Эксмовское издание у тебя, а там много отсебятины переводчиков и корректоров.

Jerjerrod hated it now.

Yet there seemed to be little he could do at this point. Except, of course, destroy Endor - he could do that. It was a small act, a token really - to incinerate something green and living, gratuitously, meanly, toward no end but that of wanton destruction. A small act, but deliciously satisfying.

An aide ran up to him. 'The Rebel fleet is closing, sir.'

'Concentrate all fire in that sector,' he answered distractedly. A console on the far wall burst into flame.

'The fighters in the superstructure are eluding our defense system, Commander. Shouldn't we-'Flood sectors 304 and 138. That should slow them up.' He arched his eyebrows at the aide.

This made little sense to the aide, who had cause to wonder at the commander's grasp of the situation. 'But sir ...'

'What is the rotation factor to firing range on the Endor Moon?'

The aide checked the compuscreen. 'Point oh two to moon target, sir. Commander, the fleet-'Accelerate rotation until moon is in range, and then fire on my mark.'

'Yes, sir.' The aide pulled a bank of switches. 'Rotation accelerating, sir. Point oh one to moon target, sir. Sixty seconds to firing range. Sir, good-bye, sir.' The aide saluted, put the firing switch in Jerjerrod's hand as another explosion shook the control room, and ran out the door.

Jerjerrod smiled calmly at the view-screen. Endor was starting to come out of the Death Star's eclipse. He fondled the detonation switch in his hand. Point oh oh five to moon target. Screams erupted in the next room.

Thirty seconds to firing.