Kapitel 80: Chapter 30. Grain (I)
Nine years, five months and twenty-seven days after the Battle of Yavin...
Or forty-fourth year, five months and twenty-seventh day after the Great Resynchronization.
After a long and painstaking wait, during which extensive repairs were conducted by the orbital shipyard, the Striking finally emerged from its dock. It made way for the angular heavy cruisers of the Dreadnought class, which had arrived just an hour earlier, flanked by a pair of star destroyers on escort duty. Commodore Dobramu's lips curled into a sardonic smile as he observed two dozen Dreadnoughts clustered around the docking cells—the second batch, as he had overheard from the local engineers. These were the ships that the Imperial mechanics had managed to hastily patch up and send back to Tangren. Considering the independent arrival of the first four ships just the day before, this formed a rather formidable force. How, Dobramu wondered, would the remaining five hundred or so workers at the shipyards handle the repair of such a large influx of starships? Especially since members of the Striking's crew, who had assisted in its own repairs, were now stranded in the cells, waiting for their turn behind two Nebulon-B class escort frigates, a rebel attack frigate, and the initial four Dreadnoughts. The latter ships, it seemed, were still operational, but after so many years of inactivity, they were in dire need of attention.
But it wasn't just the Dreadnoughts that had caught the attention of the repair crews. They were also busy with a group of asteroids hanging a few dozen kilometers from the shipyards. It was baffling, to say the least, as to why these asteroids were being drilled with geological plasma tools—dubbed "diggers"—and why intricate tunnels were being carved into them. Furthermore, the installation of what looked like deflector projectors only deepened the mystery. Dobramu longed to understand the purpose behind all this activity, but the details were shrouded in secrecy, and no one was willing to divulge any information.
The workers at the shipyards were now facing an immense workload. Besides the starships, they had to contend with the asteroids, the Golan defense platforms, and other fronts. This was particularly challenging if the rumors were true that nearly two hundred heavy cruisers were awaiting repair. Those who had been aboard these ships confidently claimed that this was the legendary Katana fleet—an ancient myth that had somehow become a reality. Regardless, it was clear that the Dreadnoughts would soon see combat.
Dobramu even felt the temptation to request a transfer to one of these heavy cruisers so he could participate in the upcoming battles instead of continuing the monotonous patrols of the Chasin system. However, such a move would require direct communication with the Grand Admiral, and his current whereabouts were unknown.
"Captain," the duty officer approached him, breaking his train of thought. "The shipyard control room is requesting our presence."
"Patch them through," Akrei responded, moving toward the nearest console with a holoprojector, signaling that he would take the call there. "Control room, this is Commander Dobramu."
"This is the dispatcher speaking," a voice responded from the other end. "Striking, accelerate out of the dock."
"What's the issue?" Akrei asked, his guard up. As he glanced at the scanners, his brow furrowed. The small orbital tugs were slowly guiding the Dreadnoughts, but instead of bringing them into the repair cells as protocol dictated, they were moving them to the outer piers. Even the escort frigates, their armor plates removed, had disconnected from the docking sleeves, while the massive manipulators used for sluggish repairs retracted and folded against the piers, ensuring safe maneuvering inside the repair cells.
"Less questioning, more action, Striking," the dispatcher retorted wearily. "We're reallocating the tugs, so you're authorized to use propulsion at ten percent power—no rapid acceleration or abrupt helm shifts."
This was something unheard of.
Ships undergoing repair were always maneuvered in and out of the station's repair cells by tugs—small vessels equipped with powerful tractor beams. Paired with stationary installations within the cells, tug pilots could control the ships slowly but surely, minimizing delays and risks. Only after reaching a safe distance from the docks were the main engines activated. The idea of a ship exiting the station independently was entirely new.
"Understood," Akrei replied without argument. It seemed the local workers, free from the watchful eyes of military command, had decided to flex their authority over the military personnel. Well, if this was their little act of defiance, so be it...
"Start the propulsion engines," he ordered. "Five percent power for warm-up and system checks. After one minute, increase to ten percent. We'll gently guide the ship out of the dock and move a kilometer away from the station."
"Why did the repair crew decide to disregard their cherished protocols?" a voice from one of the watchmen quietly inquired. No one bothered to answer him—no one on the Striking knew any more than he did.
It took five minutes for the medium cruiser to cautiously clear the outer cell of the repair station and begin its move away from the workshop. During this time, Dobramu observed as the orbital space around the shipyards rapidly emptied ships either moved to the outer berths under their own power or were towed away by tugs. The Star Destroyers Inexorable and Bellicose finished loading and maneuvered out of orbit, positioning themselves between the system's entry vector and the orbital workshops.
It was as if they were preparing for something significant...
"Multiple targets incoming!" came the urgent report from the officer overseeing the scanning systems.
"Combat alert!" Dobramu shouted, eyes darting between his subordinates. Initially stunned, the crew quickly sprang into action. Klaxons blared as the watchmen dashed about the control room. Within seconds, the reports began to flood in:
"Deflectors online!" "Artillery systems targeting!" "Reactor reaching full power!" "Fighter squadrons ready for launch!"
But why hadn't the rest of the fleet responded? Why hadn't the fighters been deployed yet?
"Tangren Control is on the line!"
"Patch them through!"
"Commodore Dobramu!" The holographic image of Moff Ferrus materialized above the holoprojector. "What in the blazes are you doing? Cancel the combat alert immediately, lower the shields..."
"But sir! Everything indicates an imminent attack..."
"There is no attack, Commodore!" Ferrus barked. "Grand Admiral Thrawn's fleet is arriving, and they require the shipyards! Stop this nonsense at once and proceed to flight level seventy toward Chasin!"
In essence, the Sector Governor of Morshdine had just ordered him to get lost. And although Akrei could have argued that he did not directly report to the Moff, it would have been pointless—he was currently in Ferrus' territory and was obliged to follow his orders.
"Yes, sir," the young commander of the medium cruiser replied, deflated. As soon as the hologram faded, he reluctantly announced, "Combat alert canceled. We're moving to flight level seventy," he muttered, trying to ignore the stifled laughter behind him.
How grand he would have appeared in the eyes of the Grand Admiral if an invasion had occurred and he had been the only one prepared for it... Well, perhaps his chance to prove himself would come.
In the Chasin system.
Catching smugglers.
What a degrading assignment for a combat officer!
If the Emperor were still alive, he would have recognized the commodore's zeal to crush the enemy.
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein