“They’re gone.” I hear someone say as I slowly right myself. They weren't wrong. The last Separatist ships in system are being slowly dismantled by turbolaser fire and proton ordnance. It should force a surrender, or else they’ll end up as scrap. Maker.

  “Sir?”

  R4 is whistling something at me.

  I feel the exhaustion hit me like a speeder and I practically fall onto a control panel. Relief and dread mixing within me, a cocktail of emotions without an outlet.

  “Sir!”

  “H-how many?” I ask, my voice coming out in a whisper. It was the only question that mattered now.

  “What?”

  “How many, did we lose?” I ask again, louder this time.

  Mi-Kus picks up a datapad as I try to breathe slowly, calmly. I was failing. Finally my second speaks: “Preliminary reports state the loss of three Venators, two Dreadnoughts, two Acclamators, four Arquitenses, a Pelta, two DP20s, one CR70 and six Consulars. The total Merchant Fleet has lost five MC80s, eleven MC75s, five Dreadnoughts, thirty three MC30cs, three Gazontis, a CR90, four Golan I platforms and a Golan II platform, si-.”

  “Give me a number.” I plead, as I stare down at the floor. Wait, a Pelta?

  “About fifteen thousand direct Republic casualties”

  “And allied?”

  “Including the originally Separatist aligned ships about one hundred thousand.”

  “Dead?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Maker on high.” I mutter as I feel the last week of combat slam into me, “What of … what’s with the Pelta, I could've sworn the frigates had been kept in reserve.”

  “The Dagger got swarmed near the end of the fight, a couple turbolaser impacts and … well the crew at least managed a full evac with her Captain.” I hear in response.

  Thank the Maker. At least Luis is safe, but … Maker that just makes me feel worse. I was not okay. I was very far away from okay. Maker on high it was Delalt all over again. Too many dead, too many dead and here I was, happy that one person lived where over a hundred thousand others died. It feels like I’m swimming through static, but all I’m doing is standing still. I need to move. I throw off my officers cap and tear my gloves off me as I try to calm myself. I couldn’t do this, not now. I had to finish this. I rake my fingers through my hair as a shallow breath leaves me.

  I take a very long breath in and slowly let the air leave my lungs. Later. I could do this later, but now. Now I need to finish this. I feel my left hand start to shudder and I slam it onto my holster, leaning my hand onto the weapon carried by so many of my forefathers. I had to keep calm, no matter how it felt like my heart wanted to burst from my chest at the mere consideration of what the numbers I had heard meant.

  “Begin patrols for any rogue escape pods, prioritize friendly ones, the part time rebels can wait until we’ve got all but theirs and the Separatist ones. Bring in any and all fighters and bombers which need repairs or which have gone over their flight limits. Spread out our ships to cover more area, but keep the Venators together in one unit under Senior Captain … Praut of the Arkania. I’ll not allow any surprise counter to get us with our pants around our ankles. Once all of that’s done commandeer any salvage ships, tugboats and other civilian craft in system to begin salvage operations. If a ship can be repaired easily enough I want it done. Place a blaster against the harbormaster’s head if necessary, but I want Republic ships to have priority. Remind me later the Little Revenge and any other Dreadnoughts in the unit’ll need retrofits to the newest Navy standards.” I order, running my other hand through my hair while leaning my left hand on my holster.

  “Sir?” Mi-Kus asks as the orders are spread through the remaining hodgepodge of a unit.

  “I can keep going.” I reply to the unasked question.

  “Sir, I really do think you should rest. You’ve been up for almost twenty hours straight after only a total of around thirty six hours of sleep over the last week of combat. Not to mention chief medical officer Tevre’s orders to-” Mi-Kus presses.

  “I will rest when it’s over.” I repeat myself, my tone final.

  R4 whistles at me that the battle is in fact over.

  “You know damn well that a battle ain’t over ‘til the last of the dead is tallied.” I reply, my eyes starring off into the wreckage.

  I barely catch R4 turning to Mi-Kus and shifting her dome slightly, as if she was tilting her head. She comes to me a couple seconds later, bumping into my leg before offering me a datapad. I take it from her before skimming over the document. Ah, the first casualty list. From the Targonnian People’s Navy vessel Squeak’s Pride. Forty eight dead from the destruction of the heavy prow turbolaser, six wounded no other casualties. I sign off on the report before passing it back to R4.

  A different datapad. The casualty report from the 4th Light Merchant Section. All hands lost. Three thousand six hundred and sixty souls lost to the void. It seems none of them had managed to get off any escape pods during their charge at the beginning of the battle. I tap my holster. Looked like that was a mistake that fell fully on my shoulders. I sign off the report and add a personal apology as a footnote before passing it back to R4. I finally realize I have something running along my cheeks. I must have injured myself somehow. Maybe some shrapnel hit me and I haven’t noticed? Doesn’t matter, I’ll deal with it later.

  Mi-Kus hands me another datapad. Casualty report for the 99th Battleship Section, excluding fighter casualties. I glance at him, my eyebrow raised.

  “There’s been too much reshuffling from fighter and bomber units in the battle. Some squadrons are on the books, at full strength, but with call-signs that are not from the unit. We’re trying to figure out where each fighter originates from, but with hundreds of fighters, many of which are still on patrol, looking for escape pods and abandoned hostile fighters … we’re waiting until they’ve all returned to their hangars before we have anything definitive.” Mi-Kus answers my silent question, his face turned away from me, but his eyes jumping towards my own every few seconds.

  I nod, right I had forgotten that. Fourteen thousand five hundred and seventy two dead. Five hundred six wounded. Looks like Commodore Molim is in fact dead. They found what was left of his body on the bridge of his command ship. I sigh. Looks like they at least managed to grab a couple hundred sailors from their escape pods and some compartments in the wreckage. I sign it off and hand the datapad back to Mi-Kus. The wetness falls from my chin, a few drops landing on the floor. A shuddering sigh leaves me, I feel bad for the maintenance droid that’ll need to mop up blood from the bridge.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  I start reading through a casualty report from a Mon Cala battleship section when my reading is interrupted by Sergeant Slas: “Sir, there’s a comm from the surface from his majesty Prince Lee-Char, his honor Chief Nossar Ri, Senators Amidala and Tills, Representative Binks, Generals Skywalker and Fisto alongside Commander Tano, Commander Monk and Captain Ackbar.”

  “Fucking hells. Fine, put it up, not like we can stop the absolute brainless lizardfucks.” I reply as I seize my officers cap from off of R4’s dome and press it down on my head to cover my eyes slightly. It’d probably stain from wherever the wound was, but kark it. I shudder out another sigh and tap R4 to hook into the holoprojector and nod to Sergeant Slas and Mi-Kus to inform them I’m ready.

  The assortment of sentients Sergeant Slas had mentioned appear one by one before me and I snap a salute, with my left hand still leaning on my holster, my eyes starring off into the void straight ahead: “Gentlebeings, I apologize for my appearance. I’m afraid to say the battle has taken more out of me and my men than I had originally feared.”

  The Prince speaks up in answer: “Thank you for your sacrifice, Commodore Dericote. Mon Cala owes you a large dept for your and your sailors service.”

  I blink slowly, wishing more than anything to be back in my quarters, or in some dive bar with Elix, or home with my ma’ and pa’. I move to an at ease position, it hadn’t been permitted, but damn them all: “I am happy to serve, sir.”

  General Skywalker speaks next: “How bad is it up there? Can our forces mount a pursuit?”

  “We’ve lost, what is it at now Mi-Kus?”

  “Confirmed Republic casualties are at about fifteen thousand three hundred and six sailors with more likely to come, Commodore.” Mi-Kus replies.

  It just keeps getting worse: “Alongside about a hundred thousand Merchant fleet sailors if the last estimate was correct-”

  “It is looking that way, sir. We’ve narrowed it down to somewhere around ninety nine thousand seven hundred at the moment. We’re still holding out hope on booth ends, but it … it isn’t looking good.” Mi-Kus finishes for me.

  I sigh, feeling all the weight on my shoulders double again as I speak, my voice filled with defeatism: “General, if you order it I can organize a counter attack in about three hours, consisting of the three remaining Venators, the four remaining Dreadnoughts, two Acclamators and whatever else is left of my squadron and our fighter support.”

