The Stormhawk led a squadron consisting of its sister ships, the Fateful and the Thunderfront. Once, like most Star Destroyers in Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet, they bore different names and served under different commanders.
But today, they do what they must.
They stand against the New Republic.
The Stormhawk, the Fateful, and the Thunderfront engage a Republican squadron.
Commodore Morgoth Astorias kept his eyes fixed on the tactical monitor of his Star Destroyer.
Data streamed to it from the central computer, which also fed displays on all fighters and onboard terminals.
The first target was destroyed.
A Mon Calamari star cruiser with some elaborate name was engulfed in flames bursting from its viewports and hangar deck.
The ship tilted, falling out of formation, reducing the enemy from five to four against the three Imperial ships.
Three Liberties and one MC90b—the Mon Remonda, flagship of General Han Solo.
A formidable force, if one considered it: three Imperial Star Destroyers would undoubtedly struggle against such opposition.
The problem was, the enemy believed they faced ordinary Star Destroyers.
A naive misconception.
Shielded from numerous direct threats from the Dominion, the enemy was forced to deploy unprotected starships on their right and left flanks to prevent a breakthrough to their shipyards or a rear assault on the orbital docks defended by Admiral Duplex's group.
It was almost laughable.
In this sector of Sluis Van, the enemy had lost its cover—and the disintegrating MC80a Liberty was proof of that.
"Sir, Major Bren is on the line," reported the duty officer. "He warns that his squadron has been recalled to another sector of the front. They will strike while withdrawing."
"Very well," replied Morgoth. "Convey our thanks for their assistance."
The Yataghan squadron, as promised, struck the enemy during their withdrawal.
After attacking the planetary defenses and one of the five star cruisers, the Scimitars had nearly depleted their munitions, so the pilots' service in further reducing General Solo's forces was greatly appreciated.
However small it might be.
The situation became clear within seconds.
The Mon Calamari star cruiser named Free Dak shuddered helplessly, its hull deforming as breaches revealed the richness of its atmosphere and internal fittings.
Ten Scimitars, operating on their remaining ordnance, completed their strike and then broke away, leaving the trio of Star Destroyers to face a now-equivalent number of opponents.
The convergence of both squadrons occurred to the accompaniment of the second of the five star cruisers disintegrating, a victim of the strike in this sector.
Escape pods detached from the doomed ship, drifting slowly toward the planet.
"Deploy the bombers," ordered Commodore Astorias. "Target: the New Republic cruisers. The destroyers' interceptors are to engage and destroy all enemy starfighters. Squadron gunners: focus fire on the star cruisers."
The battle, like a magnificent bud, bloomed, illuminating Sluis Van's orbit with the crimson and green flashes of turbolasers from the opposing sides.
Distracted by the Dominion's TIE Interceptors, the enemy fighters couldn't respond to the bomber assault.
A minute after the squadron commanders reported reaching their attack vectors, the New Republic's flagship, the Mon Remonda, was rocked by its first explosion.
A powerful proton torpedo strike tore a large section of hull plating from the starboard side. The ship veered off course, lurching sideways, its artillery unable to score a single hit on its target, the Stormhawk.
Morgoth's ship maintained relentless fire on the enemy flagship, exploiting its compromised defenses.
Small chunks of armor broke away from the area struck by the bombers, giving the Stormhawk's gunners an excellent opportunity to saturate the MC80b with as much tibanna as possible.
The starship's innards were blasted into space with each salvo from the Star Destroyer.
Entire compartments, stripped of structural integrity, were ejected by the unstoppable force of decompression.
Smaller pieces of hull plating followed suit.
A veritable harvest spilled from the doomed ship—fighters, interceptors, bombers, squadron after squadron.
Freighters, escape pods, and individual starships somehow smuggled aboard.
The crew abandoned the doomed starship, unwilling to perish with it.
At least, the majority did.
Some of the Mon Remonda's gun emplacements continued firing, despite the ship's dire state.
The Stormhawk responded to these feeble resistance attempts with full artillery salvos.
The localized battles between the six air groups from both squadrons naturally drifted to a separate part of the combat zone, where neither the Dominion's nor the Republic's turbolasers could interfere.
Engaged in their confrontation, the crews of the two remaining MC80a star cruisers in this sector didn't immediately realize that only one of the three TIE bomber squadrons had struck the Mon Remonda.
