Border of the Galactic Empire
ISD V Hornisse


The nest of a hornet is quite calm and peaceful, almost serene if one were to come enough to observe. Each drone has its own assigned tasks, each warrior its assigned patrol, each overseer its own sector to watch and command. One might say that, at a glance, such an arrangement belied complacency or perhaps even inability. However, to introduce a threat...


Vice Admiral Erich Raeder chorttled slightly to himself as he remember doing exactly that as a child of barely seven. He had stood over a hive and made the mistake of giving it as good a kick as a seven year old could. Even at such an age, he had to marvel at the speed with which complacency gave way to efficiency. What was once calm and serene morphed to driven and able. Looking back, he could remember as he ran away the terror that each insect had brought with it as they charged their attacker caring not of danger of casualties. Swat he did and killed one or two to be sure, but the hornets won the day. As the Admiral looked around, he felt returned to that day in the field, for around him stirred a nest of activity.


The Coalition has awakened a sleeping giant, and instilling in him a great resolve, Raeder though to himself, bastardizing a quote whose origins were lost to history. The bridge of his flagship was alive as crewmen and officers moved as quickly as decorum would allow. They had to be underway inside of an hour and many things remained to be done. In the completion of their tasks, though, the Admiral had confidence. Imperial crews were quite well drilled.


Raeder moved down a flight of steel steps from the flag bridge above to the ship's bridge below. The Captain of the Hornisse, a younger man of perhaps four decades' life, stood watchful of his own subordinates. He snapped to attention as the Admiral neared but returned to his casual stance when his gesture was dismissed with a wave.


" The ship will be ready to depart within the hour. The rest of the squadron reports similar status. The four Auroras are in the last stages of fueling and we need only finish taking on ammunition."


" Excellent," the Admiral replied, adjusting his monocle. Barely an hour before the word had come from an Imperial fortress that it was under assault. That word had been sent to High Command over a nigh unjammable HoloNet and from there to units that were part of an evergrowing list of contingency plans set forth by the General Staff and the Grand Marshal himself. The simple message still replayed in his mind: Bilbringi is under attack. Execute.


" Sir, we will be in hyperspace for thirty minutes to the rendezvous with the 67th Light. After that, it will take us at least four hours to our destination. I would like your permission to conduct some emergency evacuation drills."


The Admiral grew thin lipped. The Captain was taking a large risk suggesting that the flagship could be destroyed or heavily damaged - a large risk indeed for some less rational flag officers would see such a measure as defeatism. Thankfully, the new Navy fostered realistic thinking. " Granted Captain."


Raeder moved away from his flag captain and over towards the nearby viewport. What was once called an Astrus-class Star Destroyer expanded before his eyes as their gaze moved forward from the command tower and past the powerful super-turbolaser turrets. Four Aurora-class Destroyers lingered in loose formation off the bow, a half dozen light cruisers around them and a dozen frigates and smaller ships beyond them. Unseen were the tenders and tankers the squadron - and soon to be task force - would need for the execution of its own contingency.


Onward to victory - if nothing else, than a glorious ride into the jaws of death. I had an older brother who came running with a canister of spray and enough sense to pull me away. Who will come to the GC's rescue now that they have stirred our nest? None but the flag bearers.

Vice Admiral Raeder bristled as he felt the slight lurch of deck plating beneath his jackbooted feet, a sure sign his flagship had torn itself from realspace and begun the last leg of its jourrey towards action. Sailors of every age and allegiance were considered to be the most superstitious lot outside of Black Dragon territory, and the Admiral was no different. That his mission had gotten off to a bad start made him none too happy: the Hammer-class Cruiser Crack brushed up too close to its tender and lurched as its port drive engine crumbled in on itself. Under tow she was sent limping towards the repair yard at Rachuk.


Teeth clenched, the Admiral turned away from the viewports and studied the holographic layout on a nearby plot table. Two squadrons, one Line and one Light, were cruising in formation, the trailing 67th down to seven cruisers of varying classes, down from eight. Not a terrible loss in any battle, but Task Force XXXIV had yet to come to grips with the enemy!

The Admiral swallowed hard and put the matter from his mind; there wer bigger concerns at present. Contingency plans every affected commander had to commit to memory were precise in their designated targets - execution of those orders and the manner of action on said targets was the subject of extreme latitude.


Enter the system, deploy pickets, give off three volleys, and off again we go.


