Bleeding (IV)

Realization dawned the moment a damaged MC30c-class rebel frigate emerged from hyperspace.

The ship, resembling a sea creature savaged by a pack of predators, was riddled with gaping wounds and scorched plating. Behind it trailed a debris field—shattered armor, ripped interior sections, and perhaps even the remains of crew members, though no one was particularly concerned.

The Chimera, like a graceful predator, shifted some of its firepower towards the newly arrived rebel vessel, taking advantage of the near-perfect firing conditions.

The maneuver was executed so smoothly, so skillfully, it seemed as though the gunners had anticipated the appearance of the new target moments before it arrived.

Pellaeon, momentarily distracted by the explosion of one of the Nebulon-Bs torn apart by the Stormhawk's fire, began to comprehend what was happening. But he didn't want to believe it.

Deep down, he hoped that the crew of his ship were not the most hopeless souls in the Empire, that they could still hold their own against the rebels. But this...

He glanced again at the master sitting with his eyes closed.

Then, ensuring no surprises were imminent, he made his way to the nearest terminal, five meters from the admiral's chair—still within the "coverage" zone of the only ysalamiri lizard on the bridge. The Grand Admiral had ordered him to command, and command he would.

But first, he needed to understand who or what was truly in control.

He had already guessed that Thrawn had cunningly manipulated C'baoth into participating in the battle, playing on his obsessive desire to capture the Jedi. What the captain had once viewed as a suicide mission turned out to be another test: had the master refused, he likely would have been cast aside without hesitation, and the ships would have retreated. No, the captain now realized how deeply he had misunderstood the Grand Admiral's actions. Thrawn never took unnecessary risks—he had sent the fleet with the certainty that the rebel starships would take time to respond to the attacks on multiple systems. If the Dark Jedi had rebelled, the operation would have shifted from striking enemy ships to a mere intimidation raid. Fly in, fire, retreat.

Hit-and-run tactics executed by the Imperial Navy.

But now, Pellaeon was focused on something entirely different.

Not long ago, just a week before the raid on Obroa-skai, the Chimera's crew had conducted drills. Pellaeon had been dissatisfied with the results. The Grand Admiral had remained silent.

But the captain could swear, though he wasn't one for superstition, that today his crew had surpassed themselves. And he had no doubt that this level of performance was mirrored across every ship in the Grand Admiral's fleet involved in the Dufilvian sector operation.

When he turned to the statistical reports of the current battle, he felt a wave of unease. The Stormhawk had suffered only one breach on its upper deck, losing one TIE interceptor and six TIE fighters. The Chimera remained intact, though its air wing was down by two fighters.

** TIE Fighter **

** TIE Interceptor **

Meanwhile, the enemy had lost one of their X-wing squadrons. And a dozen TIE fighters were now expertly decimating the second squadron in the cold vacuum of space.

The MC30c frigate was already immobilized—its stern engulfed in flames from depressurized compartments, and debris scattered far and wide. The fighters that had launched from the planet's surface to support it seemed sluggish, and instead of driving off the TIE bombers that had launched on Pellaeon's orders from the damaged, and let's be honest, doomed ship, they continued to engage in a futile dogfight with the Chimera's fighters, which had just finished off the last enemy squadron attacking the ship.

** TIE Bomber **

The destruction of the MC30c coincided with the annihilation of the second Nebulon-B. The Stormhawk, as ruthless as the bird it was named after, slowly pivoted towards its final target. The enemy fought back with desperate courage: their fighters launched suicidal attacks on the triangular ship, only to be annihilated, one by one. No mercy, no wasted movement. Just the precise elimination of the enemy.

With the same efficiency the Imperial military had before the Battle of Endor.

Pellaeon checked the indicators again.

No, there was no mistaking it. If he had previously attributed the crew's declining performance to the rotation of veterans with inexperienced recruits, now...

Now he was afraid.

He understood that C'baoth was controlling his crew. But that was happening now. Who had commanded them before? Whose will had led them to victory?

Who…?

The Chimera's commander shifted his gaze from the monitor to the motionless figure of the Jedi clone. Then, he looked towards the central platform, where the Grand Admiral sat in his chair.

Thrawn knew everything! He knew the loss at Endor was due to the death of the one who had coordinated their actions. And the Empire's failure since then was because that individual had been aboard the Executor or the second Death Star. But who... there were so many aboard: the Emperor, Darth Vader, several Grand Admirals, moffs, generals...

A burning resentment welled up in the Corellian. The realization of his own insignificance—after all, none of the Imperial fleet's successes, and perhaps not even the army's, had occurred without the guidance of this unknown intelligence that had transformed them from children playing in a sandbox into brave warriors.

What could they achieve without being led to victory like schoolchildren?

The last Nebulon-B exploded, torn apart by the synchronized salvos from the Stormhawk and Chimera's gunners.

The captain glanced at the chronometer. Fifteen minutes. The destruction of four enemy ships and seven rebel squadrons had taken only a quarter of a standard hour!

"Admiral, sir," he said, approaching Thrawn on unsteady legs, watching as the Imperial pilots, tracing simple patterns over the battlefield, returned to the Star Destroyers. "Your orders have been executed—the enemy is defeated."

"You did well, Captain," Thrawn replied. The Chiss slowly turned his head towards the Chimera's commander. His gaze drifted further and to the side, stopping at the computer the officer had just used. "I see you've been checking the statistics?"

"Yes, sir," Pellaeon replied, his throat tightening with emotion.

"So, you understand," Thrawn sighed.

"Yes, sir," Gilad confirmed.

"Then you realize why we needed Master C'baoth's assistance," the Grand Admiral concluded.

"Yes, sir," Pellaeon replied. "But... is there anything we can achieve on our own with the same success? The same results? Have we accomplished anything at all by ourselves? Or has someone always been guiding us? Is this the power of the Force, the Jedi's influence?"

"Yes, Captain, the Force," Thrawn confirmed. "And during the Battle of Endor, the Emperor used the Force. He wasn't alone, though. But that's not the main point now. The Empire achieved everything it did—not only because of the Force but because it relied on its loyal sons who were ready to go to the end for its sake."

"Are you implying that Darth Vader used the Force?" Pellaeon asked, still trying to grasp the implications.

"No," the Grand Admiral stated clearly. "The Emperor purged the Jedi for a reason—he, too, was Force-sensitive. He knew the Jedi would never accept his vision for the galaxy. Deep-seated philosophical differences ingrained at the subconscious level. So he eliminated them. Did you really think Master C'baoth would serve someone without the Force?"

"No, sir," Pellaeon responded tersely. "I hadn't considered it at all."

"Reflect on it when you have the time," the Grand Admiral advised. "And remember one thing, Captain. The Emperor was a being of immense power. It was that power that drove him mad, as he sought to gain control over everything and everyone. Total domination of the galaxy. Eradication of any form of dissent. Yet, even at the height of his power, he couldn't control the lives of his military. Otherwise, the rebels would never have emerged. Tens of thousands of rebel cells across the galaxy—if the Emperor truly controlled everything, there wouldn't have been a single defector. And the elite of our fleet wouldn't have perished. As you can see, even in what seemed like a losing battle, Master C'baoth was able to help us achieve victory. So remember, or better yet, write this down: the Empire's achievements are the achievements of each of us. And so are its defeats."

"Yes, sir," Pellaeon said, licking his dry lips. "Please forgive my moment of weakness. I was... overwhelmed by this revelation."

"I fully understand your feelings, Captain," Thrawn said. "And now, since you've regained your confidence, pay attention to Lieutenant Tshel. He's about to shout across the entire bridge to inform you of the arrival of more rebel starships..."