The enemy was fleeing, and there was nothing surprising about that.
"Sir, electromagnetic radiation is interfering with our targeting systems," the senior gunner reported to Captain Kalian.
The commander of the Steel Aurora gritted his teeth, clenching his fists.
"What a mess."
It wasn't even about the fact that the mass detonation of enemy ships had caused such a problem.
Yes, the Empire hadn't seen such significant victories in a long time (perhaps never). Thus, the possibility that electronics might malfunction on this scale wasn't accounted for in the manuals.
The issue was that the senior gunner, who had previously served on the Steel Aurora, had been recalled by the Grand Admiral due to his exceptional performance.
An excellent officer who had trained equally talented subordinates.
But the new guy…
He lacked the experience of his predecessor.
Even though he had previously been the deputy senior gunner on this very ship.
Not everyone can think clearly in an unconventional situation.
"It happens."
"There's no need to be ashamed of it—you just have to work on it."
"Not with shouting or punishment, but with explanation."
"Lieutenant," Kalian addressed his subordinate. "Are our optical targeting systems operational?"
"Affirmative, sir…"
"Can we calculate firing solutions for lead shots, knowing the position and speed of the enemy ships?"
"Yes, sir, that's covered in the training curriculum."
"Then let's combine all this knowledge, issue orders to our fine gunners and missile operators, and give the retreating enemy a proper thrashing, shall we?" Kalian suggested.
"Yes, sir!" the subordinate grinned, rushing to the artillery control console of the Star Destroyer.
Five seconds later, ranging salvos rang out.
The enhanced artillery power of the Steel Aurora was practically shredding the numerous debris and damage on the hulls of enemy ships with its plasma charges, inflicting even more harm on the Republic's starships.
"We're receiving telemetry for the missile launchers from the Crusader," the communications officer announced. "Sir, these are instructions for direct-fire targeting with lead adjustments based on the speed of the ship at the center of the enemy formation. The Rear Admiral requests we strike the tail of the enemy column."
"Rear Admiral I-Gor is, as always, one step ahead," Kalian sighed. "Thank him on my behalf and relay the data to our missile operators. Disable the homing warheads—we're aiming manually, accounting for lead."
A moment later, the Steel Aurora's central computer confirmed the accuracy of the inputted data.
"Launchers one through twenty—fire!" Kalian commanded, watching as the Victory-class Star Destroyers, under the command of the aforementioned Rear Admiral in this battle, executed a coordinated salvo from their bow torpedo tubes.
Twelve Victory-class Star Destroyers, each unleashing twenty anti-ship missiles simultaneously.
What could be more devastating than the fiery barrage produced by a dozen Victory ships?
Only the same four hundred eighty anti-ship missiles, accompanied by the heavy turbolasers of those same Victory-class Star Destroyers.
All this under the accompaniment of hundreds of turbolasers from their larger Imperial-class counterparts.
And all of it against the backdrop of an unrelenting battle with Republic starfighters, which were swarming from every corner of space, intent on striking back and avenging their destroyed ships.
***
The Battle of Sluis Van (Finale)
The fiery barrage enveloped the tail of the retreating enemy column.
Many missiles didn't reach their targets—their electronic brains couldn't withstand the pressure of the electromagnetic radiation, causing their internal systems to fail and the warheads to detonate prematurely.
But for the six MC80 Liberty-type Star Cruisers bringing up the rear of the enemy column, it was more than enough.
The enemy starships were drowning in an ocean of fire unleashed by the Dominion's regular fleet.
Their deflector shields buckled and failed, allowing missiles and turbolasers to mercilessly tear into the hulls of the Republic ships like giant, red-hot can openers.
The Republic starships' armor ripped and burned as if it were made of paper rather than durasteel.
The six retreating Star Cruisers, each facing overwhelming odds of one against five, could no longer resist the inevitable.
Their engines exploded, decks burned, and gun blisters turned into fiery fountains.
Time and again, turbolasers and anti-ship missiles tore into the ships' structures, ripping out precious internal components and collapsing entire frameworks.
The New Republic's starships were dying.
And with them perished the abandoned starfighters that hadn't withdrawn in time and were now bravely, but foolishly, fighting to the last Republic pilot.
