Chapitre 35: Bleeding (III)
As the streaks of hyperspace condensed into tiny points of light, revealing the vast distances of hundreds, even thousands, of light-years between us, a vivid image of the situation in the Ord-Pardon system emerged.
The Stormhawk moved like a massive, gray-silver spearhead, charging at the three Nebulon-B-class escort frigates. Six squadrons of Republic fighters—bombers, interceptors—buzzed around the Imperial vessel, repeatedly trying to pierce through the fiery cocoon of green and scarlet energy exchanged between the four starships. In a typical scenario, they might have succeeded—it's not uncommon to see an Imperial Star Destroyer outmatched. But here, with morale waning on the rebel side, such victories were becoming increasingly rare.
"Here we are," I muttered. "Captain Pellaeon!"
"Yes, sir," the Chimera's commander responded, somewhat disheartened as he reviewed reports from other systems in the Dafilvean sector.
"Is my flagship ready for battle?" I asked.
"Y-yes..." Pellaeon stammered, still passing along information from the other attacking groups. "Yes, sir!"
He seemed to regain his composure.
"Excellent," I said. "Take command, Captain. This is your ship."
"All fighters: launch," Pellaeon ordered over the intercom, turning toward the tactical display. "Raise the deflector shields! Interceptors, distribute defense sectors! Focus the main weapons on the targets."
The Imperial II-class Star Destroyer isn't just an upgraded version of the original; it's a formidable war machine armed with a hundred heavy turbolasers, arrayed in eight eight-gun turrets along the sides of the deck superstructure, positioned at each corner of the ship's triangular hull. Additionally, it boasts twenty heavy ion cannons. Unfortunately, the designers who developed the second version of the Imperial neglected to include extensive laser defenses, opting instead to increase the firepower of the main armament, foregoing the "intermediate" weapons like the triple turbolaser turrets in the middle of the hull or the quad laser cannons on the sides. The reasoning was simple: fighters and interceptors would handle the enemy. But this is a concerning oversight.
The standard Imperial air group, regardless of whether it's version one or two, comprises seventy-two aircraft. That's six squadrons, each with twelve craft. One squadron is bombers, three are fighters, and two are interceptors. The interceptors' task is to fend off enemy fighters. The bombers, on the other hand, are expected to perform so well that the interceptors have minimal work to do. The unfortunate truth is that sixty fighters and interceptors aren't sufficient to protect a vessel that's 1,600 meters long. Especially since the enemy fighters can travel through hyperspace on their own, while not all Imperial craft possess this capability. This cannot be ignored.
Remember that...
Seated on the bridge, I watched as two squadrons of Republic X-wings broke away from their dogfight with the Stormhawk's air group and charged toward the departing Chimera fighters. A deadly dance ensued, where speed and agility were pitted against hull strength, shield resilience, and firepower.
I turned to C'baoth.
"Master," I said. "What's the situation in the other systems?"
"We've achieved our objectives in six systems," he replied, swallowing tensely. "But it's tough in the Crondre system... Some rebels managed to escape."
"Captain," I said, addressing Pellaeon. "Order our cruisers to destroy anything they can't take with them, seize the spoils, and withdraw... How does it feel to retreat?" I asked, shifting my gaze to C'baoth.
"They were frightened," the Jedi clone replied in a flat, emotionless tone. "My Battle Meditation not only boosts the confidence of our troops but also disorients the enemy. Some of them broke ranks. I didn't see any point in pursuing them."
"Fool!" I muttered, annoyed. He made that call. Such a blunder on the brink of triumph!
"Captain," I turned back to Pellaeon. "Give the order: captured ships should proceed to Bilbringi without an escort. Those unable to jump should be destroyed. All cruisers, head at maximum speed to the Ord-Pardon system."
"Do you think the surviving starships are heading here?" Pellaeon asked, his voice tinged with caution and unease.
"Possibly—how would I know? Am I Master Yoda? I don't know their battle orders—they could be heading to another base. Is the Stormhawk still jamming all communications?"
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon confirmed. We don't need communication—we have a free-thinking Jedi Master. But the enemy...
"Their inability to contact the base could either scare them away or, conversely, force them to return," I said. "In any case, reinforcements wouldn't hurt us."
"And him?" Pellaeon nodded toward the clone.
"We'll deal with him later," I whispered. "First, let's take care of the rebels in this system."
Pellaeon frowned and glanced back at C'baoth. I too cast a furtive glance at him.
He was still seated on the floor of the bridge, eyes shut. He remained utterly still, as though frozen in place. His lips were tightly pressed together, his breath barely audible, and his eyes moved rapidly beneath his eyelids as if he were reading something. One hand gripped the medallion on his chest so tightly that it seemed he might crush it. His fingers were so pale they looked as though they were filled with milk instead of blood.
A vein on his temple pulsed rhythmically with his heartbeat—the only visible sign of his rapid pulse.
"Are you certain he'll be alright?" the Chimera's commander whispered.
Of course not. He's insane.
"I suppose we'll find out soon enough," I said, meeting the captain's gaze. "So far, testing our forces and the rebels' capabilities is going according to plan. Return to your command, Captain. This battle isn't won yet. We should have secured victory thirty seconds ago."
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone