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Chapter Four (cont.)

“You want a drink, Kell?” Thom asked.

“Thank you, Sir,” the Fleet Admiral answered as he took a seat.

“Sir?   Rather formal this evening, aren’t we?” Thom Patrice said with a chuckle.  He placed some ice in two crystal tumblers and then poured in three fingers worth of liquor in each.  Then he picked up one in each hand and walked over to Morvin, handed him a tumbler, and sat down in his own comfortable chair, adjusting the robe he wore over his sleeping attire.

“What brings you to the Sanctum Sanctorum so late, Kell?” he asked after taking a quick sip.

“Events are moving faster than we anticipated, Sir.  I have the latest transmissions from Operation Ignition,” Kell said as he set a data-pad on the table between the two men.

“Ah.  Did Osar do something moderately stupid—or something incredibly stupid?”

“The latter, I’m afraid,” Kell replied after taking a sip of the stout drink.  “I fear that we under-estimated just how unstable Osar is and exactly much influence ORO-Corp had over him—the ‘Rebel’ attacks on their mining operations have their board of directors in a furor.  Osar has declared martial law across the Sector, suspended all but the most basic rights, and unleashed his COMPFORCE units to . . . punish those who support the Rebellion.”

Thom sat down his tumbler and he scrolled through the data-pad, frowning as he read the intelligence gathered there.  He finished the document, scrolled back up and reread another section two more times, before he set down the device once more.

“And how have the actual Rebel cells reacted?” Thom asked.

Kell smiled.  “Since the first massacre escalated into a score, the Alliance units in Lamaredd have begun fighting back—our men haven’t had to do anything except sit back and observe.  Osar’s crackdown, however, hasn’t seriously hurt the Rebs in any way, Thom.  He is generating extreme hatred for his own government—and ORO-Corp.”

“Things are proceeding as we planned, Kell.  The pace may have quickened, but soon enough we will have to—for humanitarian concerns, of course—intervene and remove Osar.”

“That is why I needed to speak with you tonight, Sir.  I am well acquainted with some of Osar’s Fleet officers, as you know.  And this evening I received a coded message from one of them—Jeth Kord, commanding the Imperator-class Indefatigable.  Conditions for the miners on one of Osar’s worlds—Bandaar III—have become intolerable.   Every sentient on the planet works for ORO-Corp, and unless they are Security or Management, they are de facto slaves.  We didn’t send any of our troops there for Ignition, but we learned from the Hutt that the Rebels have their own cell on world.  With their profit margins shrinking, ORO-Corp slashed the salaries of the miners on Bandaar III in half.  The miners then revolted; they trashed the local security and took the facilities—and before the Rebels could stop them, they burned the management.”

Thom’s eyes grew wide.  “Not in effigy, I take it?”

“No.  ORO-Corp took the matter to Osar, although their execs feared losing some face in having to beg for Imperial troops to regain control.  They own that world, and it is . . . embarrassing for them to admit their own miners stole it right out from under them.  But then the miners broadcast a hyper-comm message, proclaiming that they were seceding from the Empire and announcing they were petitioning to join the New Republic.”

“Osar must have been livid,” Thom said quietly.

“Oh yes.  He has dispatched Kord’s Indefatigable to Bandaar III with orders to carry out a Base Delta Zero command.”

Thom froze; his tumbler half-way to his mouth.  His jaw opened and then closed.  He set down the tumbler.  “What was that you said, Kell?  I cannot have heard you correctly.”

“I wish you had misheard me.  Osar initiated Code Base Delta Zero to be carried out on Bandaar III.”

Thom sat back.  “ORO-Corp will withdraw their support of him—Base Delta Zero will destroy their own installations and render the surface lifeless.”

“They protested—Osar then accused them of collusion with the Rebels; the evidence being that they lost an entire planet to them.  He has since arrested the board, seized all ORO-Corp assets, and disbanded their security forces—other than those who decided to join his bully-boys.  He then announced—Sector-wide—that any of his worlds which remain in a state of rebellion and insurrection will suffer the same penalty as Bandaar III.  All armed resistance movements are to turn themselves in for processing and execution; all miners on strike are to return to work within three days.  Or else . . .”

Thom groaned, “Please tell me he didn’t?”

