Honor reads the message carefully. She had … underestimated the levels Dericote would be willing to go. She had, she frowns deeper, underestimated the resources he had on hand after the fake minefield message and assumed nothing was amiss with the next hyperspace egress point, especially if it didn’t even hint at a minefield or asteroid field being present. Sure, she had expected some losses in the scouting force, but she had also expected them to be able to message back and call for reinforcements before they were wiped out. She did not like how her protege had made her out to be a fool.

  But she would admit, this trick was clever. Overwhelm their systems with solar radiation and disable their comms in the opening strike to stop them from calling for help. Though the cruelty of killing so many of her men with radiation poisoning and heat stroke still felt … unlike Dericote in a way. He was always so protective of the rules of war, even against the traitorous Separatists. Though she supposes he was always willing to do much worse to soldiers than he was with civilians.

  “Ma’am, we’ve finished nabbing the few pilots and crew that survived. They’re all in emergency care and it isn’t looking good for many of them.” Her Adjunct reports, his face slightly green.

  “How many?” She asks.

  “They should all live … though their lifespans are severely diminished. Most won’t live past their fifties, even with all the extra medical equipment we brought along for the men.” He answers.

  “How many did we recover?” She clarifies as she looks at her datapad, a pic of the message her former protege had left for her in focus.

  “One hundred and seventy one.”

  “Less than two hundred survivors out of some forty thousand sailors and pilots.” She muses, as her frown deepens, “This was no battle. This was a massacre.”

  “Clearly this isn’t working. Especially with those raiders and pirate scum attacking our supply ships.” Her Adjunct claims.

  “Obviously. Dericote has at least a reinforced battlegroup here, likely two and supply ships to keep spare munitions and mines handy.” She determines as she hands over the datapad to an Adjutant and begins adjusting the strategic display, “We will simply have to advance in force from now on. We send our Vanguard Division ahead by a small amount and have them send an emergency messenger back if they end up in bad terrain as our scouts did here. We can always exit prematurely then adjust our course.”

  "What if they manage to jam the Vanguard?" An Adjutant asks.

  "Then we will be merely an hour away to reinforce." She replies.

  “Very well, shall I brief Vice Admiral Dodonna then?”

  “Yes, go ahead.” She acquiesces. She had to stay on her toes, last thing she needed was this thrust into the revolt’s territory to devolve into a quagmire like the Perlimian had been.

  I keep calm as twenty Imperials, two dozen Acclamators, twelve Arquitenses and thirty Nebulon-B frigates emerge from hyperspace into the edges of the minefield, multiple seeker mines crashing into their shields and hulls as their momentum carries them forward slightly. Seems Honor had finally gotten somewhat wise. I frown. I had hoped to file off a couple more Imperial cruisers before she had changed her mind on how she wanted to scout her primary route.

  “Prepare to detonate the field remotely.” I order calmly.

  Commander Hursk pulls out a remote detonator linked to various precariously placed mine clusters and unclasps its cap, revealing a shiny red button for all to see. I consider the field for a moment, a rogue, dead, planetoid lay below us, an asteroid belt between our forces and the minefield, the minefield between it and the Imps. I sigh, I had sent various formations back to the next hyperspace egress point to place the final finishing touches on the defenses there and evacuate the civies and war-materials on the local refueling station.

  Leaving me with only my 120th, Sykes’s 300th Core Squadron and the two Sections on loan from the 5th Free Dac Squadron. I had hoped to bleed whatever scouting party had arrived into a reckless charge by hiding the battleships and Acclamators behind the world below alongside a couple corvettes. Instead I would have to abandon the system. We didn’t have enough fighters to contest their strikecraft here and neither did we have enough tonnage to hold them head on.

  “Enemy ships have begun dismantling the minefield with laserfire.” Commander Welder reports.

  “How many can we nab now?” I ask.

  “Maybe a couple frigates.” He answers.

  “Schei? dreck.” I curse quietly.

  I inhale slowly before nodding to myself: “Message to Captain Severs. Battleships to detach the Acclamators and begin slingshot towards enemy bellies. Acclamators to rendezvous with us at our next staging area. Prioritize taking out enemy destroyers. Don’t end your journey until you’re well out of enemy reprisal range, then jump to Trill-Isk-Osk-Nern-seven-nine-nine-Senth-Senth. Regroup with us two egress points from here if possible, Argai if not.”

  “Message sent.” Commander Slas reports.

  “The Imps might send their entire force through at any moment.” Mi-Kus cautions.

  “Possible, but … I won’t give ground without making them bleed.”

  “We’re risking twelve battleships and ten corvettes with this maneuver, sir.” Mi-Kus repeats himself.