The first six enemy Star Cruisers escaped the system along with a well-known freighter.
One by one, the remaining Star Cruisers and New Republic starfighters exploded.
Now, the battlefield undisputedly belonged to the Dominion's regular fleet.
"All squadrons and corvettes of the Steel Aurora—regroup and begin hunting the enemy's fighters," Captain Kalian ordered, noting that the enemy starfighters, after their larger comrades retreated, decided not to tempt fate further and fled into hyperspace.
***
A smile never left Executor Sedriss's face.
"How long he had waited for this!"
The blue-skinned alien, a thorn in his side, was finally dead.
It was a pity, of course, that he couldn't do it with his own hands, following the Emperor's will, but what could be done…
Thrawn's death was an integral part of the plan for the upcoming operation.
He had done the impossible—united the Imperials, destroyed up to a quarter of the New Republic's armed forces, partially disrupted their logistics, and separated hundreds of sectors from that vile bastion of democracy…
And now, after this battle, Thrawn's authority would undoubtedly surpass the Emperor's.
Two centers of military and industrial power would emerge—those loyal to the Emperor and those loyal to the Grand Admiral.
That could not be allowed under any circumstances.
Thus, after Agent Blackhole and his entire Ubiqtorate vanished, Sedriss received (for the first time in months) a direct order from Palpatine.
Eliminate Thrawn.
Do it in a way that all evidence points to the New Republic.
The righteous anger that would strike the Dominion and the Imperial Remnants, among whose citizens and military Thrawn had many supporters (both overt and covert), would rally them under the Emperor's banners.
All the Emperor needed to say was that Thrawn's campaign was a coordinated vanguard of the Empire's invasion, planned in tandem with Palpatine, as subordinate and master.
And that the Emperor would not let the death of his last Grand Admiral go unavenged.
A simple populist trick that would undoubtedly produce a patriotic effect, serving as the catalyst for consolidating the scattered Imperial forces under the Emperor's command.
And now, as it turned out, nothing even needed to be done.
Luke Skywalker—a prisoner Thrawn had kept hidden in his cells—had done it all for Sedriss.
No need now for disguises or the transformation Sedriss had undergone to resemble Skywalker.
The son of Darth Vader had done everything as required.
He killed Thrawn.
And now his separatist ambitions would fade into oblivion.
All that remained was to surgically strike and eliminate Gilad Pellaeon, who clearly held the highest rank in the Dominion's armed forces after Thrawn.
And thus, he was Thrawn's direct successor in the militarized society of the Dominion.
Thrawn's elimination would not provoke a power crisis or confusion among the Dominion's ranks.
Because Pellaeon was still there.
But if he were gone too, the dozens of Star Destroyer commanders would surely turn on each other.
And the emergence of Emperor Palpatine on the galactic stage would create a center of power in the vacuum left by the deaths of the commander and his successor.
A center that all would follow.
It was time to strike.
And to do so in a way that would deliver what his master desired, thereby fully regaining his favor.
Sedriss smirked, keeping the helm of his cloaked ship steady.
"How long had he spent in it, trailing the Chimaera wherever it went?"
"Long enough to…"
"Learn nothing."
"And nearly die a dozen times."
One thing was undeniable—Thrawn knew how to keep his secrets.
More securely than the Muuns of the InterGalactic Banking Clan.
Sedriss had personally (through the transparisteel of his cockpit and the bridge's viewport) observed the events on the Chimaera's bridge, giving Luke Skywalker the opportunity to do all the work for him.
"Killed the Grand Admiral?"
"Now kill his apprentice."
"And the rule of the Sith would reign over the galaxy once more…"
***
"They say luck always follows Corellians."
"Sometimes, they're just faster than it."
"And common sense."
"But luck is always nearby."
"Today, though, it had clearly decided to step aside."
"And that led to the death of Grand Admiral Thrawn."
Gilad ran his fingers over the Supreme Commander's eyelids, closing his fiery eyes forever.
A thought he had heard and firmly remembered from his first-aid courses at the military academy pounded in his head.
"The brain remains alive for a few minutes."
"They just needed to evacuate the Grand Admiral to the medical bay."
"Freeze him, connect him to life-support systems."
"Submerge him in a bacta tank."
"Anything to preserve Thrawn's life!"
"At any cost!"
"But what in the name of a Hutt were those storm commandos still fiddling with the magnetic lock for?!"
His body's shocked state slowed his reactions and wiped his thoughts clean.
His sense of danger dulled.
Sounds around him reached his ears as if through cotton, so he saw the reflection of an emerald lightsaber before he heard the hum of the weapon that ended the life of one of the most brilliant commanders since the Clone Wars.
The polished deck plating gave the Jedi away completely.
Despite his advanced age, Gilad put all his strength into a leap.
His dress boots pushed off the deck, and the Vice Admiral dove toward the right "pit."
A chill ran down his spine as he twisted to fire at the Jedi and saw his eyes glowing with amber fire.
But his trigger finger didn't falter, and a crimson bolt shot toward its target.
Only to be deflected by the energy blade and redirected into a tactical monitor.
The polished deck didn't stop him at his landing point, and the Chimaera's commander tumbled to the bottom of the control pit.
His left shoulder screamed with pain and a distinct crunch.
Gilad howled, muttering curses under his breath.
To his surprise, he found the blaster still in his right hand.
The Vice Admiral rose to his feet, taking a few steps back, watching as a black-clad Jedi with an activated lightsaber appeared before him.
"You will all die," Skywalker said menacingly.
In his blue eyes, one could see the reflection of Hoth's icy deserts, killing with the same indifference.
The Vice Admiral blinked.
"Blue eyes…"
"No way!"
"Now you're in for it, kid!"
Gilad licked his dry lips.
"You're just as much of a beast as your father," he said, dodging the lightsaber while firing his blaster. "Believe me, I met him before he got his fancy life-support suit. He was already a rancor's belch with an inflated sense of superiority back then."
The emerald blade sliced through a control panel and carved a molten trench in the pit's flooring before it was supposed to return to Skywalker's hands…
But it didn't.
Which meant Gilad was right—Skywalker was so enraged that he didn't realize he had entered a Force-suppression zone created by ysalamiri.
"Looks like you're out of Force," Pellaeon grinned, seeing the deactivated lightsaber hilt lying on the deck of the right pit. "Now, you bantha fodder, hold on tight."
Before Skywalker could react, Pellaeon fired.
The crimson bolt struck the son of Darth Vader in the stomach.
The young man clutched his wound and stumbled back, moving out of Pellaeon's line of sight.
"Where do you think you're going, you bastard?!" the officer roared, feeling adrenaline sweep away the ethical restraint forged over years. "We're just getting started!"
He rushed to the ladder, fully intent on climbing up and unloading every remaining charge in the blaster's gas cartridge and power cell into the Republican.
Gilad didn't climb the ladder from the pit—he practically flew, landing on the "terrace" separating the pits.
Skywalker had retreated behind the Grand Admiral's chair, whimpering like a girl and barely holding onto the backrest of the seat that belonged to a being worth ten of this half-baked Jedi.
Gilad fired, and the crimson energy dagger grazed the Republican's left shoulder, causing him to collapse to the deck with a cry of pain.
Another shot hit Skywalker in the thigh.
"You need to practice more," Gilad muttered through gritted teeth, realizing that missing a second shot aimed at the head was utterly unacceptable.
The Vice Admiral glanced at Thrawn's body, which, even in death, radiated an aura of majesty.
Then he looked at the whimpering wretch trying to save his own life.
"You weren't worth a single nail of the man you killed," Gilad said, closing to within five meters.
Close enough that missing would be sheer idiocy.
He raised his blaster and aimed at Skywalker's head.
His trigger finger began to take up the slack…
***
It seemed Skywalker had simply gotten lucky killing Thrawn.
Because now Pellaeon was about to blow his brains out, and that couldn't be allowed—it would be a failure.
Palpatine craved the son of Darth Vader alive.
Anyone involved in his death would face a gruesome end.
Pellaeon was currently the Dominion's top figure.
If he killed the Jedi, Palpatine would turn his wrath on him.
And that meant there was no chance the Dominion, with its hundreds of warships, would simply fall in line under the Emperor's banners.
No, the operation to conquer the galaxy would be ruined.
