Sublight Drive (Star Wars)

Chapter 55

Chapter 55

Yag’Dhul Approach, Yag’Dhul System

Harrin Sector

Suddenly appearing right in the middle of the Yag’Dhul Star System’s hyper-junction roused the sort of amused anger a parent who caught their child with a hand in the cookie jar could probably relate to. The Yag’Dhul System presided over the intersection of the two largest super-hyperroutes in the southern half of the galactic plane; the Rimma Trade Route and the Corellian Trade Spine. Because of this, the entire star system acted as a massive trade crossroads and bottleneck, and the Mathematocracy–the local Givin government–had become fabulously rich because of it, further bolstered by their well-regarded shipyard industry.

As such, as our some three-hundred warships took a minute to bleed ourselves of hyperspeed sickness, we immediately noticed the thousands of supply vessels surrounding us like deers caught in the headlights. From commandeered merchantmen to medical frigates, from fuel tankers and ordnance carriers to troop transports; a brilliant array of lights transiting on two virtual highways vivisecting the star system in an X-shape, and all completely freezing as they pointed their scanners at us.

Well, aren’t we in the spotlight, now? I thought amusedly as I observed the readouts shine brightly, flashing warnings of hostile scanning.

“Priority contact?” I inquired.

If my memory served me well, the Siege of Yag’Dhul was being overseen by a task force–a siege fleet–of the GAR 20th Armada. That would be the largest concentration of heavy warships in-system, with likely enough firepower to force a pitched battle against us.

Not a moment later, the answer blinked into existence on a glowing repeater, right next to the tiny digital marble representing Yag’Dhul. Bearing 044 degrees relative, mark 013. Range 151,100,000,000 klicks. At sublight travel, this distance… I did the mental arithmetic. That’s at least a 48 hour transit with a constant 1,000G acceleration–35 hours if the GAR decides to push their ships to 1,500G acceleration. They might micro-jump, but it was risky considering the heavy traffic in-system, and I did have my plans for that scenario as well.

“Tuff?”

“Calculate the most efficient vectors to partition our fleet on,” I stood up, my spine popping as I stretched like a cat, “I want to hit as many of those ships as we can before the Twentieth can reach us. Let’s keep our distance from Yag’Dhul, and irritate them to the Demon Moon and back.”

“As you command.”

Taking the conservative end, we have roughly a day and a half before the siege fleet reaches us, which meant a day and a half to run havoc throughout the star system. That figure, however, was for a one-end trip. If we approached Yag’Dhul while raiding–which was unavoidable, considering the virtual spacelanes–the intercept ETA would naturally shrink. Thus, we had to weigh our distance to the siege fleet and the most efficient raiding run, in order to make the most of our limited time.

Chimeratica assessed and reassessed the situation, dozens and then hundreds of curved red vector lines appearing and disappearing on the tactical holo as the navicomputers factored in orbital influences, cosmic astrography, and the hundreds of pinprick drive plumes burning hard away from us in a panic.

Five minutes in, the vectors blinked green. The display spelled it out clearly; even with the massive blindspot that was the dark side of the sun to contend with, there were still 2,710 hostile contacts detected. And with this plot; 500 to 800 possible strikes before interception by enemy warfleet.

“Wrap it up and transmit it to the fleet,” I said, “And get me on comms. Widebeam.”

“An announcement, sir?”

“Something like that.”

Tuff stared at me with a critical photoreceptor, then nodded, “Very well.”

I cleared my throat as I observed the progress of the command package’s transfer, a blinking light at my station notifying me that my voice was now being broadcasted on the open frequency. Elsewhere, the fire control repeater told me firing solutions had been successfully calculated for the nearest twenty-seven supply vessels in our target range.

“To all ships in the Yag’Dhul Star System,” I said calmly, “This is the star destroyer Chimeratica of the Confederate Navy. Be warned that you are currently sailing in restricted Confederate space. Shut down your main reactors and evacuate all crew members in escape pods immediately. I say again; shut down your main reactors and evacuate all crew members in escape pods immediately. This is your final warning.”

A loud chime drew my attention; transmission successful, followed by a cascade of green lights as the 28th Mobile Fleet acknowledged and accepted the orders.

“Sir,” Stelle informed me, “We are observing escape pods ejecting from the nearest contacts around us.”

“Good to see reasonable folk out there,” I smiled and nodded, toggling comms to internal fleet scramble, “All ships, execute orders. Godspeed.”

Chimeratica launched the raid by unleashing a hundred proton torpedoes, lashing out into the abyss and striking all twenty-seven supply vessels in her scopes. The message was then abundantly clear, to both allies and enemies.

27 down. 2,710 left to go. A hundredth of the way there.

Over three-hundred warships exploded outwards from the extraction zone, the first missiles and torpedoes already being flung out towards starward shadows in clusters of violent blue and purple. Our lessons learnt, and the ‘6th Auxiliary Division kept safe in an uninhabited star system nearby, our combat divisions could not enact independent and unrestrained warfare without anything holding us back.

The 28th Mobile immediately split into over half a hundred squadrons of pairs and triplets, smaller raiders and hunter-killers swiftly outpacing the capital ships. The few Republic ships with self-defence armaments rattled out laserfire and blistering PDC rounds, but stood little chance against the furious hail of missiles bombarding their convoy lines. On the tactical holo, the golden lights emanating from the spacelanes began to black out, like an urban highway following an electrical blackout.

“Have the First Recon Division precision jump hereand here,” I pointed at two sides of the sun, at the northern egress points of the Rimma and Corellian hyperlanes respectively, “And alert us immediately if any enemy reinforcements arrive. Chimeratica, Centaur, and Unicorn and the Intelligence Divisionwill maintain position right here in between the southern egresses.”

