“Sir, we’ve got one and a half squadrons of Vultures and Hyenas each!” My sensors officer barks in surprise.

  “Scramble interceptors and bring up point defense, loosen up our shields and bring that corvette two ships down to cover us!” I bark back.

  “Sir, we’ve got five squadrons of Hyenas and Vultures heading towards north line, three ships east from us!” One sensors officer shouts

  “I’m picking up another six squadrons of Hyenas, Headhunters and Tri-fighters making a run on north line four ships west of us.” Another sensors officer reports.

  “Once our fighter support has finished ‘em off divert them to whichever side is more hard pressed. Divert local fighter patrols and-” I’m interrupted by explosions rocking the ship as over a dozen proton torpedoes smash against out shields, “- and any corvettes and patrol ships. Deploy two corvettes from the hangars to shore up the targeted areas!”

  “Sir, we’re having difficulties with our electronics systems!” A tech shouts from the trench.

  “What … can’t be the B2s. Lock down our ventilation shafts and begin a sweep of the server rooms. Sergeant Sokol, lead the men.” I order at the last arms-men officer still on the bridge. The Human man snaps a salute before grabbing all but four of the remaining arms-men from the bridge to begin his sweep.

  “Sir, hostile group making another pass.” a sensors officer reports.

  “Brace for impacts!” I bark.

  The ship shudders again as the explosives impact our shields again. A larger explosion makes the entire ship convulse moments later. Almost unnoticed is an all familiar melody being emitted from the speakers throughout the ship.

  “What hit us?” I bark.

  “Sir, one of the Hyenas got hit and went for a suicide bombing. They impacted near our engine block, we’ve got a large breach.” The responsible officer reports.

  “Lock down the area. Damage control teams to point of impact. Sitrep on the boarding action and our fighter cover.” I order.

  “All hostile bombers down for the count, a couple stragglers are making a move for the western attack.” One of the senors officers reports.

  “Captain Mi-Kus reports the hangar is still in dispute. They’ve had some buzz droids emerge from the vents, stalling any counter attack.” A comms officer reports.

  “Eastern attack is mostly handled. Enemy attack group pulling back, about 60% losses suffered on their end. Fighter squadrons being reshuffled by a Mon Cala Senior Captain.”

  “Western attack doing worse. Still engaged and requesting further support.” A different comms officer says.

  “Deploy whatever screens we had to the west and divert another squadron of fighters for western support.” I order.

  “Sir, what’s with the music?” A tech asks.

  “Damn droids must be messing with us. Got into our ships systems. See if someone can shut it down. I may enjoy my homeworld’s music, but a battle is hardly the time for it. Can’t have it mess with internal communication.” I answer.

  “Maxie, if we survive this, remind me to ask the Commodore about it later yeah?” I hear one of the techs whisper to his friend as I stare at the tactical display for a moment.

  I almost don’t hear it with the music, the tip tapping of a small piece of metal on a metal surface, but I do. The slugthrower leaves its holster faster than my thoughts come to order. I spin on my left foot until I’m facing the damn vents above the door to the corridors. Just as I finish the quick spin I see a glowing red eye smash against the bars. A loud crack fills the room as a slug smashes through a piece of grating before impaling itself on a buzz droid. The eye goes dark and I hear the sound of a buzz saw.

  “Arms-men, to me. Firing lines on the other two vents, at least two to a vent, hop to! Rest of you, keep to your stations!” I bark and the four remaining arms-men rush to cover the two other vents as I keep my slugthrower leveled on the main vent. Next round is another slug. I take a deep breath and the moment I see another beady red eye behind the grate I pull the trigger and leave another small droid corpse in my vents.

  “Emergency broadcast. Inform all personnel on the Little Revenge that Buzz droids have entered the ventilation systems. Divert at least a man per vent.” I order as I hear the arms-men on the bridge unload a few shots into their vents.

  “Sir, enemy forces committing more ships to western advance.” I hear as another slug pierces the glowing eye of a buzzdroid.

  “Deploy the Guard Hound from the reserve, reroute any fighters destined for her to a different Acclamator.” I order, this round was buckshot. Good.

  “I’m letting a few through.” I say as I hear a couple more blaster bolts leave the weapons of my men.

  The first buzz droid almost hesitantly leaves the relative safety of cover behind its fallen comrades, then another until there’s ten of the bastards I can see. Finally they break through the grate and throw themselves out. They don’t even manage it halfway down as I let the buckshot fly and the small balls smash into the dozen odd droids, their broken bodies sparking and twitching as they finish falling to the floor. I take the chance to grab a spare slug from where I had filled my empty cylinder pocket and load it into an empty chamber.

  “Sergeant Sokol reports multiple buzzdroids interfering with sweep. No casualties yet, but they’ve been slowed down.” An internal comms officer reports.

  “Inform ‘em to keep up the good work.” I order as I let another slug rip through a buzzdroid who thought it would be smart to move into range as I talked.

  “Enemy advance pulling back, we’ve lost a good number of fighters, but the line only seems to have suffered minor damage.” One of the comms officers reports.

