The Droch-class boarding ship first saw the light of day, like many other technologies used by the Dominion, thirty years ago, during the conflict between the Galactic Republic and the Confederacy of Independent Systems.
Sergeant TNX-0333 did not consider this little ship anything extraordinary or the best means of delivering a boarding party to its target.
Droch-class boarding ship.
This twenty-meter ship, a Dominion-upgraded version, of course, was currently almost the fastest means of delivery for the Fourth Special Unit to their objective.
As well as for other special forces groups.
Their target—the Zann Consortium space station.
Already stripped of its main weapon—the plasma-ion cannon—it was pounding the retreating Scimitars with all its might.
All stations had lost their communication equipment.
Deflector generators.
Part of their armament and reactors.
And the main battery—it was knocked out first.
Now—the small matter remained.
To capture the stations.
And for that, the special forces were going in first.
They were ready.
And the best they could do at this moment was attack.
The station plans were known to them.
The trophies from the Battle of Smarck had been studied, and detailed recommendations for storming such objects had been compiled.
The standard path of entry—through airlocks, hangars, or landing on the station's surface—was unacceptable.
Sending droids in first was also not an option.
Even with damaged reactors, the enemy could still blow up their stations.
Speed was needed.
Force was needed.
Special forces were needed.
The sergeant knew clearly that in the past, the Separatists launched Drochs in whole swarms.
The ship originally had no shields, its hull was easily pierced by conventional weapons, and it could only fit six droids and the craft's pilot inside.
Now, hundreds of similar landing craft were also pouring from the Guardian, swarming all the Golans and the central station produced to the Zann Consortium's specifications at once.
The other identical stations were not important.
The Guardian would destroy them.
Just as the six blocking groups would destroy the lurking enemy starships before they realized what was happening.
The Dominion-upgraded Drochs gained one and a half meters in length—accelerators were installed on them.
And shield generators.
Now it was a swift projectile, capable of surviving several turbolaser hits.
And inside it, only four special forces operatives, one of whom piloted the boarding craft.
With them were two Droidekas—support.
With them was a full combat load—the necessary resources to complete the capture mission.
In the bow of the ship's hull, thanks to the will of the designers, was a powerful drill capable of boring through even the armored hull of a Star Destroyer or any other armored object.
The thin outer hulls of non-combat ships, such as liners, the Drochs pierced immediately, without docking to the hull and activating the drill.
But that was almost thirty years ago.
Now, besides the drill, these ships were equipped with plasma cutters, like those previously used on 'diggers'.
Now the Drochs didn't just drill the hull.
They drilled it and burned through it with a plasma charge.
And this allowed them to break through exactly where needed.
Therefore, the Drochs were disposable.
To remove this ship, now embedded in the heart of a ship or station, could only be done in pieces, after cutting it apart.
TNX-0333 was completely uninterested in how the evacuation of their landing craft would proceed.
He knew only that the plasma charge in the cutter was running out, and their starship was passing through one deck after another.
Instruments showed they needed to breach ten more decks to reach the reactor room.
Five seconds for each plasma burn-through.
Ten—for drilling.
The ship shook.
It was getting hot inside, but the armor saved the assault commandos' bodies from such discomfort.
Seven decks.
"Prepare," commanded the sergeant.
The fighters of his squad—again rookies.
Trained, yes, but his subordinates didn't live long.
Probably someone else would die in this battle.
Would have to recruit replacements.
This was bad.
The cloning of Colonel Selid was complete.
No more genetic material remained.
Every assault on space, and indeed ground, objects conducted by the Dominion had involved numerous assault commandos of this genetic template.
All of them had died.
But they had completed their assigned objectives.
He was the last.
Now—that was certain.
What assault commandos would be like now was unknown.
But TNX-0333 had the only face of Colonel Selid left in the entire Dominion regular army.
This was bad.
Assault commandos died too often.
It was inefficient.
Four decks.
The plasma indicator showed there was very little charge left.
Three decks.
The plasma ran out.
The ship switched to drilling.
The vibration inside grew stronger.
One of the soldiers dropped his weapon.