The Emperor was already forced to alter plans due to Thrawn's actions, changing orders on the fly.
The original plan to conquer the Dominion, pushed by Agent Blackhole, had been thwarted by Sedriss after the agent's demise.
"As if anyone in their right mind would believe promises that the Dominion would remain untouched while Thrawn was alive. Laughable ten times over."
Instead, the idea was to consolidate the Imperial Remnants under the Emperor's rule.
Why waste resources conquering a Dominion where Thrawn had amassed vast military forces and production capabilities when you could make them serve the Empire?
All it took was killing Thrawn.
At the peak of his influence, to ensure the pain of his loss provoked the right response among the Dominion's citizens and military.
Sedriss had planned to turn the last Grand Admiral into a martyr, an icon of the Empire.
He also intended to personally kill the alien, suspecting Thrawn was responsible for eliminating members of the Dark Side Elite.
"Perhaps that could be confirmed in the future if Pellaeon and the other Dominion forces swore allegiance to the Emperor again."
For now, Pellaeon had to survive.
Sedriss pressed the button to lower the ramp of his cloaked ship.
The automated system activated an atmospheric shield, preventing decompression.
The Force guided his precise calculations, so the Executor, barely aiming, pulled the trigger…
The laser cannons spat fire from beneath the stygium cloaking field, racing toward the transparisteel of the Chimaera's bridge.
***
"Sir," the watch officer addressed I-Gor. "Patrol interceptors report enemy ships appearing at the system's edge."
"Composition, numbers?" the Rear Admiral demanded.
"Six MC80 Liberty-type Star Cruisers, a dozen strike frigates, two escort carriers," the officer promptly reported.
"Have their exit vectors been calculated?" asked the commander of the Crusader and the entire Victory-class Star Destroyer formation.
"Affirmative, sir. Identified as an enemy fleet from the Danjar sector."
"The first of several to reach us," I-Gor nodded. "As expected. Soon, forces from the Mayagil, Sissvenna, Stenipilis, Tantra, and Elrud sectors will arrive. From every sector bordering Sluis. And we won't like it. Distance to the enemy?"
"One hundred fifty units, sir."
"And no interdictor cruisers among them," the officer narrowed his eyes. "A trap. But also an opportunity to further damage the enemy while they await reinforcements. Contact the Chimaera. I have an attack plan."
***
Gilad pulled the trigger, but the blaster only emitted a short beep, signaling a lack of power.
The man stared in shock at the grip of his standard-issue weapon, noticing that the lower part—where the power cell connected—was damaged.
"How had he not noticed this before?"
Skywalker survived, but not for long.
The storm commandos would be here soon—already, the sound of the blast doors sliding open signaled their arrival and…
Suddenly, he caught a glimpse of a green energy flash.
"What idiot fired so close to the bridge?"
"Why had they let the enemy get so close?!"
Then Gilad realized what was happening.
The Chimaera was under attack by a cloaked ship!
"And it was going to hurt."
Pellaeon reached the Grand Admiral's chair just as the transparisteel shattered into countless tiny fragments, turning into shrapnel that scattered across the bridge.
The opened blast doors only amplified the decompression, sucking out all unsecured objects.
Gilad struggled with the safety straps.
He heard the long-awaited click of the harness just as the body in the pristine white uniform was yanked outside.
The man turned his head, seeing that Skywalker, tumbling and striking his head hard against the viewport frame, was also pulled out of the Chimaera's bridge in the airflow.
His figure vanished almost immediately, right where Gilad had noticed the source of the laser beams.
The unknown attacker had taken Skywalker aboard their ship.
"And who could that be, he wondered?!"
The Chimaera's artillery, alongside other destroyers, maintained a steady barrage, forming a fiery cage around the flagship.
But by the time the automated systems sealed the breach in the bridge, not a single explosion had been achieved.
The enemy had escaped.
"Vice Admiral, sir!.."
Gilad turned his head, glaring with hatred at the Grand Admiral's aide, Major Tierce, who approached him.
"Are you alright, sir?" he asked in a tone as if nothing had happened.
"You scum!"
Gilad didn't even realize how he freed himself from the safety straps.
The first thing he felt was pain in the fingers of his right hand, which he used to land a direct punch to the aide's face.
