Chapter Text
The dark abyss of the void stared back at me, aloof and uncaring, interrupted only by the glint of the ginormous Executor in the corner of my eye. Ah, what a glorious ship, if only-I was knocked out of my musings by blaring alarms, and the sight in my viewport filled me with a curious mix of dread and giddy excitement. They actually fell for it? I asked myself, half-hysterically.
In the orbit of the forest moon of Endor, the Rebel Fleet had finally come for the Death Star.
“All hands, battle stations.” I issued the command with a calm I did not feel. I turned to my XO, one Commander Indra Briggs, and said “Commander, bring us to flank speed. We’ll crush these rebels where they stand.” I nearly lost my balance as the inertial dampeners of my ship, the Imperial-II class Star Destroyer Revenant, kicked in. Nestled just below the nose of the Executor herself, we surged ahead of the larger formation. I watched the rest of my flotilla charge alongside us on the Battlenet’s TacMap, as we rushed to engage the rebels head-on. A seemingly ad-hoc task force of sorts messily detached from the rebel formation to engage us. I watched impassively as the Battlenet slowly registered their forces. Two MC80-Liberties, an MC75, three MC40as, two MC30cs, along with a smattering of light escorts, most notably among them, a pair of Nebulon-B frigates.
To face them, I had my Revenant, along with my counterpart’s Tector-class Star Destroyer, the Imperium. Accompanying us was a trio of Procursator-class Star Destroyers, and eight Lancer-class Frigates. Tough. Doable. But tough, especially given the distribution, or lack thereof, of Ion weaponry between my ships, and the Rebels’ cowardly reliance on shields. But by the time they had entered weapons range, I had a plan. Kind of.
Their MC30 torpedo frigates sped away from the front of their formation, moving in for their attack run. They blitzed past, dropping their full load of heavy proton torpedoes directly into the shields of the Revenant and the Imperium. Most were shot down by the Lancers’ point-defence lasers, but enough had gotten through the screens to significantly weaken the forward Particle Shields of the Revenant and the Imperium. I ordered one flanking Procursator after each of the frigates, leaving me with the meager flotilla of the Revenant, the Imperium, and a single Procursator to deal with the main detachment of Rebels. As the MC30s passed us, I simultaneously ordered my ship and the Imperium to surge forward--the plan, as it stood, was as follows: draw the rebels into a sustained engagement by using our screens to extend the survivability of our cruisers, forcing them to focus more of their guns on the smaller targets.
The Revenant blazed forward, looping outward before turning sharply back inward, and near-perfectly setting an Enfilade (some slight angular adjustments had to be made, in order to reduce the chances of crossfire between us and the Imperium, but the core tactic remained sound). Idly, as we reduced one MC80 to slag, my attention shifted to the skirmish between our Procursators’ and their MC30s. One of their light torpedo had reduced to floating debris by one of the pocket-star destroyers, with the other barely limping through space, the other Procursator in hot pursuit. I sent a command through the Battlenet that they were to rejoin our fight immediately, but, just as I saw the hull of the second MC80 had begun to fail, a great flash filled my vision, temporarily blinding me. Blinking rapidly, I shook my head as my vision was dotted with spots.
“Report! What the hell was that!?” I barked at the bridge crew.
“S-sir...” one of them piped up softly.
“What is it, ensign? Speak up, dammit!”
“T-the death star sir. It’s...It’s gone.”
“What do you mean gone!? Helm, bring us around!” I clenched my hands into fists on the armrests of my command chair, digging my fingernails into my palm as possibilities, or lack thereof, of what else that flash could possibly have been echoed through my mind.
As Revenant’s nose lumbered around, I stared silently at the Death Star, or rather, where the Death Star should have been. “...communications?” the hesitant question emerged from my mouth like an anxious child’s. “Who is the current ranking officer of the fleet?” I waited for a response. And waited. “Communications?” I prompted, after a minute or so of that station’s silence.
“S-sorry, sir. It’s just...there are at least five flag officers claiming overall command, and they’re all attempting to issue broad commands, sir. A-admiral Harrsk is ordering all ships to charge on any nearby Rebel ships, Admiral Versio is ordering any surviving ships near enough to the surface, and able , to turn their guns towards the moon, Grand Admiral Teshik is broadcasting a general distress signal, ordering all available ships to converge on his position, Vice Admiral Sloane is flagging for a regrouping on the far side of Endor, and—sir, Captain Pellaeon is flagging for a general retreat to the Annaj system! What--what do we do, sir?” the comms ensign finished with a nervous stutter, clearly out of breath.
