Ten years, two months, and thirty-four days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or the forty-fifth year, two months, and thirty-four days after the Great Resynchronization.
(Nine months and nineteen days since the arrival)....
The Cavil Corsairs waste no time.
The Cavil Corsairs attack.
The appearance of Anilex's small fleet in orbit over the planet Lorardia did not go unnoticed.
Ten Arquitens-class light cruisers, immediately upon arrival, entered battle with the Rebels' patrol fighters.
"Lay down barrage fire," Anilex ordered from the bridge of the flagship. "Maximum rate of fire. Prepare to launch our interceptors."
Cooperation with the Dominion and direct subordination to Grand Admiral Thrawn pays off a hundredfold.
The Cavil Corsairs not only receive decent sums of hard currency for their services, but also have the opportunity to spend it wisely.
Their force grouping—both space and ground—keeps growing.
Yes, with Axxila coming under Dominion control, significant prospects opened up for the organization's development.
Not only did Thrawn, with their help, forcibly clear out all shadow spaceports inside his Dominion—or force all "shadow players" to relocate to Axxila—he also opened access to his inexhaustible arsenals.
Someone, of course, might say that Clone Wars-era hardware is old junk.
And that it is not worth the hundreds of millions of credits the Cavil Corsairs pay for it.
Anilex did not think so.
Axxila was blooming in new colors.
It took serious work to bring the planet's underworld and shadow markets under control, but it was worth it.
Throw out into the cold everyone who did not accept the Cavil Corsairs' rule on the planet; teach the rest a set of simple rules for how business could—and should—be conducted on the planet for universal prosperity.
No shootouts and gang wars.
No attacks on the planet's guests, and especially not on merchants.
No attacks—and, even more so, no destruction—on Axxila itself or within its system.
No armed groups except personal bodyguards: if you need a mercenary squad, welcome to the Mercenary Guild.
A kind of variant of the Bounty Hunters' Guild, which had long operated across the galaxy.
But now this organization was not an association of lone operators.
Here one could hire a single tough fighter, an entire team of bodyguards, or even a battalion or two of mercenaries to escort caravans to any point in the galaxy.
It was a true exchange for hired units, all of which, in one way or another, were subject to Dominion law.
Anyone who did not follow that rule was cut out by the root.
The Cavil Corsairs had already made several "firms" disappear that tried to play by different rules.
Quickly, bloodily, and as a lesson to the rest.
The hierarchy of subordination was simple.
There was the Dominion, to which Axxila and the Cavil Corsairs submitted unconditionally.
Axxila faithfully paid taxes into the Dominion treasury, and in exchange the regular fleet did not meddle in the affairs of the planet itself or its inhabitants.
If Grand Admiral Thrawn needed mercenaries, he said so to Captain Anilex.
And then the Cavil Corsairs, as the largest and best-prepared mercenary group, would fulfill his request.
In any part of the galaxy.
To be honest, Anilex did not much understand the arrangements of Captain Irv and Tiberos, which seemed to exist on the same terms, but also seemed not quite on those terms.
Neither owner of the Visions wanted to share details of their contracts with Thrawn.
Nor did they want to join the Cavil Corsairs.
And they were not listed in the mercenary registry either...
Although from time to time they were based on Axxila, having Makem Te as their home port.
Which existed on roughly the same terms as Axxila itself within the Dominion.
Except they did not have many mercenaries.
Strange, of course, but those who ask unnecessary questions of their employer do not live long.
Anilex preferred to live longer, and therefore followed all the rules set by Thrawn, which allowed Axxila to be the only shadow port in the core of the Dominion.
Which made it possible not only to coordinate and train mercenaries (which is prohibited on Dominion territory at the legislative level), but also to engage in other "illegal" business—like processing contraband goods imported into the state from outside its borders.
You simply swap the labels on transport containers, and there you go: a batch of hyperdrives is no longer produced at Kuat Drive Yards, but by some front company on Axxila itself.
The same applied to bacta, tibanna, kolto (especially kolto!), Corellian sweets and booze, works of art, and anything and everything one could make money on—without fearing that a squadron of Dominion Star Destroyers would appear in orbit and a turbolaser rain would pour down from the heavens.
Yes, the agreements did not allow openly illegal activities like spice trading, and even the business of purchasing slaves across the galaxy was no more than a smokescreen for Dominion state offices that used Axxila's economic zone as a buffer.
But at the same time, cleverly drafted, they fully aligned with Anilex's intentions—the very reasons he had agreed to cooperate with the Grand Admiral.
And the reasons he had agreed to be the "shadow king of Axxila," shifting all duties of planetary development onto the Dominion's official authorities, who had created an administrative organ on the planet and a decently functioning state apparatus, cleaning up the legacy of the previous millennia of decline.
Anilex himself dealt with more urgent matters.
Clean the filth from Axxila in such a way as not to turn its population into brutalized paupers and addicts, but into more or less productive sentients who would not rob the first passerby in an alley for a new dose of watered-down spice.
