On the main display two streams of red-tinged green bursts shoot up from the edges of the island. “Ion fire!” Vanto snapped. “Direct hits on the Judicator.”
“Incapacitated?” Thrawn asked. The light cruisers and frigates have opened fire again as Durril orders their turbolasers to target the ion cannons on the northern and western shorelines.
But the action was too late. The shield edge had expanded again following the ion cannons’ salvos, and the turbolaser bolts spattered harmlessly away. The escort ships continued firing, some at the now protected ion cannons, others at the center of the shield in an attempt to overload the generator.
“Now Durril’s just flailing,” Vanto muttered, his earlier withholding of judgment turning rapidly to scorn. “Probably ordered everyone to keep firing while he tries to get his systems running again. Okay, shield’s contracting again. This time it’s the northern shoreline opening up—”
Again, Durril fails to notice or react. The escort ships continue to fire uselessly toward the western and southern emplacements as an ion cannon on the northern shoreline opens fire.
“Damn,” Vanto breathed. “Perfect timing. Whoever’s in charge down there is good.”
“Damage?” Thrawn asked. The latest ion blast had targeted the frigate and two cruisers on the Judicator’s portside flank, sending sputtering sheets of energy across their hulls, damaging sensors and turbolaser targeting and control systems.
“Hits on the portside escorts,” Vanto reported. “They’ll be down to secondary weapons and auxiliary drives now. Probably can still get out of there if Durril releases them, but another blast or two in the right places and they’ll be drifting.”
Again, Durril continues his ineffective attack instead of adjusting to his opponent’s tactics. The escorts are still holding position as another ion salvo shoots upward from the island.
But this time, as the bursts raked across the same group of escorts, a stream of eight small space freighters appeared from beneath the eastern edge of the shield and headed toward the continent three hundred kilometers away.
“Judicator’s definitely lost its turbolasers,” Vanto said grimly. “Might still have auxiliary drive, maybe enough to get clear. Durril’s not trying, though. The two light cruisers and frigate that took that last attack seem to have been immobilized.”
“An attack focused on the Judicator and the escorts on Durril’s portside flank,” Thrawn said. The freighters continue to fly low over the water. Their commander continually veers the group back and forth, taking advantage of both the minimal cloud cover and the reflected sunlight glare to achieve minimal observability from above. “The flank opposite to the direction he sent his freighters.”
“Freighters?” Vanto asked, frowning. “Where?”
“Flying eastward from the island,” Thrawn said. “Running low and on minimal power, which renders them largely invisible to ships already under ion attack.”
“And to ships that aren’t under attack but are concentrating all their attention on the ships that are,” Vanto said. “Okay, I’ve got them now. I fell for the trick, too.” He looked at Thrawn. “I gather you were expecting it?”
“It was one possible reason the starboard escorts were being ignored at the expense of the portside ships,” Thrawn said. “Interesting, though. Standard procedure would have been the exact opposite: to target the escorts on the Judicator’s starboard side in order to minimize response to the freighters’ departure.”
“It’s a long way to the continent,” Vanto pointed out. “No point in getting clear if everyone knows you’re on the way and where you’re going.”
“Yes.” Seven of the freighters are still traveling eastward at wave-top altitude. The eighth, now effectively clear of the battle zone, is rising toward space. An interesting moment for the commander to split his convoy. “Which raises the question of where they are going. In particular, the one that’s broken off and is heading into space. Your analysis?”
Vanto pondered a moment. “I can’t tell from here whether those are freighters or personnel carriers,” he said slowly. “But there’s no reason for them to ship people off the island in the middle of a battle, either their own forces or their hostages. So, freighters. One obvious reason for taking Scrim is all the military ordnance stored there, so those ships probably represent everything that wasn’t fused to the ground. Seven to insurgent cells on the mainland; one to Denash or Sammun?”
“Or to elsewhere,” Thrawn said.
“Yes.” Vanto leaned closer to the sensor display. “Shield’s shifting again. Looks like they’re going to give the Judicator another blast.”
But this time it wasn’t an ion cannon burst that shot upward from the island’s western shoreline. Instead, it was the intense green fire of a turbolaser salvo from an emplacement to the north of the western ion cannon. The barrage struck the Judicator’s starboard superstructure, burning into and through the hull metal.
Vanto caught his breath. “Damn. A turbolaser? Donassius never said the island had functional turbolasers.”
“He may not have known.” A second burst of fire shimmers through the atmosphere, again delivering its energy against Durril’s flagship. Again, Durril makes no move to counter or evade. “The freighter angling away from the planet is likely to make the jump to lightspeed soon. Hail it.”
Vanto shot him a startled look. “You want me to hail it?”
“Yes,” Thrawn said. “A tight comm signal, of course, to keep the conversation private. We’re the Slipknot, and you’re a weapons smuggler named Horatio Figg.”
Vanto’s momentary confusion cleared into understanding. “So that’s the real reason you put us in a captured smuggling ship. Am I buying or selling?”
“Whichever will gain us an invitation to visit his base.”
“An invitation to his base.” Vanto took a deep breath. “Okay. Here we go.” He keyed the comm and adjusted for tight beam. “Unidentified freighter, this is the freighter Slipknot,” he called. “Looks like you’re scorching out of here. Need any assistance?”
There was no response. “Again,” Thrawn said quietly.
Vanto nodded. “Let me try it another way, freighter. I’m guessing you have some fresh merchandise. I’m also guessing you want to keep it. You want to be civil, or you want me to call you out to the Imps?”
“Don’t even think about it, Slipknot.” The voice is dark and angry, holding both suspicion and threat.
“Not thinking it,” Vanto assured him. “Just trying to start a friendly conversation. If I’m right about your current cargo, there might be something there I could take off your hands.”
“Forget it. Already spoken for.”
“Fine,” Vanto said. “In that case, maybe you’d like to add a little frosting to your new cake.”
There was a long pause. “You deal?” The voice still holds suspicion, but also now holds cautious interest.
“A little of everything,” Vanto told him. “Since you hit a military base and not a spice dealer, I’m guessing you’re mostly interested in weapons. So, arms dealer it is. You in the market, or aren’t you?”
There was another silence from the other end. “We might be,” he said. “The boss says he’s willing to talk.” A light flickered on the board. “I’ve sent you the coordinates. Jump whenever you’re ready.”
“Got it,” Vanto said. “Be right there.”
Vanto cut off the comm channel. “Well, we either fooled him or we didn’t,” Vanto said. “What now?”
“We prepare to follow,” Thrawn said.
“You mean, right now?” Vanto asked. “What about the Judicator?”
A third turbolaser salvo rakes the Star Destroyer. The four undamaged escort ships fire toward the weapon, but once again are too late as the island’s shield closes over it. There is a pattern to the attacks, but Durril fails to recognize or exploit it.
“There’s no aid we can render,” Thrawn said. “I’ve already transmitted an emergency distress signal on Admiral Durril’s behalf. Our efforts are best directed elsewhere.”