“Good, good.” Klauskin nodded absently.
The forward elements of Klauskin’s task force, including Dodonna, reached the leading edge of the reconfiguring Corellian fleet. Dodonna began shivering as she sustained long-distance laser battery fire. But as Klauskin had predicted, nothing heavier hit her; nothing threatened to batter down her shields.
Harassment fire.
The admiral grinned. “In about half an hour, they’ll wish they’d tried to blow us out of the sky.”
“Yes, sir.” Fenn’s voice sounded dull. Klauskin wondered what had happened to diminish her enthusiasm for her job.
As they passed through the harassment screen, Dodonna shook and vibrated, but Klauskin never felt genuinely threatened. Reports continued to flood into the bridge. GA ship after ship reached the point where they could enter hyperspace. Preliminary starfighter losses from the skirmish were assessed. The role of the accidental intruder, Millennium Falcon, in the action was evaluated. Hardpoint Squadron reported a successful departure from Corellian atmosphere.
The last, lagging vessel in Klauskin’s task three reported readiness to enter hyperspace.
“All ships jump,” Klauskin ordered.
A moment later the stars through the forward viewport seemed to twist and spin, an unsettling kaleidoscopic visual image. An instant later they straightened themselves, and the white-clouded blue-and-green planet Tralus wrenched into view in the distance ahead.
“All starfighter squadrons,” Klauskin said, “launch.”
Two hours later, it was done-a world was occupied and subjugated.
To be sure, this wasn’t a tremendous military accomplishment. Tralus was lightly occupied, and its defense against invasion amounted to a few scattered CorSec units, plus a dangerous, well-armed commando unit holding the installation built around the repulsor unit associated with Centerpoint Station.
Klauskin’s forces didn’t bother with the repulsor defenders. They merely swept down on the city of Rellidir, whose population of one million made it a metropolis by the standards of Tralus, and took the city and planetary leaders into custody. Units of Klauskin’s task force landed in the city and occupied several downtown blocks. A few assault shuttles full of elite soldiers surrounded the repulsor facility with orders to keep its garrison bottled up. The rest of the task force’s ships remained in orbit, a defensive perimeter.
Units of the Corellian fleet began popping into nearby space-circling, reconnoitering, attempting to look threatening. It was evident to Klauskin that their commanders were confused, ill directed.
He smiled. He’d achieved his purpose by securing this beachhead. He’d confused the enemy. They were, at last, intimidated.
“Enemy reinforcements continue to arrive,” he said, his tones ringing and military, “but take no action for fear of retaliation against or spillover damage to the civilian population.” He thought for a moment, attempting to dredge up some further statement of hope and good cheer, then shook his head. “Operation Roundabout, Admiral Matric Klauskin, commanding.” He nodded to Fenn to indicate she should cease recording.
She hit the appropriate button on her datapad. “Shall I clean it up before sending, sir?”
“No, send it raw. Let’s not make Admiral Pellaeon wait for it any longer than he has to. He’s getting on in years, you know.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I need a brief rest. I’ll be in my quarters.” Klauskin turned away from the bow viewports that had occupied his attention for the last several hours and began the long walk to his quarters.
Minutes later, the door into his quarters slid open and he strode through. Only then did his pace change, his step fading from energetic to slow and weary.
And weary he was, tired both physically and emotionally. To have his mission run head-on into certain failure, to have him wrest it back to a result that he could consider a success, had taken a toll on him.
An admiral’s flagship quarters were large and could be dressed up in opulence, but Klauskin had never taken that route. His largest chamber, instead of being a living chamber full of entertainments and comforts, had been furnished as a conference room, one large oval table and numerous padded chairs, with viewports affording it a beautiful port-side view of the stars. He walked past the table, seeing neither it nor the glorious view, and entered his bedchamber. He sat on the bed, remained upright long enough to pull his boots off, and lay back.
The air above him shimmered and Edela appeared.
She was a trifle overweight but dressed well to compensate for it, today wearing a green formal gown with a low neckline. Her long hair, brown streaked with gray, was piled high in a Coruscanti style that some considered out of date but Klauskin had always regarded as classic. She wore no jewelry. She despised jewelry.