TNX-0333 reprimanded him while the soldier retrieved his blaster and checked its functionality.
Two decks.
The hull was pierced in three places from the outside by blaster shots.
The one who dropped the blaster died from hits to the chest and head.
A third shot was absorbed by the hull of a Droideka.
This was bad.
Losses before the mission even began.
One deck.
The drill bit into the metal, pressed against it by the boarding craft's engines.
Through the external speakers, the howl of metal being torn by the Droch's drills could be heard.
So too came the roar of atmosphere escaping into space through the passage made by the ship.
It also flew out of the landing compartment through the blaster holes, which no one was going to seal.
Finally, they reached the needed deck.
With a clang and crash, the magnetic ring fastened the landing section to the deck, where the Droch's claws, splayed in four directions, tore a huge hole.
The Droidekas fell 'down' first.
With a metallic crash, the droids rolled across the deck, deploying into combat position and opening fire.
A beachhead existed.
Time for the assault commandos.
One by one, soldiers in black armor, after a five-meter drop, found themselves on the deck of the reactor room.
Here, sentients were scurrying—the Droidekas killed them, driving them away from the power sources with fire.
'Scurrying'—too strong a word.
The enemy was regrouping.
These were experienced soldiers.
It wouldn't be easy.
This was good.
The assault commandos began the clearing operation.
TNX-0333 turned two enemy soldiers to dust with a stream of fire before taking cover behind the screen of the nearest Droideka.
TNX-0333 continued the advance.
His flamethrower pinned three more Zann Consortium fighters behind cover, allowing another commando to flank them and gun them down with his blaster.
The sergeant saw a sentient running toward a control panel, ignoring the firefight around him.
The commander of the Fourth Special Unit perfectly understood what the enemy fighter intended to do.
It was the self-destruct system console, installed during construction by the Zann Consortium engineers.
TNX-0333 switched the flamethrower's firing mode.
He pulled the trigger, and not a multi-meter stream of fire, but a 'fire spit' shot toward the enemy.
The enemy burst into flames like dry wood.
He didn't scream or panic.
He tried to reach the console.
The sergeant grabbed his blaster pistol and killed the enemy with a precise shot.
The corpse fell to the deck but continued to burn.
TNX-0333 cut down two more enemies with a burst before his squad, losing another commando, took full control of all the reactor room's distribution systems.
Control consoles were disabled, main reactors powered down, and the working fluid stopped.
The emergency reactors' power was insufficient to detonate the station.
Magnetic charges blew the control panels.
Now, no one and nothing could trigger the trophy of the Fourth Special Unit.
"This is Sergeant TNX-0333," the squad commander of the assault commandos opened a comm channel with the Guardian, taking cover behind the remains of a control panel. "Reactor room under our full control. Threat of detonation eliminated. Requesting support."
"Acknowledged, Sergeant," the reply came instantly. "Sending combat droids and Shock Trooper squads. Hold position."
"Roger."
TNX-0333 cut the channel with the flagship just as his last fighter fell with a shot-through visor.
The sergeant held his gaze for a split second on the neat hole in his subordinate's helmet, then checked the flamethrower's fuel level.
Another Fourth Special Unit squad had perished.
He had survived again.
This was becoming a habit.
TNX-0333 aimed and released a stream of fire, turning three enemies who tried to flank him to ash.
The incendiary mixture ran out.
He hadn't taken a spare canister into battle, perfectly aware of how vulnerable it was in combat if hit by a stray shot.
Switching to a blaster rifle, the sergeant took up a position and opened fire on the enemy soldiers.
Both Droidekas shifted to cover his flanks.
Thirty minutes later, when reinforcements broke into the reactor room, only TNX-0333 was alive, with three wounds, finishing off the last enemy soldier with a shard of an obsidian knife.
* * *
Captain Pellaeon, having listened to the watch officer's report, nodded affirmatively, then quickly walked to the chair where Grand Admiral Thrawn was seated.
"Sir, confirmation has arrived. The central Zann Consortium station has been captured and is under the control of Shock Troopers. Clearing operation conducted. Danger of explosion absent."
