Chapter Three: The Thyferran Gambit

Chapter Three

"The Thyferran Gambit"

*Bridge of the MC-90 Hawkseye, Corporate Sector*

         A dull explosion rocks the ship, momentarily drowning out the sound of the klaxons. Moments ago, the scene aboard the new MC-90 Hawkseye had been that of any ordinary day. The new Mark 90s were starting their tours around the New Republic. It had been only two months, but already several hundred systems had flocked to the new government. That had been planned for, though. Even still, the Galactic Empire still nominally controlled most of the known galaxy. With the MC-90 Hawkseye leading Liberator fleet, this tour was supposed to prove to the galaxy that the New Republic would be able to protect you—if you threw your support with them.

         “What’s the situation?” barks Tierran as he runs out onto the command deck.

         Felian doesn’t spare a glance back, too occupied with the situation reports coming in from the fleet. “Admiral, we have multiple contacts. We’re picking up several Star Destroyers, an Interdictor and support ships. Fighters are launched and moving into screening positions.”

         Tierran moves over to the tactical station and looks at the sensor reports coming in. His heart skips a beat at the central marker. Vengeance.

         In the background, Felian continues to give orders. “Prepare an escape vector.”

         “No,” Tierran says, standing up from the tactical console. “We stand and fight.”

         Felian frowns. “Admiral, we’re outnumbered and outgunned. They only caught part of our fleet in the gravity well.”

         “We fight,” Tierran repeats, scowling a bit. “We’re on a tour to prove that we can protect our member worlds. It would set us way back to have the flagship of Liberator fleet run from a fight.” He looks back down at the tactical station. “They’re deployed in a standard attack formation. Those are Mark I destroyers out there and we’re loaded to the gills with B-Wings. I want the Wildcards and Dragon running cover. Have them target the Vengeance. The Imperials will fall back if we strike her hard and fast.”

         In the darkness of space, the fighters flew towards their target. From the vantage point of the fleet, they were just dots. The shouts of victory mixed with the screams of death filtered through the bridge speakers as they engaged the enemy TIEs. All they could do now was watch and hope as the massive ships plowed through space towards the waiting Star Destroyers. If the shields on those destroyers were still up when they got there, there was no hope. History didn’t look too kindly on Admirals who lost their key ship in their first encounter. Not that I’ll be around to argue my case.

         Tierran watches the battle progress on the tactical console. They’re protecting the Interdictor. We just can’t take them head on. Striker grins and taps on the tac console, watching the fleet movements a moment longer, “Captain, you ready to live dangerously?”

         She raises an eyebrow, “Sir?”

         “Move the Hawkseye at them. We’re going to cover the withdrawal of the rest of the fleet. At least, that’s how it will look. I’m betting they’re mainly interested in taking out this ship. If we can get them to follow our lead just for a moment…”

         “Then the fleet will come around and we’ll have them in a crossfire,” she finishes for him with a satisfied grin. She looks around her bridge. “You heard the Admiral! Dispatch those orders on a secure laser transmission. And move us twenty degrees off their vector.”

*Between the fleets*

         The B-Wings were doing their job as they hurled themselves at the Crimson Fury. The Battle Cry had already lost its shields and the Fury would soon join her. The Wildcards and Dragons were doing a respectable job holding off the TIEs, but the heavy assault fighters were running low on torpedoes and they were really outnumbered here. Just like the good ole’ days, thought Commander Art Farliner as he maneuvered his X-Wing through the slowly expanding cloud of the recently vaporized TIE Interceptor. Quickly, he toggles his com, “Dragon 3, get on my wing. We’re going to clear a path for Dancer 2 into the target.”

         A quick check out his right window confirms there’s an X-Wing at his side and they push forward towards the Crimson Fury. A hail of turbolaser blasts welcome them as they settle in on their attack vector. “Stay on target, Dancer 2, we’ve got you covered.”

         “Dragon lead, break right!”

         Art doesn’t wait a moment to check. He trusts his wingman. Jamming his stick right, he checks his sensor and sees he’s pulled a TIE-Advanced right in front of Dragon 3, who gives him a hearty New Republic welcome. “Nice shooting, Dragon 3.”

         “Always easy when you’re pretending to be bait, sir,” comes the reply.

