Teller shook his old friend’s hand and tugged the helmet down over his head. Turning to Cala, he said, “Tell Anora and Hask that we expect nothing less than a galactic-class holovid.”
The attack on the battle station convoy was well under way by the time the Executrix reverted from hyperspace close enough to a small moon to all but tweak its orbit. Tarkin and several officers were at the viewports as the stars shrank back into themselves. With his booted legs spread, hands clasped behind his back, graying hair swept back from his high forehead as if blown in the wind, the governor might have been the vessel’s figurehead, taunting the enemy to face off with him personally in mortal combat.
“Sir, they’ve jammed the local HoloNet relay,” a spec reported from behind him. “That’s why our alerts weren’t received. For the moment our countermeasures are managing to keep the battle and tactical nets open.”
“Can we communicate with any of the convoy transports?” Tarkin asked without turning around.
“Negative, sir. It’s possible we’re not even registering on their scanners.”
“Keep trying.”
The boxy cargo ships and transports that made up the convoy had drawn together to allow the escort gunboats and frigates to fashion a defensive circle around them, but enemy lasers were chipping away at the perimeter, allowing droid fighters to dart through openings and prey on the larger vessels.
“Sir, battle analysis is showing one capital ship reinforced by a Nebulon-B frigate, multiple tri-droid fighters, and three — make that four starfighters. Two friendly tugs, two escort gunboats, and more than a squadron of ARC-one-seventies are already out of the fight.”
Tarkin took in the scene.
Same cobbled-together Providence-class warship, same swarm of droid fighters and antique starfighters. Only this time he was commanding the counteroffensive, and instead of Sentinel Base the enemy’s objectives were the hyperdrive components he had been worried about since leaving for Coruscant.
Pivoting away from the viewports, he made his way down the observation gallery to watch a simulation of the attack resolve above a holotable. The spherical defense mounted by the Imperial escorts was being dismantled by steady fire from the warships; pieces of gunboats and frigates drifted through a frenzied nimbus of ARC-170s and droid starfighters in pitched combat.
“V-wing fighters are away,” the noncom who had followed him down the observation gallery updated. “Tactical net is viable, and the wing commander is awaiting your orders.”
“They are to engage with the frigate and the carrier and leave the droid fighters to the convoy escorts.”
Tarkin regarded the simulation for a moment longer, then paced forward to rejoin the officers at the viewports. By shunting ships to systems imperiled by the Carrion Spike, Naval Command and Control had left the convoy defenseless; like Tarkin, taken in by the dissidents’ ruse. Had he not been called to Coruscant, he never would have allowed the convoy’s defensive escorts to be redeployed elsewhere, and it irked him that he had not made a stronger case for his remaining at Sentinel. He could only hope that the Emperor had made a wise choice in allowing Rancit’s and the shipjackers’ ploy to unspool, and that all of them were now caught up in the net. He narrowed his eyes at the enemy carrier, wondering whether the crew that had pirated the Carrion Spike was aboard, or if the shipjackers had gone into hiding after deserting the corvette.
“The enemy carrier is repositioning,” the bridge officer said. “Looks like they’re trying to put the convoy between us and them.”
Tarkin nodded to himself as he watched the hodgepodge ship disappear behind the convoy and — recalling the tactics the dissidents had employed at the Phindar fuel tank — thought: Yes, this was the same crew.
“Wing commander reports heavy resistance from the enemy fighters,” someone behind him said. “They’re having trouble reaching the capital ships. Assessment scans indicate that two of the convoy transports have sustained significant damage.”
Tarkin turned to the spec. “Still no communication with the convoy leader?”
“None, sir. We can’t penetrate the jammers.”
That was not welcome news. Tarkin couldn’t be certain which of the transports was carrying basic supplies, and which contained components critical for the mobile battle station.
Jova’s voice whispered in his ear: Only glory can follow a man to the grave.
“Commander,” he said, with an abrupt turn to the officer central to the rest, “set us on a course into the midst of the battle.”
A tall man with a fringe of black hair, the commander stepped away from the viewports to approach him. “With permission, Governor Tarkin, we have no way of warning the friendlies in our path.”
Tarkin firmed his lips. “They’ll get out of our way or they won’t, Commander.”
“I won’t argue with that. But even if we manage to penetrate the defensive sphere without incident, we’ve barely enough space to squeeze between the transports.”
“We’ll worry about that when we have to. I will not chase that carrier in circles.” Tarkin’s eyes narrowed. “Death or renown, ladies and gentlemen.”
“Sir!”
As the commander left his side, Tarkin glanced at the bridge officer. “Our batteries are to refrain from firing until I give the command. Alert the wing commander that for the time being he and his pilots are our artillery. The droid fighters are slow to react to chaos. I want our starfighters to break formation and improvise, firing at will.”
“Clear, sir.”
Tarkin resumed his stance. This was how the Empire would conquer and rule, he thought: through might and fear.
The Executrix lumbered through the congestion of starfighters and into the thick of battle, where the cargo ships and transports were being pounded by cannon and turbolaser fire from the Nebulon-B frigate and the carrier. Explosive light pulsed blindingly beyond the viewports.
“All forward batteries are to concentrate fire on the frigate,” Tarkin ordered.
Local space lit up as dozens of energy beams loosed by the Star Destroyer converged on the much smaller vessel. In moments the ship’s shields were overwhelmed and the beams began to take their toll, obliterating the Nebulon’s rudder-like ventral appendage, then severing the spar that connected the main body of the ship to the engine module. Cracked open, the ship spilled its contents into space and imploded, sucking countless droid fighters into its blistering collapse.
“Battle speed,” Tarkin said.
The Executrix surged forward, slipping like a needle between two of the larger transports, its pointed bow in direct line with the enemy carrier, which seemed to rear up in reaction to the Star Destroyer’s relentless approach.
The bridge officer spoke up. “Wing commander reports that his squadrons are being carved to pieces.”
Tarkin kept his eyes on the carrier. It wasn’t turning tail as it had at Sentinel. This was the moment the scenario would change; this was the moment the dissidents would demonstrate their unshakable commitment.
“Order the starfighters to withdraw into our wake and to protect the convoy at all costs,” he said at last.
“Carrier is changing vector,” the spec all but shouted into his left ear. “Flank speed at the convoy leader.”
Tarkin’s eyes tracked the ship’s abrupt swing to port and sudden acceleration. “Ten degrees port. Starboard ion batteries go to steady fire. Race to the light of the lasers!”
If Teller wasn’t careful, astonishment was going to be the death of him. The sneak attack on the convoy had commenced without incident, with several Imperial support vessels destroyed and the cargo ships themselves jeopardized, until a Star Destroyer — certainly Tarkin’s Star Destroyer — had reverted to realspace and turned the battle on its ear. V-wings were decimating the droid fighters, and a Headhunter and a Tikiar had been obliterated, leaving only Teller’s ship and the Tikiar piloted by a Koorivar he had trained on Antar 4. The warship itself was now pushing into the heart of the fray, as if intent on going head-to-head with the Star Destroyer, but was in fact on a collision course with the bulkiest of the cargo vessels. Energy began to coruscate across the hull as it continued its desperate charge for the convoy transports.