Silence reigned for a few pungent moments, as I stared at the empty space where the Death Star had been mere minutes ago, before sighing heavily. It is my duty to obey the Grand Admiral, but if we try to get to him, we’ll be chewed apart. I bit the inside of my cheek and looked down at the battlemap on the holotable. ...kark. Sloane or Pellaeon, then, if I want to save my ships and my crew. I waved Briggs over to ask her thoughts. “Commander...I do not say this lightly...” A heavy sigh racked my body before I continued, “we have but two choices, geographically, if we wish to save our ships and our crew. I know the character of the good Vice Admiral, but I have not met this...Pellaeon. Your thoughts?”
She looked at the holotable for a moment, before speaking up with a soft tone, “Pellaeon is a pragmatist. Sloane is a hardliner. If this means what I fear it may, then I prefer our chances with Gilad-sorry, Captain Pellaeon.”
My teeth dug into the side of my cheek, as I pondered, deep in thought. A tense silence passed, the bridge crew glancing nervously at each other as my gaze darted between the seemingly endless skirmishes in the space surrounding the moon. “All ships...” I sighed again, “all ships, general retreat to the Annaj system. I repeat, general retreat order to the Annaj system.” With the order given, I slumped back into my Command Chair as the weight of what had just occurred fell on me like a block of Duracrete. I just disobeyed direct orders from four different commanding officers, I mused as my small flotilla finally nosed around toward the jump point for Annaj, abandoning the Rebel ships to their fate, be that what it may.
Tiredly, my eyes scanned across the TacMap, projected from the armrest of my Command Chair, displaying the status of the clusterkark occurring all across the battlespace. Ships, moving in every which way, some individual ships, most of them suffering some variety of damage, or being harassed by Rebel snubfighters and light craft, moved shakily towards the Jump Point to Annaj, while others converged on the far side of the moon, and yet more engaged in duels to the end with the Rebel scum. I watched as a lone cruiser passing close by, heading towards the jump point, erupted in fire as the snubfighters harassing it finally broke its shields.
“...Commander Thorne,” I commed the commander of my Lancer detachment, “detach two of your ships and go assist that cruiser. We shan’t be the ones to leave more of our comrades to their fates today. Not if we can help it.” Grim reality coloured my tone as I watched more and more of the cruiser’s guns fall silent. It seemed a close thing, when the two Lancers finally reached it, driving off the snubfighters with signature efficiency. Quickly, my comm pinged with an incoming message--it was from Commander Thorne--I answered with haste.
“Sir, we are receiving a signal from the cruiser; they request that we put the message through to you--they claim their long-range comms were damaged, and the signal does seem to be coming from a portable commlink.”
“Let it through, Commander,” I told him, and quickly, an unstable holo of, presumably, the remaining ranking officer aboard this cruiser appeared from my holoprojector. He sagged with palpable relief when he saw me (or at least at the fact that he got through to whoever saved him), and spoke in a rushed, panicked voice.
“Sir, our--our ship is falling apart! We’re doing the best we can to keep her stable, but those snubfighters must’ve hit the reactor or--or something!”
“Yes, well, officer...I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name? Regardless, get your men to the escape pods if you can. I’ll have my ships pick you up. It might not be the most spacious arrangement, but it will have to do until we get to Annaj.” I ended the comm without waiting for his response, and commed Thorne; “Commander, tell your ships to make ready to retrieve incoming escape pods from that cruiser. Apparently, those snubfighters hit the reactor, and the crew isn’t made of miracle workers.” I cut the comm again, trusting that Thorne could figure it out, and slumped further into the command chair. As the lights of stars stretched as the flotilla entered Hyperspace, one headache-inducing thought was coursing through my head; This war is about to get so much more damned complicated, isn’t it?
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We came out of hyperspace to a somewhat staggering view--A dozen different Star Destroyers, all orbiting a single planet, most of them in varying states of repair. One, named by its transponder as the Relentless, still actively aflame, and another, its transponder broadcasting as the Chandrila’s Pride seemed to have had its entire thruster complex removed for repairs of some kind.