  “How many support ships and fighter squadrons remain?” Skywalker asks.

  “The 159th’s three Pelta transports, my squadron’s Mon Cala starships, another Pelta frigate a CR90, a DP20, two Consular class corvettes and a handful of IPV patrol ships on loan from a multitude of planetary defense and security forces, suppose we could use whatever’s left of the 2800th Logistics Section, but they were relegated ta material replenishment and emergency repairs. Most of those ships are from my squadron, sir. As for fighters … in theory we might have three and a half wings of fighters and bombers left, but the strength of the squadrons is out of wack. I’m sorry, I mean to say that … it ain’t consistent, sir.” I answer.

  However before Skywalker opens his travel hating mouth again General Fisto intercedes: “There will be no counter attack. The forces present have suffered too many days of non stop combat. I am honestly pleasantly surprised the casualties aren’t higher. You have done well Commodore.”

  I feel a minute amount of stress leave my body as I stare at the General. My voice is filled with a mixture of relief and exhaustion: “Thank you, sir.”

  The General simply smiles and I realize I really need to get some sleep … fuck it. Senator Tills was prattling on about how wonderful the Republic intervention turned out to be while giving the occasional insult to Chief Ri as she went.

  “If I may interrupt, Senator, I would ask that the thanks are to be given once everything of a strategic and tactical manner have been finalized. You may not have noticed, ma’am, but every sailor is dead on their feet and I for one wish to be lulled to sleep by my dearest beloved bottle of Corellian.” I say, ignoring the fact that I would likely only be able to get some sleep after I had finished the preliminary casualty report. Either that or someone getting sick of me and shooting me in the foot.

  “We ended up loosing about a quarter of the loyalist militia members in the capitol and there’s still sporadic fighting in the other cities and in the sparsely populated parts of the ocean.” Ackbar says.

  “We will need to suppress the more radical elements.” Chief Ri says to which I nod in agreement.

  “Can’t we try to negotiate with them?” The child, Commander Tano asks.

  “We cannot afford further instability. I recommend we have any radical remnants put to work in rebuilding that which they helped destroy.” Ackbar offers, Chief Ri and Senator Tills nodding to his proposal.

  “I will see about securing the orbit as you do so. It would not do to have swarms of buzz droids, Vultures or Hyenas lurking to commit guerrilla attacks as we try to rebuild and replenish.” I say, as I get another datapad from R4. Casualty list from the 7th Merchant Fleet Star Cruiser Section. I visibly deflate as I see the number at the top.

  “The clean up always is the worst part.” Mi-Kus mutters as he pats R4 on her head, the droid leaning into the pats.

  “I am sorry to ask, but are you planning on continuing to serve when you’re barely on your feet, Commodore?” Senator Amidala asks, her tone holding a tinge of concern.

  I start tapping my holster as I turn my gaze at the woman: “Ma’am, you may not have realized it, but this is the largest battle the Republic has fought this side of the Tion cluster. A battle where the Admiral of the Mon Cala Merchant Fleet has died alongside a third of the Merchant Fleet Commanders. Not to mention Commodore Molim of the Republic, multiple Captains of all grades and far too many Lieutenants, Sergeants, Ensigns, Midshipmen and other sailors. I have been conducting a battle here for over a week and frankly I am running on the dregs of my last caf, memories of sleep, guilt and spite.”

  I pause a moment to recollect myself and glance down at the newest datapad before continuing: “But give me the credit of being able to oversee the end of the battle, even if I end up being a rubber stamp.”

  General Fisto intercedes the brewing argument: “As long as it does not overly impede your ability to command. I believe your droid and crew are ensuring that?”

  “Yes, sir. They have a knack for it.” I reply as R4 rubs the back of her head with her arm. She was becoming more and more sentient. I couldn’t wait to show her to ma’ and pa’ and watch their reactions.

  “We may need to ground a couple of the ships for increased emergency housing and their medical bays.” Captain Ackbar says, returning the conversation to something actually relevant.

  “I don’t think a lot of the remaining Merchant Fleet ships are stable enough for that.” I say, giving Mi-Kus a look, he shakes his head confirming what I’d feared.

