“ I congratulate you all on a well executed operation.”


Admiral of the Fleet Baron Telan Desaria took a rather drawn out puff of his hand-rolled cigarra, musing over the passed comment. Before an entire room of Imperial officers and commanders, the HoloNet image of Vice Admiral Nikoi Amarilla gave a speech honoring the conquest of Lianna. Desaria found the spectacle of the blue-tinted officer amusing: Amarilla had never served aboard a combat vessel in forward area, instead rising through the ranks in the Rebel manner of treachery, favoritism, and discrediting rivals.


Not willing to make his feelings about another officer known, when the hall rose to its feet at the conclusion of the speech the Baron did as well. Desaria was not willing to give the soft-spoken martinet the full attention of his clapping, instead refilling his cognac. The hall quieted soon thereafter, signaling the Admiral’s turn at the room’s lectern.


Every bit a Kuati, he emptied the glass in one healthy swallow that elicited some good natured humor from the senior officers nearby.


Unlike many other flag officers, Admiral Desaria felt completely at ease with his men regardless of rank. Although born an aristocrat, he had practiced many hours with lower-born cadet comrades during his Academy days to learn the art of peasant humor. That accomplished, he could court noble general and rural sergeants with cordiality.


Desaria gave a curt nod to a nearby yeoman manning the HoloNet controls who deactivated the projector pad. Admiral Amarilla was silenced before he could object, giving the Admiral of the Fleet yet another reason to smile. As he looked on the officers seated in Army fieldgrey and Navy green, his mood sobered. Levity was acceptable but discipline had its place – now.


“ I too congratulate you. Lianna was a brief campaign, almost textbook in its execution on the ground. You have definitely given High Command something to look at before releasing the next round of manual-codexes.”


Muffled laughter was heard about.


“ That said, I stress that the battle for Lianna was brief. Approximately two hundred thousand enemy fatalities to our fifteen thousand should be sending some shockwaves through us all. Our foe has proven resolute not only militarily but also civilly. About an hour ago I read the first official Intelligence report on Lianna, gathered from the vultures on the ground.”


Despite the serious tone the speech-turned briefing took, several men and women were brave enough to give out laughter at the Intelligence field operatives’ nickname.


“ I don’t speak with the same eloquence the report had, but I can sum it up for you. The civilians are willing to die along with the soldiers – each and everyone driven by a religious devotion that goes beyond fanaticism. In every settlement and village on this planet barely a thousand civilians remain, every one wounded too badly to resist.


“ Our next target is the world of Raxus. The Fleet is ready and assault troops re-embarked. This world, despite its remote location, has become the enemy’s manufacturing centre for munitions both ship and land-borne. We will attack and eliminate this infrastructure. I warn you: do not let Lianna inflate your confidence or those who pop your ego-balloon with be saluting a blue standard!”

VCD Valhalla
Imperial Border Regions


The massive wedge-shaped warship was dark, its engines deactivated along with all external lights. The mission called for stealth, and the crew of the Valhalla had done their best to keep their presence quiet.

But when one was on a mission of subterfuge, a seven-kilometre Star Destroyer was hardly the wisest vessel to use. But with war brewing on more than one front, the Imperial Sovereignity had to be defended.

So it was that the massive Venerator class ship was assigned to the desolte planet, one that rated only an obsolete Imperial Survey number. AA1441-00879. To the crew of the ships stationed there, Toast.

The planet below them was dark, its surface blackened by centuries of volcanic eruptions and an orbit that took it a million kilometres to close to its sun. It had never been inhabited, never would be. Probably, once the Valhalla left orbit, it would never be heard of or mentioned again.

At the present, the ship was circling the planet in a lazy orbit, its communications systems directed South, towards the Capital.

"Transmission secured." One of the officers said as a bar on his display became fully green. He tapped a key, and the computer locked onto the signal.

Admiral Bhindi Drayson offered a small nod, leaning over the shoulder of the young officer and double-checking his readings.

"Very good, Ensign." She said, satisfied. "Transfer it to my ready room at once." She turned, not acknowledging the "Yes ma'am" offered by the officer, and walking lightly up the curving steel stairs and out the bridge doors.


The ready room was, as per usual, dark when she entered. Commander Deusvult Godridge, her military aide, was waiting outside, and saluted as she arrived.

"Admiral." He said formally, inclining his head. Bhindi smiled thinly.

"Commander." The doors opened, and the two entered. The com unit was blinking, indicating that the transmission was on the que.

Bhindi hit the button, and spoke her password. The room was instantly lit by the hazy blue tinted form of a middle-aged man -- Vice Admiral Nikoi Amarilla, Bhindi knew.