"Acknowledged, Captain," the voice of the Supreme Commander was, as always, calm, measured, and emotionless.
Pellaeon looked at the tactical hologram, clearly demonstrating everything happening in the system.
On five of the six exit vectors from the system, the enemy's camouflaged ships, stunned by the appearance of the blocking groups, had failed to react to the invasion from outside.
Three groups had already suffered catastrophic losses—the Scimitars' attack had not only deprived their Aggressors of the main weapon posing the greatest danger but had also torn the dreadnoughts to pieces.
Now, deprived of their main striking force, the remaining Vengeance-class light cruisers were trying to organize something remotely resembling resistance.
"In the fifth group, the Aggressor managed to fire on a heavy cruiser," reported Pellaeon. "The Avenger is destroyed. The crew was partially rescued in escape pods."
Thrawn was silent.
"The only one of the six Interdictor destroyers, the Interdictor, was also damaged—two of its four gravity well projectors in the forward hemisphere are destroyed."
Which meant half the area of hyperspace interdiction in that direction.
And this was the same sixth vector from which enemy ships had departed almost a day ago.
"Remind the group commanders that we take no prisoners and do not pursue trophies among enemy ships," said the Grand Admiral. "Our goal is Lur. And the Golan stations."
Everything as always simple and clear.
There was no point in wasting time and soldiers' lives to capture ships which, as the Dominion had learned, the enemy would never surrender if they had the means to blow them up.
They fit neither the fleet's configuration nor the composition of reserve units.
Simple scrap metal that no one would restore just to increase the Dominion fleet's numbers.
The already considerable number of ships were simply waiting their turn—for modernization and crews.
But with the stations, it was a different matter.
There were a dozen defensive stations in orbit.
An equal number produced by Golan Arms and the Zann Consortium.
Moreover, only one of them—the central one—was positioned above the largest Luraian settlement.
It also blocked the possibility of landing troops on the surface, covering the ideal atmospheric entry vectors with its guns and launch systems.
And the five Golan platforms...
They were five Golan platforms.
No more, no less.
Even though the Dominion produced copies of such defensive platforms, five additional specimens would never be a hindrance.
After all, what was easier—to build five new platforms to protect planets, or to capture five platforms in battle, repair them, modernize them as needed (if necessary, of course), and move them using the already developed hyperspace transit system to a new place of service in another system?
Or, if Lur truly held such value that Thrawn himself decided to undertake its conquest, then these platforms could remain as protection for the planet after its de-occupation.
Captain Pellaeon looked through the central viewport at one of the Guardian's targets.
The multi-kilometer giant was firing in all directions it could reach.
The forward batteries of guns and launch systems, shifting focus, mercilessly disfigured one of the 'Zann' platforms.
Turbolaser bolts and anti-ship missiles, in salvos and singly, raced toward their target.
Biting into shields and detonating on the hull, they inflicted considerable damage to the orbital station's structure.
The mighty space structure responded to the best of its ability.
But, despite being created to repel space attacks, the station simply could not oppose anything to the flagship of the regular fleet's fire.
It was flooded with streams of white-green fire so frequently it became terrifying.
Like huge waves that could suddenly surge over a breakwater and engulf the space behind the structure with their mass, they poured onto the station's weakening deflector.
While anti-ship missiles with baradium cores successfully overcame the energy barrier and exploded on the outer shell of the defensive structure.
Everything was deforming: gun turrets and launch systems, hull plating and armor plate sheets, shield projectors and the station's communication antennas...
If Captain Pellaeon had been in the defenders' place, he would certainly have thought that divine wrath had fallen upon them.
No one intended to storm the crews on these stations.
Scout Droids, released during previous attempts to penetrate the system, had clearly observed that all useful and important cargo had been evacuated from these stations without exception.
Now they were simply targets.
Which would not surrender, no matter what happened.
The disfigured and scorched station, produced by the Zann Consortium, could barely return fire.
But this did not concern the crew, let alone the Dominion gunners, in principle.
They were doing their job—destroying the enemy.
And they were handling the assigned task excellently.
Pellaeon looked at the tactical screen.
With this station, everything was clear—it would be destroyed.
