by Timothy Zahn
Into a churning honeyhive of activity. Everyone who hadn’t yet made it out of the main ship seemed to be there, some of them climbing into damage-control equipment, most of them sprinting toward the various ships with the clear intent of getting out.
And more men and women were streaming into the bay every second. Sooner or later, Eli knew, one of them would spot him. Clenching his teeth, he turned toward his freighter, hoping that blast had been Thrawn getting rid of Simmco’s boarding party.
A blaster bolt sputtered past him, jerking him back and nearly throwing him off his feet. He grabbed for balance, lost the fight, and came down awkwardly on one hand. Spinning around, he brought up his borrowed weapon, wondering if he would even have time to get off a shot before his attacker nailed him—
And spotted Thrawn a quarter of the way down the bay, a blaster in his hand, beckoning to Eli from the entryway of one of the other freighters. Bounding back to his feet, Eli sprinted for the ship.
Thirty seconds later he was there, racing up the ramp and through the hatch. Thrawn had already disappeared, presumably to the cockpit. Eli locked down the hatch, double-checked that the seal was holding, then headed forward.
Thrawn was seated in the pilot’s chair, the displays and indicators already up and running. “Welcome aboard, Commander,” he said as Eli maneuvered his way through the cramped space to the copilot’s seat. “We should be clear before they realize we’re not part of their group.”
“So that’s why we’re taking this one instead of ours?” Eli asked as he began strapping in.
“An unexpected bonus,” Thrawn said. “My primary goal was data that might have carelessly been left uncleared on this ship’s computer. Navigational records in particular that might point us to bases and supply lines.” He sent a quick sideways look at Eli. “You were taken to their leader, I assume. Was it Nightswan?”
“Yes,” Eli said, frowning in sudden understanding. “You knew it would be him?”
“I didn’t know for certain. But I suspected.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Eli demanded. Thrawn always played his cards close to his plaque, but this was pushing it too far. “Knowing who I was up against could have been extremely useful.”
“On the contrary,” Thrawn said. “You would hardly have been able to produce a convincing performance had you not been genuinely surprised.”
“So you just walked us into his trap?”
“He needed to believe we’d been caught unawares,” Thrawn said. “Otherwise, he would have been on his guard.”
“He and his crew,” Eli said, the anger fading. As usual, once Thrawn explained things, he could see the tactical logic. “I presume you were never in the engine compartment?”
“Correct,” Thrawn said. “I hid in the escape pod cowling until the boarders had moved aft, then left and found the abandon-ship control.”
“After setting up a bomb,” Eli said. “Let me guess. The same gimmicked blaster power pack trick you used to get off your exile planet?”
“Yes,” Thrawn said. The status board went green. “Time to return to Batonn.”
He keyed the drive, and they shot out of the bay. Eli tensed, but no one opened fire on them. “And see how much of Admiral Durril’s task force survived?”
“Hopefully, more than you fear,” Thrawn said. “But we shall see.”
—
“I told Nightswan that Star Destroyers were tough ships,” Vanto said, shaking his head in amazement as he gazed out the viewport at the regrouped 103rd. “But this is borderline unbelievable.”
“They weren’t under bombardment for long,” Thrawn said. “Captain Brento had instructions to move in as soon as we were gone, coordinate the remaining functional ships as best she could, and use their combined tractor beams on the Judicator.”
“You had a handful of light cruisers tractor a Star Destroyer? And it worked?”
“They didn’t need to move it very far,” Thrawn said. “Just far enough downward to reach an orbit that would take it out of the ion cannons’ range. Once the attack was halted, the Judicator’s power systems came up quickly enough for it to move away from Batonn and out of danger.”
“Ah,” Vanto said. “I wonder if Durril will acknowledge the Shyrack’s assistance.”
“It would be difficult for him to ignore it.”
“True. But I’ll bet he’ll try.”