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  “Good, return the line to standard operations and ask Senior Captain Jim to begin reorganizing the fighters and bombers into usable units again.” I order, damn droids were learning, they hadn’t moved.

  Damn it all. I was starting to grow a particular hate for buzzdroids.

  “COME ON LADS!” Mi-Kus bellowed as he fired off another two shots from his pistol. They had let the droids take up less than a quarter of the hangar after removing as much cover as was possible from the area. That had been risky, but it had payed off immensely.

  The droids were walking into their blasterfire and falling one by one. The arms-men lacked the heavier firepower of Hope Company, but that was made up for by their numbers and volunteer spirit. Mi-Kus ducked behind the cover of a crate of spare parts as a few blasterbolts flew overhead.

  “Sir, we’ve just got a message from the Commodore,” Sergeant Welder says, as he slammed beside him behind the crate, “Slas reports they rebuffed an attack of buzzdroids and managed to turn back the enemy attacks on our east and west.”

  “Well kark this then. HEAR THAT LADS? COMMODORE REPELLED AN ATTACK WITH ONLY THE BRIDGE CREW! WHAT ARE WE GOOD FOR THEN?” He barks as he jumps form cover and unloads five shots into an advancing B2.

  “COME LADS, WITH ME!” He shouts again as he begins to advance, slowly. He jumps from cover to cover, until all that’s left is the killing floor. The killing floor and maybe two hundred B2 droids between them and the hangar doors.

  Hatha was not pleased: “Not dead you say.”

  “The last buzzdroids reported him very much alive before being eliminated by his slugthrower.”

  “Add it to his file. How did we miss something like this?” He asks.

  “Traditionally the heads of old Fondorian families hold onto the weapon. It is uncommon for a Fondorian to be a member of one of such families, let alone its head or their heir apparent. It is even more unusual, according to our sources, that they would gift their most prized ancestral weapon to their child before they become too old for active duty.” The droid answers.

  “Bah! Fondorian traditions are flexible you dunce of a droid. They’re like karking Corellians but without the charm. I made sure to study up before this battle, I knew Dericote was a scion of one of those blasted families, why didn’t you?” He asks, his eyes slimmed in anger.

  “I am a tactical droid, we do not make mista-” The droid is cut off by a blasterbolt to its head.

  “Dispose of your counterunit. I want you on my bridge from now on. File a requisition order for his replacement.” Hatha orders the newly appeared Tactical droid.

  The droid gives the blaster back to the B1 it had liberated it from before answering in a low pitched female voice: “As you command, sir.”

  “Fool of a droid. Too self important by half and not cunning enough to back it up. If I wanted a calculator I would have had a B1 modified. It was supposed to be a tactical adviser, but no. The damn thing was too stiff and stale.” Hatha muttered to himself.

  “As you say, sir.”

  After a moment Hatha speaks up, his eyes not leaving the tactical display: “What do you suggest?”.

  “We are unable to seize the enemy position, that much has been made clear. We can call upon reinforcements if necessary, though it would deplete the garrisons of Mintooine and Dellalt further. I recommend an attack from another force towards Toong’l from Jabiim. It could disrupt the arrival of any further Republic reinforcements. Eventually the Prince will be captured and with him as a hostage it will diminish enemy morale.” The droid answers.

  “And with Tamsons … questionable terror campaign we can force the Merchant Fleet to splinter further and abuse the chaos it will inevitably cause. A much better second. I should have had it replaced a while ago.” Hatha says.

  “As you say sir.”

  “Yes, I shall contact my superior officers with the offered plan. Hopefully we will be able to finish this battle within the week.” Hatha says as he strokes his chin. He doubts he can persuade them enough to launch a full assault, especially with the number of forces already deployed to Mon Cala alone, but it would certainly be a mark in his favor when he applied for his next promotion.

  “Yes, this will certainly do.” He mutters.

  Once Mi-Kus reports a successful repelling of the enemy boarding action and the last, thrice cursed Buzzdroid is disposed of I finally let myself relax a little. The fatigue is hitting hard and I have half a mind to shoot myself with a stunner. I feel a sigh leaving me as Mi-Kus rejoins me on the bridge, a couple other senior officers following him.

  “Casualties?” I ask.

  “Thirty two dead arms-men, two dead officers and fifteen dead engineers, sixty eight wounded in varying states. We may loose more.” He answers.

  “Karking lizardshit.” I mutter.

  “Could’ve been worse I suppose. It would’ve been worse if we hadn’t been prepared for this situation.” Mi-Kus says.

  “I suppose so.” I reply as my gaze returns towards the tactical display.

  “Has anything changed? I suppose the Separatists haven’t pushed the offense, or else we’d be doing something.” Mi-Kus asks.

  “Hatha hasn’t tried anything while we were distracted. I can’t say I’m sure why.” I admit.

  “He could have tried to cut the head off the snake.” Mi-Kus suggests.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Sorry, sir. A decapitating strike against our chain of command.” Mi-Kus explains.