Connecting the three points created an equilateral triangle that presided over the entire star system, mostly eliminating any blindspots formed by the dark side of planets or the sun itself.

“And tell the Mistryl to remain on standby,” I continued, “Keep an eye on Dark Rival. If Ventress is going to make a move, it’s going to be here.”

Or rather, I was forcing her to make a move here. By splitting up the fleet into a raiding stance, this was the largest opening she had to escape to the Llon Nebula without being intercepted by my fleet. Furthermore, I had purposefully assigned her to the western quadrant of the system, closest to the outer system where she would point directly at the Llon Nebula without something pesky like the star in her way. All that’s left is to wait whether she actually would.

“As you command.”

The hours ran by quickly as I watched the number of confirmed kills tick upwards, breaking into six-hundred by twenty-five standard hours. We had prepared our raiding strategy long in advance. First, our light-footed raiders like Munificents and Recusants would precision jump ahead and cut into the spacelanes at certain points, while the slower battleships would sweep up from behind and tighten the noose.

Essentially, a microcosm of what the CAF was attempting to do on the Rimma Trade Route as a whole.

Meanwhile, as our Recon Division skirted the edges of the Yag’Dhul AO with a series of micro-jumps on the way to their assigned stations, a more accurate make-up of the enemy fleet started trickling back upstream to Chimeratica. The besieging force had a little over four-hundred ships, but the vast majority of them were naturally Acclamator-class troop transports, considering their mission, and unlikely able to stand toe-to-toe with an actual warfleet like the 28th Mobile.

What mattered, however, was how the enemy commander decided to react to our asymmetrical warfare. See, four-hundred ships was still four-hundred ships, and after our lengthy campaign at Sullust, preserving the firepower of the 28th Mobile was now a top priority of mine. As such, I wanted the siege fleet to make a certain mistake.

See, by splitting our fleet as such, the siege fleet was also put into a tough position, forced to either mirror our actions and split up to hunt us down, or cold-bloodedly maintain the Siege of Yag’Dhul, and silently observe their supply lines get shattered. If they decide to counter-raid us, our hunter-killers can viciously tear them down piece by piece. After all, Acclamators were not purpose-built warships, and even a Munificent can rip them apart lonesome.

But as the twenty-fifth hour went by, it was clear to me the enemy commander had made his decision. The siege fleet was not moving an inch from the Yag’Dhul orbital zone. Meanwhile, the surviving supply vessels that haven’t already broken out into the outer planets were all gravitating to the last safe harbour remaining in the system; the Siege of Yag’Dhul itself. That was the first sign that not everything was as it should be.

I frowned, watching their movements with a calculating eye. Those weren’t actions symptomatic of a panicking, headless series of convoys. Instead, I felt like I was watching a pre-planned evacuation of ships. It was then that the Yag’Dhul siege fleet formed battle lines, arrayed out like a net to cover the arriving supply ships, and my jaw finally set. Practised. This was practised.

“What’s the name of the enemy commander?” I asked with deathly calm.

“Unknown,” Tuff answered, “The Twentieth Sector Army hasn’t made any large and visible efforts on the frontlines, relegated to sieges in the Inner Rim and Colonies such as this. Their commanding officer is Governor-General Octavian Grant, but information about the Twentieth is sparse otherwise.”

No well-renowned officer? I have a bad feeling about this.

“...Widebeam to the fleet,” I said suddenly, “Belay the last order. All ships are to advance on Yag’Dhul and break the siege. Helm; sublight drives set all-ahead full!”

Chimeratica blasted forward like a bullet, just as the disparate 28th Mobile all turned their guns towards Yag’Dhul simultaneously, chasing down the converging supply ships as they did.

My heartbeat quickened as I noticed more and more inconsistencies, now that I had clutched on to the frayed thread; “How long does it take for a fleet from Mechis to reach Yag’Dhul?”

“Approximately twelve standard hours.”

“So why aren’t they here?”

Yag’Dhul must be glowing with distress signals, and not even our Intelligence Division could intercept all of them. The loss of this supply corridor could mean the defeat of the entire 2nd Sector Army down south at the hands of Horn Ambigene. If I was at Mechis-III, less than a day’s transit away, I would have dashed to secure the system immediately. Either inter-army rivalries within the GAR ran deeper than I had thought, or everything I was witnessing now was premeditated.

Tuff paused, his body language shifting, then clambered down to the lower bridge deck, leaving me alone with Stelle. I watched the tactical holo vicariously, knee bouncing up and down as we closed in Yag’Dhul. Shit… shit! How could I have not noticed? Actually, how did they notice!? What gave us away!? I clenched my teeth. The noose was closing on the Siege of Yag’Dhul, but it was not closing fast enough.

I was led to believe we had all the time we needed, when in reality, it was the Republic who did.

“Transmission from the Recon Division!” Stelle announced, patching it through immediately.

Strings of translated droidspeak scrawled across my holoscreens as the transmission came in, but my eyes were glued to the starchart. I took a cursory glance at the sender.

“Just give them a fucking voice and read it out!” I hissed.

“–Roger roger!”

“Hostile fleet detected from the northeast,” Recusant-class destroyer Lexington reported with the voice of… well, I think it was a BD-3000 service droid, “Designations indicate Twentieth Sector Army. Flagship… Venator-class battlecruiser Prominence; commanding officer Governor-General Octavian Grant. We are observing two-hundred and fifty-two ships.”

