armada of thirty ships will arrive. Captain Darill, the floor is yours."
The intelligence officer stood up, smoothing his mustache.
"We have been allocated ten Dreadnought-class cruiser task groups," a murmur of disappointment rolled through the hall. "These ships have undergone modernization and carry two ARC-170 squadrons each. We plan to use them for the defense of the strategically important worlds under our control, thereby freeing up our newest ships for the planned attack."
"General Dougan," the Moff called my name. "Your task is getting more complicated." The Moff pointed to the hologram of a planet. "This is Ukio. An important agricultural world in our sector. Currently, it is controlled by large enemy forces. Your task is to escort transports to the destination, after which—strike Ukio and capture the planet."
A whisper went through the assembly.
"Are your ships ready?" he said with a light smirk.
"Yes, sir," I bowed briefly. "The remnants of the Convincing's crew have filled the fleet's personnel shortage. Admiral Var gave the order, and we received a complement of starfighters. My fleet is ready to perform the assigned task. What will be the orders regarding the ground operation?"
"At your discretion," the Moff cut him off. "But the planet must remain ours."
"Then a ground assault will be necessary," I said confidently. "I will need equipment according to the roster, and even beyond it." Seeing the Moff's sour face, I continued: "I have requisitioned the remnants of the 117th Legion to fill my losses. Wounded soldiers of the 204th have also returned to service; therefore, the legion is slightly larger than the standard complement. But not knowing what forces the enemy possesses, it would be better to be safe."
The Moff narrowed his eyes slightly. It was clear he hadn't expected such shrewdness. But he was obviously too embarrassed to give me a dressing down.
"Fine," he noted. "Take everything you need. You deploy in an hour. Captain Darill will supply you with the latest intelligence. The convoy has been formed."
"Yes, there's one more thing," I noted. "To capture Ukio, I'll need a ground landing force. And the Hammerheads aren't very suited for that."
"Your suggestions?" the Moff grunted.
"Captain Pellaeon could easily deliver my forces to Ukio," I didn't hesitate to say.
"Excluded," the Moff objected. "The system will remain practically defenseless."
"The ships from Ryloth will arrive by the end of the day," Var reminded him. "A single flagship can guard the system for half a day."
The Moff went silent for a moment, analyzing his subordinate's words. Then he agreed.
"In addition, we will need to strike enemy groupings on Leinurra, Formosa, Aduba-3, and lift the blockade on our garrison on Rhin…"
Half an hour later, the Moff closed the meeting with a parting speech. However, leaving the assembly hall, everyone present understood that the days of peaceful service were over.
***
"You could call that a victory," Pellaeon whispered to the Jedi after exiting the assembly hall.
"We'll see," Dougan answered vaguely. Distracted for a second, he sent a clone to the legion's location with an order—move to the landing pad and load onto the Leveler. As soon as he walked away, the Jedi continued the conversation: "How soon can we deploy?"
"I think we have a couple of hours," the captain estimated. "I've already contacted my senior officer. The cruiser will land within half an hour. We are loading materials for base construction. It's unlikely we'll be lucky enough to send the Leveler back for construction materials."
"Dialo should help us with that," the General said convincingly.
"Here is all the information on Ukio," the approaching Darill handed over an information chip. "The data is a little over a week old."
"Thank you, Captain," the Jedi nodded, slipping the chip into a belt pocket.
"Oh, the Moff has taken a dislike to you," the trio of officers stepped aside to avoid standing in the middle of the human traffic. The intelligence officer looked concerned. "Ukio is not a simple CIS outpost; there are significant forces there. Rumor has it they are commanded by Dooku's new commander—someone named Grievous. He is carrying out a literal genocide on the planet."
Hearing that name, the man winced.
The intelligence officer became interested.
"Do you know anything about him, General?"
"Rumors have reached me," the man answered vaguely. "According to my information, he is a cyborg—the CIS saved his life, making him essentially more machine than man."
"But he hasn't become any less dangerous because of it," Pellaeon noted.
"I doubt Grievous himself is commanding the CIS forces on Ukio," the Jedi noted skeptically. "According to my data, he is behind a new superweapon that exterminated Ares Nuun's fleet."
"Where do you get such information?" the intelligence officer grew alert.
"A reliable source," the man brushed it off.
"And what did your source tell you?"
"A new superweapon," the Jedi lowered his voice. "It's a superdreadnought. It has a massive ion cannon on board. With one volley, it can disable the systems of an entire fleet."
Pellaeon whistled. Some superweapon.
"Can you vouch for the reliability of your source?" It was clear the intelligence officer was interested.
The Jedi only spread his hands.
"Nothing but words," he admitted. "The source reports that Grievous's target will be a medical station in Naboo orbit. I'm not claiming any credit, Captain, so if you want to use this information…"
"I understand you, General," the intelligence officer answered dryly. Checking his chronometer, he cited urgent business and left, blending into the crowd.
