[Hand Of Thrawn] - 01(154)

“I understand your concerns, Captain,” Pellaeon told him. The attackers had come around into sight now, distant specks swinging around almost leisurely for their second pass. “But I have my reasons. Order turbolaser batteries to stand ready.”

He could see Ardiff’s throat working, but the captain merely gave him a curt nod. “Turbolaser crews: stand ready,” he called harshly.

“Trust me, Captain,” Pellaeon murmured, trying hard not to smile as his mind suddenly flashed back ten years. Then, he’d been the earnest captain standing on this same deck, trying in the most diplomatic way possible to make his superior see sense in the middle of a tense combat situation. He’d had much more experience than Ardiff, of course, but that had merely made his frustrations run that much deeper as he stood by helplessly and watched as the Chimaera drove hard into certain disaster.

And yet Thrawn had never reprimanded him for his impertinence or lack of understanding. He had merely continued calmly with his plans, allowing the results to speak for themselves.

Pellaeon could only hope that the results of this plan would be even half so eloquent.

The attackers had completed their circling and turned toward the Chimaera. “Here they come,” the sensor officer called. “Looks like they’re going to do a crossways run this time.”

“They’re worried about running into the command superstructure,” Pellaeon commented. “That must mean one or more of their ships almost couldn’t pull out in time on that last run.”

“Or else they’re simply going for variety,” Ardiff growled, frustration bubbling beneath the words.

Again the memories flickered, and again Pellaeon carefully suppressed his smile. Right now, in the heat of combat, a smile would definitely not be something Ardiff would understand. “Stand by turbolasers,” he said. “Fire at will.”

The attackers swept toward them, weapons blazing. The Chimaera’s turbolasers answered, and for a few seconds the sky outside the bridge became a dazzling display of green and red fire.

And then the attackers were gone, clawing again for distance, and the Star Destroyer’s awesome weaponry fell silent. “Damage?” Pellaeon called.

“Minor damage only,” the report came from the starboard crew pit. “Three turbolaser tracking systems in Quadrant One have been knocked out, and there are some minimal hull breaches along the forward ridgeline. They’ve been seated off.”

“They’re trying to knock out all the turbolasers in Quadrant One,” Ardiff muttered, “Once they do that, that battlecruiser can just sit off the bow and blast away at the hull.”

“That does seem to be their intention,” Pellaeon agreed. “Damage to the enemy?”

“Unknown, but probably minimal,” the sensor officer reported. “That overlapping shield configuration of theirs is pretty strong-not easy to punch through.”

“But it’s primarily ray-shielding?” Pellaeon asked.

“Yes, sir, at least on the battlecruiser,” the officer confirmed. “The gunships also have some minimal particle shielding.”

“We’re not going to have much chance of hitting them with proton torpedoes, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Ardiff warned. “In close, their angular speed is too high for the torpedoes to track; and at any real distance, they’ll have all the time they need to target and destroy them.”

“I understand the tactics involved,” Pellaeon said mildly. “Let’s see if we can rewrite the script a bit. Colonel Bas, order one Preybird squadron to launch on my command. Their attack vector … “

He paused, following the attackers with his eyes. They had reached the farthest point of their curve now, and were starting to swing back around for another pass. “Attack vector two-three by seven,” he decided. “They’re to stay on that vector in tight parade-flight formation until otherwise ordered.”

He could feel Ardiff’s eyes on him. “Parade-flight formation, sir?” the captain echoed, clearly not believing his ears.

“The shield overlap will help protect them from enemy fire,” Pellaeon explained.

“Not well enough,” Ardiff countered. “Not against a Kaloth battlecruiser at close-in range.”

“With any luck, they won’t need to get that close,” Pellaeon said. Just as with their last two runs, he saw, the attackers were coming straight in. Perfect “Colonel: launch fighter squadron.”

“Acknowledged,” Colonel Bas said. “Fighters launched.”

Pellaeon turned back to the viewport. A few seconds later the Preybirds appeared around the edge of the hull, a clump of close-formation drive trails arrowing straight out toward the incoming attackers. “Stand by Number Eight proton torpedo cluster,” he called. “All fifteen torpedoes to fire in three-by-five sequence along vector two-three by seven.”