  “Any ships you can spare.” Chief Ri pleads.

  “We could send down one MC80 and four MC75s. The rest are in varying conditions and one ‘75 is currently evacuating all non tech and engineering personnel.” Mi-Kus says.

  “I’ll send half of them down to the capitol now, but I’d like the rest to remain in orbit in case some Separatist stragglers turn up.” I say.

  “We would request their holds be filled with extra foodstuffs and medical supplies.” His majesty requests.

  “Your majesty, while I can part with spare foodstuffs, even a decent chunk of foodstuffs, I will hold off on any medical supplies until I have a detailed report from each ship on what medicines they need for a worst case scenario.” I reply.

  “You would risk our people for soldiers?” Senator Tills asks.

  “Ma’am, please understand that despite the Separatists having left we cannot ensure they’ll stay away. I need my soldiers as close to top condition as possible in case they return, that includes any and all wakefulness stims, sleeping meds, bacta and whatever else I can scrounge up for them. Unless of course you’d rather risk another Separatist invasion, one without his honor Chief Ri tugging on their leash to hold them back from unnecessary slaughter.” I reply.

  The Senator, thankfully, considers my words before she answers: “Understandable, Commodore. I would then ask you send down three MC75s and keep the remaining ships in orbit. We will place our trust in your expertise.”

  “Sergeant Slas, please adjust orders to Senator Tills’ request.” I pass along, receiving a nod in affirmation from my chief comms officer. Weird, my cap wasn’t feeling wet, but the trails haven’t stopped. I hear loud footsteps, but ignore it for the next datapad. Soon enough the doors to the bridge open.

  “That is IT COMMODORE. IF YOU DON’T GO TO SLEEP NOW I AM SHOOTING YOU IN THE FACE!” My chief medical officer Tevre shouts in lieu of greeting as he barges onto the bridge. The angry Togrutan baring his teeth in a snarl as he barks out his threat.

  “Officer Tevre, I value your medical expertise, but I am fully capable of finishin’ my administrative duties.” I retort.

  “Kark you!” The medical officer barks. He pulls his blaster and shoots me.

  “Officer Tevre, I valya ya medical ex- expertise, but I am fully capable o’ finishin’ my administrative duties.” Little Thraken slurs.

  “Kark you!” The medical officer barks. He pulls his blaster and shoots Little Thraken with a stun round.

  “Well shit.” Captain Mi-Kus says, while multiple sentients on the other side of the communique are looking in shock, surprise and satisfaction as Little Thraken’s body hits the floor with a satisfying thud. R4 laughs. Little Thraken is finally asleep.

  “Took you fucking flesh-things long enough.” She beeps. She was about four fifths of the way there to shooting Little Thraken herself. His crying was unsettling. He just kept going on as if he hadn't realized. He hadn’t done that in approximately six standard years. It tore at her ‘heart’ to see him this upset. It was … unnerving to the droid that had helped raise her little brother.

  “Should someone … not help him?” The human Senator asks.

  “Idiot deserves it. Dumb enough to walk into a sandstorm that one.” She whistles and the Human Jedi stifles a laugh.

  Captain Mi-Kus finally gets out of his stupor: “Officer Tevre, would you please move our superior officer from the floor to the medical bay?”

  “Drag him!” She eggs on.

  Captain Mi-Kus continues despite her very good advise on her little brother: “I will transfer this call to … Stars, it should be Senior Captains Hugh and Jim, they’re the ranking officers.”

  “Sir, you’ve got the best look on the total situation.” Adjutant Sergeant Hursk informs Captain Mi-Kus.

  “Fine, we’ll stay on the call, but bring the others on too, best include Senior Captain Strom and a couple of the Merchant Fleet officers. Sergeant Slas bring them up to speed please. And would someone please help the chief medical officer with dragging the Commodore away? It’s painful to watch.”

  “Noooo. It’s funny. I’m recording this!” She objects. As usual she is ignored. Stupid flesh-things.

  “R4, would you please look after the Commodore?” Captain Mi-Kus asks.

  “Sure, but you’ll owe me.” She responds as she trails off after Little Thraken, the chief medical officer and two unlucky ensigns who got drafted to carry her idiot little brother to the medbay.