"Lianna?" Godridge asked, indicating the figure.

"Has to be. What else would they be transmitted all the way out here for?"

Indeed, the Tion Hegemony was only a short distance from their current location. The Valhalla itself had been deployed to their outermost borders to protect the Empire against (as unlikely as it was) the Occupation failed, and the forces of the Hegemony attempted to take back their honour.

"Going well, at any rate." Godridge commented as the transmission cut off and the unit shut down automatically.

"Admiral Desaria is certainly an able enough commander." Bhindi agreed. "And Coruscant didn't spare anything assigning him assets, did they?"

There was silence for a moment, then Godridge said, "You think we're wasting our time here?"

And Bhindi only shrugged.

"I don't know. Perhaps... perhaps the Tion Hegemony will provide a touger nut to crack then we may think. Lianna was only an opening skirmish. The worst may be yet to come."

The Tion Hegemony was a group of planets under the rule of (according to the Imperial ideology, at least) a madman. Governed by an insane religious cult headed by a self-proclaimed God-Emperor, there was little anyone in the sector wouldn't do if they were so ordered by their leader.


"A twist on classic warfare." Desaria had called it before setting out. "Everyone on the planet is an enemy."

"They are sick, sick people, Baton." Bhindi had replied. "And we are the Bacta. It is our duty to relieve them of their oppression, and to bring the light of the New Order to the Tion Hegemony."


That, at least, they had agreed on.

Below them, Toast continued to spin on its axis. And lightyears away, the Chief of the General Staff prepared his fleet for another battle.

Perhaps, a far more deadly battle.

Desaria walked form the gathering of officers aboard the flagship headed for his stateroom. Colonel Somir had no intention of allowing the five kilometer journey pass in peace as he fell in step next to the Third Battle Group’s commander.


“ Why Colonel Somir, what a blood curdling surprise.”


The Intelligence officer gave something of a sinister combination of sneer and grin. “ It does feel good to be loved.”


Admiral Desaria blinked passively: Colonel Somir, unlike his peers, combined ruthless dedication with intellect. There was not a time the flag officer looked on his Intelligence attaché without thanking the gods he was an Imperial citizen.


“ I have more you might be interested to know, Your Excellency.”


“ I don’t doubt it.” Desaria saluted a guard as the pair entered an observation corridor in the bowels of the Intimidator. On either side of the walkway as the ship’s central reactor, an entire kilometer of wires, generators, diode tubes, and technology the Admiral’s mind could not grasp.


“ We have finally figured out just where these people come from. Apparently, they are much-separated worshippers of Xim the Despot. A group of so-called Survivors moved out of isolation fifty or so years ago and began asserting control of obscure aspects of the sector’s administration. They yanked power slowly and before any one knew it, the Children of the Divine had replaced the Tion Hegemony.”


“ You’ll excuse me if I am at a loss as to what this has to do with a military leader fifty millennia ago.”


Somir smiled. “ Xim is their god and from what I can tell their scripture preaches his return.”


“ Well, some has to have created this myth. Who?”


“ If anyone had any control – or contact with sanity – they are long since dead. If it was just a power-grab then it spiraled out of control.”


The Admiral pursed his lips, clasped his hand at his back, and turned to leave. “ Somir, this Emperor of theirs…”


The Intelligence operative shook his head, a gesture Desaria could see in the corridor viewports’ reflection. Without further delay, Desaria departed.

Lieutenant Maxis Alder, personal guard to Admiral Telan Desaria, was very disturbed when his boss exited the Intimidator’s private HoloNet receiving chamber. Very few officers in the galaxy had ever set foot in one though they existed on every craft over two hundred meters in the Imperial Navy – even fewer had ever used it. The conversations passing therein were of the most secret and secure type, so much so that even full jamming in the height of a battle did not prevent Coruscant from reaching the leaders of the military or Moffs under siege.


Admiral Desaria walked briskly and silently from the bridge, confusing the guard even more, for despite their social separation, the pair almost always spoke on subjects ranging from foreign policy to ship-board shockball tournaments.


When Desaria boarded his private lift down into the depths of the Super Star Destroyer he did not order the droid-controlled tube to the massive chamber where fifty senior officers were planning the intricate details of Raxus’s capture, instead bypassing it completely. The Admiral’s final destination was his spacious quarters in the ship’s superstructure.


My Love

Things have gone well here, or at least they seem to be going so. If things are otherwise, I should like to think I would be the first to know.

I have always been true to you and to maintain that I am happy would be to break this tradition. I am in fact, miserable. I woke ecstatic for on this day is my thirty-third birthday. One hour ago, I received a promotion.

