The Strike-class medium cruiser, ominously named Striking, emerged from hyperspace. The Innton II system, located in the Sluis sector, welcomed them with an eerie stillness. The last echoes of the battle siren's wail faded into silence, but Commodore Akrei Dobramu remained unfazed.
** Commander of the Strike-class medium cruiser Commodore Akrei Dobramu **
"Raise deflectors, scan the area, and charge the launchers. Deploy the fighters," he commanded with calm authority. Despite having only one and a half squadrons on board, the threat of an enemy lurking on the planet's surface, armed with both light and heavy aircraft, was undeniable.
For this reason, Striking held back from entering orbit, maintaining a safe distance to avoid potential ground-based attacks. Their mission wasn't to engage in prolonged combat but to inflict maximum damage while gathering critical intelligence.
"Are we logging this in the records?" he asked his senior mate.
"Yes, sir," the lieutenant confirmed.
"Good," the commodore replied. "Keep a close watch on the enemy. They're bound to respond."
Grand Admiral Thrawn had identified three primary targets for the three medium cruisers assigned to this sector. These ships were working in coordination with the Star Destroyer Judicator, which was tasked with diverting the enemy's attention through a separate attack—an operation about which neither the commanders nor the crews of the three Strikes had any knowledge. Captain Brandei had remained tight-lipped during the last briefing before the mission. However, no one questioned the decision—if they weren't informed, it wasn't necessary.
The systems of Innton, Bpfassh, and Orto were their designated targets, which they were to probe for weaknesses.
While Commodore Dobramu had sufficient intelligence regarding his own target, he could only speculate about the other two based on available data.
Orto, the homeworld of the Ortolan race, was an ice-covered planet. Despite its barren exterior, the planet held strategic importance for the entire sector. It was a significant source of heavy metals and radioactive fuel essential for shipbuilding and starship maintenance at the Sluis Van shipyards. The medium cruiser Responsive was tasked with disrupting these industries. In Dobramu's opinion, it would have been logical to deploy several units on the planet to raid the ore company warehouses—after all, in wartime, resources were always scarce. Given that the nearest base was five hours away on Sluis Van, Orto could be looted efficiently in the absence of adequate defenses. However, Dobramu had no idea what specific orders the commander of Judicator had issued. Perhaps there was a more significant objective in mind.
Bpfassh was home to a modest Republic patrol base, more of a symbolic presence than a true defensive force. A small planetary garrison, designed to maintain order, was all that stood in the way. A single cruiser would be sufficient to disperse this collection of uniformed enthusiasts. But what were the exact orders for the cruiser sent to this system?
Innton II, however, presented a much more formidable challenge.
During the Clone Wars, the Separatists had established a base on this planet, utilizing the wreckage of a Recusant-class light destroyer that had crash-landed on its surface. According to Imperial records, the Separatists had never completed the base and abandoned it after their capitulation and defeat in the war. The Imperials had bombed it from orbit, but recent reconnaissance droids had detected a squadron of Wishbones and activity among the ruins—clear signs of a Rebel presence.
** Starfighter BTL-B Y-wing (aka "Wishbone") **
Thus, it was imperative to assess the combat readiness of the base, its available forces, and its reaction time to an invasion. Once these objectives were met, retreat was the order of the day.
"Enemy ships detected," came a report from the surveillance console.
"What's their approach vector?" the commodore inquired.
"4-9-7," came the reply. "Twelve targets rising from the planet's surface, wedge formation."
"Transmit telemetry to our fighters," the commodore instructed. "Deploy a squadron to intercept. Keep four fighters in reserve for cover, and send two along a vector to the surface to confirm the location of the enemy base. Prepare anti-aircraft posts to repel the attack! Standard defensive formation."
Striking advanced towards the threat at medium speed.
