I was snacking on a lime-grapefruit in my temporary office as I was looking over the current reports. Figuring out how I was going to reshuffle my formation was hard enough, doing so for an entire regional command was even harder. With the aftermath of Dac in full swing I was getting numerous reports on which ships were still salvageable and which weren’t. Luis’ Pelta the Dagger was one of the dozens of frigates that had to be scrapped. On the bright side a good handful of the abandoned Dreadnoughts could be repaired, re-crewed and reorganized within a month or two, especially with Senior Captain Hugh threatening, placating and brown-nosing almost every single harbormaster and shipyard overseer in orbit.

  I sigh before taking another bite from the bitter fruit. It was a good thing that the Captain was doing well in my absence, but it still left a decent chunk of crew without ships, such as my buddy from the Academy. I suppose I was going to have Luis promoted anyway. The Fondor’s Daughter, one of the Dreadnoughts that was supposed to finish off my squadron’s forces had suffered a hit to the bridge during the final phase of the battle and needed a Captain and command staff. Some mild manipulation of my forces and Luis will find himself in charge of something more his speed. Best to keep friends close after all.

  I also had to figure out how I was going to restructure my forces formally. Apparently my squadron was to be used to reform the 120th Battlegroup. It was an older formation and had gained a few epithets and statuses that had stopped it from being activated earlier in the war, beyond the logistical constraints of those first months. The formation had originally been formed during the age of the Pius Dea. The Religious nutjobs having used it to fight along the Perlimian and into the northern Slice. For discovering and then exterminating a smaller empire of Insectoids it had gained the questionable title of the Slice Hussars. I could see what the propaganda department was going for. The Black Hussar leading the Slice Hussars, very fitting. I roll my eyes at that as I took another bite from the fruit.

  I continue to read through the history of my newest command. The battlegroup had been disbanded after the fall of the human-supremacist idiots, due to remaining loyal to the racist, travel hating, lizardfucking scabs. She was only reactivated over a thousand years later to defend the Perlimian against the Mandolorian Neo Crusaders until the Great Mando Battle for Lantillies where the 120th was almost entirely wiped out. Oh that was just great, what’s next? Did it’s sailors kill more civilians?

  I keep reading and … reactivated to patrol southern border region of the Mando regime. And disgraceful disbandment and division into multiple other units because they failed to protect a world from a Sith warlord. Wonderful. Even better the damn after action report’s is so blacked out that I can barely figure out what happened. Planet was named … Katarr. Sith’s name is blocked out. Casualty report is … nothing. I blink in surprise. That was unlikely. Smells like exhaust and lizardshit. Commanding officer is blacked out too.

  Should research that later. Let’s see, reactivated to defend against Sith incursions after the Sacking of Coruscant, but failed to see action before the treaty of Coruscant. Then a decent service record in the following conflicts. Participated in the Siege of Manaan, the Battle over Sinta, some cleanup operations after the Sith Empire collapsed, mobilized by request of the Tion Cluster and Lantillies to fight against the New Sith in the first years of their reign of terror, suffered mass attrition over the course of a millennia of war, folded into the Army of Light and fought nobly at the Seventh Battle of Ruusan and decommissioned before the Cleansings began. Ah, there’s the true reason the 120th wasn’t activated until now. She gained the status of Elite.

  Elite formations were difficult. Technically most formations were elite at some time or another, but another damn problem with the Ruusan Reformation was that any unit that ended the war against the Brotherhood of Darkness as an Elite unit got to keep the designation. Elite units were a prickly thing. They held a decent bit of prestige, but from that prestige came the pressure, especially for any legacy officer in command. It would be highly disgraceful for an Elite unit to loose its status under one’s tenure in command. Not to mention the mismatched groupings of traditions, regulations and exceptions Elite formations fell under.

  Most Elite formations required someone to be a rank higher than necessary for the usual formation, such as a Commodore for an Elite cruiser section, a Rear Admiral for an Elite battleship section, a Vice Admiral for an Elite battlegroup or a Rear Admiral for an Elite squadron. Luckily the 120th seems to be one of the exceptions to the rule. With it being permitted, though admittedly not encouraged, for the formation to be lead by a Rear Admiral. Annoyingly after taking a closer look there’s a stipulation here that implies the formation requires a Senior Captain as a bridge officer and about three times as many Lieutenants on my bridge as I’ve previously had.

