by Timothy Zahn
“Of course,” Thrawn said. “You will enter the system at a distance and disperse the rest of the task force. You will then bring the Chimaera in close to Sammun and demand surrender of the insurgents. Our intelligence indicates that they are protected from ground or air assault, but their shields and bunkers are unlikely to withstand Star Destroyer turbolasers for long.”
“So I’m to threaten an attack, but the real goal is to drive them out of their positions?”
“Exactly,” Thrawn said. “You may need to fire a few times to persuade them to abandon their stronghold, but you should not have to utterly destroy it. The task force may also need to destroy some of the fleeing ships, but you should be able to capture the majority undamaged.”
“What if they head instead to other locales on the planet itself?”
“I think that unlikely,” Thrawn said. “Their first instinct will be to seek the safety and darkness of space.”
“Understood, sir,” Faro said. She was with the plan now, and Eli had no doubt she would carry it to completion. For all her casual attitude toward proper decorum, she was smart enough and generally knew what she was doing. “If there’s one thing they won’t get out there, it’s safety.”
“Very good, Commander,” Thrawn said. “Before you depart for Sammun, detach the Shyrack for my use. Inform Captain Brento that I’ll speak with her privately once I’ve decided on her course of action.”
“Yes, sir,” Faro said. “Shall I report when I’ve completed my mission, or shall I wait for you to initiate contact?”
“The latter would be best,” Thrawn said. “Good hunting to you.”
“And to you, Admiral.”
Thrawn returned the comlink to his belt. “And now to our errand,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” Eli said. “Ah…are we treading on dangerous ice here, sir? Donassius ordered us to go to Sammun.”
“Not precisely,” Thrawn assured him. “Fleet Admiral Donassius said the Ninety-Sixth was to deal with the insurgency there. No specific mention was made of you or me.”
Eli grimaced. A fine distinction, and one he doubted anyone involved would appreciate. But Thrawn was an admiral, and Eli was a commander, and he’d been given his orders. “Yes, sir,” he said. “May I ask where we’re going?”
“To Batonn, of course,” Thrawn said. “Admiral Durril is convinced he’ll have no difficulty capturing Scrim Island. I am interested in seeing if he is correct.”
—
“Standard siege array,” Vanto murmured. His tone held interest and alertness, but so far he was withholding judgment on Admiral Durril’s tactics. “No obvious response yet from the island.”
“They may be negotiating,” Thrawn pointed out. The ships are indeed set out in a siege array, but it is not precisely standard. Two of the light cruisers are farther out from the Judicator than normal, and Durril has launched no starfighter screen. “We wouldn’t pick up a tight comm signal from here.”
“True,” Vanto agreed. “I keep expecting someone to notice us and order us away.”
“Our transponder identifies us as a properly licensed freighter,” Thrawn reminded him. There is a ping from one of Durril’s screening corvettes. The freighter’s transponder pings back. A moment of hesitation, one final ping, and then the corvette ceases further inquiry. “They no doubt assume we’re waiting to assess the extent of the battle before committing ourselves to resume travel toward the surface.”
“Yes,” Vanto said wryly. “Lucky for us you had the foresight to pick this as our transport.” He raised his eyebrows. “Or was it luck? Did you pull something out of the comm traffic that made you suspect we might need something lower-key than a military Lambda?”
“I had some suspicions,” Thrawn said. Vanto’s insight and perception had grown remarkably over the years. He saw many of the patterns now, quickly grasping the underlying reasons and motivations.
The deeper reasons still sometimes eluded him. But there was time. The young commander’s tactical abilities continued to grow, though Vanto himself was not fully aware of his progress. The focus now would be on improving his observation and training his mind to assemble data and reach conclusions more quickly. In battle, such reflexive decisions often meant the difference between victory and defeat.
There is a series of flashes from the distant task force. “First salvo away,” Vanto announced. “Full turbolasers from the Judicator. Island’s energy shield…looks like it’s holding.”