The Hornisse was the heaviest ship in the task force and obviously the slowest. Her sole purpose on this mission - aside from carrying the Vice Admiral's flag - was to destroy or disable whatever resistance could inhibit the five Auroras and numerous smaller craft from doing their swift work. Finally, Raeder relaxed in his seat, hearing Captain Semmes commence yet another gunnery drill. The flagship was in good hands.

* * Ninety Minutes Later * *

The ships of Task Force XXXIV exited hyperspace two and three at a time, reminding the Admiral to chide his flag navigtor for failing to properly align the master jump computer. That thought logged and filed away, the Admiral nodded to Captain Semmes and moved up to the platform on the Hornisse's bridge were flag-level operations could be conducted without interfering in a ship captain's running of his on charge.


" Report, Lieutenant."


" We have reverted as planned as close as possible to the near-orbiting satellite. There is a considerable amount of military traffic in system. The defense fleet however, is not registering on our scanners."


" What remains is dispersed with the system traffic I would imagine, the rest cannibalized for the Bilbringi assault. Spread us out and begin hunting for war contraband. Order all cruisers to remain clear of planetary batteries. Exercise extreme fire discipline, I want no civilian casualties. Board the ships, remove the crews, then destroy them if they are hauling anything of military value."


" Sir, if we encounter the defense fleet?"


" What is left of it ill be dealt with as any other Coalition ship in a time of war. Engage and destroy."


Task Force XXXIV fanned out around the flagship faster and faster as each ship utilized its engines to full potential. A pair of Auroras hung off each flank of the flagship like hungry hunters behind the haunches of a pack leader. Cruisers and frigates gave off warning shots to civilian freightors and quickly dispatched shuttles with small boarding parties. Crews would be taken off and the ships destroyed in quick, withering broadsides.


War can always be conducted with honour and chivalry. Just because their Coalition doesn't mean they're less of men.


Raeder smiled. The Imperial Navy was pillaging Iridonia.

One Hour Later...


The footfalls of jackbooted soldiers echoed through the corridors of the Jasper Miracle. Civilian crewmen in greyish jumpsuits scattered as black-uniformed Fleet Assault Corps troopers, their polished white cuirasses glistening in the freightors low light, charged towards their goal. There were no checkpoints to pass, no barricades to storm, no obstacles to surmount; only the Master at Arms dared resist and even he, when faced with the discharge end of a DL-44E. surrendered.


After twisting through the maze of steelen routes through the tanker, a party of troopers came into the bridge and fanned out to remove as peaceably as possible beings from their stations. Standing in the center of the ship's command section stood a short creature the most cursuory glance told was Selonian. A single-piece robe wrapped the captain in some veil of propriety, no doubt ordered by the company that employed her; as the troopers surrounded her, a taloned hand movd towards a ceremonial but no less lethal blade hanging at her side.


" There is no reason to die here today, Madame Captain." Stepping forward from the troopers was one whose sleeves bore no white slashes denoting rank. The Selonian regarded the human male, drinking in every detail of his physique - he would no doubt be a worthy opponent, but would die all the same. " I am Lieutenant Vatch. My orders are to remove you and your crew from this vessel immediately, not to kill or harm you. After complying, you will be escorted into the planet's low orbit or you may head there yourself. I beg of you, do not force my hand."


The Selonian's eyes flashed with impotent rage and anger that a male, and a human one to boot, had the audacity to issue a ultimatum to her! Her position remained untenable despite her thoughts, and in disgust she hissed before turning away. A human female moved to her place and nodded to the Lieutenant. " Do we have time to collect our things?"


" Fifteen minutes, Ma'am. Our shuttles depart then."


Compliance was secured and throughout the ship, the thousand or so employees of the Mersuul Fuel Company, INC, made haste to escape pods and shuttles, none choosing to use those offered by their brusque but chivalrous captors. When all craft were to safety, lead by a small blue-coloured vessel sporting a CEC logo, a quick volley of proton warheads from the Draconis-class Protected Cruiser Numidia reduced the craft and her expensive cargo to debris and flash forzen goo.


Near the System Periphery


" Admiral, we have hostile contacts in-bound, course 110 on our plane. They read as three frigates, more specifically as older Birds of Prey. Sir! They have engaged our TIE pickets."