  I hear a knock on my door which I open as I continue to read through the datapad. I suppose that simply means I’ll be promoting my stations commanders a bit earlier than I had originally planned. I take a bite from the fruit. Good they deserved it.

  “Sir?” The officer standing in front of me asks. I look up to see a younger Zabrak Lieutenant.

  “What is it, Lieutenant?” I ask in return.

  “Lieutenant Istris, Adjutant to Colonel Bvinsk, sir. I have a report here for you. Colonel Bvinsk implored you to read it imminently.” The Lieutenant says as he hands me the datapad.

  I take the datapad as I take another bite of the bitter fruit, not failing to notice the officer in front of me shuddering slightly as I do so. I glance over the first paragraph and swallow before I ask my question: “Did the Colonel have any thing important to add to this?”

  “He asked that you compiled the forces he will be needing to supply in the future. He asked you to, I quote here, ‘abuse any loopholes available as to not put further strain on our supply lines’. He also wished to ask to what standard you expect any vessels to be retrofitted to and the prospective resources required for such endeavors. Due to his codes not being included in the Command’s systems he also requests you forward the updated resource stockpiles to his staff.”

  “Very well. I’ll send him the required information by this evening. I expect to see him in a few days when we head out to the command.” I reply as my mind begins racing.

  The soldier snaps a salute before leaving. Damn did he look young. I’d be surprised if he was older than nineteen. I pull out the bottle of whiskey and a glass I’d stashed in my temporary office’s desk and pour myself a couple fingers to sip as I read over the recently revealed documents more thoroughly.

  Apparently Rendili had an attempted coup d’etat in favor of a Separatist government. The defense force had almost entirely deserted. Apparently this happened during my time in transit to the Core. Due to this the Senate has approved the nationalization of all member world defense fleets. Be it the planetary defense fleets of Kuat and Duro, the patrol groups around the few loyalist border worlds or the singular patrol craft which protected isolated and underdeveloped worlds.

  It certainly explained why the idiots at Baros didn’t come and help. The Rendili Stardrive subsidiaries probably had fallen under the sway of their attempted leaders. That would mean some housecleaning and replacing their current officers. I could probably spin the Merchant Fleet as not being effected by the law. Targonn has applied for membership, but would probably not fall under the law. She was a wartime ally and for the moment that was good enough for the Republic, not to mention the lack of enthusiasm the Republic always had when it came to redrawing sector borders. The Gand system only had a few customs ships, which could probably be snuck out of the draft.

  Everything else though? The Tidal circuit’s patrol fleets, Lothal’s Orbital Defense Force and the sparse corvettes and patrol craft of the Ash Worlds and Jubilar Sectors, they would all be folded into the Navy and to mine and Clonel Bvinsk’s lament, our supply chain. I suppose they could still be supplied by their homeworlds and I might be able to convince the Tidal circuit to simply fold their individual merchant fleets into Dac’s so I could avoid a total nationalization. However the issue with that would be the command’s budget. It was slightly larger now, thanks to the increased number of ships, but I would probably have to say goodbye to any spare cash I could use to secure more sensor buoys. It’ll certainly put a block to my usual additional intel.

  Maybe if I cut back on reserve rations? The very idea of that makes me uncomfortable. Maybe if we only retrofitted the newly added ships to the early war upgrades. Maker knows retrofitting the five Dreadnoughts from Baros would cut into our budget more than I’d like. The early war models would at least replace one bad generator per ship and give them a mark two hyperdrive, though their power economy would still be a tad more inefficient than I’d like. Then again it’d probably relegate the ships to patrol instead of proper ships of the line. In a pinch though, they’d certainly do. That’ll help with getting the thirty ships of the Line I’ll need for the attack at Pammant. I could probably pressure the Mon Cala government into handing me temporary command of a battleship section or two in return for not conscripting their entire force, not to mention the defense of Dac. They certainly don't have to know my intentions of never nationalizing the Merchant Fleet in the first place.

