Table of Contents . . .

NRS DEFIANCE; BRIDGE
NEAR JUPITER ORBIT
THE SOL SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR
DEC 30 2680/2680.363; 1435 HOURS (CST)

Admiral Ackbar felt the hope inside him fade with the glowing debris of the TCS Bradshaw. The report was in: no survivors. The once-grand light fleet carrier was lost with all hands. They had barely gotten off all of their fighters before the torpedoes hit. Ackbar hoped that this wasn’t a sign of the way things were to come. His attention was torn from his brief mourning with a cry from the Defiance’s chief sensors officer.

"Admiral!" one of the Quarren officers among the Calamarian crew shouted. "Sensors show sixteen Paktahn-class torpedo bombers approaching on an attack vector!" 

As Ackbar responded, decades of military experience kicked in. "All weapons, target incoming bombers and fire at will. Begin evasive maneuvers. Green Wing, intercept the enemy bombers. Blue Wing is to intercept incoming missiles."

T-65C A2 INCOM X-WING AA-301
1438 HOURS (CST)

Wedge gasped as he saw sixteen more bombers diving in on the Defiance. "Rogues and Black Widows—intercept those bombers! We can’t let them get the Defiance!"

"We’re too far out of position," Hawk countered. "We can’t get there in time. Let the interceptors get’em, and let’s get those bastards that waxed the Bradshaw."

Wedge checked his sensors in disbelief. "What interceptors? All the Defiance has guarding it are a squadron of E-wings and A-wings each. How are they going to stop sixtee—"

Wedge’s words were drown out by a quickly growing roar. He glanced to his aft and instinctively ducked as a strangely-shaped fighter shot by, riding a screaming solid rocket booster. He vaguely remembered the craft being called a "Wasp" as he counted the glowing contrails. 32; two Confederation squadrons of advanced interceptors were bearing down on half as many decade-old torpedo bombers, which were already being harassed by the determined New Republic pilots. The Wasps’ rockets burned out 2,000 klicks behind the inbound Kilrathi craft...

KF-200 PAKTAHN 110
1439 HOURS (CST)

A feral predator’s grin worked its way across Shintahr Nak’Kahn nar Ragitagha’s face as he counted out the lock-time for his torpedoes. With two eights of bombers, the destruction of this "New Republic" ship was assured. It was obvious that the weapons on the star cruiser were meant for capship battles, as his slow, unwieldy bombers easily evaded the deadly red and blue blasts, and despite the number of small fighters harassing his squadrons, their light armament was little threat to his craft.

He checked his time. Four seconds until the launching of 96 torpedoes and the annihilation of the ship. Three... Two... A Kilrathi pilot’s death cry filled the comm channel, followed quickly by others. Nak’Kahn looked up to see his port wingman take a massive cluster of missiles that tore the bomber apart before it even had a chance to explode. At the same time, his own lock warning alarm sounded. He looked to his aft and saw over a dozen missiles swarming in at point-blank range. Nak’Kahn turned back to the cruiser and ignited his afterburners to give him the extra second he needed.

He pulled his trigger as the first missile slammed into his shields...

NRS DEFIANCE; BRIDGE
1440 HOURS (CST)

The bridge was filled with cheering as the torpedo bombers disintegrated under the massed firepower of the new F-110A Wasp-class interceptors. The cheering quickly died off though, as the sensors officer made an urgent announcement, "Sir, six torpedoes inbound! Fighters attempting to intercept!"

Leia hugged her brother as she watched death approach. Outside the Defiance, the A-wings, E-wings, and Wasps were firing everything they had at the six ship-killers rapidly speeding toward their target. Two torpedoes died quickly under the guns of the Wasps, and another was destroyed by a lucky shot from an E-wing. An A-wing, with all energy shifted to engines and running on full afterburners, darted into the trailing torpedo, destroying it and immolating the small interceptor and its selfless pilot.

The last two torpedoes passed through the Defiance’s shields and slammed into its hull. The multi-megaton explosions rocked the ship as they tore deep into the hull. Armor peeled off and blew away like dry leaves. Crewmen were vaporized as bulkheads were ruptured and deck after deck was exposed to the explosion’s fiery tendrils.

There was chaos amidst the bridge as the crew tried to handle the incredible level of damage and number of casualties. "Admiral!" a voice cried out. "We’ve lost our starboard shields! Hull breaches from decks seven through 43, sections 15 to 36. Hull integrity is down to 67 percent. Three turbolaser batteries and two ion cannons were destroyed. Casualties unknown but estimated at over 700."

"Helm, get us out of the combat zone," ordered Admiral Ackbar. "We cannot continue to engage in combat until our shields are restored. Communications! Contact the Midway." He waited the painful few seconds for the connection to be made.

Finally, Blair’s holographic image appeared. "Commodore Blair. We have sustained two torpedo hits and have suffered massive damage. Our starboard shields are down. We are disengaging until we can restore them."

Blair’s heart sank. The powerful New Republic warship’s superior firepower was central to the defensive strategy. Now, the Defiance was crippled in the first hour of combat. "Acknowledged, Admiral. Our interceptors will cover your withdrawal. We’re going to engage their lighter vessels, destroy as many as we can before they overrun our position. Good luck."

Ackbar nodded thoughtfully. "May the Force be with you."

Aboard the Midway, Blair nodded his thanks, "Midway out." He turned to Captain Wilford as the Admiral’s image wavered and disappeared.

Wilford smiled grimly. "The fleet’s formed up, and all our fighters have been launched. Some fighters from Confed HQ over at Jupiter-1 have joined up with us, as have their remaining cruisers and destroyers. The enemy fleet, less the Executor-class Super Star Destroyer, the Hakaga, and a number of Kilrathi ships flanking it, are moving to engage us. The others..." Wilford trailed off, as if not saying it would mean it wasn’t so. "They’re heading for the base. HQ is evacuating as we speak, but they can’t get everyone out, and they won’t be able to hold out against that kind of firepower."

Damn it, Blair thought, damn it all. "Well, we’ll just have to buy them some time. Have all our artillery cruisers move to engage their cruisers. Detail four Murphys to the Intrepid, six to the Defiance, and eight around the Midway. The rest are to advance and cover the Plunketts. All fighters are to engage the oncoming ships and fighters. We’ll hit their light ships, then go after their super-ships."

"Aye aye, sir," Wilford replied. He turned to the communications station. "You heard the Commodore. Send those orders."

"Yessir!" The comm officer turned to his station and began sending the orders.

SSD VACILLATOR; BRIDGE
1445 HOURS (CST)

Grand Moff Jhediah smiled as the battle unfolded. He had expected the Confederation fleet to rally around their base, where the combined fleet would be able to corner them and destroy their fleet in detail.

He hadn’t thought that they would leave their base open to attack so that they could engage the fleet without the interference of the Vacillator and Havahn ras Sivar. Oh well, if they were willing to let their base die, he wouldn’t argue with them.

"Admiral Güthrig, how long until we are within range of their base?" 

The Admiral turned to face him. "Ten minutes. Baron Thokkarh nar Caxki has suggested that we destroy the base with a cloaking Capital Ship Missile. He says that with the power of the missile, only one will be needed."

"Very well, if the Kilrathi want to destroy the base, then let them do it." Jhediah waved his hand as if it were no matter. It wasn’t. "And if the Confederation wants to stay here and tangle with the fleet, then they can do it while we proceed on to Earth. Let the Kilrathi know they have the greenlight."

"Yessir," Güthrig said, smiling. Quickly locating one of the senior comm officers, Ensign Danaaris, he gave a nod in his direction. "You heard the Grand Moff, Ensign."

The Vacillator’s drive plumes’ glow increased as it and the Havahn ras Sivar, with its escorts, steadily increased to flank speed. Ahead of them, the Confederation Headquarters Starbase desperately strove to evacuate as many personnel as they could.

TCS MIDWAY; FLIGHT DECK
1448 HOURS (CST)

Colonel Jacob "Hawk" Manley was both ecstatic and melancholy as he let Rachel’s techs tend to his damaged Vampire fighter, walking toward the gathering. He had finally eclipsed the century mark, but the losses among the pilots had been horrific. The New Republic had lost two squadrons destroyed totally, while the Terrans had suffered in the same proportions. Commander Drake had called for a meeting of all surviving line officers, squadron and wing commanders, and it was Hawk’s job to ensure that all the visiting craft had places to wait. Over in a far corner of the flight deck were the New Republic forces, two X-wings, three K-wings, two E-wings, and a B-wing. Elsewhere were the various make and model Confed, Landreich, and UBW forces. Suddenly, the air was rent by the warning klaxon that meant clear the deck. Everyone took off for the exits, and Hawk made his way to PriFly. Once there, he immediately accosted the Flight Officer.

"Just what the hell is going on here? Who the hell is landing that requires a full deck evac?" The Flight Officer pointed at his screen and Hawk leaned in for a closer look. The MFD scanners showed that 28 craft were inbound from Earth, the visual VDUs showing these 28 fighters from a chase camera view. They were a design that Hawk hadn’t seen in decades. Their IFF called them Morningstar IIs. Mechanicals showed that they had six guns and 20 missiles, to which Hawk whistled. Their moderate flight performance was now explained. These fighters were loaded for bear, and would be looking for Cats. The comm unit crackled.

The Flight Officer keyed his comlink unit. "Midway Control, this is Joker 201. We are clear and waiting for landing confirmation."

"Joker 201, Midway Control. Call the ball, and welcome aboard." The flight deck’s sheer size allowed the force to land fighters eight at a time. Once all fighters were down, the magcon bubble was restored, and atmosphere pumped back into the flight deck. The canopies came up, and pilots began disembarking and forming into squadrons. By the time Hawk made it down to the flight deck, everyone was formed up. He ran up to the highest ranking officer he could find, a bird colonel, and to his surprise the other colonel saluted first.

"Colonel Manley, I am Colonel Von Tirpitz, Wing Commander of the 23rd Light Bombing Tactical Fighter Wing." Dressed in the uniform of a TCSF colonel, the stranger was a good 6’5" in height, probably around 200 pounds. Patches denoting membership in both the Confed Space Force, UBW Space Force, and TCIS Intelligence adorned his shoulders. His chest was covered in medals and ribbons, and his nameplate read "Von Tirpitz, Wilhelm." He was of good Bavarian stock, with blond hair, blue eyes, and a chiseled appearance. "We understand that you guys need some help. We’re it."

Hawk looked over the assembled officers in disbelief. New fighters or not, there was no way forty-eight pilots could make much of a difference in the Midway’s three fighter wings. But he had his orders to get all command level officers to Commander Drake. He saluted Tirpitz in turn. "Welcome aboard, Colonel Tirpitz," he said. "Our Commander-Air-Group, Commander Drake has ordered a meeting of all command-level officers, so if you will please follow me." He turned and headed for the hatch. Tirpitz, and five of his officers followed suit, while the rest of the pilots headed back to their fighters to supervise their maintenance.

TCS MIDWAY; CIC
1450 HOURS (CST)

"All right, people, settle down," spoke Commander Patricia Drake, the megacarrier’s CAG, as the men and women of various allegiances began filing in. "We have a lot to do, and probably not a lot of time to do it. First of all, I want to welcome Colonel Tirpitz and his crew to our air group. Some of you UBW folks may remember them from the Alcor debacle. They were flying Banshees at the time, and were decimated by the Imperial craft. Now they’re back, and flying a rather nice new fighter. This, is a F/A-X Morningstar Mark II, the newest attack fighter in the Confed inventory but currently only in the prototype stage." As Drake spoke, the holoprojector behind her whirred to life, and displayed the image of a fighter as yet unseen by the armed forces. "A single Morningstar is armed with two lasers, two fusion cannons, two Reaper cannons, and a single Mace explosive/mine. As for missiles, they are armed with four Pilum Friend-or-Foe missiles on semi-recessed hardpoints, four trackers, and twelve Dumbfires slung under the wings. These are used to brute force shatter the target’s shields, allowing heavier bombers to deliver their payloads straight to the hull."

A Border Worlder lieutenant spoke up from his seat among the fellow UBW and FRLN officers, one formerly of the BWS Princeton. "Same tactic we used against the Cat Dreadnought at Alcor." Many officers turned to acknowledge the bravery and sacrifice he and his squadron had made. Tirpitz just looked straight at him without blinking. The man returned the stare with a nod. "And I remember you and your squadron, Colonel Tirpitz. You guys blew away five cruisers and saved the Zephyr’s butt. Thanks."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Tirpitz spoke, nodding. "For any one of you Border Worlders that might be antsy about have a Confed Intell officer as one of your ACAGs, let me say this—I was part of the Free Corps, was part of Project Goliath and the Ragark Campaign, and was involved in the clean-up following the ‘Incident.’ Any questions so far?" He raked the audience with his gaze. There were no questions, so he turned back to Drake.

She took a breath and continued. "During the first assault, we learned that we need serious coordination to defeat these guys. Therefore, we are regrouping our flight wings to refine our attack style. Colonel Manley, your squadron will continue to fly in tandem with Rogue Squadron, and I am adding the New Republic’s other X-wing squadron to your group, as well as a Vampire squadron. You will be designated Red Group, and will act as aggressive escort, taking out targets of opportunity. Speaking of which... General Antilles, where is your other X-wing commander? He seems to have gone missing." Wedge looked around in alarm. She was indeed right. He started to turn crimson, but was saved by the door opening, and the entering officer offered up his apology.

"General Antilles is not at fault, Commander. I just had to get out of that disguise. Humans are definitely not made to masquerade as Quarren." Brigadier General Garik "Face" Loran retook his seat next to an amazed Wedge. "Wraith Squadron is good to go." Wedge turned to Face, and gave him a back-slapping hug.