Vice Admiral Raeder turned away from the plot table and its holographic projection of the system over which his squadrons were running rampant and affixed his stare off the starboard side. The flicker of light from laser blast and shield impacts flashed from second to second though the battling vessels were too small to see. " Command, turn us and our escorts to engage. We are nearly finished here - begin the withdrawal. Reform the task force and move to jumpoint 17. Flag Ops - bow batteries to target theose ships at maximum range and open fire."


Reforming a task force engaged in stripping a system of valubed military assets was no easy task; boarding parties had to make quick work of their assignments and returned to their launching warships, formations had to be re-aligned. Orders went out to do just that, to collect the cruisers and corral the frigates who were finally enjoying their time unbridled by squadron protocol and gunnery assignments.


Meanwhile, the Hornisse and its attendent Aurora-class Destroyers gave the approaching Coalition much more attention than they deserved. From two batteries on each dagger-shaped prow came a torret of fire that was targetted by area. Hits were sproadic and indirectly aimed, the salvoes purpose being to scatter and slow, not destroy - turbolasers were broadswords, not scalpels. However gallant the ships' captains had planned to be, their efforts were nullified by a wall of fire. Discretion was picked to be the better part of valor and so they turned away from the firey fate that was almost theirs. The Onyxian warships contented themselves on harassing departing Imperial frigates until there was none left to harass.


As the Imperial Fleet disappeared, the Brids of Prey in orbit and the commander on the ground took stock of the seventy minutes' devastation. Over twenty freightors and transports had been boarded and destroyed, another seven taken away in tow. Vengeance was most certainly not satisfied, only a squadron's worth of Defenders failing to reberth on larger ships. Pride had been wounded and the Coalition embarassed, but as the Hornisse slid away from Iridonia, her Captain, Semmes, smiled to himself. The day's action had gone off without a single civilian casualty. Of that at least, he could be proud.

As the Cabeca da Morte sliced through the elongated star lines of hyperspace, her commander paced the deck of the main bridge, his hands clasped behind his back. This was his first command, and he was taking a great risk in his mission. However, he felt confident of success, and was determined to show his admiral that he was suited to his command.

"Sir, we will reach our destination in about twenty more seconds." reported the navigator. The human was a tall one, about two meters, but was almost deathly thin and weighed as much as a person half his height. I believe that his name was, Niux, something suited more to a Sullustan than a human.

"Sound battlestations. Have the fighter and bomber crews stand down, we won't be using them on this run. Close all external hold doors. I want to make this run as quick and painless as possible." I ordered as I stopped my pacing and came to stand in front of the main viewport, taking in the view for the last time, for the next few minutes at the very least.

The alarms calling the crews to their stations were still wailing throughout the ship as it dropped out of hyperspace within the well traveled regions between Coalition planets. As those alarms died down, new ones rose up to take their places, along with the reports from various crew stations.

"Sir, six unknown contacts within hyperspace corridor. Identification is coming in now...." began the sensors officer, a Diamal crewer, as he was cutoff by another.

"Hyperspace reversion successful. Plotting new course out of system, estimated time to complete, three minutes...." reported the navigator.

"One Bird of Prey class of warship, three medium sized container haulers, two small freighters...."

"Everyone, quiet. Guns, target that Bird of Prey. Fire at will." ordered Commander Harkum. He wanted to shake his head so badly now, but he knew the gesture would be mis-understood by the bridge crew, who were looking to him for orders or guidance. This bunch was fresh out of the training academy at Rachuk, with much of the previous crew transferred off the patrol vessel to take command of a comissioning line destroyer.

Green lances of turbolaser fire leapt out from the Ferro-class medium cruiser, almost instantly crossing the space between the two vessels to strike the Bird of Prey. The sensors and visual observation officer both noticed that the shields on the vessel was down, and that it was apparently damaged to some degree, probably on it's way from a battle someplace to a shipyard for repairs.

In either case the turbolasers finished whatever it was that had been begun, and the warship was soon a floating mass of wreckage. A number of escape pods had been jettosined from the dying warship, and were picked up by the medium cruiser. Harkum dispatched a platoon of stormtroopers to the hangar bay to oversee the transfer of prisoners from the escape pods to the holding cells aboard the medium cruiser.

In the meantime, the two smaller Coalition freighters were escaping, and were probably independent contractors anyways, hauling non-valuable cargo from one planet to another. The bulk freighters is what the commander really wanted.

