I get to conquer the Federation (SW SI X ST)

Note: This is a cross-post. I originally posted on SB and then on the Sietch, so if you've seen it there, that's also me.
_________________________________________________________________________________


I walked down the carpeted aisle, past raised platforms atop which stood Imperial Guardsmen, the room’s half-light shining off their crimson armor. Carbines were held across their breastplates, but despite standing at parade ground stillness with eyes straight ahead, I had no doubts they could have their guns aimed at me in an instant. And me getting shot to bits in the next instant.

Despite what the films said, Imperial Stormtroopers really were the best troops in the galaxy. And only the very best ever got selected for the Imperial Guard.

Well, not the very best. Those got selected for even higher position.

Reaching the end of the aisle, I sank to one knee, head bowed with my right hand held over my chest. “You summoned me, Your Excellency?” I asked in a deferent tone.

High above on the dais, a lanthanide-plated throne turned from where its occupant had been looking through the great stained glass window behind the dais. “Ah yes,” Galactic Emperor Palpatine said with his usual gentle and grandfatherly tone. “Admiral Targaryen…rise, my friend. We need not speak with each on our knees.”

“By your command, Your Excellency.” I said, before rising to my feet, ramrod-straight with gloved hands held behind my back.

The Emperor rubbed his chin thoughtfully, a disarming smile playing on his lips. I stayed silent, knowing that despite the Emperor’s familiar style of address, he was just being gracious because it suited him, and not because he cared for me in any real way. The Star Wars films and novels got that part of his character right.

Now, if only they got the other parts right. Despite what was shown in the films, the Emperor was not a withered, walking corpse with sickly-yellow eyes and drooping skin, who wandered around in a black cloak and hood. If anything, he looked like he did in Revenge of the Sith, a balding old man in red-colored robes of state trimmed with black .

Then again, he might have just used some advanced technology, or Dark Side powers to fix the damage caused by Mace Windu…

…anyway, that wasn’t really important, and I’m not stupid enough to pry. I’ve had – and still have – better things to do than elaborately-commit suicide.

“You’re quite an interesting character, admiral.” The Emperor finally said. I stayed silent, waiting for the Emperor to elaborate. “Women are rare in the ranks of the military, and especially so in the officer corps. And yet, here you are, and an admiral, no less.”

The Emperor paused and chuckled. “An admiral with no ships under her command.” He pointedly said, and despite myself, I felt my face tighten ever so slightly with indignation. Okay, I might have the advantages of having watched all the Star Wars films (including – unfortunately – the so-called sequels though thankfully it seems this was the Legends universe) and read much of the novels, but even their most detailed descriptions could have only helped me ever so much.

And that’s assuming I remembered them word for word. And I don’t.

More to the point, I really had to work my butt off and study myself dizzy just to get through the Imperial Naval Academy. And again and again and again to get myself to where I am now.

The Emperor might be the Emperor, but still…

…it rankles.

The Emperor though, just seemed amused. “It seems I’ve hit a nerve.” He remarked.

I immediately bowed low. “I apologize for my impudence.” I said. “I accept full responsibility, and any punishment Your Excellency deems fit for me.”

The Emperor actually laughed at that, and waved me off. “Not at all,” he said. “While it has not escaped my attention that your father has had to pull strings on your behalf several times in the past, your current rank is not entirely without merit.”

I stayed silent, and the Emperor tilted his head. “You wish to say something?” he asked.

“Forgive me, Your Excellency.” I began. “But my thoughts on the matter are…improper, for one of Your Excellency’s subjects.”

“Then speak.” The Emperor commanded. “I will judge whether they are proper or not.”

I bit my lip at that, but I couldn’t really say no, could I? Still, I had to word this carefully, or else…

“I find COMPNOR’s official stance on gender roles limited at times when it comes to recognizing and rewarding merit.” I finally said.

The Emperor snorted, and looked amused once more. It seems I made the right decision, pushing blame onto COMPNOR instead of the Empire in general.

“True,” the Emperor conceded. “COMPNOR has its uses, but unfortunately has also inherited some of Vandron’s idiosyncrasies.”

I stayed silent once more, while the Emperor sat back in his throne, a grandfatherly smile playing over his lips. “Tell me, my friend,” he began once more. “Would you care to assist me in ridding one of those idiosyncrasies?”

I bowed low. “I am your servant.” I said.

The Emperor chuckled. “The matter has yet to be made public, or released for general consumption within the Admiralty,” he said. “But an opportunity has arisen…yes, a great opportunity in more ways than one.”

The Emperor paused and chuckled again. “Admiral Targaryen,” he began. “Should you accept this role I offer you, you will take a combined force of our military through a wormhole that has opened in the Belsavis System, and establish an Imperial demesne in the other galaxy beyond. A demesne from which further campaigns to expand the New Order to new places and peoples will be launched from.”

I couldn’t help it, my eyes widened, and my mouth fell open. Was this what Q had mentioned in that dream on that night so many years ago, before I woke up not in a hospital bed, but as a child once more, in a curtained four-poster in the family villa? If it was…

…then damn it, it was time to pay up. I didn’t way to die back then, so I accepted his offer without really thinking about it but now…

…oh Force…this is really happening…

The Emperor chuckled at my appearance, though thankfully not able to know what I was through my thoughts. That had been one of Q’s ways to sweeten the deal: in addition to me not dying after that damn drunk driver had plowed through the pedestrian crossing, he made sure no one could ever find out what I was.

Something to be really thankful for, otherwise they’d have pried my head apart for what I knew, and that was before the Emperor got personally involved with his alchemy and whatnot, figuring how self-inserts work. Though I’m sure he’d know soon enough in such a case. Transfer Essence was one of his powers, if I remember correctly.

“…I…I am honored that you have such confidence in my abilities, Your Excellency.” I finally managed to say.

“You may be inexperienced in commanding fleets, admiral,” the Emperor admitted. “But the reports I have received from the Admiralty indicate you are an excellent staff officer. And you did serve with distinction as a junior officer, hunting down pirates along the Mid Rim.”

“I participated in a number of anti-piracy campaigns as a junior officer, yes,” I admitted. “But as Your Excellency says, as a senior and flag officer, I know only the role of a staff officer…”

“…and how will commanding officers perform their duties properly,” the Emperor interrupted, still with that grandfatherly tone. “Without a dutiful and competent staff to manage the details for them?”

“…I see your point, Your Excellency.” I said with a bow.

The Emperor smiled grandly. “I will not lie to you, my friend.” He said. “This campaign will test you, both as your first fleet command, and as I have foreseen. But, great achievements cannot come without overcoming equally-great challenges. Tell me, admiral: do you think you have what it takes to demonstrate the…obsolescence, of Vandron’s idiosyncrasies…?”

“…I know I do, Your Excellency.” I said after a moment drawing myself back up to parade posture.

“Good, good,” the Emperor said, before his smile acquired a hint of menace to it. “You are as I have heard from your father. I look forward to hearing of your successes as much as he does, I am sure.”

“I will make every effort to be worthy of your trust, Your Excellency.” I said with another bow, but feeling a pit of dread open up in my stomach. That was a thinly-veiled threat if I’d ever heard one, aimed not just at myself, but also at my father.

I absolutely cannot mess this up.

“Excellent!” the Emperor said while clapping his hands with approval. “Then you may go, admiral. On your return to the admiralty, you will receive the relevant paperwork to confirm your appointment, after which you may begin with your new responsibilities.”

I bowed once more to the Emperor, who waved me off before turning his throne away, back towards the window behind him. I turned sharply under the watchful, outwardly-inhuman gazes of the Sovereign Protectors around the Emperor’s throne, and marched back down the way I came.

Force…I’ve got my work cut out for me.

 

I marched down one of the hallways in the family residence on Imperial Center, the walls finished with pale-blue plaster, and hung with oil portraits in gilded frames at regular intervals. There were also marble busts or glazed porcelains on hardwood plinths, which were probably even more expensive than what was standing on them.

Crystal chandeliers provided bright and even light, while the thick, red carpet on the floor muffled all footsteps. And at the far end of the hallway, flanking a pair of wooden doors, were a pair of family guards, dressed in matching high-collar jackets and trousers of blue, with gold epaulets and a gold trimmed sash of white from their right shoulder to their left hip. Matching caps rested on their heads, bereft of any symbol or device, and both men saluted me as I approached.

I saluted them both instinctively, and then they both opened the doors for me. I stepped inside, and they closed it behind me as well.

My father’s sitting room was a well-furnished one, if still as elaborate as the rest of the residence, if not even more so. The walls were decorated with frescoes of idyllic scenes of pastoral life on distant Valyria, while hardwood shelves were stacked with books and other materials. There were portraits, sculptures, and busts, the first of those in gilded frames, and the latter all on hardwood plinths.

The floor was paneled with milky marble, shot through with swirling patterns of dark color. Chairs upholstered in red sat next to hardwood tables along the windows, looking out over the greenery of the grounds and then the towering security wall beyond, and more chairs and a couch stood in the middle of the room, around an even larger table.

Under them was one of the most expensive things in this house, practically priceless if my father was to be believed. A Ziostian carpet, made and obtained by the family during the Galactic Cold War some 3000 years or so ago.

How they managed to keep it hidden for so long from the Jedi and their obsession with destroying anything involved with the Sith was mind-boggling…

…though the fact that it had been kept in stasis for those millennia and then buried in the family vault on Valyria until recently might have been a major factor. That, and it was just a carpet. It wasn’t a holocron or an amulet or a sword or whatnot that could have been tainted by the Dark Side.

It was a carpet, primarily red, but also with elaborate, abstract embroidery in gold, white, and black.

“Welcome back.” Count Aelor Targarven said, sitting on the couch and working at a portable terminal, financial data scrolling past quickly. “I hear you were summoned to the upper palace today. Did something happen?”

Of course my father would have heard about that. He might only be of mid-rank as far as the nobility were concerned, but the Targaryens and the rest of the 40 Families of Valyria were old enough to be ranked among the so-called Old Houses, alongside such illustrious names as Organa, Vandron, and Garonin, among others.

He had a place in Court, and with it eyes and ears of his own. He also knew that entry to the upper palace was restricted to those with Court rank, or received special permission, and of course, palace staff and security. Even flag officers who didn’t have permission were limited to the lower palace, located underground and containing the Admiralty, the General Staff, and the Imperial High Command among other critical locations.

“The Emperor summoned me to an audience.” I said, taking off my officer’s cap before letting my hair loose of the ponytail it was usually held up in. Platinum strands immediately fell over my shoulders, which even now I couldn’t help but feel wonder at.

I’d been a brunette in my past life, and back then I’d always held a fascination for blonde hair. Oh, I’d experimented with hair dye and even bleach a few times, but it never satisfied me, never quite achieving that sense of wonder I felt at the sight of naturally-blonde hair.

In this life though, I was platinum-blonde, and despite having decades to get used to it, it still felt so amazing to look at in a mirror.

My father looked up in concern at my words, and soon rose to his feet to approach me. Genuine concern, for me and my health, and not just at how my audience with the Emperor might affect our fortunes at Court and elsewhere.

I smiled at him. “I’m just fine, father.” I said reassuringly. “His Excellency was most gracious, and the audience went as well as could be expected.”

My father sighed with relief, though he still reached out and squeezed my arms reassuringly. Though the memories of my other (?) father never completely faded, this man had filled that role for decades now, and had not only raised me and made sure I wanted for nothing, had also been there for me whenever I needed him.

Nor did he expect me to conform to some…backward, expectation of prim, proper, and ‘ladylike’ behavior.

So long as you know and understand what you’re doing, I’ll leave it up to you.

This whole family is your inheritance, so please do as you think best.

No matter what happens, I won’t regret it.

You shouldn’t be too concerned about House Targaryen. Instead, use House Targaryen as a tool, and think only of expanding your horizons.

Alright?

There was no question about it. Regardless of what had once been in another time and place, this man was my father here and now, and not simply because of bonds of blood.

“And?” father prompted. “What did the Emperor wish to speak to you about?”

“Uh…” I hesitated, only to give way to the concern in my father’s eyes. “Father, did you mention to His Excellency my…difficulties, in the past with…um…gender roles, in general Imperial society?”

Father’s eyes widened in surprise. “I have…a few times…” he admitted. “But always in passing, and never as a matter of course, much less as a serious subject for conversation. No offense…”

“None taken,” I reassured father again. “You never know when and where COMPNOR might be listening.”

Father nodded in agreement. “Why do you ask though?” he asked with some worry. “It has something to do with why the Emperor summoned you, didn’t it?”

“…His Excellency seems to consider COMPNOR’s opinions on gender roles a…idiosyncrasy…” I carefully said. “…and from the sound of things, His Excellency wishes for me to be model case to bring an end to it.”

“…unsurprising…” father admitted after a moment’s thought. “The Emperor might allow Lord Vandron free reign when it comes to setting COMPNOR’s policies, and even to rise to such influence as it currently possesses, but I dare to say the Emperor has his own opinions on the trends they set.”

“That much is obvious, at least when it comes to gender roles,” I said. “Considering Ysane Isard’s favored position not just in the Ubiqtorate, but also as a member of the Imperial Court.”

“Quite…” father agreed with a nod. Then folding his hands behind him, he stepped back, taking a deep breath while looking up at the frescoed ceiling, depicting the legendary Fourteen Flames of Ancient Valyria, bathed in golden light from the room’s chandelier. “I am glad for you. It seems you finally have the opportunity to prove your abilities beyond question, and with the Emperor’s support at that. Though, you must be careful as well.”

Father paused, and regarded me evenly with his violet eyes. I blinked, and met his eyes slightly-deferentially. Then he raised a hand, and put it on my shoulder.

“This will put you at great risk, and in more ways than one.” He said.

“Father?”