The very fact that millions of sentients had left Axxila in search of a better life across the Dominion, becoming part of a resettlement program to newly opened and colonized planets, already offered hope that in the near future it would be possible to clear the slum districts and improve the situation of the population remaining on the planet.
In exchange for Thrawn's support in this undertaking, the organization did whatever he wished, and also had the opportunity to receive, as part of payment, modernized Dominion military hardware from the Clone Wars stockpiles.
Smaller mercenary teams, meanwhile, were forced to provide themselves with weapons and starships on their own.
And they did not have the reputation that would allow them to interest the Dominion.
However, small mercenary groups did not particularly try to do so—operations the Dominion assigned to the Cavil Corsairs featured enormous losses, not only large rewards.
Anilex did not regret such arrangements.
Mercenaries are needed always and everywhere.
Especially when states wage war "under чужими flags."
To operate in the D'Astan sector, Anilex had to draw in almost half his fighters from the available reserves.
And, one can laugh at the Rebels as much as one wants, but they fight well—"on the ground," certainly.
With their forces pulled back closer to Serenno, after the relay station in the sector had been taken under Dominion control, and after minefields like those defending the Dominion's core had been laid across all routes leading deeper into the sector, the reinforcements sent to the Rebels had turned from full supply runs into thin trickles.
The final phase began: clearing this space of enemy forces and уничтожение of the last holdouts.
And now, having chosen the moment when the enemy would recall its line ships to Serenno, Anilex moved his maneuver forces to the planet Lorardia, where the Rebels intended, along with Rentalles, to establish the last line of defense before Serenno.
But it seemed they had realized that on the world already devastated by the Cavrilhu pirates, the Rebels had still been unable to dig in.
Six Corellian corvettes guarding the system ran for it when they realized they were outnumbered.
The moment their pilots got their asses properly kicked, the Rebels' instinct for self-preservation woke right up.
"Prepare the landing force; we begin the landing," Anilex ordered, addressing his deputy.
There were not that many troops on the planet, but there was plenty of armor and heavy weapons.
The ground battle would not be easy.
Anilex understood that.
But what interested him most was something else.
If the D'Astan sector joined the Dominion, would Axxila remain the center of trade routes from the state's peripheral systems, or would huge flows of goods shift to another part of the core, given the territorial expansion?
It would be nice to think not.
But logic stubbornly pointed to something else entirely.
Finding itself no longer on the Dominion's border but deep in the core, Axxila would no longer be such a transport-accessible trade world.
The famous Celanon would now be on the border, located directly on the Hydian Way and enjoying very similar concessions within the D'Astan sector as Axxila did within the Dominion.
It would be necessary to discuss all this with Thrawn.
But first—fulfill the contract.
***
"Moff Gronn" set aside the data-card whose contents he had been studying for the past hour and a half.
His heavy gaze fixed on the "adjutant" sitting motionless opposite him.
"Your opinion?" he asked "Lieutenant Mic."
Torin Inek did not delay with an answer:
"He does not need new arrangements. But he does not have the strength to cope with our remaining patrols. He lacks sufficient ground forces to oppose the new garrisons. Therefore—before the substitution, ideal conditions had been achieved, satisfying Mi-Ha the Hutt and his associates, whom he, at a minimum, fears disappointing."
"I came to the same conclusions," the "Moff" agreed. "Gronn kept no detailed records. All cash flows—illegal ones, I mean—went through him. Exactly as much as was necessary to pay off officials and the military. Not a decicred more. Despite the fact that month-to-month fluctuations in sums paid to maintain the bureaucracy and security forces can reach several tens of millions in Imperial currency of the time."
"Which confirms the obvious," Inek nodded. "He was sponsored by Mi-Ha. Most likely the amount of funds the Moff received was far larger than what he paid out."
"The problem is different," the "Moff" shook his head. "I think he was receiving money from Mi-Ha long before he became Moff. There are several front corporations and 'buffer' charity funds through which Gronn received money before his promotion. All of them financed him for about a month or two after his appointment to the sector—then they ceased to exist. Despite this, the sector's financial stability did not suffer by even one percent—now it exists at the expense of Imperial Space's economy."
"Orinda funded the Allied Tion last year too," Torin hurried to remind him.
"Exactly," the "Moff" agreed. "But the volumes were smaller. Expenses did not decrease, but the official funding increased. Very telling actions. And I cannot find any reasonable, logical reasons for them."
Inek drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the tabletop.
"Why would the Zann Consortium reduce funding for its puppet when he took charge of the sector?" he voiced his thoughts aloud. "And why did Orinda not provide the previous Moff with such extensive financial help last year, the way it does now?"
The "Moff" only shrugged.
"One could ask the Imperial Ruling Council directly," he suggested with a crooked smile. "The initiator of the increased funding is Xamuel Lennox. He also left quite a few messages instructing me to change policy toward 'trade companies' affiliated with Mi-Ha the Hutt. I also discovered his approval on fresh financial agreements between Orinda and Jaminere."