A promotion makes me unhappy? It does indeed. By order of the Regent himself I have been formally reinstated as a field officer. However, as this entails a considerable amount of responsibility, I have been ordered to surrender my position as Chief of the General Staff. Admiral Virenius is slated to take my place early next week.

As have many commanders before me, I have been ‘booted up-stairs.’ I am not sad to leave the General Staff and am glad to concentrate me efforts with the Fleet once more. I know Virenius well but that is not to say I like him. He is a competent administrator but has his only battle experience from being a logistician in the rear areas before I was born. I fear his penchant for placing political and bureaucratic concerns before sound military reason. He is doubtless to have inspection tours by foreign dignitaties and Moffs galore running rampant throughout every formation to foster military-civil relations or some such thing.

Well, I know you are wondering if I will be safe. I can only say that whatever happens, rest assured I have done my duty. I miss you dearly. When this rotten little war is at an end, I will arrive home without uniform or ship – for the duration of all the leave due me, we will be together without interruption. I vow it.

Truly,

(signed)
Telan Desaria, Baron of Raenoria



Admiral of the Fleet Telan Desaria coded the message and sent it on its way towards his lover many sectors away on Kuat. With a heavy heart the officer unclasped his tunic and retired for the day in a recliner. Tomorrow, he would forget his worries and conquer Raxus not as Chief of the General Staff, but a committed naval warrior.

Lieutenant General Maxim, commander of III Corps, Imperial Guards, paused and allowed himself a rare moment of true relaxation. Seated in the cabin of his commander and in the company of some close friends he could regard the pleasant aroma of five fine cigarra about the room, the last of a rare stock hand-rolled on Excarga.


Rear Admiral Nikolai Enkvist stood against a bulk-brace next to the Maltese grand piano, an emerald tint to the wood setting it apart from contemporaries. A lower-born officer who had climbed the ranks from Petty Officer 2nd Class to commander of a bombardment squadron, he puffed on his cigarra as if it were nothing more than a generic item at two credits instead the fifty-nine it truly was. The grey-haired flag officer could be counted on to be totally oblivious to the rarity of their instruments, so General Maxim looked to another.


Rear Admiral Gunther von Felkersam, however, was a true aristocrat to the point that some considered him the gentry’s voice. A monocle in one eye and a deep scar running from it down his cheek, a mane of thinning black running from his forehead, he was as intimidating as he was tall – above two meters. He rolled his own cigarra between thumb and forefinger, looking at it as if a prize. In the ten minutes that passed since all had arrived, he was the first to speak.


“ Pleasing, no? I’ve not had this blend in a long time.”


Baron Telan Desaria, Admiral of the Fleet and commander of the Third Battle Group, smiled wryly from his seat before a small card table. With a gentle hand he closed a very old and disintegrating copy of Count Artur de Morte’s great Treatise on War printed seven hundred years in the past.


“ It is indeed. Five years ago when my flagship strayed off course we ended up in a hive of pirates, stumbling on their staging area. Their commander had a gentleman’s taste and I appropriated these. Now seemed to be the best time.”


Lieutenant General Maxim exhaled while morphing his mouth into a circle; two puffs later as many smoke rings were drifting away on an unseen current of air. “ These Children all want to die for their god, then let them. From the reports I’ve read – those of my unit commanders on Lianna – gives me the impression they’re ill equipped on the ground. Hell, they’re throwing civilians into the mix! Lianna took two days because our repulsor tanks were under orders not to leave the walkers behind.”


General der Luftabteilunge* Otto Tremmeschaft moved from around the grand piano and the bench on which he was sitting attempting to master the rather complex instrument. Of the assembled officers he was the shortest but most highly decorated; accordingly, his career spanned most the lives of the men with him.


“ Our enemy may be stupid and we know he is brave: this makes for a very dangerous combination. While I share Felix’s optimistic vision of victory, I do not think it will be as easy as he predicts. Lianna was, for them, unimportant. When we take a world or eve a city that holds some sort of relic or holy monastery then we shall see what they are truly capable.”


Admiral Desaria nodded and stood. From Rear Admiral Enkvist he graciously accepted a glass of cognac and placed a hand thoughtfully in a trouser pocket. “ I think we all are right. And again, we all are wrong. We arrive at Rudrig in four hours and we shall see all that we have predicted unfold before our very eyes. The difference between genius and insanity is only a matter of persecptive.”


Von Felkersam raised his glass in acknowledgement, several ‘here, here’ s ringing in the cabin. Desaria and the others shared one more round of alcohol then departed for their commands.


