Admiral Dobramu was admiring the results of his painstaking labor.
Only idiots waste time on ground battles when they hold all the power of an orbital fleet.
And a Super Star Destroyer.
And some banned weaponry.
Though, he had to admit, he'd spent a long time suppressing the planetary AA and defenses, landing troops multiple times to secure beachheads.
And every time, Colonel Johans and his "Hell's Hammers" had lived up to their name, disrupting the landings and destroying the drop forces.
No matter how many of their bases and cities were wiped off the face of the planet, they kept getting on Akrey's nerves.
What's more, they'd managed to destroy three of his Star Destroyers – the presence of planetary turbolasers on Brintooin had been a complete surprise to him (and to his intelligence).
If they'd been ion cannons, he could have repaired the ships after their shots.
But planetary turbolasers… in the hands of experienced crews… and with the clear use of weather satellites for telemetry.
Three direct hits to the superstructures, and instead of three Star Destroyers, all Dobramu had were mangled husks, shot to pieces within a minute of losing their command towers.
Those ships had been evacuated and dumped on Brintooin's far orbit – salvaging them was pointless, as it would be easier to build new Star Destroyers.
And repairing those…
Almost a complete gutting of the interiors, already hollowed out by the "Hell's Hammers"…
No, to hell with it.
Akrey had pulled his ships out of planetary artillery range, having lost two more Star Destroyers and a significant amount of starfighter support.
Seven stormtrooper legions had been sacrificed on Brintooin trying to conquer the planet.
The admiral preferred not to think about the pilots and small craft.
He wouldn't let some surface-dwelling oil worm steal his triumph.
Akrey Dobramu had devised an excellent plan, which he'd managed to execute thanks to unscrupulous black market traders.
And his own tactical cunning – he'd sacrificed another cruiser, but delivered his payload to the planet.
And he had defeated the "Hell's Hammers."
With a single order.
An order that, naturally, made his enemies "burn" with helpless rage and despair – the only possible reactions to his actions.
But who cares about ancient laws when you have to carry out the Emperor's direct order?
All means are justified here.
The more graphic the public execution, the fewer idiots will think about opposing the Emperor's will.
The more traitors die, the fewer remain.
The better it will be for the Empire, where everyone will know – one word against the Emperor's will, and your planet will be destroyed.
Through his thoughts of triumph, he heard hurried footsteps, the click of uniform heels on the metal of the central corridor.
And he thought he knew who was coming.
But even that didn't tear his gaze away from the latest flashes in Brintooin's clouds.
"Admiral Dobramu!" Agent Elizabeth Lor's voice was practically radiating anger and confusion. "Would you kindly explain your actions!"
Akrey turned lazily on his heel, meeting the furious gaze of the agent of the revived Ubiqtorate.
"Is there a problem, Agent?" he asked in a bored tone, showing complete disdain for his interlocutor.
"A problem?!" she flared up, clenching her fists in helpless rage, trying to burn a hole through the admiral with her stare. "A problem?! You…"
"It seems," he said in an oily tone, smiling, "you're at a loss for words, Agent Lor, aren't you?"
"Why, you…!!!"
"Now, now, now, I see your emotions are overwhelming you," Dobramu continued smiling, hands clasped behind his back. "However, you still have much to learn about expressing admiration for my talent…"
"Talent?!" the girl couldn't find words, opening and closing her mouth like a fish.
"How else can you characterize such a magnificent execution of the operation entrusted to me by the Emperor himself?" Dobramu asked in surprise, taking a step to the side and pointing at the scene behind him. "The complete and unconditional annihilation of Colonel Johans's rebellion and the 'Imperial Hammers' on Brintooin. Just as the Emperor wished. The rebels have been punished."
"And what about the civilian population?!" Lor cried out.
"Civilian?" Even Akrey was taken aback. Was she so incompetent that she couldn't grasp the obvious?! "Brintooin rebelled against the Emperor. Colonel Johans did not respond to the summons on fabricated grounds. His officers refused to remove the traitor. And the population only supported the rebels, provided shelter for their scouts from our patrols, supplied them with intelligence, food, and joined their ranks. No, Agent Lor. There was no civilian population on Brintooin."
"You justify the use of nuclear weapons like this?!" the agentess cried out. "This is a war crime! Even by the standards of the Galactic Empire!"
Admiral Dobramu's "brilliant final touch."
"Nuclear bombardment is not a war crime if you do it with love for the Empire and for the glory of the Emperor," Akrey Dobramu declared.
His mood was completely ruined.
He liked this agentess.
Not only for her professionalism, but also as a woman.
And in his mind, the spectacular execution of the Emperor's mission should have sparked admiration in her eyes.
Not disgust.
What kind of wrong agentess was this?!
Grand Moff Tarkin's destruction of Alderaan had filled Dobramu himself with admiration for the man.