"May I look?" Torin asked.
"Of course," the clone snorted, handing Inek the data crystal. "I'm the second fiddle here, Captain."
Torin froze for an instant, reaching for the data storage device, but at once pretended he had noticed nothing.
He plugged the chip into his data-card, trying not to look at the man sitting opposite him.
The appearance was that of the real Moff Gronn, but the mind...
Consciousness and memories copied from Torin's own head.
He understood perfectly that after some time the "Moff" would go off the rails, as a mind foreign to this body began to conflict with the genetics of the cloned body.
How one could be connected to the other, Torin did not understand.
And no one had explained it to him.
Cloning and its peculiarities—those were data beyond the competence of a simple разведчик.
Even if he belonged to the Bravo group.
It took him a few minutes to match the dates on the documents with what he had already heard from the clone.
"Carivus pushed through the bill increasing funding for the Allied Tion at exactly the same time the front companies financing Gronn before his appointment as Moff ceased to exist," the разведчик said.
"An unlikely coincidence," the clone stated.
"This is not a coincidence," Torin noted to himself that the data he had discovered correlated rather easily with each other. The fact that the clone had not noticed it suggested the "personality collapse" process had already begun. Torin simply did not believe that a man with his knowledge and experience could miss the key elements.
"Any предположение what it's connected with?" the fake "Moff Gronn" asked.
"Yes," Inek agreed. "We know Carivus is involved in the conspiracy. He brought Feena D'Asta into the conspiracy. After that, she was replaced by a clone. They did exactly the same with an unknown number of Imperial and Republican officials across the galaxy."
"The Zann Consortium handled replacing real people with clones for us," the fake "Moff Gronn" developed the thought.
"Carivus also stands behind the financial activity of the newly appointed Moff Gronn," the разведчик stated the next fact.
"And at the same moment the secret criminal financing ends—behind which, through the Black Sun front and Mi-Ha the Hutt, stands, presumably, the Zann Consortium," another piece of the big puzzle. "Which, in turn, is shipping huge amounts of weaponry across the Allied Tion—weaponry that had once armed Zann Consortium thugs in the past."
"And which very much dislikes that the 'arrangements' concluded in the past between Moff Gronn and a посредник in the form of Black Sun and Mi-Ha the Hutt himself have been violated," Torin said.
"At the same time, we know that at the moment of his death Moff Gronn was already a clone, most likely replaced by none other than the Zann Consortium," the fake "Moff Gronn" stated.
"The question is—when were these arrangements concluded?" Torin produced.
"When Gronn was only an administrator? When he had already become Moff? When he became a clone-Moff?" the fake "Moff Gronn" shook his head. "We still do not know when he became a clone."
Torin frowned.
"Obviously no one will give us such data openly," he said. "But we know the maturation period. We need to review Gronn's work schedule when he was an administrator and Moff, identify suitable 'windows,' compare them with possible changes in Star Destroyer duty schedules in the sector..."
The fake "Moff Gronn"'s cheek twitched.
"Of course, that won't be a guaranteed answer, but at least an analytical selection," Inek finished.
"You talk smoothly," the clone gave a bleak chuckle. "How long have you had that move planned?"
"Just now," Inek did not lie.
"And I didn't think of it," a bitter half-smile appeared on the clone's face. "Something keeps spinning in my head, like a thought you want to grab, but... it won't happen. Something's missing. Something I don't understand..."
Torin silently watched the upset face of the clone staring straight ahead.
Then "Moff Gronn" raised his eyes and their gazes met.
"It's dementia, isn't it?" the stand-in official уточнил. "Personality breakdown?"
"I'm afraid so," Torin did not hide it.
More than anything in life, he hated lying.
And lying to himself...
Even if the second "you" had a different face...
That was, at the very least, low.
"Bad business," the clone drummed his fingers on the table. "We only just started figuring out what's going on, and now there's a chance they'll write me off as expendable."
Torin did not even allow himself to think that, most likely, before things got completely bad, the Dominion would send another temporary clone like him to replace the one "burned out."
Such "dolls" did not live long—about two months—after which they turned into drooling idiots struck by brain dementia.
The Dominion did not let it get to that stage: everyone in whom this problem was discovered was frozen and, supposedly, cured.
They extracted the "non-native" personality matrices from their bodies, and then loaded the "correct" ones.
At least, that was what the Bravo разведчики whispered among themselves during short breaks between high-responsibility missions.
Whether it happened or not—unknown.
But saving this clone was impossible.
The real Moff Gronn had been killed by his own subordinates last year during an attempt to come to the aid of Lianna, besieged by the New Republic.
His personality matrix was lost.
Only the genetics remained, which were used to create the clone now sitting before Torin.
Erasing Inek's memory (if that is even possible and not just a tale) from Moff Gronn's body would not lead to stabilization.
