Csilla

The Super Star Destroyer’s presence above Csilla had not gone unnoticed. Twice already the planet’s governor had made contact, asking with far too much hope when Grand Moff Drayson would be making her landing, and what sort of preparations he should be making for the arrival of this most distinguished visitor.

Bhindi was on the verge of ordering the Acheron’s gun crews to reduce the Governor’s office into a molten crater, but there were more pressing things on her mind than the petty bureaucracy of the Empire. For Bhindi Drayson, patience was something she held in great esteem – the Empire had not achieved domination of the galaxy by acting rashly, after all. And yet, between the governor and Admiral Hammond’s incessant demands to know what she was up to (without even the barest attempt to disguise his intentions), she found even her patience wearing thin.

The Acheron had been in orbit two days. On the first day, they had downloaded all of the reports from both Imperial Centre and the various other Imperial Intelligence facilities that were monitoring the situation in the Unknown Regions, and had found nothing new. Even attacks on the Imperial merchant fleets had stopped. Some (Admiral Hammond among them) suggested this was due to the increased presence of the Imperial Navy in the region. Hammond would tell anyone who would listen that the enemy had no doubt received word that he was now aboard the Acheron, and this alone was responsible for the cessation of the attacks.

Few people aboard the Super Star Destroyer listened to the Admiral any more. Those officers who were forced to hear his diatribes on the rebels would listen politely and escape at their first opportunity. The result was that when the Admiral was not badgering Drayson or Captain Joda for information, he was making use of the holonet facilities to communicate with his leash-holders back home.

“No report yet from the Avatar?” Drayson asked, stepping into the ready room below the bridge and dropped the latest information from the Bunker onto the conference table there.

“Nothing.” Captain Joda replied with a frown, offering the Grand Moff a mug of a caf and taking a seat at the table. “Ton Karlos reported in, though. He’s on Corellia, and has made contact with our agent there.”

Bhindi nodded. The connection between Corellia and the events in the Unknown Regions was still a mystery, and despite the Empire’s best efforts they were no closer to figuring out just what was going on than they had been when this whole thing had started.

“He’s online, if you’d like to talk to him.” Joda offered, sensing her frustration. He had worked with the Grand Admiral long enough to know that she disliked it when things did not go her way: all the more so when she had no control over those things. The idea of sitting and waiting for something to happen was not something that Bhindi Drayson enjoyed.

“Yes. I would.” She said, placing the report back on the table and nodding to the Captain. Joda typed a command into the holoprojector, and within a minute the figure of Ton Karlos hovered above the table, looking a little worn from the journey, but otherwise alert and ready.

“Grand Moff! I’m afraid I don’t have much to report yet. These COMPNOR guys are great at digging up dirt on the Diktat’s political enemies… not so great at actually figuring out the hard stuff.”

The rivalry between Imperial Intelligence and the Commission for the Preservation of the New Order was well documented, especially now that COMPNOR had apparently decided that its mandate included intelligence work.

“That’s why I sent you.” Bhindi said with a small smile. “We will deal with COMPNOR later. The Director is cooperating, I presume?”

The hologram nodded.

“Yes, for what it’s worth. Your new kid, Lieutenant Murderer-”

“Merder.” The Grand Moff corrected with a small smile.

“Right. He’s found some pretty interesting stuff out in an old abandoned rebel base. Apparently the guy they’ve assigned to be his guide is an old ex-Rebel, real bitter guy. Figures the rebels killed his family.”

Bhindi’s eyes flashed, but at that moment the connection spluttered and Ton missed it. His image distorted, but his voice continued to come through.

“Don’t ask me what COMPNOR is doing letting a known rebel run around lose. They probably figure they can control him – fat chance. Anyway, this guy and Merder found a bunch of computers that the rebels were using. The files are a little out of date, looks like they haven’t been used in a couple of months at least. From what I gather, Merder thinks the rebels have been pulling off of Corellia proper.”

“And what do you think?”

The hologram shrugged. “It fits in with what we do know. The rebel movement on Corellia has always been one of the stronger ones, given that they used the world as their capital. But lately we’ve been getting mixed signals: there’s lots of chatter, but nothing more. They haven’t actually been able to pin anything to any of the known or even suspected planetary groups. But these computers, they belong to a group calling themselves ‘Sons of Corellia’ or something ridiculous. Typical rebel bullshit.”

“But they haven’t been touched in months.”