"Ion cannons, disable the freighter to port. Turbolasers, target the freighter to starboard. Torpedo launchers, obliterate the freigher below our forward keel." ordered the commander, by passing his guns commander on the bridge. He himself had once been a gunnery commander on a patrol cruiser, before transferring to his prominent assignement under commander Thorton to the planet of Serenno.

Again, salvoes of firepower lanced out from the medium cruiser. All three were hit and badly damaged within moments of one another. Two of them, the ones targeted by the turbolasers and proton torpedoes, were destroyed, one of them detonating in a brilliant explosion that left no doubt was to what it was carrying; ammunition. The other seemed to be embarked with sheets of some kind of metal. It seemed impervious to destruction, and merely scattered away from the freighter and out into the vastness of space.

The third freighter, seeing the destruction of it's comrades, and that it's engines and systems were disabled, opted to abandoned ship, just as the commander wanted. It's crew was also picked up, then turbolasers dispatched the line freighter, scattering it's cargo hold of packed foodstuffs all over the place in quite a frozen mess.

"We are done here. Navigator, get us back into the safety of hyperspace." ordered Commander Pyle. In a matter of less than ten minutes, he and his medium cruiser had reduced a damaged small capital ship and three large freighters into useless scrap, and had made a small dent into the shipbuilding industry of wherever these freighters were bound. It was time to go before Coalition response crews arrived.

A moment later, the cruiser entered hyperspace, bound for friendly lines.

<b>Onyx</b>

Marth Mere stood in the Command Centre on Onyx and stared at a map. Dozens of stars appeared on the screen, most marked in green except for two exceptions. As he was watching a third red mark appeared though this one didn't appear anywhere near the stars marked green.

"Watch officer! What's that latest incident?"

Standing to the side a Lieutenant-Commander in the Commonwealth Navy consulted his datapad.

"A low-priority convoy was attacked sir. One Bird of Prey that was no longer in active service was destroyed. It had been retrofitted for cargo duty and it was carrying personnel weapons destined for units on Onyx. Three Bulk Frigates were captured. Cargo included various consumer items such as comlinks and datapads. Security on the convoy was non-existent which is why they managed to discover their location. We are currently tracking the taskforce retreating towards Imperial Space."

Marth nodded, "And they destroyed twenty freighters at Iridonia."

"Aye, sir none of them were carrying anything more valuable then light weapons. As you know the Zabrak's are quite proficient in their construction. Commercial traffic in Iridonia is fairly small, not many people want to trade with the Zabrak's and it doesn't have the same connections as Ord Mantell which is close by."

Marth shook his head in astonishment, "So the Empire has managed to waste an incredible amount of energy and fuel to destroy 25 freighters. Carrying nothing of value. Order all defence forces on Orange Alert. Any actually valuable convoys should be on their guard, and should go to their alternate routes. Commerce isn't going to be affected, all they've managed to do is inconvenience a few reserve army regiments."

As Marth left the room he could only chuckle at the buffonery displayed by the Empire. Some times they could operate with great tact and skill. Today apparently, just wasn't their day.

Since the first species had taken to the stars, space held the wonders of imagination locked in a black embrace. Systems and sectors and regions became accessible as time crept on, every mystery solved spawning a thousand more mysteries. Space was an adventurers dream - but only a dream. The nebula and commets and horrid creatures which lurked in the shadows were but a fraction of reality - ninety-nine percent of space was just that - space: calm, featureless, and serene.


Twenty-minutes direct flight from a rather populated system, the Stalwart-class Frigate Mogontacium shattered that serenity. Behind it came a dagger-shaped vessel coated in the light-grey sheen of Yavin-era Star Destroyers; standing out from the broad-bellied warship was a curious spec barely fifty-meters long sporting a matte black finish and dark blue stripe that ran around a bulbous protusion amidships.


The trio moved away from their point of entry at a graceful speed, onlookers marvelling at the ease a twelve-hundred meter ship of the line cruised and turned. In a wide swing to port, the largest ship slowed and broadcast a quick message to the convoy of freightors scattering before it.


Coalition and Neutral Vessels - By order of His Majesty the Emperor all traffic into and inside Coalition Space is to be interdicted. You will stand down immediately and prepare to be boarded. Crews will surrender themselves and be released at the nearest neutral port of call. Any attempt to resist will not be tolerated. Neutral ships will have any military cargoes confiscated or destroyed and be released.


