Captain Rivejer Tullius
The operation to take the Armadia had been a resounding success, far exceeding even my wildest hopes. The ship was under our control with only limited sabotage on the part of the Yevethans. Unfortunately, this victory was a costly one. In my office, I found myself looking at a simple datapad listing the losses incurred during the engagement. Lists of names slid by my eyes, but I focused on the ships, and chief among them were mine.
The Stormcaster, Viscount, Contester, and Diligence had all been lost - in two cases with their entire crew. The Stormcaster had been new to the fleet, but its crew was not. When I had taken the ship from Bakura, nearly its entire crew had opted to stay with their homeworld. Men from the Intimidation took it over - and now, they were gone. The loss of the Viscount, Diligence, and Contester hurt doubly so - all those vessels had served under me for years. I knew their commanders personally and while most of the Viscount's crew had escaped, its commanding officer was not among them.
Despite the personal connection to those lost, the losses inflicted on the Black-3 garrison were far more devastating from a strategic perspective. The Unrelenting was unsalvageable, though that was not unexpected; the Star Destroyer had rammed itself bow-first into the Armadia to lock it down, as planned. They had also lost two of the Vindicator-class Heavy Cruisers and a Strike-class Medium Cruiser of their own - a significant loss despite the boon the Armadia represented. The Armadia's capture had also served to reveal the unexpected survival of Commodore Rarek Ilian. There was a twinge of annoyance at this revelation, though I argued with myself that it was due to the man's prior association with Paret and his planned coup rather than a desire to take the ship for myself.
The Armadia itself got out mostly unscathed, at least in the secondary bridge. The Yevethans had time to destroy much of the hardware in the main bridge, but that didn't mean we couldn't still command the ship. Attempts to destroy the reactor were thwarted, but with the swift capture of the communications hub Maab's men were able to more quickly report Yevethan crew movements. The true extent of the damages were not yet tallied, but there was a sense of hope rising somewhere in my tired mind.
An alarm flashed on my communicator, laid out on my desk for easy grabbing. The press of a button turned it on and I was greeted by the voice of the Chief Medical Officer.
"Captain Tullius, Commodore Ilian is awake. You asked me to notify you as soon as possible."
"Thank you, ensure Ilian does not leave. I will be there shortly." I order, releasing the button and rising to my feet. The Commodore had been unconscious by the time the strike team managed to get him out of the detention center the Yevethans had been keeping him in. Identifying the man was easy enough, if not because of the preserved arm on the main bridge then due to the matching genetic records accessed through Black-3.
There was no point in waiting. I rose from my desk and collected my effects before leaving my office. The hallway beyond was the same bland, featureless grey as the rest of the ship - if one ignored the half-dozen well-armed Stormtroopers loitering outside the door. They straightened as one, carbines and repeating blasters held close to their chests. Even aboard my ship, Talik and the rest of my security staff decided that I needed a large complement of guards - a decision I did not completely disagree with.
"Gentlemen." I said before striding past them and in the direction of the main medical bay. They followed without a word. Nestled in the depths of the Conqueror, I wasn't going to walk the whole way: a pair of trams met us at a junction and we rode those the rest of the way.
More guards - Navy Commandos this time - greeted us at the med bay. Whilst Commodore Ilian was far from physically dangerous at the moment, I did not want to risk him escaping and doing anything untoward.
The interior was lightly guarded, relative to my detail in any case. Another pair of Navy Commandos drew themselves up to attention as I entered, carbines gripped tightly to their chests. Some might have called it overkill, but these last few days had shown me that there was no such thing.
The rows of beds in the main holding area were empty save one. Commodore Ilian, stripped of his uniform and adorned now in a patient's gown, had sat up with his short legs dangling over the side. I could wager the man might have come up to my chin if he were standing, but the thickly corded muscle in his remaining arm made mentioning that fact a decidedly bad idea. A medical officer and assisting droid hovered nearby, the former holding up a datapad while the latter prodded at the man's empty shoulder. At the door's opening the Commodore's sharp eyes turned in my direction.
"Captain Tullius, I presume?" The man's voice was harsh and thickly accented, the sort of brogue that came from a man outside the Core with little compunction to hide his place of origin. His sunken eyes stared at me with an unshaking intensity, looking far from a man that had been tortured by the Yevethans. He had not been in their care for long enough to appear starved, but he was gaunt.
"Commodore Ilian." I greeted the man in turn, clicking my heels before offering him a salute. A second medical droid, one I had not noticed around the door, waddled over to me.
"At ease, Captain." The man ordered, gesturing with his hand, "Your medical staff have told me scarcely little, but I surmise I am aboard your flagship: the Conquest?"
"The Conqueror, sir." I corrected lightly, waving the probing droid away with my left hand now. My shoulder was stiff and it was a pain to move it, but the agony that came from the initial stabbing had faded. My refusal to be submerged in bacta meant I was required to get stitches and have a bacta patch slapped over the wound. It had healed, the stab was relatively small, but my shoulder still complained if I moved it too far.
"Yes, that. Perhaps you can update me on the situation?" It was phrased like a question, but I knew it was anything but. I swallowed nervously before starting my explanation.
Ilian was a quiet audience, merely staring either at me or the far wall as the medical staff worried around the two of us. Given that the man was part of Paret's conspiracy, I did not bother hiding my knowledge of it. Paret's death did not come as a complete surprise to the man, though given his treatment by the Yevethans that was not unexpected. The total collapse of the Black Sword Command's first and second fleets were of a far greater concern.
"We over-relied on the Yevethans." Ilian growled, the thumb of his remaining arm raised to rub as a scar over his cheek.
That much is obvious, I thought, though I did not say. A part of me did want to rub the failure of this inefficient slave system in someone's face, but I kept it to myself.
"It is my duty to also admit that I have reported the entire situation to Grand Moff Weblin prior to the total shutdown of outgoing messages." I continued. This was the part of greatest concern: of everyone that Weblin would want dealt with, Ilian likely ranked the highest. A rebellious officer was one thing; a surviving rebellious officer was another. The spectre of Zaarin still haunted the Empire: no one wanted to run the risk of an out-of-control wannabe warlord.
"So, Weblin survived?" Ilian paused for a moment, tongue stuck into the side of his cheek as he thought through my words. When he spoke again, his tone was decidedly neutral. "I assume you will be fighting toward Praxlis, then?"
"No." I denied immediately, earning a raised eyebrow from the man, "We will be striking out toward Galantos and then the Core."
"Galantos? I would wager Weblin is not happy with that plan."
"He doesn't know, nor will he until I- we are back in the Core." I quickly corrected myself. In reality, I didn't much care what happened to Ilian once we escaped N'zoth - a would-be traitor was Weblin's problem, not mine.
"And does he know about Paret's would-be coup?" The man's bluntness was refreshing, though I wondered if it was just his personality or the potential of his freedom on the line.
"He does" I say, before shrugging, "But that doesn't mean I intend to return to his fold."
"Weblin would want this whole affair buried and anyone involved buried alongside it." Ilian muttered, nodding his head slowly before continuing. "Well, the fact that I'm not currently in binders indicates you need me for something. Who's in command?"
"It was Commodore Dobbatek, but…" This was a difficult topic to broach, so I went with honesty: "... The COMPNOR representative found his defeatist attitude wanting."
"COMPNOR? Of all the people to survive…" Ilian hemmed, then raised his voice again, "You have told me who isn't in command, Captain. I should not need to ask more than once who is."
I straightened my back, quickly schooling my expression as I reported.
"Officially, no one. Colonel Bragg, Captain Eistern and I are the highest ranked officers among the remaining forces on Black-3. I was… volunteered to speak with Grand Moff Weblin before all communications were cut."
"Whose plan was it to board the Armadia?" Ilian asked, making me pause.