“Any reduction in strength?”
“Not that these sensors can detect from here,” Vanto said, his forehead furrowed in concentration. “Second salvo away. Third salvo away. Looks like Durril’s got all his ships firing now. Still no response from the insurgents.”
“That will soon change,” Thrawn said. The screening corvettes are now being brought closer to the Star Destroyer as Durril responds to his initial failure to destroy the island’s shield. “By ordering fire from all of his ships, Durril has now demonstrated their full capabilities.”
“And has also close-marked all their positions,” Vanto pointed out. “If the island’s commander is smart, he’ll counterattack before those positions change…and there they go. Shield seems to be contracting—I can see bits of the western and southern shorelines. Durril’s still pounding at the center—”
On the main display two streams of red-tinged green bursts shoot up from the edges of the island. “Ion fire!” Vanto snapped. “Direct hits on the Judicator.”
“Incapacitated?” Thrawn asked. The light cruisers and frigates have opened fire again as Durril orders their turbolasers to target the ion cannons on the northern and western shorelines.
But the action was too late. The shield edge had expanded again following the ion cannons’ salvos, and the turbolaser bolts spattered harmlessly away. The escort ships continued firing, some at the now protected ion cannons, others at the center of the shield in an attempt to overload the generator.
“Now Durril’s just flailing,” Vanto muttered, his earlier withholding of judgment turning rapidly to scorn. “Probably ordered everyone to keep firing while he tries to get his systems running again. Okay, shield’s contracting again. This time it’s the northern shoreline opening up—”
Again, Durril fails to notice or react. The escort ships continue to fire uselessly toward the western and southern emplacements as an ion cannon on the northern shoreline opens fire.
“Damn,” Vanto breathed. “Perfect timing. Whoever’s in charge down there is good.”
“Damage?” Thrawn asked. The latest ion blast had targeted the frigate and two cruisers on the Judicator’s portside flank, sending sputtering sheets of energy across their hulls, damaging sensors and turbolaser targeting and control systems.
“Hits on the portside escorts,” Vanto reported. “They’ll be down to secondary weapons and auxiliary drives now. Probably can still get out of there if Durril releases them, but another blast or two in the right places and they’ll be drifting.”
Again, Durril continues his ineffective attack instead of adjusting to his opponent’s tactics. The escorts are still holding position as another ion salvo shoots upward from the island.
But this time, as the bursts raked across the same group of escorts, a stream of eight small space freighters appeared from beneath the eastern edge of the shield and headed toward the continent three hundred kilometers away.
“Judicator’s definitely lost its turbolasers,” Vanto said grimly. “Might still have auxiliary drive, maybe enough to get clear. Durril’s not trying, though. The two light cruisers and frigate that took that last attack seem to have been immobilized.”
“An attack focused on the Judicator and the escorts on Durril’s portside flank,” Thrawn said. The freighters continue to fly low over the water. Their commander continually veers the group back and forth, taking advantage of both the minimal cloud cover and the reflected sunlight glare to achieve minimal observability from above. “The flank opposite to the dire
ction he sent his freighters.”
“Freighters?” Vanto asked, frowning. “Where?”
“Flying eastward from the island,” Thrawn said. “Running low and on minimal power, which renders them largely invisible to ships already under ion attack.”
“And to ships that aren’t under attack but are concentrating all their attention on the ships that are,” Vanto said. “Okay, I’ve got them now. I fell for the trick, too.” He looked at Thrawn. “I gather you were expecting it?”
“It was one possible reason the starboard escorts were being ignored at the expense of the portside ships,” Thrawn said. “Interesting, though. Standard procedure would have been the exact opposite: to target the escorts on the Judicator’s starboard side in order to minimize response to the freighters’ departure.”
“It’s a long way to the continent,” Vanto pointed out. “No point in getting clear if everyone knows you’re on the way and where you’re going.”