  “Twenty two warships with capable engines. For all the shit we give Recusants, they have good acceleration and know how to coordinate fire with their leads. Exactly what I need for this kind of maneuver.” I reply calmly.

  “Captain Severs reports he has begun the maneuver. His inertial dampeners are on max and he’s about to be on the opposite side of the world, so he likely won’t be able to respond until its too late to change your mind, sir.” Commander Slas reports.

  “Maker keep them.” I pray quietly.

  Tarkin calmly enters the meeting room to find Coburn already seated beside Yularen and General Tagge. He nods respectfully towards his fellow members of Imperial High Command. It seems Amedda wouldn’t show up today, so Tarkin would have to chair the meeting. What joy to have been informed of this beforehand, Tarkin thinks sarcastically.

  He takes his seat and gestures for an Adjutant to put up the galactic map in all its grand detail. Shortly after Lord Cronal, the most recent Director of Imperial Intelligence after Isard’s death, and the representative of the Stormtrooper Corps enter and quickly take their seats. Tarkin gestures for the map to move onto its next phase and decides he would go ahead and begin the meeting now.

  “Good day, gentlemen. It appears I will be leading this meeting today, so I thank you all for your … timely arrivals.” Tarkin begins before gesturing at the red blotches of space marring the map with their presence, “Admiral Honor has officially made contact with the rebel forces on approach to their fortress at Argai. Losses are acceptable and she expects to arrive within the week. Her current plans involve beginning operations in system at the time of her arrival, as her scouts have not been at her high standard of quality.”

  “Her losses are far from acceptable.” Coburn says grimly, “Almost thirty ships of the line lost in exchange for barely anything. Honor may be a fine battlefield commander, but clearly her lack of movement from her post garrisoning the capitol has made her skills in attacking rusty.”

  “The most recent loss has at least finally made her see sense.” Tarkin agrees, “She has decided to deploy her full vanguard for direct scouting, though she does complain how this will further weaken her supply lines stability.”

  “Hm.” Coburn grunts, “Has intelligence finally figured out how Dericote has managed to get so many Pirates on his side?”

  Lord Cronal responds first: “We believe he has offered up favorable privateering contracts with various elements. His connection with the pirate Hondo Ohnaka has also made for many avenues to more … intriguing contacts.”

  Yularen adds to the analysis: “Sabaoth Squadron has joined forces with the rebels and abandoned their prime shadow port to do so in dangerous numbers. An ally of theirs, a lesser pirate lord of two up-armed corvettes and a lesser frigate, now rules Port Borgo. We still haven’t figured out where they’re getting their Trihexalon from, but just imagine the damage that could be done if they sold the formula to the rebels. The weapon is already deadly when used on warships, never mind what it does to people. The only reason we never faced it on mass was the difficulty in refinement.”

  “I’d recommend we continue to keep an eye on the old Separatist production sites.” Lord Cronal says determinedly, “If they begin being salvaged by anyone other than us, we may be able to find a way to sabotage rebel supply chains.”

  “A solid proposal.” Tarkin agrees with a nod.

  “If such notorious pirates have made bed with the rebels we should consider increasing the forces at Admiral Honor’s disposal and to move up the timetable for the southern thrusts.” Coburn suggests.

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  “We’ve already given her about a tenth of our total Imperial Star Destroyers, should we make it a fifth instead?” The Stormtrooper Corps representative snarks.

  “Perhaps we could assign another squadron of Tectors instead?” Tagge suggests.

  “I hate to say it, General Tagge, but it shows you never served the Navy much mind beyond how easily they would be able to transport your men.” Yularen teases.

  “It may be … prudent to dangle reinforcements as a reword for her seizing the rebel territories up to Dellalt. We can always send her reinforcements sooner if she proves herself … overwhelmed.” Tarkin suggests the middle path again despite his reservations.

  He was suggesting the middle path for more than he would like recently. His faction having decreased in stability ever since the HONO Clique decided to commit suicide by stupidity. Tarkin had thus rapidly become the mediator within the strengthened Tarkin Clique, keeping them together and trying to put a stop to the bickering. It was an impossible task.

  “Fair enough,” Coburn says, “But what about moving up the schedule on our two southern thrusts? I know they are smaller, but they should still be able to retake the northern Triellus and hopefully put an end to the Sy Myrthians’ insurrection, knocking them out as allies for the rebels.”

  “We could probably begin the Triellus attacks in a few days. They’ve mostly just been waiting for Admiral Wieler to finish his preparations at Ringo Vinda so they can begin their advances simultaneously.” Yularen suggests.

  “Rear Admiral Immich has been rather eager to earn her spurs.” Tagge agrees.