"Face!" he exclaimed. "Where were you hiding on the Defiance, and where have you been for the last seventeen years?"

Loren gave a chuckle. "First, I haven’t been on the Defiance, I’ve been on the Liberator. Second, I’ve been working for Cracken. We mainly stayed out on the rim, battling splinter Imperial Groups. It’s amazing how many of us are still around. Kell and Tyria are married, Runt and Piggy are still around, and Shalla... well, Shalla is still kicking all of us around a training room."

"What about Dia and Elessar?" Face’s face pained momentarily, then affected a blank look Wedge knew to be false.

"Elessar died in an assault on a Ssi-Ruuvi stronghold. Dia was, last I knew before the jump, in a hospital on Coruscant. She was hurt real bad in a fight with some pirates. Hey, how’s Donos doing?"

"Myn retired as a Major right around the time of the Surrender, and is married on Corellia to Kirney Slane." Face genuinely smiled.

"Hey, I guess things do come out right in the end." Wedge looked up. "Er... I’m sorry, Commander Drake. Please continue."

Drake gave an exasperated sigh. "Now that the reunion is over, we can get on with the meeting. General Horton Salm will lead the heavy bomber’s from his K-wing, comprised of our Devastator squadrons, his Defender Wing, and the UBW/Landreich torpedo vessels." Salm rose and gave a cursory nod. "General Edor Crespin will lead fighter cover with his E-wings and our fighter squadrons. And Colonel Tirpitz will lead the first wave, comprised of the 23rd, the NR Screaming Wookiee Squadron, and the VF-27 ‘Shadows,’ with Major Richthofen of the VF-14 ‘Talons’ as escort commander for that group. Any questions?" There were none. "Then I turn this briefing over to Colonel Loran for a briefing on who we are facing out there."

Face stood and took the podium. He began his speech solemnly, "Greetings. I am Brigadier General Garik ‘Face’ Loran of New Republic Intelligence Command. My job today is to bring you all up to date on the various personas and craft employed by the Third Imperium. I’ll start with the craft first." He went on to compare an MC-120 Star Cruiser, a soon-to-be-seen in the New Republic MC Battle Cruiser, a Sovereign-class SSD, and an Eclipse-class SSD to the Vacillator before the view changed to that of a fighter. "This is what some of you have already encountered. It is the XG-2 Devastator-class Assault Missile Boat, also known as the Mark Three B. It was produced in limited numbers by the Empire before Endor, and its designs were sealed away in the computer archives of most of the fleet command ships. It has only one permutation, which carries one laser, a beam weapon, 40 Advanced Concussion Missiles, and can carry either 40 more missiles, 30 Advanced Proton Torpedoes, 20 Heavy Rockets, or 10 Space Bombs. It is equipped with the SLAM overdrive system, which works much like an afterburner for short periods of time. Lately, Intelligence has reported that the SLAMs have been largely replaced or supplemented by Kilrathi-style afterburners. Like I said, this is the only variant you will face, so stay away from its missiles and you’ll do fine."

The young Border Worlder from before raised his hand. "Not true, sir," he spoke. "When we were at Alcor, I dogfought a Devastator that carried two lasers and two ion cannons, as well as everything else."

Face narrowed his eyes. "Was there anything else about that craft you remember?"

"Yeah... it had this weird red and black paint scheme, and I think the number of kill marks on the side. If they’re true, means that this pilot had gotten more kills than General Antilles."

Face both paled and gave a sigh of relief at the same time. "You, Lieutenant, are a lucky man. And useful, as you launched me straight into the personnel section of this briefing. This, ladies and gentlemen, is Imperial Flight General Maarek Stele, attainer of the Emperor’s Will, and a 22-year veteran of this war." The holoprojector displayed a standard Imperial Data File holo of a young man. "He was taken off his homeworld of Kuan shortly before Endor, and received pilot training quickly enough to participate in the Imperial mop-up following Hoth. He has served the empire with distinction since then, and personally saved the Emperor’s life at least twice. He has also served just about every major fleet commander since Endor, including Isard, Zsinj, and Thrawn. In fact, he had a special relationship with Thrawn. Whenever Thrawn needed something done, Stele did it. During the appearances of the cloned Emperor, Stele and various other hot-shot Imperial pilots served in Omega Squadron, the Emperor’s personal bodyguards. Most of the squadron was destroyed at Onderon, with him and two others surviving. Let me give you this piece of advice, people. Do not attack him with anything less than a full squadron. He is that good." Face let that sink in before continuing, which it did until Face ran out of info.

Commander Drake stood back up, her gaze sweeping the CIC. "You all have your orders. Get to it, people."

TCS INTREPID; BRIDGE
1454 HOURS (CST)

The bridge of the TCS Intrepid—once the BWS Intrepid, and the TCS Delphi before that—was lit with the red flashing of the constantly firing laser turrets. Either intercepting an enemy fighter or harassing a distant enemy ship, they never stopped firing for more than a couple of seconds.

Captain Tamara "Panther" Farnsworth stood in the middle of the infamous Durango-class heavy destroyer’s bridge, giving the occasional order. She turned to the young baby-faced ensign at the communications station, "Get me a link to Commodore Blair." A few seconds later, she stood before the holographic image of her friend and one-time significant other at the Academy after the Black Lance unpleasantness. "Chris, are we going to do anything about their attack on HQ?"

He shook his head. "I’m afraid that there’s nothing we can do. We have to take care of this fleet first."

"I understand." Panther was frowning. If Confed lost that base, it would be a crippling blow. "Well, when you decide how you’re going to get them back for it, let me know," she said with suppressed rage.

CONFEDERATION HQ STARBASE
JUPITER ORBIT
1455 HOURS (CST)

The command crew in the stations operations center watched the shuttles race for the relative safety of the civilian war museum orbiting the ringed gas-giant Saturn. They would try to start up the old Ranger-class light carrier TCS Victory, on display there. While it carried no munitions, fighters, or fighter fuel, its reactors and engines were still in working order, and its laser turrets were in prime condition, if a bit dusty. While they might be able to make a difference later, the base’s remaining crew was looking at combat now.

In the main viewscreen, they watched the SSD and Kilrathi counterparts approach to within gunnery range. Commander Henry O’Neil smiled. The Cats and these new Imps were about to see the folly in attacking Confed HQ. "Comm, are the fighters deployed?"

"Yessir!"

"Guns, confirm targets in range."

"Confirmed, sir."

"Comm, send to bombers: concentrate attack on that Super Star Destroyer, and send to fighters: squadron leaders engage freely. Guns," he said, addressing the gunnery control officer in the age-old tradition, "concentrate all firepower on the SSD, all others, fire at will." O’Neil sighed, having given the orders, he was almost superfluous.

Cry havoc! and let slip the dogs of war!

Over two hundred fighters swirled around the huge superbase, afterburning toward their targets. The space between the base and the Vacillator became a blinding crescendo of light and energy, as the base’s turreted lasers, heavy particle cannon, and new Mark IV heavy plasma cannon opened fire. The tremendous energies slammed into the Vacillator’s shields remorselessly, causing them to flash and shimmer wildly.

The Vacillator replied in kind, its turbolaser, and heavy turbolaser batteries firing quintets of incredibly powerful focused light into the superbase’s shields, which flickered and held. The Vacillator added its ion cannons and capital-scale concussion missiles to the fray. The blue ion cannon bolts sent actinic lightning arcing across the base’s shields. The capital concussion missiles ceased firing as they couldn’t survive the dense fire of the no-man’s-land between the two combatants.

Neither side of the duel saw the Skipper Missile launch from the supercarrier. In fact, only one Confed pilot did. The one who was unlucky enough to be right in its path.

The tremendous matter/antimatter explosion swept out and destroyed over a dozen fighters on either side of the battle, and damaged a Fralthi II’s shields.

KIS VHAS’KARATH; FLAG BRIDGE
JUPITER ORBIT; NEAR CONFEDERATION HQ STARBASE
1459 HOURS (CST)

Baron Thokkarh nar Caxki let out a Kilrathi oath as the missile detonated only 2,000 klicks ahead of the Havahn ras Sivar, damaging a heavy cruiser and destroying a number of fighters as well. He turned to Vharvek. "Tell the Havahn ras Sivar they are to hold their fire. We don’t want it to shoot itself down."

"And what of the station, my liege?" Vharvek asked respectfully.

"Tell this Grand Moff that he may have the... honor of destroying the Confederation Headquarters himself."

Vharvek smiled and bowed, "Of course, my liege."

If these Imperials wanted to take on the superbase and its defenses in a broadside to broadside engagement, then they could reap the punishment for such an endeavor alone, Thokkarh thought. The Ultra-Long-Range Phased Photon-Cloak Torpedo, or "Skipper" Missile, would have worked, but the Vacillator got too close. Now they were shooting it out with the only thing in the Sol System that rivaled its firepower, save for the Sol Station superbase around Earth itself, the Terrans’ last line of defense. Now the fighting was so wild and clustered, it was likely that a fighter would collide with the missile accidentally, as one did just a few seconds ago.

No, let the Grand Moff pay for his mistake...

SSD VACILLATOR; BRIDGE
1506 HOURS (CST)

The deck shuddered as the forward shields finally failed. Damage reports started coming in as the superbase’s weaponry began ripping chunks out of the great starship’s bow. Grand Moff Jhediah was filled with anger as his flagship was mauled. "Admiral Güthrig, where is that stealth missile the Kilrathi expressed such confidence in?"

Güthrig turned from the tactical plot, where he was directing the action against the Confederation fleet. "I believe that explosion we witnessed was it. But, perhaps we should ask the Baron."

"Quite," Jhediah replied tersely. He turned to the communications station in the operations recess in the floor of the bridge. "Get me Thokkarh nar Caxki. He has some explaining to do."

"Yessi..." The young officer trailed off. "Sir, there’s a message coming in from the Vhas’Karath. They report that the fighting is too dense for their missiles to get through. They say that they’re going to take up a picket position to shield us from fighter attack."

How very generous of them, Jhediah thought angrily. "Very well. Acknowledge their transmission. Güthrig, have all of our fighters concentrate their attacks on the base."

"Their shields are down!" came a cry from behind him.

Güthrig turned away from the holoplot, where tiny representations of starships and fighters were battering each other in a simulation of the very real hell that was slowly consuming the Confederation fleets. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an oddly shaped ship, labeled as a Plunkett-class cruiser, glow brightly and wink out: another casualty in the most costly engagement he’d ever participated in. "Concentrate all firepower on their weapons systems," he said loudly but calmly, before moving back to the holoplot and issuing more orders. The fire from the superbase was already starting to thin out, as weapons turrets and emplacements were blown apart by the Super Star Destroyer’s superior firepower. Hundreds of green and blue bolts caressed the base, encasing it in a cloud of vaporized armor. Around it, space had grown silent, as the defending fighters were quickly swept aside by the overwhelming numbers of TIEs and Kilrathi fighters. The weapons on the superbase quickly subsided, washed away in wave after wave of green death, or their power circuits blown-out from ion cannon discharges. The lights across the base’s superstructure began flickering out randomly as the base began to die. The entire defense grid failed, shields went down, and yet the Vacillator continued to fire, seemingly eager to punish the miscreant who had dared to hurt it. The base’s death wasn’t spectacular. There was no all-consuming fireball. A large section of structure, battered and twisted, finally just broke off and was pushed away by the impact of dozens upon dozens of turbolaser blasts. As the green beams focused on the center of the base, it just broke up. Chunks of superstructure were torn off, and small secondary explosions weakened the structure. Large plates of armor broke free and floated away. Atmosphere trailed from innumerable hull breaches, taking with it smaller debris, equipment, and bodies of those who couldn’t be evacuated.

The great station shuddered once, as if a great beast was fighting to hold on to its last spark of like, and then it just came apart. Large rents formed all across the base. Faults that quickly grew larger. The base’s sections then parted, leaving a drifting, broken hulk floating in the debris of its own destruction. Only then did the Vacillator’s arsenal finally cease fire, allowing both sides to witness the carnage it had wrought.

F-109A VAMPIRE 302
1514 HOURS (CST)

Hawk, back in his repaired fighter, veered hard to starboard as the Missile Boat trailing him fired a pair of advanced concussion missiles. The missiles passed less than a meter from the edge of his shields. He cursed under his breath as the missiles began to arc around to make another run at his fighter. "Wedge! What’s the burn time on these things?"

"Advanced Missiles? Twenty-five seconds," Wedge answered, his voice tense with the stress of combat.

"Damn it." Hawk pulled a tight corkscrew around the missiles and dropped a pair of decoy chaff. He sighed in relief as the lock warning light and alarm shut off. These new alien missiles had the longest flight times he had ever seen, and they were becoming notorious for ignoring decoys. The only thing that evened things out was the fact that the Imperial craft didn’t seem to incorporate decoys themselves. Hawk pulled around and took the Missile Boat head to head. As soon as the craft was within range, he fired his full guns. The Imperial fighter came apart in a massive fireball as it’s munitions detonated. He cleared the debris and found himself trailing another Vampire that was chasing down a TIE Interceptor.

"Hey, Hawk! Good of ya ta join me!" came the loud, raucous voice of the other pilot.

"Jammer, that you?"

"You bet. Just gimme a sec." The Vampire let loose with a full guns salvo. The Interceptor shattered from the impact of four tachyon bursts and a pair of particle beams. Hawk opened his mouth to congratulate him when he heard the deafening metallic howl of a cloaking device disengaging.

He saw it appear just behind Jammer’s fighter. "Jammer! Look out!"

"Holy shiii...!" Jammer’s broadcast was cut short as nine tachyon beams slammed through his shields and vaporized most of his rear armor. The Vampire started to spin out of control as its port engines failed.

"Shit! Hawk, help me!" Hawk targeted the Tarkhan and fired, as did the Tarkhan. "Nooo!!!" Jammer’s cry filled the channel as his fighter disintegrated under the incredible punishment.

"Damn you!" Hawk screamed. The Tarkhan veered off sharply and cloaked. "You son of a bitch! Get back here, you fucking coward! You pathetic excuse of a warrior! Is your hrai as cowardly as you?! You disgraceful..." Hawk stopped and began evasive maneuvers as he heard a ship decloak behind him.

"So eager to die, hairless ape?" a gravely voice sounded over his communications channel. "Then I shall accommodate you. Prepare to die!"

As Hawk pulled off hard, he saw the markings on the fighter. The 41st Claw Squadron, made up of Drakhai, the elite of Kilrathi pilots. The Imperial Guard, formerly the elite in the service of the Emperor of Kilrah himself, while he was still alive. He knew he was in for a fight...

TCS VISIGOTH; BRIDGE
JUPITER ENGAGEMENT
1520 HOURS (CST)

Captain Jace Reynard clenched his fists and teeth as the report of the loss of Confed HQ came in. Since he, as captain, couldn’t shout out his anger, he satisfied himself with the expletives expressed by his XO. He was futilely trying to salvage what was becoming a massive furball with the Furballs. As the Vacillator and its friends moved away from the main confrontation, the Kilrathi fleet had punch through Confed’s formations. All hell broke lose.

Within the first fifteen minutes of combat, Confed had lost twelve destroyers, six cruisers, and a full fleet carrier. It was ironic, because, for a few minutes, it looked as if Confed had the advantage. The initial bomber assaults were repelled, the two Imperial Star Destroyers were successfully torpedoed for what little damage it caused them, and one of the Snakeirs had been badly damaged.

Then the Imperials played their wild card. The Missile Boats rocketed in like a bat out of hell. While the TIE Defenders and Robotics swamped the fighter cover, they used their advanced proton torpedoes to strip ships of their turrets, leaving them helpless before the bombers. Grikaths, Gorans, Paktahns, Vaktoth IIs, Zartoth EWs, and modified TIE Bombers that had been withheld in the previous battles then struck. While the TIE Bombers could only carry a scant three of a scaled-down version of the standard Torpedo, the element of surprise, as well as their ungodly agility sealed the fates of seven ships, including a Plunkett. Meanwhile, the aggressive tactics of the Kilrathi corvette skippers caused the Confederation fleet to scatter.

"Sir, I have the Patton and the Churchill. They have entered formation with us. What are your orders?"

Captain Reynard looked up at his XO, Commander David Lewis. Lewis wasn’t quite as upset as he had been a minute ago. "Get damage and fighter losses reports from both," Reynard said thoughtfully. "Also, how are our fighters holding out?"

"We..." Lewis paused and cleared his throat, "We have five Excaliburs, three Thunderbolts, six Tigersharks, and two Crossbows left. One Epee, too, if that counts."

Reynard grimaced. They’d lost well over half of their fighters, but their ship hadn’t suffered the mauling so many others had. "See to those reports, please." The Captain took the moment to clear his thoughts while Lewis retrieved the information he’d asked for. Less than a minute later, his XO had returned. "Captain, the Patton has lost all but two Excaliburs and eight Tigersharks. The Churchill... hasn’t any fighters left." Lewis let that sink in for a few seconds, waiting for the look of decision to mask his captain’s face. Finally, he saw it: the look of grim determination of one who, while they may lose, is going to hurt and take with him as many enemies as possible on the way down. "What are we going to do, sir?" Lewis asked determinedly.

"Quite frankly, Commander, we’re going to kick some Cat ass." Reynard turned to the rest of the bridge. "Conn! Set a course for that wounded Snakeir, flanking speed! Comm, let the others know what we are doing!" He turned to the WC. "Make sure those fighters we still have left stay with us! It is going to get nasty out there." He finally turned to Lieutenant Commander Diana Xavier. "Guns," he said with a predatory grin lighting his features that would make a Kilrathi’s fur stand on end, "The safety is off. All turrets, fire at will. Make it messy for those bastards."

"Aye, sir!" she said cheerfully, but with a darkness in her eyes, and started giving orders over her headset. Reynard shuddered slightly as he got a small look at the darkness that can consume one’s soul. He’d seen that happen so many times during the War. The pain, the anger, the fear, they slowly eat away at one’s humanity until the poor soul becomes more bloodthirsty and ruthless than the most hardened Kilrathi. He’d seen it in his officers’ eyes, superiors’ eyes, and in the darkest days of the War, even his own. He could still feel it sometimes, in the late hours of the night, when all was dark and all there is are the voices of the past, calling to him, still gnawing at his soul. He was careful, because it could take even the best men. He’d known Admiral Geoff Tolwyn during the War, and sadly watched as the darkness took him. The Battle of Terra was a major factor, as was Tolwyn’s anger at the seemingly stupid civilian government, but after the loss of the Behemoth... Reynard had seen him after that, when Tolwyn returned to Earth to stand for a hearing. Something had died in Tolwyn that day, and he never recovered from it.

Reynard never wanted to see that happen to another soul as long as he lived.

"Sir," Commander Lewis said. He waited for Reynard to respond before continuing. "Sir, we’re all on course. ETA to interception is two minutes. We’ve also contacted the Midway and Commodore Blair wishes us luck."

"Good. How long until we reach maximum gunnery range?"

"One minute and thirty seconds before interception."

"Very well." Captain Reynard smiled as he walked back to his command chair and sat down.

The minute and a half ride to the Snakeir was nerve wracking. It was a running battle the whole way. Numerous corvettes tried to intercept and even ram them as they rocketed through the Kilrathi formations.

Meanwhile, the badly outnumbered and outclassed fighter escort tried to fend off the swarming enemy fighters. Only two Excaliburs and four Tigersharks survived the onslaught, and the Patton lost its lower triple heavy particle cannon turret to a torpedo, while all three cruisers lost several laser turrets each. Strangely, as they approached firing range, the TIE Interceptors, TIE Bombers, and most of the Kilrathi fighters were recalled to land on their ships.

"Sir, we’re within firing range for our main guns, but the Cat ships are doing something weird," Lewis finally informed Captain Reynard.

"Guns, fire!" Reynard gave the order before turning to Lewis. "What are they doing?"

"They’re lining up.."

"Firing all guns!" came the report from Lieutenant Commander Xavier, interrupting Lewis.

"Uh, all of their ships in the exact same direction and..."

There was a rumble throughout the ship as the triple plasma and two triple particle cannon turrets fired as one. The Captain and his XO watched the stream of huge pulses rushed towards their target. The Snakeir was as good as dead. Then, just before the first blasts hit, it lurched forward and vanished.

"What the hell?" Jace Reynard, David Lewis, Diana Xavier, and most of the bridge crews of all three cruisers cried out simultaneously. "Lieutenant Stevenson!" Reynard shouted to his sensors officer, "Where in the hell did that ship go?!"

"I’m not sure. The sensors don’t know what to make of it, but it wasn’t just the Snakeir, sir. Whatever happened, all those ships did it, including the Super Star Destroyer and Hakaga," Stevenson replied, worry causing his voice to waver slightly.

"Damn! Get the Midway on the horn. We’ve got a lull, and I want to know what Blair wants to do with it."

T-65C A2 INCOM X-WING AA-301
1530 HOURS (CST)

Wedge recognized it for what it was as soon as he saw it. "Rogue Leader to Defiance. The enemy has performed a microjump. I repeat, they have performed a microjump, over." Wedge waited for what seemed forever for an answer, but it was really just a few seconds.

"Confirmed, Rogue Leader. Stand by for orders. Defiance out."

"Great." Wedge keyed over to the Confed fighter frequency. "Hawk, you okay out there?" Wedge waited several seconds, but there was no reply. "Hawk, answer me. Hawk!"

The voice that replied was scratchy and filled with tension. "Hawk here. Wedge—that you?"

"Yes. What is your—"

"Get over here and help me. I’ve got a Drakhai Tarkhan over here and I’m busted up pretty badly. Outta fuckin’ missiles..." The comm fizzed with static as a grunt and a metallic clang signified a hit on Hawk’s fighter. "Flashing my transponder. Hurry it up!"

Wedge reached the combat zone in time to see a Vampire take a direct hit from the Tarkhan’s nine tachyon cannon. The beams punched through the fighter’s shields and tore off the starboard engine nacelle. The Vampire immediately spun off to the side, out of control, its pilot screaming all the way. Wedge knew it wasn’t Hawk; he just couldn’t imagine him going out with a scream.

As Wedge moved to engage, an F-108A Panther-class fighter darted in, firing all its weapons. The Tarkhan autoslid, spinning around on its axis and fired once. The Panther caught the full brunt of the weapons. It exploded in a spectacular display of pyrotechnics. He’s good, Wedge thought to himself, deciding to engage this pilot from maximum range. Wedge armed two advanced torpedoes. As he approached the fighter, a pair of Tigersharks tried to take it out. In a blur of motion, both were vaporized in just over a second. "That’s it, no more games," Wedge thought out loud. He smiled as the targeting indicator turned red, a tone filling his cockpit. "Die furball." Wedge pulled the trigger.

Two projectiles rocketed away, streams of blue ions trailing them. The two missiles homed in on the Tarkhan, closing the distance in a couple of seconds. The Kilrathi pilot tried to cloak. His mistake. The Tarkhan’s shields dropped as it cloaked, the same moment the two deadly missiles hit. The blast burned through the hapless ship’s armor and bit deeply into its engines. The Tarkhan was skewed around by the force of the blast, pointing it straight at Wedge’s X-wing. Wedge inhaled quickly, bracing himself for the blast.

He flinched as a blinding flash illuminated his cockpit. Wedge looked up, surprised that he was still alive, just in time to see a blackened and battered Vampire fly through the expanding debris and dust cloud.

"I see you really liked my new friend," a familiar voice sounded over the comm.

"Hawk. You have no idea how glad I am to see you."

"Oh, I bet I could make a fair guess. Drinks are on me, when we get back. If we get back."

"Wait a minute. Didn’t you just save my life?"

"Yeah, but you save my ass first. But if you insist, you can buy the second round."

"It’s a deal."

"Midway to all fighters. Report back to your ships immediately. I repeat, report back to your ships."

"I guess we’ll have to take a raincheck," Hawk said.

"Yeah, but we both have to survive this... and win."

"No problem."

The Imperial fleet had just jumped from Jupiter orbit to the asteroid belt. Yeah, no problem indeed.

TCS RIGEL; BRIDGE
1540 HOURS (CST)

Captain Harold Patterson’s eyes narrowed as he watched the Imperial/Kilrathi fleet slowly move into the asteroid belt. The belt really wasn’t that dense. Each asteroid and meteor was dozens to hundreds of kilometers apart. The dust between them was hard on shields and sensors, but the real worry was that each piece of debris was moving at a speeds around 18,000 miles per hour. At that speed, a 100-meter wide piece of rock would pulverize even the Vacillator. Okay, maybe not all of it, but it would be out of action for a long time, Patterson thought to himself.

The Rigel had entered the asteroid belt running silent. They took up position behind an asteroid approaching the fleet to hide any stray signals, light, or movement. The Kilrathi and Imperials had no way of knowing they were there. Meanwhile, the Rigel had prepped its special complement of cloaking fighters. Four squadrons of Excaliburs and two of modified Shrikes were prepping on the flight deck and slowly launching, hiding behind the asteroid, and cloaking.

The plan was simple. Ride the asteroid as close as possible. Deploy the fighters in strategic positions. 12 Excals to each Fralthra and each Snakeir, and the Shrikes would form up around the Fralthi II cruisers. Again, 12 to each. The Rigel would close with and strike the Super Star Destroyer. They would close their ramscoops for better speed and acceleration and make a single combat pass, running for it before the enemy had a chance to react. As the CAP moved to attack the Rigel, the fighters would decloak and decimate the Kilrathi escort ships.

That was the plan. Of course, once the attack was underway, Patterson was under no illusions that things weren’t going to go to hell in a handbasket. In fact, he was counting on it. The more chaos, the better the chance that some of his people might survive to make it back to the fleet. And the better the chances to inflict heavier damage on the enemy. He was also preparing for the possibility that the Rigel wouldn’t be able to outrun its attackers. In that case, they would turn around, hit the SSD with their Phase-Transit Cannon again—a superweapon proven unstable in decades past mainly on Confederation-class dreadnoughts/heavy carriers—and try to ram their bridge tower, assuming they lived that long. "Sir, it’s almost time," said the quiet voice of Commander Theodore Freemont, the Rigel’s first officer.

"I know," Patterson replied solemnly. "Is the cannon charged?"

"Yessir."

"Guns armed? Shields up?"

"Yessir, on both counts."

"Henweigh ready?"

"Yessi... Wait. What’s a Henweigh?"

"About three or four pounds," Patterson said, smiling.

Freemont chuckled lightly, as did those members of the bridge crew close enough to overhear. Normally, such a breach of protocol was frowned upon in Confed, but things tend to loosen up when you’re staring into the eyes of death.

"Okay, now that we’ve had out fun," Patterson said loudly, causing most everyone to jump, "let’s go kick some Cat butt."

"Sitrep!" Patterson called out.

"Guns, aye!"

"Shields, aye!"

"Engineering, aye!"

"Sensors, aye!"

"Radio, aye!"

"Helm, aye!"