And it wouldn't be long.
"Cease turbolaser bombardment of target number 'one'," ordered Grand Admiral Thrawn, stroking the ysalamiri's body.
"Aye, cease fire," echoed Pellaeon, passing the order down the chain of command. "Sir, has the order changed?"
Thrawn had just indicated destruction himself, and now...
"Not in the slightest, Captain," objected the Grand Admiral. "Order the nearest Scimitar squadron to destroy the station for us. Turn the Guardian seventy degrees to port. Shift focus. Forward turbolasers to commence destruction of target number three. Ion cannons—switch all attention to target number 'two'. Disable it and order the Helldivers to deal with it next. How is our landing force?"
Ah, now the reason for the order adjustment was clear.
Thrawn did not want to waste time destroying an unimportant target with shipboard artillery.
Bombers also needed to train in conducting such attacks—and as often as possible.
The flagship Star Destroyer's commander redirected his attention to a new target.
On the tactical hologram, a double green line stretched from the Guardian's white elongated triangle to another 'Zann' station, indicating continuous turbolaser bombardment.
Bolts struck the station's deflector screen, spread across its surface, part of the energy absorbed by the shield, part, reflected by it, ricocheting into the great cosmic nowhere...
But the next salvo already shattered the invisible shell of the deflector and bit into the structure's surface, piercing and melting all nodes and assemblies encountered on its path.
A series of explosions rippled through detonations of the enemy's turbolaser battery, spewing into space streams of fire, plasma, and debris that had once been part of the station and its armament.
No mercy. No concessions. Destruction—and only that.
Pellaeon watched for a few more seconds—when a missile salvo reached the structure and a powerful explosion consigned the station to oblivion.
The intensity of the flash was smoothed by the viewport transparisteel polarization system.
When the explosion's flash dissipated, the Guardian's commander could observe the disintegration of another bastion of Zann Consortium fighters' resistance.
Nothing could withstand the intensity of fire from an Executor-class Super Star Destroyer.
The Lusankya, the weakest of all its sister ships, had collapsed a section of the planetary deflector shield in minutes when the Iceheart fled Coruscant several years ago.
What could the deflector field of some backwater orbital station of the enemy possibly oppose to the guns of the Guardian, which had undergone Dominion modernizations?
Nothing. All this was nothing more than prolonging the agony.
The captain shifted his gaze to another tactical monitor.
The Guardian's ion batteries fired another salvo, and the bridge holodisplay reflected a blue line plunging between the schematic image of the Super Star Destroyer and the marker denoting a Golan station.
Target number 'three' was repeatedly enveloped in the glow of hits from the flagship's ion cannons.
The Guardian's prey marker blinked—the central computer reported a drop in the Golan-II's deflector field power.
After the second salvo, the pictogram changed to a similar one but lacking the oval of the protective field.
As expected, one of the most common and formidable defensive stations in the galaxy was yielding.
Lightning bolts of white-blue energy danced across its surface.
Section by section, the platform plunged into darkness as soon as the heavy ion cannons spat clots of energy from their muzzles, lethal to any electronics.
It took several minutes for the station to dim and begin slowly drifting toward Lur's surface.
"Target number 'three' disabled," reported Pellaeon.
"Excellent work by the gunners, Captain," replied Thrawn. "Bring the Guardian to its prize and use the main engines and tractor beams to raise the Golan station to a higher orbit. We don't want several million tons of durasteel to crash down on the heads of the population of a planet that is part of the Dominion, after all."
"Exactly, sir," agreed Pellaeon. "We don't."
He glanced at the Guardian's two previous targets.
But in their place in orbit remained only assorted debris, which was steadily descending, already beginning to heat up from friction with the upper atmosphere.
"Sir, I consider it expedient to strike the largest of the debris fragments," the Super Star Destroyer's commander voiced.
The logic of his proposal was extremely simple.
The smaller the fragments falling on the planet's surface—the greater the likelihood they would burn up completely in the atmosphere and harm neither the planet nor the 501st Legion Helldivers, who were landing en masse on the surface and immediately engaging in the ground part of the Battle for Lur.