  “The entire point of the attack on the Triellus was to overwhelm the rebels and Separatists in one fell swoop before pushing them into the Ash Worlds and Jubilar Sectors. Sending the forces in piecemeal defeats the original purpose.” Tarkin states.

  “Give Immich her chance at glory. Her even moving from Saleucami should be enough to rouse the rebels and pull forces away from the Tion Cluster.” Lord Cronal suggests.

  “We’ll put it to a vote.”

  It passes, barely.

  Dodonna watches carefully from his bridge on his Tribune. Dericote was known for being crafty, but the number of ships present in system was far too small to crush the scouting forces previously sent. So there had to be more ships in the area, but where?

  “Sir, detecting a handful of Acclamators coming up from the horizon looking to link up with the other rebels. They haven’t fully crested though and I … there looks to be a few wings of strikecraft with them. There could very well be more.” His sensors officer reports.

  “Keep an eye on them. Tighten up our formation and continue picking away at the minefield. We have at least another hour before Honor finally gets here.” Dodonna orders calmly.

  The minefield should be disabled by then and Dericote likely on the run. Perhaps he would be able to last longer by abusing the asteroids, but unless the man was particularly interested in dooming his men in an unwinnable brawl he would retreat. Yet Dericote was known to be crafty, the last action between the rebel and Imperial forces has shown as much, never mind how despicable the tactic was in Dodonna’s mind.

  “Sir, one of our Arquitenses is detecting ships coming up from below. Speed is unusually high and they’re having trouble getting a lock on them with their outdated sensor suite.” His comms chief reports.

  “Focus the 1053rd Light’s sensors to get a better lock. Those Nebulons should have a better time getting a solid look at our sudden guests. As soon as they do, give me an ETA and enemy numbers.” Dodonna orders, concern building up.

  A moment after he gives the order a large explosion occurs within the depths of the minefield, followed by another and another. Various chain reactions triggered around his forces, shrapnel and seeker mines racing towards his ships as they get pushed towards them, triggering their droid brains, or simply detonating form their fellow mines. Sensors are overwhelmed by the sheer explosive power and shields buckle or break under the strain.

  “BRACE!” His Adjutant Captain orders as the Tribune too is enraptured by the cacophony of fire and shrapnel.

  As the explosions finally subside Dodonna takes the moment of reprieve to bark his orders rapid fire: “Sitrep on casualties, Prepare turbolaser and ion batteries, point them between the gaps for interception of the enemy warships. They’re slingshoting around the damn world. Shields on our bellies and launch strikecraft!”

  “Troubadour has lock, her sensor suite’s recovered already.” A comms officer reports.

  “And?” Dodonna asks, annoyed at the man for not relaying the information already.

  “Two CD-710s, ten Recusant lights and ten Tionese Sloops.”

  “My orders stand.” Dodonna says grimly, this was about to hurt.

  “Incoming missiles.”

  “Enemy turbolasers firing.”

  “Tinnel receiving multiple impacts.”

  “Tribulations’s hangar bay is out, secondary detonations rocking internal bays.”

  “Enemy trajectories locked, transmitting intel for fire coordination.”

  “Titania's reactor has suffered multiple hits.”

  “Enemy launching protons.”

  “Fucking hells.”

  Dodonna remains calm as the reports start coming in, his reprisal would be equally devastating, that much was certain.

  “They’re coming up through the gaps.”

  “Fire!”

  Imperial weapons scream as ion blasts and turbolaser fire emerges from their various turrets and batteries, smashing into various rebel warships, crashing against their shields and carving craters and trenches alike into their hulls. A prow weapon destroyed here, an engine exploding off of a Recusant there. Yet as the Imperial batteries adjust to point towards the fleeing Rebel ships, they begin jumping one after another, leaving the Imps behind and Dodonna needing to run damage control.

  I oversee the final evacuations of the soon to be detonated resupply station. I felt bad for its usual inhabitants, we were taking their livelihoods away and had forcefully purchased all the materials they had on hand, fuel, machine parts and spare electrical components now filling our holds alongside the refugees who stared at my men with a mix of anger and resigned acceptance. At least they would not be staying here for much longer.

  Senior Captain Severs had given his status report once he had exited hyperspace with the remaining ships. He had lost two Sloops and three of the Recusants needed to be repaired at Argai post haste or likely be rendered useless in the near future. The other battleships meanwhile would be needing minor repairs they should be able to do in transit. In return the operation had destroyed five Arquitenses, a Nebulon-B and damaged seven Star Destroyers, though precisely how damaged was … difficult to tell as I had cut my losses in system shortly after Severs’s successful retreat.