"ECM, aye!"

"All right, send to Colonel Ozwald: You are go for positioning."

"Sending. Colonel Ozwald replies affirmative. Will be in position in five minutes."

"Good. Engineering, give me every last microjoule you can out of those reactors. What can we get?"

"110 percent, sir."

"Give me 125 percent."

"Sir?"

"Just give it to me. You have five minutes."

"Aye, sir."

"Comm, what’s the situation with the fleet?"

"They’ve recovered their fighters and are on their way here at flanking speed, scoops closed. The Defiance will execute a microjump and arrive shortly ahead of them. Maybe in time to help us out."

"Good, Lieutenant. Guns, we’re going to have to be really darned accurate on this one. No second chances, we’ve got to take out that rear set of main engines on the first pass. There won’t be time for a second one."

"Aye, sir. I’ve spent the last ten minutes fine-tuning calibration myself. If we aim for it, we’ll hit it."

"Good. Commander, time?"

"Three minutes and counting."

Those were the most nerve-wracking three minutes in Patterson’s entire career. At T-30 seconds, the report came in from engineering. 125 percent on the reactor possible, but only for a few minutes at most, before the reactor started to overload. That was the nice way of saying that they’d explode. "Sir, all fighters should be in position now."

"Status on PTC?"

"Fully charged and operational."

"Good. Maneuvering thrusters, take us out from behind this rock and point us at that behemoth’s tailpipes."

"Yes, sir!" the young helm officer replied. There was a slight shift as the ship gently maneuvered into position. "Ready, sir!"

"Go!" was the one word command that started everything. Everyone was pressed into their seats as the ship accelerated without the drag of the powerful electromagnetic ramscoops. The Rigel shot off like a rocket.

"Yeee-hawww!" someone shouted above the noise of the straining engines and shuddering hull. There was too much noise for Patterson to tell who it was.

SSD VACILLATOR; BRIDGE
1548 HOURS (CST)

"Admiral Güthrig!" a frantic shout came from the crewpit. "Unknown class vessel approaching."

"What?" Güthrig said as he walked down the stairs to the crewpit. He looked over the aging officer’s shoulder. "Where?"

"There, sir," the Lieutenant said, hurriedly pointing to a blip on the screen.

"How can you tell? The sensors aren’t picking up any ship, just that ion cloud..." Güthrig trailed off. That was why it was an unidentified ship. Aside from the light energy readings of shields and the ion trail, the ship was completely undetectable. "What in the name of...?" Güthrig looked to a small viewscreen. "Visual!" A second later he saw it, a bright ion cloud mostly blocked out by a black angular nothing. He turned to the gunnery officer, sitting a short distance away. "Lock on to that... thing’s location and fire. All guns."

"Sir, I think you should see this," the senior sensor officer said, sounding rattled.

"What?" Güthrig asked.

"A massive energy spike. I think it’s going to fire."

On the visual, a small glowing circle appeared and quickly got brighter in the lower section of the dark shape. Güthrig’s eyes widened with a hint of panic. "I said fire. I meant now."

"Yes, sir, but I can get a lock. Sensors won’t—"

"Then aim visually. Now is not the time to decide to be incompetent."

"Sir!" the sensor officer shouted as the glow quickly grew blindingly bright, even on the small viewscreen. "Oh no..."

The TCS Rigel approached at over two thousand KPS. The CAP didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of intercepting them. The Phase-Transit Cannon glowed impossibly bright, then flared, unleashing the most powerful weapon in space combat short of the Behemoth cannon. The ball of blue-white crackling energy fairly threw itself out of the cannon’s barrel at the Vacillator, as if eager to visit its ungodly wrath upon its victims.

The gunner’s aim was true, and the ball of phased energy tore through the Vacillator’s shields like they weren’t even there. It struck home on the center array’s port engine, tearing through it, the next, and most of the way through the starboard of the three before stopping. But that was only the start. The combustion chambers and fuel feeds breached, the engines’ powerful reactions were unleashed. The three engines exploded as one. The tremendous red and white fireball reached over two kilometers in radius. Much of the underside of the Vacillator’s rear armor was sheared off, or vaporized completely. Three quarters of the aft extension was torn off and shattered from the force of the blast, obliterating over a kilometer of superstructure. The blast wave raced out, knocking the lighter starships off-course and crushing the rear CAP like so many insects.

The Vacillator itself visually lurched forward over two hundred meters and more than ten degrees negative pitch. Its rear shields failed instantly, and, possibly for the first time in history, nearly the entire crew of a Super Star Destroyer was knocked off their feet and out of their seats and bunks by a single hit.

But the Rigel wasn’t done. As the fireball started to clear, it shot by underneath the rear superstructure, AMGs and lasers blazing, further maiming the immense starship, though very little in comparison to what they had just done. But it was enough to knock out the great ship’s hyperdrive. The Rigel continued away from the fleet completely unmolested, it’s mission far more successful than Patterson’s wildest projections. Behind the old Fralthra cruisers, a Fralthi II cruiser, and the Snakeir-class carriers, the fighters decloaked...

KIS VHAS’KARATH; FLAG BRIDGE
1548 HOURS (CST)

Baron Thokkarh nar Caxki snarled and pounded his fist on his command chair. "How dare you blame this on me, human!" Thokkarh howled in rage at Jhediah’s holographic image, the smoke-filled and fire blackened bridge of the Vacillator showing in the background. "Whose fighters were on patrol, hmmm? What of your powerful sensors and great weapons? You gave us claims of such superiority, but what of it? You first suffered heavy casualties to the Border Worlders, then, instead of letting us just missile the Confederation Headquarters from long range, you closed in so that a missile wouldn’t make it past the gunfire. Now, your sensors cannot even detect a single heavy carrier, on a direct attack, heading at full speed?"

"Watch your tongue, Baron," Jhediah coldly admonished. His ship had suffered sever internal damage as well as that which was clearly externally visible. Power failures and fluctuations caused emergency hatches to fail to close and caused many additional casualties. Fires had swept across many aft compartments and numerous power conduits exploded. The single hit had caused nearly 17,000 casualties. The Kilrathi had lost almost as heavily, but it wasn’t as bad a blow. Not to Jhediah, anyway.

For the first time in his young life, the Grand Moff was feeling his own mortality, as his ship twisted, lurched, and shuddered. For a short moment, he’d known fear. "I believe you yourself failed to protect your own ships from attack."

Thokkarh extended and retracted his claws instinctively, wishing nothing more than to rip this insolent Terran cubling’s throat out. "We warned you about the Rigel-class carriers in our information exchange." Yes, the hated Rigel-class Black Warship had reportedly destroyed the KIS Xy’lhax Hakaga of the Eighth Fleet of the Imperial Claw at Cynium the past year. "We gave you a considerable amount of data on the class, yet it snuck up to nearly point-blank range," the Baron said, treading a little more carefully now, reigning in his rage. Jhediah cut the link from his end.

That harakh would pay for his insolence. If Thokkarh was unable to deliver it himself, the Terrans would take care of it. They had already shown that they considered the Vacillator a stronger threat than their Hakaga. And they would kill it first, at this rate, but maybe, just maybe, the Imperials might cause enough damage to allow Thokkarh to deliver their vengeance on the Terrans’ homeworld. The thought lightened his mood slightly, but it still didn’t help when he thought of the stupid losses during the Humans’ raid. Both Frathras, one Snakeir-class carrier, with heavy damage to the other, and severe damage to an already battered Fralthi II.

It had been a good plan though. One worthy of a warrior. They had stalked their prey and struck with the skill of a predator. Thokkarh hoped he would get the chance to face that ship again. It would be a victory worthy of honor, to face in combat and destroy a brother ship—Kilrathi refer to ships as male, instead of female—of the infamous Black Warship. The Black Warship, the TCS Orion, had marauded behind Kilrathi lines for five solid years, and then escaped back to Terran Space. No one really knew what happened to it after that, it just disappeared. The Terrans didn’t even talk about it anymore...

"Vharvek," Thokkarh addressed his Tho’reari, the anger finally seeping out of his voice now that he no longer had to put up with Jhediah’s arrogance, "how long until our bombardment run on the fourth planet? Mars, I believe the Terrans call it."

"Correct, my liege. Three hours now, since damage to several of our ships and especially to the Vacillator has slowed us considerably. Also, projections show that if the Confederation continues to proceed as it is, with closed ramscoops, they will intercept us shortly after we arrive above Mars," Vharvek replied.

"Then we will just have to perform another ‘microjump’ to Earth, then."

"My liege, that distance is far below the minimum required for that maneuver, according to the Imperial Terrans. Also, the Vacillator’s Hyperdrive was damaged in the attack and is inoperable."

"Hmmm. Very well. Vharvek, have our ships take the opportunity to make repairs en route. I have a transmission to make."

"My liege?"

"It seems we’re running low on escort vessels," Thokkarh said, chuckling lightly. Soon, he thought, soon we will flood our guts with the liquid warmth of the sckviska I have been saving for our moment of glorious victory. Yes, we shall avenge Kilrah and we shall crush these Imperials and the Terrans, after they have drained each other’s blood. After all, is it not the weak prey that the vigilant predator brings down...?

FRLS MJOLLNIR; BRIDGE
THE SECOND BATTLE OF SIRIUS
THE SIRIUS SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR
1557 HOURS (CST)

Over the nearly four hours of grueling combat, Rear Admiral Jason "Bear" Bondarevsky had watched some of the most amazing combat in his entire life. The first thing, was Confederation and Border Worlds Union navies standing side by side in the pounding match that was bound to eventually be called the Battle of Sirius. The VF-84 "Liberators," VF-401 "Shadow Cats," VF-12 "Flying Eyes," and the VF-16 "Stingers" of the Bhantkara-class Mjollnir and CVE-class Independence were doing good for themselves, fighting every bit as hard as they had during Project Goliath and Ragark. It hadn’t lasted, but it had been a sight.

Now, a strange match-up had occurred. The McKinley and St. Helens, being the dreadnoughts they were in function, had taken a dozen Plunkett-class artillery cruisers and tore a line through the combined fleet to the Kilrathi Dreadnought, where Eisen began his "shit kicking contest."

The rest of the arty cruisers, with the new Murphys as backup, began slugging it out with the heavy Imperial ships, swatting away the corvettes that tried futilely to deter them. They quickly destroyed two light destroyers and finally managed to pulverize a Star Destroyer, but lost five artillery cruisers and nine Murphys in exchange. The Border Worlders, in their typical "balls to the wall" fighting style had moved everything with guns in on the Victory Star Destroyer, ripping it to pieces in minutes. The order of battle quickly changed after that. The UBW forces, and almost half the Murphys fell back to cover the carriers. Meanwhile, the rest of Confed’s forces formed up and began slugging it out with the Dreadnought.

It had proceeded that way for the last tree hours. The combined Confed, UBW, and Landreich fighters trying to handle the unbelievable number of Imperial and Kilrathi fighters. And, while a Dreadnought could hold an unholy number of Kilrathi fighters, a TIE Robotic is less than one sixth the size of an average Kilrathi fighter. Do the math.

Slowly, the fighters and escorts of the Sirius Taskforce began to whittle the number of fighters down to something more manageable. Finally, Eisen gave the order that everyone had been waiting for, "All Devastator squadrons, attack the rear of that Dreadnought. Banshees and Bearcats, cover them. All others, you’re going to have to make up the slack while they hit’em. Good luck and God speed." The four squadrons, of 16 Devastators each, from each Vesuvius (a total of 8 squadrons) had held back with the carriers for the moment to strike, and to supply point defense with their five turreted lasers each. Now, they along side every Banshee and Bearcat in the fleet shot forward on afterburners, blasting a path with their heavy plasma cannon. Within minutes, they reached the aft of the great monster. As their cover held the fighters at bay, they fired their plasma cannon while waiting for their light torpedo locks. Normally, they would have used heavy torpedoes, but light torpedoes lock twice as quickly (and in a torpedo run, speed is life), do almost two-thirds the damage, and, with 128 bombers, the difference in damage didn’t really mater that much.

Five seconds passed, in which the Devastators had all fired three plasma shots each, knocking down the shields and ripping the stern to shreds, and achieved a torpedo lock. 128 thumbs depressed triggers simultaneously. 128 light torpedoes streaked into the engines of the Kilrathi behemoth. And hundreds of fighters hit maximum afterburners to get away from the coming blast.

From his vantage point, Bear could see the Confederation capital ships veering away from the dreadnought at their incredible speeds. To the Dreadnought’s rear, he saw the fighters’ engines glow as they ran for safety. There was a terrific flash from the Dreadnought’s aft as the torpedoes detonated. Then all of space was a blinding glare as the monolithic ship’s engines and primary generators went supercritical and detonated. In an instant, five kilometers of durasteel armor, structure, bulkheads, and crew, were vaporized. The multicolor cloud of dust and gasses expanded throughout the fleet. The dreadnought was still firing.

"That should have killed it..." Damn it! Bear thought, then demanding, "What’s the status of that ship?"

"Shields down, sir. Structural integrity at 45 percent. Primary power down. Power levels are low for auxiliary power, perhaps they are on emergency batteries. Severe hull breaches and almost half of the remaining ship is exposed to vacuum. I think the only reason the whole thing didn’t go up was that all of their engines didn’t blow."

"What?"

"Over a quarter of their engines were inoperable due to previous battle damage."

"How annoyingly ironic. The same damage that gives us time to prepare for them saves their ship. Well, any ideas...?" Bear quickly spun around to the young lieutenant at communications, "Get me Eisen! I know how to finish that thing off."

TCS ST.HELENS; BRIDGE
1612 HOURS (CST)

Eisen was smiling slightly when Bear’s holographic image appeared. "Mister Rollins here says that you know how to shut this blasted ship up. Please tell me that’s not just rumor mill jabber."

Bear smiled. "No, Bill, it’s not. Back when we first recommissioned the Mjollnir, we had to cripple one of those monsters. I’ll tell you the story again later, but remember what I said about the capital ship missile tubes?"

Eisen, thought for a second, then his smile increased appreciably. "Yes, I do. Thanks, Bear. Eisen out."

"Good luck," Bondarevsky wished his friend quietly.

It wasn’t necessary. Five minutes later, the guns of the St. Helens and McKinley breached the Capship missile magazine in the bow of the ship, blowing it to kingdom come. The blast cracked the remaining hull like an eggshell. The great monstrosity quickly broke up. All that was left was a huge debris field, not too unlike the one now orbiting Jupiter.

Eisen, as well as everyone else in every Terran ship, was smiling. Some were even whooping and hollering, but this was mostly on Border Worlds Union and Landreich ships. The Dreadnought was dead, and soon, the taskforces’ firepower would bring this arm of the offensive to heel. Victory was near.

As the fleet formed up and again moved to finish the fleet with their now superior firepower, the Kilrathi ships: both Fralthi II cruisers, the eight light destroyers, and all 29 remaining corvettes lurched forward, shimmered, and vanished, leaving the four ISD2s and the single Lancer alone. The fleet moved quickly and destroyed the Lancer and another Imperial II Star Destroyer before they too shimmered and disappeared into hyperspace.

BWS ZEPHYR; BRIDGE
1630 HOURS (CST)

Vice-Admiral Craig Jamison let out a few choice expletives when the Imperial remnants vanished.

"Where did they go?" he inquired. "Navigation, what was their heading? Also, Communications, contact Sol System ISS/InSys Militia defense forces. When they reported contact, they didn’t mention that Interdictor, and it wasn’t here. See if it’s been accounted for. If not, then we’ve got a loose cannon on our hands."

PLANET MARS; MARS HOMEGUARD AEROSPACE DEFENSE BASE
THE SOL SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR
1800 HOURS (CST)

Lieutenant Michele Ferris paused to look up at her twelve-year-old Excalibur Mk1. The old fighter dated back to the first Terran-Kilrathi War, its name forever immortalized as the fighter Chris Blair did the Kilrah run in. She’d been surprised when she was first assigned the ancient bird. While she’d been slightly insulted at being assigned such an aged craft, she’d soon come to love its more advanced features than those of the standard production-run Excal. The Mk1/F-103-B had still retained the Reaper guns and 4x3 missile hardpoints that marked its wartime requirements, though she’d eventually talked her ground crew into modifying the hardpoints to fit an extra missile in each one, increasing her missile count to sixteen.

The performance still outshone the newer birds built for the homeguard, though. The missiles didn’t pose a mass problem, as the old War-era missiles were far more massive than their modern-day counterparts.

Also, she’d been able to get her groundcrew to fit in a set of maneuvering thrusters off an old crossbow rusting away in a fighter graveyard here on Mars. While this last modification gave the poor old bird maneuverability that rivaled a Vampire, it would put incredible strain on the hull to continually maneuver at its new maximum. As she started up the ladder to her cockpit, she grinned, because the techs had done the same thruster mods to every Excal and half the Thunderbolts on the base.

The Cats were in for one hell of a surprise...

PLANET MARS; MARS STARFIGHTER RETIREMENT FIELD
1810 HOURS (CST)

The guard at the facility’s gate stood back as the gate rose and fifteen hover-busses cruised into the facility, followed by numerous fuel tankers and munitions trucks from the Homeguard Base. The large group of personnel were here for one reason: to get every possible spaceworthy fighter with guns into the air in less than forty minutes. The emergency mobilization would be flown by military personnel visiting Mars, RIFed vets who’d made their homes here after the War, and, God help them, any civilians with any sort of flight experience at all. They were even taking 18- and 19-year olds whose closest experiences to flying a fighter were flight simulation games based on the War.

Within twenty minutes, 83 Hellcats, 57 Arrow Mk5s and Mk2s, and over a hundred Rapiers were finishing their checkouts and assignments. Munitions workers were desperately working to load the fighters with as many missiles as possible while fuelers pumped liquid hydrogen and replaced fuel rods at a dangerous pace. Meanwhile, experienced Vets gave their "students" a crash course in the craft they were about to fly.

Twenty minutes later, the first air-raid siren went off...

KIS VHAS’KARATH; FLAG BRIDGE
THE SIRIUS SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR
1855 HOURS (CST)

Aboard the Vhas’Karath, both Baron Thokkarh nar Caxki and Vharvek were conferring over their small success. "My liege," Vharvek continued, "do our warriors not consider their flight from battle after such dishonor cowardly? How do we explain...?"

"Vharvek!" Baron Caxki interrupted, "do you not see? The battle in Sirius was not one to be fought to the finish. It was a delaying action. Even before the wounding of our precious Dreadnought at Alcor, I knew that it would not survive another true battle. The Terran Confederation, and even the Border Worlds had grown far too powerful. They would also focus all of that power upon that ship; a symbol of the power of the Kilrathi, and a symbol of terror to them. That is why I had most of the crew transferred off before we departed."

"What? Would the Terrans not detect this? And where are our crew?" Vharvek asked nervously.

"Yes, they were transferred. The Terrans would never know the difference, either. We modified life-detection sensors to emit Kilrathi lifesigns. Our great ship would appear to be fully crewed to all but the most scrutinizing examination, and in the middle of combat, I sincerely doubt that the Terrans were examining their data that closely," Thokkarh said, chuckling. "As for where our crew is, that is a surprise that shall be revealed shortly," the Baron finished with a satisfied smile.

On the viewscreen, the red planet of Mars rapidly grew, and sixteen ships shimmered with pseudomotion as they exited hyperspace. "And as for the Grand Moff’s reaction..." Thokkarh said, smiling as he gestured to the screen, "I do not believe it is any longer a concern."

Vharvek stared in prideful satisfaction at the four Fralthi Mk2 cruisers and their escort of four heavy and eight light destroyers that had just jumped in. He could almost taste the sckviska now.

SSD VACILLATOR; BRIDGE
NEAR MARS ORBIT
THE SOL SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR
1900 HOURS (CST)

Jhediah was fighting the impulse to just have Thokkarh’s flagship blasted to atoms. First, the Kilrathi Baron had ordered his ships out of Sirius prematurely, costing Jhediah an Imperial II Star Destroyer and his last Lancer frigate. Secondly, the Confederation fleet, supposedly hours behind them, had caught up and had engaged their fleet in a terrific running battle all the way here, the only relief being the forces that the Kilrathi so suddenly diverted here at Jhediah’s expense, and a cruiser squadron that he had never been told the existence of. The most frustrating thing was that, with the extensive damage to the Vacillator, the Kilrathi actually outgunned him now. Well, if the Kilrathi wanted their revenge so badly, they could earn it with their own blood now. "Güthrig, rearrange our formations. Put the Kilrathi ships in front of the Vacillator. Our ships are to guard our vulnerable stern. All operable TIE craft are to be given launch priority in all combat situations. They will take up guarding positions around our ships, but close enough to the Kilrathi that they don’t know what we’re doing. If they want to play at this game, then that’s their loss."

Güthrig approached Jhediah and addressed him, leaning closely so that no one else would overhear. "Arranging the Baron’s ships ahead of us also places them within our most powerful gunnery arc, does it not?"

"Why Admiral Güthrig, why would you ever think of such a thing?" Jhediah said, a sly grin lighting his face. Güthrig smiled in return, nodding his understanding of the order.

And if Thokkarh thought he could so easily wiggle his way out of the New Order, he was in for a very nasty surprise.

F-103-B EXCALIBUR 507
MARS ORBIT
1910 HOURS (CST)

Lieutenant Michele Ferris wrenched her Excalibur at over 140 degrees per second, lining up the skipper missile and strafing it with tachyon and reaper fire. Mercifully, the deadly projectile finally broke up. All around her, people were dying, trying to hold off the onslaught of Kilrathi fighters and TIE Robotics. Ahead of her, another Excalibur took an ImRec missile to its weakened port side, ripping off the left vertical stabilizer, crushing the left tachyon mount, and shredding the port engine nacelle. The fighter instantly lost control, spinning end over end as the pilot screamed. The scream was cut sickeningly short by a staticy boom over the comm, and a flash from where the fighter had fallen behind her.

To her left, a trio of TIE/R fighters died from a wave of FoF Pilum missiles. Another Tigershark from the military reserve base corkscrewed by, flames engulfing its tail. The missile warning light came on again and Lieutenant Ferris wrenched her Excal Mk1 around hard, igniting afterburners and dropping a pair of decoys. The Missile lock died in a flash-boom that was far too close for her comfort. Ferris targeted her new opponent, a puny Darket. She almost laughed as she pointed her fighter at it and squeezed the trigger once. The quad tachyon and duel reaper pulse tore through shields, armor, and flesh with equal abandon. The light fighter was engulfed in a large fireball.

Things were getting nasty. The civilian Rapier IIIs had already lost three-quarters of their numbers. The Arrows had been slashed by two-thirds, and the Hellcats by half. But the pilots left had some serious kind of kick-ass, take-names skills. Still, dozens of craft were dying on each side each minute.

Michele locked an ImRec on a Vaktoth and let him have it. The missile wiped out the fighter’s rear shields and half its armor. Ferris’ guns finished the rest, and the huge fighter disintegrated violently, slamming into a Dralthi IV, and taking it out as well. Then she saw them. The titanic Vacillator closing on the hapless planet. "My God..." she whispered in terror. "Fire in the hole!!!" she screamed over the connection.

Everyone would know what that meant: a capital ship was about to open up a very indiscriminate, economy-size can of whup-ass, and anyone who wants to live had best get the hell out of the way. Michele aimed her fighter for the nearest clearing and floored it. Most of the fighters made it before the Vacillator opened up. The others’ pilots never had the time to feel the pain. Three columns of energy beams far brighter than the sun lanced down upon the Confed base, Homeguard command center, and the capital city of Mars.

The three targets were vaporized in an instant. The beams impacted with hundreds of megatons of force. The temperature at ground zero was over 500,000 degrees. Blast waves reached out for over two hundred miles, wiping out everything before them, including four smaller cities.

With the Martian defenses scattered and routed, the Hakaga moved into orbit and launched one hundred capital ship missiles. As the missiles broke formation to travel to their targets, hundreds of fighters screamed after them. Within minutes, all but a small handful of missiles were destroyed. Ground fire nailed most of the rest, but sixteen got through and vaporized as many cities, killing over thirty million people in a series of blinding flashes.

TCS INTREPID; BRIDGE
1940 HOURS (CST)

The ship shuddered as the eleven Tarkhans made another series of passes. The Intrepid’s light armament had been stripped off a long time ago, as had most of its armor. The ship shook violently as a cluster of tachyon beams ripped deep into the large starboard naicel.

"Damage report!" Captain Tamara Farnsworth called out.

"Starboard armor destroyed. Moderate engine damage. Damage to the starboard reactor and coolant systems. I estimate four minutes till it goes critical, barring more damage."

"Blast it," Panther said in frustration. "Okay, sound abandon ship. While you’re doing that, aim us at that giant blade-shaped monster."

The helmsman looked at her worriedly. "Uh, yes, Captain."

The Tarkhans broke off suddenly. "What caused them to do that?" Panther asked. Her answer came up beside her small battered ship seconds later.

The huge TCS Visigoth pulled up alongside the Intrepid, spitting multicolored death at the smaller ship’s tormentors. "Captain, Captain Reynard of the Visigoth sends his regards," the comm officer looked up smiling. "He says they’ll take onboard evacuees. Evidently we look as beat-up as our computers tell us we are."

Panther smiled for a moment. "All right. I said abandon ship, now! Get to the Visigoth immediately."

"What... what about you, Captain?" the worried helm officer asked.

"I’m going to make sure this thing gets to its target. We have to stop that bombardment, before it’s too late."

"Aye. And, with the Captain’s permission, I would like to remain on board."

"Absolutely not. I appreciate the gesture, but—"

"It’s no gesture. No one knows how this ship handles better than me! Er... With all due respect, Captain."

Panther thought for a moment as the bridge cleared of personnel. Both of them had an unspoken understanding about just what the gesture meant. "Very well, permission granted. Man your post."

"Aye, aye, Captain!"

The Visigoth pulled away, most of the Intrepid’s crew safe in her armored hull. Meanwhile the little Intrepid’s engines pushed it to incredible speeds. Those who saw the ship would later say that it must have been guided by the hand of God, Fate, or whatever higher force they believed in. Even the Kilrathi who saw it and survived later would swear that Sivar must have guided them for their warriors’ spirits.

The tiny, beaten, haggard, ragged ship deftly dodged turbolaser and AMG blasts. Fighters would seemingly come out of nowhere amidst the swirl of combat to smite any that harassed it. Not even the feared Drakhai could successfully resume their attack on the little ship. A single turbolaser blast struck above the bridge as the Intrepid swooped over the ripped and torn stern of the Vacillator. The blast knocked loose a ceiling panel. It swung down, catching the hapless lieutenant and carrying her body away as its other end broke loose from the ceiling.

