Domus Publica
 |  |
| The Test of Wills |
Coruscant.
Such a perfect name for the world. For what could be more accurate a description of the world whose own luminescence was greater than that of its own
star? No other world could compare to the gleaming, sparkling horizon of Coruscant. All stars lead to Coruscant, goes the old saying, and that is where
all stars end. For twenty-five millennia, Coruscant had been the heart and nerve-center of all civilization. And for such a world, ordinary is insufficient;
Coruscant was destined by its position to be extraordinary.
For each of those twenty-five millennia, Coruscant City grew. And grew, and grew, and grew. Here a new starport, there a new medcenter, here a new
casino, there a new government building. Its growth was slow, leisurely, implacable. Like some gigantic duracrete glacier, Coruscant City spread out,
until it reached the shores and mountains and plains. But mere topography could not halt this great irresistible force; if the people of Coruscant could not
build in it, they would build around it, and when the time finally came, on top of it.
And so Coruscant City engulfed a continent. Then, a world. Faced with nowhere to build, the architects of this technological marvel took the only option
left them. They built up. And, in traditionally Coruscanti fashion, they built. And built, and built, and built. Finally, Coruscant was entirely covered by
city sprawls, kilometers high. Only the summit of the highest mountain of the Manarai Range remained uncovered. Coruscant City stretched from pole
to pole, and encompassed everything between.
With its extraordinary terrain, Coruscant had an extraordinary economy. Its imports: Food. Water. Materials. Luxuries. Its exports: Law. For Coruscant
was the seat of government; the Senate debated there, the Government carried out its business there, the Supreme Chancellor conducted policy there, and
the Chief Justice deliberated there. When the time came, the Galactic Emperor reigned there, his court played its intrigues there, his Ruling Council held
its secret meetings behind locked doors there. Without question, Coruscant meant authority, and legitimacy. The body which ruled Coruscant ruled the
galaxy.
For this reason, the New Republic had wrested Coruscant from the Empire. And for this reason, months after the Empire’s supreme commander was
killed in battle by his own bodyguard, the Empire struck back.
The onslaught was stunning. It was a massive collection of firepower; for not only had the self-styled Emperor’s Ruling Circle – those courtiers and
aristocrats, moffs and military men who ruled the Empire in the wake of the Galactic Emperor’s death – not only had they provided a hefty fleet, under
the able command of the 1SL/CNO himself, but six of the mightiest warlords – Harrsk, Teradoc, Kaine, Shargael, Tagge, and Casta – joined their own
forces in the blitzkrieg.
Metellos and Kaikielius fell immediately to the renewed Imperial offensive; billions died when the planets were heavily shelled from orbit. With just this
in mind, the New Republic and its Provisional Government fled Coruscant rather than see the capital of galactic civilization destroyed in battle as much
of those worlds had been. But in making that decision, the New Republic committed suicide; without Coruscant, it was not the galactic government,
merely one more among countless factions and states in the galaxy. And so, the Ruling Circle returned to Imperial Center, to create the Empire anew. All
that was required was an emperor, for the old Galactic Emperor had died four years since. But the Imperials could not decide on an emperor – after all,
who had the right to sit on the House of Palpatine’s throne? More importantly, who had the might?
An impasse was reached. Harsh words were exchanged. All hell broke loose.
Now, Lando Calrissian could only shake his head as he looked out over the ruined surface of Coruscant. The Imperials had taken up arms against one
other, as though some unseen ghostly puppet-master had lined up toy soldiers, and brushed them aside just as thoughtlessly. A great gash of blackened
cityscape cut its way across the northern hemisphere, the region of the most intense fighting. As far as New Republic Intelligence was aware, Tagge’s
forces still held the majority of Imperial City, trusting the squadron of warships he’d left in orbit to defend his ground forces from space attack.