         “Alright, don’t get cocky, Dragon 3,” Art says as he pushes his X-Wing back into an escort position near Dancer 2. “We’re nearly in range Dancer 2. Let’s put a little fire under their pants and get the hell out of here.”

         At that moment, three pairs of torpedoes streak by Art’s cockpit as Dancer 2 replies, “Way ahead of you. Pulling out and returning to base. I’m spent.”

         As Art pulls the X-Wing around, he spots the Hawkseye bearing down on the Imperial fleet. The Imperial fleet has changed its heading to meet the Hawkseye head on. Where’s the rest of the fleet?

         Slowly, the Hawkseye begins to turn away as it gets into firing range. The Mark 90s were more than capable of taking on a Star Destroyer, but not four of them. As Art brings his X-Wing around to go after a TIE Bomber, he smiles at the sight he’s treated to. The rest of the fleet had come about on their escape vector and was now directly behind the Star Destroyers. Even as the destroyers began to open fire on the Hawkseye, the Imperials realized their miscalculation and the fleet began to wheel to its side.

         Not before the two Mark 80s and the pair of Nebulon-B frigates sent a volley of fire into the weak rear shield arc of the Star Destroyers. Already, the fighter cloud had dispersed as the TIEs streamed back to their home ships.

*Bridge of the MC-90 Hawkseye*

         Tierran just grins and listens now. His battle plan set in motion, there’s nothing to do now but wait as his Captains do their jobs. The reports coming in confirm what he’s seeing on the tactical board. The first volley from the flanking force had severely damaged the Vengeance’s shields. As the Star Destroyers turned and continued to pound the Hawkseye, the New Republic fleet answered in kind, changing their target quickly to the shieldless Battle Cry. A glance at the viewer confirmed what the scanners told him as the Battle Cry began to list to port, as power across the behemoth ship flickers. This is over.

         The Imperials seemed to agree. Moments later, with just a hint of motion, the Imperials were gone, leaving the Republican fleet to lick its wounds. Tierran glances at the chronometer. 22 minutes from contact. “How’re we looking?”

         Felian grins back. “Minor damage reported across the board on all ships. Nothing that our maintenance crews won’t have repaired in a couple hours. The frigate Star Chaser reports her hyperdrive is damaged but can have it fixed in three hours.”

         “Signal ahead to Thyferra. Let them know we’ll be running a bit late, but we’ll be there soon. Have them inform the Challenger of our status when she arrives,” Tierran says and stands, heading for the turbolift. “Captain, send the status updates to my office in an hour.”

         Felian senses something a bit odd in his voice and turns to look at him, concern on her face. This was the only time their relationship got in the way of things. Sometimes, he didn’t want anyone to know he was worried. But she knew him better than anyone, probably even himself. She knew not to say anything but he just hated that look. Of course, having someone with the clearance to share his personal concerns had its merits.

*Admiral’s chambers, MC-90 Hawkseye*

         It didn't take long before he was joined in his office. Tierran doesn't look up as he continues to study the battle recordings, running the encounter over in his mind. Casualties were light, and the Mark 90 performed exactly as she was supposed to. So what's wrong?

         As if she could read his mind, Felian echoed his question. "So, what's wrong?"

         Tierran points up at the monitor playing the recording, "If they knew our flight plan, they had to know our current fleet strength. Four Star Destroyers against what we had was a near even match. Why not bring overwhelming force? Once we meet up with the rest of the fleet at Thyferra, we're going to be a lot harder to take out. This was their chance to take us down and they ran when we bloodied their nose?"

         Felian leans forward to watch. "Maybe that was all they could bring to bear against us? The Empire is hurting."

         Tierran spins his chair around to face her. "That was the Vengeance. Admiral Talon wouldn't attack this fleet unless he thought he was going to win. This whole tour is too well publicized. The NR navy isn't ready to back up the promises we're making yet. Talon doesn't do hit and run. I just have a bad feeling about this.”

         Felian shakes her head. "But what did he accomplish? We lost a single fighter. We had one support ship that was moderately damaged, but we did heavy damage to that Star Destroyer. We'll be a little late to Thyferra..."

         Tierran's eyes widen and he slams his hand down on the com on his desk, "This is Admiral Tercanic to all ships. Resume course for Thyferra immediately."