“Should you succeed,” father began. “Then you will be an unspoken criticism of Lord Vandron’s policies, and an indirect sanction from the Emperor himself. Indeed, I dare to say that may just be an angle of the Emperor’s design here, a means with which to check Lord Vandron’s great power and influence, and thus maintain the balance between the various factions within the Imperial Court.”

I blinked at that, and meeting father’s eyes resolutely, nodded. “And there is also the how the Emperor wishes for you to become a model case.” He continued. “No doubt it is a matter of great importance, but also of equal risk. Or am I wrong?”

“No,” I said with a shake of my head. “You are right. As His Excellency said, no great achievement comes with overcoming equally-great challenges.”

“That is undeniably true.” Father said with a nod. “That said, I still pray to the gods of our ancestors, or to any interested beings that exist out there, that you not only succeed, but come out of this sound and safe.”

“…father…”

Father sighed and shook his head. “When you decided to join the navy,” he began. “I knew and prepared myself for the possibility of you laying down your life in the line of duty. And I have been thankful that you have always returned in one piece, each and every time you went out to hunt pirates all those years ago.”

“And I will return again,” I said firmly. “With victory in hand. Lord Vandron will be displeased, but while I must and will watch my back, I will not cower, but stand proud. I will become Countess Targaryen in time, will I not? How can I do any less then, when our ancestors would turn in our graves if I did?”

Father chuckled and shook his head, before gently taking my chin and then kissing me on the forehead. “As fiery as ever,” he said. “Your mother would be so proud…but enough of this gloomy matter. Go and freshen up, then we’ll have dinner together. You can even tell me all about the Emperor’s command over our meal.”

I smiled and gave my father a small bow. “By your command, father.” I cheekily said.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“…the Emperor’s orders are clear and beyond question.” The holographic recording of the message from Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin said firmly as it floated above my desk in my office at the Admiralty. “You will have full authority with regard to the expected campaign through the Belsavis Gateway, and the New Territories beyond. Moff Zokor of the Bozhnee Sector has been appraised of the situation, and guarantees full cooperation and support. Requests for manpower, equipment, ships, and supplies among others, will be expedited as per Executive Directive 9066-6M. Nevertheless, in light of our positions and responsibilities with regard to the Bozhnee Sector and the greater Oversector Outer, we will expect monthly progress reports, in addition to the reports you will be sending to Imperial Center…”

“Grand Moff Tarkin sure loves the sound of his voice.” I thought to myself. I made sure to listen and understand, though. Grand Moff Tarkin might like the sound of his voice, but he was no fool, and he ran a tight ship in Oversector Outer. Well, up to a point: The Rebel Alliance operated with relative freedom out there, and to no small amount of annoyance for Grand Moff Tarkin.

Together with his…obsessive-compulsive, style of authoritarian government, I can understand why he was so…ruthless, at trying to stamp the Alliance out.

Not that it made the (future) destruction of Alderaan by the Death Star any less stupid. Even if Alderaan was one of the biggest covert supporters of the Alliance in the Core Systems, that was precisely what it was: A Core World. And not just any Core World, but one of the oldest and most respected, with a place in galactic history dating back to before the founding of the Galactic Republic twenty-five thousand years ago.

Still…that was a matter for the future. More importantly, Grand Moff Tarkin wasn’t just grandstanding, he was making sure I knew and understood my place, that despite having been granted – and by Imperial Decree no less – full authority over the coming campaign, as Grand Moff of Oversector Outer and answering directly to the Emperor himself, his was still the greater authority in this region of the galaxy. His including Moff Zokor was a subtle demonstration of that.

Normally, as a mere moff who answered to the Imperial Ruling Council and not directly to the Emperor, my authority would have superseded that of Zokor’s. My mandate came directly from the Emperor, after all.

But Grand Moff Tarkin said Moff Zokor had a say, and as a grand moff, that was practically equal to an order from the Emperor himself. Unless the Emperor said otherwise of course, but what were the chances of that?

“…on a final note,” Grand Moff Tarkin said with a wintery smile. “Rest assured that Senator Borre of the Bozhnee Sector has been informed of the situation and his expectations thereof. You may proceed with your campaign plans without fear of undue and unnecessarily-restrictive oversight from the Imperial Senate.”

I snorted, and then actually smiled. Now there’s something I completely agreed with: no interference from those busybodies in the Imperial Senate who didn’t know a damn thing about waging war. While I might have welcomed a diplomatic resolution with the Federation had circumstances permitted, circumstances did not permit it, and so I’d rather get this over and done with without some prima donna, bleeding-heart politicians running around and making a mess of things.

“Though, I wonder how Grand Moff Tarkin dealt with Senator Borre.” I mused. “Bribery doesn’t seem his style…blackmail, maybe? Or an under-the-table deal of some kind, favor for a favor in the future, or something like that…oh well…none of my business, I suppose.”

Shrugging and turning off the holoprojector, I picked up one of the dataslates on my desk, and gave its contents a quick read-through. I did that for the next forty minutes, signing off on orders, reports, and updates, while sending off a number of messages and looking up various subjects on my terminal.

Then there was a knock on my door, and I set aside the report I’d been reading about a requisition order for 200 merchant freighters as part of the expeditionary force’s logistics train. “Enter.” I curtly said.

The doors slid open, and my adjutant, Lieutenant Sara Londes, entered with a salute, followed by a man with a flag officer’s rank plaque and code cylinders. “Please excuse the interruption.” Sara said as I stood and returned her salute. “But Rear Admiral Yaggos has arrived, and you asked earlier that he be shown in on his arrival.”

“Yes, of course” I said, saluting the rear admiral, who saluted back. “You may return to your station, lieutenant.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sara said while saluting, and then turning sharply left my office. I gestured to one of the seats in front of my desk, and sat down on my chair, hands folded over my lap.

“So,” I began. “How was the journey back to Imperial Center?”

“Without incident, thank you.” The man said with a curt nod. I smiled and nodded.

“I see.” I said, before taking one of the dataslates on my desk. “Torrhen Yaggos…born 28 BrS, graduated tenth in the Naval Academy Class of Year 2, served as a military policeman for the Republic Navy in the lead up to the Clone Wars, stationed on a variety of ships and bases across the galaxy. At the start of the war, you transferred to logistics, and served as a staff officer at Republic High Command for the rest of the war. At war’s end, you entered the academy at Corulag, and graduated two years ago majoring in logistics. And until a few days ago, you were the commanding officer for the Onderon Naval Base.”

“That is an accurate summation of my military career thus far.” Torrhen said with a nod.

“Then I will get straight to the point.” I said, and sitting forward, placed my hands on the desk. “Rear Admiral Yaggos, I would offer you the position of Chief of Staff for the Imperial Expeditionary Force that I will be leading into the New Territories.”

The man sat silent for a few moments, and then taking a deep breath, drew himself up. “I accept.” He said.

“You won’t even ask about the details before doing so?” I asked with a small smile. “And you’ll be comfortable serving under someone younger than you are?”

“The latter should be of no concern to a military officer.” Torrhen answered. “If high command has determined you are suitable for a command role, then it is not my place to question their judgment.”

“I see. And the details?”

“…seeing as this is the first time I’ve ever heard about the New Territories, much less an expedition therein, I can reasonably assume you would not have given me any answers unless I accepted your offer first.”

“And you think you can back out even after I tell you all about them?” I asked.

“Permission to speak freely, ma’am?” Torrhen asked back.

I sat back in my seat. “Granted.” I said.

“This expedition,” he began. “No matter where it’s headed or how, is likely to be incredibly-dangerous, if it hasn’t been publicly-announced yet, or even released to the Admiralty in general. But danger and death are a given when it comes to being a soldier, no matter the time or place. We don’t go out of our way to find them, but when we do find them, then we face them as we must. And if soldiers’ lives must be lost…then it must be made sure the losses count for something.”

I stared at the man for several long moments, and then nodded. “I see.” I said. “Very well said, rear admiral.”

“May I ask a question, admiral?” Torrhen asked.

“By all means.” I invited him.

“Why did you select me as your chief of staff?” he asked.

“You had seniority among the list of qualified candidates I was presented.” I answered. “There’s also your background in logistics, which I consider to be the most important part of any campaign or expedition. And then there’s your wartime experience in the Clone Wars. Even if not on the bridge of a ship, or on a battlefield except perhaps during the Battle of Coruscant, it’s still a valuable one, especially as it was in a role overseeing the whole combat zone that was the galaxy during that war. Based on all that…it wasn’t a difficult decision.”

“…I see.” Torrhen said after a long moment. “Come to think of it, admiral, you too have a background in logistics, do you not?”

“So I do.” I said with a nod. “Though unlike you, I lack combat experience aside from hunting some pirates along the Mid Rim, and that was years ago. And managing logistics across the galaxy in peacetime is completely different from doing so in war.”

Torrhen chuckled. “It seems we complement each other well, admiral.” He said. “I look forward to serving under you.”

I nodded back. “As do I.” I said, before bringing up some classified data, and unlocking them with my code cylinders. “Now then, I will explain our upcoming expedition, so you can begin with your new responsibilities as soon as possible, rear admiral.”

“By all means, admiral.”

 

The Belsavis Gateway was rather underwhelming, truth be told. I’d expected a wormhole to be, well, dramatic in appearance, like that wormhole near Deep Space Nine. A circular pattern of golden waves rippling out from a central point, said central point a shaft of blinding light bursting out into space and leading into, well, the wormhole. A space between spaces, if that meant anything.

Okay, maybe that was unfair. The Belsavis Gateway had its moments, specifically when ships were going in or out of the wormhole. If they went in, the wormhole had the appearance of a golden spiral, falling inwards to a central point. If they went out…okay, then the Belsavis Gateway had an appearance matching that of Deep Space Nine’s wormhole, if slightly more subdued.

Though only if you looked at it from the front or back. Look at it from the side – assuming you could achieve a perfect perpendicular angle – and the wormhole was actually invisible. In fact, when the wormhole was at rest, you wouldn’t even know it was there, just a circular patch of empty space rippling like a pond of oily water, distorting any light falling on it.

In hindsight, maybe I was being even more unfair, as to my knowledge the wormhole at Deep Space Nine was completely invisible when inactive. In contrast, the Belsavis Gateway had at least some visibility when at rest.

I blinked as the Belsavis Gateway came active, and a pair of Carrack Class Light Cruisers emerged, returning from another patrol of the system on other side. The rest of the flotilla followed soon after, six CR90 Corvettes.

Ten such patrol flotillas were present on the other side of the Belsavis Gateway at any one time, for a total of one hundred and eighty ships. Yes, they were light ships, but quantity was a quality of its own.

Especially since while a Carrack had armament typical for its size and class, its speed and endurance were comparable to fighters and capital ships respectively. If anyone on the other side decided to make trouble, the sheer number of CR90s backed by a solid force of Carracks would be enough to deal with them.

Or if they couldn’t, help was only a simple subspace transmission away, and a fast attack force would arrive in less than an hour.

Yes, subspace transmissions. That caught me by surprise too, but apparently Star Wars also used subspace communications. In fact, they were the primary means of FTL communications between civilian starships, as ever since the rise of the Empire the holonet had been restricted for military and government use.

Even then, from the Deep Core to the Mid Rim, sector, system, and planetary governments supplemented their holonet communications with localized subspace networks, and further networked them with each other for increased coverage and range. And on the Outer Rim, where the holonet had never been extended, subspace communications were the only FTL communications available, barring courier ships.

Military and government ships too kept secondary subspace communication capabilities, just in case.

The sound of footsteps shook me out of the reverie I tended to fall into while standing on the command deck of my Star Destroyer, the result of the hypnotic sight of the starscape beyond the great transparisteel windows, and the background hum of computers and men at work across the bridge. I turned and accepted the offered dataslate from my adjutant with a nod.

“The 62nd Patrol Flotilla has completed its current assignment,” Sara said, summarizing the report she’d just given me, like the good staff officer that she was. “No incidents to report, all ten probe droids deployed as planned.”

“And how many probe droids have we sent out so far?” I asked while flipping through the dataslate.

“Thus far we have deployed a total of eight hundred probe droids through the other side of the wormhole.” Sara answered. “Hyperspace mapping is proceeding as planned, and we have discovered a number of inhabited worlds on the other side. Still no contact with a local government, though.”

“Assuming they know there’s someone to contact.” I pointed out.

That was actually something that made me curious. If I remember right, didn’t the Federation have a subspace sensor network spread across their whole territory? They should have detected us and the Belsavis Gateway by now.

Of course, I could just be overestimating the Federation’s capabilities. Space was vast, and from what I recall things slipped through their nets even in areas where the Federation kept an especially close eye out, like along the Neutral Zone.

Perhaps the subspace network didn’t cover the whole of Federation territory, and only contested space? If so, we might have emerged in the Federation’s metaphorical backside, a knife aimed at their back without them realizing it.

That, or we were in another part of the galaxy. That was fine. I wouldn’t mind blowing the Jem’Hadar out of the stars, before bombing them and their so-called Founders back into the Stone Age. Oh, I didn’t completely buy into COMPNOR’s tripe about Human supremacy and all that, but there were just some species that were so…

…vile, that I couldn’t help but wonder if COMPNOR had a point.

The Hutts for one. Trandoshans for another. Then there were the Anzati (though I’ve never met one, and I never wanted to), plus the Sand People (again, I’ve never met them, but whenever I remember poor Shmi I couldn’t help but cheer Anakin – Lord Vader – on as he slaughtered them like the animals that they were)…

…and in the Star Trek universe, there’s the Kazon, the Borg (except Seven and those other drones on Voyager, but only because they weren’t really drones anymore), and the aforementioned Dominion…

…anyway…

“What’s the status of the fortifications on the other side?” I asked.

“We should be finished within the next seventy-two hours.” Sara replied. “Assuming nothing interferes with construction, of course.”