Lando’s job was simple – he was to attack the Tagge’s squadron and stir up trouble; his ship, the Star Destroyer Liberator, had been modified to appear
to be a ship loyal to Lord Crueya and COMPNOR. Tagge would in all likelihood retaliate against COMPNOR, breaking their truce, which was uneasy at
best. This sort of mission was becoming more prevalent in the New Republic; the idea was to sow even greater chaos amongst the Imperials.
Lando straightened his tunic, and brushed aside a bit of lint on his white sleeve. Five red pips decorated his left breast, and he wore a ‘signia-belt, the
emblem of the siridar-barony which he held. Lord Calrissian of Bespin... he liked the sound of that. Lieutenant General Calrissian... he liked the sound of
that, too. Having completed a few of these missions already, scuttlebutt had it that he might be on his way to just plain General Calrissian. And he liked
the sound of that even more so.
To Lando’s left stood his chief of staff and deputy commander, a brown-haired man, a bit shorter than average. He looked fairly unremarkable, and was
somewhat uncomfortable with his crisp uniform, and the four blue pips on his breast. Major General Wedge Antilles, formerly the best starfighter pilot
in the New Republic Starfighter Command, had only recently been reassigned from Naval Aviator duty, and was not yet fully comfortable with having a
solid deck beneath his feet. “Your thoughts, General Antilles?” Lando said, smiling.
Wedge looked at Lando, in a sidelong glance. “I don’t know if I like coming back to Coruscant in a single Impstar, General.”
“Most of the defense emplacements and mechanisms are gone, General Antilles. Only Tagge’s squadron is a major threat.”
“Two minutes to hyperspace terminus, sir,” the ship’s skipper reported.
“Thank you, Captain.” Lando checked his chronometer. “Stand by to revert, and double up for’rard shields.”
“Stand by to revert and double up for’rard shields, aye.” The ship’s captain acknowledged Lando’s orders and repeated them to the appropriate bridge
crew members.
“You should give the gun captains a quick heads up, General.” Wedge said, nervously adjusting his collar.
“Good idea. Captain, advise the gun captains that we are nearing terminus.”
“Aye aye, sir. Alerting gun captains, sir.”
In what seemed like only a few heartbeats, Lando could hear the 1MC announcing reversion from hyperspace.
On the surface of Coruscant, a war was in process. A part of the coalition forces, the entire 4th Mobile Battlegroup – thousands of men! – , had
suddenly and without warning gone rogue, and made a fast push for the Imperial Palace, where Generalissimo Ulric Tagge, 603rd Baron Tagge, and his
Chief of General Staff, Colonel General Emordys Cilobatem, had established their GHQ. The Lord Tagge, caught entirely off-guard, had been forced to
withdraw, and move his forces further north; he had dispatched four regiments, the 5th and 12th Artillery and the 7th and 9th Assault, to flank the
rogues. The main body of his forces would bear down from the northwest to dislodge them from the Palace, driving them into full retreat – directly into
range of the loyal regiments. It was a simple plan – practically elementary – , which was precisely why the rogue force commander would never expect
it, and it would work to perfection.
In a tall spire northwest of the Imperial Palace, the Lord Tagge and his faithful deputy stood in the GHQ’s operations room, waiting attentively for
news. An aide came charging up to Lord Tagge, and suddenly thought better of it when the man turned sharply on his heel to face the aide. The aide
slowed his pace, and came to a complete halt about two meters in front of the baron-general.
“Sir, there is a Priority One signal for you, via HoloNet.”
“Priority One? I am Priority One, Mister.” Lord Tagge scowled.
“But – but, sir, the transmission is labeled ‘Princeps,’ and carries a Prior — ”
“Princeps? Why didn’t you say so in the first place? I’ll take it in the comm room. Come, Mord,” Tagge said, nodding to Cilobatem. The two of them
hurried into an adjacent room, set aside for strictly top secret communications.
The Lord Tagge’s people trusted and admired him; they were as loyal troops as any commander could hope to have. As far as the Tagge Company and
its affiliated forces were concerned, the Lord Tagge was the unquestionable number one. No one was as respected, as talented... or as feared.