"You still have a shortage of junior officers," Pellaeon reminded the man watching the intelligence officer walk away. "And no flagship commander, no fleet commander…"
"Let's solve problems gradually, Gilad," the man asked. "First—let's look into the logistics service…"
***
Looking at the Nu-class attack shuttle frozen on the landing pad, Mara couldn't decide on her feelings. On the one hand, they were finally departing for the active fleet. On the other—it was unclear where, under whose command… The major in the logistics service had only given a direction, without going into details.
"These guys are clearly not simple," Griff noted, pointing to a pair of clones in strange-looking armor painted in black and silver colors.
"Agreed," Teradoc supported his friend. "Unfamiliar armor…"
Clones were scurrying around the landing pad. The Acclamator's massive maw was swallowing rhythmically marching boxes of clones, as well as an inordinate amount of military equipment. Walkers, artillery, speeders… in a thin stream—three abreast, in a long line, militiamen climbed the cruiser's ramp, dressed in practical clothing—green tunics and loose-fitting trousers, with hiking backpacks and blaster rifles at the ready. Young men and women, middle-aged people… every last one was tanned, with short hair styled in military cuts. Some of them wore light body armor. But every single one wore a patch on the right shoulder—a five-pointed emblem with a silver outline and patterns on a black background.
"Guys," a suggestion dawned on Mara. "I have thoughts about our assignment…"
"Midshipmen," a vocoder voice sounded very close by. Startled, Mara turned toward the voice.
Standing before the group were the very clones who had been waiting for them near the shuttle.
"I am ARC Captain Alpha. This," the speaker pointed to the second clone, "is ARC Captain Balda. Welcome to the 204th Legion."
Mara was ready to facepalm as she watched the four boys look at the clones with enthusiastic eyes. Well, yeah. The 204th Legion, the very one that crushed the enemy on Christophsis. Whose General had recently sat at the same table with them… And now they were to join this unit.
"You can admire them later," Alpha cut off her flight of thought. "Quickly onto the shuttle; we're only waiting for you."
***
Unlike the other ships in the fleet, the Wanderer received a command compartment adjacent to the bridge during modernization. Initially, some utility room had been located here, which was ruthlessly cut out and replaced with command equipment. This included the latest tactical holo-terminal, around which Nyx, the new ship commander, and I were now huddled. Despite his youth, I had placed my bet on him, recalling his merits in the Expanded Universe. Of course, he's no Thrawn, but not every one of us is Nakhimov. Someone has to start from the basics.
Also, a holoprojection of Pellaeon remained frozen beside us, whose ship now occupied a spot in the center of our march order. Meanwhile, the captain was finishing his report.
"We are loaded to the brim, General," the captain complained. "I didn't think we could take 200 ARCs on board…"
"War teaches us to adapt, Captain," I smirked, recalling the raid on the warehouses. Thanks to them, as well as the acquaintance with the head of the logistics service, the legion had equipment and spare parts exceeding the regulations by more than twofold.
At that moment, the command compartment doors slid open, admitting five midshipmen accompanied by Alpha.
"Midshipmen Teradoc, Griff, Dreis, Torsil, and Cross," the clone named the arrivals, removing his helmet.
Glancing at the row of young officers, I commanded "At ease!" after which I introduced those present.
"And Flag-Captain—Lieutenant Teren Rogriss," I introduced the Wanderer's new commander. "You are already familiar with him."
Smirking at the midshipmen's bewildered looks, I continued:
"Midshipman Teradoc—head for the Pelta-class frigate following beside the Leveler. From now on, you are the commander of our medical ship. Think of a name for it—a serial number is somehow unflattering. Midshipman Griff," the young man straightened up, even clicking his heels. "You are the new commander of our fleet's reconnaissance and counter-intelligence section. Midshipmen Dreis and Torsil—take command of the flagship's squadrons. And finally, Midshipman Cross," I addressed the girl. Noticing her eyes darting around the room as if trying to memorize what was here, I smirked. "Welcome to the position of Chief of Fleet Operations."
Mara stood with her mouth open. Appointment to such a high post, given her rank, was not just an advance. Similar positions in other units were held by at least career officers with great experience. Whether the ship crews would return home or not depended primarily on a correctly planned operation.
"Congratulations on your appointments," the Jedi smiled. "In an hour, I expect a report from Midshipman Cross on the state of affairs in our fleet. For now—dismissed. Quickly to your battle stations. We depart in half an hour—I advise you to reach the Pelta sooner, Midshipman Teradoc."
Watching the midshipmen rush to execute the order, I met Pellaeon's hologram's gaze. The compartment doors closed, leaving us in a planning environment. The captain, being the unspoken commander of the fleet forces, cautiously noted:
"Will they manage? They're awfully young."
"They must," the Jedi grunted. "Lieutenant Rogriss vouched for each of them with his position and reputation. You weren't given a command bridge assignment back in the Academy just for your pretty eyes."