"Your fingers are broken, sir," Tierce said calmly, wiping blood from his bruised cheek and spitting out a knocked-out tooth onto the deck.
"He's dead!" Gilad hissed venomously (though he wanted to scream).
"I know, sir," the aide replied with infuriating calm.
"Your blasted guards failed!"
"That's not true…"
"A woman, a pilot, and a Jedi brat took them out in seconds! These are the vaunted guards Thrawn put on par with the Noghri?!"
"No, sir, they weren't guards," Pellaeon, brushing off an approaching medic, snapped angrily:
"Too late! We had a chance to save him! A few minutes while his brain was still alive! You all fu—"
To his surprise, the Vice Admiral saw that the guards' bodies remained where death had found them.
Glaring at Tierce with hatred, he strode quickly to the severed head of one of the aide's clone guards, and, choosing the right angle, kicked the helmet with all his might, intending to send the head straight into the hands of the man Thrawn trusted more than his flagship captain.
Pain in his toes made him howl, and the Vice Admiral barely kept from hopping on one foot.
"You shouldn't do that," Tierce said, appearing beside him and, with visible effort, lifting the helmet with the head inside.
"What, are your bones made of durasteel?!" the man hissed.
"No, we're almost ordinary humans," Tierce replied. "But there's a catch, Vice Admiral."
He turned the helmet so Gilad could see as he detached the faceplate from the main part…
"You've got to be kidding me, kriffing a sarlacc with a rancor…" all of Gilad's rage dissipated, like air escaping a balloon.
"Everyone performed as needed, sir," Tierce replied. "I'm sorry for what happened here, but death is death…"
"Vice Admiral," Lieutenant Tschel's voice came through the Chimaera commander's comlink. "The destroyer commanders are requesting orders regarding the incident on board. They report Republic starships emerging one hundred units from our position. They're requesting orders—we're close to being surrounded. What should I report? Rear Admiral I-Gor suggests attacking the Republic ships with a fast formation of Victory ships and corvettes to disrupt their ranks and then overwhelm them with all forces…"
Gilad looked at the ravaged bridge of his destroyer, then at the aide's calm face.
The Vice Admiral turned and gazed through the side viewport into the orbit of Sluis Van.
His thoughts were far from here.
Mentally, he assessed the situation, evaluating the combat readiness of what were now his starships, the numbers and composition of enemy forces.
He calculated how long the defense could hold, given that Thrawn's orders had left it in disarray.
He weighed the chances of holding Sluis Van and foresaw the chaos that would soon engulf the Dominion—from the core to the peripheral systems—once word spread of what had happened here.
Thrawn had named him his successor, and Gilad could not let the commander down.
He wasn't a brilliant strategist or a masterful military psychologist like Thrawn.
He didn't understand how to outmaneuver an enemy through music, art, or sculpture.
He lacked an overbearing ego, excessive ambition, or a desire to command against logic.
Gilad knew that compared to Thrawn, he was no combat officer.
A ship commander—yes, but not a fleet commander.
A staff officer, a bureaucrat—yes, but a commander…
Yet Gilad had one trait that Thrawn had noticed and explicitly encouraged him to develop.
Vice Admiral Pellaeon followed orders, understanding their meaning only slightly after the fact.
Simply because he wasn't always fully informed.
"And now was one such moment."
"He had an order, and he would execute it."
"Order to all ships of the Dominion's regular fleet," he rasped, casting another suspicious glance at the eerily calm aide, who handed him a code cylinder. The very one Thrawn had given him "in case of death." Curious… Had Thrawn foreseen his own demise? "Prepare to withdraw per variant two. We're returning to the Dominion. Additional information will be provided at fleet headquarters."
He hadn't solved the problem, knowing that the power crisis would likely drive some commanders to abandon the Dominion.
Perhaps even spark a civil war…
Gilad took the code cylinder from the aide and limped toward the bridge's exit.
He wouldn't preserve the Dominion, even as Thrawn's deputy and successor, unless he could prove he was capable of continuing the Chiss's work.
He couldn't do it alone.
All that remained was hope that the code cylinder, now accessible, contained something to keep the Grand Admiral's life's work from collapsing.
***
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