“…the Council of Matriarchs has agreed to our proposed terms,” Ambassador Ubbal Lee said, his hologram flickering as he spoke over subspace radio from the planet of Orion. “Though it seems they expect Admiral Targaryen, as the senior Imperial officer for the expeditionary force as a whole, will be the one to sign it for the Empire.”
“I don’t like it.” Torrhen immediately growled. “It smells like a trap.”
“Well, yes.” Ubbal said with a cough. “One of the council’s…indentured servants, passed on a data chip hidden inside a baked sweet during the formal reception after we concluded our negotiations.”
The man then turned to one of the men on the Courageous’ command deck, wearing the olive-grey uniform of an officer, but lacking any of their rank plaques or code cylinders. Going by the sole name of Wolf, he was the senior Imperial Intelligence operative for the expeditionary force, and who answered directly to the Ubiqtorate.
“We’re still preparing a proper response.” The man said. “But yes, it’s apparently the detailed plan by what the Federation calls ‘Section 31’ for your capture, admiral, during the treaty’s signing.”
“Section 31?” Torrhen echoed. “Is that what they call their version of intelligence?”
“So it would seem, sir.” Wolf confirmed.
I just snorted at that. “I’d be disappointed if the Federation didn’t try something during the treaty’s signing.” I said.
“Admiral?” Torrhen echoed in surprise.
“Think about it, chief of staff.” I said, while beginning to pace. “Even before our arrival the Federation was a society on the brink of its own destruction…just like the Old Republic was before the Clone Wars. More than that, even. We all remember the Old Republic, and how it held similar ideals of multi-species cooperation and a collective pursuit of an egalitarian society. But we all also remember the decadence and hedonism that led to the Clone Wars. How it was just a façade…a gaudy shell for the rot inside…”
I paused, and made sure the meet the eyes of everyone present, not just my fellow naval officers, but also the agents of Imperial Intelligence and the Imperial Security Bureau (ISB). “…it’s even why the New Order exists.” I finally said. “To enforce unity, order, and obedience on the galaxy left in ruins by the Clone Wars, to rebuild and surpass what was lost, and to prevent such a devastating conflict from ever happening again.”
“And your point is, ma’am?” Wolf asked.
“Like I said,” I replied. “The Federation and the Old Republic have many similarities. Not just the idealism of the government and the directionless self-indulgence of the fat and pampered citizenry, but also a predominantly-Human leadership whose power was under threat from aliens both within and without.”
I was laying it on a little thick here, but it wasn’t completely wrong, and it was certainly selling the point well enough. “But while all too many leaders lack the strength and will to do anything about it, others do.” I finally said. “That we are all here is proof of that. The very existence of the New Order is also proof of that.”
Wolf nodded slowly in understanding, while ISB Agent Hiram Thorn looked thoughtful. “Do you think our campaign here is their version of the Clone Wars?” the latter asked.
“It could be seen that way,” I admitted. “But that would be a superficial observation, for all that it would have a similar effect. No, though. I do not think so. Their version of the Clone Wars, a crucible in which their society would be tested and perhaps reforged by fire – the fires of war – would probably have erupted in a decade or so had the wormhole not opened, and we not launched our expedition.”
I paused and waved a hand through the air. “In any case,” I continued. “My point is that not every one of the Federation’s leaders are decadent fools with no stomach for war. The politicians certainly so, more so than the Old Republic’s leaders, even, considering their Starfleet is both military and scientific and exploration arm in one. Even many – if not most – of Starfleet’s officers are academics and intellectuals who wouldn’t last a day in a professional military such as that of our own. But there are exceptions, just like we once were in the Old Republic’s anemic military before the Clone Wars.”
I paused again, and nodded. “I don’t expect Osvald Teshik,” I continued. “But I do expect that with the war having shaken up this galaxy – or at least this region of it – the Federation has shaken off much of the rot and decay it’s buried itself in, just as we’ve trimmed off a lot of the fat with our operations. Only competent individuals should be in charge now…but if not, I’d be very disappointed.”