“Or else, he will authorize Base Delta Zero against each world in a state of insurrection in his Sector in sequence.  He concluded by saying that he would rather have one loyal world under his authority than thirty seditious worlds.”

The old General sat heavily back in his chair, and rubbed his bald head with one hand.  He picked up the tumbler and took a deep slug, and then sat down the crystal glass once more.  “We aren’t ready for Guillotine, are we?”

“Not the full Operation, no.  But we might not need the full operation—from what Kord told me, the Fleet mostly considers Osar mad.”

“How soon before he gets to Bandaar III?”

“Seventy-two hours; he can’t delay any longer.”

“Can we . . .”

“Yes.  It won’t be pretty and the boys will make mistakes they wouldn’t if we have longer, but yes, Thom, we can pull it off.  Especially if Kord and other COs in Osar’s Fleet come over to us.  We might even get some of his Army agreeing at the very least to sit this one out—I know Conal has been in contact with several Colonels and Brigadiers on the Lamaredd side of the border.”

“What do you need?”

“Moff Patrice, I request your formal authorization to launch Operation Guillotine.”

“Done.  And Kell?”

“Sir,” the Fleet Admiral replied as he and Thom stood.

“Don’t let that little shit get away.”

“Consider it done, Sir.”

Kell Morvin saluted, turned on his heel, and quickly exited Thom’s private quarters.  The Moff picked back up his tumbler, drained it, and set down the glass.  He then walked over to a wall comm-unit and pressed a button.

“Yes, Sir?” a bright and cheery voice answered from the speaker.

“Assemble the staff; I want everyone in the Conference Room in twenty minutes—and have the droids make several gallons of caf, Mik.  We’re going to have a long night, I’m afraid.”

Chapter Four (cont.)

“Sir.”

Captain Abril Jonas of the Glorious-class Star Destroyer Ascension turned towards the Pit Lieutenant who spook.  “Yes?”

“A large Fleet has just exited hyperspace, Sir.”

Abril frowned.  “Rebels?”

“I do not believe so, Sir.  Their transponders are flashing the identification codes of the Cyralis Sector Fleet.”

The captain walked down the steep ramp and peered at the readings—sure enough there was a sizable force of Imperial vessels, inbound for Lamaredd.  Sixty-nine ships in all:  three Imperators, four Victorys, one Immobilizer-418 Interdictor, five Vindicators, ten Strikes, ten Carracks, twelve Millenniums, six Adamants, ten Nebulon-Bs, and eight Acclamators.  Abril whistled softly.  What is Morvin playing at?  Those ships represented the bulk of his Fleet; if they are here, then he barely has enough ships left in Cyralis to patrol his own systems.

“Have we received orders from Justicar?” he asked.

“Negative, Sir.”

“Inform the Flag that we have guests, Lieutenant.”

Abril walked back up the observation platform and he tried to project a calm manner to his crew—although his stomach churned.  He pursed his lips, and then nodded to himself.  “They could be here to provide assistance, gentlemen, but I do not like that they suddenly appeared without prior warning.  Send Ascension to Action Stations—but hold our TIEs in the bay for now.”

“We do have standing orders from the Flag, Sir, that require prior approval before setting General Quarters,” another officer reminded him.

“On my authority—warm up the guns, raise our shields, and get the crew to Action Stations.”

Abril’s officers quickly turned to their tasks and throughout the massive ship alarms began to sound.

“Has Justicar replied to our signal?” he asked.

“We are instructed to stand by and await further instructions, Captain,” the communications officer said as he turned to face Ascension’s lord and master.

Abril frowned.  Damn Sartan and his need to control everything, he thought.  He moved back along the catwalk to view the sensor projection of the Lamaredd System.  Much of Sartan’s Fleet was concentrated here—but not all of it.  The Justicar herself, Ascension and her sister ship Leviathan, the Imperator-class Acrimonious, four Victorys, four Vindicators, two Dreadnoughts, eight Strikes, ten Carracks, six Bayonets, twelve Millenniums, eight Lancers, sixteen Nebulon-Bs, and sixteen corvettes.  Eighty ships to Morvin’s sixty-nine, but Morvin had no corvettes in his Order of Battle—and those small ships made up a full twenty percent of Sartan’s.

