Chapter 83: Shock and Seizure

Disclaimer: Star Wars and all of it's Intellectual Properties is owned by George Lucas and Walt Disney, This fictional work and all of it's original characters are however mine.

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Jake's P.O.V. :

We locked down the exact date for the next auction thanks to Zarok’s intel, and one of Rina’s contacts confirmed some major movement from a mercenary group with strong ties to Jabba. That meant the Hutt’s goons were already setting up for their own strike, which made timing our approach even more important.

Right now, we were enroute to a rendezvous point to link up with some of our own contacts—fighters who’d agreed to back us up on this raid. From what Davik had explained, they weren’t fully committed to joining us yet, but this op was going to hopefully change that. We’d given them a taste with the gear they’d received, but now they were about to see firsthand what made the "Liberators" more than just a whispered rumor. If this raid played out the way we planned, it would be another setback for Gardulla—and it’d seal the deal on these potential recruits.

Mira had been quietly evaluating them and by them meaning the contacts that we've selected as potential recruits for the team, watching how they moved, how they talked, how they acted when they thought no one was paying attention. So far, she was satisfied—they were true believers when it came to smashing slaver rings. None of the excessive bloodlust or unhinged fanaticism that had made us cut ties with other prospects. More importantly, they weren’t the type to stab us in the back over a stack of credits. Even so, she still urged caution, and no one argued.

One of the groups we were picking up included Harrin Jett’s crew. The guy had always been a solid contact, but I still got a laugh thinking about his reaction during our last holocall. He’d known me as the weapons dealer who supplied the "Liberators". Finding out I wasn’t just a dealer of weapons, but a full-fledged member inviting him to join in on a raid got his face into a priceless expression—shock, realization, then barely-contained excitement. He tried to play it cool, but I could tell he was sold before I even finished the pitch.

His only concern had been transport. His people only had a single heavy dropship, not the kind of thing you wanted to take into a full-fledged battle. I told him not to worry—we had a ship lined up for them. I’d already made my pick: one of our newly armed and up-armored heavy freighters, sporting redundant shielding as its standout upgrade. The other armed freighters had more standardized modifications since they’d been refitted purely through the station’s assembly lines. Only one other had gotten any personal upgrades from me—an experimental area-wide targeting scrambler, an improved version of the software that made the Stellar Envoy a nightmare to lock onto. That was going to be interesting to test out in a real engagement.

A sudden alert on the comms snapped me out of my musings. Secure channel. We answered with the coded response, and a few minutes later, a dropship broke through the void to join us. Then another. And another. I stopped counting after the third.

Kado handled the formalities, telling them we were shifting locations to cut down on the risk of an ambush. No complaints from our guests, and a few jumps later, we arrived at our fallback point. Waiting for us there was a sight that made my tech-loving heart beat faster: a fleet of twelve ships lined up in formation.

At the center were the two CR90 corvettes, their hulls repainted with bold yellow and blue tones, standing out like war banners. Surrounding them were ten armed-up formerly derelict freighters, each one a different make and model but all carrying enough firepower to take on a pirate gang solo. Three of those were fully crewed by our droids—assembled and programmed right in the station’s factories. The others were assigned to our incoming allies.

We distributed ships based on crew size. The bigger groups got proper starships, like an XS freighter, while the smaller ones took control of the armed-up light freighters. Some of those ships didn’t even have proper classification anymore. The station’s system couldn’t identify their make and model after the extensive repairs and modifications, so we’d taken the liberty of tweaking their design to fit our needs.

Each freighter was outfitted with weaponry legally sanctioned by the Republic for independent patrol groups—systems designed to fight off pirates and slavers without raising too many eyebrows. That meant we weren’t running around with capital-grade turbolasers, but the firepower we had was more than enough for the job.

With everyone settled in, the next phase was about to begin. This raid on the slave auction will officially start our campaign against the two Hutts. And if we prove ourselves to our guests then this will seal the deal and they join us, that and building alliances will be much easier from then on, and sending an undeniable message to the scum running these operations: there are hunters on the prowl.

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We let our guests get a feel for their new rides while cruising at sublight toward the designated hyperspace jump. Some of them were running full system checks, others just kicking back and getting comfortable. A few even tested out the firepower—only on empty space, thankfully. The modified freighters weren’t exactly standard-issue patrol ships, but with their new loadouts, they packed a bigger punch than most ships their size.

While they got settled, Kado’s voice came over the fleet-wide comms. “Attention, fleet—”

I snorted at that, earning a smirk from Shmi. “What?” she asked, clearly amused.

“Fleet? We’ve barely got a dozen ships. Hardly a fleet.”

She shrugged. “Maybe not by numbers. But mindset matters.”

I had to admit, she wasn’t wrong. It was easy to see the shift—this wasn’t just a ragtag bunch of ships anymore. We were moving with purpose, coordination. So, fine. Maybe we were a fleet after all.

Kado launched into the mission briefing, laying out the battle plan. “Half the ships will head planet-side as dropships. Yes, freighters can function as dropships—they’re better armed than standard dropships, and they can hold their own in a fight.”