Wolf frowned at that. “If the Federation is finally starting to take the war seriously,” he said. “Then we don’t have much time to waste.”
“Operation Blue will be starting the week after next.” I said with a nod. “Plus-minus a few days, considering the need to expand operational planning to accommodate new intelligence, specifically with Operations Balerion and Vhagar.”
Nods went around in understanding, the nascent plans for the attacks on Vulcan and Andor being well-known to expeditionary command. “Once we have control of the Federation’s core worlds,” I continued. “The war will be as good as won.”
“But in the meantime,” Torrhen chimed in, and following my train of thought on his own. “We will continue with Operation Typhoon.”
“That,” I said with a nod. “And one other operation. Just a small one, but potentially critical to the success of Plan Zerek.”
“Ma’am?” Wolf asked in surprise.
“Hmm…let’s see…” I mused to myself. “…yes, that would work. The code name will be Meraxes…”
I paused to smile, again meeting the eyes of my fellow officers. “The Federation will attempt to draw us into a trap at Orion.” I said. “If so, then let us spring it, and breaking the trap, punch the Federation in the face. In doing so, we prove that just because we’re negotiating, it doesn’t mean we’ve reached the limits of our military capabilities. No, we’re negotiating because we can afford to be gracious, and not because we need to be.”
Chuckles and wolfish smiles went up at that, even as Wolf pulled up the data on the holoprojector, and the Federation’s plans on Orion brought up.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Days later, and the Imperial Expeditionary Force’s First Battlegroup hung in high orbit over the planet Orion. At its core was a powerful force of thirty Star Destroyers, mostly aging Venators as well as Victory Is, but also a small number of Imperials, including the Imperial flagship, Courageous.
It was from the Courageous that a Lambda shuttle emerged, escorted by a full squadron of TIE Fighters to one of the spaceports that serviced the Orion capital city on the surface. An honor guard dispatched by the Council of Matriarchs was present, waiting for the admiral’s arrival. Contingents from Orion Capital Security were also present, reinforcing the private security forces holding the spaceport in the name of the Geshi Consortium, itself a subsidiary of the greater Laisha Cartel, in turn owned by the influential House Daga, one of twelve lineages currently entitled by their wealth and holdings to sit on Orion’s Council of Matriarchs.
Three squads of Stormtroopers arrived with Admiral Jaenera Targaryen, who curtly exchanged greetings with the honor guard’s commander. Two of the Stormtrooper squads stayed with the shuttle, the third squad joining the honor guard aboard a grav-gondola that would take them to the Citadel, where the Council of Matriarchs awaited.
The trip was quick and uneventful, but not for long.
Even as the grav-gondola passed through the Citadel’s outer perimeter, an explosion in the distance, in the blocks surrounding the Citadel, caused alarm. The grav-gondola immediately alighted, honor guard and Stormtroopers rushing the admiral out and towards the Citadel proper, and the safety that it promised.
Then another explosion erupted, this time just down the street from the main gates of the Citadel’s curtain wall. It was a car bomb, of all things…
…and then the gate itself exploded, the brilliance of its flare and the heat of the blast revealing the type of explosive device used: plasma.
Lights flickered across the outer court, as transporters deployed men and women in unmarked battle armor over urban-patterned fatigues. Phaser rifles rose and opened fire, Starfleet commandoes spreading out to take cover while engaging, moving fluidly and with greater combat awareness than previous examples of Starfleet ground troops had ever shown.
Stormtroopers and honor guard opened fire, even as the Citadel Guard also engaged. All across the outer court, firefights erupted, and then the Citadel itself reeled, as more plasma devices knocked out the transport inhibitors that protected its interior.
“Priority alert!” the alarm sounded across the Orion channels. “Multiple Starfleet commandoes across the Citadel! All Citadel Guard forces are to engage immediately! Destroy the intruders! Protect the matriarchs!”
