I pace the bridge as reports come in one after another. Krugwolt had decided to stay on the surface, trusting in the shields that had protected the world for eons. And while sure, his men who stayed and the citizens of Argai who had evacuated to the fortresses may be able to live on for a handful of months, they were already dead. Unless the Imperials let up from their bombardment, something I highly doubted, it would only be a matter of weeks until the shields broke one by one and the people who had stayed perished to orbital fire.

  And the evacuation effort? The thing which had delayed us and likely cost the lives of another eighty thousand sailors and pilots on top of the hundred and ninety thousand already lost? The thing which delayed our departure and crippled most of the taskforce? Of the two billion people who had called Argai home over the last dozen years or so, we had managed to save a bit more than ten million.

  Not even a full percent. Barely over half a percent.

  I inhale deeply as the swirls of hyperspace recede to spit us out between Argai and Corlass. I had work to do.

  “Have we successfully transmitted my orders for the Fortress Protocols?” I inquire.

  “Yessir.” Comes the reply from Commander Slas.

  “Good, I am enacting version five of the Fortress Protocols. We are abandoning every world between here and Caluula to their own devices. Previous taskforce operations divisions are disbanded, can the Little Revenge take on bad odds?”

  “Negative, sir.” Mi-Kus answers, “Hull breaches on our lower deck and hangar bay as well as a knocked out engine. Flack efficacy down by a third and two batteries need to be replaced.”

  “Closest yard able to manage critical repairs in a suitable timeframe?” I request.

  “For us?” Mi-Kus requests clarification.

  “For us and any smaller vessel that can get it done in the same timeframe.”

  “Nyny.”

  “Alright. Every ship above seventy percent efficacy not currently beholden to the needs of the refugees is to join the rearguard. They are to slow Honor as much as possible, however possible. If they lack inspiration, see my actions before Argai, though they aren’t beholden to them. I am also lifting any restrictions on naval warfare.” I order.

  “That only leaves Five Venators, two Corellian Destroyers, an MC80 Home One Type, a dozen Dreadnoughts, twenty Hammerhead cruisers and fifty corvettes excluding the IPV-1 pickets who remain undamaged.” Commander Hursk reads off a consolidated report.

  “Alright then.” I mutter, “Highest ranking officer whose flagship numbers among those?”

  “Admiral Baraka, sir.” An Adjutant reports.

  “Alright then.” I reply, “Rear Admiral Baraka has command of our rearguard. Instruct him to waylay Honor’s scouts and vanguard, he may skirmish, he may maul, but he will not engage in any battle outright, not with so few ships and not without my express permission. Rest of us, make for the closest shipyard or repairyard available. Make sure to coordinate destinations, we do not need half a dozen ships to swarm a single drydock.”

  “I’ll see to it personally, sir.” Mi-Kus answers.

  “Do we have a report on our starfighter losses? I know we’ll have to restructure most of the squadrons and wings, but do we have any hard numbers yet?” I ask.

  “Colonel Solo is tabulating the losses now, sir. She’ll have a report with you as-”

  The doors open to reveal the very Colonel charging at me with malicious intent, upper half of her flightsuit tied around her hips and helmet in the crook of her arm: “Half, Dericote, we lost half.”

  “Of all our strikecraft?” I request the clarification just before she slams her helmet into my chest, taking me off guard and making me curl up before she slugs me across the face.

  “Ma’am distance yourself from the Admiral.” The arms-men Lieutenant on the bridge orders, blaster raised and hopefully set to stun.

  “Demote me.”

  “What?” I exhale as I take a step back to right myself and hopefully get out of range from the crazy Corellian, rubbing the bruise forming on my cheek as I do.

  “I can’t take this anymore! I told you a dozen times that I wasn’t made out for this level of command! I can’t continue to work like this if these are the losses my command is causing! Half, Thraken! Fifty percent! And sure, we manage to nab three dozen pilots after they got shot down, but that still barely puts a dent into it! We don’t have the men, materials or morale to fight another battle like that, not with someone like me in command.”

  I inhale deeply, moving the hand that had been rubbing at he bruise to rub my forehead. This was the last thing I needed to leak. I exhale slowly before speaking: “Little Squadron will be joining us on escort duty to Nyny. I know you still want to fly and dammit Solo you may not think that you’re good enough for the job, but you are. Do you think anyone else could have done better? You were busy dogfighting and coordinating multi squadron attack vectors you didn’t even notice that wherever you were fighting there were fewer requests for reinforcements? You are the longest serving pilot under me and more importantly, I trust you to be real with me and know you’re more competent than you believe you are. So I will not demote you, but I will be placing you on mandatory rest between Caluula and Nyny.”