“That’s what the monitors are for.” I said. “And their escorts, of course. Inform the engineers I want those Golan-IIs operational within seventy-two hours. They can fine-tune and everything else afterwards so long as they’re combat-capable and the CGTs are up and running.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sara said with a nod, and at my returning nod, smartly strode off to relay my orders.

Turning back to the windows, my eyes homed in on the nine Golan-II Battle Stations on this side of the Belsavis Gateway, positioned around the wormhole in such a way to cover for each other and ensuring any enemy that managed to get through the wormhole wouldn’t be able to find any blind spots to pass through or attack one or more battle stations from. Not that I was so stupid as to rely completely on static defenses, of course.

I refuse to become the Star Wars version of Field Marshal Maurice Gamelin, who gambled everything on the Maginot Line and ended up handing France to Hitler on a silver platter neatly tied up with a pretty pink bow.

Each Golan-II had been assigned supporting forces composed of six Victory-I Class Star Destroyers. Old ships, slow by modern standards, but very reliable for all that, and still packing firepower, shields, and armor worthy of the designation ‘Star Destroyer’.

Perfect for the role of monitors, they provided tactical flexibility for the Golan-IIs, while adding additional firepower against any potential enemy. And then there were the escort forces, eighteen CR90s for every two Victory-Is as screens, and another four Nebulon-Bs each to cover their rears.

Of course, this assumed any enemy that came through came with the intention of fighting and securing this side of the wormhole. Alternatively, they could just go to warp or hyperspace the moment they passed through…

…well, there was the reason I had six Detainer CC-2200s – the first class of what would be known as interdictor cruisers – around this area of space, and another twelve hanging further back just in case. Any ship that tried to escape to warp or hyperspace after running the wormhole would be facing an unpleasant surprise.

Of course, they could just blow their way out of the trap by knocking out the interdictors, but considering the weight of firepower built up around the wormhole, what were the chances of that?

Still, best not to take chances. Two Vindicator Class Heavy Cruisers each guarded a single interdictor, screened by another eighteen CR 90s, and with their rears guarded by Nebulon-B Escort Frigates.

At the thought of the sheer amount of firepower I had available – and that was before the rest of the expeditionary force was factored in – I smiled at a thought coming to mind, a memory from my past life, a quote from Philippe Petain, Marshal of France.

Firepower kills.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Several days later, when I was conducting an inspection of one the Golan-II Battle Stations set up on the other side of the Belsavis Gateway, Starfleet finally came calling.

“What a strange design…” Sara mused next to me, as we stood on the station’s command deck, looking across space to where a trio of ships hung in space.

After spending decades living and making a name for myself in the Star Wars universe, I was inclined to agree. I guess I just got used to the style of starships there, that here in the Star Trek universe – or was it galaxy? – their style of ship design came off as strange. That, and the part of me trained and experienced as a navy officer began looking for weaknesses in the general design.

The struts connecting the nacelles to the engineering block were obvious weaknesses. The same went for the bridge between the saucer-shaped main hull and the cylindrical engine section. Granted, the same could be said for a Star Destroyer’s bridge tower, but the bridge tower had mass, something that the bridge between the main hull and the engine section of Federation starships didn’t quite have.

The ship’s bridge was dangerously-exposed on top of the dorsal hull, though in that case I can’t really complain. The same could be said about the command decks of Imperial warships, after all.

And finally, the design of Federation ships as a whole made for big targets from the front, and weren’t very efficient when it came to pointing as many guns as possible at an enemy. Then again, Federation ships were exploration and science vessels first, and warships second.

Something that would haunt them here and now, to be sure.

“We’re receiving a transmission.” One of the communications crew reported. “But it’s not in any language we recognize.”

“Unsurprising,” I said. “We’re no longer in our galaxy, after all. It’d be unreasonable, stupid even, to assume the people here speak Basic.”

“What should we do, admiral?” the station commander asked.

I hummed in thought, crossing my arms over my chest while thinking it over. I recognized two of the ships, Excelsior Classes if I remember right, flanking the one in the middle and forward. That one I couldn’t recognize, but I’d bet money based on that alone that we were probably in the 24th Century.

The Excelsior Class had been the most advanced ship in Starfleet during the 23rd Century, and probably numbered only a few vessels. And it’d be at the head of any force like what we were facing now, not providing escort duty.

Of course I could be wrong, but I don’t think I am.

“Status of the unknowns?” I asked.

The station commander conferred with the sensor station, and returned to me after a few moments. “Their shields appear to be down, and their weapons are offline.” He said. “They’re repeatedly sending the same message to us though, and sending us a fairly-large data packet.”

“Containment?” I asked.

The man nodded. “As per standard cyberwarfare procedures for all receiving ships and facilities.” He said, and I nodded back in approval.

Not that there was anything to worry about, that data packet was probably just a first contact package, and the repeating transmissions greetings and requests for diplomatic negotiations. “…brave men…” I murmured.

“Ma’am?” the station commander asked.

“Unless these people are completely incompetent,” I said. “They’d have noticed the sheer amount of firepower present here. And yet, here they are. With their shields down and weapons offline…a shame…but we have our orders, and our duty to fulfil to the Empire.”

“As you say, ma’am.” The station commander said with a nod.

“Signal the Courageous.” I ordered.

“Ma’am?” the station commander asked, looking and sounding confused.

“Golan-II’s don’t have ion cannons, commander.” I said. “But Imperial Class ships do. Signal Courageous, and have them use the ship’s ion cannons to knock out those ships’ systems. Then target their engines with turbolasers. Leave them dead in the water. Afterwards, have Stormtroopers board and capture as many crew and officers as possible. I want prisoners to interrogate, and computers to dissect.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The station commander said, rushing to relay my orders.

“Well…” I thought to myself. “It’s not like I can avoid having to go to war, and fighting Starfleet. That was part of our pact, wasn’t it, Q? Might as well get it over with.”

I turned my eyes to my flagship, the Imperial Class Star Destroyer Courageous. Imperial-I Class to be specific, as the Imperial-II wouldn’t be laid down for another fifteen or so years. The same went for the Executor Class Star Dreadnought, with the Mandator and Mandator-II being the most fearsome vessels in the fleet today.

I’d been tempted to request a Mandator-II for a flagship, but instead decided to stick with an Imperial instead. I hadn’t really done anything of note, so asking for a Star Dreadnought might made have me look out of place. Oh, I’m sure the Emperor would have been amused, but the rest of the powers-that-be though…

…yeah, never mind.

I looked on as blue beams of light lanced from the Courageous, and struck all three ships. Lights flashed across their hulls, even as their engines, windows, and running lights went dark, and then green bolts flashed across space, striking at the drifting Federation vessels’ engine sections.

Explosions of flame and debris fountained into space…

…and then I was shielding my eyes, as did Sara and everyone else looking through the command deck’s windows.

“What the hell happened?” the station commander demanded from his bridge crew, technicians, junior officers, and enlisted hurriedly checked their stations.

“If I may say so, admiral,” Sara began. “Those ships’ reactors must have gone critical.”

“So it would seem, Sara.” I said, while rubbing a temple with my fingers.

Federation warp cores and their famous volatility. And hypermatter is supposed to be even more dangerous than antimatter? Ha!

“Well, there goes my prisoners and sliced computers.” I said with a sigh. “That said, there are other sources of information, as per the operational plan.”

“As you say, ma’am.” Sara said with a nod. I looked back out the windows, to where the cooling debris of three Federation vessels destroyed by warp core breaches drifted fast and free through space.

Then I was turning, as the station commander approached with a dataslate. “Our turbolasers cut through their hull like it wasn’t even there.” He said. “We must then have compromised their main reactors, resulting in their destruction.”

I nodded slowly while going through the report. “We don’t know if those were their best ships,” I began. “Or if they were even warships in the first place. For all we know they could have been diplomatic couriers.”

“And even if they were warships,” Sara pointed out. “Their shields were down.”

The station commander looked skeptical. “Even if they were up against a Star Destroyer,” he said. “Those were surgical strikes. Against vessels of comparable role based on size…say, a Vindicator, they’d have caused damage, but would never have destroyed it. If those were warships, then I’m not impressed at all.”

“That may be so commander,” I said with a nod. “But let’s not get carried away with assumptions. Let’s do this properly, and show these people the full might of the Imperial Navy. It may seem like overkill now, but in the long-term, I’m sure it will only contribute to our cause.”

“Shock and awe.” Sara remarked, and the station commander nodded with a small smile.

“I see your point, ma’am.” He said.

I nodded back at him. “In any case,” she said. “I’ll continue with the inspection another day, prepare my shuttle, I’m returning to the Courageous. Hopefully our experts can crack whatever data these people sent us, and give us something to show for all this trouble beyond a field of debris in space.”

“Yes, ma’am!”
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“And there she is!” Q flamboyantly greeted me as I walked into my quarters aboard the Courageous, and wearing an Imperial Grand Admiral’s uniform to boot. No surprise there, I suppose. “The Traveler from Another World, the Reborn Wanderer, the Gallant and Noble Conqueror of the Stars, Herald of Reformation and Champion of the New Order, Galactic Imperial Admiral Jaenera Targaryen!”

“Q…good to see you again, I suppose.”

Q tutted while waving a finger in the air. “If you’re going to say that,” he said while pacing around. “You should be more enthusiastic about it. Especially after all the trouble I went through to sweeten the deal, like making sure not one of your galaxy’s showboating telepaths and reality-renders figures out what you are. Especially that pompous old prune you call an Emperor. Or for that matter, giving you the appearance you were so very enamored with. Valyrians…I’ll admit your kind are exotic enough for Humans but still…”

Q trailed off with a shrug as he sat down in a nearby chair. “Considering you haven’t been in touch since we made that deal decades ago,” I said while taking off my cap and then sitting down opposite him. “I wasn’t really expecting you.”

“Now that’s quite an oversight on your part.” Q said while tapping his fingers together. “Still, you do seem to be living up to your end of the bargain, so I suppose I really have nothing to complain about.”

“Conquer the Federation, huh?” I said softly. “And? What about the rest of the Alpha Quadrant? Or this galaxy?”

Q laughed. “Our agreement was only to spare your life, and be reborn into another one with your sense of self effectively-unchanged,” he said. “Among other terms, in exchange for you steamrolling the grand and wonderful Federation. So long as that’s done, then our agreement’s done. You are free to live your life as you please. Though that makes me wonder, what will you do with your life?”

“What will be will be.” I said with a shrug, before smiling at the look of disappointment on Q’s face. “Though, I’ll take advantage of any opportunity I can get.”

Q pursed his lips at that, locking his fingers together while pressing the index ones against his chin. After a few moments, he shrugged. “A better answer than what I’d have gotten from some other characters.” He said. “Well, in that case, I’ll be taking my leave. I only really came here to say hi, see how an old friend was doing, and pass a few reminders along if needed. Glad to see the last isn’t, so…well then…”

“Wait!” I said, even as Q prepared to snap his fingers to leave. “Before you leave, I have a question.”

“And that is?”

“What’s your angle in this, Q?” I asked. “I remember enough – though I’ll admit it’s not very accurate, considering it was literally in another life, and some details are probably very different much like in the Emperor’s case – to know that you don’t actually act on a whim. At least, not completely, though even then there’s something else to it.”

“And she gets it!” Q said, clapping his hands, his applause joined by countless more as I found myself no longer in my quarters, but in the Imperial Senate on Imperial Center. Only instead of senators, the people in the surrounding alcoves were just ordinary people, as though an audience to a presentation or a play. And Q was no longer wearing a grand admiral’s uniform, but the Emperor’s robes of state. “You’d be surprised how so many people smarter than you are only able to see the surface. You? You’re just a girl in a dead end job who was dying because of a drunk driver who got reborn as a noblewoman-turned naval officer for an autocratic galaxy-spanning empire. Those other people were talented diplomats, experienced explorers, brilliant scientists all in one, born to a diverse culture that promotes a utopian society in pursuit of an idyllic future…but you managed to figure something out they couldn’t. And for that I’ll give you a straight answer.”

There was a flash of light, and we were on a beach…somewhere. “I told you earlier, didn’t I?” Q asked from where he was lying on a folding chair, sipping at a cocktail while staring at the sunset through a pair of sunglasses. You are the Herald of Reformation and Champion of the New Order. I think the people in this galaxy can learn a lot from you and those who follow you.”

“The New Order isn’t really…wait, no…look beneath the surface…”

“Admiral, you continue to impress.” Q said while toasting me and taking a long drink, before light flashed and we stood in my quarters again. “Yes, please, continue the thought.”

“…the New Order…” I hesitantly said. “Doesn’t necessarily have to mean the Emperor’s New Order. It can be anything I make of it, here and now, with the power I have to make it happen.”

“Congratulations!” Q said, taking my hand and shaking it vigorously. “Though you really should be more confident, you’re an Imperial Admiral for crying out loud. That aside, good on you for figuring it out! Yes, that’s what I want you to do. I want you to teach these people a few things, most important of all, how to live.”

I raised an eyebrow at that, and then snorted as I realized what he meant by that. “Easier said than done,” I said. “But doable.”

“Then I look forward to seeing how you do it.” Q said with an expectant smirk. “Until next time…right now, I’ve got things to do, and people to see. Bye-bye now.”

“Yeah…and thanks, for saving my life and giving this chance to start over.”

“Ah…gratitude…so very rare…and so very much more appreciated because of that…”

There was a flash of light, and then Q was gone. Alone with myself, I sighed, and walked off to get a change of clothes.

 

Preceded by TIE Fighter squadrons, Imperial dropships burned through the planet’s atmosphere, escorted by close-flying Skipray Blastboats. Breaking through the upper atmosphere in a matter of minutes, they homed in on the colony below, sprawling out along the shores of a narrow sea cutting into the depths of a hot and arid peninsula.