“Exactly. Nor has anyone on Corellia actually heard of the Sons of Corellia. I’m guessing this is an outside group – probably hiding out on one of the other planets, maybe one we don’t have as much presence on. Corellia doesn’t necessarily mean the planet, they could well consider themselves liberators of the whole system.”

“Lofty goal.” Captain Joda said with a smile.

He was cut off as the door the room hissed open. Admiral Hammond, decked out in his dress uniform, stood there, his smile predatory.

“Grand Moff Drayson!” He called out happily, advancing into the room. “Excellent news! We’ve got the bastards!”

The two others in the room, and the hologram of Ton, turned to look at the man.

“What precisely do you mean, ‘we’ve got them’, Admiral?” Bhindi asked, her eyes searching the man’s face.

“The rebels. They’ve gone and attacked another one of our convoys. Only this time the convoy had a Star Destroyer and an Interdictor playing escort, and they’ve trapped the sons of bitches. I’ve sent the fleet to bring the bastards in. The Acheron should be pulling out of orbit any minute now.”

Bhindi wondered for a moment if the man had gone completely bat-shit insane – the expression on his face would certainly seem to suggest this was the case.

“You have no authority to order the Acheron anywhere.” Captain Joda pointed out, reaching for his comlink to inform the bridge of this.

“Ah, but I do you see!” Hammond said happily. “Straight from Counsellor Adder, to commandeer any ship of the fleet as I see fit.” He reached into his pocket, fishing for the datapad that carried the documentation. Nobody had noticed that the hologram in the centre of the table was flickering, until Ton’s voice, scrambled with static, broke across the room.

“You’re sending the entire Csillan fleet to take on one star cruiser?”

“We must show these fools the Empire will not be trifled with. We meet violence with violence, no quarter will be given, we’ll-”

“Leave Csilla undefended!” Ton yelled, his voice scratchy as the projector flickered. “What sort of bloody idiot sends the entire fleet to engage one enemy cruiser?”

Hammond did not have a chance to respond as the projector dimmed, the connection lost. Hammond stood stock still, no doubt wondering what had happened (and lamenting the loss of his chance to yell at Ton Karlos).

Bhindi, on the other hand, realized immediately what had happened. Joda behind her, she ran for the turbolift. They could feel the great ship moving now, the internal compensators unable to completely erase the effects of the massive vessels straining to break Csilla’s gravity field.

By the time the lift reached the bridge, alarms were ringing, and Bhindi collapsed into her command chair, taking in the information of a half-dozen monitors while buckling her crash harness. Half of the fleet was already gone, Hammond’s obeying Hammond’s orders. The fool had not even organized them into a fighting force, and so ships had made the jump to hyperspace as they were able. It would be a mess as they emerged at the conflict zone.

But that was the least of their worries – even as the Imperial fleet departed, new ships were dropping out of hyperspace. The new ships looked like someone’s bad idea of a Star Destroyer – a massive, wedge-shaped superstructure, with pontoon-like attachments welded to either side. And there were lots of them.

“Issue a recall notice to the fleet.” Bhindi said, her voice hard. “And alert Coruscant – Csilla is under attack.”

The waiting was the worst. Trinity had been in the military long enough to know that waiting was the hallmark of a successful mission: if it was boring, it meant things were going according to plan. The one truth of military planning was that surprises were bad.

The difference now was that they were not the orchestraters of this particular plan. They were not waiting for the enemy to react to them, they were reacting, and Trinity had no idea what to expect. Hyperspace travel was especially nerve-wracking because they had no communications with the galaxy outside the ship – until they arrived at Csilla, they had no way of knowing what was happening. And as an Intelligence agent, Trinity liked to know what was going on.

The Avatar’s bridge was quiet. The crew had run through their tests, and apparently had exhausted all avenues of conversation. Trinity was no the verge of giving them permission to play some of the basic games on the ship’s computer when an echoing screech sounded from somewhere below, and alarms began to blare.

The ship jolted violently, and Trinity swore. The hyperspace countdown still showed an hour until they made Csilla, and she knew too well what it felt like when a ship encountered a gravity field that wasn’t supposed to be there.

Her feeling was confirmed when the helmsman, silencing the Accidental Revision alarm, looked at her and said the words. She nodded. She knew the ship’s computers would have already responded to the forceful revision by raising shields and bringing the Avatar’s offensive systems online, and even as the sensor board began to fill with red dots the deck began to vibrate as the guns opened fire.