—
“…and after that we were able to make running repairs on the engines and get out of range,” Durril concluded his report. His flickering holographic image is difficult to read, but his voice holds anger and embarrassment. “I apologize for my failure, Fleet Admiral Donassius. But now that I know what we’re up against, my next assault will succeed.”
“Perhaps,” Donassius said. His holographic image turns to the third hologram floating over the Chimaera’s projector. “Admiral Kinshara. Your report?”
“The insurgents at Denash have been dealt with, Fleet Admiral,” Kinshara said. His voice holds satisfaction at his success, and a more subtle satisfaction at Durril’s failure. “There was little there, as it turned out. However, our preliminary prisoner interrogation suggests that a large portion of their ships and matériel may have already been transferred to Batonn.”
“Excellent,” Durril said. His voice holds brisk confidence. “All the barks in a single hound. That much easier to roll up the lot of them.”
“Admiral Thrawn?” Donassius invited.
“Sammun is likewise pacified,” Thrawn said. “Two enemy ships were destroyed, four ships captured. A considerable array of small-arms ordnance was also captured.”
“Without your actual presence, I’m told?”
Commander Faro shifts her feet. Her usual confidence is muted; her body stance holds discomfort. “The action was carried out under my direction, Admiral.”
“I see.” For a moment, Donassius continues to gaze at Thrawn. “Admiral Durril, when will the One Oh Third be able to travel?”
“We can reengage in thirty hours, sir,” Durril said. His embarrassment is gone, his voice now holding anticipation.
“I didn’t ask when you could fight, Admiral,” Donassius said. “I asked when you could travel.”
“Ah…five hours, perhaps,” Durril said. His voice holds sudden caution. “Sir, with all due respect—”
“In five hours you are to bring your task force to the Marleyvane shipyards for repair,” Donassius said. “Admiral Thrawn?”
“Yes, Fleet Admiral?”
“You said you needed to gather intelligence on the Scrim Island insurgents. How much time will you need?”
“Sir, I must protest,” Durril said. His stunned disbelief transforms into outrage and wounded pride. “This operation was given to me. I’m perfectly capable of seeing it through.”
“Admiral Thrawn?” Donassius repeated.
“Actually, Fleet Admiral, the gathering is complete,” Thrawn said. “I can take back the island whenever you wish.”
“Good.” Donassius’s image looks at Durril, then back to Thrawn. His voice holds satisfaction. “At your convenience, Admiral.”
At one time or another, every warrior wishes to have an unconquerable fortress. Such a fortress is perceived as a refuge, a place of defiance, or a rock upon which enemies can be goaded into smashing themselves to their own destruction.
Politicians, too, yearn for such fortresses, though they envision them in terms of power and authority instead of stone and weapons and shields. Industrialists wish to be similarly protected against competitors and marauders, while pirates hope for defense against system authorities. In one way or another, all people wish for ultimate safety.
But ultimate safety does not exist. Those who trust in such will find that hope dashed upon the very rock behind which they seek to hide.
—
The captains had their orders. The ships of the 96th Task Force were in position.
It was time.
“All ships, report in,�
�� Thrawn called from the center of the command walkway. Making a final check, as he always did.
Eli smiled to himself. For all of Thrawn’s interest in observing and establishing his opponents’ patterns, the admiral had plenty of his own.
“Interesting plan,” Faro murmured from Eli’s side. “At the very least it holds the prospect of taking them by surprise.”
“Admiral Thrawn’s plans usually do that,” Eli murmured back.
“So I’ve noticed,” Faro said. “You’ve been with him a long time, haven’t you?”
Eli shrugged. “All my career.”
“Must have been nice,” Faro mused. “Minds like his are few and far between. Too often the men and women in senior command positions are there because of who they know rather than what they know.”
“Yes, I’ve served under my share of those.”
“As did Thrawn, I assume,” Faro said. “It must have driven him crazy at times. Good thing you were there to keep him sane.”
“There’s nothing special about me, ma’am,” Eli said. “In fact, I was on track to be a supply officer before he showed up.”
Faro shook her head. “That would have been a waste. You belong on the bridge, not the conveyer.”