         "What about the Star Chas..."

         "We're going to be late," Tierran says, the feeling in the pit of his stomach growing. "That's what he accomplished. Don't you see?"

         "They wouldn't hit Thyferra. Where else would they get bacta? They need it as much as we do," Felian says as she sinks into her seat. The despair in her voice betrays the hopeful comments for what they are. Hopeful.

         Tierran lowers his voice, though there isn't anyone else to hear. "Fel, this is Talon. You know the rumors of what he's capable of. We don't even know who's running the show anymore. If Talon has free reign, it doesn't matter if the Empire needs Thyferra as much as we do."

         Felian sighs and stands, heading for the door. "I thought these days were behind us."

         Tierran shakes his head, having no answers for her. "We all did."

*Thyferra System*

         Three hours later, the fleet came out of hyperspace in the Thyferra system. Tierran came to the bridge for the arrival. He didn't know what they would find when they got here, but he couldn't hide from it in his office. Tierran felt the tension on the bridge. It hadn't taken long for word to spread across the ship that their little ambush was likely a diversion.

         As the planet came into view of the bridge of the Hawkseye, Tierran's heart sank. Any hope that he'd been wrong was gone. The planet burned. Controlling his voice, he calls out his orders to the stunned crew. "Raise the Challenger and get a status report on the rest of the fleet."

         As time ticked by, the comm. officer could be seen furiously going through all of the frequencies available. Something was wrong. Tierran goes over to the tactical display, and has the scanners put to full power. Still nothing, except for that feeling in his stomach.

         "Admiral," called the Sullustan at the com station, "Thyferra is responding to us."

         Tierran nods and replies hoarsely, "Put them through."

         The voice on the other end sounded, understandably, upset. "Clear out of this system, New Republic."

         That, however, was not what Tierran was expecting. "Thyferra, this is Admiral Tercanic. We need to coordinate with you to..."

         "Forget it. We agreed to let you come here and look what happened! This was just a warning. They didn't touch our bacta facilities but our cities are ruined. Take your promises somewhere else. Thyferra out."

         "Admiral," called the tac officer, "we've located the rest of the fleet."

         Without a word, he walks over to the display quickly. A cluster of dots on the periphery of the system are clearly visible, but nothing to indicate that they're the rest of Liberator fleet. He turns back to Felian. "Captain, move the fleet to this location." He gives the tac board a tap.

         Tierran refused to entertain any thoughts of what they might find when they got to the fleet's location. As it turned out, he probably wouldn't have been able to guess. A quick microjump to the edge of the system confirmed Tierran's fears. The fleet had been decimated. Three MC-80s and four Nebulon-B frigates drifted in a defensive formation. Flanking the Nebulons were the two captured Assault Frigates. They all resembled nothing more than burnt out hulls. The sensor scans coming in showed that they had all lost nearly total hull integrity. The cruisers might be large enough to have some trapped pockets of air on them with some crew members alive. They'd be the lucky ones.

         "Captain, coordinate the recovery effort. I'll be in my office with the High Command," Tierran says. Without waiting for the response, he enters the turbolift and heads for his office. Leaving Felian behind, who was no better prepared to deal with this situation than he was.

*Communications room, MC-90 Hawkeye*

         An hour later, Tierran had finally finished laying out the whole situation to Admiral Ackbar. A string of messages awaited him and it was all he could do to not tell the Admiral he had to go.

         “This is a disaster, Admiral Tercanic. Losing Thyferra is a terrible blow. But not as bad as the damage done to Liberator fleet. We obviously underestimated the organization that the Empire would be able to muster by now,” Ackbar says, after hearing the extent of the damage. “We’re obviously going to have to cancel these sector tours until we can establish…”

         Tierran shakes his head, “With all due respect Admiral, I disagree. The other fleets should continue as planned. If we back down after a blow like this, we’ll lose a lot more ground than we lost today. I don’t think that any fleets other than the one under Waugh’s control will be able to organize a hit like this. He needs to be taken out. He’s more than capable of keeping the other Moffs and Admirals from fighting each other but if we can take him out…”

         Ackbar’s expression is difficult for Tierran to read during his response. “Admiral, I appreciate your thoughts on the matter, but we simply don’t have the manpower. Liberator fleet will be down for months.”