“Hail the Justicar again; I need to speak with Admiral Sartan.”

“Sir, they already said to stand by,” the comm officer interjected.

“Just do it.”

What the devil are you doing out there, Morvin?  And whatever it is, why can’t Sartan be just a bit more like you?

Chapter Four (cont.)

“Priority One signal from Lamaredd Central Control, Sir,” a young communications technician reported as he snapped to attention and saluted Abril with his right hand as he held out the data-pad in his other.

Abril frowned and he took the device, and quickly browsed through.  His frown faded, and his eyes grew wide.

“Communications!  Was this decoded properly?” he barked.

The Comm officer in the Pit turned and sharply nodded.  “Yes, sir.  Sir; the message header requires us to confirm receipt and to acknowledge the order.”

The Captain of Ascension turned back to his bridge windows, and he placed his hands behind his back.  “Communications, confirm that we have received the order—ask Lamaredd Central Control to authenticate the order before we acknowledge.”

Abril licked his suddenly dry lips as he watched the drive flares of Morvin’s ships slowly closing the distance between his Fleet and high orbit.

“Sir.  Lamaredd Central Control authenticates the order and requests that we acknowledge the order.”

The twenty-six year veteran of the Imperial Fleet let out a breathe that he had not realized he was holding.  “Transmit our acknowledgement to Lamaredd Central Control.”

Abril’s executive officer walked up the catwalk to stand beside the older man.  “Captain, what did the order say?” he whispered.

The Captain did not answer, he merely handed his first officer the data-pad.

“What the . . . ?  Sartan will go ballistic.”

“Yes.  It is, however, a legitimate and legal order, Chang.  We will keep the crew at alert stations for five more minutes and then stand down.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

“STATUS CHANGE!” A Lieutenant in the Pit barked.  “Cyralis Fleet is launching fighters!”

“Belay that order,” Abril snapped.  “Order the Squadron to combat readiness—on my authority!  Tactical, are the fighters closing on an attack vector?”

“No, Sir.  They are forming up though.”

“How many?”

“Looks like all of them.”

“Ready our own squadrons for hot-launch—upon my command only!”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

****************************************************

Fleet Admiral Whartil Sartan sneered at the holographic image of Kell Morvin.  “And I don’t care what that idiot Moff ordered, Morvin!  This is my Fleet, my Sector!”  Spittle flew from the corpulent man’s lips as he shouted at the hologram.  “Now turn those ships around and leave or I will open fire upon you!”

“You will not abide by the orders of your own Moff, Fleet Admiral Sartan?” the image asked very precisely.

“He was tricked!  Tricked!  He would never issue such an order without going through me!  Never!  If that worthless transmission even came from him!”

The hologram flickered, and the image looked off-screen and said something that was not transmitted.

“Sir!  Morvin’s ships are launching TIEs.”

Sartan’s eyes bulged with rage—and more than a little fear.  “You be will remembered as a Renegade and an Outlaw, Morvin,” he spat.

“Admiral Sartan, it is not I who is disregarding the order of his Moff today.  All ships broadcast,” he ordered off-screen.

****************************************************

A holographic image of High Admiral Morvin appeared on the bridge of Ascension.  “All Imperial Fleet personnel.  You have by now received your orders from Moff Osar.  I am not concerned with your personal feelings in this matter, your orders are clear.  I expect them to be fully obeyed.  I hereby relieve Admiral Sartan of his command, for the following violations of the Imperial Code of Military Jus . . .” the hologram scattered, and Abril turned to face the communications Lieutenant.

“Justicar is jamming the transmission, Sir.  Ah . . . Sir,” he continued as he held one hand to the comm piece in his ear, “Admiral Sartan is ordering the Fleet to immediately attack the Cyralis vessels.”

Abril Jonas nodded crisply and then he turned back to face the bridge windows.  “Squadron orders; all ships are to come to heading 115 mark 20 and accelerate at maximum thrust consistent with maintaining our squadron formation.”

Chan Palomar stared his commander.  “115 mark 20 will take us away from the fight, Sir.”

“I am aware of that, Mister Palomar.  We have our orders from the Moff—and he outranks Sartan.”

“That means Morvin is in charge, Sir . . . should we not be assisting his ships?”

“Did you hear an order to provide assistance, Mister Palomar?  I did not.”