"An excellent idea, Captain," Thrawn approved. "Give the order."
"Turbolaser batteries three through seven—destroy the debris," ordered Pellaeon. "Ion cannons to commence bombardment of target number four,"—a moment later, another Golan station was subjected to a beating. "Remaining turbolaser crews—switch to target number 'five'."
The Guardian, whose guns had been silent for literally a few seconds, again spewed turbolaser-ion flame from its bowels.
Green-blue-white waves engulfed the last lines of defense in Lur's orbit.
The outcome of this battle was already visible even to the blind.
But the Zann Consortium fighters continued to fight, even though they had absolutely no chance of victory.
* * *
As expected, the enemy's aviation was a mixture of the most varied types of flying machines.
From very ancient to relatively new.
Everything around the pilots glittered—the Guardian and the defensive stations were exchanging salvos.
Despite the fact that the colossus was alone, and, in terms of combined firepower, the stations were at least somewhat equal to it, Grand Admiral Thrawn had deprived the enemy of its main advantage.
In the center of each Zann Consortium station gaped a huge wound inflicted by the Scimitar squadron's raid.
And besides, the Super Star Destroyer had chosen an excellent tactic.
He eliminated his targets one by one, completely ignoring the others and not wasting the slightest effort on them.
His shields are strong, boosted by the SEAL system, and thus, without a particularly large caliber, the enemy has no business dreaming of damaging the colossus or even penetrating its deflectors.
Green and red turbolaser beams mixed with the white-blue energy of ion cannons.
Mutual jabs turned space into a continuous obstacle course where one wrong move could end in death.
The deflectors of small craft are sometimes quite strong, but a turbolaser shot is not something they are designed for.
As if to prove this statement, one of the X-wings bearing "Black Sun" emblems literally evaporated the moment its course intersected with the trajectory of a turbolaser bolt.
However, the gunner didn't hesitate, and a second later, several more white-green bolts streaked through the same spot.
Around the "Guardian," around each of the stations, a real battle raged between fighters of all types.
The enemy fought desperately, but without panic.
Kreb felt something akin to unease and concern for the successful outcome of the operation for the first time.
The enemy pilots were willing to make any sacrifice, disregarded losses, and literally pushed forward to break through the middle perimeter of the star super destroyer's defenses.
This... is a rather strange tactic.
As if these pilots, like droids, lack a sense of self-preservation, they know no fear...
It took Kreb several space battles to test the hypothesis about who was at the controls of the enemy ships.
It was enough to look at his own pilots and find a few differences.
Pilots on both sides are clones.
It's just that the Dominion ones know perfectly well that their key task is not just to follow orders, but also to preserve their own lives.
A dead pilot learns nothing.
He will not become better than himself.
A dead pilot is just another name on the casualty list.
Shots that reached their target—another ship—through the myriad of fighters were reflected by shields, though the shields of smaller ships quickly gave out.
Both sides of the starfighter confrontation tried to shoot down small ships with cannons to get rid of the annoying fire, and many fighters on both sides turned into piles of debris.
The "Avenger" squadron got into a fight with an aggressive squadron of "wishbones."
TIE Avengers are faster than them, but the pilots controlling the enemy machines clearly know their business.
Kreb got the first one when he got on its tail and fired at a sharp angle, sending a laser bolt into the engine housing.
The "wishbone" immediately rolled to starboard, forcing the major to repeat the maneuver.
Playing with the engines, the "Avenger-Leader" slowed to a minimum, then fed more power to the left engine, literally turning the machine to the right on the spot.
Having done this, he managed to lock onto the enemy in his sights, anticipating a similar maneuver by the foe.
The latter realized he had been outplayed only a second or two later and tried to flee from Kreb at full speed.
The major didn't give chase.
He simply fired a torpedo, and a couple of moments later, as he was targeting another enemy, the "wishbone" fell apart from a direct hit to the engine.
While he was lining up a new target, a burst of laser fire passed near his machine.
The major threw the fighter to the left so fast it almost folded in half, and poured two salvos from all four guns into another "wishbone" that had been pursuing him and flew past.