         “We don’t have to be, sir. Shift a Mark 80 from a couple of the other fleets to us. Pull some of the Mark 60s out of mothballs,” Tierran says, going over the logistics of it in his head.

         The Mon Calamari admiral looks quizzical through his holo-projection. “Admiral, that still doesn’t address the ground forces you’ll need.”

         Tierran sighs and leans back in his seat. “I have some, um, ‘options’ open to me. Give me the word, Admiral, I’ll give you Waugh.”

         Ackbar doesn’t answer for a moment before simply nodding. “You’ll have your ships.”

         Under different circumstances, Tierran might have smiled. Now, he just answers with a grateful nod. “Thank you, Admiral. We won’t disappoint you.”

         “I know you won’t, Admiral Tercanic,” he responds. “May the Force be with you.” And with that, the holoprojector goes dark.

         Tierran rubs his temple for a moment. We’re going to need it.

         Turning to his personal communications suite, he pulls up a name he hasn’t used in a couple of years. “Sharliss, this is Striker. The Republic needs you and your friends. Please let me know if you can assist. It is very urgent.” Tierran finishes the terse message and transmits it. We could sure use a few heroes.

*Admiral’s chambers, MC-90 Hawkeye*

         Tierran was still going over all of the reports flooding across his desk when Felian walked in. He didn’t even hear her; he was so engrossed in examining every detail of the battle that took place here. Not much could be gleaned yet from the logs, but he’d figure out what happened. He suddenly looks up, startled, when he feels a hand on shoulder and turns his head to see Felian standing there.

         “Tier…” she falters, not really sure how to talk to him right now. He’s been entirely withdrawn since he left the bridge. But the fleet needed him. She needed him.

         Tierran looks back down on his desk and picks up what appears to be a rock, in a rather ornate display case. “You know that Stede was Alderaanian right?”

         Felian just nods, letting him talk.

         He continues to hold the case. “He gave this to me to congratulate me on achieving Admiral. It’s a piece of his home. Thought maybe the peaceful ideals of Alderaan would rub off of it.” He sets it back down on his desk and closes his eyes. “I haven’t read any of the reports from the Challenger. I can’t do it, Fel…”

         Felian crouches down next to his chair and looks up at Tierran. The concern on her face is clear. I’ve never seen him like this. But he knows what I’m going to tell him. She takes his hand and squeezes it. “Tier, they boarded the Challenger. She was lost with all hands. The computer logs indicate they were the last ship fighting…” She can’t continue as she feels herself choking up.

         Tierran puts down the case and pulls her into a tight embrace at that moment, whispering to her. “We’ll get those bastards and we’ll make them pay.”

         “You called her, didn’t you?”

         Tierran lets her go and she leans back against his desk, “Stede always said we operate off the same brain cell. Think he was on to something?”

         Felian smiles a bit. “Maybe he was. So you did? He wouldn’t have been happy about that. You know how he felt about that bunch.”

         “That ‘bunch’, as you put it,” Striker says as he looks out the window of his office, “was responsible for the most dangerous missions we had. And they never failed, except when Waugh sold us out. And even with that they still survived. They were the best and you know it. And if we can convince them to come back on our payroll, we’ll be that much more able to bring Talon and Waugh down.” He picks up the rock again. “I want a full military funeral for all of officers who died. But we’ll have our own for Stede. We’ll keep it small. Not that any of us have anyone who’d miss us outside of this fleet anyway.”

         Felian is still thinking about Tierran’s comments about going after Waugh and Talon, however. “Tier, you’re not going to risk the fleet to get your personal vengeance are you? Stede was my friend too…but those are very dangerous men. Do we have the resources?”

         Tierran looks down at her. “I’ll do everything in my power to get them. But I won’t risk anyone unnecessarily for this.”

         “Stede wouldn’t want that,” Felian says, catching Tierran’s eyes, “and neither would I. You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

         He stands suddenly and walks over to the window, looking out. “I can’t give you that answer, Fel.”

         He’s been off since we got jumped. This isn’t him. She stands and puts an arm around him, guiding him away, “You need to sleep.”

         To his credit, Tierran knew when his rank didn’t apply.

*Trakas IV*

         Sure enough, the Banshee was right where they left it.