"Yes, sir," the young officer nodded. Noticing beads of sweat on his face, I said instructively. "Teren, I believe you have a great future. Remember—friendship is one thing, service is another. Do not make concessions—and in the future, your friends will only say 'thank you' to you for it."
"I understand, sir," the lieutenant swallowed. "I won't let you down."
"I'm sure of it, Teren," I patted the lieutenant on the shoulder. Then, staring at the holo-terminal, I said: "Since everyone is gathered, let's discuss what we are going to do with our caravans."
***
Our destination was the world of Nar Kaaga—a border planet of Hutt Space where our caravans—ten massive transports—were to pass under the protection of Hutt mercenaries.
However, instead of a cold marshy world, the fleet's viewports showed a blue orb with tropical continents bathed in crystal-clear oceans, called Rishi. The first and only stop on this journey.
Travel in hyperspace is a complex science. Moving along established hyperspace lanes, one could reach one end of the galaxy from the other in the shortest possible time. But flights along poorly studied routes required significant preparation. And good navigators, for that matter.
Smugglers had long ago laid hundreds of new routes across the galaxy, using them to deliver cargo bypassing official authorities. To save time, or to avoid being spotted by patrols. Or pirates.
Twenty Hammerheads moved in a huge "cocoon" in the Rishi system, where not long ago a battle had taken place for the tracking station on the moon of the planet Rishi. That battle had been a prologue to the battle for Kamino.
Holding ten ancient YT-970 series transports in the center of their formation—rectangular container ships whose holds could easily transport a couple of vehicle corps—as well as our Leveler and Teradoc's following frigate, the fleet dropped speed, bristling with guns and launching one escort squadron from each pennant.
Looking at the formation, I noted the ships in the center were lined up in an "arrow." First the Leveler, followed by the trucks. And Teradoc's medical frigate brought up the rear. The latter still couldn't think of a name for his ship, so with a light touch from me, the Pelta was named the Farriers' Haven. Fortunately, my actual compatriots weren't around. And no one could refute my version that farriers are noble sanitarians of society on my home planet, who honor their duty and place the health of the sick at the center of their interests. I think Russians, hearing this, would appreciate my sarcasm.
At the moment our jump ended, Mara Cross and I were in the command compartment. The girl, still embarrassed by her appointment, was chirping something to me about the estimated time for plotting a new jump—this time to the Hutt planet itself. I, however, was in thought with the crew of a completely different ship.
The door panel let in the Wanderer's captain.
"Jump complete, sir," Teren reported. "The entire fleet is present; no stragglers."
"Wonderful, Lieutenant," I smiled. The tactical holographic projector displayed our march formation, thanks to which our targets couldn't escape the trap they had fallen into.
"Rogriss," I addressed the youth. "You know the plan. Now it is for you to decide—whether you will stay with us to the end—and it could cost you your career and your life. Or act according to your conscience, as befits an officer. Times are such that honor is no longer a marketable commodity."
"Not for me, sir," the young captain shook his head. Checking the reports on his captain's deck, he said: "Everything is ready, General."
"Sir?" Mara said in bewilderment. I hadn't briefed the girl or the other youngsters on what was happening. Details of Operation Kick a Hutt were known only to people loyal to me—the legion command, Pellaeon, and my fleet subordinates. For the others, what was happening was a test of character. Whoever didn't pass it would check how cold it is in a vacuum. The campaign against the Moff was perfect for weeding out the unreliable.
"Declare a battle alert for the ship and the fleet," I ordered. In the same second, buzzers wailed in the air. The lieutenant is as dutiful as ever. "And order boarding parties to be sent out."
Ignoring the bewildered girl, I opened a communication channel.
"Attention to the fleet. This is General Dougan. I have learned that the cargo we are escorting is contraband intended for the Hutts. I order you to take the transports under aim."
"Captain, connect me to the transports," I ordered. A bewildered Rogriss gave the order.
"Attention to the merchant caravan," I said. "Shut down your engines and prepare to admit boarding parties."
***
A plan is good until you start implementing it.
After my statement, naturally, the transports tried to escape. Scattering in all directions, they tried to break through the Hammerhead formation. Turbolaser fire across the merchants' bows didn't bring them to reason.
Grinding my teeth, I gave the order for the starfighters to bomb the escaping ships' nozzles.
ARC-170s fell upon the clumsy traders like a flock of kites, shooting off chunks of their propulsion engines.
After a few minutes, it was all over. Spewing streams of radiation into space, the helpless transports froze in place, filling the airwaves with disordered cursing. Assigning one ship to each transport, I ordered an attack shuttle to be brought around.
"Jam their signals, Teren," I ordered. "Not a soul must know what is happening here."
For the inspection, I chose the caravan's flagship—the one following right behind the Leveler. Pellaeon, contacting me, also joined the boarding party. Dozens of Nu-class shuttles rushed toward their victims to check the holds under the threat of weapons.