There they are. General Octavian Grant was last seen presiding over the Siege of Mechis-III with over half a thousand ships. Bringing only two-hundred must mean he had no intention of breaking the siege to deal with us… but two-hundred wasn’t enough on its own, was it?

Anyway…

“Why was Lady Lex given the voice of a bettie bot?” I asked in confusion, mild panic lifting for the most brief, liberating moment.

Stelle shrugged–or tried his best to, considering he was a battle droid with no articulated shoulders, “The system assigned her one based on her personality matrix.”

“What the–”

“Hostile fleet detected from the northwest,” Recusant-class destroyer Saratoga reported, this time with a LEP droid’s vocabulation–elsewhere in the pilothouse a pair of metal ears perked up in recognition–and a peppy tone, “Designation Taskforce Swift Justice. Flagship Tector-class battleship Swift Justice; commanding officer Jedi General Empatojayos Brand. I see… a hundred ships. Maybe a little less… uh–”

“What is it!?” I demanded, mild panic crashing back down onto my chest like a tidal wave.

“There are Fondor ships with them,” Sister Sara sounded a little nervous as Hare waddled up to stare at the comms panel curiously.

Fondor ships. My mind immediately wandered–has Fondor fallen? But if Fondor had fallen, why would there be any Fondor ships left? They surrendered then? Not good. I wanted to use Fondor as a safe haven during Operation Starlance…

In any case, a hundred ships? That meant with the Yag’Dhul siege fleet’s four-hundred and the 20th Armada’s two-hundred, there were now seven-hundred GAR warships in-system with us. A far cry from merely twenty-five hours ago, when we were the largest fish in this pond–

“Cronau radiation detected south of us!” the sensor droid raised the third alarm, making me leap out of my skin, and my chair. “Two– no, three-hundred drive cones! Flagship… flagship Harbinger! It’s the Open Circle Fleet!”

I numbly pulled up the tactical holo–at three spots of the equilateral triangle there were now three Republic fleets. One-thousand warships. The noose was now around our necks. And all three different fleets arriving at precisely the same time?

“They were prepared for this scenario,” Tuff deduced from below, “They knew Yag’Dhul was our target. We have been compromised. We have no vector of retreat. Stelle, order the Recon Division to go dark. We cannot afford to lose them.”

How did they find out? Nobody knew our target was Yag’Dhul except for the highest ranks of the CAF, and our orders were given with a hypersecure live transmission at Nanth’ri. I pulled out my tablet, scanning its files to see where else the plans existed–only for a local text document to appear. My own personal notes. No inbound or outbound transmission with even the name ‘Yag’Dhul’ in its contents. The only transmission the GAR could have plausibly intercepted was Count Dooku’s unauthorised message to Ventress at Sullust… except there weren’t any Republic assets left in-system by then.

Unless their escape pods were outfitted with some extremely bespoke ECM hardware… but I doubted that. Not to mention– could the GAR really have deduced our target from such a conversation?

I ran another scan, this time of Chimeratica’s entire communications matrix.

Nothing.

I felt a troubling sense of deja vu, that of muscles tensing and fingers jittering as they hovered over the screens. I dare say it; it was impossible for the Republic to figure out our plan so in advance they could prepare such an adequate trap. Once again, an icy shiver ran down my spine. I could only think of one explanation.

Haven’t I beaten you before, you intangible cheat!? I desperately grasped the air in front me, internally raging, as if I could capture the Force that way. There was nothing there, as expected, but when I opened my hand… there was a strange residual warmth lingering on my palm.

“Incoming transmission from Sharihen!”

“If they’re going to tell me there’s yet another enemy fleet–!”

“Not another fleet,” Naradan Du’lin’s voice was stark and humourless, “We’re picking up erratic actions from Dark Rival. Ventress isn’t obeying orders.”

I all but grabbed the tactical holo and spun it violently until it focused in on Dark Rival, the lone Providence snaking its way towards western fringe of the Yag’Dhul Star System, even while the closest other friendly warships were all blazing in the opposite direction. About time… my mind whirred like a droid’s, attention bouncing between screens and displays.

This is a trap… no. This is a battle. And all battles are puzzles to be solved. I took a deep breath, composure returning to my form, and the gears in my head churning once more. Let’s start by getting the most dangerous enemy off the board. I can do that, at least. Anakin Skywalker. He was the only person capable of such a feat. It must be him, somehow. Somehow, he trapped me. Now I must undo the trap, one fleet at a time.

“Mute yourself,” I hastily told her before snapping towards the comms droid, “Get me on a… widebeam towards the Ventress. Make it hazy. I want the Open Circle to hear this.”

“Roger roger.”

I took a deep breath.

“You are patched in, sir.”

“–Ventress.”

No response.

“You have your orders, Ventress?” I repeated her name, more forcefully this time.

“...Not yours.”

I traced the lines on the tactical holo. The lines of the 28th Mobile Fleet, closing in on Yag’Dhul. The lines of the GAR, closing in on the 28th Mobile Fleet. I let the silence stir as I perused through my next words.

“Very well. I will not pry,” I told her, “I am your ranking officer, but not your commanding officer. In the absence of orders, you did well following mine, but if your direct superior has contacted you… then far be it from me to pervert the chain of command. I must only trust that your instructions act for the greater good of this Confederacy.”

The silence lingered again. I could not see Ventress’ face through the connection, but I could most definitely imagine her expression.

“...It will. It must be.”

“Then I choose to believe you,” I lied, “Be wary, Commander. I am not fond of the Force, the dark side of it most of all, but I like to think that both of us are fighting for the same cause. So be wary. Because betrayal is an unhappy hazard of the dark side. Godspeed.”