         After repairs and dropping off Sia, the three remaining members of the dying group took the ship to Trakas IV. They’d had scattered discussion of what to do with the ship ever since they managed to get it off Selonia. Sia had made it brutally clear that his days with the group were done. His first Jedi Master was from the small farming planet of Concord Dawn; he didn’t tell his companion that was why—in fact, he hadn’t told them much.

         Max was originally content with disbanding the group after what happened, but not long after dropping off Sia he finally left his turret and told Mils and Sharliss that he thought they should continue to work for the Rebellion, the three of them. Mils was willing to go back with the Rebellion, as his hatred had always been towards the Empire, but of any, he was the one who knew it was time to call it a good run and discretely return under the radar.

         Sharliss was finally realizing what had happened over the past few months, to all of them. She still trusted Sia and would have returned to the Rebellion had he stayed, but Max was even more of a blank page than he had been before. She noticed herself locking her quarters at night and keeping an eye on him when he would wander around…she couldn’t continue like this.

         One thing they all agreed on (actually something Sia had mentioned as soon as they’d reunited on Corellia) was that the Banshee needed to be put down. Talon was surely not content with the outcome, and no one knew who else was or had been on their tail. Max called up an old friend who’d turned mercenary and got Mils and Sharliss an Old Republic transport to get them wherever they were heading, and he joined up with his friend.

         The ship looked like it hadn’t noticed a day had passed. Those monthly payments were obviously worth it, Sharliss thought. She went straight to the starboard side to look at where Mil’s crash impact had been repaired. No one else could see it, but she was never happy with the repair work the yard had done. Looks like it’ll just fall off with a well-placed hull shot.

         Mils boarded first. Looks like we forgot to replace that grate after our last battle. That thing never did hold well. He walked up to the bridge, amused to see the “Eight Steps to a Perfect Landing” article Sharliss had had engraved on the console, straight out of Young Pilot’s Magazine. Mils sat down in the pilot’s chair, swiveled. I never could manage one of those on any ship since.

         Max followed the Farghul, walking towards his turret with a quick stop at the galley. There was still a game active on the holo-chess board. I had Mils beat, but we left hyperspace before I could manage check-mate. I’ll remind him… His old blaster “repair”, well “upgrade”, kit was still sitting on the table in the corner. He walked around the corner and clambered into his lower turret. Sharliss was standing with her back to him still looking at that repair job. It’s fine! He traversed the controls, bumping her on the shoulder. “Max!”

         Sia remained standing at the bottom of the ramp.

“There’s a smuggler based on that planet by the name of Sharliss Tal’Vissa. The rebellion could use her talents. Do whatever you have to in order to recruit her…”

“We believe Captain Reams is held in the brig in the base. He’s been sentenced for execution; our offer should be an easy choice for him, and you two could really use some muscle…”

“The planet is mainly alien; the mission shouldn’t have much resistance outside the local Imperial contingent. Keep it quick; simple…”

         So that’s how we got here. Six years and here we are again.

         “Shall we, Sia? I told myself I would never get back on her unless you were here, unless all of us were here.”

         “Well then, let’s join them.”

         “Galley meeting; got some planning to do all,” Sia shouted as he crested the ramp.

         Sia was just sitting down next to Sharliss when Mils and Max both walked in. Mils took his regular spot at the head of the table and Max stood in the corner; that was his thinking spot. Everyone was here, and they were ready to deal with this once and for all.

         “What’s our plan?” Sia wasted no time.

         No answer. Everyone just sat or stood there deep in thought. Max considered the best case scenario for four verses a Moff’s security contingent. Sharliss wondered how to go about taking out an Imperial Star Destroyer…without calling on Striker for help. Mils judged just how much punishment his ship might be able to take, should they need it. Sia thought how they could take out Justin and Kat separately before having to deal with their lesser two enemies.

         Mils spoke first. “Talon will be looking for the Wreckless. Let’s use that against him. Make a burst distress com and hope to draw him to it. We counterattack with this bird to Moff Waugh’s place. It’s a long shot, but we don’t have a chance against the Moff when he has his personal fleet overhead.”

         “Better than anything I got,” Sia stated. “Same here,” Sharliss responded. Max nodded.