So what was wrong with this agentess?!
Why wasn't she happy?
"There were children there…" she whispered. "Women, old people, children… We can still help them! Send rescue ships with humanitarian aid! Evacuate as many as we can onto the ships!"
"We can't evacuate anyone!" Akrey snapped, inwardly wincing as the command voice he'd spent so long perfecting in front of his apartment mirror betrayed him at the end, cracking into a youthful bass more like a tauntaun's bleat. "They are all traitors! Wives of traitors! Fathers and mothers of traitors! Children of traitors! They must all burn in nuclear fire! Brintooin is the grave of the Emperor's enemies! And if you want to condemn my actions, I suggest you prepare for an audience with the Emperor!"
"It is highly unlikely the Emperor ordered you to turn a planet rich in industrial facilities, military factories, and other valuable strategic production into a radioactive wasteland!" Elizabeth Lor exclaimed.
There, yes, there was a flaw.
"No matter," Akrey waved his hand nonchalantly. "The galaxy is full of places to build new ones. The Emperor has enough resources and loyal servants to compensate for the damage."
"But you…"
"Enough talk!" Dobramu barked. "Proceed immediately to your quarters and do not leave them until we arrive at Carida. Where you will be tasked with verifying the loyalty of Ambassador Furgan. Before I deal with him and his traitorous underlings."
The reminder made Agent Lor pale.
"I'll report your actions to Director Isard," she said. "As the head of your squadron's intelligence service, I answer directly to the Director of the Ubiqtorate, not to you."
"Do as you please," Akrey waved dismissively, realizing his mood was completely shot.
Yes, this girl's actions could harm him – the Iceheart was much closer to the Emperor than he was.
While Akrey could only listen to the ruler of the Empire, Isard could speak to him.
But…
He smiled, realizing he still had time to deal with the agent problem.
The Iceheart was on an independent mission to uncover traitors to the Empire, wasn't she?
So Lor couldn't contact Isard until she finished her own work.
There was time.
He just needed to prepare.
And plan everything carefully.
* * *
The moment the Conqueror crossed the atmospheric barrier, Captain Ilman Nasbu almost knocked the hatch off with his helmet, climbing out of the armored capsule of the main medium tank, which continued moving towards the parking zone.
Pulling off his helmet, he hauled himself out of the hatch, handing the helmet-headset to the laser turret operator, then timed his jump off the armor onto the permacrete of the marshalling yard at Base 41.
Roaring on its four treads, the lead tank continued on – the driver knew where to return the vehicle.
The officer himself jogged towards the field command post, hastily set up in the duty room behind the marshalling yard of the underground complex.
He glanced at the convoy of tracked and wheeled transports from his unit rolling into the belly of the base, hidden within the rock.
The testing and construction proving ground of the "Imperial Hammers," like a bastion of calm, continued its life.
But from today, everything would change.
The door slid aside as he approached, and the young officer, with a habitual pass of his hand over his short beard hiding the burns on his lower jaw, stepped inside the operations HQ.
"Report," Colonel Johans said hoarsely upon seeing him, looking at the young officer.
"Sir, my recon group has arrived at the designated point…"
"No time for formalities," the colonel growled. "Fast, short, and to the point, Captain."
"Yes, sir," the captain agreed. "The main base… destroyed. Direct warhead impacts."
"Bantha poodoo," Johans slammed his fist on the table.
He'd expected something like this, but for it to happen this way…
"How bad is it, Captain?"
"The cities are in ruins," Ilman admitted. "Buildings destroyed by shockwaves, widespread contamination across the entire surface. Couldn't contact the satellites, but I don't think that's from the electromagnetic pulse of the bombardment."
"You think they took out every one of our satellites?" Johans asked. "Even the decommissioned ones?"
"I'm sure of it, sir. Simple logic. We were using them to aim the guns, and they were being cautious."
"Crap," the colonel leaned over the tactical map spread before him. "Find anyone?"
"Seven hundred civilians, sir. All showing early-stage radiation sickness symptoms. We provided as much aid as we could on the way, but the rest is beyond our strength and resources. At least two thousand people are still in the bomb shelters – I promised them evacuation to the base."
"Vehicles to the decontamination zone, people to the medbay," Johans ordered. "Prepare a second wave of transports as soon as the drivers are ready. Any contact with the other bases?"
The question was addressed to the comms operator, who for over twenty hours, since the bombs stopped falling, had been trying to contact anyone.
By any available means.
"We've got a weak radio response from Base 27," he said. "Not a transmission, an emergency beacon. Could be automatic."
"We need to check if anyone's alive there," Johans decided, turning his gaze back to Ilman. "What about your Conqueror? Will it fall apart on a high-speed march to Base 27?"
The colonel's interest in the other base was understandable.