Now, locked in artillery duels, the crews of the New Republic's last two star cruisers in this sector reacted too late to the approaching bombers.
Numerous explosions, the result of carefully calculated proton torpedo trajectories and impact points, tore through the hulls of both enemy warships.
Armor plates warped, twisted, and tore as if made of flimsi.
Ripped from their moorings, they were swept into open space by waves of decompression.
Like animals mauled by massive beasts, the starships were left defenseless, stripped not only of armor but also of deflector shield projectors.
The exposed wounds of the ships became perfect targets for the gunners of the other two Star Destroyers.
The Stormhawk, with the persistence of a jackhammer, pounded turbolaser charges into the smoldering wreck of the Mon Remonda, leaving no chance for any surviving Republicans onboard.
The Fateful and the Thunderfront followed suit, striking their respective targets, whose energy shields were also critically compromised.
Commodore Astorias silently observed as the Mon Remonda exploded, then coldly ordered the attack to shift to the nearest Mon Calamari star cruiser.
"The bomber squadrons have reloaded their ordnance," reported the duty officer.
"They have new orders," declared Astorias. "Target: the cruiser under fire by the Fateful. Strike all critical components of the enemy ship."
Together with the Thunderfront, the Stormhawk turned its attention to the second enemy ship, increasing the rate of damage inflicted.
And hastening the inevitable outcome—the demise of the enemy vessel.
The first to fall was the ship Morgoth had set all three Star Destroyers' TIE bombers upon.
Massive proton torpedo barrages were not something one would want to see through a ship's viewport.
But that was the end for this star cruiser.
It had survived many glorious battles for the Rebel Alliance and the New Republic, but today its luck ran out.
The ship shuddered, its hull torn apart by internal explosions.
The second cruiser, realizing it was outnumbered, held out until the Fateful joined its pummeling.
The crossfire of three "Mark I" Star Destroyers was more than even newer ships than the Mon Calamari Liberty could withstand.
Nothing else was intended for the enemy.
The mangled wreck of the New Republic starship drifted in space, slowly descending under the planet's gravity into the upper atmosphere.
"Interceptor squadrons, accelerate the destruction of the remaining enemy fighters," ordered Morgoth. "Then return immediately to their base ships for rotation. Hangar crews, remain on constant standby to repair damage as quickly as possible."
"Sir, what will our course be next?" asked the duty officer.
"Full speed toward the shipyards," ordered Astorias. "Monitor signals from the Chimaera. Be ready to increase to maximum speed and join the main forces upon receiving the order."
***
"Admiral," Argentis heard the voice of his flagship's commander. "The Mon Remonda's group has been destroyed."
Cursing inwardly, the Zeltron remained outwardly composed.
"Enemy losses?"
"Minimal, sir! All three destroyers remain combat-ready and are continuing toward the shipyards! They report that the enemy was aided by bombers of an unknown model."
"Likely the same ones that have caused us trouble wherever they've appeared," thought the Republican commander.
Watching crimson turbolaser beams rain down on enemy destroyers through his ship's central viewport, the admiral could only press forward.
Engaging the destroyer group led by the Chimaera head-on.
Recalling more ships to delay the breakthrough to the shipyards was pointless.
It would critically weaken his own squadron.
Either a massive fist of star cruisers was needed, or splitting forces made no sense. Sending two or three ships—the most he could spare without outright losing to Thrawn—wouldn't stop the enemy.
"Relay the message to General Bel Iblis," he ordered. "We have our own tasks."
"And let's pray to any higher powers that we can handle them," thought the Zeltron.
***
The Captain Rensen, the Resolute, and the Moonshadow formed a squadron under Commodore Darran's command, infiltrating the shipyards from the opposite side of Commodore Astorias's group.
Three "Mark II" Star Destroyers, in pristine technical condition, demonstrated their prowess against five enemy star cruisers, unleashing full firepower and precision in turbolaser duels.
The Captain Rensen, the Resolute, and the Moonshadow.
The fact that they faced the Supreme Commander of the New Republic Defense Force himself did little to improve the enemy's chances.
At least not in terms of effectively countering the numerically superior Dominion fighters.
Darran smirked as he watched Republican pilots perish.
Here it was—the long-awaited day of retribution for the New Republic's military after their attack on the Ciutric Hegemony, and on Liinade III in particular.
Sending all interceptors forward to annihilate enemy fighters wasn't exactly the tactical move Darran desired.