  “Fuck you Dericote.” Solo spits before stealing her helmet back, turning on her heel and quickmarching out of the bridge.

  I sigh. Last thing I needed was my most trusted officer in the Starfighter Corps to go rogue after getting her confidence issues back. I had hoped she had gotten over herself.

  Putting my Starfighter Corps Liaison’s issues aside for the moment, my bridge had rapidly turned into a series of conference calls. The local systems outraged at my decision to abandoning them and requesting assistance in their own evacuations, for which I had to deploy multiple arms-men companies and Marine squads to commandeer various civilian transports to do exactly that. Then various pirate allies requested immediate payouts for their work so far, something which I arranged promptly.

  And now, there was a full impromptu meeting of all Admirals and Generals within our pretty little Coalition.

  “-You should not have the authority to simply give up on over a dozen worlds!” General Gillmunn, the leader of the Jabiimi forces, spits.

  “What choice do I have? My fleet is battered beyond use and Caluula is a natural chokepoint.”

  “What of our advance along the Perlimian?” Raddus asks, “You are leaving our flank and supply lines exposed. We may have to pull back after our attack on Lianna, an attack which rapidly seems to be devolving into a raid thanks to your retreat. This will butcher our morale, not to mention destroy the tentative collaborative agreement we managed to hammer out with the Felucians.”

  “How do we know you will not simply pull back to your precious Calamari Sector, leaving us abandoned?” Senator Toora inquires, the Sy Myrthian politician stroking one of her beards as she speaks.

  “Not to mention the loss of the Korriban’s Silence and Admiral Benoni is significant.” Admiral Slocum adds.

  “This coalition is doomed.” A new voice speaks. General Ambigene, the so-called First Separatist and leader of the Bryx Freedom Front, was a tentative ally and newly minted member of our coalition who had primarily been convinced to throw his hat in with us through our vague final goals and promise of support for all members.

  “Peace, General. The war is far from lost.” High Commodoer A’baht speaks, the Dornean twisting his mustache as he speaks.

  “No, you are willingly abandoning your territories in the Tion Cluster and are barely sending me the resources promised. You have also not diverted enough ships to ensure the Bryx Sector can survive the Imperial reprisal force breathing down our necks.” The old man spits.

  “Sy Myrth has already sent you a battlegroup and paid for the ships you desired to ferry your men from world to world, what more do you wish for?” Senator Toora asks.

  “We need more! More men, more resources, more territory! And losing ground in the closest thing we have to a core territory will not give us what we need! The limited industry of Dericote’s old domain will not be enough! The droid foundries of Tion will not be enough! Not against the galaxy and clearly not with him at the helm.” The General spits, “I am willing to hold off from abandoning this petty coalition for now, but be aware, this is your last chance. One more defeat on the level of Argai and I will cut my losses and return to how I fight best, alone.”

  “Are you a fool, Ambigene?” General Bvinsk asks behind a poor mask for his cold rage, “Your threat dossier did not make you out to be one. It, in fact, praises your ability to compromise your ideals for the bigger picture. Yet here you are, threatening to splinter our efforts if we do not comply to your overly grand expectations! If Admiral Dericote could not win at Argai, almost no one else could! Yet even as the world continues to burn, its sacrifice will buy us time, the sacrifice of Stefan and his men will buy us time.

  As long as the fortresses stand, Honor cannot press us as much as she wishes. She is practically gifting us the time needed for us to repair, reorganize and strike at her supply lines via Lianna! All the while her forces are busy consigning a world to death until Therbon scratches together enough ships to carry on this crime against civilization. This will do insurmountable damage to her reputation, her relations with the Imperial Army and the morale of her forces. She is stopping them from repairing or resting. All the while being forced to watch their comrades turn a world to glass. The deaths of Argai and her defenders clearly shows the Empire does not care for Tion or any of the former Separatist worlds. It is a rallying cry for the Outer Rim to scrounge up further resistance! It is martyrdom that will invigorate bystanders into action in our favor. Are you so short sighted as to not realize this, or has age befuddled your senses Ambigene?”

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  “I will not take such insults lying down, Republic dog!” Ambigene barks back, “The loss of a single world to such a fate is an unforgivable and unforgettable tragedy! And your cynical abuse of her and your friend’s deaths is the exact type of behavior I should have expected from a bunch of Republic bitches!”