Bringing her tactical display into focus, Trinity began to absorb the situation. Most of the ships present were red, enemy combatants, but it was fairly evenly matched. All of the Imperial ships were locked in combat with the enemy fleet, so far clinging to their formation and seemingly holding against the opposing fleet. The Avatar and her escort, the Vesper had emerged off the rear flank of the enemy fleet, and so far the enemy had not responded to their presence.

“What in the name of the Sith are those things?” One of the crew asked, staring at the Star Destroyer-esque enemy ships.

“Republic Vlyx Battlecruisers.” Trinity spat, eyeing the ships in distaste. “Hexadragon’s contribution to the Rebel Navy.”

“Republic ships – here? I thought they were destroyed.”

“They were supposed to be.” Trinity said dispassionately, motioning for the crewman to return to his post. “Communications, can we reach Csilla?”

The officer shook his head mournfully. “No good, Captain. We’re being jammed on all long-distance frequencies.” Of course they didn’t think to bring a Dictator along, Trinity thought, wondering who was commanding the Imperial fleet.

“Right then, we do this the old fashioned way. Guns, target the enemy ship designated Alpha. Order the Vesper to target the vessel designated Delta. We’re going to drive down the centre of their formation and do as much as damage as we can as fast as we can before we join the Imperial formation there.”

The two Star Destroyers surged forward, their big guns wracking across the sterns of the enemy Battle Cruisers. Apparently Hexadragon had not corrected the Star Destroyer’s lack of stern protection, because as they came alongside the enemy ships the Avatar’s shields were still showing strong.

“Captain, we’re getting a message from the Manatee. Priority signal.” Trinity nodded, adjusting the privacy field around her chair and activating the holo unit.

“Captain Trinity, I’m Commander Adams.” The hologram showed an aging man, his grey hair closely cropped and his uniform precisely pressed.

“What’s going on out here, Commander?”

“We responded to a call from an Imperial convoy reporting they were under attack. No convoy here, but plenty of enemies for us to shoot at.”

Trinity said nothing. There was no reason for half the fleet to be here for a simple rescue mission. Her fears of what they would encounter when they reached Csilla deepened.

“Have you had any news from Csilla?” She asked.

“No. We were expecting the Grand Moff, but she never showed up and we haven’t been able to break their jamming to get through to the fleet. We’re pinned down here, as you can tell. Their interdictors are back in the centre of that formation, no way we’re going to be able to hit them.”

Trinity frowned. Adams was right: there was no way they would be able to drive into the enemy formation and simply blast the interdictors, which meant they would have to slug it out with the enemy ships. And unless they received reinforcements, there was a good chance the Imperials wouldn’t survive. Unless the came up with something quickly, they were done.

“Helm, bring us about and set course at eleven point five degrees. Have our starfighters prepare for launch, order the Vesper to do likewise.”

The helmsman seemed about to point out that the course would take them straight into the biggest concentration of enemy warships, but apparently thought better of it. With a curt nod he entered the information, and the great ship began to turn.

“Commander Adams, have your ships follow me in.” Trinity continued, turning back to the hologram, “and plot a jump to Csilla.”

“Captain, are you-”

“Quite sure, thank you, Commander. Do as your instructed.”

“As ordered, Captain.”

The Avatar drove forward now, its guns cycling as fast as they could to target the swarm of enemy craft ahead. For their part, the opposing ships responded well to the apparent suicidal rush of the Imperial fleet: they broke ranks so that Trinity could not simply ram her ship into them, and continued to spread their fire amongst the fleet.

“Starfighter squadrons report they are ready to deploy.” The wing commander reported, obviously confused. Launching fighters would mean lowering the Star Destroyer’s belly shields, exposing her to the deadly fire coming from below. And with the amount of fire out there, the chances of any of the fighters staying alive long enough to make a difference was negligible.

“Prepare to lower shields on my mark. Once the shields have been dropped, delay half a second and then bring them back to full power.”

The shield operator responded with a confused nod, making the adjustments in her computer.

“Right, all starfighters to launch their warheads on my first mark.” Eying her tactical display, she smiled thinly. “Right, launch missiles. Shields down!”

There was a brief pause as the two orders were carried out, and then a blossom of fire on the monitors showing the underside of the Avatar. The missiles had slipped through the gap in the shields and exploded brilliantly against the dorsal side of the enemy interdictor, collapsing them. The Vesper, following close behind, was not unleashing the same treatment against the second of the enemy ships, and even as her missiles impacted both Star Destroyers were rolling, bringing their topside guns to bear on the stricken enemy craft.