"... Mine, sir." I said, though a part of me did not want to bear the full brunt of responsibility. Unfortunately, much like the Intimidator, I could list names involved but in the end that burden would fall squarely on my shoulders - for good or bad.
"Then you are in command, Captain." Ilian snapped before shaking his head, "I presume you captured the Armadia for a reason and I doubt it was me. The Yevethans are defending the only way out of N'zoth?"
"Correct, sir."
With the medical staff gone, Ilian shifted to fully face me on the bed.
"Then I suppose we have work to do. This is your operation, Captain Tullius - so long as my ship is under my command, you will have my support. Where did that nurse go?"
My medical staff were unhappy with letting Ilian leave, but as the man said: "we have work to do". I brought him to the main officer conference room, joining a call with the other ranking officer. Black-3 was already in the middle of evacuations, staff and supplies being moved to seized freighters and the overfilled Escapade. The ground forces were already recalled - the ground-based defences being scuttled and sabotaged.
Holograms flickered to life around the table, revealing the senior officers - chief among them being Bragg and Eistern. Despite the destruction of the Unrelenting, most of the other Captain's men had survived the engagement and were currently aboard the Armadia. With the last of the Yevethans being hunted down, we were confident they could hold the ship.
"Evacuations should be completed within two hours." Bragg announced without preamble, "We have already begun the scuttling process - Black-3 had been knocked out of orbit. It should become unrecoverable within six hours."
It was a makeshift plan reminiscent of the death of the Intimidator. The space station had used its massive maneuvering jets to slowly push itself out of its stable orbit. The cluster of Golan platforms would have nowhere near the same level of devastation as the Star Dreadnought, but they would more than ruin the remaining abandoned Imperial assets on the moon. Another of my ideas, but given I expected a court marshal the moment I returned to Imperial Center for the destruction of the Intimidator, this was the least of my crimes.
"Our long range scopes indicate that the Yevethans have not yet begun mustering a response to the Armadia's capture." Eistern added, gesturing to something out of our view. Whatever he was looking at was apparently satisfactory, as he nodded and turned his gaze back to me - then to Ilian, "Commodore Ilian, it is nice to see you are in good health again."
"Good health? I'm missing an arm, lad. I'm eager to pay the Yevethan bastards back ten fold for the trouble." Ilian grunted, "I hear you are commanding my ship."
"I-" The usually unflappable Eistern looked uncertain, glancing in my direction momentarily before meeting the Commodore's gaze again. He was saved from making a response to such a comment as Ilian pushed ahead like he hadn't spoken.
"Sufficient. Anyone mad enough to ram a Dreadnought is better suited in a ship that can take the punishment. I want a full report prepared by the time I return to the Armadia."
"Yes, sir." Eistern took the interruption in stride, bowing his head to the other officer. There was another moment of hesitation, and then, "Will we be moving forward with the original plan?"
"That is a question for Captain Tullius. As there appears to be some question of authority, and as the now-highest ranked naval official in this fleet, I am deferring command to Captain Tullius." Ilian announced, his tone stern, "I am aware this is highly irregular, unfortunately I do not care. My opinion is compromised and he is of a sounder mind than I at this time. Will there be any issues with this?"
These last few weeks had almost made me forget that there was such a thing as reasonable and emotionally sound officers in the Imperial Navy, at least in this regard. I would not be forgetting his intention to join Paret anytime soon.
No one had an issue with this declaration. Most of the officers present were lower ranked - younger Captains or Commanders - and had little care in who was giving the orders, so long as someone was.
The meeting continued on without issue, focused on organizing the ships present in preparation for a blitz toward Galantos. It wound to a close soon after and I began escorting Commodore Ilian to the hangar bay, where a shuttle awaited him. As we walked, I asked the most obvious question - one I still did not have an answer for.
"Why did they keep you alive?" I asked. "They didn't extend Admiral Paret the same… mercy?"
"Mercy." The man let out an undignified snort, "The Yevethans have the engineering wherewithal to control starships, but they have little understanding of how to fight with them. The Imperial fleet was built on decades of military experience, the Yevethans have none of that beyond whatever flash-training or historical texts they have available. They captured our lot to train them to that end - to train them on how to fight the Empire."