I'll admit, I didn't think about the fact that I could end up in a mess with this attack. There were, of course, too few grounds to consider this convoy just another paid voyage. But there was no other opportunity either. Assumptions about illegal cargo were only confirmed by the traders' attempts to flee.
Flying into a small hangar deck, our shuttle took a spot beside a similar one from the Acclamator. Clone squads poured out from the depths of our craft, which, under the leadership of Alpha, Balda, and Nyx, were to conduct the inspection.
"General," Pellaeon, who met me, nodded toward a pair of people meeting us. "The Moff's friends want to chat with you."
"Yeah, noticed already," the pair, seeing me, walked quickly toward us.
"Jedi!" one of them met me with a low shout. "I protest this act of piracy! We are honest traders; you must protect us, not rob us!"
"Show me the one who robbed you," I asked unperturbedly. Seeing both of them falter, I nodded to Pellaeon. "Provide the Captain with the customs declaration and the cargo manifest."
"This is an outrage!" the second one stammered.
"An outrage is carrying contraband while using the fleet's protection," I snapped. "You have five minutes to provide us with the documents. Then—we will take your ships apart bolt by bolt."
***
The results were not long in coming. I don't know about anyone else, but a crew of three Devaronians, two Rodians, a Trandoshan, and a nobody is already a gang in itself. I would have put them out the airlock just because of their faces. Но приходилось мириться.
According to the documents, the transport carried a cargo of construction droids, fresh frozen meat products, some grains, and an entire compartment of scrap metal.
"Well, and what do you need all this good stuff for?" nodding at one of the holds filled with numerous mangled metal structures. Construction beams, trusses, and other nonsense.
"We will sell it profitably in Hutt territory," one of the men stated. Apparently, the leader.
"Oh yeah," Pellaeon smirked into his mustache. "The Hutts are well-known connoisseurs of metals."
The man chose to ignore the remark. As the caravan leader, he accompanied us throughout the ship while the inspection was conducted. On other vessels, their captains did this. Everywhere—the same picture.
The ships were large ovals. Small holds were located in the upper and lower parts, totaling half the volume of the main one, having standard door leaves. In the middle part of the hull, in the left half, was the main cargo hold containing a ramp for unloading. In the front part of the ship—the only landing deck. And in the right part of the ship—all sorts of mechanisms, systems, etc., turning into the aft engines.
Construction equipment in the main hold, and products and scrap metal in the two upper ones. And so—on every ship. Моя чуйка прямо указывала на то, что нам добросовестно пытаются повесить лапшу на уши. Well, one wonders, why load 10 ships with the same cargo and the same cargo manifest? The source of the entire cargo was the little planet Doom-Bradden in the Outer Rim—the 14th Sectoral's area of responsibility. Something was bothering me. Well, it was some kind of nonsense! What was the point of such a strange layout for each of the ships?
Even more questions were raised by the presence of residual traces of radiation in the reactor zone on the ships. This was with the newest ship reactors installed. The ship captains explained that buying such units was a very profitable investment—the ships were no longer young, and the reactors provided by the design had long ago exhausted their lifespan. Therefore, they were replaced with new ones. All ten. On all ten transports. And the residual radiation—well, that was left from the previous reactors. Given that throughout the galaxy, traders sought to minimize their losses and transport costs, operating vessels until the plating literally fell off them, such enormous costs seemed like utter idiocy. This only reinforced the suspicions.
Having considerable service experience, Pellaeon only smirked upon hearing such things. As soon as technicians arrived with scanning equipment, the deception was revealed.
Few officials would want to get a dose of radiation during an inspection by poking around in a reactor's active zone. And why? What dangerous thing can be hidden in a reactor zone where radiation also flickers? Therefore, such a trick always worked.
As it turned out, it was as simple as could be. In two of the ten hulls—the first and the last—there really were the declared devices. Moreover, much more powerful than those declared. Small traps with radioactive elements on each reactor hull created a field blinding any scanners. And forcing those who were not meant to be seen by customs officers and random passengers to sit still.
Slaves. Eight reactor hulls (each of which was like a two-story house) contained almost a thousand "contracted" workers. Predominantly Twi'leks from Ryloth. Several Arcona half-breeds. About a dozen young Wookiees. On each of them was an electric collar, ready at any second to end their life or force them to suffer from pain.
"Holy mother," was all I could say, watching as, having neutralized the traps and the radiation, the clones led the exhausted sentients out of their places of confinement. They were escorted to shuttles, then delivered to the fleet's ships. There they would be fed, given water, and rendered aid. Clothed, finally. Looking at the rags these sentients were dressed in, a lump rose in my throat.
"Nyx beat the information out of them," Alpha approached me, handing over an information chip. "Here is the recording of the confession."
"And in general terms?" Pellaeon inquired. The clone, seeing how close the slaves were passing us, hurried to lead us aside.
"Their client is Graxol Kelvyyn, a slave trader from Ryloth," he explained. "While the Republic and the CIS are fighting, his thugs capture entire families and sell them to the Hutts. There are even Ryloth militiamen here. This shipment is the largest. Most of the proceeds were to go into the CIS command's pocket to ensure further caravans."
"Freaks," I concluded.
"They will be tried," Gilad shrugged.
"Don't hurry," Alpha shook his head. "If you think slaves are the only cargo—you're mistaken."
"What else were they carrying?" the Captain was surprised.
"In the piles of scrap metal—hiding places with ryll and Republic infantry weapons," he added. "Everything lost on the battlefield and in working order—it's all there."
"Clever," Pellaeon grunted. "In such a pile of metal, no scanner will see weapons."
"What are we going to do, General?" Alpha asked.
"Everyone to the brig and turn them over to law enforcement," Pellaeon expressed the most reasonable option.
"Or just shoot them all," I suggested. Pellaeon nearly lost his eyes, looking at me with surprise. Cursing, I hurried to correct the situation: "Record everything properly, Captain. We'll have to put these freaks on trial."
"They deserve life for slave trading and drugs," Gilad noted.
"If they're convicted," I winced. "Do you remember that story about the slave-trading senators? They couldn't even try them—for years they covered for the slave trade, and when they were taken, they were held under house arrest. From where they successfully fled. And now—they are in our enemy's camp."
"But…" Gilad tried to object. "We are a civilized state…"
"Humanity is a good thing," I agreed. "But it's one thing to keep a petty thief in prison, or exile murderers to the mines. And it's another thing to feed these bastards until the end of their days. As for me—into the airlock with all of them and open the outer hatch."
"Unconventional for a Jedi," Gilad evaluated. "You are supporters and guardians of democracy with all its attributes."
"Others might be," I nodded. "But I have big disagreements with them."
***
Ukio met us… unfriendliness.
A Lucrehulk and twenty-four Munificents. Quite a welcoming committee.
"Fleet to battle alert," I ordered. "Launch starfighters."
"Air wings deployed," Teren reported. The Captain stood beside me, staring through the Wanderer bridge viewport at the swarm of approaching starfighters. "Thirteen minutes to contact."
The alarm buzzers went silent in the room, and now one could enjoy the quiet rustle of working equipment and the low talk of operators.
"Are you afraid, Lieutenant?" I caught waves of anxiety emanating from Rogriss.
"Yes, sir," he nodded. "This is my first space battle."
"Mine too, Lieutenant," I smirked. Patting the ship commander on the shoulder, I said: "Don't worry, we'll make it through."
***
We met the enemy's encroaching avalanche of starfighters with concentrated artillery fire. Unlike the CIS ships, the Hammerheads and the Leveler could concentrate fire in the forward hemisphere.
"Two light-minutes to the enemy," an operator reported.
"Multiple explosions among the enemy starfighters," another echoed him.
"Our aviation to focus on defense," I ordered.
The enemy arranged their ships in three lines in three-dimensional space. Each line rose above the previous one. The first, the "base"—ten Munificents; the second—the "layer"—four similar frigates, pairs flanking the Lucrehulk. The third—a full copy of the first.
This tactic allowed the Seps to launch massive waves of starfighters and fire from heavy turbolasers.
I arranged my ships according to the canons of the Eternal Fleet. Overlapping each other with shields, the ships poured devastating fire into the enemy fighters. However, it wasn't very effective. Met by massive volleys of turbolasers and concussion missiles, the enemy starfighters, having suffered significant losses, switched to a maneuvering combat style. Seeking to break through to our ships, the vulture droids did not count their losses.
The Wanderer shuddered, receiving several anti-ship missiles in the side.
"Breach on the lower deck," came from the operators. "Workshops and tech staff quarters damaged. Blast doors lowered, damage localized."
"Sir, will we hold?" Teren asked worriedly. "The Praetorian reports engine damage. We won't hold on just Aureks and…"
"And here they are," I smirked, pointing to multiple targets appearing behind the CIS armada. "Full thrust and move toward the enemy. We need to support our ARCs."
The ARC-170—Aggressive Reconnaissance Corenstar—is a joint development of Incom and Subpro. ARCs have a narrow hull with two large engines on the sides, equipped with opening flaps needed for heat dissipation and shield generation. This same lifesaver gives the fighter additional stability during atmospheric flights.
Unlike other fighters of their time, which were built small, fast, and maneuverable due to the absence of heavy weapons, shields, and hyperdrives, ARC-170s, on the contrary, were large, reliable, and capable of performing long independent operations. And as the icing on the cake—these ships had a launcher with six proton torpedoes.
A massive starfighter attack is a standard CIS tactic. Therefore, an appropriate counter-tactic had been developed.
In our asset, we had twenty mixed squadrons of Aureks and Talon fighters, and thirteen squadrons of unmodified V-19 Torrent fighters. About four hundred fighters. This mobile air wing was meant to hold the surge of the huge armada.
While two hundred ARC-170s made a hyperspace jump to the rear of the CIS ships, which had been unwisely left without proper starfighter cover.