I already knew the five crews going dirtside were the kind that thrived in ground skirmishes—hit-and-run specialists, infiltration teams, the type that made slavers' lives miserable. They wouldn’t be going in blind, either. Sentinel Security droids would be running support, ensuring a well-armed and coordinated assault. Their approach would be to set up sniper teams, secure the perimeter, and slowly tighten the noose. Meanwhile, slicers would be working to cut off comms, preventing any distress calls from bringing reinforcements.

The rest of the ships, me in the CR90 carrier variant included, would be hanging back in orbit to spring an ambush on Jabba’s mercs. According to intel, the Hutt had three Corsair-class warships heading in to wipe out Gardulla’s slavers and steal the cargo for himself. That was after they dealt with whatever ships the slavers had in orbit. What Jabba didn’t know was that we were about to throw a wrench in his plans. Two CR90s and five heavily armed freighters waiting for them? That was going to be one hell of a wake-up call. And the Stellar Envoy doing hit and run tactics, will practically be overkill.

And if that wasn’t enough? The CR90 Carrier variant wasn’t just for show. Using the station’s assembly line, we’d cobbled together five starfighters—ugly, crude, but deadly. We hadn’t had time to install proper cockpits or train pilots, so I’d rigged them with droid brains, linking them up with the network-link system we’d been testing. Not exactly polished, but with the ridiculous amount of ordnance we loaded them with, they’d do just fine.

No one interrupted during the briefing. No unnecessary questions. Everyone knew their roles. And when the briefing ended, one by one, ships signaled ready.

Kado gave the final call. “Jump on my mark.”

I sat back, watching the navcomputer count down.

Three.

Two.

One.

Stars stretched into hyperspace. The raid had begun.

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The “fleet” arrived at the designated rendezvous—a quiet patch of space just off a nearby moon. No stray traffic, no wandering patrols. Just us, sitting in the void, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

A familiar voice crackled over the comms, Davik. “Final reminder—priority’s the slaves. Get them out first. The rest is secondary. The Force be with us.”

The ground teams wasted no time, splitting off and burning hard for the planet below. The slavers had security, sure—but not nearly enough. Complacency is the real weakness of slavers, and we love to exploit it. The only reason the captives hadn’t already staged a full-scale breakout was because there were no ships left behind to steal. But that won't be a problem this time.

Their freighters breached the atmosphere, descending in a coordinated spread. I should’ve been tracking the landing vectors, but instead, my brain decided to focus on a completely different thought. What planet was this again? I’d been so focused on the ships, the loadouts, the ambush plan—I completely blanked on the name. I sighed. Definitely need to ask Mira later. Bad habit.

Meanwhile, we prepped for our own battle, hiding behind the nearby moon’s shadow. Jabba’s mercenaries weren’t far off, but we needed to wait. They had to think this was a normal raid, one they could handle. The moment they engaged the lone slaver ship in orbit? That was our cue.

Time crawled. Then the comms lit up.

“Comms disruption underway. Ground teams moving in.”

Perfect timing—because right after that, Rina received an update from one of her contacts. Reporting that Jabba’s mercenaries had just left Tatooine.

They’d get here just in time for the fireworks. If things went well, the ground team would be finished by then, setting up a secondary ambush in case the mercs got spooked and tried to retreat planetside. But if everything went to plan, they wouldn’t get that chance.

Then, at long last, Jabba’s warships arrived. Three Corsairs, sleek and heavily armed, dropping out of hyperspace with predatory grace. They wasted no time locking onto their target—the lone slaver ship floating like easy prey. They thought they were the hunters.

They had no idea.

We held position, waiting for the fight to start. The slavers panicked, scrambling defenses and trying to flee, but the mercenaries had them locked down in seconds. That was our moment.

“Now.”

From our positions, we fired a full spread of E.M.P. burst ion torpedoes.

By the time the enemy ships realized something was wrong, the torpedoes were already in their faces. Plasma bursts bloomed in the void, blue arcs of ion energy spiderwebbing across hulls. Shields failed instantly. Power grids shorted out. Consoles exploded in showers of sparks.

Four ships—including the slaver vessel—completely disabled.

A ninety-three percent hit rate.

Jabba’s mercs had no time to react. Their comms were fried, their weapons systems dead. The best they could do was drift.

Now came the fun part.

Boarding.

We moved in fast, bringing up breaching teams. Our Sentinel droids took the lead, mag-locked to the hulls before cutting their way inside. Some mercs tried to fight back with whatever power was left in their blasters. A few small-arms batteries even managed a couple of potshots before getting torn apart by boarding charges.

Once inside, the real brawl started. Jabba’s goons weren’t amateurs—they knew how to handle a fight. Even with their ships disabled, they used the darkness to their advantage, setting up choke points, ambushes. But Sentinel droids don’t hesitate. They pushed forward, shields tanking blaster fire, return shots cutting down resistance with precision.

I patched into the ship’s comms, my voice crackling into their bridge.

“Jabba’s boys, you’ve got two choices. Surrender, or get spaced.”

Some held their ground. Others dropped their weapons, hands in the air. Smart ones.

One by one, the ships fell under our control. Within minutes, four vessels that didn’t belong to us before now did.

The ambush worked. The ships were ours.

And best of all? The ground team was still running clean-up, lot's of salvage.