I cut the connection. For a long moment, I tracked Dark Rival’s contact pin on the edge of the star system, far enough to jump into lightspeed without issues, but yet simply hanging there in stasis. For a moment, I thought she would attempt to contact me again–until a flash of light, a spike of radiation, and Dark Rival’s pin froze, and flashed, no longer indicating her current position but instead her last known position. Chimeratica’s long range scanners swept the area of space, then responded with no return.

We had lost her.

“Sharihen, Chimeratica,” I then said, knowing full well our scramble was made so purposefully poor that the Open Circle was almost certainly listening in, if they had any passive COMINT at all, “Ventress is making for the Llon Nebula to secure the Storm Fleet. I am confident we can hold against the Republic until she returns with those reinforcements. It is paramount she does. Thus I am dispatching you with fifty of my own ships to aid her in this mission. Acknowledge.”

I released the transceiver, “That’s enough.”

The comms droid nodded and adjusted the scramble back to standard operational level.

“Acknowledged,” the Mistryl confirmed, “It is a nice lie for Skywalker to bite. However… can you really hold against the Republic? This is not Sullust. You are outnumbered over three-to-one. And if you give us the Intelligence Division… that’s another fifty ships less at your disposal, and the odds will be four-to-one.”

“Hold? That’s part of the lie, Naradan,” I stood up and stretched again, “Upon your return, you will find but one fleet here. Mine.”

“I cannot say I dislike the confidence,” Naradan admitted, “But not even Alrix could win against four-to-one odds.”

“I am not Alrix,” I chided mildly, “And I am not fighting four-to-one odds. I am fighting one-to-one odds, four times.”

“...Very well,” Naradan allowed, “Stars shine on your soul, Bonteri. You’ll need it.”

“Remember the plans, Naradan.”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“We will fulfil the mission, rest assured, no matter what scenario may arise. That is the way of the Mistryl.”

Twenty Mistryl destroyers of the Emberlene Warfleet and fifty ECM frigates of the 287th Intelligence Division raced after Dark Rival, jumping into hyperspace the moment they cleared most of the debris and escape pods suspended around the egresses.

“Fleet frequency,” I requested, “Get my commanders on the deck.”

“You’re on fleet frequency, Admiral.”

One by one, the commanders of the 28th Mobile Fleet fizzled into bluish, ghostly existence in front of me. The long-faced Muun, Horgo Shive, eagerly rolling on his heels in anticipation. Diedrich Greyshade and his XO, stiff and professional in their uniforms, glancing at Horgo and Vinoc in mild distaste. Vinoc, dressed in his bastardization of mystic robes and naval apparel, wearing an easygoing grin. The Neimoidian commander, Krett, already analysing the battlezone on an offscreen display.

And lastly, our new additions. The Rimma fleet, which had originally served under Ventress in the defence of the Rimma Trade Route against Rees Alrix and Taskforce Conciliator. With Ventress’ abrupt departure, they were now headless, and had appeared to have chosen an officer from amongst themselves to present to me; it was the outspoken Neimodian in Trade Federation effects. His name was Marath Vooro.

“My friends,” I spread my arms, “As you can see, we now stand in Rees Alrix’s shoes, outnumbered four-to-one.”

“You predicted this,” Marath Vooro accused, “When you had us all suddenly target the siege fleet around Yag’Dhul.”

“I predicted too late,” I corrected apologetically, “And now we are surrounded, with no means of escape.”

“Then we simply have to win,” Horgo Shive’s black eyes glinted as his rested a closed fist in his palm, “We simply have smash them all, one by one.”

“I concur,” Greyshade nodded, “Our only hope of victory lies in defeating them in detail. We must not allow them to concentrate their forces.”

“That is the case,” I agreed, “The strategy is exactly so. And we will begin with the Siege of Yag’Dhul. We must destroy the siege fleet completely and promptly, before Octavian Grant, Empatojayos Brand, and Anakin Skywalker can tighten their encirclement.”

“They are some four-hundred ships, and some of the supply vessels who escaped into their asylum are in fighting shape. And we are two-hundred and fifty,” Krett’s wide, horizontal pupils narrowed, “It would appear they nearly outnumber us two-to-one alone.”

I locked gazes with each and every single one of them, “Will that be an issue?”

The response was in single form–

“Not at all, Admiral.”

?

“This is perfect,” said Admiral Yularen, and coming from, that was very high praise indeed, “We finally have the Coalition Armada trapped and cornered. This is the end of the line for the Battle Hydra.”

It certainly seems that way, Anakin thought from a mere look at the tactical displays, but we would be fools to underestimate him now. After the Devastation of Eriadu, public sentiment on the shipyard world of Fondor had finally swung wildly away from the Separatists. With their surrender and reunification with the Republic, another Separatist foothold in the Interior has evaporated, and the Taskforce Swift Justice that was besieging them could finally be brought to bear.

Along with the 20th Armada and the Open Circle Fleet, the three forces created a cordon around the star system, containing the Coalition Armada within a cage as would be beast in an exotic menagerie. All Anakin had to do was inform Jedi General and fellow Knight Empatojayos Brand, and the 20th Sector Army’s Governor-General Octavian Grant that such an opportunity was possible, so long as they arrived at the exact same time. The trap had been sprung, to crushing success.

All that was left was to close in on the Battle Hydra and rip off its heads.

But the damage had already been done. In order to buy time for their synchronised arrival, they needed the Hydra to waste as much time as possible. Time, in the form of unprotected supply vessels, sacrificing so many of them to finally put an end to the Battle Hydra, and now the Yag’Dhul Star System was littered with broken wrecks and strewn munitions and flash-frozen foodstuffs. Anakin could only hope this would pay off.