"Tamara!" Commodore Blair shouted, his voice cracking over the static-ridden comm from the Midway. "Don’t do this! For Christ’s sak—"

Ignoring Blair, Panther suppressed the reflex to go help her fallen comrade. Instead, she took her place at the helm, and aimed the old, distinguished little ship for the Vacillator’s bridge tower, remembering from the briefings that taking out the tower would cripple the ship and take out the central command structure for the entire fleet. Unfortunately, though, between crippling battle damage and inexperience at helming a capital ship, she shot slightly higher than the tower’s main structure. Panther watched in despair as the tower passed underneath the Intrepid. Suddenly, the ship jolted as it clipped the shield generator towers and the long-range communications antenna, crushing them and ripping them clear of the ship. Panther slammed the helm stick as far forward as it would go.

SSD VACILLATOR; BRIDGE
1947 HOURS (CST)

"All hands, brace for impact!"

The Intrepid arced over, diving in to the Vacillator’s mass just six hundred meters ahead of the bridge tower. The small ship’s reactor went critical at the same moment. The ship detonated like a small sun. A huge section of the Vacillator’s cityscape structure was vaporized in an instant. More was simply ripped clear of the ship by the blast. Jhediah and Güthrig, lowering their hands from shielding their eyes from the glare instinctively ducked as a huge piece of debris twisted its way toward the bridge. It struck the tower, ripping a almost a third of it off, missing the bridge by only forty-five meters. The dorsal shields failed instantly, forcing Jhediah to order a withdrawal to make repairs to the Vacillator, and ending the assault on the civilians of Mars. As Confederation forces forced the Kilrathi and Imperials away from the Red Planet, they took up a guardian position. The depleted carriers and cruisers took on the Mars military pilots, homeguard survivors, and the remaining civilian volunteers.

NRS DEFIANCE; MAIN HANGAR
1948 HOURS (CST)

Aboard the Defiance now, Wedge Antilles looked at the ragged appearance of the Arrows that were to replace the fighters they had lost so-far. There were far too many places open. The entire B-wing squadron had been wiped out by the Tarkhans as they made a run on one of the new Kilrathi cruisers. TIE Defenders and Robotics had ripped the A-wing squadron to pieces, a total of two pilots surviving. The E-wings had lost six of their numbers, half of their squadron.

Wedge slowly walked to Rogue Squadron’s hangar. Miraculously, all twelve fighters were still present. Eight of them would never fly again, and half the squadron was in the medbay soaking in bacta, but they were all alive. That was more than he could say for the scores upon scores of Confederation pilots who had died today.

Now, they just had to stop the one of the most powerful fleets ever encountered in New Republic history with one damaged MC-90, a Nebulon-B Escort Frigate, and a fleet of depleted, outnumbered, and outgunned ships who were looking at losing the war outright.

TCS ST. HELENS; BRIDGE
SOL-SIRIUS JUMP POINT; NEAR SATURN
THE SOL SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR
1949 HOURS (CST)

The Sirius Blockade force came through the jump point at horrendously dangerous speeds. Three damaged and one undamaged Plunkett were lost in transit, as were two Murphys. The force immediately went to full speed.

"Mister Rollins, any word from Confed HQ?" Eisen asked calmly, but Rollins could hear the tension in his voice from years of experience.

"No, sir. Not a word for almost four hours," Rollins said quietly, not eager to start the rumor that his next comment would have begun. It was like it wasn’t even there...

"Sir!" a tactical officer called out. "I’m reading over forty capital vessels approaching at high velocity from the Oort Cloud."

"What? What classes? What’s their IFF?"

"Silhouette matches Confederation ships. IFF inactive."

"All hands, battle stations."

"Sir? But they match Confed designs..."

"Even so, the Kilrathi have pulled this trick before."

"They’re hailing us," Rollins interjected with the welcome news. "It’s the TCS Fenrir, a Fenris-class ship. It’s the Seventh Fleet from Vega!"

"Easy there, Rollins. Put them on."

The image of the Fenrir’s CO, Admiral Dirk Jackson appeared shortly. "Greetings Captain Eisen. Welcome back to Sol—you have no idea how glad I am to see you. When you first pulled through that jump point, we thought you were Kilrathi reinforcements that had blown past the blockade."

Eisen took a moment to compose himself. "I’m glad to see you, too. When I heard that the Imperial fleet came through Charybdis, I thought that the whole Seventh had been lost at New Pegasus."

"No. Luckily for us, we were on maneuvers in the next system, testing the TCS Polarus. And unluckily for New Pegasus. There’s nothing left, Eisen. They destroyed the whole thing."

"Have you heard from HQ? We haven’t been able to contact them in hours."

"You haven’t heard? It’s gone. They destroyed it. A lot of the personnel escaped to Saturn and have managed to power up the old Victory, but..." Jackson paused, the words thick in his throat. "Just a few minutes ago... Those bastards bombed Mars." The coldness in his voice was palpable even all the way over in the St. Helens’ bridge.

"They bombarded most of the planet before they were stopped. Hit them with that damned Super Star Destroyer, they did, then hit their cities with Capship missiles. They killed over eighty percent of the population, Eisen," Jackson said, his voice choking off. Eisen knew Jackson was born on Mars, had his whole family there. They were most likely dead now.

"I’m sorry, Dirk," Eisen said, his heart genuinely hurting for his friend and comrade.

"Yes, well... there’s nothing that can be done for them... But, Christ, we have to stop them from getting Earth, too! I’ve already ordered my ships to close their ramscoops for maximum velocity. I want you to do the same. Now." Jackson’s voice was trembling with the strength of his emotions. "Where going to kill those damned fucking aliens before they get anywhere near Earth!" The last sentence came almost as a shriek, the transmission ending before Eisen could reply.

"Damn. Well, navigation, you heard him. Scoops closed and maximum thrust. Rollins, tell the Border Worlders and the Landreich."

The twelve Plunkett cruisers, six Tallahassee cruisers, sixteen Murphy-class destroyers, six Sheffield-class destroyers, TCS Fenrir, a Fenris-class carrier, TCS Polaris, a Rigel-class carrier, and the TCS Essex, a partially refitted Confederation-class dreadnought, of the Seventh Fleet fell in along side the Sirius blockade force. To his own command, along with the UBW and Landreich forces, Eisen had the McKinley, the St. Helens, Apostle, Kyushu, Valley Forge, seven Plunkett artillery cruisers, and eleven Murphy-class destroyers. He just hoped that it was enough, and that Jackson didn’t come apart in the middle of battle...

TCS MIDWAY; CIC
NEAR MARS, SOL SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR
2000 HOURS (CST)

For the first time, Commodore Christopher Blair felt that the Confederation should have occupied the worlds of the defunct Kilrathi Empire after their defeat. He didn’t even feel the guilt anymore for Kilrah. He almost felt they should have finished them off altogether when they... Blair forcefully pushed that last thought from his mind, Luke’s warnings of the Dark Side replaying in his mind alongside Blair’s memories of Tolwyn, another man who must have lost that fight.

You don’t have to be able to feel the Dark Side for it to be able to consume you.

Blair found himself dwelling on that thought, a thought spurred by watching the destruction of the TCS Intrepid and the death of its CO, one of the last few people still alive he considered his friends, Tamara "Panther" Farnsworth. He made himself instead focus on the coming battle. As he’d discussed with Captain Wilford, the Confederation fleet would catch them at the massive laser-sat defense net. Around Earth, six Plunketts, four Tallahassees, eight Murphys, and twelve Sheffields stood escort to The TCS Reynard (another Fenris-class carrier), the terribly incomplete Midway-class megacarrier TCS Mistral Sea, and three Constitution-class battleships: the Yamato, Bismarck, and Resolute, waited. They would move forward and cut off the Imperials while the rest of the fleet engaged them from behind. The general plan was to beat that SSD to death with the battle group’s five PTCs. If that didn’t work, then Plan B was to delay the fleet until reinforcements arrived. With the Seventh Fleet and Eisen’s Sirius Blockade running in-system, with the First and Fourteenth Fleets en route, there was little doubt that Confed could win this one, but it would be the bloodiest fight since the last Battle of Terra.

TCS FENRIR; ADMIRAL’S QUARTERS
NEAR MARS; EN ROUTE TO EARTH, SOL SYSTEM
2208 HOURS (CST)

Admiral Dirk Jackson had spent the last two hours in his quarters, his only thoughts being of his now vaporized family in the Martian capital. His eyes were bloodshot from crying. Now, as they sped past the red "planet of war," over a hundred and fifty thousand kilometers away, he could still see the still-glowing craters that marked the obliterated cities.

Rage and sorrow filled his heart to the bursting point. He quickly turned away from the tormenting vision of his scorched world, and his eyes came to rest on a family photo. Behind the glass in the stained wooden frame, his wife of twenty-seven years and his three children, twin daughters and one son, smiled back from it. His daughters had shared their mother’s deep auburn hair, but his son had the same jet-black hair of his father.

Jackson placed his hands over his face as he clenched his eye shut with all his strength and dropped to his knees in anguish over the loss of his family. He felt that his heart would burst from the pain. He nearly collapsed to the floor as again deep soul rending sobs racked his whole body.

I will avenge you, my family. They’ve gone too far, hurt too many, and I will make them pay for what they’ve done!

TCS MIDWAY; CAPTAIN’S READY ROOM
2230 HOURS (CST)

Captain Daniel Wilford frowned and shook his head as Blair finished. "Damn it, Chris, please don’t do this. You’re the overall commander of this entire operation. You can’t just jump into a fighter and fly off into the middle of battle. Your duty is here, commanding the fleet. I know can’t pull rank on you, so I’m asking you again, please don’t do this."

Blair frowned, but couldn’t get angry at his friend. Looking into Wilford’s eyes, he saw genuine concern there. "Daniel, I’m a pilot, heart and soul. My rank is only a formality. I’m no expert on fleet actions. That’s your expertise. I fly fighters. That’s what I do; it’s what I am, what I’ve always been. I’m no use stuck in here."

Wilford raised his hands in resignation, smiling lightly. "Okay, okay, Chris. You’ve made your point. I’ll inform Commander Drake and have Rachel ready a Vampire for you. You win." Wilford paused. "You’ve never flown one of these yet, have you?" he asked.

A look of concern crossed Blair’s face. "Nope. Why? Is there, uh, something wrong?" he asked.

Wilford shook his head. "No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just, from what I’ve heard, you’re in for a real treat," he said, smiling. He extended his hand, "Good luck, Chris."

Blair took it, smiling. "Thank you. Give my regards to Bill when he gets here, okay? I think I’m going to be a little too busy."

"You’ve got it," Wilford said. "Now hurry up. Our pilots are all ready preparing for launch. Briefing’s in ten minutes."

As Blair ran out the door, Wilford pressed a button on his desk. Commander Drake, could I see you in my ready room?" He waited for her acknowledgement, then pressed another button.

"Rachel here," came the exhausted voice of Master CPO Rachel Coriolis.

"This is Wilford. I need you to ready Lieutenant Colonel Walton’s Morningstar. I’ve found a... ah... substitute pilot."

He could hear the tired exasperation in her reply, "Yes, sir. We’ll get right on it."

NRS DEFIANCE; MAIN HANGAR
2236 HOURS (CST)

Aboard the Defiance, Leia Organa Solo was having the same argument with Luke, if a bit more livid.

"Luke, there’s no reason for you to go out there! You better use to us here, as an advisor!"

Luke stopped at the base of the ladder to his modified X-wing. "Leia, this is the final battle, our last stand against the darkness. We need every pilot we have out there." Leia still looked unconvinced, her face filled with concern. "Out there, I can make a difference. Also, there is a disturbance in the force. A building pressure as events approach a nexus. I know you can feel it too. Something big is coming, something dark, and I can only meet it out there," he said, gesturing towards the open space beyond the hangar. A space filled with unfamiliar stars.

Leia wasn’t through yet though. "But Luke, surely you can face it better here, without having to worry about piloting a fighter."

Luke shook his head. "Leia, I can’t do that. Back during the Battle of Endor, I watched helplessly from a distance as my friends and allies died. That has haunted me ever since. I have never felt more helpless. I can’t do that again. If I’m going to help, I need to do it from where I can make a difference. I know what I’m going to say next will be hard for you to hear, but if we don’t stop them here... that blue world out there will be as lifeless as the asteroids of Alderaan."

Leia turned away quickly, suppressing her emotions with a Jedi calming exercise. Her voice betrayed the tears she was fighting, "That’s not fair, Luke."

Luke let out his breath slowly and placed his hand on her shoulder. "I’m sorry, but you know it’s true. And we can’t let them do that." Them being the Empire.

Leia nodded. She turned around and hugged her brother. "You just be careful, okay?"

Luke returned her embrace, smiling. "Of course I will," he said as she let go. He watched until she left the hangar. As he started to climb the ladder, another familiar figure walked up. Luke turned, smiling. "Wedge! I didn’t think I would get the chance to talk to you before we launched."

Wedge’s mood lightened a little, but he was still grim. "Yeah. I just wanted to warn you. It’s like nothing we’ve ever faced out there. The sheer number of Imperial craft is staggering, and they now have high grade shields. That alone is almost as bad as Endor, but these Kilrathi craft... They’re better shielded and more powerful than anything else we’ve ever faced. They’re also quite intimidating. Studying the stats are one thing, but going up against blade-shaped fighters larger than the Falcon and as maneuverable as an E-wing is unnerving. The only thing that’s lacking is tactics. They seem to prefer reckless swarm attacks."

Luke gave his friend an incredulous look. "Are you trying to scare me?" he asked Wedge.

Wedge shook his head. "Not, not at all. I just wanted you to know exactly we’re up against. Oh, one more thing. With the firepower these ships are packing, don’t take anything larger than a Dralthi head on. These shields Confed gave us for our fighters are much stronger, but they still can’t take that much punishment."

Luke’s smile was replaced with a more serious look. "Thanks for the warning. Watch yourself out there."