Have you ever seen a massive volley of proton torpedoes? An indescribable sight. Especially when the raspberry-orange torpedo tails were followed by impressive explosions of CIS ships.
With the first volley, the CIS fleet lost every single frigate from the first and third lines. The mass extermination of the frigates had a sobering effect on the CIS force command.
Separated from their starfighters by a good ten minutes of flight, the CIS forces made an attempt at desperate resistance against the second ARC raid. I don't know what drove the enemy, but the last brilliant thought—to flee—visited the commander only before the explosion of the last of the remaining frigates.
Generously ablaze with fires, filling space with clouds of smoke, the Lucrehulk jumped to lightspeed.
The battle for Ukio had begun.
***
Sev'rance Tann stepped aside lightly, almost carelessly, allowing the body of the Jedi she had struck down to fall to the ground in a heap. The body, in which the Force still flickered, received a kick from an elegant boot, rolling down the steps of the ancient structure.
Another one.
The girl closed her eyes, letting the Dark Side flow through her. Her passions, her anger, surged within her body, sharpening her senses.
"Don't hide, Jedi," she said with a smirk, addressing the second Force adept.
He came out from behind the colonnade. Quite a young boy—fifteen years old, no more. A Padawan. An apprentice.
The Chiss looked at him evaluatively. Amusing. So young, yet already powerful in the Force. How sad that he is doomed.
The human gripped a blade of cold blue color in his hands. A mask of anger reigned on his face.
The girl, with elegance instilled by Count Dooku's training, took a combat stance.
With a roar like a wounded animal, the Padawan rushed at her, putting all his anger, rage, and pain for his killed master into his strikes.
The girl smiled barely perceptibly. How simple it all is.
After a couple of minutes, she left his dead body behind her too…
***
Two days. Any well-informed sentient can tell you how many hours, minutes, and seconds that is. However, that is useless information at the moment.
For me, this time seemed like literal hell. It took me exactly two days to enter the Ukio system and take it under control.
To start with—some statistics. Ukio is a well-known agricultural planet located in the star system of the same name in the Abrion sector of the Outer Rim. It lay on the Mandian Trade Route, connecting the planet with Mando, Rishi, and Molavar. I must admit—the planet is very... Earth-like.
Earth-type with light winds, quiet weather, and a mild climate. A temperate climate across the planet's entire surface, which practically didn't change during the year due to a small axial tilt. Three massive continents were cut by hundreds of small rivers, providing giant pastures and arable lands with a natural irrigation system that practically didn't change during the change of seasons. The planet was characterized by low gravity.
Closer to the Republic's victory over the Brotherhood of Darkness, Ukio became part of the Galactic Republic. The former Sith resource world became a significant exporter to the Core Worlds. Two years before the Clone Wars, Ukio withdrew from the Republic. The local leader, bearing the title of Over-Suzerain, was not pleased with the Republic's predatory export duties. It's understandable—few people like it when honest business begins to be robbed on a legislative basis.
And the planet found refuge in the CIS.
However, according to the intelligence officer, Grand Master Yoda managed to persuade the rulers and achieve the return of a valuable raw material partner to the Republic's fold.
However, the CIS fleet, arriving before the Republicans, returned the planet to its control.
In addition, Thrawn once captured the planet, making it his raw material trough. Moreover, he did it masterfully—the locals didn't even realize they had been led by the nose. Eh… I could use an admiral like that…
To my luck, Ukio had not yet acquired planetary shields. And so the landing operation on the planet was not long in coming.
The CIS approached the occupation very responsibly.
There was a massive Separatist base on the planet—a specially built structure with a landing pad, a complex of buildings, fenced with permacrete walls and stationary firing points. By modest estimates, the base area was about five square kilometers. A stationary shield protected the base from orbital or atmospheric bombardment. Before the base's main gates was a permacrete plateau—an equipped landing pad, which we used in the first stages of the operation.
"The clankers prepared well," Nyx evaluated, staring at the base's massive structures bristling with dozens of gun barrels.
The landing on the planet went like clockwork.
Despite the total extermination of the enemy in orbit and the seizure of control over it, the first wave of the landing was carried out by gunships under fighter cover. Cargo variants of the LAAT dropped a dozen AT-TEs for infantry fire support.
The enemy was taken, as they say, by storm. The first wave was landed practically in full view of the garrison. The clankers didn't respond, passively watching. However, as soon as the Leveler's glowing hull appeared in the upper layers of the atmosphere, the droid command came to its senses.
Toward the cruiser rushed several dozen Vulture droids, which were almost immediately exterminated by ARCs and V-wings. This time, the starfighter advantage was on our side. A brief battle in the atmosphere proved to us that the enemy lacked heavy anti-orbital guns like the J-1s we had encountered on Christophsis. This significantly simplified our work.
However, the base could cause us trouble with forty medium turbolasers and a hundred smaller guns with which the perimeter walls were studded. And that's not counting the hundreds of units of equipment that our scouts discovered during reconnaissance.