The XO simply nodded and he turned to walk back down the catwalk, keeping a close eye on the stations below.

“Sir,” the communications Lieutenant—the frazzled communications Lieutenant—turned around once again.  “Valorian and Caprice have refused to acknowledge the Squadron orders—they are attempting to coerce other vessels to come about and assist Justicar.”

Abril frowned.  “Repeat the orders; and instruct Valorian and Caprice to acknowledge immediately.”

“No response, Sir,” the Lieutenant replied after he relayed the instructions.

“Gunnery.  Lock our starboard battery on Caprice and our port battery on Valorian.  Communications, repeat my orders and request acknowledgement again.”

“Valorian and Caprice are spinning up their shield generators and bringing weapons on-line, Sir,” the XO called out from a station at the rear of the bridge.

Damn you, Abril thought.  That is not the right answer.  “Gunnery.  Fire into Valorian and Caprice.”

“Sir . . .” the chief gunnery began in protest.

“NOW, damn you!”

A dozen heavy turbolaser bolts lashed out from turrets mounted in each side of Ascension's hull; the Carrack-class Caprice simply exploded as her unshielded hull absorbed bolts designed to rupture Star Destroyer armor.  The Dreadnought-class Valorian staggered, her hull broken and spilling atmosphere and tiny flailing figures into the vacuum.  Then the second volley of the port guns broke the old ship in half.

“Communications, broadcast to the Squadron.  This is Fleet Captain Jonas.  You will obey my orders or I will obliterate you!  Immediately come to heading 115 Mark 20 and accelerate to maximum thrust consistent to maintain formation.  Ascension out.”

The massive ship and her escorts began to accelerate away from the remainder of Sartan’s force.  Abril closed his eyes and he wordlessly mouthed a prayer for the souls of the Imperial crewmen he had just slaughtered.

“Sir, we are being hailed by Justicar,” the comm officer spoke up.

“On screen, Lieutenant.”

The main communications screen flashed to light and Abril could see the red-faced Admiral standing there.  “What are you doing, Captain Jonas?  Get back here you coward!”

“Sir, I am no longer under your command, by the express order of Moff Osar.  Accordingly . . .”

“You damned traitor!  That order is a fake!  Get back in formation at once!”

Abril’s jaw hardened.  “Admiral, the order was authenticated twice and confirmed by Lamaredd Central Control.  Baring legal orders from my new commander to the contrary, I cannot and I will not obey your instructions.”

The screen blanked, and the communications Lieutenant looked up from the pit.  “Transmission severed at the source, Sir.”

Ascension rocked hard, as several turbolasers struck her dead astern.

“Acrimonious is pursuing, Sir!  She’s firing into our stern!” another Lieutenant barked out.

“New squadron orders!  All ship’s come about—target Acrimonious and open fire as you bear!  Launch TIEs!”

The Star Destroyer banked hard to port and she slowly came around as turbolaser bolt after turbolaser bolt slammed into her hull, shaking the crew and ship.

“All ahead flank!  Increase power to forward shields!” Abril commanded as the white-painted wedge of a Star Destroyer appeared as a miniscule dot in the bridge windows.  “All ships—reset transponders to Cyralis Fleet protocols.  And communications; see if you can cut through the jamming and raise Admiral Morvin.  We may need some assistance here.”

Chapter Four (cont.)

Kell stood on his bridge without showing any emotion as his forces closed on Sartan’s ships.  “Captain Garrett,” he said to his Flag Captain, the officer commanding the Star Destroyer Scorpion.  “Have Resolution and her squadron provide assistance to Ascension.  Scorpion and Relentless squadrons will deal with the remainder of Sartan’s Fleet.”

“At once, Sir,” the officer answered smartly, as he turned to pass the orders along.

The defection of the old Glorious-class Star Destroyer and her escorts—and two of the smaller Victory-class ships—had shifted the odds dramatically against Whartil Sartan’s forces, Kell thought.  He has to realize that he cannot win this.  Kell nodded to himself.

“Instruct Bulwark to activate her gravity well projectors, Captain Garrett.  We do not want Sartan fleeing, after all.”