Simply because there was nothing to load that would stop the dementia.
Loading any data, any personality matrices except Gronn's own—was only a mockery both of the body and of the mind loaded into it.
The Dominion could create as many such "defective clones" as it wanted, but it shut the program down as soon as it became known that this "personality collapse" took place.
And surely, if there had been another way to understand what was happening in this Imperial Remnant, Thrawn would not have created "Moff Gronn" and sent him here.
For some reason, Torin wanted to believe that Grand Admiral Thrawn did not use "defective clones" without weighty reasons.
Not because Torin considered that sentient a model commander who did not sacrifice subordinates by Imperial standards—"We'll always have enough troops, even if we hand them blasters and send them against tanks."
Torin did not believe in Thrawn's humanism either.
But in rationality, and in the understanding that spending half a month producing clones who would go insane in a few months was, at minimum, wasteful—yes.
Thrawn was a pragmatist.
If he had a plan for victory at any cost, then among the hundreds of thousands of Republican prisoners returned home, "defective clones" would have already shown themselves—ones that would be good to use as sleeper agents and saboteurs.
But those were unnecessary thoughts right now.
"We still have time," Torin reminded.
"Yes," the Moff agreed. "But less and less with each day. We need to understand why in the Hutt's name the Zann Consortium needed this sector at all. Yes, there is industry here, there are armed forces... But not that many natural resources. Few agricultural planets. The sector barely, barely supports itself—it's not for nothing that additional funding streams from Orinda were lobbied..."
Something clicked in his head.
"Stop," Torin said. "Funding. That's the key."
"Moff Gronn" looked at the donor of his own personality matrix attentively.
"Any ideas?"
"Only seeds so far," Torin admitted. "If you don't object, I'd like to take the Moff's meeting and flight schedule for the last... Hutt with it—let's take it from the moment he appeared in the sector up to the events we both know connected with Lianna. And also—an extract of fleet orders for the same period. If you don't object—I'll work on it at home."
Torin nodded meaningfully toward the heavy curtains drawn over the office windows in the Moff's residence.
And outside the windows it was already deep night.
"Of course," "Moff Gronn" took a few minutes to copy the requested data onto a new data chip. "Any suggestions for what I should do? I don't particularly trust my head anymore..."
Torin felt a stab of сожаление.
But forced the emotion down.
"Try to rest more," he said. "The less the brain works, the slower the dementia will progress."
Both understood that the recommendation was pulled out of thin air.
"Mission above all," "Moff Gronn" smiled sadly, looking at his workstation. "I wouldn't want them to send more like me here. The task isn't simple, but it must be solved by the two of us. My time is running out... I'll try to make it so you have as few problems as possible..."
"Hold on as long as you can," Torin asked openly. "I'll handle the problems for both of us."
He did not like such talk.
"As you say," the clone smiled weakly. "I'll expect you in the morning at the next briefing. And yes—don't forget to extend the 'quarantine' regime for me."
The story about Gronn supposedly being ill had been invented after Mi-Ha the Hutt's visit to Torin.
Pulled out of thin air, but at least it provided a durasteel explanation for why the Moff was shifting work onto his adjutant.
But for "influential people," that was no obstacle.
Therefore, four hours after the meeting with the Moff, Torin efficiently dealt with the current duties of the adjutant and headed home.
Clearly understanding that yet another delay would cost him the integrity of yet another set of furniture.
When a nexu is bored, it misbehaves.
It takes revenge for being tamed, because for some reason the foolish owner leaves home instead of playing with the nexu kitten.
Typical feline behavior.
Flying in an airspeeder toward his new residence, provided by the "Moff," but already directly within the responsibility zone of the Moff's own residence security (in simpler words—a small guest cottage in the backyard of the residence), Torin watched the data-card with one eye, thinking about why Mi-Ha the Hutt's so-promising threats had remained unrealized.
Perhaps something would happen to him—but outside "Moff Gronn"'s residence.
Which he had not yet left.
Approaching the door, Torin noticed a text message received by his comm device.
It was from "Moff Gronn."
"The problem of my condition and your fully legitimate status is resolved. I'll explain tomorrow."
"Looks like the dementia is getting worse," Torin thought bitterly, inserting the code cylinder into the door control panel's receiving slot.
Torin lunged aside, realizing he had not heard the familiar click of the magnetic lock.
And in the next instant his cottage exploded.
***
Rentalles.
At first glance, a perfectly ordinary, unremarkable planet with a Type I atmosphere.
Astrogational reference guides indicate it has a temperate climate, an oxygen-breather-friendly atmosphere, broad continents, deep bodies of water.
One could cultivate fields and build cities here, but this world was discovered not so long ago—at the dawn of the Old Republic.
It so happened that, through negligence or deliberately, the planet was not included in widely known astronomical atlases, remaining only in library collections.
One such set—data from Obroa-skai—Grand Admiral Thrawn acquired last year.