Far beneath the smouldering hulks of what remained of the Imperial Fleet in this region, Annaj sat, unbothered, as small tugs shunted around gigantic plates of armour, and cutters hurriedly removed ruined ones. It far closer resembled a scrapyard than a rendezvous of the remaining regional Naval Leadership.
I was brought out of my musings by the communications ensign on deck clearing his throat.
“Sir, we are receiving a transmission from Admiral Prittick, aboard the Conquest,” the young officer reported dutifully.
Wordlessly, I hit the flashing accept button situated on the comm controls integrated into my command chair. “Admiral, I am unsure if we can expect any more from Endor. Between the conflicting orders, and the bloodbath inflicted upon us by the Rebels, we were some of the last ships out of the system,” I reported immediately, not even waiting to hear his response before continuing with my damage report. “We sustained minimal damage during the engagements, and with some refuelling, can be one hundred percent combat-ready in less than 24 hours.”
Prittick took a stunned moment to absorb my semi-impromptu debrief, before shaking his head, and muttering: “Good... yes, Captain, thank you. Please, report to my flag for a general debriefing as soon as you are able,” before ending the comm.
A tense silence passed, before I let out a heavy sigh. I seem to be doing that a lot recently...and it probably won’t be slowing down soon, I mused, comming Captain Rhys, of the Imperium, to inform him of the political crapshoot we’d have to attend.
A call that ended with a, quite frankly, concerning amount of expletives.
Regardless, a few hours later, Corin Rhys and I were on a shuttle towards the Conquest.
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“So. What‘s this Prittick like?” Rhys asked, kicking up a foot onto one of the empty seats beside him. I shrugged before replying.
“Don’t know him personally, but I know his type. In it for the politics, and would sooner jump ship than actually engage in any real combat.”
“One of those, then? An officer on paper, but not in practice?” Rhys asked with a snort, leading me to let out a short chuckle.
The rest of the shuttle ride passed with similar small talk, and before long, we arrived in the main hangar bay of the Conquest, greeted at the base of the shuttle by a junior officer. He spoke quickly, in a manner I’d almost call rude if I’d cared at all. “Welcome to the Conquest, sirs. If you’d follow me, I’ll show you to the conference room. Admiral Prittick is waiting,” he said, and with nary a word, he spun on his heel and paced away in a starch-stiff military march, either confident or uncaring if we’d be following. I shared a look and a snort with Rhys, before dutifully following the officer, though at a much more sedate pace.
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The door to the conference room opened with a hiss, revealing ten figures seated around a table. A few I recognized, but most were unknown to me. I nodded a simple greeting and found a seat. As soon as I was seated, Prittick stood, and spoke up:
“Thank you all for attending this conference. Given the fragmented status of our forces, I believe we would all appreciate a brief status report from each of you.” With that, Prittick sat back down, gesturing to Captain Pellaeon on his immediate left, who stood up, the motion highlighting the purple bags forming under his eyes, and spoke with a grizzled, tired tone.
“I am Captain Gilad Pellaeon, with the Chimaera, and attached elements of 342nd light scouting group. Minor damage to point-defense turrets and hull plating, but with supplies, we can achieve full combat readiness within the next rotation or two,” he spoke gruffly, taking his seat again. A long moment passed, before a captain whom I didn’t know stood, speaking with a slight tremor:
“Captain Orson Cross, Chandrila’s Pride... Most weapons fully operational, but our thruster banks and crew quarters were hit hard... it will be a while before we are mobile again.” A dejected look crossed his face, a noticeable tremor hampering his efforts to sit. As he slowly lowered himself back into his chair, the next Captain near leapt into a stiff salute, before coming to an ‘at ease’ stance, speaking with a worrying fire,yet looked younger than even Rhys.
“Captain Valen Kren, of the Apex. Fully operational.” He sat, half-glaring derisively at Cross, though why exactly was unclear as of yet. The next captain, a stern-looking woman with dark, peppered hair stood slowly, staring down her upturned nose at Kren, before she spoke.