This time, the hits landed right behind the cockpit.
Its shields died, but the ship continued to climb steeply, carrying it away from the one it couldn't destroy.
The major again used the engines to raise the nose of his machine and lock the enemy in his sights.
Another weapon change, and missiles were back in action.
The "wishbone" hit in the engine disintegrated.
And the control panel was already reporting that he was needed elsewhere—and as soon as possible.
The "Avenger-Leader" gained speed, dove sharply, and went into a "Dive" to get on the tail of a "wishbone" that was firing on his wingman.
"Noble Two, this is Leader. On combat. Break away."
"Copy, Leader!"
The wingman peeled off, and Kreb immediately raked the pursuer with cannon fire.
The enemy's deflectors evaporated, but not the ship itself.
Blue ion beams shot at him from the "wishbone's" cockpit.
The forward deflector flared brightly and promptly lost power, leaving the canopy defenseless against the attack.
The major banked sharply to the right and down, using the engine of that very "wishbone" as a shield, then fed additional power to his own deflectors.
"Avengers, attention," he said in a calm tone. "Wishbone 'twos' confirmed."
No need to decode that.
This term meant that besides the pilot, these types of machines also had a gunner, who had almost deprived the wing commander's machine of not only protection but all electronics at once.
Confirmation came from the pilots.
The wingman additionally reported passing the information to OCC.
Now it would be brought to the attention of all pilots in the "Guardian's" air wing.
Keeping under the "wishbone" out of its firing arc, Kreb accelerated his "Avenger," then gained altitude and fired a burst at the enemy machine.
Its pilot began to turn the fighter to allow the gunner to shoot at the Dominion pilot, but an accurate hit on the gunner's blister not only deprived the latter of that opportunity but also vaporized him.
Followed by an internal explosion, and the enemy machine was torn to pieces.
Kreb marked his next target.
Free hunting and the ability level of both the major himself and his clones allowed them to break up wing pairs and engage in individual pursuit and destruction of targets.
Kreb was doing just that with one such target.
Rolling onto his left wing and slightly altering course, he caught the agile machine in his sights and fired.
After the first quadruple salvo, only the rear shield went out, but the "wishbone" kept flying.
Then another white-green salvo slammed into its stern, and the "wishbone" flew away, tumbling chaotically.
His wingman flew past, switching to the next target.
Kreb had a few seconds for a break and to reassess the situation around him.
The central station was captured and no longer firing.
Assault shuttles, shuttles, and barges with light equipment slid past it to ease the stormtroopers' work.
Three of the five "Zann Consortium" stations besides this one were already destroyed, and the "Guardian" was pounding the fifth with all its might.
But at that moment, it stopped that activity, and the last target was attacked by a squadron of "Scimitars."
A powerful flash could have blinded, if not for the helmet visors.
Three of the five "Golans" were also disabled.
Another was engaged in an artillery duel with the star super destroyer's ion cannons.
The fifth "Golan" was not visually detectable.
Probably destroyed or out of sight.
But Kreb found a new target for himself.
He executed a quick barrel roll and dove down, then, spinning the "Avenger" the other way, soared up.
The major constantly changed direction and flew straight for no more than a second or two, breaking through the battlefield.
None of the enemy's small ships fired at him, but the major, on instinct alone, wasn't about to become an easy target for someone to take a shot at.
The vacuum was filled with powerful energy leaping from the Dominion ship to the station and back, and smaller clumps of energy scattered in all directions from the fighters.
Proton torpedoes and shaped-charge rockets raced toward their targets as if guided by the fear of those they pursued.
But Kreb's target was completely different.
Amid the battle, he saw an assault gunship fall victim to an "E-wing," which shot it down practically point-blank.
What a new main starfighter of the Alliance was doing here didn't interest Kreb in the slightest.
It had just killed his pilot.
The "E-wing" used its speed advantage.
There's no point talking about a fair fight or anything like that—such nonsense interests no one in battle.
If you can—kill.
If you can't—yield to someone who can.
Each pilot—on this side or the other—has the same task: to exterminate.
And now Major Kreb was going for the head of someone who was "within his teeth," unlike his subordinates.