Stormtrooper Sergeant GG-1792 checked his blaster carbine, followed by his armor’s seals, before looking out the viewport as they approached the drop site. The dropships were flying in now, Skiprays still flying close, though smoke was rising across the colony from where TIE Fighters had launched strafing runs.

Then he was gripping his harness, as particle beams of some kind lanced up from the colony, splattering against the Skiprays’ shields or scoring burns against the dropships’ armor. “Hang on back there.” The pilot spoke over the general frequency. “Taking evasive action.”

“Acknowledged.” GG-1792 said. He kept an eye on the viewport, watching other dropships and Skiprays weaving back and forth, then two of the latter were opening fire with their dorsal laser cannons. A third opened fire with proton torpedoes, the impacts flooding an entire block with crimson plasma that had the surrounding buildings all but literally melting in on themselves.

He saw AT-STs advancing up an elevated road cutting across the colony, accompanied by more Stormtroopers, the harsh desert Sun flashing brightly off their armor. Then GG-1792’s dropship was banking and turning in a wide circle, before slowing and coming to a halt over a square.

“Stormtroopers, move!” GG-1792 barked as the door hissed open, and kicking a coiled cable over the edge in the same breath. In the next moment he was sliding down, landing in a crouch and looking down his carbine’s sights. More Stormtroopers dropped down around him, and then the squad was advancing, moving from cover to cover as they hurried through an alley.

“Sergeant GG-1792,” Lieutenant Blyck began over the platoon frequency. “Your squad’s target will be a building housing a network server within the surrounding district. Eliminate all hostiles, and secure all the data backups. Hardware recovery is secondary. Once data backups are secure, standby for additional orders.”

“Acknowledged, lieutenant.” GG-1792 said as his helmet’s HUD displayed the objective marker on a small map. “Squad, proceed as ordered.”

“Acknowledged!” the squad chorused.

Making their way down the alley, they arrived at the server building, built at an unusual angle sloping up against a hill. Two Stormtroopers immediately moved to flanking positions, while a third Stormtrooper attached a breaching charge to the door. The rest of the squad assumed a semi-circular position, carbines aimed at the door.

“Breaching!” Lance Corporal CR-7954 said as he pressed the trigger, and blowing the door apart in a burst of flame, smoke, and debris.

“Hostiles!” Private LQ-3418 shouted a breath before the squad opened fire, gunning down two men behind a makeshift barricade a short distance from the door. The barricade had been battered by the door’s destruction, but it had held, not that it did the men behind it much good. They were slow, either poorly-trained or inexperienced, lacked armor of any kind, and armed with only side-arms.

“Humans?” Corporal IB-3631 said in confusion as her fire-team took point. The dead men certainly looked like it, though their long-sleeved uniforms, mostly black but for the yellow around their shoulders and chests that might obscure non-Human features.

“Looks like it, ma’am.” LQ-3418 said.

“Never mind that for now.” GG-1792 cut in. “Focus on the mission, and leave that stuff to the eggheads after the battle.”

“Yes, sir.” The squad chorused, as they moved up.

“Switching to thermal.” Senior Private ER-7760 said as he took the lead, cautiously moving with an eye looking down his carbine’s sights. “Ambush up ahead. UX-5999, put a thermal detonator around that corner up ahead. I’ll cover you.”

“Standby…” Senior Private First Class UX-5999 said while taking his thermal detonator from behind his waist, and typing in his personal code, armed it with a five-second delay. “…fire in the hole!”

The thermal detonator flew through the air, struck the wall at an angle, and flying off, exploded a couple of seconds later. “Advancing!” ER-7760 and UX-5999 chorused as they charged forward, and entered a large room with two long tables in the middle, flanked by a pair of benches each. Two more corpses were slumped over the floor, smoke rising from burned flesh and cloth alike.

Thudding from the side caught the squad’s attention, and turning, opened fire without hesitation at a man in blue and black emerging from a side room. The man fell with a cry, side-arm falling with a clatter. “CR-7954,” GG-1792 barked. “Check that room. HQ-2553 and HS-9997, cover him.”

“Yes, sir.” They chorused, the three Stormtroopers moving off as the rest of the squad surrounded the door on the far side of the room. As they moved in, ER-7760 noticed something behind a crate, and raising his carbine fired once.

Smoke rose into the air as a blue-skinned alien with a pair of tentacles or whatnot above his eyes fell from where it’d been hiding behind a crate, wearing a red and black uniform. “…that’s a pretty bad spot for an ambush.” LQ-3418 remarked.

“Not an ambush,” IB-3631 said. “Hiding…though still a bad spot for all that.”

“Thermal shows five hostiles in the other room.” ER-7760 said. “Watch your fire, looks like all the servers are in there.”

“CR-7954,” GG-1792 said. “Stay back for now. We’ll need you to get those backups. No point in getting shot at before you get a chance to finish our orders.”

“Acknowledged, sir.”

“Corporal, take your fire team to other side of the room, and clear it out.” GG-1792 continued. “We’ll take care of this side.”

“Yes, sir.”

“HQ-2553 and HS-9997, take cover behind that server.” GG-1792 said. “We’ll cover you from here. Ready…move!”

Exposing the bare minimum of his body around the doorframe, GG-1792 opened fire with his carbine along with two other Stormtroopers. Down the hall, a trio of men in red and black took cover behind a barricade, and returned fire as best they could. HQ-2553 and HS-9997 dashed across the space between the door and the nearest server, and taking cover, added their fire to the rest of the fire-team’s barrage.

“Corporal, move!” GG-1792 barked.

“Moving!” IB-3631 shouted, and rushing past with her fire-team to the far side of the room. Making it there in one piece, the sounds of more gunfire filled the air, as the corporal flanked the enemy’s position. Less than a minute later, and the position across the room came under fire from the side, gunning down the three men behind the barricade in a matter of seconds. “Clear!”

“All clear, no casualties.” GG-1792 said while taking his fire-team to rendezvous with the corporal.

“No casualties, but we came close.” IB-3631 reciprocated. “LQ-3418 took a hit to the face. If not for his shields, he’d be dead.”

“Lucky him,” GG-1792 said before turning to the squad’s baby. “Watch yourself, private. Our armor’s shields take a lot of time to recharge.”

“Yes, sir.” LQ-3418 said with a nod, and the sergeant was turning away.

“CR-7954, start on those backups.” he said. “This battle isn’t over just yet.”

“Yes, sir.” The lance corporal said, stowing his carbine before pulling out his slicing kit. As the other Stormtrooper worked on the servers, the sergeant made contact with the platoon commander.

“Servers are secure.” GG-1792 reported. “We are securing backups as we speak, standing by for new orders.”

“Acknowledged, sergeant.” Lieutenant Blyck said. “Hold position until data is secure, then rendezvous with the rest of the platoon at the following coordinates.”

GG-1792 nodded as his HUD updated his map. “Acknowledged, sir.” He said, before turning back to the lance corporal. “Hurry up over there, CR-7954. We’ve got new orders once you’re done.”

“Understood, sir. Working as fast as I can.”
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Rear Admiral Genn Arnarr was standing on his flagship’s bridge, when the captain moved up to him. “Admiral,” the man began. “We’ve detected twenty-four ships dropping out of light-speed, and moving on an intercept course.”

“So the locals have responded in force.” Genn said with a nod. “As expected; signal the fleet, take a line formation, and prepare for engagement.”

“Yes, sir.” The captain said before hurrying off. The rear admiral turned back to the windows, eyes narrowing at growing specks of light in the distance.

“They’re fast.” His adjutant remarked.

“Yes…” Genn agreed with a slow nod. “…I wonder…”

“Sir…?”

Genn did not reply at once, instead focusing on his fleet’s tactical disposition. At the heart of it was what Admiral Targaryen had called a fast attack force, composed of either four Star Destroyers or Heavy Cruisers, and escorted by at least six Light Cruisers and sixteen Corvettes. Then there were the supporting elements, powerful flotillas of at least one Star Destroyer or Heavy Cruiser escorted by at least sixteen Corvettes.

For his part, Genn’s fast attack force was centered around four Vindicator Class Heavy Cruisers, and included three support flotillas for a total of seventy-seven ships. Not quite a full fleet by the standards of the Clone Wars, but certainly more than most commanders had to work with when hunting down pirates or rebels.

And just as certainly more than able to take control of the colony below, and fend off the natives’ response.

“Status of the enemy fleet?” Genn asked as his adjutant received a report from a fellow junior officer.

“It appears to be composed of sixteen ships of the Bogey-Two type,” the adjutant replied. “And eight ships of the Bogey-One type.”

“Prioritize the Bogey-Ones.” Genn immediately said. “Based on the previous engagement at the Belsavis Gateway, the Bogey-Ones are likely the enemy’s heavy-hitters. The rest are probably just escorts. Either way, blow them out of the stars.”

“Yes, sir.”

Genn nodded and then narrowed his eyes. “Send out a squadron of TIE Fighters.” He said. “Have them focus on the enemy’s lead ship. Let’s see how those ships respond.”

“Yes, sir.”

Genn nodded again, and looked back out the windows. Barely a minute later, and he watched as a squadron of twelve TIE Fighters soared out in the direction of the enemy. They reached engagement range in less than fifteen minutes, and spreading out, opened fire on the lead enemy ship.

Laser rounds splattered against the enemy’s shields…

…and on the flagship’s bridge, Genn, his adjutant, and the captain gaped. “Are those really capital ships?” the captain breathed. “They’re maneuvering like fighters!”

“I suspected they were more agile than most.” Genn said, biting back the bitter taste of surprise. “But not this fast. Pull the remaining fighters back. Those ships are well-shielded, the fighters’ cannons won’t be of much use.”

“Yes, sir.” The captain said before relaying the order. In the distance, the remaining fighters received the retreat order, and zoomed away, having lost half of their number to the enemy’s orange-colored particle beams. But even as they retreated, one of the enemy ships launched a volley of flashing torpedoes, shooting down another four TIE Fighters with ease.

“Ten fighters lost.” The captain reported with a grimace. “The enemy ships have reformed their formation, and are closing at high speed.”

“Their sacrifice is not without benefit.” Genn said. “I suspect the enemy’s doctrine follows a principle of being able to move quickly while striking hard, at the expense of durability. Signal the fleet, all heavy cruisers are to focus fire on one ship at a time, and destroy them one by one. Light cruisers and corvettes are to guard our flanks, and force the enemy ships into the heavy cruisers’ line of fire. Has the enemy launched fighters?”

“No fighters, sir.” The adjutant replied as the captain relayed the admiral’s orders.

“Hold off on launching additional fighters for now.” Genn said. “Keep them on standby though, along with TIE Bomber squadrons.”

“Yes, sir.” The adjutant said. The minutes ticked by, and then Genn’s eyes narrowed as the enemy ships closed. “Here they come: engage!”

The Imperial Fleet opened up, turbolasers filling the void of space with emerald-green lances. The enemy ships danced clear of most of the shots, and returned fire with their own particle beams.

“Direct hit on our shields.” A bridge crewman on the flagship reported to his section chief. “Minimal energy lost…another direct hit…another direct hit…whatever those beams are, they’ve less power behind them than a single turbolaser strike.”

Then a volley of torpedoes raked the flagship’s dorsal shields, and this time, the cruiser shook from the force of explosions. “Particle shielding down to seventy-two per cent!” the same crewman from before said. “Sir, their particle beams are nothing special, but those torpedoes of theirs are comparable to our proton rockets!”

“Haven’t you gotten the range in yet?” the captain roared at the weapons section.

“Our gunners are compensating as we speak, sir.” The section chief reported.

Moments later, and a trio of batteries on the flagship focused on the closest enemy vessel. Then they fired, along with several other batteries from the other cruisers in the fast attack force. Lances of green smashed into the enemy ship’s shields from multiple angles, the shields holding against the first few impacts, then collapsing, caused the ship to crumple as turbolasers blew huge chunks clean off the saucer-shaped dorsal hull. Molten holes in the cylindrical ventral hull leaked plasma, air, and bodies, the ship losing speed and falling out of formation before another volley of turbolasers reduced the ship to a blinding flash of light in space.

The battle continued, and within the next fifteen minutes, two more enemy ships had been knocked out of the enemy battle line, struggling to get away. Cover from the remaining ships kept them safe…at first.

“Launch fighters and bombers.” Genn ordered. “Have the former fly interference for the latter, and sink those retreating ships with proton torpedoes. And signal our escorts: feel free to close the door behind us.”

The adjutant smiled in understanding. “Yes, sir.” He said.

In response, twelve CR90 Corvettes banked along their x-axes, and bringing over a hundred turbolasers to bear, fired a volley each at the two retreating ships. Molten holes were burned straight through the two ships, plasma and debris spraying into space, before they exploded into blinding flashes of light.

Elsewhere, TIE Fighters and TIE Bombers took their revenge, the former strafing retreating ships while the latter launched volleys of proton torpedoes. One of the enemy ships had its entire dorsal hull torn apart by a volley of proton torpedoes, while another was sent reeling as a TIE Fighter blew out the ship’s bridge section.

In just over forty minutes of battle, all twenty-four enemy ships were destroyed. No Imperials ships were lost, though twenty TIE Fighters and twelve TIE Bombers were destroyed. And more importantly, at least thirty enemy escape pods were scattered across the battlefield.

“Secure those escape pods and their occupants.” Genn ordered. “I’m sure they can tell us a few useful things.”
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The blasting charge blew the door and part of the frame inwards, and the Stormtroopers charged in. Three of them went down, courtesy of six men behind a barricade to the left, who while still lacking armor of any kind, now carried heavy rifles instead of just side-arms.

None of the dropped Stormtroopers were actually dead, though. Their shields and armor took the brunt of the blasts, though they were out of the fight until they could spend some time in a bacta tank.