“I am Captain Minerva Vance, of my Iron Sovereign,” she stated with the kind of earned authority that comes only with age and experience. “Most of our systems are operational, but her primary turbolaser batteries overloaded their capacitors, and are currently on an emergency bypass. Hull damage is superficial. She looks worse than she is.” She sat calmly, and like clockwork, the next captain rose from his seat.
“Captain Kaelen Voss, Gorgon.” He spoke curtly, sparing nearly every relevant detail as my eyes half-slid over his unassuming visage while he sat back down.
With that, it was my turn. I stood, clasped my hands, and spoke. “Captain Darius Vane, the Revenant, along with Destroyer Group 821, and elements of the 342nd Light Scouting Group. None of my ships suffered any real damage, and with a light resupply, I can be fully combat-ready by the end of the day.” I sat back down, satisfied, and turned to my left as Rhys stood to speak.
“Captain Corin Rhys, the Imperium. Full combat readiness. Could always do with some more fuel and munitions, though.” He spoke through gritted teeth, and I poked him as he sat back down, silently teasing him for his hatred of these conferences as the next captain stood, her head turned toward us in a confused glare.
“I am Captain Tanda Pryl, of the Thunderflare, reporting partial combat-readiness. A few of our smaller turbolaser mounts got hit by Rebel bombers, but besides that, we are fully intact,” she spoke with a peculiar tone, her blonde hair a particularly striking shade. Her eyes unfaltering in their suspiscion as she sat. Next, a man with greasy-looking hair and shifty eyes stood up.
“Captain Silas Drake, with the Dominion. We suffered severe structural damage to the bow during a collision with a Rebel cruiser, and aren’t much better than an orbital defense station, unless we want to risk tearing her apart under her own thrust.” He glanced around as he slowly sat down, but my attention was pulled away as a younger woman, who, from first impressions, seemed even more stern than Vance, had begun to stand.
“Captain Amara Wilek. The Relentless,” she said with a clipped tone, eyes flitting around the room, sizing up the surrounding officers, before she continued. “Attached to the 1252nd Naval Supply Company. Fires are still blazing throughout many of my weapon decks. I don’t expect we’ll be combat-capable anytime soon.” She finished with a more sedate, no-nonsense tone, letting out a sharp breath through clenched teeth--as though she knew she had just dangled shark bait in front of a room full of sharks. The NSC attached to her intrigued me, as it likely did anyone with a brain, but before I had time to ponder that, an angry-looking bald captain stood.
“Akal Zed, with the Stalker. Nothing major, but minor hull breaches, though most of the point-defense turrets are out of action, and her hyperdrive is out of alignment.” With that, it had circled back around to Prittick, who stood.
“And I am Admiral Ayde Prittick, of the Conquest. Thank you, Captains, for your cooperation. Now, as our first order of business. There is very limited repair and resupply capacity here at Annaj, so it falls to me to... decide which ships are in most dire need of supplies—” I interrupted him with a cough.
“If I may, sir, it would be most tactically beneficial to focus our efforts on ships that suffered serious enough damage to be unfit for line duties, but not so much that a full refit is required. As such, based on the preliminary reports by their captains, may I suggest pushing the repair and resupply orders of Iron Sovereign and Chimaera to the top of the queue? I know my flotilla can continue to operate without issue for months yet, and those supplies are far better served going to the damaged ships. Right now, we only have, what, four or five even somewhat functional Star Destroyers? If the Rebels strike us now, we won’t have the firepower to stop them. If we can get, best case, at least eight of our Star Destroyers functional, I reckon we could hit the Rebels hard, before they regroup and hit us. We have an advantage in a straight fight, if we can get a few of our ships repaired fast.” I realized that I had just interuppted the Admiral, and a sheepish look crossed my face. “Sorry, sir. Had to be said.” I muttered apologetically as I sat back down, Prittick bristling with indignity, his face burning red.
“...Yes, thank you captain...what was it? Vame?” I didn’t bother to correct him, as Rhys snorted next to me, “Anyways, as I was saying, we will be regrouping here for the time being. Any attempts to leave the system will be seen as treason, and you shall be treated as a deserter, and thusly fired upon posthaste” he declared, glaring around the table, before dismissing us all before anyone could voice any real objection. I dutifully ignored the glare as I got up, only to stagger from Rhys’ large hand landing on my back.
“Nice one, Dar.” He guffawed at my expense as we traversed the corridors back towards the hangar, “Oh, sorry sir, had to be said--HA!”