“We’ll micro-jump to Yag’Dhul once we cross this large debris field,” Anakin pointed at the jumpzone, “For now, send out our medical frigates to recover as many escape pods as possible.”

“Very good, General.”

“Master,” Tallisibeth said, “They’re going to try and break the siege.”

They were. The two-hundred and fifty ships of the Coalition Armada were closing in on Yag’Dhul from their scattered raiding stances throughout the system, many of them micro-jumping in intermittent flashes of light as they navigated through the debris fields of their own making.

“It is the sensible approach,” Admiral Yularen agreed, “The siege fleet is a siege fleet. Once they break it, they can use the planet to cover one of their flanks, preventing a total encirclement.”

“They would know a lot about encirclements, wouldn’t they?” Anakin retorted rhetorically.

Tallisibeth frowned, her red hair flaring like a dull flame, “Even if they can destroy the siege fleet and prevent a total encirclement, they will still be fighting three-to-one with their backs against the wall. Does the Hydra seem like the kind of person to fight to the bitter end?”

“Not…” Jedi General Anakin Skywalker started, “...at all.”

“Yag’Dhul has three huge moons,” his apprentice noted, “Can he use them as force multipliers?

The relationship between Yag’Dhul and its three moons was special. The planet itself was small and dense, and what one could describe as a ‘death world.’ Its three large moons produced tidal forces so extreme that often the planet's water and atmosphere were drawn to different parts of the planet, leaving the rest of the world in vacuum, making it absolute hell for landing organic armies. It did not help that the native Givin were uniquely adapted for the environment, millennia of evolution gifting the species tough exoskeletons which could be completely sealed against vacuum.

And finally, the Givin lived in hermetically sealed cities protected by an inordinate amount of shielding, capable of withstanding both brutal gravitational upheavals and meteor showers. All factors that allowed Yag’Dhul to withstand the GAR’s best efforts for the better part of four months.

Considering the Hydra was known for using astrographical terrain in his battles before, the possibility of him using Yag’Dhul’s moons could not be ruled out.

“Get me a full-spectrum sweep of the star system!” Yularen clicked his heels into gear, barking out commands, “Scan every sheet of scrap metal and unturned asteroid! Leave nothing out!”

“Yes, sir!”

“We’re picking up seventy contacts bearing three-one-eight, mark oh-oh-five!” Lieutenant Klev called out, “Looks like a bunch of Munificents, sir! They’re heading in the opposite direction of Yag’Dhul!”

“How did we miss that!?” Yularen demanded.

“They’re flying cold!” Klev finessed his instruments in a frenzy, “No drive cones, only attitude thrusters!”

That raised alarm bells in the heads of every officer on deck. Seventy ships was no small number, and if the Coalition Armada was willing to send such a significant force elsewhere in secret… there was little doubt they were planning something nefarious.

“...Wait,” Lieutenant Avrey clutched her headpiece, “I’m picking up an enemy transmission.”

Yularen rushed to her station, “Unscramble it! What does it say!?”

The comms officer looked up, “Llon Nebula. Asajj Ventress is headed to the Llon Nebula to pick up reinforcements. The Coalition Armada intends on defending long enough for her to return with a fleet… the Storm Fleet, they call it.”

“So that’s it,” Tallisibeth stomped forward, “That’s how they’re planning on breaking out! The Llon Nebula can’t be that far away, if that is their plan!”

“Itopol Sector, General!” came a shout from the starboard pit, “Two standard days round trip!”

“We can beat Ventress there,” Anakin said immediately, “The Open Circle can make it.”

“The entire Open Circle, General?” Yularen folded his arms behind him, “We cannot break the encirclement, or all of this effort will be for naught!”

“Not the entire Open Circle,” the Jedi General insisted, “What’s our fastest Venator?”

There was a brief intermission as the deck officers scrambled to find the answer, pulling out data and figures and service histories of every ship at their disposal before comparing metrics and performance statistics–

“Pioneer, sir!”

A sharp pang rang through his heart, but Anakin pressed the sensation down, “Appo!”

“My men are all ready, General,” the Clone Commander immediately said.

“Good. Prep your best for vacuum combat and boarding action, and transfer them to the Pioneer,” Anakin swung around, marching down the bridge, “Yularen, pick out fifty of our fastest ships!”

“–Wait!” Tallisibeth ran up to him, “Who will lead this force?”

Anakin looked down at his apprentice, “Me, obviously. Do you think you can defeat Ventress?”

Tallisibeth opened her mouth in indignation, then closed it again with nary a noise.

“Our Jedi General retiring upon the eve of battle is not a good sign, Skywalker,” Admiral Yularen warned, even forgoing his usual adherence to rank, “I am more than willing to lead the Open Circle against Rain Bonteri, but we must have a Jedi General on deck for morale.”

Anakin abruptly pushed his Padawan forward, “You have one right here.”

“Wha–” Tallisibeth snapped around to gape at him, “Me!? B-But… but I’m not–!”

“But not what?” Anakin challenged.

“But… I’m still a Padawan,” she protested weakly, “I can’t lead a fleet! I wasn’t…”

“If you are about to say you weren’t trained for this,” Anakin cut her off softly, “You would be lying. Or do you think all the nights I asked Yularen to mentor you was for nothing?”

“So that’s why Admiral Yularen tutored me!?” Tallisbeth spun around to the Admiral in surprise, “Wait– no, I still can’t do this! This is the Battle Hydra we are talking about! I’m not… I’m not you!”

The desperation was painfully apparent in her voice. She’s capable, Anakin made sure of that, she is only still afraid of responsibility. Anakin wasn’t, back when he was first made a Knight. He wanted the responsibility, he so eagerly yearned for it. The responsibility of command, of control. Maybe, if he had been a little more afraid, like Tallisibeth was now, he would not have made so many mistakes, and lost so many friends.

“And,” Anakin narrowed his eyes, “What am I, exactly?”

“...You’re the Chosen One.”

His Padawan couldn’t even look at him straight. Anakin sighed, crouched down, and grabbed Tallisibeth by the shoulder, looking into her eyes wet with unshed tears.

“I’m a Jedi General who lost his every bout with the man ahead of us,” Anakin corrected her gently, ignoring their captive audience, “I’m a Jedi General who had never been trained to be one. Are you afraid of making mistakes?”

“How can I not be?” Tallisibeth said forcefully, “Our mistakes cost lives!”

“I have made more mistakes than you ever will,” the Chosen One told her, “Look, Tal, let me tell you something. When I was Obi-Wan’s Padawan, the galaxy was at peace, and I was taught to be a keeper of that peace. I learned alien languages, distant cultures, ballroom diplomacy, and senatorial politics. Did I teach you any of that?”

“...No.”

“The galaxy is no longer at peace, and the Jedi are no longer keepers of peace,” he continued, “I taught you how to be a soldier. And to lead? Yularen taught you everything you need to know about naval combat, just as Appo taught you about ground warfare. Avrey taught you how to intercept invisible frequencies and wavelengths, and Klev taught you how to see the unseeable with bespoke sensors and scanners. I can’t do that, Tallisibeth. I’m a warrior, and a mechanic, apparently. I can swing a lightsaber real well and fix a broken comlink, but that’s all.”

Anakin patted her, “Trust me on this, you know a lot more about naval warfare than I or Obi-Wan, or even the Masters on the Council. Well, except for maybe Master Plo… and Master Rancisis. It’s not like you are going to cross blades with Rain Bonteri, right?”

That elicited a choked laugh, followed by a loud sniff.

“But what if I fail?”

“Stop thinking like a Jedi, Tal,” he scolded, “You aren’t alone here. The Force is useful, but don’t rely on it, or you’ll end up like Alrix. Trust your gut, but trust the people here more. You’ll be fine.”

Anakin stood up, straightening himself out as he scanned the bridge, meeting the eyes of every man and woman in sight, and finding nothing but steely determination. Nodding in satisfaction, he silently moved past the bridge, Appo falling into lockstep behind him, their footfalls echoing in permeable silence.

A flame flickered in the Force, a lingering grudge, a silent spectator, hanging over the shoulders of the Jedi. Its embers were fading, but it wanted to witness the Hydra’s death before its own.

?

Trandosha Orbit, Kashyyyk System

Mytaranor sector

It has been four standard days since the beginning of Operation Starlance. In a lazy, sun-synchronous orbit around the arboreal planet Trandosha, the 19th Mobile Fleet failed to capitalise on the sweeping momentum enjoyed by the Confederate Navy following the Devastation of Eriadu. Rather, the some three-hundred warships of the 19th Mobile Fleet celebrated the wrath of the First General of the Confederacy, and reposed in the relative peace the Kashyyyk Star System offered.

Click. Click.

It was not despite the Republic-aligned Wookies and the Separatist-aligned Trandoshans sharing the same star system that the two species compromised with a mutual agreement to uphold neutrality in a galaxy-spanning war, but because of it. Even being fierce rivals, the two governments realised bringing the Clone Wars to their home system would only bring ruin to them both. It did help that their shared home system was rich and self-sufficient, eliminating the material factors that dragged so many unwilling star systems into the war in the first place.

As such, despite never committing to the Loyalist or Separatist causes in a public forum, both Kashyyyk and Trandosha respectively still supported the greater powers in indirect ways. One such way, in this case, was the admittance of military access to both the GAR and CAF respectively, on the mutual condition that a strict no-first strike policy was enforced.

Click. Click.

What a strange, ‘phoney’ battlefield this is, Rear Admiral Calli Trilm mused, the Open Circle and the Perlemian Coalition’s Armada peacefully coexisting in the same star system. How quaint. Maybe ‘peacefully’ was too strong a word. ‘Uneventfull’ would be much more accurate, would it not? She would much prefer it if she could adjourn in this star system for the remainder of the war, playing an not-insignificant role checking Loyalist influence in the sector, yet safe from the worst trappings of it.

Alas, that was all but impossible. Calli Trilm had been given the command of a fleet of battle maniacs, men and women of the Perlemian who lusted for vengeance over all. And after the decisive blow at Eriadu, they would sooner mutiny against her command if they could not take their own gnashing bite out of the Republic’s dying body.

“It has been four days, Admiral,” the hologram of the one-eyed Commodore Aviso of Bronze Serpent shimmered violently, “The men are getting impatient.”

Click. Click.

Aviso was far too professional to express his displeasure in any form greater than vocal disappointment, which was why Calli Trilm has made a habit of mentally exaggerating every statement he made. His reports were far more accurate that way.

“You need to relax, Aviso,” Commander Rel Harsol of Sa Nalaor was Aviso’s direct opposite, “Calm is a luxury in war. We should enjoy it while we can.”

Ah, now there was a man who spoke for her soul. Calli Trilm was no Rain Bonteri, who loved to throw himself headfirst into every battle and pull improbable victories out of vacuum. Calli Trilm loved peace and quiet instead. Why must she also partake in the Pantoran’s mad strategy? Everything she strived for… was for an uneventful posting in the rear lines.