Other Stormtroopers laid down a withering volley of suppressing fire, lying prone or crouched on the ground, while another Stormtrooper tossed a thermal detonator over the barricade. It exploded, killing all six defenders, and even tossing the bloody and burned corpse of one of them at the Stormtroopers. Pulling their injured out of the way, the Stormtroopers moved on.

“Kriff,” ER-7760 cursed. “Server room up ahead. Thermal indicates six more men inside, taking cover behind the stacks.”

“Watch your fire.” GG-1792 ordered. “Take them out one by one.”

Stepping through the doors, the Stormtroopers split in two, one fire-team going to the left and another to the right. Three each took cover just around the nearest stack’s edge, and then exposing themselves the least they could, laid down suppressing fire.

The remaining Stormtroopers inched their way along the walls, firing precise shots as they flushed the enemy out of cover. One more Stormtrooper went down, his breastplate melted through, but alive for all that.

“Room clear!” ER-7760 said loudly. “Main control room on the other side of those doors, multiple hostiles.”

“ZI-3668,” GG-1792 ordered. “Break the window on the right down, and set up that E-Web. Cover us!”

“Yes, sir.”

Superior Privates ZI-3668 and IX-2236 holstered their carbines, and blowing the window open with a side-arm, set up the heavy weapon. Some of the defenders noticed, and made to stop them, only to run into a volley of fire from the other Stormtroopers.

In less than a minute, the E-Web was ready, and laying down a murderous volley of fire. Consoles exploded while partitions simply turned to molten chunks under the volley of fire. “Corporal!” GG-1792 ordered. “Take your fire-team, and secure that room over there as a strongpoint! The rest of the platoon is coming in, so we hold our position, and catch the enemy in a crossfire once the lieutenant arrives!”

“Yes, sir!” IB-3631 said, before taking point. Barely avoiding fire from the defenders, she skidded to a halt in a crouch against the wall to one side of the office door. It hissed open, exposing an alien in red and black aiming at her, but the corporal was faster.

The alien cried out as IB-3631’s blaster blew his chest out, and then the two women in the room screamed as IB-3631 gunned them down as well. “Clear!” she shouted, leading her fire-team into the room. Blowing out the window on the right, she and her fire-team opened fire took cover behind the low wall, while firing through the window.

Despite the Stormtroopers’ superior firepower and strong positions, the defenders somehow managed to hold on for several more minutes, before the doors to the left of IB-3631’s position blew open. The rest of the platoon poured out, opening fire as they went, then a rocket flew across the room and blew up the defenders’ main point, sending bodies in yellow and black flying. Soon after, another E-Web opened up, and in less than two minutes, the room was clear.

“Room secure!” Lieutenant Blyck said, distinctive with his colored pauldrons, unlike the rest of the Stormtroopers in uniform black and white. “Sergeant, secure the upper level. We’ll handle the rest down here.”

“We have wounded in the back…” GG-1792 began.

“We’ll take care of them, now move, sergeant.” The lieutenant interrupted.

“Yes, sir.” GG-1792 said with a nod. “Let’s move, squad!”

The squad followed their sergeant as he trotted through the ruined control room, and then through a pair of doors on the far side of the room. They went down another hallway, through a pair of doors, and into a wide room with glass walls looking to the outside. There, they saw AT-STs standing watch outside, along with another dropship bringing in more troops.

“Smell that?” IB-3631 asked.

“Smell what?” CR-7954 asked.

“Smells like victory to me.” IB-3631 replied.

“That it does,” GG-1792 agreed. “But let’s not celebrate just yet. Double-time Stormtroopers!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” the squad chorused, following the sergeant up the stairs, across another wide room, and through a pair of doors, down another hallway.

“Thermal’s got nothing through most doors except the last one.” ER-7760 said. “Three heat signatures, plus a lot of electronics.”

“CR-7954,” GG-1792 began. “Set up a blasting charge.”

“Yes, sir.”

The lance corporal set up the blasting charge, and then blew the door open. The Stormtroopers charged in, fanning out with carbines aimed at the trio of Humans inside. Two were male, one in red and black, and the other in blue and black. The only woman was also in blue and black, and then the man in red and black spoke unintelligibly at them before raising his hands in the air. At that, his two subordinates did likewise.

“Secure the prisoners, and then the room.” GG-1792 ordered.

Stormtroopers pulled out stun-cuffs, and binding the prisoners, forced them out at gunpoint. The rest of the squad fanned out, checking the room for any sign of traps or other surprises.

“Room secure!” IB-3631 shouted.

“Acknowledged.” GG-1792 said, before reporting on the platoon frequency. “Upper level secure, lieutenant. Awaiting new orders.”

“Acknowledged, sergeant.” Lieutenant Blyck said. “Hold position, and standby for relief.”

“Acknowledged.”

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Sara said after getting to her feet, to my left and addressing the gathered admirals and senior staff officers. “At this time, two weeks into our campaign, our expeditionary force has succeeded in securing twelve colonies with individual populations of less than one million each, along with two hundred industrial outposts with individual populations of less than ten thousand each. We’ve also engaged the local navies, of the self-proclaimed United Federation of Planets, a total of twenty-four times, and emerged victorious in each and every battle.”

The lieutenant paused to regard her audience, and then glancing back at her dataslate, continued her report. “Federal casualties stand at six hundred and eighty-nine ships,” she said. “Amounting to three hundred and seventy-six Excelsior Class Medium Cruisers, one hundred and forty-one Akira Class Medium Cruisers, ninety-four Miranda Class Frigates, seventy Nebula Class Medium Cruisers, and eight Galaxy Class Medium Cruisers.”

Again, the lieutenant paused to regard her audience. “Our own losses stand at two hundred and seventy-six ships,” she said. “Amounting to one hundred and thirty-eight CR90 Corvettes, sixty-six Vindicator Class Heavy Cruisers, fifty-five Nebulon-B Escort Frigates, and seventeen Dreadnought Class Heavy Cruisers. We’ve also lost 35 GR-35 Medium Transports to commerce raiders launching hit and run strikes during resupply and in-system transit operations.”

The lieutenant again paused before continuing. “Ground losses currently stand at one thousand, two hundred and thirty-two dead or missing,” she said. “And three thousand, seven hundred and eighty-five injured, from both the Imperial Army and the Imperial Stormtrooper Corps. We’ve also lost five hundred and one ground vehicles of various models, including one AT-AT. Interestingly, most ground casualties were not sustained from combat with formal members of the Federation ground forces, but with local militias and irregular units. In particular, Orion and Andorian units are of exceeding effectiveness.”

A murmur ran through the gathered officers, but it was wordless, and quickly stopped. Unsurprising: not one person here was non-Human. More than a few bought into COMPNOR’s Humanocentrist tripe, almost certainly resulting in disgust and offense that the local Humans were of…inferior, combat ability, to non-Humans, at least on the ground.

And even those that didn’t buy into that tripe were appalled that militias and irregulars were of greater effectiveness than proper soldiers.

Me?

Not really that surprised: Andorians were warriors on par with Klingons. And the Orions had conquered a great, star-spanning empire when the Vulcans were still figuring out how to make bronze, and while that empire had collapsed millennia before the Time of Awakening, there was a reason the Federation for all their…puritan, opinions on various topics, gave the Orions a great deal of leeway.

A lesson I did not intend to forget.

“…primary combat forces now number an estimated total of two thousand ships,” Sara continued. “Including a core force of over seven hundred Star Destroyers of various classes.”

“Thank you, lieutenant.” I smoothly interrupted. “I believe the point has been carried across.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sara said with a nod, and returned to her seat.

Pressing a button in front of me, I had the holoprojector display a map of the surrounding space. “Ladies and gentlemen,” I said. “Between data recovered from captured colonial databases, salvaged computers from destroyed or captured enemy vessels, interrogations of and defections from our prisoners of war, and of course, the contributions of no less than 3000 probe droids over the past few weeks, we now have a map of the surrounding oversector that will be become the New Territories. More than that, we also have the hyperspace routes through which our fleet can bring the Federation crashing down, and its worlds into the fold of the Emperor’s New Order.”

I paused, and adjusted the holographic projection. “At present,” she said. “Our holdings are primarily here, in the Orion Sector. We also have also extended feelers into the surrounding Antares, Omega, Archanis, Melona, Rigellian, Andorian, and Vulcan sectors. But as things stand, our holdings are spread thin. Our forces largely-uncommitted. And the damage we have inflicted on the Federation’s military-industrial complex, to say nothing of its core territories, effectively amount to nothing.”

Again, I paused, and swept my gaze across the gathering. The other officers gazed back with stoic discipline, though I noticed more than a few among the younger ones with hints of judging expressions on their faces. One, Rear Admiral Natasi Daala – yes, that Daala, and damn, I am so in deep shit if I get Grand Moff Tarkin’s protégé and mistress killed – had the opposite, a faint hint of anticipation on her face.

“But!” I said, raising my voice before pausing for effect. “Though it might seem to be otherwise, Operation Green has achieved all of its operational goals. We have secured our beachhead into this galaxy. We have acquired comprehensive data on the local astrography. We have charted hyperspace routes for our fleet’s use. Our limited strikes and gains thus far, as per intelligence’s psychological assessment of the Federation lacking understanding of and experience in total war, have lulled our enemies into a false sense of security. Finally, we have consolidated our logistics train, and we have concentrated our battlefleet. What can this be called if not the conditions for victory?”

There were plenty of nods this time, especially from older, more experienced men, who like me had had experience in the Clone Wars. It might only have involved organizing supply convoys and dispatching reinforcement personnel to one theater or another, but like General Clausewitz once said, only amateurs discuss tactics.

Strategists discuss logistics.

I rose to my feet, pacing around the table with a remote held in my hand. “But,” I said. “Victory is quite a fickle thing. One of the oldest and most important lessons to be learned in war, is that the victor is not the one whose plan works the most, but one whose plan fails the least. Therefore, it is necessary to ensure the collapse of the enemy’s position if we are to claim victory. Such is the thrust of our upcoming operations, conducted in part simultaneously.”

There was a chorus of confusion at that, and I triggered the remote to adjust the hologram once again. “First among those will be Operation Yellow,” I said. “The naval assault on the Federation capital: planet Earth, in the Sol System.”

There was thunderstruck silence at that, and then a grizzled and grey-haired Imperial Army general narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Naval assault,” he echoed. “Not invasion?”

“An invasion at this time is premature.” I said. “It would only serve to stiffen enemy resistance, and given the distance between our beachhead here and the Earth, our logistics would be nigh-impossible to sustain.”

“I see.” The general said with a slow nod. “So that’s how it is.”

“Hmm…what do you mean, general?”

“You mean to attack their capital, and inflict sufficiently-heavy losses on its defense and reinforcement forces,” the general elaborated. “And in so doing, shock them into a brief period of panicked confusion.”

“As should be expected from a veteran such as yourself.” I said with a curt nod. “Well done, general. You have deduced the goal of Operation Yellow.”

“…the enemy will recover quickly.” Vice Admiral Volo Orunitia of the Third Battlegroup mused. “We must move quickly, and decisively, to take advantage of their momentary weakness. Otherwise, such an attack would only serve to stiffen if not inflame the enemy’s determination to resist.”

“And that will be the point of the second operation,” I said, continuing to pace and again adjusting the hologram. “Operation Typhoon: once the attack on Earth is complete and our fleet has made a full withdrawal from enemy capital system, it will begin a two-week campaign aimed at destroying the enemy’s logistical and military infrastructure.”

Orunitia chuckled in amused approval. “I see.” He said. “So we basically land a solid blow on the enemy’s chin, and cause them to see stars. Then, while they’re still seeing stars, we land a fast-paced series of blows all over his body to keep him from recovering, and force him on the ropes. I like it.”

A titter of agreeing emotion ran through the gathering, then silenced as I flapped a hand to one side. “Typhoon will almost certainly achieve that end,” she said. “But we must not leave anything to chance. For that reason, Operation White will launch before Operation Yellow, and will continue until the end of the campaign.”

Again, the hologram adjusted, and a murmur arose from the gathered officers. “Continuing with Admiral Orunitia’s comparison,” Vice Admiral Baku Tucker of the Sixth Battlegroup remarked. “Operation White will be like spiking the enemy’s water during the fight. Not enough to make him keel over, but enough to keep him from fighting at his fullest.”

I shrugged. “We’re at war.” I said. “And the whole point behind strategy is to win before a battle even begins.”

Again, a titter of agreement ran through the gathering. “Once Operation Yellow has run its course,” I said. “Then we will launch Operation Blue: the invasion of the Federation capital and other key worlds, including Vulcan and Andoria.”

I paused and smiled disarmingly, before spreading my arms while standing next to my chair at the head of the table. “Simple and easy, yes?” I asked, and a murmur of laughter echoed across the gathering. I briefly closed my eyes and chuckled, before pulling back my seat and sitting down. “Well, that’s the overview. Now, we go into the details. All battlegroup, flotilla, and task force commanders may now unlock their dataslates, and review their assigned orders for the next fifteen minutes. Afterwards, we will openly discuss the details of the operational plan, in which case I actively welcome any and all reasonable critiques and suggestions.”

Again, I smiled disarmingly, and taking off the edge that came with the word I emphasized. The other officers murmured and nodded their agreement, and then picking up their dataslates, began reviewing their orders.

As for myself…I braced myself. From personal experience, the following meeting would be a long one.

And I would not be disappointed.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Admiral Daala,” I called, and gesturing for the younger woman to follow. “Please, speak with me for a few moments. I understand you need to prepare your forces for your assigned role in Operation Yellow, but I’m sure you can spare a few moments.”

“I believe I can, admiral.” Daala said with a nod, and I led the way to one side of the conference room, where transparisteel windows looked into the depths of the void.

