Bilbringi
Past

Vice-Admiral Yasin Hadwick looked out the window at the city flashing by. It had been a long time since he had been home: his last deployment had taken him South, watching the Imperial border in case the Coalition/BDE war escalated and spilled over into Imperial space. With that conflict now winding down, and mop up operations underway, he had finally been allowed to return home.

The military landspeeder stopped gently outside his home, the driver saluting properly as he deposited the officer’s bags on the front steps and drove off. Yasin watched him go, allowing the speeder to vanish around a corner before he knocked loudly on the door.

It swung open almost at once: standing there behind it was his wife, Terri, and his children, Kate and Thomas. He smiled broadly as the two young children ran towards him, hugging him tightly around the waist and nearly dragging him to the ground.

Patting his children on the head, he kissed his wife for the first time far too many months.

“I’ve missed you.” She said simply.

“And I you.” Yasin returned, embracing her. “It’s all right. I’m home now.”

She closed the door against the outside world, and for the first time in all those months Vice-Admiral Yasin Hadwick knew what it meant to be truly happy.


The dinner table was elaborately set, with the good china and the silverware they had received as a wedding present from her very traditional parents. She had somehow managed to coerce or bribe the kids into wearing their formal clothes – young Thomas looked especially out of place in his small suite with its bow-tie. Yasin thought they both looked spectacular, but it was his wife that caught his eye most.

“You look beautiful,” he said, placing his hand at the small of her back and kissing her lightly on the cheek. She blushed a little and smiled in return, and the officer took his seat at one end of the table.

“Children, dinner.” Their mother called, tearing the young ones away from their video game. They sat, as a family for the first time in many months, around the table, and bowing their heads Yasin said the Grace.

They had barely gotten into the salad when the com unit in the kitchen chirped, its pleasant tone still upsetting the tranquillity of the dinner. Yasin half rose to answer, but thought the better of it and instead allowed it to ring. He had spent precious little time with his family in recent years, and this was no time to interrupt it with com calls. Probably just a salesbot, anyway.

It rang again moments later, and this time Yasin rose to turn the unit’s hold mode on, blocking incoming calls. Satisfied that they would not be bothered, he returned to the dinner table, apologizing for the interruption.

“Daddy,” Kate asked, and Yasin smiled as he realized that the young girl was trying so hard to be proper, “where were you?”

“I was away. Making sure the Tion war didn’t hurt you.”

Kate looked satisfied for a moment, then frowned. “What’s war?” She asked innocently, her wide eyes beaming at her father.

This was the question Yasin had been dreading. Months spent watching the border had given him much time to ponder how to best answer, but he still had little idea how to explain it. How to explain the horrors of war to one so young? How to pass on the dangers without scaring them? Carefully, he put down his cutlery and sighed.

“War is one group of people get very angry at another group, and they try to kill them.” He said

“Did they try and kill you?” Kate asked.

“No. You see, honey, Daddy wasn’t in this war. This war was between the Galactic Coalition and the Black Dragon Empire. Daddy was only making sure they didn’t try and attack the Empire, so I was perfectly safe.”

“Good!” The young girl said, nodding defiantly, as if everything were that easy. Yasin smiled at the girl’s innocence, and wished not for the first time that everything could be that easy.

They returned to the meal, but found themselves interrupted before long by a pounding on the front door. Shaking his head, Yasin rose and tossed his hankerchief onto the table, and walked towards the door.

The family listened as he opened it and exchanged some words with whoever was there. They could not make out what was being said, but the way Yasin’s voice rose, it was clear whatever it was, it was not good.

He returned a minute later, his eyes hard.

“Dear?” His wife asked, looking at him uncertainly.

“They’re doing it again,” he spat out, his eyes cold, “the aliens are doing it again.”



RCD Mourning Glory
Present Day

As the first of the enemy ships were pulled from hyperspace, one of the Dictator FCV’s transmitted its message: Bilbringi is under attack!

“Imperial High Command has plans in place, Admiral.” The lieutenant reported, handing Yasin a datapad as they made their way out of the hanger bay and towards the bridge of the Reign class Star Destroyer. “They’re all there on the datapad, and you’ll have support, of course.”

“They knew this was coming?” Yasin asked, a little surprised.

“High Command had their suspicions, yes. As I say, the plans are already in place. The security of the frontier is assured have been prepped – I have word Drayson herself will be leading the defence.”

Yasin nodded.

“An attack on the Northern frontier would be suicidal. The Grand Moff has built that border into a fortress – the Coalition doesn’t have the manpower to break the line, not with the shape their fleet is in after the Tion war.”

“You were involved in the Tion defence, weren’t you, Admiral?” The younger officer asked, impressed.

“For what it’s worth, yes.” Yasin responded. “The war never reached our border; the Empire’s involvement was minimal.”

“Officially, I understand we had no involvement.”

“That’s right.”