General der Luftabteilunge – (German) translating to a General of the Armed Aerial Detachments, approximate in rank to a general of four-stars in the American Army, General of Infantry in the British Royal Army, and a General der Infanterie in the deutsches Bundeswehr. The rank is specialized to the general’s duty, this one a commander in the Fighter Corps. Others include General der Infanterie (Infantry), General der Panzertruppen (Panzer/Armor), General der Kavallarie (Cavalry), General der Artillerie (Artillery), General der Aufklarung (Reconaissance), General der Pioneere (Engineers) et al

Admiral of the Fleet Telan Desaria sat with a set jaw as his flagship jolted slightly on its cosmos-shredding exit from hyperspace. A tunnel of brilliant blues and cloud-like wisps of white faded away and was replaced by a black sheet filled with an impressive array of close stars. The brown orb of Rudrig waited patiently for the Empire’s arrival.


“ Situation report if you please, Captain Semenov.”


The Admiral’s flag captain clicked to attention and looked down at two ensigns’ terminals behind which he stood. “ Approximately seventy enemy Alpha-designate cruisers. There are seven new ships, tagged Beta. Eight hundred meters, look to be moderately armed. Mass analysis indicates heavy armor.”


“ Any battleships in the area?”


Semenov turned to Lieutenant Commander Skrydlov, flag tactical officer. “ Four craft over one-thousand meters. Gamma-designates, sir. The same kind as Lianna.”


Admiral Desaria steepled his fingers and looked over the three-dimensional holo-plot of the system into space itself. Almost a hundred ships stood in defense of Rudrig; though most were of little value and unanimously light armament the damage possible in such numbers was considerable. The challenge Desaria wanted, had yearned so badly over Lianna, was upon His Excellency.


“ 1st and 3rd Destroyer Squadrons to maintain defilade positions. All ships: commence fire at will. Assigned fighters, remain in picket positions. Non-assigned formations may commence assault-runs on all opposition.”


Around the Intimidator were ten Imperial Destroyers of varying classes, but all above a kilometer in length. Cruisers and frigates, assault squadrons and all transports were absent from the field – absented would be more correct, however. From the Imperial battleships came a deliberately calculated display of power, only one or two shots loosed every second. Gun captains were ranging their pieces, battery commanders aligning their charges for the unleashing of a hellstorm upon the enemy.


“ Response is twenty percent effective, Admiral. Two of the Betas and fifteen Alphas are moving to engage us, maximum sublight speed. It would seem from the flanks.”


“ Continue ranging our guns. When they come into our effective field of fire, turn up the heat, Captain.”


Semenov nodded before turning to the flag-communications officer. Short, stocky, but every kilogram packed with muscle, he was already relaying the orders to the command-group’s captains.


The Alphas appeared to have learned nothing from Lianna, coming towards the Imperial warships with weapons live and all power to drive engines. Vastly outnumbered, they must have thought the Imperials easy prey. At a distance of thirty kilometers Imperial gun crews released their inhibitions and poured forth great concentrated volleys into the attackers. In a display of remarkable bravery, the Alphas continued onward; with remarkable accuracy, heavy turbolaser cannon cut the small frigates apart three at a time. Many crews never had the chance to fire, their targets drifting debris when the field of fire was clear.


“ Two remaining, sir. They are falling back to rendezvous with the Betas.”


“ Note their sluggish speed, Commander,” Semenov ordered the engagement-recorder.


“ Indeed,” murmured Desaria. Glancing down from his command chair into the lower level of the flag bridge, he could see a mass of red-emblems converging near Raxus. Many an admiral thanked the gods for the inventor of holo-technology, Desaria among them.


“ We seem to have gotten their attention.”


Squadrons of TIEs swerved throughout the mess of combat ships above and around Raxus trailing fire and destruction. Before every turn every ship opened its arc with a blast of laser fire. Yard tugs and shuttles between a hundred different orbital platforms made ample cannon fodder for well discipline pilots, an ace elevated almost every other second. Assault shuttles and blastboats made themselves useful eliminating four Alphas from the fray. It was an awesome sight from any viewport.


Overall, however, fifty-odd Divine warships decided to converge on their attackers. More competent than their foolish predecessors, hot light flew the moment propulsion plants stuttered to life.

“ We have received the signal, Admiral.”


Gunther von Felkersam steepled his fingers then added a slight nod the a voice behind him. The officers on his bridge were competent and he knew that even before he acknowledged the order and relayed its addendum the unspoken command he had yet to utter was being relayed to all ships in the 5th Bombardment and 116th and 71st Assault Squadrons. With this knowledge in hand any words he spoke would have been anticipated and superfluous. The born aristocrat was not one to defy tradition.