  “Calm down, both of you.” I order, voice stone cold, “Bvinsk apologize to the General, your words were overly harsh. And while they may not be entirely untrue, the matter of speaking brings dishonor to your department, your allies and the Republic we served. General Ambigene, perhaps falling back on petty insults is not the best way to conduct yourself when arguing for your position? Understand that I sympathize with your position greatly, the problem is simply that my force cannot survive an engagement at this time. My rearguard is holding Honor’s scouts and vanguard off as well as possible while I ferry the various refugees to safe harbor and repair my forces.”

  “Fine.” Ambigene replies, though I can tell he could go on if he desired it, “I apologize for my … uncouth words. Know I am simply aggravated at the loss of so many worlds.”

  “I apologize as well.” Bvinsk says, more hesitantly than Ambigene, “My tone was not appropriate for an officer of my station. I hope you can forgive me.”

  “It’ll do.” Ambigene replies gruffly.

  “With that done, we need to figure out how to ensure Caluula does not fall.”

  “The Fleet we believed to be on a collision course with Sy Myrth has banked northwards.” General Kota reveals, “It seems that Honor does not believe she can manage to seize Mon Cala with the losses she has sustained. We will have to add that into our calculations.”

  “Intelligence agrees with the General’s analysis.” Green adds.

  “Could the 17th be moved to reinforce us then?” I ask, “Perhaps moving a portion of the Jabiimi squadron and the Sy Myrthian fleet to cover for them at Wyndigal?”

  “I would support this so we can properly avenge Admiral Benoni and restore the honor of the Cordon Fleet.” Slocum agrees.

  “We should probably begin moving other Navy, Army and Starfighter Corps units around for better coverage and ability to reinforce or evacuate various positions.” Hatha suggests.

  “We could divide up the 1st Heavy Reserve Squadron into its component sections.” Rear Admiral Praut suggests, “Send the 28th Battleship to Cophrigin and the 138th to Raxus or Tion to bolster the forces being reactivated there.”

  “Byss would be a better target. For the 138th.” High Commodore A’baht points out, “A solid position between Sy Myrth, Wyndigal and Caluula where a decisive battle will be fought. Raxus has enough ships to defend itself at this time, even if Honor moves rimward instead of trailing-bound.”

  “A solid suggestion. It would also bolster the Ash Worlds if a breakthrough occurs.” Slocum agrees.

  “Alright then. I would have Raddus continue his move towards Lianna to pressure Honor’s supply lines and buy us more time. Green, Bvinsk, we need more starfighters asap, see what can be bought up and what bush pilots you can nab.”

  “I have some promising connections from the Virujansi Aircav that may work out.” Green says.

  “I’ll see if we can get the latest production cycle to you before your damaged ships make back towards Caluula.” Bvinsk promises.

  “Good, last thing on the agenda. I am hereby authorizing the Partisan Protocols. Pending confirmation by the Coalition Council, any and all Merchant and Civilian space faring vessel now has a carte blanche for militarization retrofits if they agree to take on the responsibility in defending home and hearth and assist in emergency duties such as resupply and evacuation if demanded of them in times of crisis. These demands will be in value of the retrofits completed and standard pay for merchant contracts after such value has been paid. As this conflict is becoming more and more dire, such a state of emergency is all but assured to be in effect and I shall bring the motion to the Council during an emergency session to occur once my ships are heading to Caluula from Nyny, even if I cannot appear in person.”

  “Are you enacting martial law then?” Bvinsk asks curiously, likely thinking of all the ways he could use a massed civilian formation to resupply in times of need without having to pay them for a couple missions.

  “No.”

  “This will increase the risk of piracy.” Slocum points out.

  “A risk I am willing to take.” I reply.

  “This is a dangerous step towards nationalizing our polity forces. A state of emergency is moving us dangerously close to enacting dictatorial-esque measures.” Raddus points out.

  “Agreed. We want to this coalition to stop the Empire, not become one.” A’baht adds.

  “Then it is good that none of us have any intentions of degrading our limited institutions. As for the merchants, their ships are still their own, only their services would be adjusted.” I reply.

  “Desperate times.” Sykes sighs, finally adding something to the conversation, “But it could prove worthwhile to many a merchant and smuggler. It will definitely expand our forces and improve our goodwill in the short term.”

  “Not to mention improve our transport capacity when we desperately need it.” Bvinsk agrees.