It was more a necessity born of the randomness that often occurs in war.
In this case, the randomness struck one of his destroyers.
"Sir, the Moonshadow reports they've patched the breach and are ready to return to combat," came the report from the communications bay.
This "Mark II" had suffered due to the actions of a single New Republic starfighter.
A BTL-B, also known as the wishbone, had broken through the defensive perimeter and bombed the forward section of the Star Destroyer's superstructure.
It could be called a fluke, yes.
That's how it's usually recorded in battle reports.
But Darran viewed it as a tactical error.
The Moonshadow's commander had prematurely sent his small craft to attack enemy fighters, neglecting to keep one TIE Interceptor squadron near the ship for protection against such "mishaps."
As prescribed by the combat manual!
The moment the wishbone struck the Moonshadow.
Naturally, after the operation, the commander would face an inquiry with counterintelligence and lengthy investigations.
The outcome was unclear.
But there was little pleasant about it.
Yes, the wishbone was shot down, but the fact of taking losses and damage that could have been avoided with proper attention and adherence to military science was undeniable.
"Have them hold position on our left flank," ordered Darran. "Order them to keep two interceptor squadrons in the close perimeter to ensure the ship's safety."
"Yes, sir! It will be relayed."
"Sir, the Yataghan squadron's identifiers have been confirmed! Major Bren reports readiness to strike targets."
"Inform them that our interceptors will be happy to assist in ensuring their safety," said Darran, returning his full attention to the unfolding battle before his ships. "Assign the second and third squadrons from the Captain Rensen for this."
***
"Looks like luck isn't on your side," said Alex, observing a squadron of A-wings on the scanners, clearly targeting the Scimitars.
"There's no such thing as luck," declared Tomax. "Only planning and preparation. Yataghans—charge."
The bomber, obeying the commander's order, surged forward, covering the distance to the Truthful in seconds.
"Torpedoes ready?" Tomax asked the flight engineer.
"Of course," replied Alex.
"On combat."
The lead Scimitar, now surrounded by nine of its brethren (two ships from the squadron had been reassigned to Rear Admiral Dorya for his mission on Sullust), sharply changed course, evading fire from General Iblis's star cruiser.
The major spun the craft through its thrusters. In an instant, the MC80b was before him, above him, upside down.
The Yataghan squadron commander aligned the targeting reticle, locking onto the star cruiser's bridge.
The onboard computer flashed changing symbols, confirming target acquisition.
"Homing warheads have received guidance!" reported Alex. "Telemetry entered! Bomb bays open!"
"Squadron, lock onto my data," ordered Tomax.
"Transmitting telemetry!"
Major Bren said nothing.
He simply pressed the trigger and fired.
***
The Truthful's grav-acoustic operator waved to get General Iblis's attention.
"Sir, multiple enemy signatures beyond the close defensive perimeter!"
"Torpedo attack from above…"
An immediate clarification followed:
"General, sir, three proton torpedoes are heading for the bridge! Attacked by a bomber!"
"Nine additional attack points!"
"It's an assault by an entire squadron!"
The Corellian wouldn't have survived this long if he couldn't make snap decisions!
"Abandon the bridge! Abandon the ship! Escape as best you can!"
The ship's commander slammed the emergency button.
A deafening siren wail swept through the Truthful's corridors and compartments, urging the crew to abandon their assigned battle stations.
General Iblis was the last to leave the bridge.
The skeleton crew cleared the compartment in seconds—a testament to their training and readiness.
He cast a final glance at the now-empty consoles, fully aware that this starship was doomed.
The forward central viewport emitted a strange sound as the glowing thrusters of proton torpedoes drew near.
Garm touched the bulkhead control panel just as the transparisteel cracked.
The main viewport exploded into shrapnel of varying sizes, which would have killed the duty crew had they remained.
The fragments abruptly changed trajectory, sucked into space along with the bridge's atmosphere.
The air screamed, escaping through the hole that was once a viewport, and even the emergency sirens couldn't drown out the roar of the wind.
What happened next, Garm Bel Iblis didn't see—the bulkhead doors to the bridge slammed shut.
The magnetic lock clicked audibly.
The general looked around.
The duty officers and specialists had all escaped, though their eyes were wild, hair (for those who had it) disheveled, and uniforms in disarray.
But their faces showed resolve.
No panic.