Scorpion shuddered as a pair of Strike cruisers laid their turbolasers onto the flagship, but her heavy armor and shielding held.  Even before Kell could issue an order, the Flag’s escorting cruisers and frigates concentrated their fire against the two ships.  Their shields flared under the impact of scores of turbolaser bolts and then both disappeared in an eye-tearing flare of light.

“Sir, Moff Osar is hailing us.”

“On screen.”

“Admiral Morvin, what is happening?  My people say that you are fighting up there!  Why won’t Sartan answer my hails?”

“Moff Osar,” Morvin said with a slight bow.  “I regret to inform you that Admiral Sartan refused to obey your order—and that he has since attacked my forces with your Sector Fleet.”

“WHAT?” The distraught Moff wailed.

“The situation will be resolved in short order, my Moff.  Rest assured, we shall not allow the traitor Sartan an opportunity to take you hostage.”

“He threatened me?  He threatened me?” Osar asked incredulously.

“It shall not come to pass, Sir.  The Imperial Fleet will defend you and this planet from Sartan and his treasonous followers.”

“I-I . . . I must speak with Patrice.  Carry on, Admiral,” the Moff said.

Kell shook his head sadly, and then he turned his attention back to the battle.

“Sir, the first strike against Justicar has been successful—she’s lost many weapons, although our casualties were heavy,” Garrett reported.  “Our wing is returning to escort the transports to take the ship.”

“Very well, gentlemen.  Let us relieve some pressure on the fighter pilots—all ships are to close at flank speed and take the enemy under fire at close range.”

“Sir,” a Pit Lieutenant called out.  “Justicar is turning to run for light-speed.”

The admiral frowned.  “Where is Bulwark?”

“She’s closely engaged with a Victory-class, sir.  Captain Nealon reports his gravity well projectors are disabled.”

“That is a pity.  New orders—abort the Shock Trooper assault, all ships are to concentrate fire on the Justicar; we cannot allow Sartan to escape.”

A blindingly bright flash of light caught Kell’s eye, and he looked down at the screen that showed the Star Destroyer Acrimonious shatter into a million pieces of debris.  The Flag Captain smiled.  “Resolution reports a direct hit on her main reactor, Sir.”

“Well done,” Kell answered.  More explosions began to sprout across the hull of Sartan’s flagship, her answering fire becoming weaker and weaker.

“Admiral Morvin,” the Flag Captain added as he held a hand to the comm-device he wore over one ear, “the Star Destroyer Leviathan is offering her surrender.  Along with that of her escorts.”

A cheer went up on the bridge.

“Instruct Leviathan that she—and her escorts—are to power down all weapons and propulsion.  She may retain station-keeping thrusters only.  Inform her Captain that failure to comply will result in a resumption of the attack.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

Kell took in a deep breath as Justicar, and Admiral Sartan aboard her, erupted in yet another massive explosion.  A second cheer echoed from the bridge.

“Captain Garrett, record a general signal to Lamaredd Fleet vessels engaging us.  Your traitor Admiral is dead, gentlemen.  I would advise you to surrender immediately if you wish to retain your own lives.  You have sixty seconds to comply.  Transmit to all ships.”

The flag captain clicked his heels and nodded to the communications officer.  The silence dragged on for several moments as the seconds slowly ticked away, and then a lone voice spoke up from the Pit.

“Sir.  All hostile vessels are powering down weapons and broadcasting their surrender.”

A third cheer went up, and Kell Morvin smiled.

“Very well.  Communications, inform Moff Patrice that we are proceeding with Phase II.  Hail the Cataphract.”

On the communications screen, the image of General Conal Ise appeared aboard his command troopship.  “Sir,” he said.

“General Ise,” Kell said warmly.  “You may land the landing force.”

“Yes, Sir,” he answered with a grin.

Damn it, another must read!

Seriously. Add more stat.

Chapter Five (cont.)

One of Colonel Wellon’s youngest recruits came rushing up.  He stopped two steps away and saluted smartly—never seeming to realize that he was in full view of the Cyralis Shock Troopers dug in the low hills outside of the COMPFORCE Garrison Base.  Wellon did not admonish the recruit; instead he returned the salute.

“Message from Command, Sir!” the young man—the boy—snapped holding out a message board.

Wellon took it and he frowned as he scanned the brief and concise message.