“Capital Security will attempt to reinforce the Citadel.” Another alarm sounded over Capital Security’s channels. “However, multiple Starfleet commandoes are attacking across the city. Priority targets: Grand Embassy Complex, Space Navigation Office, Public Broadcast Center, Central Traffic Office, Trans-Orbital Ground Control Station, Goods Distribution Control Center, Capital Security Headquarters, Ground Traffic Control Center, and the Fusion Power Complex.”
“First and Fifth Defense Battalions will reinforce the Citadel.” The word went out over the Capital Defense Force’s channel. “The Seventh Defense Battalion will assist Capital Security.”
“Enemy forces have engaged the First Battlegroup.” The warning arrived to the Stormtroopers on the ground. “Secure Admiral Targaryen, and standby for evacuation once an orbital vector has been secured.”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Lights glimmered in the council chambers as Section 31 Operatives materialized via transporters, and then heavy phaser rifles were blazing away on full auto. Honor guard went down in sprays of boiling blood, steam rising from semi-cauterized wounds as their bodies thudded to the ground. Centuries-old tapestries burned, while millennia-old stonework and frescoes that dated back to the ancient Queendom of Orion shattered under the onslaught.
Then the firing stopped, and Matriarch Jayhnaa, First Councilor of Orion, gave an amused smile at the Section 31 Operatives. That, despite the fact that her body was already shredded by multiple phaser rounds.
“Amateurs.” She laconically said, in Earth Standard English. The other matriarchs on the council similarly smiled with mocking amusement, before each and every one of their images flickered and vanished.
The council had never been here.
Worse, it seemed they’d been expected.
That much was clear when the bodies of the honor guard – each and every one of them having previously received multiple times the honor of siring children with one matriarch or another – also vanished, revealed to be holograms themselves. The tapestries also vanished, as did the rubble of the chamber’s stonework and frescos, the walls now revealed to have had their exterior panels removed beforehand, sparing the precious artwork from destruction.
Operative Lynch snarled before activating his comm badge. “Justicar One to M…” he began, but never had the chance to finish.
Bombs placed in the ceiling’s supports had a tendency to do that when they blew up, burying the Section 31 Operatives below alive.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“Interesting…” I mused as I received the report from the sensor station. “…and independently-confirmed by the sensors of other ships.”
“So this ‘Section 31’ is able to operate custom-refitted models of the Federation’s standard ships-of-the-line.” Torrhen mused as well. “How does that even work?”
“I don’t know.” I admitted, and not completely untrue at that. Oh I knew – from the memories of my previous life – that Section 31 was pretty much rogue in all but name, but to operate their own custom versions of Federation starships…how did they manage to get that to work?
“…ma’am, with all due respect,” Torrhen said after a moment. “I’m getting a feeling Section 31’s more than just the Federation counterpart to Imperial Intelligence.”
“I am inclined to agree.” I darkly agreed. “Once Operation Blue is over and won, we’ll have to find the resources to look into this further. There’s something rotten here, and I don’t like it. I won’t conquer this slice of this galaxy only to have it spoiled by one or another of the dirty secrets the Federation has secreted away.”
“We’ve received word from the surface.” Sara then said, handing a report to her superiors and turning their attention away from the unusual composition of the Section 31 Fleet they were facing. “Federation commandoes have overrun the outer court, and are now fighting their way into the Citadel.”
“Status of Orion reinforcements?” I asked.
“Two mechanized battalions are headed for the Citadel even as we speak.” Torrhen replied. “But the city is falling into chaos, so it’s slow-going.”
I tapped my chin in thought, and regarded the tactical display for a few moments. And then I smiled.
“Let’s keep up the deception.” I said. “Keep the fleet back, and focus on long-range strikes primarily aimed at achieving deterrence over destroying the enemy. At the same time, dispatch reinforcements to the surface…say, a company’s worth of Stormtroopers. Detail a squadron of our lead fighters to escort them, and place additional fighter squadrons on standby to secure an orbital vector.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sara said, saluting myself and Torrhen before hurrying off to relay my orders. As for myself, I hummed a tune from the Ode of Lucerys and Helaena, as I paced slowly around the tactical display, gloved fingers running over its edge.