A few seconds for the approach were enough for the major not only to get within firing range but also to inform OCC about the presence of such an enemy on the battlefield.
The "E-wing" didn't refuse the confrontation and went on a counter-course with the major's machine.
Just as it was about to blow up Kreb, the latter slowed down, dove, then pulled back on the control stick and soared up.
He rolled onto his right wing because he knew it would take the enemy a little more time to perform a similar maneuver.
Without wasting a moment, the major got right on its tail.
Immediately after, the enemy was "treated" to a burst from all four barrels, after which its deflectors failed, and the enemy itself began to roll to port in an attempt to shake off the pursuer.
I treated it to a burst from the ion cannon, then rolled to port and tried to flee.
It also assessed that it was up against what seemed like a TIE, but more "toothy" and faster than the Interceptors buzzing around.
But Kreb wasn't about to let his prey go so easily.
The machine of death worked flawlessly.
The major clung to the pursued like a Nexu to a Hutt's tail, and the enemy had not the slightest chance to refuse such "company" imposed against its will.
The major rolled onto his right wing, making the fighter fly sideways, then dove down and executed a left barrel roll.
He threw his "Avenger" up, then down a couple of times, then rolled onto his port side again, dove down, and spun over the left wing.
Then he rolled ninety degrees to the left, as if starting his lazy barrel roll again, pulled the control stick back, and slowed down using maneuvering thrusters.
The enemy, who was to his left at that moment, was surprised at how the "Avenger" managed to get on his flank.
Only at the very last moment did he manage to turn to the right, but it was too late.
Kreb shot off his right engine pod, and the uncontrollable machine spun in zero-g, spewing pieces of itself into space.
Some people have such slow thinking that you can hear their synapses sparking, leisurely transmitting signals.
Others have such fast minds that their instant decisions always amaze you, and only five or ten minutes later do you understand their logical path.
And some have thoughts racing in all directions at the speed of light, and you can't even guess how their brains work.
Major Kreb belonged to the second type of intelligent beings.
That's why, the moment he noticed there were several more "E-wings" within range of his guns, actively exterminating TIE Interceptors and assault gunships, he didn't hesitate for a second.
"Avengers—general assembly at point two-two-zero-nine," he commanded, directing his machine toward the combatants.
The cold calculation prevailing in his thoughts painted a picture of the battle in fractions of a second.
No ship in this part of space is capable of fighting on equal terms with "E-wings."
Interceptors are not the easiest, but still a logical target for them.
Xg-1 "Alpha" type assault gunships—too.
Even despite their missile armament, which they actively used.
The major had already understood how the latter ended up in such a situation—they were lured out of the "Guardian's" close defense perimeter with easy targets like "bounty hunters" or "freaks."
And thus, catching the pilots on the thrill of easy kills, they were lured into a local trap, given over to be torn apart by "E-wings."
The Interceptors, noticing the injustice, rushed to help.
An old trick as the world.
At the moment, only half of each formation remained from both squadrons.
Much to the regret, the pilots cloned for flying assault gunships are quite young.
But undoubtedly talented.
If they delay any longer—there will be even fewer pilots.
Kreb dove at maximum speed onto the head of the one he considered the most dangerous enemy in the entire enemy squadron.
Without overcomplicating things, he made the "E-wing" chase him, then, switching to a counterattack, simply destroyed the enemy with missiles.
The onboard computer reported that ammunition of this type was no longer available to him.
No problem—the main thing was he managed to take a rather serious opponent off the tail of one assault gunship.
The wounded machine limped toward the "Guardian."
Kreb looked at the instruments.
Two minutes until the squadron arrives.
The enemy needs one and a half to kill everyone here.
The major opened a communication channel with the surviving pilots.
His brain worked like a computer.
As it should be in a machine of death.
Briefly explaining to the pilots what they needed to do, Kreb and the remaining five Interceptor pilots began to drive the enemy away from the retreating gunships in a single formation.
The enemy fiercely tried to break through, but Kreb and his pilots didn't allow it.
Fortunately, they piloted machines that were clones, just like him.