This was war, and in battles, ships die.
The Corellian glanced at the escape pod bay adjacent to the corridor, where sentients from the duty crew and nearby compartments were already boarding.
The Truthful shuddered with each proton torpedo impact, occasionally knocking sentients to the floor or walls.
The ship groaned, like a sea beast sensing its own demise.
The general took one of the last spots in an escape pod.
The evacuation craft launched from its bay, speeding away from the starship.
Its mangled, deformed hull was battered by Star Destroyer turbolasers, while the lights of ten bombers, evading pursuit, flashed like a starburst, forever etched into the Corellian's retinas.
"Set course for Admiral Duplex's flagship," ordered Bel Iblis. "This isn't over yet."
In the next moment, a TIE Interceptor, appearing out of nowhere, shredded the escape pod's engines, turning its sentient occupants into mere spectators of the Republic fleet's slaughter.
***
"Two of the three flagships have been destroyed, sir," reported Gilad to the impassive grand admiral, glancing sidelong at the growing dismay on the faces of the three Republicans, who were effectively relegated to being passive witnesses to the carnage orchestrated by him, Pellaeon. "General Iblis's ships are damaged and retreating. Commodore Darran is boarding their vessels."
Though, one shouldn't take more credit than necessary.
This part of the plan, disabling the forces guarding the shipyards and orbital docks, was Thrawn's.
Pellaeon's contributions were mere details of the operation; Thrawn executed the critical specifics.
"Excellent," replied the grand admiral. "Now we deal with Admiral Duplex's ships."
Gilad glanced at the ten star cruisers advancing in a tight formation, overlapping their shields.
With the SEAL system active, it was a monolithic wall that Thrawn's three remaining destroyers couldn't possibly breach.
"Even if luck favored you on both flanks, nine against ten is no quick battle," stated Antilles.
"You can't break through, Grand Admiral," declared Wessiri.
"Why bash my head against a wall to reach the shipyards and docks when my ships are already there?" clarified Thrawn.
"The troops delivered by your carrier destroyers are few," noted Luke. "You can't capture the shipyards."
"I don't need them," Thrawn said calmly. "Observe orbital dock V-475."
The Chiss lifted his right hand from stroking the ysalamiri and pointed at one of the structures near the docks.
Which Duplex's ships had been defending.
Had been—half an hour ago.
"They're shifting position in space," frowned Skywalker.
"And retracting their piers…"
"Folding their dry dock lattices," whispered Wessiri.
In the next moment, the Republicans noticed Commodore Astorias's task force approaching the dock.
Ten minutes later, the Fateful, docking with the orbital dock, began towing it away from the battle.
A few minutes later, the battle-scarred Moonshadow docked with another dock—V-403, at the opposite end of the shipyard complex.
"Inform the Stormhawk and the Thunderfront that after deploying stormtroopers, they may join our battle," said Thrawn. "Likewise for Commodore Darran's ships. It's time to press the Republic fleet's flanks."
Pellaeon turned away to hide a smile.
He couldn't react otherwise to the Republicans' bewildered expressions.
"You're stealing the orbital docks!" General Antilles was the first to state the obvious.
"Stealing?" Thrawn glanced at the Corellian. "General, choose your words carefully. There are ladies present."
Wessiri snorted irritably.
"These docks were acquired by the Sluissi with Imperial funding," said Thrawn. "They were meant to service Imperial ships. The Sluissi seized them after Endor. So no, General Antilles, I'm not 'stealing'—I'm reclaiming Imperial property."
"You'll need more than a few ships to take all twenty-five orbital docks," noted Skywalker. "You have only ten destroyers, two of which are already towing docks to jump to hyperspace. Seven are engaged with Admiral Duplex's squadron. The Providences are clearly unsuitable for dock operations—they're shelling the rear of Duplex's fleet."
"Correct," confirmed Thrawn. "Seven destroyers won't suffice to take all the orbital docks."
"So you'll destroy the rest?" tensed Wessiri.
The Sluis Van shipyards were among the galaxy's finest. Without orbital docks, their utility for warship repairs would plummet.
"Why destroy what can be taken?" asked Thrawn.
"Only ten docks are equipped with hyperdrives," noted Antilles. "Fifteen will remain here."
"Perhaps," said Thrawn, half-turning to Gilad. "Vice Admiral, doesn't Commodore Darran need time to capture General Iblis's star cruisers?"