“ When the signal is confirmed, order all ships to synchronize micro-jump with us and jump accordingly. Prepare to raise shields and load all weapons. Leash off status granted to all gun crews, fire on command to be independent unless otherwise ordered by battery, ship, or task force command.”


Acknowledgements rang through the cavernous bridge. At the same time, space morphed from an endless expanse of stars to a finite tunnel of bluish-white light before transforming back again. A distance beyond the range of enemy scanners had been crossed in a flash and with that crossing came the second phase of the Imperial conquest of Raxus.


Five Victory IV-class Star Destroyers under the 5th Bombardment sat above northern pole of a weary planet, the backs of fifty ships providing a wealth of soft-targets battery commanders dreamt of…

There was a feature very uncommon on the face of those bearing the awesome burden of command on their shoulders: a smile. When one stretched the lips of Admiral Baron Telan Desaria in a most evil manner, Flag Captain Andrei Semenov was perplexed. After he considered the situation at hand the man dismissed the notion that his commanding officer had snapped. He was instead pleased at the success of his maneuver: nine fast-attack ships supported by five turbolaser-packed battleships had arrived behind the forming lines of Divine ships.


“ Rear Admiral von Felkersam is to target the enemy battleships, his cruisers to maintain safe distance and protect his Destroyers. Our fighters will reform and begin attack runs on designated targets planet-level.”


“ Aye sir.”


Desaria pursed his lips and watched the battle via hologram and direct sight, devoting an eye each to projector-map and the bow-ward viewports. The ships of his enemy were either smarter of had the luxury of a better commander than Lianna for they did not simply run at the Imperial armada with guns blazing – rather they formed small assault parties of four to six ships then accelerated.


“ Pickets to commence missile fire by squadron on enemy frigates as they come within range. Pick targets by ship,” the Admiral ordered, placing responsibility for fire control in the hands of flight-liaison officers on every bridge.


The flag bridge was bathed in a flash of light, six batteries of heavy turbolasers loosing a salvo at a Beta leading four smaller peers towards the Imperial warships. Its forward guns blazing wildly at fighters and armed shuttles, the spine of the vessel buckled under stress from tens of potent blasts. Fire spewed into space with amazing ferocity as if trapped beneath armor and bulkheads. Debris careened forward as hull pieces broke off and tumbled away in various directions.


To the starboard came a group of five Alpha frigates, one of which had not been fully refitted: the aft sensor dish of an old Corellian CR90 Corvette visible amid steel protrusions and a bone-like mass of twisted metal. Meeting them was the ISD III Ferocity and its fifty heavy laser cannon – shot after shot ripped apart the ships until their run was but a memory outlined in charred chunks of decking.


“ They’ve resorted to ramming!”


Flag Captain Semenov turned from Commander Eddington, the flag-operations officer, to see Desaria stand and look incredulously towards the Ferocity. One moment she was a mighty warship with a fresh coat of paint, the next ablaze and adrift. Two groups of frigates converged on her before the guns could rotate, overloading shields with inertia and mass. There was a hushed silence as the ship’s command tower fell over like a broken tree trailing flame and spark.

Admiral Telan Desaria stood in his quarters, looking out at the mass of rock and land eclipsing space. Raxus lumbered along side the Imperial command ship, defiant in the face of its enemy. Above embattled defenses drifted the remains of a vanquished fleet dispersing in the wake of Imperial warships on their victorious orbit.

Raxus was little more than wretched in the eyes of the commander of the Third Battle Group. Coinciding with the Admiral’s ‘promotion’ from the ranks of the intellectually elite General Staff, the operation bringing Raxus into the folds of the late-Emperor’s robes was a personal tragedy. The opening of hostilities over the manufacturing centre had alerted the Empire to a new level of the Children’s fanaticism – fifteen Imperial ships sat with the fallen and with them almost two hundred thousand soldiers, officers, and crewmen.

Topping off the list of events were the shattered remains of a crystal sheet littered over the base steps of the Admiral’s viewing stage. Rage flowing from every pore, the Admiral had smashed the data-reviewing system, its coverpage holding the emblem of the new Chief of the General Staff. Under the first sheet lay a complicated string of orders and counter orders, the majority of which robbed the Third Battle Group of its strength. When all was said and done, only one heavy squadron and two supporting formations were left to campaign in Tion.

From the recess of the cabin could be heard weeping, Baron Telan Desaria fearful for the fate of his men. Half a million soldiers had been landed on Raxus to combat three times that number under the Divine’s banner. Battle had become fierce and brutal yet resources were being withdrawn by a politically motivated soldier high above the dirt and grime of death.