Wishbones, as the BTL-B Y-wings were known among pilots, were not the newest starfighters—some had even seen action during the Clone Wars. These heavy, sluggish, yet well-armored ships struggled with acceleration. The Rebels had learned to partially mitigate this disadvantage by removing "excess" armor from the engines, which somewhat improved speed and maneuverability. Even so, these ships were still no match for the Empire's TIE fighters in terms of agility. However, Wishbones compensated with superior firepower, boasting both forward-facing and rear-mounted guns (in some variants). They were also equipped with launchers capable of firing proton torpedoes—ordinance that could penetrate a ship's energy shields, making them formidable bombers when escorted. Without T-65s or similar craft for protection, the BTL-Bs functioned as heavy fighters, wielding significant firepower.
Proton torpedoes, being primarily kinetic weapons, were unaffected by deflectors, and installing corpuscular shields on warships was prohibitively expensive and taxing on reactors.
A proton torpedo could inflict severe damage—anything from piercing the hull to destroying superstructures, detonating reactors (if it penetrated deep enough), or crippling engine nozzles. A dozen or even twenty-four of these torpedoes could spell the end for most medium cruisers. Few ships could withstand such an assault—perhaps only a Star Destroyer could, and even that wasn't a certainty. With precision targeting, even the Death Star could be destroyed by a couple of well-placed torpedoes.
As the battle unfolded, TIE fighters engaged the Wishbones. Commodore Dobramu recalled hearing captured Rebel pilots refer to the Y-wings as "Wishbones" because of their partially armored fuselages—all sacrifices made for speed and maneuverability.
However, none of this would aid them today.
Imperial fighters, though lacking heavy armor, boasted remarkable agility and speed—traits they showcased during their engagements with the enemy.
The Imperials and rebels had been locked in conflict for an extended period, enough for veteran pilots on both sides to learn the nuances of each other's starships and tactics. This wealth of experience had been passed down to the newer generations of pilots, ensuring that combat knowledge lived on.
Even though the current TIE fighter pilots were young and had limited real-world combat experience, their long hours spent in virtual simulators were evident in their performance.
The Imperial fighters exploited their maneuverability, raining fire relentlessly upon the enemy. Yet they soon discovered they weren't facing raw recruits at the controls of the "Wishbone" starfighters.
"Two fighters down," reported the senior officer. "Another one sustained damage to its solar panels but is limping toward the tractor beam range. We'll have it on board shortly."
"Identify any enemy ships operating away from the main battle," ordered the commodore, collecting himself. "Target them with naval artillery."
He paused, then added, "And alert them to our intervention in the battle."
"Yes, sir," replied the communications officer promptly.
Firing naval artillery amidst a skirmish between small, agile starships posed significant risks. Firstly, the turbolasers were too powerful for such targets, and secondly, the risk of friendly fire was high. The commodore wisely commanded the gunners to target only those rebel ships that had disengaged from the main dogfight. No matter how skilled the rebels were, their slower, clumsier fighters were no match for the precision of turbolaser fire, let alone rapid-firing laser cannons.
After the second barrage, one of the "Wishbone" fighters that had broken away from the main battle was vaporized into stardust. A brief yellow flash—then nothing remained of the ship or its pilot. Perhaps two pilots, depending on the ship's configuration, but that detail would be sorted later through sensor logs.
"Telemetry from our reconnaissance pair," announced the senior officer.
"Report," the commodore responded, his eyes fixed on the chaotic scene unfolding before him.
"The enemy base has been located," the officer said sharply. "We lost one fighter, but the other is returning. Strong anti-air defenses were detected, but no deflector shields."
"Any new enemy vessels detected?" Akrei asked, knowing they had already suffered considerable losses. Far too many to call the mission a resounding success. But then again, what could they have expected? If inexperienced youths were being sent to crew Star Destroyers, their counterparts on these cruisers were even less seasoned.
"No, sir," came the reply.
"Good," Akrei grinned. Let the pilots have their fun, he thought. He had another idea. "Order the remaining scout to join the fray. And bring in the four fighters from our escort group."