Base 27 served as long-term storage for the Juggernauts used in training exercises for the "new blood."
There were over five hundred of them there at the last contact – some in for repairs, of course, but there were spare parts at the base too.
It was a large base with substantial reserve supplies – it had been built with the evacuation of the nearby city of a million in mind.
If anyone in the city had survived, they'd be at the base.
It was highly unlikely nuclear warheads could have destroyed a base fifty meters below the surface.
But if there was a direct hit…
Either way, it had to be checked.
Because now, survival required every resource, every person – and that meant every action was justified.
Given the rugged terrain separating the two bases, the best option would be to send a Juggernaut.
With its wheeled base, it would reach Base 27 quickly and with less risk.
The problem was that there were fewer than fifty at this base, and they were currently being used to evacuate the wounded and survivors of the bombardment.
Recalling a single vehicle for a mission that might end in failure meant condemning at least fifty people to death from radiation poisoning in the middle of a nuclear apocalypse, at best.
A medium tank, however, was a different matter—its crew was minimal, and its speed wasn't much lower than that of the latest Juggernaut model.
"It won't fall apart," Ilman said, swallowing his resentment. "My crew is ready to accomplish the assigned task, sir."
"I don't doubt it, Captain," the colonel nodded, clearly mulling something over.
The commander wasn't so much teasing his subordinate as he was genuinely wondering if the prototype could handle it.
The Conqueror was Ilman's personal project, developed with a team of like-minded individuals.
A tracked tank—not wheeled or repulsorlift—with dynamic armor, good protection (designed from an alloy of beskar and several other metals), cross-country capability, and armament. It was built using modular technology as an alternative to the heavy Mandalorian repulsor assault tanks like the Canderous class, which had made a name for themselves a few years prior as part of the Zann Consortium's armies.
Currently, due to the intense electromagnetic radiation from the bombardment, practically all repulsorlift vehicles were out of commission, while the Conqueror performed admirably in reconnaissance and escorting evacuation convoys.
Walkers… There weren't many of them left after the orbital bombardments.
And they were slower than the Conqueror, so they were definitely unsuitable for a sprint to the neighboring base.
Better they kept searching for survivors and evacuating them.
Well, well… When he was developing the prototype, he never imagined that it would be under these exact conditions that he could shut up the senior officers who practically worshipped walkers and repulsorlift vehicles as the ultimate weapons for ground combat and maneuver warfare.
Soon enough, of course, the EMP would dissipate and repulsorlift vehicles would return to service, but until then, many people would die if they weren't found.
The Conqueror medium tracked tank.
"Listen to your orders, Captain," the colonel pointed toward the designated base. "Move to the 27th at maximum possible speed. If anyone's at the base, assess the situation and haul back with a report. Inform the commander there that the priority is saving people. Ideally, by the time you get there, the EMP will stop messing with our heads, and we can restart communications, so you'll report from the scene."
"Understood, sir. Permission to proceed?"
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Captain," the colonel wagged his finger. "Stop by the warehouse and pick up two communication satellites. If we're lucky, the storage depots at the 27th survived. And they've got an old ballistic missile launch platform there. The arsenal on the lowest level should have survived regardless. With help from the local garrison, you mount the platform, swap the warhead for the satellite, and put it into high orbit." The colonel pushed a data chip across the holographic table. "Our engineers have refined the control and flight program, so it should work."
"Understood, sir. Are we trying to contact someone?"
"First, I want to confirm that idiot Dobramu has cleared out of my orbit," Johans declared. "The satellites are old, they work via laser beam. So they'll need some time to make a full orbit. If there's no enemy, or if we have the opportunity, we'll send out a distress call and wait."
"I don't think anyone from the Empire would help us, sir," Captain Nasbu shared his opinion.
"I'd sooner shoot off my own second kidney than contact those psychos from the Empire, the Republic, or the Corellians," Johans grumbled, reflexively placing his hand where his shrapnel-damaged organ used to be. "They'd ransack what we have left faster than you can blink and leave us to die on this nuclear wasteland. No, Captain. We'll try to contact the nearest Dominion fortress worlds. Their help won't come cheap, but at least it'll be real…"
Their eyes met.
The Captain understood perfectly.
The colonel was speaking confidently to keep the last shreds of discipline and hope alive among his subordinates.
He couldn't know for certain whether the Dominion would answer the call, given the cold reception they'd received last time.
Colonel Johans was hoping that among the vultures circling Brintooin's corpse, there might be one that wouldn't just gobble up the remnants of its former glory but would also help.
With anything at all.
----------------------
If you're enjoying this, give your Power Stones, leave a comment, drop a review.
It all helps promote the story.
And every 250, 500 and 1000 stones adds a bonus chapter. Every 5 reviews too.
You can support the work and read 140 chapters ahead: patreon.com/Granulan