Comparing Obroa-skai data with information obtained during the attack on Coruscant made it possible to make many discoveries.
The Galactic Empire built a base here and closed the world to sentient visits.
Closing the system to visitors with several Star Destroyers and continuing to pretend that Rentalles did not exist at all.
Even representatives of the ruling House D'Asta, until recently, knew nothing of this system.
Until the Rebels established themselves here, using the old Imperial base as their permanent deployment site.
What the Imperials had been doing here in the recent past—remained a mystery.
No less important a secret was the reason and direction in which the Imperials had vanished at some point.
But the base they erected was a solid one.
The Rebel Alliance used it to create a communications listening post across the entire sector.
However much the Rebels disowned the Galactic Empire, their war machine was built according to Imperial precepts.
And the Imperials very much loved to equip secret bases and garrisons on half-forgotten asteroids or celestial bodies.
Stuffed with weapons and equipment—creating bases for future invasions.
A simple tactic of preparing expansion into a sector.
Only the split between the New Republic and the Alliance led to neither side having the resources to attack the D'astan sector and seize it.
The Republicans limited themselves to monitoring.
And would have continued doing so for quite a long time, if the Rebels had not needed an operational base.
Quality Imperial construction helped the Rebels with their setup.
Because what they got were not prefabricated garrison bases, but a fully fledged ground base designed to house a legion of stormtroopers with attached ground armor, covered by deflector shields and protected by anti-air and anti-orbital defense forces, with hangars for ten squadrons of fighters.
But what was most attractive were the enormous warehouses at the base, in which supply for an entire army could be stored.
The Rebels were engaged in expanding those, having decided to turn the planet into a defense node on the way to Serenno.
A single interdictor cruiser, which somehow ended up in the Rebels' service, tirelessly yanked ships moving toward the Rebels' capital world out of hyperspace.
And by its "luck" it yanked the Neutron Star and assault frigates full of Mandalorians out of hyperspace.
In the short battle, the enemy retreated, abandoning all its units on the planet to save the interdictor.
And now, keeping the Neutron Star—the temporary flagship of the Mandalorian units—farther from Rentalles's orbit and its planetary defense cannons, Hedge was exposing the Dominion's trophy starships to fire.
The Lati dropped to the planet's surface three kilometers from the base perimeter.
Stepping onto the grassy plain, Hedge looked around.
Hundreds of transport ships and corvettes were landing here, building up forces for the strike, while the enemy believed it needed to fear problems coming directly from orbit.
Hedge removed his helmet and inhaled with pleasure the fragrant smell of summer plants that drowned the plain.
A beautiful planet.
In the distance—mountains and clear skies.
From flight altitude one could enjoy views of sandy beaches and clean bodies of water, seas, oceans full of fish and other vermin.
Strange that the Imperials had stationed such a garrison in so secret a place, and there was not a single Death Star under construction nearby.
Though that would be for the Dominion to decide.
The Mandalorian units' task was to drive the enemy out of here.
While the ships in orbit—several trophy assault frigates, captured from the New Republic and belonging to the Cavil Corsairs, under droid control—simulated an attack on the base's deflectors, taking planetary cannon fire into their hulls again and again, the Mandalorians landed their forces and armor on the surface and prepared to attack.
Did the Mandalorians regret the assault frigates being destroyed?
No, not at all.
After the interdictor cruiser and its fighters were driven out of the system, everything of interest was removed from those ships, including a significant part of the weapons and propulsion systems.
Under droid control, the obsolete starships served as targets for planetary defense systems.
And TIE droids launched from their decks distracted anti-air guns, simulating air raids and being shot down by the defenders' anti-aircraft emplacements.
"All units are ready to attack," Hedge was told.
"Then it's time to begin," he said, placing his helmet back on and heading toward the lead AT-TE walker. "Distribute the Mandalorians among the second-line vehicles and attack only on my order."
"Understood."
"Move out," he ordered the walker driver, not even listening for the reply.
He already knew what irritatingly identical response he would hear.
Scouts on speeders and light recon walkers—AT-RTs, another legacy of the Clone Wars—surged forward.
Following them at about sixty kilometers per hour, several columns of AT-TEs advanced.
The vehicles were not fresh, but in any case better to have such cover than nothing.
And besides, Dominion engineers had refitted them, armoring the cockpit and reinforcing protection by removing some useless armament.
In effect, those old walkers had been turned into maneuverable platforms for mass-driver main-caliber guns.
Not the giants discovered during the previous offensive operation.
Just regular Clone Wars-era models.
There were, of course, AT-TE modifications armed with turbolaser cannons, laser cannons, even launchers for which there were no missiles, but for this operation the kinetic main-gun variants were best.
One could bombard a ground base's deflectors from orbit for a long time and not always successfully.
But kinetic rounds would easily punch through the deflector field and inflict damage on the enemy's ground structures and defense nodes.
The General ordered the base taken with minimal destruction.