“Captain, enemy gravity wells are down! We’re free!”

“Very good. Helm, prepare for lightspe-”

There was a violent crash, and the ship lurched as though tossed to the ground by some ancient God. There was a heartbeat that seemed to last forever of silence, and then alarms began to sound across the bridge.

“Hull breach!” Someone cried, silencing one of the alarms. Trinity could see out the cracked bridge viewport the twisted hull plates that had been blasted aside by some enemy attack. Debris was venting out into space, accompanied by the flailing forms of dying crewman.

“Brace the viewport!” Trinity called, slapping the override on her console and shutting off the last of the alarms. “Helm, lightspeed NOW!”

“No good, Captain! We’ve lost our primary and backup drives. Engineering is already working on it, but-”

Trinity knew what came next. Without shields or engines, they wouldn’t last long enough out here for the engines to be fixed.

“Captain, Commander Adams is requesting orders.” Indeed, the rest of the fleet had slowed, circling the stricken Avatar and fending off the preying enemy ships.

“Tell Adams to go to hyperspace.” Trinity said through gritted teeth. “And issue the order, abandon ship.”

Bhindi Drayson had come to a realization, and she didn’t like it. The vibration of the Acheron’s deck was constant now as the massive ship hurled her furious fragments of destructive energy outwards in all directions. Space above Csilla was littered with the shattered remains of crushed ships, both Imperial and enemy, and what had begun as an orchestrated invasion was fast turning into a slugfest between the two sides’ ships.

There was no way the Empire was going to win this battle. They were outnumbered and trapped in the gravity shadow of the planet, while the enemy was free to manoeuvre and strike at their leisure. With no word from the fleet that had departed earlier and a day’s travel for the closest reinforcements, the question was not whether Csilla would fall, but when it fall.

Drayson stalked up and down the Super Star Destroyer’s catwalk, her eyes dancing over the displays of the crewmen below. They were all hunched over their stations, intent upon their tasks: so far the Acheron was handling itself well, her sheer size and firepower making her an imposing target for all but the most hardened enemy. Few of the enemy ships dared to move into range of her guns: those that did died a quick death.

“Admiral, we’re receiving an urgent communication from the planet.” Captain Joda said, meeting Bhindi at the end of the catwalk. Beyond the viewports they could make out the flashes of light that marked the explosion of a ship – whether enemy or Imperial it was impossible to tell.

“It doesn’t really matter.” Bhindi said softly, watching another flash of light outside. “For every one we will they take one of ours.”

“Admiral,” Joda pressed, “the Governor-”

“I’ll take it.” With a thin smile she turned and made her way to the back of the bridge, activating the privacy field around the com unit and pressing the flashing key that linked her to the surface.

“Grand Moff,” the Governor of Csilla was an aging man with his white hair cropped closely, his Imperial uniform immaculate. “From what my advisors are telling me, your forces seem to be having a bit of trouble up there.”

His tone was jovial, and Bhindi winced. There was no doubt the Governor was a staunch Imperialist. He was one of those whose faith in the Empire was to unshakeable that they felt it alone should guarantee victory.

“Governor, I’m afraid the situation is serious. Our forces are outnumbered and the enemy has the higher ground. The fleet that left here earlier today is out of contact, and we’re too far from Imperial space for any real hope of reinforcement.”

The Governor’s face fell.

“What is your plan?” He asked sharply.

“At this point, our only realistic option is a withdrawal. We need to get you and your people aboard the Acheron as soon as possible to guarantee your safety.”

“Grand Moff, it sounds as though you are saying that Csilla is going to fall.”

“That is exactly what I’m saying. If we do not withdraw soon, it will become impossible for us to salvage what surviving ships we have. If we stay, what is left of the fleet will be destroyed, and the enemy will still hold Csilla.”

There was silence.

“Governor, I am sorry. But you need to ready your shuttle and get to safety – I’ll send a squadron down to escort you to my flag.”

With a faint nod, the Governor cut the transmission.

Trinity turned back to the battle, returning to her former position at the end of the catwalk. The question of where all of these resources had come from had barely crossed her mind: since the enemy fleet had burst into orbit she had been running through strategies in her head, trying to find a way to turn this battle into an Imperial victory. But there was nothing: the enemy fleet was too big, too fast, they knew her too well. Twice Bhindi had tried to put plans into motion, feinting this way and striking another, luring the enemy towards concentrations of Imperial firepower, but each time they rebuffed her, or had already anticipated the move and tore her ships to pieces before they could spring their trap.