I spun in place, playfully slugging his towering shoulder. “Dumbass. It did have to be said. Would you rather have eight functional Star Destroyers and four broken ones, or four functional Star Destroyers, and eight only mostly-broken ones?” I asked him patronizingly, faint sounds of our banter and laughter echoing audibly throughout the corridors, a sharp contrast to the palpably downtrodden atmosphere aboard.
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A clap of my hands signalled the start of the meeting, the various characters spread around the conference table aboard the Revenant in a similar, though far less oppressive way than had been aboard the Conquest, ceased their quiet conversation, and came to order. Sat around the circular table were, in order, Myself, my XO; Indra Briggs, Rhys, Commander Thorne, the lead of the Lancer detachment, Captain Geary, head of my attached Destroyer group, Major-General Corvus Stark, head of the Army sections attached to the Revenant, followed by an assortment of his command staff, most of whom I hadn’t yet met more than once or twice.
“Thank you, everyone, for making the time to attend this briefing.” I said, forcing a smile to my face before continuing, “Given the...precarious situation that is befalling our Empire, it is unlikely that we will have the chance to be properly reinforced anytime in the near future. As such, I thought it prudent to organize this briefing, to inform you all of the current situation, and what the future may look like for us.” With my opening piece said, I sat at the head of the table and brought up a holoprojection of the ragtag fleet orbiting Annaj. “We are currently mustered at Annaj, along with several other surviving sections from Endor. Of them, ours is the largest, and among the very few that are entirely intact. As such, I expect that we will be deployed posthaste to secure either the surrounding systems to shore up our position at Annaj, or to attempt a break back towards the core. As proud Imperials, we have a duty to our Glorious Empire, but as crewmates, we have a duty to each other. We must not allow one to outweigh the other. Now, if any of you have any questions, or concerns, now would be the time to broach them.”
Before I had finshed speaking, the Major-General stood, slamming his hands on the table. “What do you mean, no reinforcements? How, by Corellia’s Hells are we expected to function as an operational battlegroup for any longer than at most half a year without proper reinforcements!?” He demanded, face a furious red.
I met his simmering glare with own measured one. “Simply, General, we must adapt. The Empire may not be in a position to supply us with reinforcements, but what do we have if not experienced men and a local populus from which to draw recuits? Unideal, yes, but times must. A larger—or at least far more immideate concern—is the logistical one, rather than loss-replacement, which will likely take upwards of a year to truly rear its’ ugly head. Food, though seemingly the most dire of those logistical concerns, is also the easiest to countermand. I have located a planet, which, while not a traditional agriworld, produces enough foodstuffs to theoretically feed the total crew of all those gathered here at Annaj. As for the other material concerns...I have no solution yet, beyond resorting to piracy, which I am only willing to even begin to consider should lack of fuel or tibanna begin to impact our combat-effectiveness.” Somewhat mollified, or at least appeased for now, the Major-General sat back down with a grunt. “Now, if there wasn’t anymore questions, I have urgent business. A word please, Commander. The rest of you are dismissed.”
Once the rest of the staff had left the conference room, I eyed the man I’d asked to stay behind, one-by-one. “Commander,” I adressed the imposing figure garbed in what looked like some strange variant of the standard stormtrooper armour “I understand that as a Stormtrooper, you are more...deeply patriotic than most. Will this prove to be a problem when it comes to obeying my, or failing that, the General’s orders in the future?” His helmet stared back at me, his body stiffer than a statue.
“No, sir.”
I kept staring intently at him for a few more moments, before nodding in acceptance. “Very good. Dismissed, Commander.” After the frankly intimidating commander had left the room, my eyes remained fixed on the wall for a few stagnant moments, my head falling to meet the cold durasteel of my desk. I stayed like that for a few moments more, before I sat up, and began to put together a plan.
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It was around an hour before I commed one of the captains I’d briefly met at the conference—Captain Wilek—with my proposal. When she answered the comm, she was visibly disheveled, in more of a haven’t slept in a week way than anything else.
“What.” Her tone was clipped, and her eyes firey, but through the wrinkled uniform and loose hair, an air of exhaustion and fear wafted through.