Hedge doubted the enemy would simply hand them a well-fortified outpost, so he anticipated a protracted clearing operation.
But that was all the better, wasn't it?
The fiercer the battle, the greater the glory.
The Mandalorian walkers approached the base's defensive lines, and enemy laser and turbolaser turrets opened fire on them.
The Mandalorian AT-TEs did not go unanswered.
With thunder and roar, kinetic projectiles accelerated to tremendous speeds flew toward enemy positions.
Computer aiming made it possible to pick out the most important defense nodes.
Including the base's deflector shield generator.
Which was blown apart by the very first salvo of the Mandalorians' mass-driver guns.
The next targets were the generators supplying power to the anti-orbital defense systems.
Deprived of power, the planetary turbolasers sagged, lowering their mighty barrels to the ground, no longer able to damage the targets they had been created to destroy.
This cost the attackers several dozen combat vehicles, some of which were destroyed together with the troops inside.
Left without reliable protection from bombardment from orbit, the Rebels panicked—but seeing that no boarding pods were falling directly onto their heads, and that only TIE droids were drifting about, attacking from dives and being destroyed by the defenders' anti-air guns, they recovered their courage.
How could they not, when the anti-orbital systems had knocked out every combat-capable ship in orbit, and now instead of assault frigates shooting at ground troops, only trophy assault frigates beaten to scrap remained overhead.
But the defenders' joy did not last long.
Exactly until the mass-driver artillery of the walkers began leveling the turrets with laser and turbolaser cannons.
Again and again, dozens of kinetic rounds streaked toward the defensive structures, slamming into massive turbolaser towers at enormous speed and turning stonework into mountains of shattered rock and duracrete.
The enemy infantry, fully committed to repelling the ground attack, were massed atop the high walls.
The thickness of those walls sometimes reached dozens of meters, and both attacker and defender understood that with mass-driver emplacements alone, the Mandalorians would neither break nor take these lines.
And at that moment, Corellian corvettes appeared over the enemy's heads—previously, together with the Neutron Star, holding at distant orbit over the opposite hemisphere.
They were the ones that delivered hundreds and hundreds of Mandalorian fighters onto the enemy's heads, as they used jetpacks to reach the surface.
The very surface the corvettes, having entered the atmosphere, had previously worked over with their laser and turbolaser cannons.
Left without support from anti-orbital defense, the Rebels hammered the ships with anti-aircraft guns, but they could not cause the ships any serious harm.
Laser bolts helplessly splashed across deflectors, not slowing the troop landing in the slightest.
Walls that had seemed unassailable were subjected to mass-driver fire from the surface and energy weapon fire from the atmosphere, leading to massive destruction along the base perimeter.
Hedge watched with satisfaction as a massive section of wall, worked over by mass-drivers and ship gunners, collapsed, opening access into the base's inner perimeter.
And there, in smoke and explosion flashes among the scrambling Rebels hastily retreating to fallback positions, his numerous scouts and troops already sent ahead could be seen.
"Begin," he ordered with a snort, engaging his jetpack systems and preparing to lift off.
"Sir," he heard the AT-TE driver's voice in his helmet. "What should I do next?"
"Fight, you idiot!" Spar ordered, activating his thrusters and rising into the air like hundreds of Mandalorians from the second-line vehicles. "When you reach the first walls, dismount the troops. Let the droids take an additional удар."
"Got it, got it," came the irritating voice of V-1.
Exactly.
Hedge led a ground assault of an army of droids supported by two hundred Mandalorian fighters.
Most of the Mandalorians, by habit, dropped from ships directly onto the enemy's heads.
Today the Rebels' base on Rentalles would fall.
And even if the Rebels were categorically against surrender and defended desperately, who was going to ask them?
Today the Mandalorians had carte blanche for a total очистка.
***
As it turns out, an armored door is not a luxury.
It is a real way to save your life.
Torin Inek gave a barely audible groan, opening his eyes.
The door panel blown out by the explosion was practically lying on top of him, adding no small number of problems to his ribcage.
Breathing hurt—was practically impossible.
But the main thing was something else.
He could feel his arms and legs.
So his spine was intact.
His chest hurt as if his own speeder had rammed him, but it would have been worse if he had not felt anything at all.
"Body armor doesn't save you from that," Torin thought distantly, making an attempt to shift the door warped by the explosion off himself.
His throat burned from soot, the air crackled with burning structures, and the glow right in front of him indicated that the residence was burning from foundation to slanted roof.
Somewhere far away, sirens tore through the pre-dawn silence.
Torin tensed his muscles again to shove the plate aside, but he managed very little.
Good physical condition did not guarantee he could lift a durasteel armor plate weighing one hundred and fifty standard kilograms.
Of course, he failed.
Especially when he felt the plate suddenly become twice as heavy.
With the upper edge of the door practically at eye level, his position hardly allowed him to see the burning second floor of the cottage—let alone the reason for the increased weight...