  It would have to do. I inhale deeply before returning my attention from my musings to the meeting going on with High Command. At my current rate, Benoni should arrive at Argai on time, though it would be a close thing. We had also detected movement from the Imperial forces in the South, seeming to be moving towards Sy Myrth. Hatha and the Sy Myrthian’s 10th Forge Defense Battlegroup would move to intercept them at the Kile system unless the Imperials made any sudden movements.

  “Alright then.” Bvinsk says, “What is this I hear from you Navy types wanting to reorganize our Stromtroopers forces? Do we even have any Stormtrooper forces left? Last time I got a resupply request for one was over three months ago.”

  “We have a handful of Clone detachments. Hope and Endurance Companies from the 120th, Folly Company from Sykes’s 382nd, Prevention and Extermination Companies from the Sith World Cordon and a handful of TK-Stormtroopers who seemed genuinely interested in upholding the virtues of the Republic.” Benoni answers.

  “We believe a simple renaming and reorganization of their training should be enough.” I add.

  “To what?” Bvinsk asks.

  “Marines.”

  “They weren’t trained as Marines.” Krugwolt points out.

  “Well it’s either Marines or Shocktroopers.”

  “Well they definitely weren’t trained as Shocktroopers.” Green points out.

  “Fine, I retract my objection to Marines.” Krugwolt says.

  “Wonderful, I would like to incorporate both of my now named Marine Companies together and expand them to a battalion.” I request.

  “I would also do this for my two companies.” Benoni says.

  “If you can get the manpower, equipment and weapons for it, fine by me. But don’t expect me to go out of the way to supply you with it when we’re already strapped for logistical throughput.” Bvinsk says.

  “Shouldn’t be too much of a problem. Plenty of veteran arms-men looking for a paystub increase and more aggressive action.” I say with a small smile.

  Turbolasers fly and strikecraft dance as I continue with our retreat. Come on Dodonna, get closer to the station, pierce my formation in twain, be more aggressive dammit! Wasn’t Dodonna supposed to be aggressive?

  I exhale slowly. No, that wasn’t right. Dodonna was known to be brave, not foolhardy. I was clearly trying to bait him into pouncing and getting close to the station, so of course he would continue with a long range exchange, something my current forces would never win.

  “Damn it all.” I mutter as a heavy turbolaser smashes against the bridge shields, shaking the bridge.

  “Sir, we’ve just lost the Guppy VII.”

  “Snatch her escape pods.” I order as I consider cutting my losses. We had bought an hour thanks to Dodonna’s careful arrival and relatively slow approach, but we were supposed to stall him for at least an hour and a half.

  Another heavy turbolaser slaps against our shields. In response the Falchion moves ahead of us to stop a third from breaking them. A group of V-Wings race past us, the Flachion sniping two out of the air before a group of Starchasers flank them from below us, snatching the remaining five in their opening salvo.

  “Damn it all. We’re pulling back, standard procedure, begin retreat in t-minus fifty seconds. Maybe we can make up for lost time at the next egress point.” I order.

  “Two hours of battling then.” Mi-Kus mutters.

  “We’ll make do, especially with Severs and his destroyers joining up with us again.” I reply grimly.

  “They’ll still be damaged.” Mi-Kus warns.

  “Right.” I mutter, “Hail Argai, see if they’re willing to spare us their 47th Free Dac Section to reinforce us. Benoni should be arriving in system around the same time we do unless we fail to buy more time.”

  “Transmitting request.” Commander Slas reports.

  “Make sure it sounds more formal than that in the final report.” I remind the Mon Calamari woman.

  “Already on it, sir.” Her second replies.

  “Begin coming about, adjust battery rotation and increase flak.” Mi-Kus orders.

  “Coming about.” The Helmsman echoes.

  “Onit, sir.” The Battery Adjutant replies.

  “Begin pulling back our hyperdriveless strikecraft alongside the more damaged ones. Try to keep to assigned hangars, but needs must.” I order.

  It was slightly grating that I even had any strikecraft without hyperdrives, but with the casualties and damage we’ve taken in the Starfighter Corps we had started to take the contents of our old stockpiles out for replenishment. First year V-19s and Headhunters now joining modern Starchasers, ARC-170s and modern Headhunters in battle. Something which many of our pilots weren’t exactly thrilled about either.

  “Dodonna’s pursuing us. He’s being careful and seems to be slowly pulling his strikecraft back.” Commander Hursk reports.

  “Keep an eye on it. Remind me what we have prepped next?”

  “Another minefield, sir.” Mi-Kus answers.

  “Alright then. I can work with that.” I reply as I glare at the slowly approaching Star Destroyers and their escorts.