But even the Lord Tagge shivered in fear when he beheld the image that stood before him, a vast hologram. It wore a great black cloak and hood. Shadows
concealed its face, and its voice rumbled like the sound of the distant guns.
“You are compromised.”
“No, Master – Merely a few – a few regiments, that’s all.” The Lord Tagge found himself losing his composure, an unfamiliar feeling for him.
“I assure you, Master, we can handle them. General du Mahs is not a threat – ” Cilobatem began, his voice containing a trace of uncertainty. He, too,
had faced the man in black before, and he, too, found that he was not quite so impervious to fright as might otherwise be supposed.
“Move your regiments away from the Palace, Baron. Your mission nears its end.” With that, the image vanished.
“Remember, Admiral, I want them crippled, but not killed,” the hologram spoke plainly and directly, wasting no words with introduction. But then, the
man in black had no need to introduce himself – only those who needed to see him did so, and they already knew better than to expect preamble or inane
niceties from him.
Instead, Fleet Admiral Daine Jir merely bowed shortly, and acknowledged his obedience. As abruptly as it had appeared, the holo vanished, and Jir
walked at his customary brisk pace through the short passageway connecting the comm center to the bridge of his cruiser. He was something of a wild
card, as far as Imperials were concerned – a loyal Monarchist, he had been recruited into the Secret Order of the Emperor, and had actually been flag
lieutenant to the infamous Lord Vader, before Fleet Admiral Firmus Piett had given him command of the Star Destroyer Avenger, whose previous CO
had been summarily executed by the Dark Lord of the Sith.
Jir had since inherited Piett’s role as Commander Death Squadron. He and his great fleet had abruptly abandoned the Empire once Coruscant had fallen
to the Republic, and had since become largely – and quite uncharacteristically – inactive.
That was, of course, about to change. With a small squadron composed of a heavy cruiser, two light cruisers, a few destroyers and frigates, and some
corvettes and gunboats, he was about to engage a fully-armed and heavily-armored fast battleship, which had the firepower to reduce the surface of a
civilized world to smoking ash in a matter of hours.
Jir smiled tightly. He had always enjoyed a challenge.
When the New Republic Star Destroyer Liberator exited hyperspace, she was surprised to find the hostile flotilla already in defensive position, with the
three cruisers – “battlewagons,” Alliance slang had called them – arrayed in a lose triangle and the smaller and weaker warships radiating outward from
this core. Even more surprising was the fact that the heavy cruiser immediately transmitted a series of identification codes which Liberator’s main
computer automatically accepted, prompting it to broadcast its identity – its real identity, not the fake COMPNOR ID crafted for this mission – along
with a glut of other information about the ship’s company and combat systems disposition. It was nearly a full two minutes before the New Republic
technicians were able to put a stop to this unaccountable hemorrhage of information.
By then a veritable storm of turbolaserfire raked across her ventral surface, pounding her shields. Lando ordered his ship to roll, presenting her main
battery. A single full-power discharge from one of those big guns caught a corvette, seven thousand kilometers off the starboard bow, where she had been
seeking some measure of shelter in a thick debris field; the blast struck her amidships, and many thousands of megatons punched right through the
shields and armor, completely destroying the entire middle quarter of the ship – snapping her in two, in fact – instantly killing everyone aboard, and
adding yet one more piece of wreckage to the cloud of destroyed warships in the system.
Jir’s ships fought well, using their superior maneuverability to avoid the Liberator’s big guns, attracting fire only from the heavy turbolaser batteries,
while the huge Destroyer’s laser cannons acted as point-defense weapons. Slowly, the big ship’s shields were pressed harder and harder. She could not
hold out indefinitely..
“Deflector shields approaching overload, sir!”
“Understood,” Lando turned away from the main observation ports. He had chosen to take the conn for this mission, rather than rely on a skipper as his
interlocutor. “Helm, right full rudder!”