The captains and stewards of a dozen ships read the transmission over and over, none realizing their decision was being made for them: two squadrons of Mark IV TIE Defenders left the containment of launch bays and took up flanking positions around the ships. The TIEs could maintan control or dispatch any resistor at a moment's notice. One did try to escape, a dauntless ship flying GC colours and firing its pair of laser cannon as it went. A flight of Defenders ended her ride with a salvo of laser blasts that left her aft section open to space. All inside was sucked out, crew included.


Aboard the Aurora-class Star Destroyer Primarch, Captain Devlin scowled. If only they had listened. Pity. Our first catch of the day.





The Hornisse hung at the very end of the Ord Mantell system, pointed directly at that world as if hoping to impale it with the contemptuous looks of spirited crewmen. An Aurora-class Destroyer hung off each haunch, several smaller ships and attendent TIEs all readied for the short forray into the system.


Admiral Raeder had given the orders he needed to give as the ISD V struck out beyond the hyperlane. He glanced back at his holodisplay and rested secure in known all was as it should be. Four detachments had been made from the task force, each given a point to sit and watch, each point a reversion point for ships making course corrections to other Coalition worlds. What remained of the task force was grouped elsewhere, minus the dozen ships moving with deliberation towards Ord Mantell itself.


They stirred our hive, it is time to return the favor.


The battleship pushed on comfortably behind its screen of seventy-two fighters and various pickets, searching prey more its level. Commerce raiding was the order of the and the Admiral dared not defy High Command. Every now an then, however, every great war horse must stretch its legs.

Jay's Kris starfighter, a sleek white knife cutting through hypserspace, was the height of design. The ship was favoured by White Knights for its' speed, maneauverability, and limited invulnerability powers that allowed for quick and decisive engagements. Being rarely involved in open warfare, Knights were more interested in a craft of many uses than a dog of war.

Today his ship gleamed particularly bright as he followed up on the swath of destruction being wrought by the Empire through Onyxian space. With the entire Onyxian fleet either tied up at Bilbringi or tied down defending their worlds, there was no one to respond to the rash of piracy.

No one, except perhaps a knight in shining armour.

Jay the Firrerro, his thick golden hair giving him a wild and bestial look, was a White Knight of the Coalition trained by Regrad at the base on Leritor. He was a proud warrior and a staunch enemy of the Empire, having commanded the Coalition in combat against them at Dubrillion and was proud to do so again, if it came down to it.

Unfortunately, it appeared that it would. The latest report revealed a convoy of freighters lost to Imperial action. With only the planets secured, everyone in space was rushing as fast as they could to one of them for safety. The gates would stay firmly barred until the crisis was averted.

So far as he could tell, there weren't any more convoys left that hadn't either reached port or been destroyed, which meant the Empire was likely to start making closer raids. His next jump would bring him out close to where the last hit suggested an Imperial presence. If he was lucky, he'd find something.

His fighter emerged from hyperspace. The first thing he saw was the Hornisse, the battleship rearing up huge in his sights. He mentally corrected his previous assertion - if he was extremely unlucky, he'd find something.

"Frack!" he exclaimed, yanking back on the controls and veering away from the battleship. The moment of surprise was of critical importance, as not a shot was fired, giving him time to put distance between himself and the enemy and head towards more open space.

Behind him, however, the fighters were beginning to break off in his direction. He had to warn the Onyxians - the Empire was still out there waiting for them.

Captain Devlin could not help but feel almost ashamed as he watched volley after volley course into the vastness of space from the sides of his sleek-lined vessel. True enough, he was doing the Emperor's bidding in waiting at an almost obscure hyperspace-reversion point and true, he was slagging convoy after convoy along with stray freightors that ventured into the night. However, the Coalition's very defense against the Imperial preadtors that stalked the darkness was bending fortune to his favor and, a gentleman to the core, Devlin could not rid himself fo the thought he was being unsporting.


" Sir, we have arranged another escort. Major Hofstetter is requesting permission to depart."


The Captain nodded absently to himself. On one side of the Aurora-class Star Destroyer four tankers filled with cruiser fuel crumbled under the ship's guns while on the other three captured merchantmen and their four Defender escorts disappeared from view.


Ironic I suppose rather than unsporting. They are doing the best thing they can to save themselves; by recalling all ships into defensible perimeters they protect the ships. But they know not our location and so, rather than thin out our pick of targets, they increase them as the herd runs home.