But younger versions, not having solidified their skills enough.
They managed to catch one enemy machine in a turn.
Following it, an Interceptor drove another one onto the "Avenger-Leader."
Then Kreb himself transferred deflector power to the frontal projection and cut through the enemy formation like a hot knife through butter.
The enemy reacted to what was happening.
Perfectly understanding the danger of having an enemy in the rear, they abandoned their targets.
The assault gunships with empty launchers were successfully retreating.
One minute until reinforcements arrive.
A melee broke out.
Kreb reversed with the engines and dove down, then rolled over and executed an Immelmann turn to get on the tail of the chosen enemy.
He anticipated this maneuver and rolled onto his right wing, evading the "Avenger," challenging it to catch up.
But didn't account for exposing his flank to a TIE Interceptor.
White-green beams knocked down the deflectors by the time the enemy decided to bank into a turn.
At the same moment, Kreb was on its tail and shot up the "E-wing's" engine with his wing guns.
The machine tumbled in the vacuum, drifting away from the battle site.
Kreb chose the pursuer of the fourth Interceptor as his next target.
He accelerated too much and was approaching it faster than necessary, so the first shot went past the cockpit.
Kreb executed a quick barrel roll through the port side and pulled back on the control stick.
He flew "upward" for a full three seconds, then rolled over and continued climbing in a shallow loop.
At that moment, two "E-wings" came head-on at him, with Interceptors on their tails.
Laying the machine on its right wing, the major minimized his silhouette but didn't avoid several hits to the deflector.
The "Avenger" flew past the enemy, but another "Zann Consortium" starfighter appeared in his sights.
Ten seconds until reinforcements arrive.
Only three TIE Interceptor pilots remained alive.
The enemy—six machines.
And there's a marker on the scanner for another squadron moving toward them.
Apparently—more "E-wings."
Too many new machines for a criminal organization.
The enemy flew past the major's nose, but he didn't have time to shoot at the enemy.
Kreb rolled to starboard, then sharply turned to port and slowed down on the main engines but engaged the right maneuvering thrusters to reduce the turn radius.
Coming out of it, he increased speed again, evading a laser cannon salvo from another "E-wing."
A quick barrel roll, playing with the maneuvering thrusters—and now he was slamming a salvo into the stern of his recent pursuer.
Deflectors knocked out, a direct hit to the cockpit, which didn't shatter, but a decompression explosion occurred inside, and the uncontrollable machine was sent into space.
"Guardian OCC, this is Avenger-Leader," Kreb said. "Point two-one-six, vector four, acceleration seventeen. E-wing. Request evacuation."
It's no secret that in the Alliance, as in the New Republic, military equipment can be sold to anyone who wants it.
But it's doubly strange that the main machines went into service with third parties (unlikely the "Zann Consortium" introduced itself by its real name) and not into the assembled Defense Forces.
Perhaps something is wrong here.
Let the technicians study the machine and the astromech.
It, as is customary in the enemy's new fighters, is in an armored capsule and will survive a lot.
And will tell a lot too.
"Target designation received, Avenger-Leader," the dispatcher replied dryly. "Dispatching evacuation shuttle."
The rest didn't interest Kreb much.
Eleven TIE Avengers raced past him, joining the extermination of the enemy without unnecessary fuss or comms chatter.
By the time Kreb turned his machine's nose toward the battlefield, only memories remained of the first "E-wing" squadron.
And debris.
But another squadron of enemies was moving ahead.
Only now they wouldn't be beating up Interceptors or assault gunships.
The "E-wings" would have to face "E-wing" hunters.
Five minutes later, the "Avenger" squadron in full strength was already escorting an evacuation shuttle to the "Guardian," with a captured "E-wing" with a hole in its cockpit dangling on its invisible "tether."
And an hour later, the space battle in orbit of the planet Lur ended in a complete victory for the Dominion.
Transport ships poured into orbit in an endless stream, escorted by fighters.
The enemy was going to deeply regret deciding to settle in a relatively calm part of this world.
Because atmospheric phenomena here are so weak that Dominion pilots don't even perceive them as an obstacle.