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“It’s also sound strategically because the center is right in the heart of one of the most densely occupied portions of central Rellidir,” the admiral continued. “Any standard action waged there will result in thousands of civilian casualties. One concussion missile missing its target could bring down an entire superhabitat building…and inevitably there will be missiles missing their targets. Many of them. Our grim task has been to turn that terrible but inevitable consequence of war to our advantage.” Karathas’s voice was raspy and faint on those last words.

“However, despite their good choices, the GA has made some poor ones, too. Situating several starfighter squadrons and some planet-landable fighting vessels around their command post as a show of strength gives us more things to destroy—explosively, catastrophically, and most important, recordably—when we do hit that site.”

“This is bad, bad, bad,” Han said. He couldn’t keep an edge of anger out of his voice.

The wire-grid shield indicators began blinking more erratically. “In the first part of our operation,” the admiral continued, “teams of commandos will be infiltrated into Rellidir. They will attempt to reach the shield generators and destroy them with high explosives. Success on their part is to be considered a bonus to our plan, but the plan does not rely on it.”

“Who came up with this plan?” Han didn’t speak loudly enough to be heard down on the floor or in adjacent observation chambers, but his voice was rising. “See-Threepio could have done better. This is exactly what the GA is going to be expecting.”

He could see Leia tense. It couldn’t be in response to his anger; she was used to that. She had to be growing unhappier because she suspected the plan was going to get even worse.

On the upside-down view of Rellidir, half a dozen green dots appeared at various points along the view’s rim and sped toward the enemy command post, each followed by a stream of red dots.

“In the second part of the operation,” the admiral continued, “Corellian YT-Fifty-one-hundred Shriek-class bombers will assault the shielded region from all sides, closely pursued by Galactic Alliance starfighters and warships. They will bombard the shields, if any survive, and then continue their bombardment of the command post until it is destroyed.”

The admiral mopped her brow with her sleeve. Her voice turned pained. “The Shriek-class bombers have been chosen because they are distinctly, uniquely, unmistakably Corellian. Designed by the Corellian Engineering Corporation, they have not entered full production yet—only ten late-model prototypes and a few earlier prototypes are in existence.” The city view abruptly winked out of existence and was replaced by a slowly spinning view of a sleek gray saucer shape with forward-projecting mandible, like a streamlined Millennium Falcon without the side-mounted cockpit projection.

“The pursuing spacecraft,” Karathas continued, “though bearing the colors and insignia of vehicles and vessels of the Galactic Alliance fleet, will actually be units of the Corellian Defense Force. Instead of shooting down the Shrieks, other than hitting them with a few reduced-strength laser blasts for cosmetic effect, their mission will be to reinforce the firepower of those bombers…and to reassign blame for civilian deaths to the Galactic Alliance.”

Silence fell in the wake of the admiral’s words. Leia put her face into her hands—not an expression of grief, but a way to keep her composure. Han took a long, deep breath. It had gotten worse.

Wedge turned a brilliant, bitter smile on the admiral. “It would seem,” he said, “that the plan would actually benefit if we maximized civilian casualties.”

Leia lifted her head, her eyes wide.

Admiral Karathas’s face relaxed into a nonexpression, as though she’d just been hit by a blaster set to stun. “General Antilles, that might be the most callous thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Wedge looked scornful and made a dismissive gesture. “Admiral, let’s call a skifter a skifter. Operation