"I warned you," the glow of the fire was filled by the bulk Torin had been thinking about just minutes before the explosion. "And you didn't listen, stupid human."
There is reason to believe the door plate is braced against something sturdier than a human body.
Because judging by his position, Mi-Ha the Hutt had seated himself directly on the door panel.
And if it had been lying directly on Torin, it would have crushed him flat—in a Hutt, the weight is considerable.
"I told you—don't get in my way, human," the Hutt asked a rhetorical question. "I told you. You didn't listen. All you had to do was rein in your Moff, and everyone would be alive."
It was useless to shout, "You'll pay for this!"
He would.
Mi-Ha the Hutt had carried out sabotage on the territory of the residence of the Moff of an entire sector.
In the security zone of the new stormtroopers, whom it is very, very difficult to bribe.
Not to mention the Moff's own security—Guardsmen disguised as mercenaries.
And the Noghri...
Hutt spit, where were the Noghri from the cover detail?!
Obviously something showed on Torin's face, because Mi-Ha roared with laughter, as if he had heard a funny joke.
"I don't know what snapped in Gronn's brains, but he clearly won't interfere with us anymore. Nor will his toy soldiers. And those gray-skinned Noghri freaks, Hutt knows where you dug them up..."
"If he was able to identify the Noghri, then the agent's cover detail has been destroyed—there is no other way. And second: Mi-Ha the Hutt or someone around him has dealt with Noghri before, since they recognized them," Torin thought.
"I'd like to know where you got such combative зверушки," Mi-Ha said thoughtfully, "but that's in the past now. The Moff is in the past, you are in the past, the Noghri are in the past. I didn't want it to come to this, Adjutant—I came to you personally to negotiate! So all these deaths are the fault only of you and your late Moff Gronn..."
"Late!"
"You killed the Moff?!" Inek exhaled.
"Yes," Mi-Ha said simply, pointing somewhere ahead with a thick short hand. "Right now I'm admiring how his residence is burning. It burns well..."
It was hard to say what sounded more sinister now—Mi-Ha's triumph, unhurriedly talking in his native language, or the realization of the operation's complete collapse.
Not simply the death of "Moff Gronn," but the collapse of the entire operation.
The criminals had turned out to be smarter than he could have imagined.
The very fact that Mi-Ha's thugs had been able to locate the Noghri cover detail's base of operations said a lot.
Torin had not even been able to notice them, but he knew they were always somewhere nearby and would come to help if needed.
But it turned out there was someone capable of tracking and уничтожение of a Noghri death commando squad without drawing attention.
And doing it so they could not even send a distress signal!
Without "Gronn," the operation would have to be shut down.
The military, under the "Moff's" command, would never listen to some adjutant.
And who would take the post of sector head—that was a separate question.
In any case, it was extremely delicate.
"We need to go," Torin realized, not believing his eyes, that he saw beside Mi-Ha the Hutt a gray-skinned...
A NOGHRI?!
There was a traitor among the soldiers of his cover detail?!
"What, the 'dolls' are stirring?" Mi-Ha rumbled unwillingly, lazily sliding off the door panel.
"They are attacking our fighters," the Noghri mewed. "Many Ewok herders killed. Stormtroopers taking losses, but killing my Noghri..."
"What's your name, traitor?!" Torin rasped, staring at the gray-skinned one with hatred.
"That should not concern you, human," the Noghri said pompously. "My brothers-by-the-blade and I slaughtered your childish litter you call death commandos without even breaking a sweat. Obviously, after fleeing Honoghr, my kin grew desperate enough to take contracts from Imperial scum..."
His unit did not betray him!
They were killed by other Noghri!
Noghri in Mi-Ha the Hutt's service!
Not to mention Ewok herders—scum from the animal-training world, who in their time had made a living turning Endor's Ewoks into living bombs...
But there was something else as well.
This Noghri had mentioned the Superclan's flight from Honoghr.
About hiring on with the Imperials.
That meant the people behind this chaos had no idea who stood before them!
They thought Gronn had found and hired Noghri somewhere!
The enemy did not know the Superclan worked for the Dominion and that everything happening was a Dominion Intelligence operation!
Now there could be no doubt who had carried out the terrorist acts on the territory of "Moff Gronn"'s residence.
Torin tried to crane his neck to look at the building of the sector head of the Allied Tion's residence.
The building was ablaze through every window and doorway.
No one survives such a fire.
Especially considering the roof had already collapsed.
Some of the floors, too.
"This was the last warning, Adjutant," Mi-Ha the Hutt suddenly said. "Whoever replaces Gronn—you must ensure he comes to meet me."
"Alone and without security?"
It seemed they did not plan to kill him today.
Which meant it might be possible to extract more information by provoking the enemy into candor.
"You noticed correctly," Mi-Ha laughed.
He turned aside, seeing a couple of fighters approach him with a box of some kind.