It was like fighting herself!

Now the battle had degenerated into who could cause the most damage in the shortest amount of time. The tried and tested design of the Star Destroyers was proving its worth: they were proving incredibly resilient to enemy fire, but they could hardly hold out forever. The number blackened hulks of capital ships was growing with each passing moment. Something had to change – Bhindi just had no idea what.

“War is Hell.” Joda said softly, appearing again behind her. The Grand Moff looked at the man, about to reprimand him for leaving his post, but a quick glance around the bridge showed things were well in hand. The crew of the Acheron were the best: they were trained to fight, and they did it well.

“If you’d told me that yesterday, I’d have called you a coward.” She returned in a low voice. “But this… this is something entirely different.” Bhindi Drayson had seen many battles, but never before had she been on the receiving end of an attack orchestrated by someone who was better than her. The wars with the Coalition had not been easy, but there had never been the pressing feeling that doom could be around any corner. Today, any mistake cost ships and material that she could not afford to lose. And she knew that this was a holding action only: they had to survive long enough to retreat – Csilla was already forsaken.

Bhindi pounded her fist on the railing, sending a jolt of pain through her body.

“Who the hell are they? The Republic is supposed to be dead!”

“And yet here we are.” Joda said, observing the dozens of Republic ships that filled the viewports.

“Right. Here we are.”

She turned away, moving to her chair and pulling the tactical display towards her. There were perhaps a dozen Star Destroyers left fighting - a quick readout on those showed ten currently able to make lightspeed, and two showing not enough reactor power to make the jump.

“Order the fleet to form up, Python and Accent to lead. We’re going to punch out of here.”

Joda nodded without saying anything. He had come to the same conclusion: Csilla was fallen, it was time to save what was left of the fleet. He turned away to begin issuing the orders, but spun back as a call broke across the bridge.

“Admiral, we have massive hyperspace revision on the edge of the system! Star Destroyer analogues!”

“Friendlies?”

“Our home fleet, Admiral. Moving in at sixteen degrees point seven.”

Bhindi swore softly. The arrivals meant that the enemy’s numerical advantage was gone. What was more, moving in from the edge of the system, the enemy no longer held the better ground: they would have to fight on two fronts.

“Put me through to Commander Adams.” There was a pause before the man’s hologram appeared, and Bhindi smiled broadly.

“Commander-”

“Grand Moff, I’m afraid I have bad news.” Adams said quickly, “we’ve just gotten away from a rebel force at least as large as the one you’re contending with here. They’ll be close behind, I don’t doubt.”

Bhindi sank back into her seat. If the force Adams described arrived, it would mean nothing had changed: the enemy would still outnumber them. It would take the Imperial fleet longer to die, but there was still little hope of escape. Even if they defeated the force presently in the system in the next few minutes, their fighting strength would be significantly reduced and they would be fighting a new opponent in a weakened state.

Which meant that their only option was still retreat.

“Thank you, Commander. I want your forces to open a back door for us. We’re going to punch out of here and save as many ships as we can.”

If Adams was surprised by the plan, he did not show it. He merely gave his recognition of the orders and signed off: soon his ships were setting upon the rear of the enemy formation, taking advantage of their surprise to chew them apart before they completed their turns to engage the new enemy.

Bhindi’s fleet took advantage of the respite, reforming into a line and pushing forwards, forging a gap between the two halves of the enemy fleet. The Acheron shuddered violently as her hull scraped an enemy cruiser, and then they were passing beyond the reach of the enemy’s guns. The rebels were coming about, apparently intent on giving pursuit.

“Order the Python and Accent to abandon ship, and arm their self destruct.” Bhindi ordered. The loss of two more Star Destroyers would not be pleasant, but their fall into enemy hands was the greater of two evils.

“Admiral, more hyperspace revisions on our starboard flank!”

“Helm, lightspeed.”

There was a flurry of activity, then the starlines elongated and the Acheron made the leap to hyerspace. Bhindi collapsed back into her seat, and brushed her hand across her face. She was surprised to find it wet. They were safe, yes, but at an awful cost. Csilla was lost, thousands of men had died, and they had nothing to show for it.

She wiped away the tears and began to pull up the records of what they knew of the enemy. Joda cast a look in her direction, concern etched into his face. Bhindi offered a weak nod, and turned back to her work.