Being employed as Count Dooku’s secretary was nice, until he put her on the front lines. She wanted a way out, and Rain Bonteri, her old friend, gave it to her in the form of Sev’rance Tann; a strategically brilliant but politically inept general vying for the station of Supreme Commander. And the Office of the Supreme Commander had a lot more to do with politics than strategy. So Calli eagerly threw herself into politics as Rain Bonteri would throw himself into the Core, shoring up the Pantoran’s support base and gathering allies in high places, even indebting herself to Trench and Ambigene, all in order to ensure the vote passed and Sev’rance Tann’s political fortress became impregnable.

It was her best work. Shouldn’t it have been natural, then, that the now-Supreme Commander should have recognised her talents and thus appointed Calli Trilm her aide? Calli wasn’t even asking to be a secretary again! But no, now she was a Rear Admiral, expected to lead the most bloodthirsty gathering of Separatists this side of the galaxy into a suicide mission!

Click. Click.

Ahh, where did I mess up!?

“...Rear Admiral?” Commodore Aviso questioned.

Rear Admiral Calli Trim slammed the Republic Starpath unit down with a sharp bang! Both officers flinched, their previous stances vitrifying into stiff attention. Calli raised the unassuming cube of technology to her eyes, inspecting it for any damage.

Starpath unit. It was gifted to her by Rain Bonteri at the Wheel, a year ago.

“Every Republic Navy asset within six radial parsecs is tracked on that thing in real time, and it’s a one-way uplink,” so he told her, “Untraceable.”

During the GAR’s Operation Trident, it was this Starpath unit that all Separatist commerce raiders in the Near-Perlemian were enslaved to. It’s codename; HANDLER ONE. It was a shame the GAR had since resetted the codes, updated the software, issued new Starpath models, and made the one in her hand obsolete. Presently, this cube she possessed was little more useful than a Givin puzzle box.

Click. Click.

Calli did enjoy the noises it made, however.

She kept it anyway. After all, every Separatist raider that had been enslaved to the Starpath still were. And one might never know when a trump card as such might come in useful. Maybe there was a little sentiment involved, as well, considering the individual who gifted the object to her, but that was arguable… and Calli would never admit it anyway.

She released a laborious sigh, slumped in her chair, and began fidgeting around with the cube’s moving parts again, as if her officers weren’t standing in front of her.

“Rear Admiral?” Commodore Aviso repeated.

Calli Trilm looked up, not at her audience, but past the viewports of her flagship, the Star of Serenno, at the Open Circle Fleet orbiting Kashyyyk ahead of her. Obi-Wan Kenobi, was it? You are standing in between me and my target. Behind Kashyyyk? The star. Behind the star? The jumpzone of the Trellen Trade Route, aimed straight at the Core Worlds.

Oh, right, my fleet doesn’t know about Starlance yet. Isn’t Trench supposed to give me the go-ahead to inform them? Or does he intend for me to keep them in the dark until it was too late for them to shirk? Storm-Door has already begun.

Click. Click.

Really, there was no need for such precautions. These battle maniacs from Centares and Salvara would cheer at the thought of a suicide mission into the Galactic Interior.

“We’re wasting time, Admiral!” Aviso gritted his teeth, “If we keep wasting time we’re all going to–”

“–Fine.”

Aviso choked on his next word; “–Admiral?”

Calli Trilm stared at him coldly, “What? Are you a broken record? I said fine.”

“Then…”

The Rear Admiral of the 19th Mobile Fleet stood up, gesturing towards her tactical droid, “All ships, this is your commanding officer. All ships; advance! Do so gracefully, so that our Jedi audience can enjoy the resplendence of your resolve!”

Star of Serenno roared beneath her feet, and some three-hundred warships of the Perlemian responded to her rallying cry with infernal drive plumes and thunderous guns.

“Are– are we finally breaking the non-aggression agreement, Admiral!?” Rel Harsol demanded, wide-eyed, “Are we attacking the Open Circle?”

Calli Trilm frowned, “Do I look like a warhawk to you?”

Confusion bloomed; “Then what’s our target!? Are we proceeding to Zeltros as planned?”

…Can I tell them? Ah… really, what would Rain say in this situation? Right. Fuck you, Pantoran. Operation Starlance is all about surprise, so I’m going to surprise you too. Twice the surprise, twice the effectiveness… or something along those lines. Yep, Calli nodded in self-satisfaction, Rain would definitely say that, the idiot.

“I thought you were all getting impatient?” a smile tugged at her lips as the reality of her intentions dawned on them, “We’re going to pay the Core a visit. And as guests, must make a majestic first impression, would you not agree?”

?

“They’re moving,” Ahsoka raised the first alarm, “They’re finally moving!”

Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi received Admiral Block’s datapad, whereupon he watched the 19th Mobile Fleet erupting into brilliant drive cones, blazing a fiery trail towards them. At the same time, commotion similarly erupted throughout Vigilance’s kilometre-long hull.

The Separatists are finally attacking us, everybody thought, it is about time.

“Calli Trilm’s target must be Kashyyyk itself, General,” Admiral Block cautioned, “If the Trandoshans have finally given her the go-ahead, it may in an effort to finally consolidate the entire Kashyyyk Star System under their rule.”

“Inform the Wookiees we will be sallying out to meet them,” Obi-Wan instructed.

“Very good, General.”