I nodded slowly for a few moments before a thought occurred to me. It was one that put a thin lipped front on my face, and made my heart sink to my feet.
"... Is it possible that there were Imperials aboard-"
"The Intimidator? Possibly, but it was more likely they were aboard those other Star Destroyers you destroyed."
How sick it was, that there was more guilt in my heart over the thought that I killed a few hundred captive Imperial men in battle, then the entire destruction of N'zoth? I justified it to myself as a question of scale: it was difficult to quantify how many people died on N'zoth against the kinds of men I had served with for most of my adult life.
My conflict must have shown on my face, as Ilian held up his good hand and tapped my chest with his knuckles. I paused, turning now to face the severe officer.
"Enough of the self-pity. Look at me - whatever fate those men were suffering on those ships? Whatever would be coming for them next? Death was a mercy."
I found it hard to agree, but I merely nodded in response.
I stood in the familiar domain of my command bridge, palms planted flat against the lip of the holotable as I leaned against it. A hologram of the N'zoth system floated before my eyes, unnecessary sound masked out so I could focus on the two main forces of consequence - mine and those of the Yevethans at the system edge.
Our line moved fast in two parallel lines, though the second was made up of a single ship: the Armadia. The Star Dreadnought held our left flank - putting its mass between the line of comparatively fragile Star Destroyers and the bulk of the Yevethan fleet over N'zoth. The majority were maintaining their low orbits, sensors indicating they were deploying and receiving swarms of freighters and shuttle craft to and from the planet. The defensive force at the edge of the system had not changed in number, though their formation was looser.
"Captain, the Rampage is on the move." One of my officers announced, breaching the hushed din of the rear bridge. I turned my gaze from him to the hologram projection, then back again. I pushed off, walking over to the man and looking over his shoulder. The long-range readings from the Armadia were being fed to the rest of the strike force - a set aimed specifically at the largest remaining ship in the system. The lumbering Mandator-III, which had spent the last few hours pointed at N'zoth, was turning slowly over her starboard side.
"Not unexpected." I hummed, patting the man on the shoulder before nodding at him. "The holotable?"
"We are already linked with the Armadia, sir." The man assured me. The Star Dreadnought had the strongest, longest range sensors in the fleet - we were bouncing communicators and readouts off of it. I returned to the holotable and added the Rampage to my search, highlighting its bulky form in the sea of conflicting readings.
"Both lines, full ahead. Escapade, maintain your current speed." I order, tapping at the holotable. A wave of confirmations, either verbal or as flashes on the holotable, reached me. The Escapade and the rest of the freighters seemed to slow down, in reality it was the Star Destroyers going faster. The pair of Victory I-class Star Destroyers remained behind alongside my Lancer-class Frigates - both to protect the defenseless craft and because of their slowness.
Harrsk's obsession with greater firepower came back to bite me in the rear. If these were the original, standard "patrol" variants of the Lancer-class, they could easily keep pace. Unfortunately, Kuat Drive Yards created a newer, more heavily-armed variant meant for defence of space stations - retroactively renaming the original production model as the "patrol". The "defence" variant was better armed and armored at the cost of speed or maneuverability; a pillbox with engines was perhaps the most charitable name I could give it.
The rest of the ships were fast - or faster, in any case. It would take days for the Rampage to reach us at sub-light speeds - and we were nearly on top of the hostile force as is.
The matter became more complicated though, as an hour later the sensor officer spoke up again.
"Captain! We are receiving high levels of radiation from the direction of N'zoth, the Rampage may be charging its hyperdrive." I lift my head to stare at the man for a moment before quickly shifting the hologram projection to focus on the Rampage. Sure enough, the massive vessel had come to a complete stop but remained pointed in our direction. They must have been spending the intervening hour calculating a jump to lightspeed.