“Very well. At any rate, yes, the Coalition cannot hope to break the Northern line. Not without an infusion of ships and personal they simply do not have, and not without leaving the rest of their territory undefended.”

“Then what do they hope to accomplish?” Yasin asked.

“Intelligence thinks they’re interested in our construction facilities, and frankly that makes sense to me, too. There’s nothing the Coalition would like more than to prevent us building another Super Star Destroyer. They’re scared to death of the Fleet as it is – they know they don’t have the ships to compete with us, so they figure if they can prevent us building more, then they can at least challenge us on a more equal footing.”

They had reached the bridge, and Yasin was mildly surprised to find that they had already made the jump to hyperspace. The Mourning Glory was not his usual command, and he had never been aboard an RCD before: the jump to lightspeed had been incredibly smooth.

“I think you will find yourself at home, here, Admiral.” The lieutenant offered. “The Reign was designed to mimic the Imperator class for easy transitions.” Pulling the officer to one side, he spoke softly, “get to know these officer’s well, Admiral. I have word that if this mission goes off properly, this ship and a promotion could be in store. The Empire is keen to have its officers prove themselves; this might be a very good opportunity for you.”

Yasin nodded, understanding the implications. The incentive also underscored the importance of his role.

“Where did they strike?” Yasin asked casually: the likeliest target on the front line would be Fondor, because of the yards there.

The lieutenant looked at him, a frown creeping into his expression.

“I’ve been instructed to keep their target confidential, until further notice.”

Yasin glared. “Do not make me pull rank, Lieutenant. I can run this ship without you.”

Slowly, the man nodded.

“Bilbringi.” He said finally. “They attacked Bilbringi.”

Yasin’s blood ran cold.





The fleet had arrayed itself some distance from Ord Mantell, far past the range of any sensors or defensive weapons, lining up and beginning their advance against the world. Fighters were launched, vast swarms of TIE Interceptors, Defenders, and the newer TIE-2s. Still more TIE Devils filled the gaps, the Attack Sphere following the formation providing more than five hundred of the tiny superiority fighters.

The small fleet was more than enough to quell opposition at Iridonia, given the state the Coalition navy had found itself in after the fight in the Tion cluster: with the RCD, a pair of smaller Imperator ships are various support craft numbering perhaps twenty all told, there was certainly enough firepower to lay waste to whatever awaited them.

The bridge of the Mourning Glory was busy with reports from the various stations as the great ship prepared itself for battle, its crew alert and ready for whatever action. Yasin took a moment to move back to the communications area, activating the privacy fielding and hailing the other ships of the fleet.

"Captain?" He asked, admiring the hologram shrewdly.

"Vice-Admiral," the Captain came back, "is there a change in the plan?"

"No," the Vice-Admiral returned, shaking his gruff head, "I simply want to ensure you know your role."

The Captain nodded.

"Yes, Vice-Admiral. I am prepared to do my part for the glory of the Empire."

The Vice-Admiral nodded.

"Good, Captain. Very good. Make yourself ready to execute, then. You await only my order."

"Very good, Sir. Eternal out."

The hologram vanished, and with a sigh the Vice-Admiral returned to the bridge. Ord Mantell was growing in their viewports, but the enemy had not yet detected them.

"Vice-Admiral," the ship's captain said, offering a salute as the man emerged, "all systems are operational. Our starboard shields are showing some flucation, but nothing out of the ordinary. The Mourning Glory is fully at your command, Admiral.”

The Vice-Admiral nodded.

"Good. Let's show these Coalition bastards the meaning of war."

Nebula-class Star Destroyer Trojan, Ord Mantell

“Captain’s on the deck!”

The black-haired woman strode onto the bridge deck. Valeska’s blue eyes quickly swept the bridge. Tension filled the air. No word yet from the force sent to Bilbringi. That’s pretty ominous. I wonder if we’ll end up being stationed here longer than planned. She looked out of the viewport to the bluish planet below. The Confederation squadron had been present at Ord Mantell for several days. Officially, the ships were escorting a Confederation convoy carrying military equipment to the Onyxians. It was true. The Contegorian Confederation had begun to break out some of its reserve equipment and hand it out to other Coalition nations. Unofficially, the squadron was present to help ensure Ord Mantell’s protection during the Onyxian led raid to Bilbringi. Some of Ord Mantell’s defensive fleet had been rerouted by the Onyxians for their Bilbringi attack. Ours is not to wonder why; just to do and die. And we’ll be the ones dying. Confederates and Onyxians side by side. At Bilbringi, and here if they attack.

“Captain, one of our perimeter starfighter patrols have detected an approaching Imperial fleet.”

“Sound to quarters. Get me the liaisons with whatever passes for their planetary governor and the officer in charge of their defense fleet.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Pandemonium filled the upper bridge as officers quickly paced around, issuing orders to their individual sections. A din filled the crewpits below as Confederate servicemen relayed information and orders not only throughout the Trojan, but the Coalition warships gathered around. In the midst of this sea of chaos, Captain Valeska calmly walked to the viewport. Looks like a storm over the capital city. And it will soon be a storm over all of Ord Mantell.