For several long moments, we stood silent, staring into space…

…or at least, I did. Daala just stood to attention to one side. Noticing, I smiled and gave her a vague wave. “At ease, admiral.” I said. “There’s no need to be so formal.”

“I…yes, ma’am.” She said, with a hint of confusion, but relaxing ever so slightly, regardless.

I chuckled at the sight. “I’ll be frank, admiral.” I began. “It’s refreshing to see I’m not the only ranking officer of the female sex present. While there are plenty enough women in the military, few ever climb higher than junior officer rank.”

“Unfortunately true, ma’am.”

I hummed in thought and regarded the younger woman before me. Perhaps a bit of shock will be enough to get some emotion out of this one.

“I am aware about the rumors between you and Grand Moff Tarkin,” I said, and noted with internal satisfaction the way Daala’s jaw tightened and her green eyes all but flashed with anger. “But let me say here and now that I care nothing for that. Even if it’s true, I’m not exactly one to judge, as I had to ask my father to pull strings for me to avoid getting sidelined to some backwater post.”

Daala now blinked in confusion, and hesitated for a couple of moments. “…I had heard of that, ma’am.” She said. “Your father is a nobleman, I believe? And with a place at the Imperial Court?”

“He is and does.” I confirmed with a nod, before narrowing my eyes. “But I did not truly need his influence to get where I am now, if not for a certain…idiosyncrasy, quite common these days. His Excellency would not have entrusted such an important task to me had that been the case.”

Daala sighed, and finally seemed to relax halfway through. “I do see your point, admiral.” She said. “Despite the rumors about me and Grand Moff Tarkin, he would not have supported my career to the extent he has if I did not meet his standards.”

“I would think not.” I agreed. “Considering the state of the Outer Rim as a result of the Clone Wars, if not centuries of mismanagement even long before the Clone Wars began, bringing order and stability to the region requires both ruthlessness and talent in both military and civic affairs. And Grand Moff Tarkin has long proven he has them all.”

Daala nodded in agreement. “I will say here and now that I did not assign you as commander of Operation Yellow’s Special Attack Force to curry favor with Grand Moff Tarkin’s protégé.” I continued. “But I will admit it I did it out of sympathy for your position, and wanting to give a fellow woman a chance to prove she’s more than capable of getting the job done. Especially when said fellow woman has all the qualifications for the role.”

Daala smiled and gave a curt nod. “My apologies,” she said. “A part of me wants to be offended at the notion I deserve sympathy. But I suppose that’s just my long-wounded pride talking. Thank you for the opportunity, ma’am. I won’t let you down.”

The younger woman saluted, and I smiled and saluted back. “Carry on, admiral.” I said.

“Yes, ma’am.” Daala said, before smartly turning and leaving.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Sovereign Class Starship Enterprise-E broke Earth orbit, and quickly building up to three-quarters impulse, headed out into space. Finishing with a report, Captain Jean-Luc Picard put the dataslate down before looking out his ready room’s windows, regarding the gigantic fleet assembling over the planet with distaste.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” a familiar and most unwelcome voice asked, and Picard glanced in its direction so fast he almost gave himself whiplash.

“Q.” he said.

“The one and only.” Q said with a flamboyant gesture, sitting on a chair and wearing a Starfleet Admiral’s uniform.

“What do you want, Q?” Picard asked. “I have no time for your games. If you haven’t noticed, we are currently facing a crisis. One that could eclipse the Borg in terms of the threat it poses to the future of Humanity!”

Q looked taken aback, even just a little bit hurt. “Captain, I’m shocked.” He said. “Is that really the way you address old friends?”

Picard didn’t bother to dignify that with a response, and Q shook his head in disappointment, before getting up and beginning to walk around the ready room. “Well,” he began. “If you really want to know, I did notice. In fact, that’s why I said what I said earlier.”

Q gestured out the windows, at the Federation assembling the biggest fleet it’s ever assembled in its history, to face the biggest threat it’s ever found facing. “The really amazing thing is that lessons do get through those thick skulls of yours.” he said. “Given the way you people floundered against the Borg, or those unruly little shapeshifters from the other side of the galaxy, I’d have imagined against the Empire you’d also keep trying to talk your mouths off, wasting time and effort with halfway measures, and somehow getting through it all by sheer luck, go back to being a bunch of lazy, entitled children playing around with toys and big words.”

The nigh-omnipotent being smirked as he saw Picard flush and seem to swell up ever so slightly with indignation. “Instead,” Q continued. “You people actually decided to pull your heads out of the sand, and go all the way.”

Q paused, and then narrowed his eyes. “Then again,” he concluded. “Considering the Empire is led and dominated by Humans, I wonder what it says about your kind, that you only finally decided to take things seriously when facing yourselves.”

“Enough games, Q.” Picard snapped. “What do you know about the Empire?”

Q waved dismissively. “I know enough.” He said, smirking at the increasingly-annoyed expression on Picard’s face. “Enough to know that they’ll be a perfect test for your kind. Who will rise and who will fall? Just what and how will the future of this galaxy turn out to be?”

Q paused again, and chuckled. “You shouldn’t feel so distasteful about your Starfleet’s response.” He said. “You’re actually making the right choice.”

“It’s barbaric!” Picard finally exploded. “It might be necessary to sink to the Empire’s level in order to survive against them, but the precedent it sets…the cost that must be paid…it will haunt the Federation for generations to come! It will cast a shadow over our children and our children’s children!”

“In that case, why not just surrender?” Q asked. There was a flash of light, and they were standing on a platform floating amidst the clouds, over a city that stretched as far as the eye could see. Hovercraft of all kinds flew in endless streams along set routes between skyscrapers, while in the skies above, Picard discerned the bright light of orbital construction on a degree he’d never thought possible. “If you value your pacifist ideals so much, that the prospect of survival and even success at their expense makes you feel so abhorrent, why not stick with those ideals to the very end, even if it means falling on your knees for their sake?”

“…it’s a Faustian Bargain either way.” Picard admitted after a long moment, walking along the edges of the platform. “Surrender, and our ideals become meaningless, as our society is crushed and rebuilt in the conquerors’ image. Fight, and gain the chance to preserve our ideals, but staining them with spilled blood, spilled blood which they stand against. But, one offers more hope than the other which offers none. And that is what you fail to understand, Q. For all your power and ‘cosmic perspective’, you don’t truly understand Humanity, what truly drives us all: hope. What we must do is barbaric, there’s no question about it. Its legacy will weigh succeeding generations down, a difficult hurdle they must face and overcome. But they will overcome it, and move past its shadow to a new day. That, is why we will fight. That is why I will fight. For the hope of that distant day in the future, even if I never see it in my lifetime.”

Q clapped his hands slowly, nodding his head in approval. “A pretty speech, captain.” He said, and then there was another flash of light. Once again, they were in a different place, but which Picard realized after a few moments was on Earth, centuries ago. He recognized that much from his historical studies, and the way people around him dressed and how the vehicles looked like.

“But despite what you might think,” Q said, watching as paramedics worked frantically to save a dark-haired woman’s life, her lightly-tanned skin turned pale from loss of blood, the same blood that soaked her clothes and pooled around her. “I understand hope quite well. Better than you know, in fact. And it’s not nearly as noble a thing as you say. I daresay it’s a double-edged sword, even.”

“…what are you saying Q?” Picard asked after a moment. “What you do you know? Did you have a hand in this, much like you had a hand in unleashing the Borg on the Federation?”

Q just smiled, and with another flash of light, they were back on the Enterprise-E. “Hope might be a double-edged sword,” he said. “But like you said, a new day will eventually come. The question is, what will that new day really bring?”

And before Picard could respond, Q snapped his fingers, and he was gone.

 

“Hey!”

“What’s up?”

Lieutenants Junior Grade Timothy Doe and Gerald Jenkins greeted each other as they took their stations in Starfleet Headquarters. Both of them wore the yellow and black of Starfleet’s Operations Division, and in their cases, had the responsibility of monitoring portions of Starfleet’s subspace communications network for any issues that might develop. In fact, their whole section shared that responsibility, and over multiple sectors at tat.

Doe yawned even as he got started on his station. “Just a bit short on sleep.” He said. “Damn Imperials…ever since they came through that wormhole of theirs and started causing trouble, no one’s gotten a proper night’s rest.”

“Yeah, I hear that.” Jenkins agreed, also working on his station. “Still, it can’t be helped. From the look and sound of things, it’s war. Though with all the losses we’re taking, plus that huge fleet Ross and Paris are assembling in orbit, it’s going to be nothing like fighting the Dominion or the Borg.”

“No disagreement there.” Doe said with a nod. “It’s like the Romulan Wars all over again.”

“…not really the best description, Tim.” Jenkins said after a moment. “We had our asses kicked in that war. We got lucky at Cheron. If we’d lost there, the Romulans would only have been a single warp jump away from Earth.”

“Point about how that war went at first,” Tim said. “But I disagree with how we only got lucky at Cheron. The Romulans might have kicked our asses up to that point, but we broke their backs in that battle. We got everything back at Cheron”

“Yeah, except we had to give up the right to use cloaks.” Jenkins said.

Doe snorted. “Cloaks are flashy, but overrated.” He said. “You can’t fight with them on, remember?”

“Right, right…” Jenkins conceded. “…I guess it’s not too out there that we’d do better now than we did in the Romulan Wars. We’re still fresh out of the Dominion War, and there was the Borg invasion a few years back. We’ve got plenty of ships, and everyone’s ready and willing to fight.”

“Yeah, but we’re cutting manpower reserves to the bone.” Doe said. “Science and other non-military assignments are gutted, if not effectively-defunct. And I’m not too sure about all those androids that command’s been deploying to supplement our crews with.”

“What’s the problem with them?” Jenkins asked.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Doe said. “I’ve got nothing against synthetics in general, but from what I know…most synthetics ever made until now were all one-of-a-kind models, fine-tuned and precision-built to the highest caliber. That, and given time and opportunity to slowly and steadily develop their sense of selves. You could say, they were people in their own way, and not really machines.”

“But…?” Jenkins prompted.

“The new series of androids are all mass-production models.” Doe answered. “Designed for general-purpose use that’s good at everything if not the best or worst at anything. Simple programming with limited if no ability to develop a sense of self beyond optimum performance in their assigned role. In short, they’re machines, built en masse to help operate our ships and fight our battles.”

“And that worries you?” Jenkins asked.

“It doesn’t worry you?” Doe asked back.

“Well, no.” Jenkins said with a shrug. “I mean…they’re not really synthetics, the way proper androids are. More like…I don’t know, simulated people or whatnot from holodecks. Besides, it’s not like we’re making them simply because we can, but because we need them to fight against an enemy of everything the Federation and Starfleet stand for. An enemy that’s coming and willing to tear down everything we’ve built.”

“…point.” Doe conceded. “But I still don’t like it.”

“…well, everyone’s entitled to their own opinion, so I’ll respect yours.” Jenkins said with a nod. “Anyway, moving on…what’s your plan for when the fighting stops?”

“Well, you already know I was hoping to get a long-term stint on a deep space posting.” Doe pointed out. “Get a few papers done on the effects of minimal gravimetric effects on the spatial plane and how it can be applied to affect warp and subspace mechanics. Not too sure how feasible it’s going to be now, though. We’ll be stretched thin once the fighting ends, I don’t imagine any long-term, deep space exploration and research missions getting launched until we build back up. Wouldn’t want the Romulans or the Dominion getting any ideas then, would we?”

“Or the Cardassians deciding to make another run at Bajor and Deep Space Nine.” Jenkins concurred. “Shit man, that sucks.”

“It can’t be helped, right?” Doe said with a smile and a shrug. “I might as well make the best of it. Who knows? I might find an opportunity, somehow, somewhere.”

Jenkins laughed. “That’s the spirit.” He said, and Doe grinned.

“What about you, though?” he asked. “What’s your plans for after the war? Still planning to stick it out here on Earth?”

“Well, you know me.” Jenkins said with a shrug. “Family first. I can’t really bear to be away from Anna and little Mikey for too long. Maybe when Mikey’s older, I might see what opportunities are available.”

“That,” Doe knowingly said. “Or a chance to move to one of the more-developed colonies turns up. Right?”

“Like I said,” Jenkins said with a grin. “You know me.”

“That I do.” Doe said, before the two of them shared a laugh. It was laughter cut short as flashing alerts began popping up all over their screens, accompanied by insistent alarms, causing the two men to focus sharply on their stations.

But they weren’t the only ones. In their whole section, alarms could be heard from every station, the duty officer rushing from one station to another to confirm the situation before heading over to his own station. Even as he frantically busied himself, sirens began to sound and lights began to flash against headquarters.

“This…this can’t be happening.” Doe whispered. “The subspace communications network across the whole of Federation space is being cut. But…how…?”

“…the Empire, how else?” Jenkins breathed before sharing an apprehensive glance with his friend. “They’re coming.”
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Report!” Admiral Owen Paris barked as he strode into the situation room in Starfleet Headquarters.

“The subspace communications network has been cut at numerous locations across the whole of Federation space.” Lieutenant Reginald Barclay immediately said. Tapping controls at a console, he brought up a map of Federation space, then marked out the network in white, before marking severed sections in red. “The computers are rerouting through undamaged portions of the network, but it’s already having a detrimental effect on our ability to communicate with the rest of the Federation. Or indeed, letting the rest of the Federation communicate with us and each other.”

“More than that,” Admiral William Ross added, adjusting the image to add time values to the damage being inflicted on the network. “Based on these values, it’s clear that this is a sustained effort to knock out our interstellar communications.”

“…they seem to be focusing on unmanned relays in deep space,” Paris mused after a long moment studying the map. “And leaving manned relay stations near or inside star systems alone.”