Almost immediately, the ship shifted her orientation, bringing Jir’s cruiser into the big guns’ field of fire. Immediately, turbolaserfire lanced out from two
of the turrets, catching the cruiser along the port side. With a sickening glow, the cruiser’s port side shields collapsed. At the same time, a tight-focused
data stream was launched from the cruiser’s communications array. In the confusion of the battle, no one aboard the Liberator noticed.
“She’s rolling, sir! Presenting her starboard – ”
Battleship or no, the broadside of a cruiser packs a nasty punch. The Liberator shuddered, as some of the turbolaserfire penetrated the shields and
burned away armor plating. In response, a three-gun salvo from the Liberator’s ultra-heavy turrets crashed into the cruiser, and violently knocked her
off-axis. Nevertheless, her guns fired again, and tore once more into the Liberator, at the same time accelerating below her mid line. A slugfest between
capital ships is never pleasant for either one of them, regardless of tonnage and armament. Their guns could make small moons shudder.
The Liberator rolled again, trying to keep the faster cruiser under her big guns. It was the last maneuver the ship executed before a planetary ion cannon,
supposedly destroyed, opened fire, catching the ventral surface of the Destroyer off-guard. The blast punched through the overworked shields, and
wrought merry hell with the Star Destroyer’s electrical systems. Caught between the cruiser and the planetary battery, the Liberator was doomed. She
surged forward, towards Coruscant, hoping to evade both.
Luck was not with Lando, as the cruiser finally collapsed Liberator’s shields, and a second ion cannon blast caught the ventral surface. Secondary
systems failed the whole ship over. The primary guidance controls froze up, and the big Destroyer continued inexorably accelerating towards Coruscant,
and the big gash marking where the most violent fighting had – and was still – taking place.
“Sound the collision alarm! All hands, brace for impact!” Lando cried, dismayed. “All hands, brace for imp — !”
Such a perfect name for the world. For what could be more accurate a description of the world whose own luminescence was greater than that of its own
star? No other world could compare to the gleaming, sparkling horizon of Coruscant. All stars lead to Coruscant, goes the old saying, and that is where
all stars end. For twenty-five millennia, Coruscant had been the heart and nerve-center of all civilization. And for such a world, ordinary is insufficient;
Coruscant was destined by its position to be extraordinary.
For each of those twenty-five millennia, Coruscant City grew. And grew, and grew, and grew. Here a new starport, there a new medcenter, here a new
casino, there a new government building. Its growth was slow, leisurely, implacable. Like some gigantic duracrete glacier, Coruscant City spread out,
until it reached the shores and mountains and plains. But mere topography could not halt this great irresistible force; if the people of Coruscant could not
build in it, they would build around it, and when the time finally came, on top of it.
And so Coruscant City engulfed a continent. Then, a world. Faced with nowhere to build, the architects of this technological marvel took the only option
left them. They built up. And, in traditionally Coruscanti fashion, they built. And built, and built, and built. Finally, Coruscant was entirely covered by
city sprawls, kilometers high. Only the summit of the highest mountain of the Manarai Range remained uncovered. Coruscant City stretched from pole
to pole, and encompassed everything between.
With its extraordinary terrain, Coruscant had an extraordinary economy. Its imports: Food. Water. Materials. Luxuries. Its exports: Law. For Coruscant
was the seat of government; the Senate debated there, the Government carried out its business there, the Supreme Chancellor conducted policy there, and
the Chief Justice deliberated there. When the time came, the Galactic Emperor reigned there, his court played its intrigues there, his Ruling Council held
its secret meetings behind locked doors there. Without question, Coruscant meant authority, and legitimacy. The body which ruled Coruscant ruled the
galaxy.
For this reason, the New Republic had wrested Coruscant from the Empire. And for this reason, months after the Empire’s supreme commander was
killed in battle by his own bodyguard, the Empire struck back.