Determined to put an end to the Coalition Armada’s warpath before it even began, the Open Circle Fleet set forth. As the two fleets approached, the Jedi Master noticed something odd; the projected vectors of the 19th Mobile Fleet did not directly intercept Kashyyyk as predicted, but instead ran tangentially to the star, bearing 233-degrees absolute and bypassing Kashyyyk completely.

“They may be trying to feint,” Admiral Block made an informed guess, “They could be luring us out, before making a sharp starboard turn and reaching Kashyyyk from the absolute south. Calli Trilm must realise we cannot open fire unless she trespasses Kashyyyk’s orbital zone.”

Or unless she fires first.

“Master,” Ahsoka ran up to him, “Message from King Grakchawwaa. He is adamant we do not start a war in his star system.”

“Inform him we understand completely,” Obi-Wan replied kindly.

“Yes, Master.”

The distance between the two fleets decreased as the Open Circle adopted forward defensive positions between the 19th Mobile’s inbound vector and Kashyyyk, so that if the Separatists were to turn as Admiral Block predicted, they would find the Open Circle in their way. If the Republic’s positioning affected Calli Trim’s plan in any way, her fleet did not show it as they continued proceeding calmly on their heading.

I have a bad feeling about this, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi thought, the last time I felt something like this… was at Christophsis.

Something isn’t right, that much he knew. That much he could glean from the Force. They had made a faulty assumption somewhere, and Obi-Wan had to figure out what that assumption was before the enemy stratagem unveiled itself. The Jedi Master drew upon his intimate knowledge of the galaxy’s species and cultures, built upon years of experience in his tenure as a Padawan, Knight, and Master of the Jedi Order. A wealth of experience accrued over a distant time of peace, now used for war.

Would the Trandoshans really allow Calli Trilm to attack?

The reptilian species possessed an overtly aggressive hunting culture, indeed, but they were also a rational species. A central dogma of their religion, worshipping a goddess known as the Scorekeeper, was built upon each life being worth a certain number of ‘points.’ Lives with zero ‘points’ were thus functionally worthless in the eyes of both the Scorekeeper and the Trandoshan culture.

A society built upon each life being worth a certain numerical value was inherently logical and rational. The question was thus as such; is it rational to drag this star system into the Clone Wars? Most certainly not. It was far more rational to allow the Clone Wars to play out, and reap the benefits of their longstanding neutrality through the arms trade and state-sponsored mercenaries. And even if igniting the war was logical for some reason; why now?

So if the Trandoshans had not given Calli Trilm the go-ahead, why was she advancing? Calli Trilm was, by all indications, not an antagonistic field commander. She preferred to sit back and allow her opponents to come to her. But if she wasn’t looking for a fight, what was she looking for?

Obi-Wan analysed the vectors again. By now, the 19th Mobile Fleet was nearly ‘crossing the T’ of the Open Circle Fleet. If their target was a pitched confrontation, it would be now, when their firing arcs all overlapped perfectly. If their target was Kashyyyk, it would also be now, where they must turn to starboard in order to adjust their approach vector.

“Shields double-front!” Admiral Block swept across the deck, dishing out commands, “Ready the guns! Prepare for battle!”

Klaxons bayed in the background. Obi-Wan delved deeper into the Force. The enemy fleet was now directly in front of them, and if it were not for his eyes playing tricks on his brain Obi-Wan could have thought he could see the figures within the viewports and bores in the gunwales. They swam past like underwater leviathans, almost close enough to reach out and brush his hands against their painted durasteel scales.

The Force pounded. Someone swallowed thickly. Fighters were streaming out of open hangars. Gunners had their hands planted firmly on their controls, hands deathly still, or shivering in fear or anticipation.

And the 19th Mobile Fleet just continued on their way, firing not a single shot.

Where…

The revelation came like a supernova.

“All ships, advance!” Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi roared, “Full speed ahead! Intercept the enemy! We must stop them before they jump into lightspeed!”

Vigilance violently lurched forward, the helm pressing the massive battlecruiser forward in a kneejerk reaction before the crew even knew what was happening.

“General!?” Admiral Block asked in the furor, “You think Calli Trilm is trying to jump towards the Core!?

“Inform Strategic Command!” was the Jedi General’s answer, “Priority Alpha transmission! We must have the entire eastern front of the Interior put on high alert! For now, expend your every effort towards reaching the the enemy fleet before they jump!”

“Because if they do,” unmasked horror was present in Ahsoka’s voice, “We would have no idea where they would appear.”

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth as excessive Gs tugged at his robes and skin, Vigilance’s inertial compensators struggling to match pace with the ship’s aggressive acceleration. And as if mocking them, the 19th Mobile Fleet simply hastened into a light jog, discarding their leisurely pace easily, the bright flares of their drive plumes blinking, sneering at them.

“Cronau radiation detected!”

Cronau radiation only appears when a hyperdrive tears a seam in space-time. The little factoid Anakin would likely say came like a hammer blow.

They were too late.

“Prepare to jump to Commenor!” Obi-Wan barked, much unlike him, “It is their most likely destination!”

Commenor laid at the very end of the Trellen Trade Route, and oversaw the entire eastern frontier of the Core Worlds. Even if Calli Trilm’s destination was not Commenor, at the very least the Open Circle Fleet will have positioned itself strategically in advance to respond to any incursion.

As if speaking their failure into reality, the some three-hundred warships of the Confederacy then thrusted themselves into hyperspace, crackling blue seams of pseudomotion just grazing the star of Kashyyyk as they did, launched towards the very heart of the Republic.

“Hyperdrives are charging up, General!”

Obi-Wan breathed out, forcing himself to calm down. And yet, he could still somehow hear a woman’s triumphant cackling echoing in the void.