Battle
The Freedom, Righteous Will, and Liberty tear through Hyperspace, engines burning a brilliant white. Accompanied by the CR-90s they make good time, and pop out into real space behind the cover of an asteroid, a huge one. Power stops as entire segments of the ships go dark, lights dying. An ambush. Not how one would expect, however.
The Imperial Convoy, two Gladiator Star Destroyers and a handful of Nebulon-B frigates slowly tears through the system, engines at only half power. They scan intently, accurately, pouring over electronics created with one purpose: to find the enemy. That said, an asteroid can have odd affects on sensors. Affects like missing the flotilla poised to strike until your back is turned, your senses dulled at the passing threat.
Then, they strike. Blue bolts fly through the dark vacuum of space, the backdrop of a nebula framing each shot as electricity flows over it, through it. With accuracy no mere mortal ever will achieve, the bolts strike home, tearing through the engines of the enemy ship, electrical charge frying delicate circuits, shattering breakers. Mon Calamari artistry battles with Kuat built industrial might for moments, until an explosion destroys the already damaged engines. Smoke begins to pour from Order's and Strength's backsides as they slow to a crawl, turreted cannons finally turning towards their foe, silhouetted by lights against the shadowy asteroid. Like some enraged swarm, small ships, the fighters, begin pouring from the Rebel ships, X-Wings slipping from the hangar like wraiths, vengeance for every lost soul.
In retaliation, the Gladiators spit out their own complement, TIE Fighters. Still Mon Cal Cruiser and Kuat Star Destroyer pound at each other as the ships, piloted by the best of the best trade red and green fire, lances of fire illuminating the stars for seconds at a shot as every bolt from the Chargers finds its target. The Jedi piloting them twist, dive, juke and dodge.
Anakin Skywalker, dark cloak drawn over his features, can feel his son from the bridge of freedom. He lends him strength through their bond, and in turn the scion of Skywalker gives that strength to each of his comrades, power flowing through aching minds as the Force gives sustenance to its children. The TIE Fighters are driven back. Jedi ships smoke, Jedi ships take hits, but for every one that is damaged another two, another three, another ten appear to strike at whatever foe was foolish enough to believe they could fight the Jedi.
In moments, the Jedi have done their dark work. Meanwhile, the Mon Cal cruisers, nothing more than scraped, each fire a volley at the bridge of one Gladiator. A trifecta of damage, each shot impacts somewhere, and the bridges of the Gladiators explode as the Liberty Cruisers turn their dreadful wrath on the Nebulon-B, until now distracted by the lightning quickness of the Blockade Runners. It is not slow work, minutes at most, for each, and then, as though they were never there, the Rebel Flotilla retreats, its work done, back home.