Nevertheless, the Leveler landed neatly, its landing struts resting on the landing pad. The cruiser's bow, pointed toward the base like a giant arrowhead, lowered its ramp, from where rows of clones descended. As if on parade, the black and silver painted soldiers of the 204th, and the soldiers from the 117th Legion in glittering white armor, left the ship's interior along the central part of the landing ramp, marching in step with blaster rifles at the ready. A thin stream of militiamen descended along the outer part of the ramp.
Our little act of piracy allowed us to unify the weapons of the main and auxiliary troops. The time when inconvenient CIS carbines were in service was a thing of the past.
"Sir," Nyx pointed with a nod of his head to the white ranks of the expropriated 117th Legion soldiers. "Why didn't we make them repaint their armor? Even the wounded from the 204th repainted."
"First, these are not our units—who knows, they might be taken away after this mission," I said. "And second, it would be an insult to those who went through the meat grinder on Christophsis."
"But I wasn't there either," the officer noted, sporting the black color of his armor.
"You're another matter. You are the second person in the legion, after me. It wouldn't do for you to be detached from the group."
"A sort of advance," simplified Baldy, standing nearby. "If you don't live up to the trust—we'll wash it off."
"Something like that," I laughed.
Nyx, stroking his bare skull, smiled, returning his helmet to his head. It was time to pay off the debts.
***
The task of keeping the CIS base intact was not before me.
Therefore, watching a hundred fighters make their third bombing run of the evening on the enemy base, showering Separatist positions with concussion missiles and proton torpedoes, I was completely indifferent to the consequences.
Physical weapons freely penetrated the protective field, turning the space inside the field into plumes of debris and explosions. It was unlikely anything could survive in such chaos, but that didn't matter. Time after time, the fighters made runs, leveling the base with the ground. Only after the flickering shield field disappeared—and consequently, its generator ceased to exist—did I move my troops forward.
Taking a spot on the roof of one of the AT-TE walking tanks, I watched from several meters up as the tanks stretched in a line, with infantry marching in a similar line between them, moving toward the enemy.
Obeying my order, scouts on speeders broke ahead of the formation, being the first to rush into the base's smoking ruins. Moving across an excellently level platform, my troops soon approached the goal of our mission. Being in the direct hit zone, the clones shortened the space with a short forced march and burst onto the enemy territory.
Moving among the burning and smoking debris, the soldiers searched the ruins for an hour, finishing off the few surviving droids. Then, as soon as the object was under our control, the 204th Legion standard fluttered over the surviving part of the headquarters building instead of the CIS banner.
***
The High Council of the Jedi Order had seen better days.
War was not benefiting the Jedi. In six months of war, almost a thousand knights, masters, and padawans had found peace in the Force. Yoda felt their death ever more sharply. The recent CIS counter-offensive led to the appearance of another dozen funeral processions in the Temple.
Council members were almost always absent, performing various missions across the galaxy. Now, besides Yoda, only Adi Gallia was in the Temple's tactical room. Together they were listening to another Jedi's report. To put it mildly, a hysterical report.
Yoda sighed.
"Reinforcements we will send, as soon as the opportunity appears," he promised. With a light movement, the Grand Master turned off the communication system.
"We do not have the resources, Master," the woman reminded him. "Neither people, nor ships, nor…"
"Remember this, I do," the Grand Master grunted angrily.
The logistics problem in the GAR had emerged quite recently—hardly had the second generation of clones entered battle than the sectoral command proved incapable of providing the troops with everything they needed. Jedi from the field requested support, replenishment, provisions, medicines. All of this was in short supply. As soon as something appeared in the warehouses, it was immediately, almost with a fight, snatched up by other commanders.
The CIS did not have such problems. Its mechanical soldiers did not sleep, did not eat, and did not know fatigue or hunger.
And as if that weren't enough, the Senate was stalling further purchases of clones, ships, and equipment. Countless sessions where senators picked over every credit were disappointing. In the absence of Mace, who represented the Jedi in the Senate, Yoda did it himself.
The so-called Loyalist Committee, which included the Alderaanian pacifist Bail Organa and the former Queen of Naboo Padme Amidala, used the uncertainty of most senators to create all sorts of obstacles to continuing the war. As if not understanding that whether CIS droids would step on Coruscant's pavements depended on the results of battles in the field, the senators engaged in more verbal battles.
And now another Jedi General was on the line, once again asking for help with ships and troops. He had failed to break through the droid defense on a remote world. Having lost almost all his ships and attached forces, he had returned to the sectoral army headquarters and from there arrogantly demanded forces for a rematch.
Too many losses. The Jedi had not commanded armies for too long. Almost a thousand years had passed since then. And now military science had to be mastered on the fly. Of course, there were individuals who seemed born for war. Like A'Sharad Hett or Anakin Skywalker. But that was only a drop in the ocean.
It only calmed Yoda that such specialists in the military field could be named by name across the entire galaxy.