The onslaught was stunning. It was a massive collection of firepower; for not only had the self-styled Emperor’s Ruling Circle – those courtiers and
aristocrats, moffs and military men who ruled the Empire in the wake of the Galactic Emperor’s death – not only had they provided a hefty fleet, under
the able command of the 1SL/CNO himself, but six of the mightiest warlords – Harrsk, Teradoc, Kaine, Shargael, Tagge, and Casta – joined their own
forces in the blitzkrieg.
Metellos and Kaikielius fell immediately to the renewed Imperial offensive; billions died when the planets were heavily shelled from orbit. With just this
in mind, the New Republic and its Provisional Government fled Coruscant rather than see the capital of galactic civilization destroyed in battle as much
of those worlds had been. But in making that decision, the New Republic committed suicide; without Coruscant, it was not the galactic government,
merely one more among countless factions and states in the galaxy. And so, the Ruling Circle returned to Imperial Center, to create the Empire anew. All
that was required was an emperor, for the old Galactic Emperor had died four years since. But the Imperials could not decide on an emperor – after all,
who had the right to sit on the House of Palpatine’s throne? More importantly, who had the might?
An impasse was reached. Harsh words were exchanged. All hell broke loose.
Now, Lando Calrissian could only shake his head as he looked out over the ruined surface of Coruscant. The Imperials had taken up arms against one
other, as though some unseen ghostly puppet-master had lined up toy soldiers, and brushed them aside just as thoughtlessly. A great gash of blackened
cityscape cut its way across the northern hemisphere, the region of the most intense fighting. As far as New Republic Intelligence was aware, Tagge’s
forces still held the majority of Imperial City, trusting the squadron of warships he’d left in orbit to defend his ground forces from space attack.
Lando’s job was simple – he was to attack the Tagge’s squadron and stir up trouble; his ship, the Star Destroyer Liberator, had been modified to appear
to be a ship loyal to Lord Crueya and COMPNOR. Tagge would in all likelihood retaliate against COMPNOR, breaking their truce, which was uneasy at
best. This sort of mission was becoming more prevalent in the New Republic; the idea was to sow even greater chaos amongst the Imperials.
Lando straightened his tunic, and brushed aside a bit of lint on his white sleeve. Five red pips decorated his left breast, and he wore a ‘signia-belt, the
emblem of the siridar-barony which he held. Lord Calrissian of Bespin... he liked the sound of that. Lieutenant General Calrissian... he liked the sound of
that, too. Having completed a few of these missions already, scuttlebutt had it that he might be on his way to just plain General Calrissian. And he liked
the sound of that even more so.
To Lando’s left stood his chief of staff and deputy commander, a brown-haired man, a bit shorter than average. He looked fairly unremarkable, and was
somewhat uncomfortable with his crisp uniform, and the four blue pips on his breast. Major General Wedge Antilles, formerly the best starfighter pilot
in the New Republic Starfighter Command, had only recently been reassigned from Naval Aviator duty, and was not yet fully comfortable with having a
solid deck beneath his feet. “Your thoughts, General Antilles?” Lando said, smiling.
Wedge looked at Lando, in a sidelong glance. “I don’t know if I like coming back to Coruscant in a single Impstar, General.”
“Most of the defense emplacements and mechanisms are gone, General Antilles. Only Tagge’s squadron is a major threat.”
“Two minutes to hyperspace terminus, sir,” the ship’s skipper reported.
“Thank you, Captain.” Lando checked his chronometer. “Stand by to revert, and double up for’rard shields.”
“Stand by to revert and double up for’rard shields, aye.” The ship’s captain acknowledged Lando’s orders and repeated them to the appropriate bridge
crew members.
“You should give the gun captains a quick heads up, General.” Wedge said, nervously adjusting his collar.
“Good idea. Captain, advise the gun captains that we are nearing terminus.”
“Aye aye, sir. Alerting gun captains, sir.”
In what seemed like only a few heartbeats, Lando could hear the 1MC announcing reversion from hyperspace.