Government House, Worlport, Ord Mantell

“Yes sir.”

Bowing, the governor’s aide quickly exited the office, leaving his superior alone to his thoughts. The Onyxian leader glanced about the house. For centuries, the Government House, with its Corellian Classical-Revival architecture, was the centre of power within Ord Mantell’s government. It was a building that symbolized their Corellian heritage; their weathering of the many storms that had swept the galaxy; the Clone Wars; the Galactic Civil War; or any of the countless clashes between the lightside factions and the Empire. He paced over to a highly stylized window in his office. The massive sprawl of Worlport dominated the view, but to his south, the Onyxian man could make out the sandy coastline and the starting of the ocean’s expanse. He let out a sigh and hobbled over to his chair. How much of this will soon be devastated by another war. Peace. Peace is what we need. Peace is what the galaxy needs. Peace is what will never happen; even if the good powers of this galaxy ruled most of the galaxy. Peace is a hopeful dream which will never fully transpire. The Maker save us all.

He tapped a button on his desk’s built-in comlink.

“How are the preparations coming L’Oriene?”

“The Praetorian Guard and the rest of our military is securing the area and preparing to meet any possible invasion. Guessing by the size of the Imperial fleet, direct resistance will be impossible. We’re getting ready to start a guerilla war.”

“Very good. I take it the civilians are being evacuated from the orbital facilities?”

“Yes sir. As many as we can get. The Contegorians have lent some of their shuttles with the effort, but we can’t be sure if we’ll ever get everyone.”

The governor solemnly nodded. “War is like that. It brings out the evil in men. Good luck General. Update me in a half-hour of your progress.”\

“Yes sir.”

The governor tapped a few buttons to flip the frequency to the one shared by the officer in charge of the Onyxian’s groundbased naval forces. Before the civilian could, a feminine voice boomed into the fragile tranquility of his office.

“Sir, we’ve got the ground-based wings. Every thing we have is getting ready to send those SOBs a punch they’ll never forget. And yes, that includes several of the lunar bases. Everything will be airborne in seven minutes. What are your orders?”

The governor hestitated. “Excellent. I’m placing you under the command of Captain Valeska; the leader of the Contegorian force stationed here.”

“What?! We’re Onyxians defending our nation. Why are we taking orders from some outsider?”

“Because that outsider has a lot more experience in dealing with Imperials than you. She fought them back when the New Republic existed. If any of us get through this, you must meet her.”

“Whatever you say,” mumbled an irritated voice, “sir. I’ll get everything coordinated with her.”

“Good. You don’t have much time. Get to it,” ordered the governor, flipping to another channel.

“Yes sir?”

“Ah, Commander Aresma. I trust your carrier is ready for action?”

“All of our ships, however few, are ready for action. The Resolution already has her fighter complement ready to deploy.”

“Excellent. I’m placing you under the command of Captain Valeska.”

“All right sir. The two of us are already in contact. We’re ready to deal with whatever they throw against us.”

The governor blinked. “I must admit; I thought you’d be somewhat defensive about losing your authority in this matter.”

Aresma laughed. “I’m not only losing my authority, but also my responsibility. If this completely fails, it’s not my fault.”

The governor wryly shook his head. “Very good. Keep me in touch. Yes sir.”

The Onyxian turned off the comlink and waited for the inevitable.



Nebula-class Star Destroyer Trojan, Location Unknown

“Everyone is at their stations.”

“Excellent,” stated the Abhean woman, “now we wait for the storm.”

Several pairs of Confederation stealth starfighters shadowed the oncoming Imperial fleet from a distance; noting the size and strength of the approaching armada. The great distance that the Imperial was covering at sublight speeds had allowed for extra Coalition maneuvers and preparations. The Stryker Carrier Resolution that was Ord Mantell’s defensive fleet’s flagship was the largets Coalition warship present. In a slugging match, the Coalition forces stood no chance; slightly numbering over a dozen warships. But a slugging match was the last thing Valeska had planned for the Imperial intruders. She tapped a few buttons on her command chair. A holographic projection of Ord Mantell flared to life; with its vast blue oceans and a multitude of moons and orbiting scrap stations. Space traffic was next to none-existent. Starships were next to none-existent. The only thing that Ord Mantell’s traffic control could pick up were a pair of Bird of Preys orbiting the blue planet. They were at lower power, as if they were ghost ships from the distant past haunting the inhabitants below. It was as if the rest of the Coalition fleet had disappeared, because for all intents and purposes it had. Even the hulks of the Resolution or Trojan could not be seen in the space surrounding Ord Mantell. Namely because both warships and their respective consorts were not in the said space at all. Valeska idly tapped her armrest. Now for the storm. Come you Imperial butchers. Come.