The projector blinked, and a new Jedi appeared before the Grand Master's face. The one who had made a lot of noise in the Council, the Senate, and the galaxy in general. Rick Dougan.
"Grand Master Yoda," the man bowed. "Master Gallia. Ukio is back under our control. The enemy squadron is destroyed—only the flagship managed to escape. The ground grouping of troops is also scattered—the Separatist base is almost completely destroyed. We have begun creating our own fortifications and sent envoys to the planet's government."
"Commendable this is, Knight Dougan," Yoda evaluated. Seeing the Jedi wanted to say something, he asked a direct question.
"I and a group of officers of the 13th Sectoral Army have uncovered facts of contraband and slave trading covered by Moff Bylur."
"That is a serious accusation," Adi Gallia warned. "Do you have evidence?"
"Certainly," the man smirked, leaning over to insert a chip into the holo-terminal on his side. "Here is all the information we obtained—testimony of former slaves, ship crews, and their leadership. At the moment, they are all with us, as I simply have nowhere to put them—the transport ships are disabled. We will try to tow them into the planet's orbit. We can't let the goods in the holds go to waste, can we?"
Yoda, quickly scanning the lines of text, grew stern. A Moff covering slave trading. Using the fleet to guard merchant caravans. A flagrant fact. Which could also prove immensely dangerous if made public.
"Your evidence is substantial," Yoda admitted. "We will inform the Chancellor of this and take measures for Moff Bylur's arrest. For now—stay on Ukio."
"Secure your position on the planet and organize the defense," Adi added. "We cannot lose it again."
"As you command, Masters," the Jedi bowed and added. "My fleet needs reinforcement with starfighters and light ships. Besides twenty Hammerheads, one Acclamator, and one medical Pelta, I have no more ships. In fact, we are defenseless against enemy fighters—the battle for Ukio showed the lack of the Hammerheads' small air wing. However, there are some thoughts on the issue of ensuring the security of the planet and the entire region."
The Council members silently exchanged looks.
"We are listening carefully, General," Gallia said again, deciding to take over part of the conversation. This knight… A quite successful commander, but the events around him were, to put it mildly, alarming.
"We are very close to Kamino and Rothana," hearing the planet's name, Yoda narrowed his eyes. Rothana—the biggest secret of Kuat Drive Yards, where weapons, equipment, and ships for the Grand Army of the Republic were forged in secret from everyone. The Separatists were searching for this planet but had achieved no result. And only Council members and a select few in the government and army knew of the planet's existence. "I would suggest organizing a large military base on Ukio or Rishi, which, in case of a repeat attack on Kamino and Rothana, could provide support or take part of the hit. In addition, it will bring stability to the sector and help us control Ukio from subsequent attempts to return the planet to CIS control. Furthermore, we can organize food supplies to nearby armies from here—this will reduce the load on food convoys from the Core Worlds, replacing them with shipments of weapons, equipment, and gear."
Adi Gallia glanced at the Grand Master. The thoughts expressed by this knight sounded logical and well-founded. Dougan was showing concern not only for his unit, but also for the 13th Sectoral and nearby armies. Behavior worthy of a Jedi, yet so rarely found even among masters, not to mention knights.
"Your plan is approved, Knight Dougan," the Grand Master nodded. "Prepare the necessary documents—we will try to help you with people and equipment."
"Everything is already prepared, Master," the man smiled, sending another file to the Temple. Yoda glanced at the woman Master with a smile.
"Permission to act you have," Yoda signed the Jedi's document and sent it back. "May the Force be with you."
"And with you, Masters," the knight bowed once more and disconnected.
"And what was that just now?" Master Gallia voiced her thoughts. "Did he know in advance that we would agree?"
"This, one should not rule out," Yoda admitted. "Look at him closely, we must."
The Grand Master inserted an information chip into the slot, copying the information about the Jedi investigation onto it.
"Show this to the Chancellor, we should," he explained. "The decision to remove the Moff, he must make."
***
Well, the carte blanche is received. I looked away from the holo-terminal.
Standing behind me, Pellaeon, Nyx, Baldy, and Cross waited silently for my comments. Alpha and a squad of clones were paying a visit to the planet's ruler.
"It went better than expected," I said. "The Council supported us. Now it's up to the Chancellor."
"Interesting," Gilad muttered. "Who will become the new Moff?"
"What difference does it make?" I shrugged. "He's unlikely to be as much of an idiot as Bylur. And the Council will now watch our army closely. Speaking of which. Why don't we use the remains of the CIS base to create our own?"
"First, we need to deliver the transports here," Gilad reminded me. "Without construction equipment, there's little we can do."
"Agreed," I nodded. "Will the Leveler handle the towing?"
"A pair of transports at a time," the captain confirmed.
"Well then," I smiled. Making a gesture to Cross, I waited until she loaded our new base's plan onto the terminal. The three-dimensional image drew the eyes of those present. "Let's look at our future home."