- * * * * *
On the surface of Coruscant, a war was in process. A part of the coalition forces, the entire 4th Mobile Battlegroup – thousands of men! – , had
suddenly and without warning gone rogue, and made a fast push for the Imperial Palace, where Generalissimo Ulric Tagge, 603rd Baron Tagge, and his
Chief of General Staff, Colonel General Emordys Cilobatem, had established their GHQ. The Lord Tagge, caught entirely off-guard, had been forced to
withdraw, and move his forces further north; he had dispatched four regiments, the 5th and 12th Artillery and the 7th and 9th Assault, to flank the
rogues. The main body of his forces would bear down from the northwest to dislodge them from the Palace, driving them into full retreat – directly into
range of the loyal regiments. It was a simple plan – practically elementary – , which was precisely why the rogue force commander would never expect
it, and it would work to perfection.
In a tall spire northwest of the Imperial Palace, the Lord Tagge and his faithful deputy stood in the GHQ’s operations room, waiting attentively for
news. An aide came charging up to Lord Tagge, and suddenly thought better of it when the man turned sharply on his heel to face the aide. The aide
slowed his pace, and came to a complete halt about two meters in front of the baron-general.
“Sir, there is a Priority One signal for you, via HoloNet.”
“Priority One? I am Priority One, Mister.” Lord Tagge scowled.
“But – but, sir, the transmission is labeled ‘Princeps,’ and carries a Prior — ”
“Princeps? Why didn’t you say so in the first place? I’ll take it in the comm room. Come, Mord,” Tagge said, nodding to Cilobatem. The two of them
hurried into an adjacent room, set aside for strictly top secret communications.
The Lord Tagge’s people trusted and admired him; they were as loyal troops as any commander could hope to have. As far as the Tagge Company and
its affiliated forces were concerned, the Lord Tagge was the unquestionable number one. No one was as respected, as talented... or as feared.
But even the Lord Tagge shivered in fear when he beheld the image that stood before him, a vast hologram. It wore a great black cloak and hood. Shadows
concealed its face, and its voice rumbled like the sound of the distant guns.
“You are compromised.”
“No, Master – Merely a few – a few regiments, that’s all.” The Lord Tagge found himself losing his composure, an unfamiliar feeling for him.
“I assure you, Master, we can handle them. General du Mahs is not a threat – ” Cilobatem began, his voice containing a trace of uncertainty. He, too,
had faced the man in black before, and he, too, found that he was not quite so impervious to fright as might otherwise be supposed.
“Move your regiments away from the Palace, Baron. Your mission nears its end.” With that, the image vanished.
- * * * * *
“Remember, Admiral, I want them crippled, but not killed,” the hologram spoke plainly and directly, wasting no words with introduction. But then, the
man in black had no need to introduce himself – only those who needed to see him did so, and they already knew better than to expect preamble or inane
niceties from him.
Instead, Fleet Admiral Daine Jir merely bowed shortly, and acknowledged his obedience. As abruptly as it had appeared, the holo vanished, and Jir
walked at his customary brisk pace through the short passageway connecting the comm center to the bridge of his cruiser. He was something of a wild
card, as far as Imperials were concerned – a loyal Monarchist, he had been recruited into the Secret Order of the Emperor, and had actually been flag
lieutenant to the infamous Lord Vader, before Fleet Admiral Firmus Piett had given him command of the Star Destroyer Avenger, whose previous CO
had been summarily executed by the Dark Lord of the Sith.
Jir had since inherited Piett’s role as Commander Death Squadron. He and his great fleet had abruptly abandoned the Empire once Coruscant had fallen
to the Republic, and had since become largely – and quite uncharacteristically – inactive.
That was, of course, about to change. With a small squadron composed of a heavy cruiser, two light cruisers, a few destroyers and frigates, and some
corvettes and gunboats, he was about to engage a fully-armed and heavily-armored fast battleship, which had the firepower to reduce the surface of a
civilized world to smoking ash in a matter of hours.
Jir smiled tightly. He had always enjoyed a challenge.