“Not sure I agree, ma’am,” Eli said, feeling a twinge of embarrassment. “I certainly don’t have the admiral’s genius for tactics.”
“Maybe not,” Faro said. “But once the plans are explained, you understand them.”
Eli had to smile. “Once they’re explained, ma’am, anyone can understand them.”
“You think so?” Faro countered. “You really think all the captains and their senior officers out there in the Ninety-Sixth understand how this is going to work?”
“Of course,” Eli said, frowning. “It’s obvious.”
“To you and to me, Commander,” Faro said. “Not to everyone.”
Eli stared at Thrawn’s back, his brain automatically counting down the ships’ acknowledgments as they came from the comm station. Was Faro right?
And if so, was that why Thrawn had manipulated Eli’s career to keep him as his aide? Not as a punishment, or even on a whim, but to train him in the art of command?
The last ship reported in, and Eli saw Thrawn’s back straighten a bit. It was time. “Very good,” the admiral said. “Shyrack, Flensor, Tumnor: Move in.”
“Hold position,” Faro added quietly to the Chimaera’s helmsman.
Eli took a breath, let it out slowly and silently. Sending all three of the task force’s light cruisers into harm’s way was a terrible risk, one that most commanders would be hesitant to make. But it was the only way this plan would work.
He frowned. Was Faro right? Was Eli one of a relative few who could genuinely understand Thrawn’s tactics?
The cruisers were moving inward toward the planet, their turbolasers firing at Scrim Island. At the moment it was a waste of effort; even without the island’s shield, the shots would have been mostly ineffective. But as the warships dropped lower and penetrated deeper into the stratosphere, the level of energy delivered would become progressively higher. Eventually, if the cruisers continued, the blasts would begin to stress the shield and possibly overload the generator. Before that happened, the insurgents would have to make their move.
They didn’t wait until the situation became that critical, of course. The cruisers were still in the upper atmosphere when the shield contracted simultaneously from the entire shoreline, opening firing vectors for all three ion cannons. “Ion cannons clear,” Thrawn called. “Cruisers: Fire at will.”
The three warships shifted their targeting vectors from the center of the shield toward the new targets. It was, Eli thought, like a replay of Admiral Durril’s first attempt.
But this time something new had been added to the mix. Even as the cruisers’ turbolasers hammered at the ion cannon emplacements, a fourth ion cannon opened fire from a position on the southeast shore.
The Shyrack spotted it and tried to shift its aim. But the ship’s response time was too slow for that large an angular shift, and the hazy ion blasts shooting up from the surface were too fast. Before the cruiser’s fire could track to its new target the ion clusters splattered across its hull, knocking out sensors and silencing weapons. Before the Flensor and Tumnor could shift their own aim, the fourth cannon had sent a salvo at each of them, as well, and their attacks also went silent.
“So the admiral was right,” Faro commented. “They did have a fourth active cannon. Must have had a spare cathtron tube when they first took the island.”
“We’ve tangled with Nightswan before,” Eli reminded her. “You learn not to take anything at face value.”
“Cruisers: Report,” Thrawn called.
Eli listened closely as the reports came in. Nightswan was smart, all right. But he didn’t know everything.
Including how tough even Imperial light cruisers were. All three ships had lost primary weapons and main drives, but their communications and some of their secondary weapons were still intact.
Most important of all, so were their auxiliary drives.
“Final maneuvering,” Thrawn ordered. “Flensor: Now.”
The Flensor began drifting to starboard. Thrawn watched it a moment, then gestured. “Shyrack: Now.”
In turn, the Shyrack and the Tumnor moved casually to their assigned positions. “What about that fourth ion cannon, Admiral?” Faro asked.
“It will not be a problem,” Thrawn assured her. “Captain Yelfis? The Tumnor took the last salvo. What were your observations?”
“The cannon was already sputtering, Admiral,” Yelfis’s voice came from the speaker. “My engineering officer says that’s the sign of a cathtron tube emitter in the process of burning out. Whatever black-market dealer they got it from, they were robbed.”