         “Well then, we’ll plan the attack on the way to a beacon; Max, can you handle this baby? Just until we get to beacon…3157,” Mils said as he pointed at the closest hyperspace beacon on the endlessly edited galley map.

         “You’re giving up the helm of the Bans—ah. Got it; what about the dock up?” Max asked.

         “I’ll handle that; you just keep this thing still. After that we’ll take a few hull shots on the Wreckless and leave her for the mynocs.”

         Everyone nodded. “Well then, let’s not waste any more time.”

*Navigation buoy 3157, deep space*

         Sharliss stayed in her turret as they left hyperspace—even though she knew there wouldn’t be anyone waiting for them. As soon as she felt the deceleration, both coms in her turret went off. Her personal com and…the com in the turret. What the…?

         “You guys just get a com to the Banshee?” Sia asked over intercom as the other two noticed.

         “Yeah, let’s check it in the galley; I’ll let Mils know,” Max responded.

         “Sharliss, this is Striker. The Republic needs you and your friends. Please let me know if you can assist. It is very urgent.”

         The three traded looks. Sharliss and Max both thought of how Sia-Lan had been so very against rejoining the Rebellion two years ago, so both deferred the decision to Sia. “Something here isn’t adding up. It’s got some coords for….two days from now. Let’s see what it is he needs,” the Jedi advised.

         “Mils, we’re transmitting a message over. Let’s hold onto the ship; jump to the meeting point?” Sharliss asked.

         The reply took a few moments. “Roger that; see you there.” Mils beat them into hyperspace by over three minutes, thanks in no small part to the fact that Sharliss was trying to help with the computerized astrogation.

*Admiral’s Chambers, MC-90 Hawkeye*

         The next morning, when Tierran walks into his office, there’s a long narrow box sitting on it. What’s this…? Sitting down, he opens it up and realizes immediately what it is. Tierran really didn’t get Stede a pen for his birthday every year, but he did get him one when he was made his XO several years ago. And it was sitting on his desk now. Fel had to have done this.

         He takes it out of his box and looks at it for a moment. Letting out a grin, the first since this all started, he pulls out a sheet of paper and starts writing. I think Stede would appreciate the justice of the plan to get even with Talon being written by his own pen. I think this might just work. I hope Sharliss really does come; they’re the only ones who can pull this off.

         After finishing it, Tierran puts the pen back in the box and picks up the sheet of paper. It was simple plan. It was also crazy. This shouldn’t work. It’s a good thing everyone I know will buy into it. He reaches over and taps the com button on his desk. “Captain Felian to Admiral Tercanic’s office, please.”

         A few minutes later she walks in, not really sure what to expect after last night. She didn’t expect to see a huge map of the galaxy rolled out on the floor with Tierran sitting on one side, circling something. If it was anyone else, I’d think he’d lost it. Looks like he’s back to normal. She pulls over a chair to watch. “I’d ask if I really want to know what you’re up to now, but I’m not sure I really want to know.”

         “I’m planning our fleet movements for the next few months,” he says without looking up.

         She blinks, “Is there something wrong with your computer?”

         “Nope.”

         She rolls her eyes, “So why are you doing this on a big map of the galaxy?”

         He looks up and grins a little. “I thought you didn’t want to know a moment ago.” He hands her the piece of paper he’d been writing before and goes back to what he was doing while she reads his plan.

         Felian reads over the few paragraphs and estimations on the sheet of paper, and then reads it again. “You’re crazy, you know that, right? There’s no way this is going to work.”

         Tierran moves off the map and begins rolling it up, “I seem to recall you saying that about Anoth.”

         “I was right,” Felian says with a smirk, crossing her arms.

         Tierran finishes rolling the map and stands, snatching the paper out of Felian’s hand, “Well, I’ll just find someone else to do it.” He locks away the map and the piece of paper.

         Felian grins and stands, heading out to the bridge. “I know you won’t. You’ll need me to make you look smart again.”

         Striker chuckles as she leaves and sits down at his desk again, taking Stede’s pen out of the box. It really is annoying when she does that. Suddenly noticing a light blinking on his console, he opens the waiting message. So they’ll be here.

{center]***

Continued in:

Chapter Four: Best Served Cold  (13+) Old dogs can learn new tricks after all. #1367600 by Renfucious