  “Ah, a saying from your homeworld?” I ask.

  “Yes, sir.” Mi-Kus confirms.

  “I could see the point behind it. We certainly don’t have a stable group of seconds. Too many Mon Cala officers who could claim authority.”

  “I believe Senior Captain Hugh is next on the chain of command.” Mi-Kus says.

  “Yes, but that’s primarily due to how our unit is structured and how I adapted the 409th and Element Guard Hound into our formation. By seniority it should be Senior Captain Jim.” I supply.

  “I would hope they’d follow regulations.”

  “You can never count on associate forces doing anything.” I admonish, Maker knows pa’ would complain whenever the Judicials tried to get even a single one of the old Hammerhead cruisers to do anything more than look pretty and be threatening in theory.

  “I suppose you’re right about that, sir.”

  I let the words stew in the room for a moment before speaking: “Not even a ship adjustment.”

  “Maybe he’s stalling.” Mi-Kus suggests.

  “They must know we’re going to receive reinforcements sooner than later. They could receive them faster than us, but they haven’t gotten even a single fighter or corvette since the last unit entered system. So what the fuck are they waitin’ for.” I complain.

  “Sir, maybe you should take advantage of the lack of movements and rest.”

  I hesitate a moment before answering: “I’ll stay awake for another hour.”

  “Sir-”

  “Then I will rest for the whole six hours.”

  “Sir, you can’t keep going like this.” Mi-Kus objects.

  “Watch me.” I snark as a squadron of fighters flies past the bridge to enter our recently liberated hangar bay.

  Seven hours later and I wanted to curse myself. I chug a cold cup of caf I had made before going to sleep. Fighting like this made me wonder how the officers of the past managed this. I suppose a lot of them were Jedi, probably abused the force like Kestis did when he met me. The doors to the bridge open and I receive a salute from Mi-Kus as I walk up to the tactical display.

  “Anything change?” I ask.

  “All the ships Hatha came in with have returned to the Separatist double north back line. They’ve tightened their line a bit and moved other reserve ships into the line as replacements, but overall nothing substantial. They haven’t even attempted a probing attack in over an hour and a half. Even then the probe was very light, three squadrons of fighters and a Gozanti.” Mi-Kus reports.

  “Hm. Can’t say I like it.” I mutter. I take a sip from a new cup of caf R4 had given me, “Thanks R4.”

  “Maybe you should go for another hour or two of sleep, sir.” Mi-Kus offers.

  “Sorry to disappoint your ambitions, but I plan on going for the full twenty four again.”

  “Sir!” Mi-Kus objects.

  “Now, now. No need to yell, I happen to be standin’ right next to ya.”

  “Sir, your dialects showing.” The engineering Adjutant says from the trench.

  “Something we have quite clearly learned means you are exhausted.” Mi-Kus clarifies.

  “Lizardshit. I’m in perfect condition.”

  “Sir, you’ve had six times your weekly caf ration.”

  “Stand down. I’ll rest when the battle is over or when I’m dead, not before.” I say, closing down the argument before it gets more heated.

  R4 is starting to object herself, but I interrupt her whirs and beeps: “R4 dear, I have made my stance clear. I don’t need your mothering at this point.”

  In response she chucks the empty caf cup against my head and storms off. I feel a frown building. Damn droid is too self important sometimes. I begin scanning the battlefield instead. Mi-Kus’s earlier report seems accurate. They replaced Hatha’s Munificents with four they had in reserve. Maybe they were being repaired and finally returned back to suitable combat readiness.

  I grab a datapad, punch in my codes and start looking over our logistical situation. All ships were starting to run low on ammunition, we could probably last half a week before having no choice but to retreat. Spare parts were down to fifty percent of what there should be. Medical supplies was below the typical standard. All of the usual rations were depleted to dregs and the caf supply was probably good for another three days at the current consumption rate. The only upside was that there should be enough emergency rations to sustain us for about two years.

  “Any chance we could request a supply run?” I ask.

  “Enemy is still jamming our communications, sir.” Mi-Kus reminds me.

  “I suppose that’s right. When is the next scheduled convoy supposed to arrive?”

  Mi-Kus takes an offered datapad before answering: “Last supply run to the Toong’l orbital facility happened yesterday. Dac should be expecting a convoy of war material in a couple days from the 2804th Logistical Section.”

  “Anything of use there?” I ask.

  “Consists of two Pelta transports, a CR70 transport configuration, three CSS-1 Corellian Star Shuttles and a Gozanti combat configuration, but loaded with void proof containers.”

  “So barely useful.” I mutter in reply.

  “Honestly I’m mostly surprised that Rendili Stardrive hasn’t sent anything over from Baros.” Mi-Kus says.

  “You’re right, they should’ve shown up days ago.” I agree, “Do ya think there’s a split on their board of directors?”

  “It’s possible, but baseless speculation won’t do us any good.” My second councils.

  “I suppose I’ll need to file an investigation against ‘em.” I say with a frown.

  “Seems that way, sir.” Mi-Kus replies.