"You seem smart, but clearly not one of those who think with their head before going against me," Mi-Ha said, pulling out of the box two scorched pieces of something vaguely familiar...
"I warned you, human," Mi-Ha reminded. "Don't get in my way. I'll crush you. And eat you. But since I need a living witness who will give the right advice to the new authority, then you need to be educated differently. By taking what is most valuable and dear..."
With these words Mi-Ha opened his enormous mouth and stuffed in, one after another, all the openly burned chunks.
"Tasty," it seemed he did not even chew before swallowing. "Never thought a young nexu burned in a fire could be so tasty... Here," the Hutt tossed something beside Torin. "Take it as a souvenir of your stupidity and obstinacy, Adjutant."
Inek shifted his eyes to examine the object.
A small, soot-covered flattened skull with four eye sockets.
And everything fell into place.
A young nexu.
Burned in the fire.
"You bastard!" Torin clenched his fists under the door plate. "You ate my nexu!"
Helpless rage flooded him.
A creature that had done absolutely nothing wrong had become a victim of bandits.
That is unforgivable.
For anyone.
Ever.
"Well, first my Noghri killed it while mining your new home, skinned it, and only then roasted it on the flames of your burning house—then roasted it on that bonfire," he pointed with a short fat hand to the blaze where Torin's home had been, "and only after that did I eat it. And the same will happen to you, whelp, if you keep resisting me!"
Gunfire sounded.
"Stormtroopers!" the Noghri warned Mi-Ha the Hutt. "One thousand meters. We must leave, master."
"Indeed we must," Mi-Ha snorted, looking at Torin lying before him. "Leave him the contact information to reach me."
The Hutt's massive bulk disappeared from view with impressive ease.
And the face of the Noghri working for the Zann Consortium leaned over Inek.
"Do what is required, Lieutenant," he said in a threatening mew. "Or we will leave not even memories of you. Understood?"
Without waiting for an answer, the traitor threw a data chip to the ground beside the разведчик.
"And don't try to wriggle," the Noghri warned. "Our eyes and ears are everywhere, Lieutenant. The new Moff must meet Mi-Ha the Hutt, or the entire sector will burn."
Saying nothing more and not waiting for any reply, the gray-skinned alien left.
When the stormtroopers who had arrived on alarm freed him, Torin left the residence and headed for the garrison base.
He took only two things with him.
The skull of his dead pet and the chip left for him to pass to the new Moff of the sector.
***
The Guardian dropped out of hyperspace, settling comfortably right in the middle of one of the galaxy's most important hyperspace routes.
The tactical hologram indicated that the three Immobilizer 418 cruisers escorting us had taken their assigned positions, together with an equal number of Dragon (second-generation) refit Venators providing cover.
A dozen Action IV transports lurked astern of the Guardian, confident in their complete safety under the Super Star Destroyer's protection.
The gravity well generators were activated and ready to turn this part of interstellar space into a gravitational anomaly impassable for any type of nav computer and any generation of hyperdrive known in this galaxy.
Only a little remained before we began.
In the meantime, it is interesting to listen to important reports from the other end of the galaxy.
Strangely enough, after a long time lying in ambush on the Dominion's borders, I had even grown used to holoprojections being subject to interference.
So I even hesitated when I saw the General's three-dimensional white-blue figure appear instantly.
"Grand Admiral," the man bowed respectfully. "Lorardia and Rentalles have been taken."
"Excellent," I replied. "Were there any problems?"
"On Lorardia the enemy withdrew its troops, and we merely finished off the ground units," the General explained. "On Rentalles the Mandalorians had to fight hard."
"Not a problem—that only motivates them," I commented. "Serenno's assault is next, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir," he replied. "But I must note that the enemy has concentrated all forces there. It will be a large-scale and bloody battle. Spy droids report a deeply echeloned defense, including minefields, defense stations, and a large number of mercenaries—both on the ground and in space."
"The assault on Serenno is no longer your concern, General," I stated. "Other sentients will handle that."
"The Colicoid Swarm and the Black Pearl have already completed their mining tasks and are returning to Axxila.
"They, as well as the Cavil Corsairs, Hedge Spar's Mandalorians, and the Baroness's forces—those are who will make their mark in the general battle for the D'Astan sector.
"And the regular fleet will ensure no one escapes from there.
"At least not alive."
"As you command, sir," my interlocutor replied.
"Prepare for redeployment, General," I ordered. "The Guard will deliver you to the destination."
"Yes, sir," he replied. "To whom should I hand over the responsibilities?"
"Vice Admiral Pellaeon will oversee the final уничтожение of the Rebels in the D'Astan sector," I told him. "His forces have already moved to the sector's borders and are blockading it. The assault on Serenno will begin in a day. Pellaeon will contact you soon and provide escort and transport. You will receive your next assignment later."
"Yes, sir, I will prepare all necessary documents," he assured me, before his hologram dissolved.
The penultimate day of the current month is ending.
Tomorrow promises to be busy.
On all fronts.