“Damn them!” he snarled.  “These traitors have taken our Headquarters men!” he bellowed as he walked up the lines of the unarmored recruits garbed in what were once pristine white uniforms.  Now, of course, each of those uniforms was smeared with mud, stained with grass, blood, or other bodily fluids, scorched from the heat of blaster bolts, lacerated from fragments of flying debris.  “The Army has surrendered!  The ISB has surrendered!  Our leaders in COMPNOR have surrendered!  But not us!  No, never us; we who are the most loyal of the Emperor’s combat arms!”

“Soldiers of the Empire!” he yelled.  “We will restore the New Order in its Glory!  We will throw down these Rebel dogs who seek to put aliens over us!  We will repel their assault and drive them into the ocean!  We will turn the seas red with their blood!”

Three quarters of a kilometer away, Colonel Camlaan shook his head as the audio enhancers in his helmet softly repeated those words in his ears.

“QV-3348,” he said into his comm.

“Sir?” the Shock Trooper answered precisely and immediately.

“Silence that imbecile—he makes Gungans appear to be master orators and my ears can no longer take his braying.”

Already resting the prone position, his TC-15c(s) Sniper Blast Rifle supported by its own biped, QV-3348 dialed in on the strutting target.

“Wind is 7.2 kph on a bearing of 106 true,” his spotter whispered.  “Ambient temperature 17-degrees; humidity 96%; range to target 764 meters.”

“Acknowledged,” the sniper whispered as he craned his head to the side and peered into the sighting scope, the reticule turned green as the scope finished uploading the data that the spotter had announced.  QV-3348 adjusted one dial slightly, and then he slid his hand back down along the foregrip.  His right thumb released the secondary safety catch on the trigger-guard and then he began to gently release his breath as he slowly squeezed his forefinger laying atop the trigger.

“They lack faith in the New Order!  They do not believe in Doctrine!  They seek to destroy all that our beloved and gentle Emperor wrought!  They will throw down our Legacy and replace the Empire with a weak and ineffectual Republ . . .”

Colonel Wellon never got the opportunity to finish the word he was speaking when a single overcharged blaster bolt blew apart half of his skull in a fountain of blood.

The COMPFORCE recruits—the children—at this base looked with horror on their fallen commander—the man charged with training them, raising them, teaching them to be loyal minions and servants of the Emperor.  And then one of the older teens, almost ready for promotion into the ranks of real COMPFORCE units for service against the aliens, he stood; his cadet major rank tabs soaked in the blood of his Colonel.  “CHARGE!” he yelled, throwing his arm forward.  And he climbed over the broken wall and began to run across the muddy fields towards the Shock Troopers.  And in his wake came the three thousand other child-recruits of the COMPFORCE training command—each armed with a blaster carbine whose lethality did not care for the age of the man or boy pulling the trigger.

“Permission to open fire, Sir?” asked one of Camlaan’s company commanders as the COMPFORCE training regiment bogged down in the soggy field, their once highly polished boots sinking deep into the muck and mud.  But they were shooting as they came—and not one of them was bothering to aim.

What a waste, Camlaan thought.  “Mortar sections,” he ordered.  “Load riot gas and open fire.  All other personnel, you are to hold fire until my command.  They shoot worse than a Clone two days out of Carida, but everyone stay behind cover—a random bolt will kill you if hits just as sure as an aimed one.”

The three dozen crew-served mortars attached to Camlaan’s command began to cough, sending their payloads high in a ballistic arc overhead and then down into the center of the oncoming children.  Three meters above the ground, each shell detonated—but in this instance, the shells did not send forth lethal fragments or burning plasma or chemicals designed to kill or maim.  Instead, the mortar rounds dispersed riot gas, burning the eyes and ears and mouths and throats and nostrils and lungs of the children caught within the dense clouds.

The attack first faltered and then it collapsed as the COMPFORCE recruits began to gag and vomit and several of the younger ones just sank down the ground and began to cry in agony—the chemical agents were non-lethal, but remained extremely painful all the same.

The hail of random blaster bolts slowed and then stopped, and Camlaan stood.  “Make certain your blasters are set to stun.   I’ll shoot the first one of you—free birthed, quick-cloned, or Kamino-cloned—that fires a live round.  The Regiment will advance—disarm those children and place them in custody!  Move out.”