  “Any major oppositions?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I fear the precedent, but we do need it.”

  “This better not bite us in the ass.”

  “Alright then. We’ll push our engines hard. Long live the Republic.”

  “Down with the Empire-” “-Long live the Republic.”

  The Nyny repair yards were in a flurry of action as Bvinsk gazes at them, Brigadier General Green by his side looking over a datapad instead of the hurrying movements of men, ships and material. This was likely the biggest single logistical operation of Bvinsk’s career and all the Intelligence officer cared for was the next round of petty assassinations.

  The Lusitania, an Invincible retrofitted to act as an emergency repair-vessel, lumbers about to gather replacement durasteel plates to hold within its carved open superstructure. Her sister-ship, Halifax, currently filling herself with transparasteel panes and spare munitions on another dock. If only they had another dozen of them Bvinsk could have ordered them to be used by Dericote at Caluula instead of at Nyny. Though at least Nyny actually had the depots and yards to store the materials Dericote’s detachment would need.

  In the end, it all came down to timing.

  “Last round of removals went well.” Green says, “Nabbed the Governor of Lianna and a couple Stormtrooper officers there too. Though Lianna alone may need its own platoon within the brigade soon.”

  “Are you expanding so much already?”

  “More or less.” Green replies, “Mostly by absorbing old Sepy intel officers who either haven’t gone to ground yet or swapped over to us once we made it clear we weren’t just empty promises. At this rate we may actually want to skip over division to form a corps.”

  “I’ll make a note of it. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if our colleagues decided a division would suit us just fine. Not like you have multiple divisions worth of manpower on standby.”

  “Not yet at least.” Green replies, “Though again, I am rapidly approaching a full division’s worth of agents and informants. Honestly I’m mostly lacking analysts to comb over the data we keep getting.”

  “Then you should bring it up during the emergency conference.”

  “Don’t worry, I will.”

  “Sir?” A knock interrupts the two Generals’ conversation.

  “What is it Jerjerrod?” Bvinsk asks.

  “Unknown ship has entered system. A luxury yacht. Model S-161 XL.” Jerjerrod says, “Its codes check out, but they’re requesting a meeting with Admiral Dericote himself.”

  “One of yours?” Bvinsk asks Green.

  “They wouldn’t be calling on Dericote.”

  “One of his then?”

  “Possible, though his associates usually run in more rugged ships. Sphyrnas, Corellian freighters and practical light freighters.” Green replies.

  “Seize the ship and impound its crew. We’ll figure out what they are and who they serve soon enough.” Bvinsk orders.

  “Understood, sir. I’ll have one of the local corvettes move them to a docking hatch and cordon them off from escape.” Jerjerrod answers.

  “Better make it two.” Green suggests.

  “And send in a platoon of arms-men to ensure the seizure. Last thing we need is a luxury yacht’s worth of imps to try and snag us.” Bvinsk agrees.

  “I’ll send a squad of my enforcers to help with that.” Bvinsk says as he types his order into his datapad, then handing it over to his second most competent underling.

  “Very good, sirs.” Jerjerrod says before punching in the orders into a datapad.

  “We’ll need to prepare the defenses at Mintooine soon. I’ll see about requesting some spare Golans from Mantan, Ruisto and Pinperu. It’ll be a pain, but I would rather be prepared than caught flat footed.” Bvinsk mutters.

  “A solid idea.” Green replies.

  “Did you get anything positive from the Virujansi Aircav yet?”

  “In fact I have. Half a wing’s worth of veterans, now defectors, lead by their two senior-most officers. Seems the Empire’s full nationalization of their planetary defense forces did them in.”

  “Not bad, though finding rides for them all could be problematic.”

  “That’s the best part. They’ve brought their own. Modernized Headhunters all.” Green replies with a smirk, “Plus an old modified Dreadnought that used to be their primary hangar bay and enough support staff to keep them all running relatively smoothly.”

  “That Dreadnought have anything good other than hangaspace?”

  “It follows the Leviathan in design, so according to the navy men I asked it’s mostly just good for picket duty and logistical support at about an M2, maybe two point five in internals, shields and sensors, decent enough armor though.”

  “Not bad though. I’ll have them and the local reinforcements gathering here deployed to Caluula to ensure there’s still a defensive position to hold once the repairs are done.”

  “They will take time to get here.” Green cautions.

  “Then have them sent to Mintooine instead. As I said before, we may very well have to make a stand there.”

  “Very well.”