“The enemy must continue to think I am on the surface.” I finally said. “Let them focus on my double. And so drawing them in, into the teeth of our fleet, we’ll tear them apart, just like how Caraxes once tore apart the harlot Alicent and her grandson, Jaehaerys the Nameless.”
Torrhen frowned at that, trying to place the literary – or rather, semi-literary, semi-historical – reference. “The Dance of Dragons, I believe?” he asked.
“So it is, chief of staff.” I confirmed.
The conversation stilled, the two staff officers silently regarding the tactical display and contentedly leaving this phase of the battle to the wing and squadron commanders. A couple of minutes later, and Sara was back.
“The 5th Company of the 537th Stormtrooper Regiment will be departing in the next two minutes.” She said without preamble.
“Very good, then.” I said, continuing to regard the tactical display. Indeed, it took only a minute and forty seconds before transports were headed down to the surface, V-Wing starfighters flying escort, while ARC-170 and TIE Fighters were swooping out to secure the orbital vector. “Now then, how will the enemy respond to this, I wonder?”
“If they come closer, trying to cut off the orbital vector,” Torrhen remarked. “It won’t be point-blank range, but we wouldn’t be able to convincingly maintain only light artillery fire.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “If that happens, we’ll have to launch a full bombardment.”
“But they can’t afford to let you – or who they think is you – be evacuated either.” Torrhen said.
“Agreed,” I said with a nod before narrowing my eyes. “But they have a slight advantage on the ground, at least until our reinforcements arrive. If they can get to my double before the Stormtrooper or Orion reinforcements arrive, then they can just teleport themselves out of there.”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Explosions shook a wing of the Citadel, as the Section 31 Operatives blew the turboshaft that served as the primary accessway to the wing. Then another explosion shook the wing, as a stairwell was also blown, and sending Stormtroopers screaming as they fell with the collapsing staircases.
This left only one stairwell as an accessway to the wing, bitterly contested by Section 31 and the Imperial Stormtrooper Corps between them. Red and orange pulses burned through the air, blaster carbines and phasers exchanging fire. Section 31 had the high ground, though, giving them a major advantage, aided by the narrow confines of the stairwell. Armored bodies covered the landing below, the Stormtroopers more often than not firing to cover their own to pull the bodies out of the way, to make room for feet to step on and try to fight their way up to the wing where the admiral had been cut off.
Normally, they’d just use thermal detonators to clear the entrenched Federation commandoes, but they didn’t dare potentially collapse the stairwell. And so they had to try and take it by storm, a task that was proving easier said than done.
It wouldn’t stop them, though.
They were Imperial Stormtroopers, after all.
They lived, fought, and died for the Empire.
Further inside the wing, Section 31 Operatives huddled behind a corner, prepared to try and storm a hallway where trapped Imperial officers were laying down a constant barrage of fire. Trading grimly-determined looks between them, the operatives activated personal energy shielding, before charging down the hallway, blaster rounds just striking harmlessly against their shields.
They fired as they ran, the Imperial officers forced to fall back behind cover, only to be gunned down at point-blank. A pair of lieutenants tried to resort to hand-to-hand, but were overpowered and restrained by the Section 31 Operatives. Others more broke down the door of the room the admiral was in, but the first man through the door had his head blown apart like a ripe melon by a single shot from the admiral’s sidearm.
The next two operatives dashed into the room, flanking the admiral and keeping her from aiming at either of them. She managed to get off a single shot, but it missed, scoring the wall instead, and then she was falling with a sharp cry of pain, as an operative clubbed the back of her head. Then she was being gagged and restrained, before a beacon pinned to her chest.
“We have the target.” An operative said while tapping his comm badge. “Beam us up.”
There was a glimmer of light, a slight sense of disorientation, and the room in the Citadel was replaced with the transporter bay of one of the Section 31 ships in space. “Welcome b…” one of the transport operators began, only to trail off as an alert went off on his console. “Wait something isn’t…”
A twelve-kiloton device implanted into the double’s body chose that moment to detonate, and blowing the ship apart from the inside out.