"They wouldn't." One officer muttered, a shake of his head registering in the corner of my eye, "They wouldn't have shields, even a ship that size can't win a fight against our numbers."
Our numbers had nothing to do with our advantage, if the Rampage didn't have shields up then the Armadia had a chance to destroy it. Failing that, Ilian could disable the larger vessel at the very least.
"They don't need to destroy us." I growled, opening a communications line with the Armadia. Even if the ship undershot us by a few hundred thousand kilometers, it would be close enough to either support the Yevethan defenders when we reached them, or be supported in turn if we came about to engage it.
"Commodore Ilian, sir-"
"I see it, Captain. We are coming about, deal with the rest." There was a cold finality to his voice, a recognition that this act was nothing more than a holding action. The Armadia was the only ship in the fleet that could handle the Rampage as anything more than a speed-bump, no matter how much I tried to cope with the decision and say it was fast enough to escape. That Ilian did not refuse or argue showed he understood as well, or else was supremely confident in his ability to escape.
"Good hunting, sir." I said, my tone somber. He did not respond.
The bulk of the Armadia cut its speed and flipped over its port side. As the Bellator-class finished its turn, the Rampage vanished from our sensors… only to reappear at the same instant two-hundred kilometers behind us - thank the Stars. Sensor readings told us the Rampage was gunning its engines hard, no doubt trying to recharge and raise its shields in time to engage the much smaller Dreadnought.
"Matread, we need those fighters from the Escapade and the others as soon as possible." I bark, not looking around to find the aging officer. He had been standoffish as of late so I hoped that did not affect his ability to follow orders. He responded, his tone stern and unflinching.
"Already done, Captain. The Armadia has also transferred her token fighter craft to our forces."
I pause, glancing at the Armadia for a moment on the holotable. I did not pay it more attention than that - whatever Ilian had planned, whatever came to pass, he was on his own.
The next half-hour was tense, my column of ships changing formation into a solid line - the Conqueror on one wing and the Diamondback on the other. Smaller ships flittered among us, hugging command ships rather than operating in smaller, independent formations of their own. As always, their fire existed to support the armored fist of our Star Destroyers.
As we grew closer the first long-range batteries opened fire. The Conqueror joined the other three Star Destroyers and the smaller Carrack-class Cruisers in opening that symphony from our end. The return fire from the four opposing Star Destroyers was just as withering, their short-range support made up of light frigates - Victory II-class Frigates and the like. Four Star Destroyers versus four Star Destroyers was an even fight, even before counting in the supporting craft of either side.
However, the cracks in my forces became evident when one considered the quality of the Star Destroyers in question. Nevermind that all four Yevethan ships were Imperial II-class variants, the Conqueror was barely operable at this stage. The Hierophant had lost her commanding officer. Only the Diamondback and Intimidation seemed to be operating at some level of parity - and even that was stretching it.
In the end, it mattered little. We would charge and hope the smaller ships would be able to make up for our shortcomings. At last, the two sides came into range with their full array of batteries - turbolasers and ion cannons primed to fire rose the symphony to its crescendo. With an almost droid-like efficiency, all of the Yevethan ships fired their first volleys with perfect synchronization. The benefits of slave-rigged systems, but I was quick to raise my voice into the fleet communications channel.
"Maintain course and heading." I order, even as none of the Star Destroyers in my line made a move to avoid the hail of turbolaser fire peppering their forward deflectors. Our return fire was comparatively chaotic, but well-aimed - the benefits of a disciplined and well-trained crew.
The distance markers counted down but I did not give the order to stop and re-establish the line. There was no intention of that; I was trained to pursue fleeing targets and that called for a far different tactic. The Star Destroyers passed beyond the usual engagement distance and closed on their opposing foe. The Yevethan formation showcased its weakness, spread out as they were, each ship becoming locked in its own death struggle with another Star Destroyer. There was a childish excitement that bubbled up in my gut that came with watching two ships of this size mauling each other, unlike the engagement at Black-15 where we just flew around the Yevethans.
My ship's foe, the Irredentist, pitched its bow forward to bring more of its guns to bear. The Conqueror slowed to a stop, following the movement and firing its own devastating volleys into the enemy Star Destroyer. In the silence of the void and behind layers of armor and shielding, I could not hear nor feel the roar of turbolasers - but my mind filled in the blanks. I glanced down, seeing my ships fall upon the enemy like a swarm of locusts over a field of crops and let a smile spread across my lips.
The lighter craft following us fanned out behind the Conqueror, adding their voices to the chorus of firepower.
A priority communication from the Intimidation flashed on my holotable. I blinked and glanced toward the ship, it was locked in a broadside with its opponent, having overshot the other Star Destroyer. I allowed the communication.
"Captain Tullius, the frigates and cruisers are taking too much damage. Permission to reorganize them into skirmish lines?" As Milgern spoke, he forwarded a new set of orders to my ship - needing only for me to accept and forward them to the rest of the squadron. I quirked an eyebrow at what I saw.
Every ship barring the lighter anti-fighter corvettes and Star Destroyers themselves would be reorganized into a skirmish line, pulled off the frontline duty and cycled out of direct combat. Harass, hit and fade, like we were some outer rim reserve fleet without the numbers to fight our enemy directly. I had allowed this at Bakura, to appease the Rebels and because we were unsure of the enemy's number. But the Yevethans were here! I would not pull my ships off the line, not when victory was in my grasp! I looked at the holotable again, seeing the lighter ships. Some were damaged, but most fought on - we only needed to push. A little harder, a little more effort.
"Denied." I said, refusing the request out of hand, "Maintain the line-"
I was nearly thrown from my feet. The Conqueror shook violently and I had to catch myself on the holotable. It flickered for a moment, but my attention was drawn as an automatic alarm klaxon screamed into the bridge. I felt the blood rush from my face as I instinctively recognized it - hull breach.
"What was- Commander Milgern, can you read me?" I snapped into the communicator, only a metallic shriek answered me. I turned to one of the officers, "Comms!"
"On it, sir!"
"What happened?" I demanded, looking around for answers from someone, anyone! The holotable stuttered and refused to update, I was blind! Finally, a voice rose - alarmed despite their disciplined calm.
"Our shields are off line, sir. They are lost."
"Lost." I whispered as the holotable, finally, gave up and died. The logo of our communicator's manufacturer appeared, with an unhelpful "Please wait to be reconnected!" written beneath it. "Can we bring them back online?"
"Trying, sir. The generator isn't responding."
Another voice rose just as the first finished.
"Engineering, sir. They report the shield generator is inoperable."
I grit my teeth before pushing off the table and storm over to the speaker. They offer me their headset, which I pull on.
"This is Tullius, how soon can the generator be made operable?" I demand, alarm rising like bile in my throat.
"Captain? There isn't anything to repair - the generators aren't just offline, they're fried! They must have been overloaded."
"Must have?" I ground out, earning silence.
"... We'll keep you posted, sir."
I pulled the headset off, returning it to its operator as I stood up. I looked around at the bridge, officers rushing to keep the ship in working order - what little we controlled from the rear bridge.
"Get communications online as soon as possible." I ordered, storming toward the blast door separating us from the forward bridge. The lights began to automatically brighten again, but I was still forced to rapidly blind as my eyes adjusted to the harsher brightness beyond. If the rear bridge was chaotic, then the forward one was in pandemonium. It was clear to see why. I moved, almost like I was in a dream, to the front of the bridge. I looked out over my ship, the same one I had been serving on for years. The ship I had taken over from the cold, dead hands of my predecessor. The Conqueror's bow had been forced down under the withering barrage, her already compromised armor being ripped apart under the sustained bombardment from the opposing Star Destroyer. Volley after volley hammered into us, tearing through the armor and into the hull plates below. I could not see what was happening down there, but it was certain that sections of the ship were being vented into the void. Explosions peppered the ship - my ship - and each one of them felt agonizing.