“Makes sense,” Ross said with a nod. “Manned relay stations have defensive abilities, unlike the unmanned relays. That could delay them, long enough for local defensive forces or our own forces to respond. Putting myself in the enemy’s shoes…I imagine these attacks on our subspace communications network are being conducted by small, fast-moving groups of light warships. Not really able to stand up to the reinforced squadrons and flotillas we’re now sending to the field.”

Paris nodded in agreement. “In any case,” he said. “Even if they ignore the manned relay stations, most of the network is composed of unmanned relays anyway. Destroy enough of them like what they’re doing, and the network will be compromised regardless.”

“Like slicing a cake up and taking away every other portion.” Barclay remarked, before flushing and looking down at this station from the unimpressed gazes of the admirals.

“I’ve already dispatched the Fast Response Force to start deploying emergency relays as quickly as possible.” Ross said, and not even flinching when Paris gave him a concerned look. “I know, it’s not really ideal, given our previous plans for the Fast Response Force. But we can’t lose the ability to communicate with the rest of the Federation, or our allies, for that matter.”

Paris sighed and nodded. “Agreed…on both counts.” He said, before narrowing his eyes with mixed frustration and anger. He, Ross, and the rest of the staff officers stared at the map in silent contemplation for several long moments, while around them other officers worked furiously at their stations.

Then, Paris sighed again. “It really drives the facts home, doesn’t it?” he asked no one in particular. “The sheer scale of what we’re facing. It’s not just the numbers, though that helps, as it gives the Empire more ships and men to use against us.”

“A civilization tens of thousands of years old,” Ross said softly. “With technology to match such a vast expanse of time, and led by Humans of all species…but where did they go wrong?”

A pensive silence hung over the gathering. “We can figure that out later.” Paris eventually said. “Even with our enemy’s numbers, plus their superior understanding and application of quantum slipstream technology, an operation of this scale can only be ancillary to an even bigger operation. One that’s either to launch shortly, or is launching even as we speak.”

“Your orders, sir?” Barclay asked after making a dry swallow.

“Sound the alarm across the network, or what’s left of it.” Paris ordered. “Cases Red, Crimson, Ruby, Scarlet, and Garnet are imminent.”

“And Case Emerald, sir?” Barclay asked.

“Let’s hold off on that for now.” Paris said. “Even at their closest, the Empire is nearly a full sector away, and Vulcan still stands. I doubt they’d risk anything that could cause Case Emerald to go into effect.”

“Yes, sir.” Barclay said, already tapping away at his console.

“Will,” Paris began, turning to the younger admiral. “I want you to take the Cerberus, and head out on the field to assume direct command of the Fast Response Force. Stay in contact as best you can, but otherwise…you know what to do.”

“Yes, sir.” Ross said with a nod, before extending a hand to Paris, who took and shook it firmly. “Good luck, sir.”

“Likewise.” Paris said with a nod, and with a nod of his own, Russ left the situation room. Now the lone flag officer in the room, Paris stared flintily at the map.

“…your orders, sir?” Barclay hesitantly asked after a few moments.

“…the enemy will most likely strike at Orion, as we expect them to.” Paris said after another moment. “But given the scale of the enemy’s operation here, plus what we know of their numbers and FTL capabilities, they also have the option of striking more than one critical target at the same time.”

“…Vulcan and Andoria…in addition to Orion…” Barclay breathed.

“I don’t think they’ll attack three critical targets at the same time.” Paris disagreed. “From what intelligence has been able to get from what few prisoners we have, the enemy commander, Admiral Targaryen, prefers to concentrate her forces as much as possible, to maximize the effect of her overwhelming numbers. But, from what we can see here and now, she also recognizes the value of controlling the initiative. She will not want to excessively limit her offensive options, as doing so risks giving us the time to take the initiative from her.”

Barclay looked on in silence, and then Paris looked at him. “She will attack Orion, in order to secure breathing space around the Orion Wormhole.” He said. “At the same time, she will attack Andoria, and secure her left flank before making a move on Vulcan, which will be the jumping-off point for an attack on Earth.”

“…I’ll alert our forces in the Andorian and Orion Sectors then.” Barclay said after a moment of near-panic.

“Make it so, lieutenant.” Paris said, while looking back at the map, and crossing his arms over his chest.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I stared at the chronometer on the tactical display, watching it countdown to zero and the beginning of our operation. The fleet had come out of hyperspace in deep space within the Terran Sector, taking advantage of the sheer vastness of the interstellar void to hide the fleet’s presence so close to the Federation capital, assembled in the shadows to strike at the enemy’s heart.

“Much like the First Air Fleet had hidden in stormy weather amidst the vastness of the Pacific, in the lead-up to the Pearl Harbor attack.” I thought to myself. “Or should I compare ourselves to Lord Nelson’s fleet, hidden in plain sight in the North Sea, striking and sinking the Danish Fleet at harbor to deny it to France and Napoleon Bonaparte?”

Internally smiling a bittersweet smile at the thought, I continued to let my eyes lingers on the High Galactic numerals ticking down. “Earth…” I thought to myself, thinking of our destination, where we would fight the first truly large-scale engagement of this campaign. “…my home in a past life…Humanity’s home in this time and space…”

As the time ticked down to the last ten seconds, I gave a sigh. “…homecomings are supposed to be sweet and heartwarming affairs…” I thought. “…but this homecoming here and now…I’d say it’s bittersweet, but it’s actually more bitter than sweet.”

The chronometer counted down to zero, and both my adjutant and chief of staff turned towards me. I nodded at them both. “Signal the fleet.” I ordered. “The word is yellow.”

Miles Xen, Captain of the Courageous, turned to the bridge. “The word is given,” he said. “Yellow.”

The signal was sent to all ships in the fleet, over a thousand-strong, with a powerful core of over three hundred Star Destroyers. Mostly old Venator Class Star Destroyers, dating back to the recently-ended Clone Wars, but that was a small price to pay to get as many Star Destroyers as I could get.

With the Clone Wars’ end, ship construction had scaled down, focusing less on quantity and more on quality. This was evident in the new Imperial Class Star Destroyer. For all that members of the Imperial Senate – such as Mon Mothma of Chandrila – bitterly criticized the large numbers of ships ordered over the next several years by the Navy Ministry, a look at the bigger picture would actually show less Imperials had been ordered compared to the number of Venators ordered at the height of the Clone Wars. And that would still be the case even if that order for ships was renewed after the current order had been completed. It only seemed otherwise because the Imperial was bigger, faster, and more heavily-armed compared to the Venator, and thus more expensive.

In fact, Sector and Oversector Fleets nowadays were actually shrinking, for all the howling of the pacifists in the Imperial Senate, seeing only the obvious as older classes were replaced by new ones. Unsurprising, in hindsight: with the Confederacy of Independent Systems crushed, and the Imperial Navy returning to peacetime roles, there was no need for the several thousands of ships that made up Sector and Oversector Fleets during the Clone Wars, when forces of up to a thousand Star Destroyers were a common sight.

That, and the Emperor probably didn’t want his moffs and grand moffs getting too big for their boots with the encouragement of having huge fleets at their disposal.

Still, Venator Class ships were no joke, for all that other Imperial commanders were hurrying to phase them out and replace them with newer Victory-II and Imperial Class Star Destroyers. For one thing, they had superior point-defense capabilities to any other class of Star Destroyer in service, and carried more fighters and light craft.

Which I thought rather strange, and not for the first time either. Especially when you think about the fact that Imperial fighter doctrine was essentially just to swarm the enemy with overwhelming, huge numbers of fast, agile, but lightweight and unshielded (if still well-armed) TIE Fighters.

And yet the Victory series and the new Imperials had smaller carrying capability compared to the old Venators. How very strange…

…no matter. Other Imperial commanders might be rushing to send Venators to be placed on reserve lists, mothballed, or outright scrapped, but I needed plenty of ships, and between my experience in logistics at the Admiralty, support from the Emperor and surprisingly, Grand Moff Tarkin as well, I managed to get extended leases on service lives for plenty of Venators as part of my expeditionary force.

Not that I was under any illusions that this state of affairs would continue indefinitely. I needed to get results, and fast, or my ‘sponsors’ would start getting impatient at the cost of my health. And once the campaign was over, I doubted the Emperor would allow me or anyone else to keep such a huge force together.

That said, (real) results should start coming soon.

And the campaign was far from over. In fact, it was only really starting to begin right now.

Looking out through the bridge windows, I watched Vice Admiral Tyron-Hu Tye’s Fifth Battlegroup breaking formation, advancing ahead of the fleet. Minutes later, the ships of the battlegroup seemed to accelerate impossibly fast for an instant…

…and then they were gone, jumping into hyperspace for the few minutes-long trip to the Sol System, the vanguard of Operation Yellow flinging itself as a spearhead driving deep into the Federation’s heart.

“May the winds flow fast and true, as your wings carry you high, flying through Valyrian skies.” I softly said in High Valyrian, and drawing the attention of my staff officers.

“Ma’am?” Vice Admiral Torrhen Yaggos, my Chief of Staff, asked.

“It’s an old benediction,” I said. “Going back to before the Valyrian Freehold joined the Galactic Republic between three…four thousand years ago. The old priests used it speak it while sending off our ships to sail the stars, to fight against each other, the Hutts, and others encroaching on our space. Those priests are all but gone now though…but even now, some of us still remember, and speak the words when we head out into space, or to war.”

I paused, and gave a short chuckle. My staff officers stayed silent, all of us staring at the tactical display. Minutes ticked by, and then new data began coming in through subspace, of the Fifth Battlegroup emerging from hyperspace three planetary diameters from Earth. Other data included information about the enemy fleet present, the planet’s orbital defenses and facilities, and the battlegroup’s disposition.

“And so it begins.” I murmured, narrowing my eyes as the bridge hummed to greater activity.

 

“Admiral on the bridge!” the shout went out from the yeoman on duty, as Fleet Admiral Taela Shanthi stepped out of the turbolift, and onto the bridge of her flagship, the USS Thunderchild.

“At ease.” She said, stepping off the upper deck and down to the command deck. “Report.”

“An enemy fleet dropped out of quantum slipstream approximately forty thousand kilometers from the planet.” Captain Matsuda answered. “Our sensors can’t get precise scans thanks to the enemy’s jamming all frequencies, but based on visual alone, we count at most three hundred ships. Mostly of types we’ve seen before, and identified by our prisoners as Vindicator and Dreadnought Class Heavy Cruisers, along with Nebulon-B Class Escort Frigates and CR90 Corvettes. However, we’ve picked a small number of bigger ships at the heart of the fleet, at most a hundred in number, though precise numbers are probably smaller than that. We think those are the ‘Star Destroyers’ the prisoners mentioned, and which we’ve never seen before.”

“How much bigger?” Shanthi asked.

“The smallest is bigger by half than our Galaxy Class Starships.” Matsuda replied. “The biggest is around a mile long, and while we can’t get precise scans, we’re getting enough data to indicate those mile-long ships are putting out enough energy comparable to smaller, main-sequence stars.”

“As we suspected then,” Shanthi said while taking the command station, Matsuda sitting down beside her. “Star Destroyers are battleships. Signal Picard on the Enterprise to standby on reserve, and await my orders.”

“Ma’am?” Matsuda asked.

“Something’s not right here.” Shanthi mused. “Lieutenant Anderson, is there no way to get around the enemy fleet’s jamming?”

“I’m still working on it admiral.” The sensor officer responded. “I’ve been trying to bypass through the upper theta and lower delta bands, but the enemy’s jamming is simple and…elegant, in its methodology. They’re just…flooding, the frequencies with high-power emissions. They’re simply drowning everything out with noise.”

“…brute force methodology…” Shanthi murmured. “…not the most efficient method, but one that’s almost always certain to work.”

“And how very fitting for an autocratic state.” Matsuda said.

“…Lieutenant-Commander Stanton,” Shanthi called to the tactical officer. “What’s the status of the enemy fleet?”

The officer briefly cross-referenced his reply before speaking. “They’re holding position at their dropout point,” he said. “And maintaining a diamond formation. Their shields are up, and weapons online. However, I do not detect any fighter launch of any kind.”

“Confirmed,” Anderson chimed in. “The enemy fleet isn’t launching anything at all.”

The fleet admiral and flag captain shared a concerned glance between them. “Could they be waiting for us to make the first move?” Matsuda asked.

“…possible,” Shanthi admitted after a moment. “But even if it is, I’d rather not dance to the enemy’s tune. I assume long-ranged communications are jammed, but what about short-ranged communications?”

“It’s choppy,” Ensign Brennan at the operations station replied. “But short-range communications are up and running.”

“Get me Starfleet Headquarters.” Shanthi ordered.

“Yes, ma’am.” Brennan said. A moment later, and the viewscreen was displaying a situation room in Starfleet Headquarters, with Admiral Paris taking center stage.

“What do you think, admiral?” Shanthi asked. She might outrank Paris, but Paris had seniority on her, and she wasn’t so proud that she wouldn’t ask for much less ignore the second opinions of her peers and colleagues.

“I suspect this is a probe by the Empire.” Paris replied. “They’re testing Earth’s defenses for when they launch a full-scale attack. But more than that, this is also probably a spoiling attack. A way to pin the Home Fleet down, and to focus our attentions to here and now instead of responding to their assault on our communications infrastructure across the whole of Federation space.”

“Or operations against other core worlds, like Orion and possibly Andoria or Vulcan.” Shanthi added.

Paris nodded in greement. “I think so too, admiral.” He said.

Anything further was cut off as alarms began to sound, both in Starfleet Headquarters and on the Thunderchild’s bridge. “Admiral,” Stanton warned. “The Imperial Fleet’s begun to move. While maintaining relative distance, they’re moving to flank us to starboard.”

“Incoming fire!” Anderson barked.

“Bring up tactical!” Shanthi ordered, the viewscreen shifting to tactical view.