Off the starboard broadside of the Primarch, an aged Baldivian captain decided against throwing away the lives of the young sailors on his ship and ran up a white flag. The pelting of turbolaser blasts stopped shortly thereafter so as not to hit the TIEs that screamed into view. The humanoid had a curious thought as commands played in his native tongue on the bidge: the government has already paid for these supplies, perhaps the Imps will as well. Maybe today I bring home two checks for one day's work...







Admiral Reader remembered the words of an ancient poem, as old as time itself. He fondly remembered being a boy of ten listening to his father's tales of unrequited glory and salvation against hopeless odds; how forty thousand men had stormed the ramparts of Illa-drell and how less than a company remained upon a sun-scorched plain when the trumpets sounded victory. In his heart of hearts, he could not help but draw a parallel as his eyes scanned his surroundings.


" Congratulations, Admiral. We wanted them angry - they are!"


The Hornisse pushed itself further and further into the system, aimed like a dagger at Ord Mantell itself. On all sides, fighters warmed about only slightly faster than the corvettes and frigates whose patrol the Imperial forray had interrupted. Further still into the maelstrum sat cruisers and battleships manacled to moorings and repairways and each one unable to answer the furious salvoes tearing into the night. Suprise was complete, but it came not without cost.


" Message from the Trivixia: her engines sustained direct damage. She's falling out of formation."


The Admiral strode over to the viewports and braced himself on the railing, a volley from the super-turbolasers rocking the ship violently as she drove on. Already trailing behind the Aurora-class Destroyer Devious, the Hammer-class Light Cruiser continued to fire every weapon she could even though only inertia propelled her. Soon firgates and gunboats bearing Coalition markings clouded his view as did opening range but the Admiral needed not eyes to feel the courageous ship's fate: she would fire until she could fire no more, refusing all calls to surrender, then be pounded by merciless volleys until her hull crumbled or crippled reactor overloaded. Raeder tossed a salute aft and vowed to remember.


" We're past the planet!"


Raeder moved dwon from the flying bridge to the ship's command level itself. A flurry of orders was called back and forth, competing with the splash of shot on bonded armor and the roar of cannonade again and again. All courses were set with no deviation permitted. Admirals and even Captains had lost their power as the engagement took on a life of its own between gunners and pilots of competing allegiances. Ships which had entered the battle polished and proper now pushed on with blackened hulls and torn armor.


" Alarm - off the port bow!"


All eyes snapped to the left of the mighty Imperial V-class Destroyer as it and what remained of its escorts made their final turn to leave the nest they had stirred. A large enemy cruiser no less than fifteen hundred meters in size did all its refitting engines would allow to impede the Imperial escape. Crewmen on every warships compensated, turning their charges away and around - all save one. the Devious had selected the Claymore's particular shipway as the focus of its own salvoes and continued on as if contemptuous of the battlecruiser's quest vor avenge. Shot after shot poured from the Destroyer's bow batteries but the Claymore did not answer - she could not, all of her starboard guns taken out of action by the Destroyer's long range gunnery. Her mass however nibbled away was a weapon in and of itself as Devious turned to avoid a collision. The Claymore surged to life and pushed itself into Imperial vessel's ventral hull. A brilliant explosion consuemd both ships as magazines exploded one by one until one particular collapsed and the reactor was consumed. Debris shot in every direction ahead of a brilliant fireball that blinded more than a fiew who dared gaze.


Admiral Raeder slumped down in front of one console and felt the Hornisse's Captain congratulatory slap on the back. Indeed they had acheived sucess, running straight through a fortified system. Indeed, they had lain waste to two battleships, a half dozen cruisers and as many frigates though to be fair most of which were helpless inside various docks and constructs. At least thirty freightors were accounted for as well, but what of the cost? The Admiral thought of the smaller numbers - the survivors. His flagship had made it out along with one Aurora and a lonely Fire-class Light Frigate too insignificant perhaps for the enemy to have wasted their shots upon. As the formation jumped into hyperspace, Raeder glanced back at a dozen cruisers and a destroyer that would never leave Coalition Space.


Forever on patrol...

Admiral Raeder stood between the twin staircases from the command level to the flag bridge, his shoulders squared, face impassive. Reports were read off to him by nameless aides he ignored; rather, whose reports he ignored. Each report sounded similar in its parts: a pompous introduction followed by heartfelt greetings and congratulations from functionaries too far from the lines to understand - too have ever understood - what victory entailed. Stoic as he tried remain, the Admiral looked down at the bare cuffs of his jacket. There was neither red stripe of the General Staff or the Gothic-scripted cuff title Imperial Guard scrawled on each sleeve and he knew why. He possessed neither the detachment of an academic commander or the glory-hounding drive of a Guards officer.