  Yes things were certainly starting to look up now.

  I was walking down one of the nicer streets of the upper mid levels of Coruscant to the target location of the smaller restaurant I had been invited to. R4 had refused to leave my side after the whole Republic Intelligence fiasco, something their department hasn’t apologized for. Maybe I should delay my usual reports by a day or two? Although that could be seen as me hampering the war effort.

  I suppress a sigh as I enter the entryway of the small upscale restaurant. It is quite quaint, with bottles of various wines lining the right wall of the establishment. I even spot a bottle of Fondorian cactus wine. I had always wondered what the favorite drink of Fondor’s upper class tasted like. I would need to see their price for the item and maybe, if my budget would allow it, buy myself a glass, or two, or maybe the whole bottle.

  I enter the room and find there’s only one long table, with the Fleet Admiral at its head. I approach my superior and snap a quick salute with my greeting: “Ma’am, a pleasure as always.”

  “Dericote,” She replies, “I am happy to find you with us, without the need of rescuing you from any rogue agents. Please go ahead and find yourself a seat.”

  I nod towards her and find myself a seat between an older Tarnab Vice Admiral, his mammalian hairs already graying, and a young looking Arkanian Captain, his world of origin clear by his white skin and hair. I nod to both in greeting and begin looking around the table for faces I recognize. There’s the red headed Major General from the campaign briefing, what was his name? Ghetsis? No. Gentis? That sounded right.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  I also recognize Admiral Jerjerrod near the Fleet Admiral herself alongside a woman around the Fleet Admiral’s age, her badge indicating herself an Admiral as well. Near the end of the table there’s quite a few other Captains, I recognize the two Adjutants the Fleet Admiral had with her during my formal debriefing, Hornblower and Bush, if my mind served me correctly, sitting across from them. There was also that one Captain, Bluff I think, who helped in my rescue.

  On my side of the table was another young, brown haired and mustached man that seemed oddly familiar in both mannerisms and body language, holding a conversation with another Captain, a Naboo, if her hairpiece was to be believed.

  A few minutes later, with a glass of the cactus wine in my hand, I am still observing the discussions. The talk is quite light overall, previous deployments, complaints about the Naval Procurement Office, joy about getting some good grub. The wine reminded me of a crisp white, though with a peculiar aftertaste. Ma’ll be jealous as all nine Hells when she finds out I managed to try a glass.

  I take a slow sip as the last seats are taken up by a few more officers. A Human male Republic Intelligence Colonel, two Majors of the Republic Army, one a Klatooinian the other a Twi’lek with a more pale skin-tone, probably had a human parent or grandparent, and finally a quite old looking Duro with paled out blue skin and fading red eyes, his rank announcing himself as another Fleet Admiral.

  “Now, that all are present, I wish to thank all of you for joining me.” Fleet Admiral Honor says.

  “A pleasure as always, dear.” The elder Duro says.

  “Honestly surprised it took so long for this thing to be in-formalized.” The female Admiral at Honor’s side mentions.

  I take another slow sip of my wine as the Fleet Admiral continues: “Yes, well it has become clear that this organization is required on some level. Especially to provide additional protection against the overreach of other departments. Just yesterday Rear Admiral Dericote, the one who has not stopped drinking since he got his glass of wine, was interrogated and almost murdered by a group of overzealous Republic Intelligence officers.”

  I raise my glass in a toast to my savior as she mentions me. A few eyes drift towards me, with the Admiral at Honor’s left seemingly recognizing the drink I had been nursing.

  Fleet Admiral continues despite it: “You have been gathered, because of your loyalty to the Navy and more importantly the Republic. As the Head of Naval Operations, I have decided this coalition is required for consolidated movements throughout the Republic’s armed forces.”

  “We’re forming a Clique then?” Admiral Jerjerrod asks, “Good. The Tarkins and their faction have had too much influence recently. Especially with Wilhuff being used as an attack dog by the Chancellor.”