"At least an hour, sir," confirmed Pellaeon.
"And we'll need about the same for Admiral Duplex's fleet," mused the grand admiral.
"Seven destroyers against ten star cruisers?" Gilad heard Wessiri whisper to General Antilles. "Is he joking?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Then deploy the second wave," ordered Thrawn, his fiery gaze returning to the battlefield. "Our new interdictor cruisers are in position."
"Your new interdictors?" Luke repeated, bewildered, looking at the tactical screen.
"Yes," replied Grand Admiral Thrawn. "The Byu'a, the Stranglehold, the Paw, the Fireclaw, the Emperor's Net, the Whirlwind, the Claw, the Red Claw, and twenty-three others. But the first seven, which Bel Iblis used to pull my fleet from hyperspace, we've already captured. The rest await us among the Imperial-designed ships."
"How did you capture them?" Wessiri said, stunned.
"As always," replied Thrawn. "With force, skill, and the unyielding faith of stormtroopers."
"But those Immobilizers are still projecting gravity wells," stated Wedge Antilles.
"Yes," said the grand admiral indifferently. "But now they project the gravity traps I need. Combined with my own interdictors and Interdictors, they create a vast trap for ships in the system. With one exception."
"Why do you need the corridor Bel Iblis created?" asked Antilles, realizing that despite the altered deployment vectors, the trap meant to ensnare the Dominion's regular fleet was still active.
"It was created to catch Dominion starships," said Thrawn. "And catch them it will. Look, it's already happening."
Gilad smirked, seeing dozens of new ship signatures appear on the Chimaera's tactical monitor.
Acclamator-class assault cruisers, Gladiator-class Star Destroyers, Quasar Fire-class escort carriers, dozens of Star Galleon-class frigates, Raider-class corvettes, and Corellian starships.
But that wasn't all.
Far from it.
Grand Admiral Thrawn had brought significant forces to Sluis Van.
Nearly all combat-ready starships of the Dominion's regular fleet, except for the Star Destroyers of the Ubiqtorate and Isard, reassigned to Shohashi and distinguished in the Red Dragon's operations at Lianna and the Tanian sector.
Thrawn also left behind Captain Vivant's Star Destroyers, sent to the Karthakk system for repairs.
Still waiting were the Victory-class ships and escort frigates, hundreds of Corellian corvettes…
Eagerly awaiting the star cruisers of the New Republic's Fourth Fleet.
"Armed transports and fifty warships, unable to stand against even a single star cruiser?" clarified Wedge Antilles. "And this is what you're throwing against the vast number of Imperial-designed ships in our arsenal?"
"And more," said Thrawn. "These ships have their own tasks."
"They're heading for the orbital docks!" deduced Luke Skywalker. "You plan to dismantle those without independent mobility?"
Gilad, watching the enemy strike the Chimaera, coughed, imagining what the young Jedi had just suggested.
Even from the pits, a mocking chuckle echoed.
Gilad shot his subordinates a stern look, inwardly resisting the urge to laugh at such an amateurish idea, completely at odds with the principles of the Dominion's current battle strategy.
"Um…" the youngest New Republic general deflated. "Luke, such operations would take weeks. Even then, you'd need thousands of personnel for emergency crews."
"Your comrade is correct, Jedi Skywalker," said Thrawn. "You've uttered utter nonsense. A pity."
"I'm not well-versed in military strategy," the Jedi admitted, embarrassed.
"Really?" asked the Chiss. "I thought you recently held the rank of general in the galaxy's most democratic anti-government organization."
"I relinquished my military rank," Skywalker said, regaining his composure. "And stepped down from my general's duties…"
"Did you leave your brains behind too?" thought Pellaeon.
"Well, I had a slightly higher opinion of you, Jedi Skywalker," said Grand Admiral Thrawn. "I regret to note that the Alliance and its offspring, the New Republic, award high ranks not for merit but for political motives. Or perhaps for "pretty eyes.""
"I'd argue with that," Wedge Antilles darkened.
"You personally couldn't even handle Isard," reminded Thrawn. "Yet the New Republic claims credit for defeating grand admirals most of you never even saw. Not the most impressive track record, in my view."
"Besides them, we've taken down plenty of Imperial commanders, Zsinj for example," Wessiri shot back sharply.