“I have a proposal for you. Let’s face it, your position is vulnerable, what with your Logistics company being just about the only spaceworthy thing still under your command. Seeing as we likely will be without any significant resupply from the core anytime soon, I have taken the Liberty of doing a spot of research. A few jumps away from our position here, at Annaj, is a planet designated as Vex Major. While not an agriworld, it exports enough foodstuffs annually that I have calculated that, should a detachment of one of ours were to...enact martial law, then our food worries would be for naught. Unfortunately, mine is the only ship amongst my flotilla with any proper army detachment, and were it any other circumstance, I would simply do that. Unfortunately, I don’t trust Prittick. And hence, I am proposing that, under escort from my subordinate, Captain Rhys, you detach your transports, and loaded with most of my ground complement, place Vex Major under our...direct control. Of course, there is still the matter of your Relentless. Tell me, should you prove able to put out those blasted fires, do you believe, truthfully, that she will be properly operational without proper yards?” I finsh my dense proposal, opening the floor for Captain Wilek’s rebuttal, who is slowly blinking as she takes a generous few seconds to properly comprehend the word-salad I’d just thrown at her.
“I...I suppose. It is unlikely that the fires have taken out any of the substantial exosystems to a degree that would require a full replacement, regardless, so once the hull is patched, then...but wait, how do you intend to even influence that? Despite your fancy words, Prittick is still the ranking officer and has control over that.” She counters quietly, interested, though thoroughly skeptical.
A slight grin crosses my face. “Tell me, do you know what’s only a mere few parsecs away? An old smuggler’s system, by the name of Kuna’s Tooth. Do you know what that system possesses?”
With an irritated twitch of her eye, she growled out a single word. “What.”
My grin grew as I leaned in, “Why, only a reasonably sized, if a few centuries out-of-date shipyard, of course! Nothing compared to the great rings of Kuat, or the wide-spanning yards at Sluis Van, but, if my information is right, sizable enough to service perhaps a single Star Destroyer!” I finish enthusiastically. “Of course, Prittick wouldn’t stoop to considering these sort of Pirate yards, but I should think we have bigger problems. My ships are all in fine shape, but perhaps I could send an escort with you to...appropriate those yards for imperial use, hm?”
Her flat glare continued to meet my eyes. “So what exactly are you proposing? Because it sounds like a ploy to take just about the only card I have, in return for a promise of taking myself off the board for...well, however long repairs end up taking.”
I scoffed, rolling my eyes exasperatedly. “If I wanted to take it, I daresay I could have just...well, done that, considering the state of most of the ships gathered here. Regardless, I will be sending a detachment of my flotilla to Doestes, and it would be much more convienient for all of us if we didn’t have to resort to crude intimidation tactics amongst ourselves, yes?”
She crossed her arms with a grunt, and gritted out a clipped response. “Fine. I’ll let Rhymer know to group under Rhys. What sort of escort can I expect for the trip to this...Kuna’s Tooth?” she practically growled out, probably expecting me to send some of my Lancers at best.
A smirk crossed my face. “Why so angry, Captain? Regardless, I’ll be attaching my destroyer group to you for the purpose of securing those yards. I'll have the head of that formation report to you as soon as possible.” My eyes scanned her face as her defensive posture fell into a half-defeated slump.
“...that’s...I didn’t expect a proper detachment...” she muttered, the words barely coming across the holocomm.
“We all serve the same state, Captain.” I replied, ignoring her shocked look at the fact that I’d heard words I likely wasn’t meant to. “Just because some of our fellows would have done better as polititians doesn’t mean some of us aren’t sensible.” I watched her absorb my words for a short moment before I cut the call, sending three short messages to a few of my subordinates. one to Corin, telling him to expect the Rhymer’s comm and co-operation, and once that happens, to depart for and secure Vex Major’s food supply for the local Navy; one to Captain Geary, telling her to report to Captain Wilek, and once emergency repairs are complete on the Relentless, to escort it to Doestes High Port at Kuna’s Tooth; and the third to Major-General Stark, with orders to prepare for an planetary occupation force to transfer to the NSC for the purpose of enacting Martial Law on Vex Major.
A productive day, all things considered. Alas, I’d lamented, I fear the days will pass with naught but tedium for a while, as I considered actually having to deal with the politicking that’s sure to be beginning soon enough.