“Yes.” Seven of the freighters are still traveling eastward at wave-top altitude. The eighth, now effectively clear of the battle zone, is rising toward space. An interesting moment for the commander to split his convoy. “Which raises the question of where they are going. In particular, the one that’s broken off and is heading into space. Your analysis?”
Vanto pondered a moment. “I can’t tell from here whether those are freighters or personnel carriers,” he said slowly. “But there’s no reason for them to ship people off the island in the middle of a battle, either their own forces or their hostages. So, freighters. One obvious reason for taking Scrim is all the military ordnance stored there, so those ships probably represent everything that wasn’t fused to the ground. Seven to insurgent cells on the mainland; one to Denash or Sammun?”
“Or to elsewhere,” Thrawn said.
“Yes.” Vanto leaned closer to the sensor display. “Shield’s shifting again. Looks like they’re going to give the Judicator another blast.”
But this time it wasn’t an ion cannon burst that shot upward from the island’s western shoreline. Instead, it was the intense green fire of a turbolaser salvo from an emplacement to the north of the western ion cannon. The barrage struck the Judicator’s starboard superstructure, burning into and through the hull metal.
Vanto caught his breath. “Damn. A turbolaser? Donassius never said the island had functional turbolasers.”
“He may not have known.” A second burst of fire shimmers through the atmosphere, again delivering its energy against Durril’s flagship. Again, Durril makes no move to counter or evade. “The freighter angling away from the planet is likely to make the jump to lightspeed soon. Hail it.”
Vanto shot him a startled look. “You want me to hail it?”
“Yes,” Thrawn said. “A tight comm signal, of course, to keep the conversation private. We’re the Slipknot, and you’re a weapons smuggler named Horatio Figg.”
Vanto’s momentary confusion cleared into understanding. “So that’s the real reason you put us in a captured smuggling ship. Am I buying or selling?”
“Whichever will gain us an invitation to visit his base.”
“An invitation to his base.” Vanto took a deep breath. “Okay. Here we go.” He keyed the comm and adjusted for tight beam. “Unidentified freighter, this is the freighter Slipknot,” he called. “Looks like you’re scorching out of here. Need any assistance?”
There was no response. “Again,” Thrawn said quietly.
Vanto nodded. “Let me try it another way, freighter. I’m guessing you have some fresh merchandise. I’m also guessing you want to keep it. You want to be civil, or you want me to call you out to the Imps?”
“Don’t even think about it, Slipknot.” The voice is dark and angry, holding both suspicion and threat.
“Not thinking it,” Vanto assured him. “Just trying to start a friendly conversation. If I’m right about your current cargo, there might be something there I could take off your hands.”
“Forget it. Already spoken for.”
“Fine,” Vanto said. “In that case, maybe you’d like to add a little frosting to your new cake.”
There was a long pause. “You deal?” The voice still holds suspicion, but also now holds cautious interest.
“A little of everything,” Vanto told him. “Since you hit a military base and not a spice dealer, I’m guessing you’re mostly interested in weapons. So, arms dealer it is. You in the market, or aren’t you?”
There was another silence from the other end. “We might be,” he said. “The boss says he’s willing to talk.” A light flickered on the board. “I’ve sent you the coordinates. Jump whenever you’re ready.”
“Got it,” Vanto said. “Be right there.”
Vanto cut off the comm channel. “Well, we either fooled him or we didn’t,” Vanto said. “What now?”
“We prepare to follow,” Thrawn said.
“You mean, right now?” Vanto asked. “What about the Judicator?”
A third turbolaser salvo rakes the Star Destroyer. The four undamaged escort ships fire toward the weapon, but once again are too late as the island’s shield closes over it. There is a pattern to the attacks, but Durril fails to recognize or exploit it.
“There’s no aid we can render,” Thrawn said. “I’ve already transmitted an emergency distress signal on Admiral Durril’s behalf. Our efforts are best directed elsewhere.”