"Y-yes, sir?" the lieutenant stammered. Dobramu nearly swore aloud. Oh, these inexperienced youths! Always counting on the starfighter screen for protection. Do they not realize they command a cruiser? And a formidable one at that.
"Do it, senior officer!" he growled, glaring at the lieutenant, a recent graduate of the Imperial Academy who had only completed senior command training a month ago. He hadn't even spent a single day on a starship before this!
What a dire shortage of qualified personnel the Empire faced! They had no choice but to throw boys into combat. No wonder their losses were so severe. Meanwhile, they were up against the rebels—fighters of undeniable skill and experience.
Having given his new orders, Akrei watched as the ship maneuvered around the ongoing fighter skirmish. A pair of "Wishbones" gave chase, their green energy bolts streaking toward the cruiser in a desperate attempt to fend off their would-be destroyers.
After five minutes of intense fighting, the situation shifted.
The Striking jolted violently, as if punched in the gut.
"We've been breached on the seventh deck!" the senior officer reported, his voice tinged with panic. "Structural frames are compromised, air is leaking, damage extends through to the seventh section!"
"Seal the armored doors!" the commodore ordered with a grimace. It was a setback, but not a critical one. The rebels had managed to land a proton torpedo hit on his cruiser, but they had nothing else in their arsenal capable of breaching the shields and hull in a single salvo. "Secure the bulkheads in the affected area! Artillery, intensify fire on the enemy squadron! Move us into orbit above their base!"
After ten minutes of fierce combat, it became evident that half of their original sixteen fighters remained operational. The ninth MLA, despite its damaged solar panels, was being hastily repaired in the hangar, ready to be deployed again if necessary.
(MLA stands for "Military Light Aircraft").
The enemy had lost three ships. The remaining ones bore signs of a thorough beating, but still, the exchange was clearly not in the Empire's favor.
That, however, was easily remedied.
"We're at the designated point, Commodore!" the senior officer reported. "The rebel starfighters are moving toward us, trying to defend their base, and..."
"Crush them," Dobramu snarled.
"But sir, our orders were strictly reconnaissance, and—" the officer stammered.
"Destroy that base!" Akrei barked, his gaze searing through his subordinate.
"Y-yes, sir! At once!" the officers on the bridge scrambled into action, stunned by the direct contradiction to their previous orders.
Ah, youth, Akrei thought with some relief. After all, he himself had only recently passed his thirtieth year. But before this, he had served aboard a Star Destroyer, where the captain had drilled into them the absolute necessity of preventing any rebel scum from claiming victory. Such defeats tarnished the prestige of the Empire and emboldened the enemy.
The rebels had constructed their base around the wreckage of a light Star Destroyer, now corroded by rust and age. Nestled in the mountains, the terrain offered some protection from orbital scanners. But Akrei was confident in the telemetry from his scouts and the vector readings of the approaching rebel fighters. He knew full well that his cruiser alone didn't have the firepower or time to utterly annihilate the base before enemy reinforcements arrived, as they inevitably would.
But he had no intention of wasting precious time on a prolonged planetary bombardment.
The first salvo of proton torpedoes was launched, the cruiser's magazine quickly emptying as the crew worked in synchronized precision. In minutes, the ground below was engulfed in an inferno of destruction, further enhanced by the glare of turbolaser fire, which swept away everything—buildings, defenses, rebel troops.
The bombardment continued for an hour, transforming the rebel base into a molten crater of slag. The Empire lost three more fighters, while the rebels lost only one. The Striking was struck by another proton torpedo, bringing the situation back into stark focus for the commodore.
"Switch to defensive artillery fire," Akrei commanded, noticing the "Wishbones" adjusting their course for another attack run. "Recall our pilots and set course for the rendezvous point."
Four minutes later, after downing yet another New Republic starfighter, the Imperial cruiser engaged its hyperdrive, disappearing from the Innton system. In their wake, they left only a massive blackened crater and the charred skeletal remains of what had once been a rebel stronghold.