Wedge finally smiled. "Of course. It’s going to be like old times out there," he said, and walked off.

"Yeah, old times," Luke said to himself, remembering those same words before the Battle of Yavin. He’d been talking to his friend Biggs Darklighter just before the mission against the Death Star. Luke suddenly shivered. The memory was like a premonition, though he felt nothing through the Force. It was just an old-fashioned gut feeling.

Luke hoped it turned out to be nothing...

TCS ST. HELENS; FLIGHT DECK
THE SIRIUS SYSTEM, TERRA QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR
2248 HOURS (CST)

The flight deck of the great Vesuvius-class heavy/supercarrier was lined with the ship’s entire complement of F-110A Wasp-class interceptors. The decks of the other seven Confederation carriers were similarly crowded. The armada was still over half an hour away from Earth, their constant acceleration having propelled the capital ships to a speed of over 20,000 KPS and climbing. Soon though, they would have to begin breaking, lest they overshoot Blair’s fleet and slam headlong into the Imperials and Kilrathi.

As the fleet seriously needed backup, the St. Helens, McKinley, Fenrir, Polaris, Essex, Apostle, Kyushu, and Valley Forge were prepping their Wasps for a closed-scoop burn to join the beleaguered fleet. The acceleration from their SRBs would allow them to reach the battle over twenty minutes ahead of the 7th and the Sirius Blockade. Pilots were just now finishing their preflight checks. If this worked, then a total of ten squadrons of fighters would bolster the Confed fleet as they began their engagement.

As the last pilot finished his check, the announcement blared over the intercom, "All interceptor squadrons, begin launch!" As its repulsors lifted it off the deck, the first Wasp powered it’s engine’s to full. It launched out of the fighter bay like a bullet. Within seconds, fighters were screaming out of the flight decks of all eight carriers. They carefully aligned themselves into formation, and lit their solid rocket boosters. The tremendous acceleration carried the 160 fighters out of sight in an instant.

Eisen watched the fighters disappear in the distance, a blessing in his heart. God be with you in all things, and remain between you and harm. "God speed, and good luck," he said quietly.

Aboard the BWS Zephyr, a similar launch was taking place. The five remaining fighters of Shadow Flight were lined up on the flight deck. The Dragon-class Space Superiority  fighters were huge. At 40 meters long, their size rivaled even Confed’s new TB-80A Devastator-class torpedo bombers. Replacing the injured pilot aboard Shadow Three, Major Frederick von Richthofen finished his preflight checklist. He looked around his cockpit, noticing that something seemed to be missing. He thought for a few seconds, then remembered. He pulled a small black and white photograph out of his left chest pocket. He quickly stuck it between his Multi Function Displays.

The photo was of two men standing by an old biplane. The one on the left was an ancestor of Frederick’s named Lothar, a German ace in the first World War. The other was his brother, Manfred von Richthofen, the famous Red Baron. Frederick felt his chest fill with pride as he gazed at the ancestors’ picture.

He shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. He rechecked the straps holding him in his seat, and then the inertial dampeners. If the former failed, then dogfighting would get a lot harder. If the latter did, he would be crushed to a red putty on the back of his seat. As the signal came to launch, he leaned back in his seat. The first two Dragons shot out of the landing bay like a bat out of hell. Then it was his turn. Frederick shoved his throttle to full and gasped as his ship, no longer inhibited by the disengaged bussard ramscoops, leapt out of the carrier. He carefully formed up on the new Shadow Lead, Lt. Colonel Louis Welch, who’d replaced the injured pilot of Shadow Six, which now ran as Shadow One. Welch had been given the assignment for two reasons. First, he was the best and most experienced assault-fighter pilot on the Zephyr, his career dating back to the First Kilrathi War. The second reason was that he no longer had a squadron to command, as the other eleven Avengers had been shot down between the two engagements with the Kilrathi/Imperial fleet. Frederick regretted losing his own squadron, but they had been decimated in the last battle while escorting bombers against the Kilrathi Dreadnought. The five other survivors were assigned to other squadrons to fill in losses. Besides, Frederick needed the transfer to the Dragon, his own fighter having been irreparably damaged in the battle in Sirius.

The five fighters activated their afterburners, acceleration out of sight almost as quickly as the Wasps. The reasons for the two fighter launches were simple. Flying without their intakes open would burn reserve fuel. Other fighters would quickly run dry, but the Wasps had a disposable fuel supply, their SRBs. So they idled their engines and used their rockets’ thrust exclusively. The Dragons, on the other hand, had a replenishable fuel supply, and, at these speeds, they would only need to activate their intakes for about twenty seconds to refill their fuel tanks.

CONFEDERATION/NEW REPUBLIC FLEET
WITHIN LUNAR ORBIT, EARTH
2250 HOURS (CST)

"Be careful, Commodore," came the voice of the ship’s communications officer. "Good luck." Blair braced himself as the Midway’s catapult shot his Morningstar out at over 1,000 KPS. He quickly slid into formation with the other fighters launching from the Midway and its escorts. Huge formations of fighters had already formed up.

Wedge Antilles, Tycho Celchu, Corran Horn, and Gavin Darklighter eased their Incom T-65C X-wings out of the Defiance’s launching bay. Wedge reached for his strike foil toggle switch and rang out a call dating back to the early days of the Rebel Alliance, "Rogue Squadron, lock S-foils in attack position." The others acknowledged as he threw his own switch. His cockpit was filled with the metallic whirring of the fighter’s S-foil servo as his wings locked into the trademark "X" position that gave the fighter it’s name.

Luke watched his friend’s squadron launch as he powered up the repulsorlifts of his personal X-wing, AA-589. R2-D2 secure in his astromech slot, his own X-wing—still the very same X-wing he flew the Death Star trench run in ages ago—lifted off the launchbay’s deck. He toggled a switch and his landing gears retracted into their recesses. As he moved toward the huge opening into space, he saw other ships prepping for takeoff. The six E-wings of Green Squadron, accompanied by the last pair of A-wings, were already moving into position to launch, following Luke. All around, pilots adopted from the Martian homeguard and volunteer militia were powering up, preparing to launch. He choked up slightly. The force reverberated with their sorrow and anger. The Dark Side beckoned, strengthening with their emotions. Luke pushed its influence away as he cleared the atmospheric forcefield. He throttled up, moving into the Confederation formations, looking for something. He locked his S-foils as he found it. A presence he felt compelled to find. "Commodore?" he asked on the Confed frequency, already knowing the answer.

General Maarek Stele flew his Missile Boat clear of the Vacillator’s massive superstructure. Kilometers ahead, he could see the Kilrathi ships and fighters engaging the Laser-sat defense net. He switched to their frequency and heard the typical sounds of combat. Their pilots were calling their targets, attacking with determination, and some of them dying. The defense net was clearly thicker than Kilrathi intelligence had reported, and they were paying for their mistake with a little blood. His squadrons of Missile Boats formed up on his lead. Around him, thousands of Imperial and Kilrathi fighters flew in formation. Far ahead, he could see the Terrans’ homeguard fleet, a carrier of some kind, three large monsters that matched intelligence specifications of a Terran battleship, a few artillery cruisers, Murphy-class destroyers, and old destroyers and heavy cruisers like those fielded by the Union of Border Worlds Navy. Ahead of them, their fighters flew in a vanguard. Beyond them, in close orbit to Earth, the Sol Station superbase stood. Larger even than Confed HQ, the huge starbase was Terra’s very last line of defense.

Aboard the Vacillator, Admiral Güthrig sent a signal to Admiral Tschel. "Admiral, begin Operation Anvil. Stay only long enough to launch the assault, then get clear quickly. That starbase is going to hit you with everything it has."

Tschel’s blue holographic image nodded. "Yes, Admiral." He saluted as Güthrig’s image dissolved. He tuned and began issuing orders. The six remaining Imperial II-class Star Destroyers, the last Victory Star Destroyer, and the Katana-class dreadnaught pitched downward. The Midway’s battle group watched in confusion as the powerful fleet of ships jumped forward, shimmered, and vanished.

The last squadrons of fighters were lifting off from Earth. They consisted of a similar mix of Confed, Homeguard, and civilian volunteers as the defenders of Mars. They quickly formed up with the hundreds of fighters moving to assist the Reynard’s fleet. As they throttled up and sped away from Earth, their proximity warnings sounded.

Dead ahead, space shimmered. Six Imperial II Star Destroyers, a Victory Star Destroyer, and the Katana dreadnaught came out of hyperspace over Earth. The Terran fighters swerved away hard, trying to avoid a lethal collision. While most were successful, there were many who collided with another fighter, or were boxed in and slammed headlong into one of the mammoth ships’ shields.

In the midst of the chaos, the Imperial Warships deployed their fighters and began their landing operation. As TIEs swamped the desperate defenders, landing craft, troop transports, and dropships exited the huge landing bays and approached the surface. One hundred AT-ATs, 150 AT-STs, and almost sixty thousand troops headed down toward the surface.

Meanwhile, Tschel’s ships turned and began a high-thrust burn back toward the battle, approaching the Confed homefleet from behind...

TCS REYNARD; BRIDGE
2300 HOURS (CST)

Commodore Henry Nelson watched in awe as the battle began. The Kilrathi were quickly decimating the Laser-sat defense perimeter. It was never meant to stop an attack of this magnitude. As his squadrons engaged, the sky in front of him suddenly lit up like a country field at sundown, as the fireflies came out at night. It was both beautiful and horrible at the same time. Each one of those flashes was a missile exploding or a pilot’s life ended.

Beyond that lethal light show, the capital ships of the Kilrathi Imperial Allies, or KIAs, as they were informally being called, advanced constantly, like an unstoppable juggernaut. The Vacillator stood behind them, its immense form dwarfing the powerful Kilrathi ships leading the fleet.

They were quickly sweeping aside the defense net... and the Reynard’s fighters. Nelson could hear the hum filling the air, feeling a shudder in the deck through his shoes. The Fleet had only one wild card to play, and it was charging to capacity while pilots died in scores...

F/A-X MORNINGSTAR 001
LASER-SAT DEFENSE NET
2307 HOURS (CST)

Blair checked his fuel as the Confed and New Republic fighters finally met the Imperial picket line. There were hundreds of fighters around him, flying in massive formations as they approached their destiny. Off his right wing was his new wingman and doppelganger from another galaxy, Luke Skywalker. He armed his trackers as the Imperials approached.

"We can do this, Chris," Luke said, the Jedi Master’s voice calm and collected as ever.

"Hey, ‘Coward of K’Tithrak Mang’..." It was Major Dirk "Stingray" Wright, of course. Probably the only pilot still alive who remembered the nickname. "Let’s see some of that mockfighting shit out here, okay?"

Blair smiled as he gave the command that began the fighting on the starward front of the Second Battle of Terra. "All Vampires, fire trackers now." All around him, the Midway’s Vampires fired the first wave of MIRV missiles, followed a second later by a second wave, then a third, and a fourth. The rockets streaked to the edge of the Imperial formations. There, they each jettisoned four FoF missiles. The Imperial formation scattered as they suddenly found themselves besieged by over two hundred missiles. The Phantoms cloaked, while the Defenders, Interceptors, Bombers, and Missile boats attempted to shoot down the rapid harbingers of death.

Blair heard Lieutenant Gavin Darklighter let out a whoop of triumph as one hundred twenty seven Imperial fighters met their doom. Now I know why they call them KIAs, he thought. Then the battle was upon him. The Confed/NR fighters slashed into the Imperials firing everything they had. Quickly, the missile-carrying Imperials let loose a barrage of advanced missiles and torpedoes, tearing into the Allied advance. Again, space lit up with brilliant flashes of light, but this time, Confed was holding its own. Fighters twisted through the growing clouds of debris, desperately avoiding death and trying to send their enemies into its embrace.

He watched in horror as a Devastator bomber caught the brunt of a heavy turbolaser battery’s blast. The five huge beams vaporized the craft instantly.

He imagined Hawk grinning as he watched Colonel Manley in the thrill of combat as another Interceptor disintegrated under his guns.

"Looks like you owe me one, Commodore," Luke said, drawing Blair away from the distraction as his X-wing’s four light turbolasers vaporized a Defender tailing Blair, the debris glancing off his shields.

"Yeah, yeah..."

While Blair afterburned away, a pair of Darkets poured fire into an E-wing, their pilots roaring a victory cry, while the E-wing’s pilot screamed as fire consumed him. A lone F/A-105A Tigershark somersaulted through the formations, its cockpit a burning mass of charred wreckage. A pair of Piranhas vomited fire and shattered under the punishment of a Tarkhan’s guns. A squadron of Wasps slaughtered a squadron of TIE Bombers with a salvo of swarmers. A Shrike caught a turbolaser at the base of its "neck" and disintegrated in a massive fireball. Three Dralthi VIIs dogged an unfortunate Vampire, shredding it quickly.

It was good to be back...

SSD VACILLATOR; BRIDGE
2311 HOURS (CST)

Ahead of the Vacillator, the Confed pilots were being slaughtered mercilessly. Finally, after only three minutes of combat, the ragged defenders broke off, diving away from the confrontation. Aboard the wounded, but still mighty warship, Jhediah felt a sense of elation.

Behind him, Güthrig felt a sense of foreboding. Their path of retreat makes no sense. Why wouldn’t they head back toward their ships? Then the answer hit him. He dashed to a computer console, pushing the duty officer out of the way. He called up the known specifications of the Fenris-class heavy carriers and Constitution-class battleships. There it was, just as he feared. He hesitated only for a moment, so that he could decide which action to order first. He turned to the crewpits. "Helm, emergency evasive maneuvers! Positive pitch, ten degrees. Now!" He turned to another crewman. "All power to the forward shields!"