  “You can say that again.” The Tarnab Vice Admiral beside me affirms, “Their theorems on frightening the systems into line is ridiculous and doomed to failure. Their massive support for Kuat’s designs is also suspect.”

  “The Tarkins may be foolish in their ideology, but accusing them of corporate favoritism is both a tad much and unlikely. It is the Naval Procurement Office that deals with that, not the ruling family of Eriadu.” I object.

  “Bah, Kain is one of the fools they’re in bed with.” My neighbor argues.

  “He really shouldn’t have the position in the first place.” Major General Gentis adds.

  “Enough.” Fleet Admiral Honor interjects, “That is not the purpose of tonight. The purpose is to finalize the ideals of the H-O-N-O Clique.”

  “Is that the name we’re sticking with?” I hear the Arkanian beside me mutter in mild confusion.

  “Might as well follow the lead.” I mutter in reply, before taking another sip from my wine. I’d need something else to drink soon.

  “Clearly we’re against whatever the Tarkins have tried to pass into doctrine.” Captain Bush suggests.

  “A faction founded on what it is against is a poor coalition.” The wizened Duro objects.

  “Not to mention they do have good ideas every now and then.” The mustachioed Captain adds.

  “I suggest we adapt when necessary, but otherwise keep to the usual armed forces doctrine. It has been successful for many a year and will continue to do so.” the Twi’lek hybrid offers.

  I roll my eyes at that: “You’re forgetting the old doctrine was still using the assumption that the largest ship in the fleet would be the size of a cruiser, with the exception to the rule being our Invincible class dreadnoughts and the exceedingly rare Inexpugnables. The soldiers who fought in the New Sith Wars would be surprised by how large all our ships have gotten. A certain level of adaptability and reform ought to be pushed. Relying on outdated doctrine is what almost got me killed twice.”

  “The other times were on your own initiative.” The lone member of Republic Intelligence adds. I roll my eyes at that, it may be true, but I’d argue almost none of them were genuinely my fault.

  “Oh come off it, battles are always risky. Just because you sit behind a desk doing data-analysis instead of fighting doesn’t mean you understand the risks which occur during battle.” The Naboo Captain argues.

  “I will not allow someone who is acting on a vital part of the armed forces’ foundation be criticized like that.” Jerjerrod admonishes, “Besides we have gotten off topic again. I do think the Rear Admiral has a certain point. However we could take a more decentralized take on his ideas. How to test if a possible change in doctrine could be good? Have our members conduct tests with their recommendations. If they appear to work well, the entire Clique can support it when it comes up for debate.”

  “A fine compromise. The theoretical ideology of the clique will clearly be a status quo of the Republic.” The Vice Admiral beside me affirms.

  “At least for the time being. If reforms are required after the war, we can debate on the matter then.” The Admiral beside Honor affirms. I really should try to figure out her name.

  I don’t fail to notice that Honor has been rather quiet so far, as if the ideology and doctrinal target of her clique isn’t important. Maybe she was just doing it for the power of having this many up and coming officers and old guard supporting her. Crap have I fallen into a conspiracy to seize power from the Republic? Wasn’t this exactly the thing General Solomahal had warned me against? I try to calm myself by finishing off my cactus wine, the previously enjoyed drink tasting almost like ash on my tongue. I tap a server droid to get me another glass despite it.

  Solomahal would … I should continue and stay the course. If things start looking too authoritarian or jingoistic I can use my membership here to warn Solomahal and Luis. Makes me wonder if I should try and get some of my subordinates, trusted subordinates, to join other cliques and organizations to see how they tick. It would certainly help against COMPOR and whatever the Tarkins were doing in their clique of supporters.

  “Dericote!” Ah fuck, that was Fleet Admiral Honor.

  “Sorry ma’am, mind drifted back to the front.” I apologize.

  She glares at me for a moment before repeating herself: “Admiral Zsinj asked you about your contacts on Fondor.”

  I blink in confusion. Zsinj was another ten thousander family. Dockyard focused with the remnants of the family living near the southern hemisphere, far away from the capital. Since when did they have an Admiral in the family? I turn towards the woman at Fleet Admiral Honor’s side, she doesn’t have the usual face structure typical of most old Fondorian families. She also isn’t wearing her family’s ancestral slugthrower or knife, a distant relation then?