- * * * * *
When the New Republic Star Destroyer Liberator exited hyperspace, she was surprised to find the hostile flotilla already in defensive position, with the
three cruisers – “battlewagons,” Alliance slang had called them – arrayed in a lose triangle and the smaller and weaker warships radiating outward from
this core. Even more surprising was the fact that the heavy cruiser immediately transmitted a series of identification codes which Liberator’s main
computer automatically accepted, prompting it to broadcast its identity – its real identity, not the fake COMPNOR ID crafted for this mission – along
with a glut of other information about the ship’s company and combat systems disposition. It was nearly a full two minutes before the New Republic
technicians were able to put a stop to this unaccountable hemorrhage of information.
By then a veritable storm of turbolaserfire raked across her ventral surface, pounding her shields. Lando ordered his ship to roll, presenting her main
battery. A single full-power discharge from one of those big guns caught a corvette, seven thousand kilometers off the starboard bow, where she had been
seeking some measure of shelter in a thick debris field; the blast struck her amidships, and many thousands of megatons punched right through the
shields and armor, completely destroying the entire middle quarter of the ship – snapping her in two, in fact – instantly killing everyone aboard, and
adding yet one more piece of wreckage to the cloud of destroyed warships in the system.
Jir’s ships fought well, using their superior maneuverability to avoid the Liberator’s big guns, attracting fire only from the heavy turbolaser batteries,
while the huge Destroyer’s laser cannons acted as point-defense weapons. Slowly, the big ship’s shields were pressed harder and harder. She could not
hold out indefinitely..
“Deflector shields approaching overload, sir!”
“Understood,” Lando turned away from the main observation ports. He had chosen to take the conn for this mission, rather than rely on a skipper as his
interlocutor. “Helm, right full rudder!”
Almost immediately, the ship shifted her orientation, bringing Jir’s cruiser into the big guns’ field of fire. Immediately, turbolaserfire lanced out from two
of the turrets, catching the cruiser along the port side. With a sickening glow, the cruiser’s port side shields collapsed. At the same time, a tight-focused
data stream was launched from the cruiser’s communications array. In the confusion of the battle, no one aboard the Liberator noticed.
“She’s rolling, sir! Presenting her starboard – ”
Battleship or no, the broadside of a cruiser packs a nasty punch. The Liberator shuddered, as some of the turbolaserfire penetrated the shields and
burned away armor plating. In response, a three-gun salvo from the Liberator’s ultra-heavy turrets crashed into the cruiser, and violently knocked her
off-axis. Nevertheless, her guns fired again, and tore once more into the Liberator, at the same time accelerating below her mid line. A slugfest between
capital ships is never pleasant for either one of them, regardless of tonnage and armament. Their guns could make small moons shudder.
The Liberator rolled again, trying to keep the faster cruiser under her big guns. It was the last maneuver the ship executed before a planetary ion cannon,
supposedly destroyed, opened fire, catching the ventral surface of the Destroyer off-guard. The blast punched through the overworked shields, and
wrought merry hell with the Star Destroyer’s electrical systems. Caught between the cruiser and the planetary battery, the Liberator was doomed. She
surged forward, towards Coruscant, hoping to evade both.
Luck was not with Lando, as the cruiser finally collapsed Liberator’s shields, and a second ion cannon blast caught the ventral surface. Secondary
systems failed the whole ship over. The primary guidance controls froze up, and the big Destroyer continued inexorably accelerating towards Coruscant,
and the big gash marking where the most violent fighting had – and was still – taking place.
“Sound the collision alarm! All hands, brace for impact!” Lando cried, dismayed. “All hands, brace for imp — !”
| Part I, Chapter 1 |
| This chapter of The Test of Wills was republished on 31 October 2007. |
| This site is for informational and entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement of any kind is intended. Star Wars and related materials are © Lucasfilm Ltd., which reserves all rights thereto. All original material is © Julius Sykes. Please do not use without permission. |