As I stared at the death of the Conqueror, I came to the solemn realization that it was already lost. I was going to die here.
I am going to die.
The thought filled me with an incandescent fury. After all this, all these trials and tribulations and weeks - no - months of running, I was going to die here with my ship. Damn the Yevethans, all they needed to do was wait a week or two more and then they would no longer have been my problem. Damn Paret, all he needed to do was nothing until I left. Damn them all. Perhaps some fault lay with me and were I of a more sound mental state, perhaps I could accept that.
In that moment, though, all I cared about was spiting them one last time.
"Lieutenant Screold." My lips curl up into a snarl before I school myself into some facsimile of outward calm. I turn and march by the pits again - moving back into the main bridge. I spy the woman - stern and still in control. She was fighting to keep the ship alive.
"Sir! The shields are inoperable, we need to-"
"I know; I am taking the conn." I interrupt her, turning to face forward again with my arms behind my back. She doesn't hesitate.
"Captain Tullius has the conn."
If the Yevethans wanted my Star Destroyer then I was going to feed it to them.
"Helm, bring engines to full burn and correct our course as so: twenty degrees up, right by fifteen."
"Yes, Captain." No question, no hesitation. Discipline won out over whatever personal doubts they had, which was fine by me. Alarms screamed as we took fire, but the Conqueror hurled itself at the Irredentist.
A strange silence fell over the bridge, or maybe I had just cut it all out. My eyes focused on the other Star Destroyer as the helmsman called out directional coordinates distantly. I could almost see the number ticking in my mind, the kilometers racing down to zero.
The Irredentist realized my plan and pitched up, trying to present its underside as there was no time to get out of the way.
"Sound general brace." I ordered, a certain calm falling over me at that moment. I flicked my communicator on, opening a line to the rest of the ship. "Crew of the Conqueror, this is your Captain: Brace, Brace, Brace for impact."
It took me a heartbeat to realize I should follow my own orders. I turned and found an empty seat, sitting down and strapping myself in. In the time it took me to get seated, we were nearly on top of the Irredentist. It twisted in a desperate bid to escape, but it was far too late; The bow of the Conqueror made contact.
I wondered, briefly, if this was what Eistern and his crew felt when they rammed the Armadia. Probably not, as the Irredentist gave way. The Conqueror's bow hit the underside of the Imperial II-class, just behind the reactor bulge. The nose of my ship crumpled, damaged pieces seeming to explode in every direction as the other Star Destroyer's hull collapsed under the impact. I jerked in my seat, the inertial dampeners snapping to life in a bid to save the crew from a violent death as our momentum came to a sudden stop. The sound of alarms reached a new fevered pitch as the Conqueror seemed to crumple under the blow.
And then we were stopped. Drifting, half-buried in the underside of the Irredentist. I licked my lips, finding them dry and carefully unbuckled myself from the seat. I rose on unsteady feet and raised my voice.
"All gun decks! Gut this alien bastard."
My crew, stars bless them, did not hesitate any longer than it took for them to get their bearings. Given our angle, only the port guns could fire. Even then, the Yevethans had the wherewithal to raise their shields in the parts of the underside where they weren't stuck to us. Turbolaser bolts flew out from my port guns, but all they found was the unbreakable wall of the Irredentist's ventral shields.
"Sir?" Screold, in a rare moment of panic, turned to face me - her eyes wide as volley after volley had no impact. That moment of doubt appeared to give the bridge pause, a lapse in their discipline as they watched my plan hit the hard wall of reality.
I grit my teeth, bringing a hand up to cover my mouth as I watched. The Irredentist couldn't move, but nor could we. Like this, we were a sitting nerf for any hostile ship that glanced in our direction. It was a losing dance, the Conqueror's remaining portside guns couldn't hope to break its shields. A breath left me, one long and soft as the bright flame of my anger burnt itself out. Even in this last glorious charge, I could do little more than bloody my own nose on the Yevethans - my roiling anger impotent against the cold, unfeeling void.