“Understood,” Vanto said, frustrated but recognizing the reality of the situation.
The shield shrinks again, this time opening the eastern shoreline. The escort ships alter their aim, directing a fresh attack against the ion cannon emplacements now exposed. It is much the same response Durril has already attempted several times.
But as anticipated, the island commander now changes tactics. No ion cannon blasts come. Instead, as the Imperial ships continue to fire, the shield shrinks again from the western shoreline, unnoticed by the preoccupied and battered Imperial ships. The escorts are still firing at the eastern emplacements when a new barrage of ion fire from the western emplacement silences their weapons.
“Odd,” Vanto said.
“Explain.”
“Our friend in the freighter,” Vanto said. “He’s far enough out to jump, but he hasn’t. I wonder if he’s having trouble with his hyperdrive.”
“Perhaps,” Thrawn said. “What other possibilities are there?”
“He could be waiting to see how the battle goes,” Vanto suggested. “Grabbing as much data as he can before jumping. Or he could be sending—or receiving—some last-minute instructions.”
The freighter abruptly flickered with pseudomotion and was gone. “I guess he got all he wanted,” Vanto said. “So now we follow?”
On the island, the shield once again shrinks to expose the insurgents’ turbolaser. But the Imperial ships are no longer in a position to respond in a sufficiently timely manner. As before, the Judicator is the target of the attack.
Neutralize, attack, feint, attack. It was an efficient pattern, carried out with expert timing. “You’re having doubts?”
“I don’t know,” Vanto said slowly. “He gave up those coordinates awfully easily. This could be a trap.”
“True,” Thrawn said. “On the other hand, I doubt he would be foolish enough to offer his base’s true location. More likely we have a rendezvous point where we can be studied more closely.”
“Not sure that sounds any better.”
“There are risks,” Thrawn said. “The outcome will depend on how eagerly they want new weapons. Allow me to suggest one other possible reason for him to have delayed his departure. Tell me, what are the other seven freighters doing?”
“The other—? Oh, right—the rest of the group.” Vanto readjusted the sensors. “Still heading for the continent. Only—interesting. Their vectors are diverging. They’re not headed for the same place anymore, but seem to be going to seven different spots.”
“If there were an Imperial observer watching, he woul
d now be offered a choice,” Thrawn said. “He could attempt to follow the eighth freighter into space, or remain here and track the seven to the insurgents’ other strongpoints.”
“After the eighth drew all the attention to himself,” Vanto said. “Good chance he’s out there somewhere waiting to see how quickly we follow him.”
“Or if we follow him at all,” Thrawn said. “If you were in command, which would you choose: the one, or the seven?”
The island’s turbolaser blasts continue to batter the Judicator, tearing at its hull and weapons. The ion cannons have again opened fire, sending fresh barrages at the escort ships, preventing them from moving to assist.
“I’d probably go with—wait a minute,” Vanto said with sudden understanding. “I don’t have to choose, do I? You already guessed we’d need backup, which is why you detached the Shyrack from the Ninety-Sixth. I assume it’s lurking around here somewhere?”
“It is indeed,” Thrawn said. Excellent. “Captain Brento is observing the planet, including those seven freighters. We may therefore turn our attention to the eighth freighter.”
“Yes.” Vanto gave the sensor display one final look, clearly reluctant to leave the 103rd locked in desperate battle. “All right. Let’s do it.”
There are times in every commander’s life when he must yield the stick of authority to a subordinate.
Sometimes the reason is one of expertise, when the subordinate has skills the commander lacks. Sometimes it is positional, when the subordinate is in the right place at the right time and the commander is not. Often it is anticipated there will be loss of direct communication, which means the subordinate may be given general instructions but must then carry them out on his own initiative as the situation flows around him.
No commander enjoys those moments. Most subordinates fear them, as well. Those who do not fear already betray the overconfidence that nearly always leads to disaster.