I can see His Excellency the Baron now were he in my place. He would offer up some archaic prayer to the vallen, salute the vanquished, and relish the praise of his two lords and master, Marshal Kaine and the Emperor himself. He has a sense of duty where I have remorse.


Raeder let go of the handrailings he didn't even realize he had clenched his gloved fists around. Even now, staring forward at a dozen shuttles rescuing escape pods and snaring large pieces of debris in tentacles of tractor-beam blue, the Admiral felt sorry he would never seen the imposing Captain Devlin again. Irony was an everpresent companion in war as evidenced by scattered remains of the Primarch: she had captured so many transports scurrying back to the safety of Ord Mantell that when a column of Coalition Reinforcements dropped from hyperspace the Destroyer had only a half-dozen TIEs with which to mount a defense.


A victim of victory. Morose as it was, Raeder smiled as he pictured Grand Admiral Desaria penning some glorious missive to the fallen Captain's wife filled with exhortive tails of his demise. The letter itself might have been ridiculous for its content of propaganda sayings had the Baron not believed every single word.


" Sir, we've completed recovery operations. Seven hundred forty-one rescued."


Raeder nodded, refusing to think of the loss of life. He gave final orders for the task force to return to Imperial Space. What remained of it...


Not all the hornets return to the hive. But that never stops them from scrambling again.

Five Days after Annexation of the rogue Onyxian Commonwealth as an Occupied State


Edge of Onyx System


The Imperial war machine was manifested in popular culture by its ubiquitous symbols of might: powerful Star Destroyers, sleek TIEs of all classes, jackbooted officers, and white-armored stormtroopers. Citizens of the Empire took great comfort in their every day lives knowing their freedoms were protected by such manifestations incarnate while enemies of the Empire cowered in fear of the day they might meek those symbols in battle. Few survived the broadside of a Star Destroyer, the swarm of fighters, the snap of an officer's fingers, or the charge of the stormtroopers and lived to regret it.


Such will be their fate. May the Gods guard them and give them the sense not to oppose us.


Grand Admiral Telan Desaria looked out from the bridge of the Glorious into the Onyx System, watching as the shapes of ships and space stations came into view. He wondered what thoughts were racing through the passangers' minds as they gazed upon one titannic Centurion-class Star Destroyer revert from hyperspace. He felt guilty as he imagined their terror when that one battleship was joined by one of its smaller cousins, then two, then twenty. He felt great pride as an entire Fleet formed up around the command ship with precision. He glanced up and placed their lives in the hands of the gods.


" All ships report station-keeping, Your Excellency. Divisions have formed up as per your orders."


The words of the Captain, a middle aged Balmorran named Vorran, sounded alien to the Baron of Raenoria as they emerged from between his thin lips, it having been so many months since the Grand Admiral's flag was on any but a ship of the Imperial Guard: but for one regiment of armor and the Grand Admiral himself, this formation was Guard-less.


Or perhaps, un-Guard-ed. Desaria chuckled, then turned back into the heart of the flying bridge.


" Very well. Deploy divisions two, three, and four. Have we received transmissions from the Sixth Fleet?"


" Negative, sir; they are unlikely to arrive at Metalorn for another six hours. It will be another twelve after that before they have fully deployed to cover all of the remaining Commonwealth worlds."


Grand Admiral Desaria nodded and moved back to a sprawling plot table at the mouth of the command corridor. A quick signal to a nearby technician replaced the two-dimensional map of the system with a three-dimensional holo-image whirring to life above the table representing all that Onyx claimed. Onyx itself changed from the traditional red of an enemy state but did not morph into the green of an Imperial system either; instead, it was a red sphere ringed in flashing neon. The legend unlooked at held the reason in bold letters: PACIFICATION INCOMPLETE


The units of the Thirteenth Fleet deploy from here, the Sixth from Metalorn. Twenty hours and all of the Commonwealth will have an Imperial garrison patrolling it from end to end. Of course we cannot yet land, but we will. Patience, Telan, patience.


" Captain Vorran: broadcast the Grand Marshal's message on all bands, all frequencies and repeat it until fruther notice. There will be no excuses this time. Too bad we waited two weeks to play it. But the operational realities of our delay cannot be ignored. C'est la guerre."