“Looks like ranging shots to me.” Matsuda said.

“Ranging shots will give way to firing for effect soon enough.” Shanthi retorted. “Signal the fleet, take Tactical Formation Carousel Four, operating at twenty-minute intervals. Also, let’s keep our distance, and not be too aggressive for now.”

Matsuda raised an eyebrow at that. “A prudent call, admiral.” He cautiously remarked.

Shanthi gave him a look. “Like I said,” she began. “I’d rather not dance to the enemy’s tune. But we need to act regardless, so we’ll do that in a way that gives us at least a little breathing room plus space to step back and look at the overall situation as the battlefield develops.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Matsuda said with a nod.

“All ships have adopted the shield modifications, right?” Shanthi then asked.

“That’s correct.” Matsuda confirmed. “That should improve our shield’s effectiveness against turbolasers or even just plasma weapons in general by five to twenty-five per cent. That said, output is still going to be a problem, with bigger turbolasers or plasma cannons still having the potential ability to just power through our shields.”

“One thing at a time, captain.” Shanthi said, narrowing her eyes as the first combat formation of the Home Fleet opened fire. Phasers at first, ineffective against the shields of any Imperial vessel bigger than a frigate, though more effective against armor. Here and now though, they were used to measure the range, as well as to poke holes into the Imperial Fleet’s escort screens.

And then once the range was gotten, photon torpedoes flashed through space. To counter the Imperial Fleet’s jamming, Starfleet had reprogrammed their torpedoes to simply keep flying towards the general location of the enemy fleet as indicated on launch. Once they were close enough for short-ranged sensors to be able to burn through the jamming, they automatically targeted the closest enemy vessel, improved IFF systems making sure no cases of friendly fire could occur.

It wasn’t a perfect solution, as shown both in simulations and in previous skirmishes with the Imperial Navy. In particular, the torpedoes being programmed to target the nearest enemy vessels meant torpedoes more often than not tended to saturate some enemy ships while ignoring others.

This made them a less-efficient weapon than hoped and expected, a particularly-serious problem given how photon and quantum torpedoes were the only weapons that Starfleet had that were truly effective against Imperial capital ships. In response, production of both types of torpedo had been expanded (more so the former than the latter due to the extremely-advanced technological requirements needed to produce the latter), and efforts were underway to begin producing plasma torpedoes as well. Cruder than either photon or quantum torpedoes, true, but they packed more power than the former, and easier and faster to produce than either.

Again, not very ideal, but given the crisis facing the Federations, needs must.

Similarly, proposals were floating around to increase production of tricobalt devices, and to make carrying them standard practice for Federation vessels. Another proposal called for Starfleet to begin deploying subspace weapons as weapons of last resort, though the Federation Council was balking at the notion.

Truth be told, Shanthi wasn’t very enthusiastic about using subspace weapons either, even in a last-resort role. Even if it allowed the Federation to defeat the Empire, the consequences of their use might be such that ‘victory’ would be completely meaningless in the end. It was essentially very much a case of burning down a house to get rid of termites.

“The enemy’s returning fire.” Matsuda worriedly said.

“Status…?” Shanthi prompted.

Matsuda didn’t reply at once, focusing on his console for the next few moments. And then he grimaced, shaking his head at the fleet admiral. “Even with the shield modifications,” he said. “The Mirandas and Excelsiors still can’t hold up against the kind of firepower the Imperials are throwing out.”

“It was a mistake keeping those ships for so long.” Shanthi said with a sigh. “Don’t get me wrong, they served well and respectably, and it seemed like the right decision at the time. But now we are paying the price for limiting the designing and construction of new classes, in favor of repeatedly-refitting and extending the lifespans of obsolescent classes from a century ago.”

“Something to keep in mind when this is all over.” Matsuda said.

“If we come out on top when this is all over.” Shanthi grimly corrected, and glared at the captain at his expression of shock. “We’re at war, captain. War on a scale we haven’t seen in centuries. We’d best face facts and accept reality, and everything it implies for us all. Otherwise, we’d be going into this with one eye covered, and one hand tied behind our backs. And there’s no way we’re coming out of it that way, much less on top.”

“I…I see your point, ma’am.” Matsuda hesitantly said, before alarmed beeping from his console drew his attention. “Damn…the first combat formation is taking losses. We’re not even ten minutes into the battle, and we’ve already lost six ships, and three more forced to retreat after taking critical damage.”

“Which ships?” Shanthi asked. “Just the classes will do.”

“Four Excelsiors, and two Mirandas have been lost.” Matsuda answered. “All three retreating vessels are Nova Class.”

“And the enemy?”

“We’ve managed to destroy three CR90s, and forced another six to fall back.” Matsuda said. “We’ve also inflicted moderate damage on two of the modern Vindicator cruisers.”

Shanthi bit back a curse at the lopsided losses. It might just be the heat of battle getting to her, but damn…

…subspace weapons were really tempting right now.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

On the command deck of the Imperial Class Star Destroyer Iron Duke, Vice Admiral Tyron-Hu Tye stared at the tactical display along with his staff officers and flag captain. They watched as the formation they’d been fighting up until now fell back in good order, covering their withdrawal with torpedo volleys, even as another, fresh formation moved up, and smoothly resumed the battle.

“Well,” Commodore Gentti Valhoun, the battlegroup’s Chief of Staff, began. “That explains why the enemy fleet split into four. Three formations hang back to the rear, while one formation engages us in a gunnery and ordnance duel.”

“It certainly seems that way, doesn’t it?” Tye said with a nod. “Based on intercepted communications from the start of the battle, and how long we engaged the previous formation before it withdrew, it seems the enemy plans to shift their formations around every twenty standard minutes.”

“It’s a smart plan.” Valhoun said with a nod. “It conserves their combat strength, especially since it seems the enemy fleet commander has adopted a conservative stance towards the battle. And after a formation is withdrawn from the front lines, they have ample time to conduct field repairs, restock on munitions, evacuate the wounded, receive reinforcements, and if necessary, refuel.”

“With all due respect sir,” Captain Risshik Yung of the Iron Duke responded. “That’s only because the operational plan calls for us to adopt a similarly-conservative stance towards the battle as well, at least at first. If we launch a full attack, the turbolasers on our Star Destroyers and heavy cruisers have more than enough range to hit the enemy’s rear echelons, and well within acceptable values for accuracy.”

“Be that as it may, captain,” Tye said. “Within the present circumstances on the battlefield, the enemy commander is conducting themselves competently…so far.”

The conversation stilled as they watched another volley of torpedoes head their way. Point-defenses opened up while TIE Fighters swooped around on an intercept course, and even succeeded in shooting down a fair number of torpedoes.

Tye smiled at the sight, and shook his head. “I have to admit, sir,” Valhoun began. “When Admiral Targaryen issued the order to deploy fighters to intercept incoming torpedoes given the enemy’s preference for mass torpedo volleys, I thought her…desperate.”

“It does run counter to accepted fighter doctrine, doesn’t it?” Tye asked. “Still, it works, and our lady admiral just might be on to something there.”

“She might have spent the Clone Wars making sure guns, rations, and reinforcements went where they needed to be and as soon as possible,” Yung remarked. “But she knows how to fight a war. And to be honest, she had an important role as well. Soldiers can’t fight on an empty stomach. And I for one wouldn’t want to go up alone against gun-wielding battle droids with only a stick in my hand.”

A ripple of laughter echoed around the tactical display, everyone present having fought to some degree or another during the Clone Wars. “In any case,” Tye said. “We have our orders, so let’s conduct our assigned role with all we’ve got. And cheer up, captain. You’ll have the opportunity to show what your ship’s capable of soon enough.”

Yung nodded. “As you say, sir.” He said.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Starfleet’s Home Fleet’s second combat formation was falling back and the third combat formation moving forward when the Imperial Fleet also began reforming their formation. “What are they doing?” Shanthi asked.

“…from simulations on the way they’re redeploying their squadrons,” Matsuda grimly said. “They’re reforming into a spindle formation. Admiral, I think they’re planning to break through our center.”

“…so the Imperials plan on making a cavalry charge?” Shanthi mused to herself. Narrowing her eyes in thought, she rubbed her chin for several moments before coming to a decision. “In that case, we’ll draw them in.”

“Admiral?”

“Signal the fleet,” Shanthi ordered. “Take Formation Elastic Three. If the Empire wants a fight, then by God we’ll give them one, and beat them into the floor at that!”

Matsuda smiled at the admiral’s fervor while relaying her order. Within minutes of the order’s dispatch, the Home Fleet was redeploying into a loose, cloud-like formation, squadrons layered into screens across a large area of space in all axes. This gave both the advantage of depth, and flexibility to respond to any situation that might arise.

Meanwhile, the Imperial Fleet continued its reorganization, forming up into a spindle with their heavily-armed, armored, and shielded Star Destroyers to the front and center. Smaller, lighter ships made up the bulk of the formation to the sides and rear, screening the hard core and tip of the formation.

Then ion engines blazed white and hot, the Imperial Fleet throwing itself forward, preceded by staggered volleys of turbolaser fire, far greater than during the earlier phase of the battle. Explosions erupted across space as smaller and lighter Federation vessels went down, but the Home Fleet didn’t waver, returning fire with torpedoes and phasers.

More explosions erupted across space as smaller Imperial vessels went down, denting and cracking the sides of the formation. But the center and tip held firm, with even tricobalt devices and quantum torpedoes proving less effective than expected against Star Destroyer-grade shielding.

Heavy turbolasers returned fire, followed by concussion missiles from Victory Class Star Destroyers present. Then for the first time in the battle, a Galaxy Class ship, the Missouri, exploded as a concussion missile punched through the engineering deck and literally blew the warp core open.

Taking casualties at a suddenly-increased rate, the Home Fleet began falling back. Encouraged by the enemy’s seeming loss of heart, the Imperial Fleet pressed the assault, launching more TIE Fighters and TIE Bombers to engage the enemy at close range. This proved the undoing of the Venator Class Star Destroyer Black Prince, when quantum torpedoes collapsed the hangar shields and punched into the ship’s heart.

Fuel and munitions for the attack craft stored in the hangar exploded, and blew the Black Prince in half. The sight of the Imperial battleship reduced to a pair of burning hulks caused cheers to break out across the Home Fleet.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“The enemy has us surrounded on three sides,” Tye’s adjutant warned. “And are commencing full bombardment.”

“Don’t falter!” Tye snapped, even as the Iron Duke trembled from photon torpedoes striking her shields. “Maintain the formation, and move combat-capable ships to the outside while bringing crippled ships to the inside! Status of our air wings?”

The Iron Duke shook again as more torpedoes hit her shields. “TIE Fighters are concentrating on providing CAP as ordered!” the adjutant replied. “Similarly, TIE Bombers are launching torpedo runs on enemy capital ships as ordered!”

“How much longer until phase two begins?” Tye demanded.

“Six minutes and ten seconds,” the adjutant said. “The fleet should be jumping to hyperspace within the next few minutes.”

The Iron Duke shook again, and light flashed through the bridge windows as the command tower’s shields took fire, a volley of photon torpedoes. “What are you doing?” Captain Yung demanded. “Divert power to turbolasers, and return fire! Turn those enemy ships to scrap!”

Deep in her bowels, the Iron Duke’s power systems hummed as main power was diverted to the heavy batteries, supplementing their built-in power systems. Those same batteries traversed and elevated their turbolasers, targeting computers tracking a pair of Nebula Class Medium Cruisers.

“Fire!” Gunnery chiefs roared, moments before gunners pulled their triggers. A volley of emerald beams lanced through space. They staggered one of the Nebulas, but the ship was able to escape. The other was not so lucky, its shields collapsing and allowing the turbolasers to shred one of its nacelles. Chunks of burning hull followed as part of the main hull was blown away, only interference from other Starfleet vessels allowing the stricken Nebula to limp away.

“Admiral,” Tye’s adjutant began. “The fleet’s entered hyperspace. Phase two is about to begin.”

“Just a few more minutes then.” Tye ground out before the Iron Duke shook again. “A few more minutes.”

Outnumbered and surrounded on three sides, the Imperial Fleet fought on, exchanging fire with turbolasers, proton torpedoes, and concussion missiles against Starfleet’s phasers, photon and quantum torpedoes, and tricobalt devices. Ships exploded one after another, the fleet’s escort screens taking a bloody beating as CR-90s and Nebulon-Bs went down one after another, and to a lesser degree, so did Carracks and Vindicators.

Surprisingly, among the fleet’s lighter vessels, the Dreadnoughts held out the best. Average in terms of firepower, obsolescent in terms of electronics, and slow in terms of mobility, but their endurance was far above that expected of mere heavy cruisers, just short of Star Destroyers, in fact.

“The fleet should come out of light-speed shortly.” The adjutant tightly said. “…three…two…one…”

The Imperial Fleet dropping out of hyperspace was a sight for sore eyes for the Fifth Battlegroup. It was also like a blow to the gut for the Home Fleet. In an instant, the tactical calculus had completely changed, with the Empire now enjoying a minimum of twenty per cent numerical advantage on the battlefield, with over a thousand Imperial ships present.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Receiving tactical data from the Fifth Battlegroup.” Sara said to me. “Transmitting to the rest of the fleet.”

“Then let’s use it while Starfleet’s still getting their bearings back.” I said. “Fleet: volley fire, three times!”

Staggered volleys were launched from the fleet’s heavy batteries, lancing across nearly a hundred thousand kilometers of open space and smashing into Starfleet’s lines. Explosions erupted across space, the agile maneuvers of Starfleet’s vessels turning chaotic and haphazard as they struggled to recover. At the sight, I pointed at the windows on the Courageous, enjoying the moment of theater as I gave the order.

“ALL SHIPS, FOLLOW MY LEAD: CHARGE!”