"And if not for the fluke of Captain Solo losing his precious ship, you'd never have learned of Dathomir, Zsinj's secret base, or neutralized that threat," said Thrawn. "All your victories stem from chance and the providence of the Force. Isn't that so, Jedi Skywalker? Ever wonder how the Battle of Yavin IV would've ended without the Force's support?"
The Jedi looked as if he'd been punched in the gut.
He seemed to shrink, almost physically.
"How do you know that?" he whispered.
"How do you know so much about us?!" Yella Wessiri burst out, earning a sharp cuff from a nearby guard.
"You're on the bridge of a Star Destroyer, Agent Wessiri, not a nerf market on Shaum Hii," Thrawn said phlegmatically. "This isn't the New Republic; such insolence isn't tolerated here."
"Your intelligence network is impressive," said Wedge Antilles, clearly piecing something together. He looked at his friends, then clarified the obvious:
"The attack on Coruscant. Our intelligence archives were hacked and copied by Thrawn's slicers."
"And you accessed my droid," Skywalker relaxed, realization dawning. "That's it…"
"Plus informants in the Imperial Palace," Wessiri narrowed her eyes. "That's why you're always a step ahead! You have an advanced intelligence network!"
"It took them long enough," sighed Pellaeon, pushing away the thought that he himself had once appeared just as unimpressive in Thrawn's eyes.
Thrawn paused stroking the ysalamiri, then gave the trio of Republicans a faintly sly smile.
In the utter silence of the bridge, the muffled clap of white-gloved hands echoed.
The grand admiral was applauding.
"Remarkable how my presence enhances your cognitive functions," he said. "I'd almost lost hope."
A blatantly mocking guffaw came from the pits.
"Lieutenant!" Pellaeon snapped.
Really, the senior communications officer? You couldn't control yourself?
Not your first year in service!
"My apologies, sir!" the lieutenant replied.
"Three extra duties!" ordered Gilad.
"Yes, sir!" The lieutenant's face showed complete submission.
But those twitching corners of his mouth…
"You still won't win, Thrawn," declared Wedge Antilles. "Your main forces can't break through our perimeter defenses…"
"They're retreating!" Yella exclaimed suddenly. "Look! The cruisers and Venators are recalling fighters; the corvettes are disengaging!"
"It seems there's discord in your ranks, Grand Admiral Thrawn," General Antilles said with some satisfaction. "Your Interdictors and interdictor cruisers are deactivating their gravity well generators!"
Indeed, at the outer perimeter of Sluis Van's orbit, the cones of artificial gravity zones vanished.
Now, the only thing holding the Republic's Imperial-designed starships were the seven recently captured interdictor cruisers.
"Observation without understanding is merely wasted effort of the eyes," said the grand admiral. "Vice Admiral Pellaeon, it seems I missed the start of the third phase of this operation while conversing with our shortsighted guests?"
"Yes, sir," confirmed Gilad. "We began ten minutes ago."
"So this isn't evidence of our victory?" asked the youngest New Republic general, bewildered.
"Of course not," smirked Pellaeon. "We're simply regrouping to finish what we started."
"And… what do you intend to do?" asked Luke Skywalker.
The response was not words, but action.
In the very space cleared by General Bel Iblis, further widened by an asteroid attack and the actions of "wolf packs" led by Captains Irv and Tiberos, and the Cavil Corsairs, ships began to appear…
Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers, Venator-class Star Destroyers, Corellian corvettes, Interdictors, Dominion interdictor cruisers…
Pulled from hyperspace by the seven captured interdictor cruisers.
And positioned almost within firing range behind Admiral Duplex's forces.
"The same as I announced earlier," said Thrawn. "Destroy Admiral Duplex's forces. Capture the orbital docks. Return Imperial-designed ships to those who need them more."
"And destroy the New Republic," Pellaeon couldn't resist, mentally chastising himself for the boyish outburst.
"That's scheduled for after lunch, Vice Admiral," said Thrawn in an unchanged tone. "Don't rush things."
"Uh… when's your lunch?" General Antilles asked cautiously.
"Right after the Fourth Fleet's star cruisers arrive in the trap so kindly set for them," explained Thrawn.
It suddenly felt… ominous.
Even to Pellaeon.
Especially to Pellaeon.
He'd spoken thoughtlessly, out of Corellian spite, but Thrawn didn't joke.
Not at all.
What if he actually dismantled the New Republic out of boredom, over a snack?
***
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