“Given that its primary goal was to force us to withdraw and reevaluate, I would say its brief functionality was probably worth the cost,” Thrawn said. “Fortunately, we are not so easily dissuaded. Commander Faro, take us in.”
Ahead, the planetary horizon rose a little higher as the Chimaera shifted position. It moved in behind the three partially disabled cruisers, entering the stratosphere and moving ever closer to the surface…
“Northern ion cannon clear to fire,” Flensor’s captain warned.
“Compensate, Commander,” Thrawn ordered.
“Compensated,” Faro confirmed calmly.
Eli smiled tightly. The insurgents had seen the Chimaera moving in and had hoped to take it out as they had the Judicator. But a small shift in the Imperial ships’ positions had put the Star Destroyer directly behind the damaged cruiser.
“Commander?” Thrawn asked.
“Still moving inward, Admiral,” Faro reported.
“Western ion cannon clear to fire,” Brento reported from the Shyrack. “Adjusting…you’re covered, Chimaera.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Thrawn said. “All ships, continue as planned.”
Faro took a step closer to Eli. “I wonder if they’re getting worried yet,” she murmured.
“I doubt it,” Eli said. “Whoever they’ve got running things down there, he’s clever enough to know that shadows work in both directions. If his ion cannons can’t hit the Chimaera, the Chimaera’s turbolasers can’t hit his ion cannons.”
“What about the island’s turbolaser?”
“He’ll wait until we’re closer,” Eli said. “With only that one target still available to us, he’ll assume we’ve already locked in on it. He won’t want to open the shield until he’s got his best chance at a kill shot.”
“As you said, a clever man,” Faro said. “I almost feel sorry for him.”
The island’s three ion cannons continued with sporadic fire, clearly trying to get a shot past the cruisers to the Chimaera. But Thrawn had positioned his ships well, and the four captains had followed their orders precisely. Each time the cannons fired, their bursts merely expended themselves against the cruisers.
The standoff couldn’t last forever, of course. If the cannons continued to fire, the cruisers’ systems would eventually become so frozen that the ships would have no power or mobility of any sort and be unable to restart. At that point, they would begin the slow inward spiral that would ultimately send them crashing to the surface.
Fortunately, that wasn’t going to happen. The Chimaera eased its way inward…
“Optimal firing distance, Admiral,” Faro reported. “Turbolasers standing ready.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Thrawn said. “Target One. Turbolasers: Fire.”
Through the viewport, Eli watched the sky light up as the brilliant green bolts hammered their way toward the planet below.
But not to the island itself. As Admiral Durril and the Judicator had so painfully demonstrated, the insurgents’ defenses were more than adequate to fend off any orbital attack.
But Scrim was an island…and the ocean immediately off its shore was not under the protection of that shield.
“Direct hit on Target One coordinates,” a voice came from one of the 96th’s two frigates, flying high observation over the battle zone. “Water crater—implosion—waves heading outward—”
“Impact!” a voice shouted from the second frigate. “Tsunami-scale wave has slammed into the western shoreline.”
“Target Two: Fire,” Thrawn ordered. “Damage at Target One?”
“Unclear, Admiral,” the second frigate’s observer said. The man was trying to stay calm and professional, but Eli could hear the awe creeping into his voice. “But the tsunami made a direct hit on the western ion cannon emplacement.”
“Report on Target Two,” the first frigate’s observer cut in. “Turbolaser emplacement also hit. Looks even more swamped than Target One—the ground must be level or even bowl-shaped there.”
“Alternate fire,” Thrawn said. “Targets One and Two.”
“Shield retracting,” the Flensor reported. “Turbolaser clear to fire—”
“Second tsunami has hit Target Two,” the first observer called.
“Second tsunami on Target One,” the second added. “Western ion cannon is awash. Turbolaser—” He broke off. “Explosion at turbolaser emplacement, Admiral. Looks like the water shorted the capacitors. I’d say the weapon is out of action.”