What a joke, I thought, bitter and defeated. What a cruel joke.
I looked at the wound my ship inflicted, buried in the enemy engine block, watching turbolaser fire pepper the shields and singe the armor-
Wait.
The Yevethans could raise their shields and we were unable to truly harm them. However, there was one place where they couldn't raise shields - where my ship met theirs. In a flash, that maddening fire of hope returned:
I gave the order to fire on our own bow.
"Guns, target where our ship meets the Irredentist - shoot through the Conqueror if you need to!" I bark, slamming a fist to my palm - I barely noticed the lingering stiffness in my shoulder.
"Shoot ourselves?!" One officer exclaimed, who I could not see. Their lapse in judgment did not matter, however - the crews in the lower pits raced to follow my orders. There was a brief pause in the barrage… then, bright green lances pummeled into the underside of the Irredentist. The large dual-barreled turbolaser batteries flanking the conning tower were the most devastating, perfectly positioned as they were: Their volleys tore through the battered remnants of the Conqueror's bow and into the gaping wound left by our charge.
The damaged armor gave way, detaching us from the Irredentist and tearing its engine block to pieces. Explosions rippled across both ships as we floated apart.
The Irredentist drifted lazily away, no longer able to move and facing the wrong way to return fire. Yet my eyes were on my ship. She was mauled, ruined - I did not need to see a status report to know that. It was a hollow victory. A shaky breath escaped my lips as the anger left my veins only to be replaced by exhaustion.
"Dark powers, it worked?" A voice rose up, and a bitter part of me hoped it was the same detractor from before. "It worked!"
A general cheer rose up from the bridge crew, insults spat toward the wounded form of the Irredentist. It had managed to bring its shields back to full along its underside, so the sparse turbolaser blasts sent their way did nothing. Their joy was lost on me. As I came down from the heights of my wild fury, I looked out over my ship.
How many of my men were stationed in the prow, or in the halls now opened to the void? How many had I sacrificed in this desperate bid to avenge my ship on the Yevethans? To spite them?
I felt… weak, even considering that. Even thinking of their losses as anything other than heroic sacrifices. So I stopped considering it, I buried it deep. It was easier, in a way, to think of them as numbers. A number of heroes, not a number of crewmembers.
It was a lot easier.
"Lieutenant Screold has the conn." I announced and turned from the bridge. I retreated to my domain, where I did not need to see the damage my ship had suffered.
"Communications are back online, Captain." An officer announced unnecessarily as the holotable was lit up once more. I nodded my thanks all the same and walked back over to the table. The situation had flipped very rapidly: The loss of communications and my sudden charge had evidently galvanized the rest of the fleet to follow suit. The Star Destroyers charged, along with their escorts, across the short distance separating them from their foes - barring the Intimidation, who was already locked in a broadside duel. The Yevethans, cautious of losing more ships, had retreated in turn. With how disorganized the rest of my fleet was - centered around a single attack line - there was no way to pursue without the Star Destroyers themselves giving chase.
This was not without its costs.
Spite, Dugnad, Absolution, Valor, Fjørtofta - all lost. The Black-3 group had suffered similarly, the last Vindicator-class a smoldering wreck - lost with all hands.
This did not feel like a victory, even with all of the Yevethan escorts similarly destroyed.
"Recall all starfighters and make ready to jump for Galantos." I order to the fleet, tapping away at my console. The Escapade and its escorts had arrived at last, the only ships to leave this latest engagement completely unharmed. I hadn't a chance to look at my starfighter numbers, but I was of no illusion they had come out unscathed.
"And the Armadia, Captain?" One officer asked, I did not see who. I zoomed the hologram out, finding the Bellator-class locked in a broadside with the larger Rampage. The Rampage was evidently reporting its coordinates as reinforcements jumped in nearby to swarm the Armadia.
"They'll have to find their own way out." I said simply, closing the holotable. Its dull hum vanished as the Conqueror twisted in the general direction of Galantos. There was a distant hum, then we were gone.