As the great ship heaved up, Jhediah turned to the Admiral. "Admiral Güthrig, what are you doing?"

"Saving our lives," he replied tersely.

Jhediah, clearly not seeing the threat, frowned at him. "And exactly how do you intend to do that?"

Güthrig replied in four words, "Four Phase-Transit Cannons."

Jhediah’s eyes widened. "What?"

A cry came out from the crewpit, "Enemy fire incoming!"

Güthrig’s eyes widened, "Grab on to something." He hit a comm switch on the command chair. "All hands, brace for impact!"

No sooner had he said those words than four blue-white balls of cohesive energy slammed into the Vacillator’s bow. The great ship shuddered horribly as great sections of hull were vaporized and atmosphere blew away into space. Güthrig, busy seeing to the safety of his crew, lost his footing and fell into the starboard crewpit, catching hit head on the edge of the command walkway in the process.

A lieutenant rushed over to his aid, and nearly panicked as he saw blood pooling around Güthrig’s head. He grabbed his comm unit and called to sickbay, "Medical team to the bridge! The Admiral is down!" Güthrig held a hand against the gash in his forehead as he slowly lifted himself from the floor. The lieutenant eased him to his feet.

Güthrig smiled at the young man’s worried look. "Just a flesh would," he said dismissively. "It’s not very deep, but head wounds hurt a lot and bleed like crazy." The med-team finally arrived and quickly descended into the crewpit to see to the Admiral.

Jhediah looked down from his command chair as damage and casualty reports started coming in. The PTC rounds had ruptured thirty-six decks and destroyed twelve turbolaser batteries, five heavy turbolaser batteries, and sixteen ion cannon, claiming at least 2,500 lives. "Hmm, I was expecting more damage than that," Jhediah said calmly, as if oblivious to the loss of life.

Güthrig grumbled as the medics finished patching up his head with expert grace. "That’s because they didn’t hit our Sublight Drive engines with that round." The only reason for the incredible damage last time was that the three kilometer-long engines had blown. "But, we still can’t take that kind of punishment for long. I’m going to have the Kilrathi advance on Earth’s defenders."

Jhediah nodded his consent. The Kilrathi had shown too much duplicity for his liking, and he would just as well have them bleed themselves on the Terrans’ defenses.

"Comm!" Güthrig called out loudly, so that the officer in the other crewpit could hear him. "Inform the Kilrathi to advance toward Earth. They are to wipe out the Confederation battleships first. I want those Phase-Transit Cannons out of the picture! And be sure to tell them where our ground forces have landed. We don’t want them to bomb out own troops in their zeal."

Jhediah raised an eyebrow as Güthrig returned to his side. "So, you believe that the Kilrathi will reach Earth on their own?" He made it a question.

"Of course not. They’ll have help from Tschel’s task force, which is quickly coming up behind the Confederation fleet. Their fighters are keeping Earth’s homeguard at bay so that they can’t interfere with the ground ops, but their guns will go a long way towards assisting the Baron in his task," Güthrig said with a knowing smile, and Jhediah smiled along with him.

"Sir, they’re firing again!"

"All hands, brace for impact."

This time, Güthrig braced himself on the ominous black command chair as the Vacillator shook from yet another heavy blow. He silently cursed as the damage reports began coming in again.

TCS REYNARD; BRIDGE
2315 HOURS (CST)

Commodore Nelson turned as Lieutenant Olson gave his report. "Sir, we’ve finally located that Interdictor Cruiser. It’s just sitting at the edge of that system, emitting a strong gravity field."

Nelson’s gaze was lost for a moment in thought. "Is it affecting any asteroids or special debris?"

The Lieutenant was prepared for the question, as he didn’t even have to refer to his datapad, "No, sir. The gravity field is directed away from any know strata."

"Hmm, that’s strange. Keep an eye on it."

"Aye, sir."

There wasn’t anything obviously dangerous about the Interdictor’s activities, but something about it was nagging at him. The thought put him at unease. That just doesn’t make any sense. He could spare the strange activity no further thought though, as the Kilrathi capital ships were approaching gunnery range.

As the two fleets approached, the new cruisers and the heavy and light destroyers took the fleet’s vanguard. The move, along with the Kilrathi’s strict avoidance of the PTC firing arcs seemed sensible, but again, something nagged at the back of Nelson’s mind. Like a small voice in the back of his mind screaming "DANGER!" "All cruisers, engage Kilrathi heavies as soon as they enter range. Sheffields support. Murphys will stay back to guard the Reynard." Activity on the bridge increased as his orders were carried out.

Aboard the TCS Francisco, a Sheffield-class destroyer, Captain Damson Reinfeld watched the Kilrathi ships approach in a strange crescent formation. The Francisco was part of the fleet’s picket force, just ahead of the powerful Achilles-class heavy cruisers and the vastly more destructive Plunketts.

"Sir, we are within weapons range," Lieutenant Commander Peterson informed him.

"Good. Gunnery control, lock on to the nearest heavy cruiser and fire."

"Aye, sir!"

Before the officer even began to reply, seven duel streams of laser fire and one of antimatter bursts began streaming into the lead cruiser.

"Sir, enemy light destroyers locking on. They’re firing!"

Reinfeld braced himself for the battering his small ship was about to receive, but he still gasped as large green energy bolts lanced from the eight light destroyers and slammed into his shields.

"Shields down to sixty percent, thirty, five. Sir, shields are down!" The report was punctuated by a tremendous shrieking clang, as 64 heavy turbolasers ripped into the hull, the violent vaporization of the armor tearing off huge chunks between. The whole ship shuddered and jolted backwards from the force of the blast. A second wave hit the ship, and the hull burst open, vomiting air, debris, and crew into the void. A third wave struck, vaporizing the debris and punching into the core of the ship. The TCS Francisco ceased to exist as a massive blue-white fireball engulfed it from the inside out as the antimatter reactor and storage cells breached.

The time elapsed from the first shot: Seven seconds.

"My God," Nelson said in awe as the shimmering cloud dissipated. "All ships, open fire!" Those ships have been refitted with turbolasers, he thought. The light destroyers, which before had been little more than cannon fodder in a capship battle, were now as dangerous as a heavy cruiser.

A second flash lit the bridge momentarily.

"There went the Courageous," an officer reported.

"Damn it! Get the Constitutions on the horn! New target for their PTCs! Blast those Cat cruisers!" Nelson ordered. Only a frantic cry from the sensors officer let them know of the threat approaching from behind.

ISD2 DEATH’S HEAD; BRIDGE
2319 HOURS (CST)

Admiral Tschel smiled as the Confederation forces franticly engaged the Kilrathi fleet. "Ensign?"

"Still no sign that they have detected us, sir."

"Good, activate targeting sensors and lock on to the battleships’ engines. I want this settled quickly."

"Sensors active. Locking..."

"They’ve detected us, sir!" And then a moment later, "Locked and ready to fire!"

"Too late for them," Tschel said with a smile on his lips. He had come to understand how Grand Admiral Thrawn must have felt in his finest moments of glory when he had served under him—a lowly ensign then—on the Chimaera. It seemed like a lifetime ago. "Fire." The Constitutions’ aft AMG and fission gun turrets, as well as the smaller laser turrets on the Reynard and the escort of Murphys, turned about ad began firing as the first turbolaser blasts hit. The battleships’ shields fluctuated wildly as they fought to stave off the incredible energies battering the ships.

Tschel laughed lightly at the pitiful reply to the onslaught dished out by his small fleet. To the credit of the Confed skippers, they did get one last salvo of PTC shot off before their shields failed.

KIS VHAS’KARATH; FLAG BRIDGE
2322 HOURS (CST)

Thokkarh nar Caxki swore in a very ignoble way when the Fralthi II heavy cruisers detonated like four small suns in the sky. The only reconciliation was that they’d killed three destroyers and a cruiser before they died. The turbolaser-equipped warships were to be his key to reclaiming the throne once Jhediah was out of the way.

"You still have the destroyers, my liege," Vharvek consoled him. A flash of light blinked among his ships and he cursed again. "Well, most of the destroyers." Thokkarh gave Vharvek a hostile look and the Tho’reari bowed and backed away for his own safety.

ISD2 DEATH’S HEAD; BRIDGE
2324 HOURS (CST)

Admiral Tschel’s smile widened as the first battleship’s shields failed and its engines were immolated in green fury. The caress of the Death’s Head’s ion cannons took care of the ship’s Phase-Transit Cannon. The huge ship fell out of formation, its lights flickering and its weapons fire sputtering out. A second quickly followed.

TCS REYNARD; BRIDGE
2325 HOURS (CST)

"Commodore Nelson, we’ve lost the Yamato and the Resolute. The Bismarck reports that their shields are failing now."

"Blast it. How are our escorts faring?" Nelson asked. "So far, the Imperials are ignoring them. They seem to be going after the ships equipped with PTCs."

"Sir, the Mistral Sea reports that they are falling in behind and above us to shield us from enemy fire."

"Send Captain Monroe my thanks," Nelson said, sighing with relief. Those Star Destroyers would be hard pressed to gun down a megacarrier.

"The Plunketts Robert E. Lee and Genghis Khan are flanking us as well, but we just lost the Bismarck. The Imperials are moving around us and are trading fire with out escorts."

ISD2 DEATH’S HEAD; BRIDGE
2327 HOURS (CST)

Tschel cursed as the Confed escort ships closed formation around their carrier. Fine, let them keep that ship. Güthrig and the Kilrathi will still destroy it when they overrun their position. The Imperial ships were forced to steer around the thicket of ships, but they pelted the Plunketts and the Mistral Sea, damaging them severely, as well as several lighter escorts.

TCS ST. HELENS; BRIDGE
2330 HOURS (CST)

Fleet Admiral William Eisen was starting to worry as word of the battle reached him. The Kilrathi/Imperial fleet was on the verge of breaking through Confed’s last line of defenses, and the Imperials had successfully launched a massive landing operation. Also, Blair had gone out dogfighting, leaving Captain Wilford in command of the Confed fleet behind the Imperials. That was probably for the better, as each of them was doing what they knew best. Blair was flying, while Wilford was directing the fleet action.

The biggest problem was that Blair’s fleet couldn’t get past the Super Star Destroyer to help Commodore Nelson. Fortunately, Admiral Jackson had come up with a way to remedy that problem. The Sirius blockade, Seventh, First, and Fourteenth Fleet forces would wait until the last second to begin breaking, overshoot the Imperial Fleet, coming up behind Nelson’s battered forces. They would then swing around and give the Kilrathi a bloody nose.

Eisen had been very skeptical of Jackson’s plan, and had asked the others their opinions. Bear and Lone Wolf had thought it was their only option to save the situation, keeping the Kilrathi from having a clear road to Earth. Vice Admiral Jamison hadn’t been any better. The plan actually appealed to him. Eisen should have known better. The Border Worlders were famous for their insane combat tactics. So, the fleet had waited, and now they were about to begin a maximum threshold breaking maneuver. Separate from the fleet, the Zephyr and the ships with the worst combat damage had already begun breaking ten minutes ago and would still have to perform an aerobraking maneuver around Earth, lest it risk breaking up from the stresses.

Eisen looked at the huge fleet. "Begin braking now."

"Aye, sir!"

The huge Vesuvius-class supercarrier went quiet as its engines went into standby mode. The lights and monitors flickered as the incredibly powerful electromagnetic-ramscoops powered up. The increase in drag was instantly felt, as the ship began slowing. The maneuvering thrusters kicked in, causing the ship to lurch backwards as their light rumbling filled the air. Eisen sighed, hoping that the 50 plus ships would be enough to hold the line, though he doubted even that would be enough.

TCS MIDWAY; BRIDGE
SECOND BATTLE OF TERRA, FORMER LASER-SAT DEFENSE NET
2344 HOURS (CST)

There were whoops and shouts on the bridge as the 160 Wasps finally arrived. Their firepower would go a long way toward evening the odds. There were also a few gasps as the sensor officer reported the presence of five Dragons. Those fighters hadn’t been seen in over a decade, during the operation to hunt down the remaining Black Lance members, though there were rumors that some had been used against the Imperials during the Battle of Alcor.

Wilford smiled as the Imperials and Kilrathi were torn to pieces by the fresh fighters. He then issued orders to advance on the ISDs that had returned and taken up defensive positions behind the Vacillator’s still-vulnerable stern.

Victory was in sight...

SSD VACILLATOR; ADMIRAL’S QUARTERS
2350 HOURS (CST)

"Private communiqué for you, Admiral," the young comm officer had told him minutes ago to Jhediah’s mistrust. "For your eyes only, sir," she stressed the point. Jhediah’s icy gaze relented and Admiral Güthrig had hastily gone to his quarters to receive it—there was still a battle to be fought, after all.

"Admiral Güthrig..." came a raspy, deep voice as he activated the comm in his sparse quarters. The figure that appeared on the holoprojector, darkened to near total blackness, didn’t help any.

"Yes?" Güthrig snapped. "Who is speaking, please?"

The voice gave a chuckle, a hearty one. "Know that you will be rewarded for your service, Admiral. Be strong. Be vigilant. Do what you have done." The stranger’s voice grew more enigmatic, taking on a tone that hit a chord in Güthrig in such a manner that he couldn’t begin to explain. "The day of our glorious absolution nears."

With that, the transmission abruptly ended and the holo figure vanished from the projector.

Puzzled, yet intrigued, Güthrig strode back to the Vacillator’s bridge to tend to his duties. He didn’t give the cryptic communiqué another thought.

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