  “I would prefer keeping them close to my chest.” I say in an attempt to dodge the question.

  Admiral Zsinj’s eyes sharpen slightly as she speaks: “Come now, we require a bit of trust here. Even just one could help us argue for a liberation of Fondor.”

  I hesitate a bit, she doesn’t have a Fondorian accent, not even a light one like the one I don whenever I’m with peers and superiors. Could it be a coincidence? Lying would suit me best here: “I have a couple friends from my time at the academy. One or two are merchants and try to provide Fondor with a variety of goods. Others serve within the Defense Force. The merchants have run the blockade to get Fondorian dissidents off world a couple times. Whenever it was practical they’ve left said dissidents with drop offs to be sent to me through a couple channels, which I will refrain from mentioning.”

  “That is good. Are the riots really as extreme as my husband says?” She asks.

  “Your husband would be?” I ask for clarification.

  “Zsinj of the Zsinj. Welder and Mechanic.” She answers.

  Ah, that explains it. She married into the family. Certainly explained both the lack of an accent and the fact that she was missing most of the usual Fondorian mannerism. I think a moment before answering: “The old Syndicates have been fighting some kind of guerrilla conflict since they attempted a peaceful protest, which turned into a riot after a battledroid shot a protester. The Unions are trying to get people into safe-houses and from what my father has passed along a couple of my cousins have gone as far as seeking sanctuary with him as family head.”

  The Captain with a mustache speaks up at that: “Damn, I always thought the Syndicates didn’t have any balls. Good on them fighting the damn Separatist bastards.”

  “My son, Zsinj son of the Zsinj.” The Admiral says as an introduction.

  “Well if we’re going for formality, Thraken Owen Luke Rend Dericote. Son of the Dericote. May her winds be calm and the Maker preserve you.”

  “May her winds be calm.” Captain Zsinj echoes.

  “Well then, with Fondor in such a state, we can certainly request more forces to the North Rimma.” The Duro Fleet Admiral says, bringing things back on track.

  “It does require whoever is in charge to be very careful with the shipyards, I’d recommend a Fondorian.” I offer.

  “And if not a Fondorian, than someone without any links to agitating competing shipyards.” Captain Zsinj agrees, “Sands bury us if it ends up being a Kuati or Rendili Commander.”

  “That I should be able to do, despite my homeworld’s proclivities. I believe it would be about time I take to the front again. I’m sure I can still teach you young travelers a thing or two.” The elder Duro suggests.

  “Thank you, sir. May your travel be safe and may Fondor be a safe harbor once more.” I reply, jumping on the opportunity to see my homeworld free.

  “Well then, we have the clique’s first priority. The seizure of the North Rimma Trade Route.” Captain Hornblower says, his upper class Coruscanti accent showing “Good for me, my command is there, but it will be unlikely that the Republic will be able to seize everything north of Thyferra let alone Yag’Dhul. What then?”

  “Dericote is already in charge of seizing Pammant and if possible Mintooine.” Fleet Admiral Honor confesses.

  “I will need to continue my force’s defensive position along the Trans-Hydian, despite my request for us to advance to Botajef.” The Vice Admiral beside me admits.

  “I shall continue to hold my position at Hosnian.” Admiral Zsinj says, “Once Fondor is freed I am certain my forces will be required for the strike south towards Bestine and Mechis.”

  Just then the server droid appears beside me with the bottle I’d already had a glass of. It pours me a glass and moves to leave, but a small gesture from me makes it leave the bottle behind. I take a long drink of the wine, enjoying the taste and smoothness once more. Things seemed to be looking up.

  The meals come soon after alongside a pitcher of water for me. Best at least try to keep my wits about when surrounded by my peers and fellow conspirators. I feel the urge to roll my eyes at this. It was really just formalizing the favors Honor had into something which could throw its weight around. Clever, but certainly fractious for the military as a whole.

  The food was quite nice. Most of the table was served some kind of steak in a red wine sauce alongside tubers and some veg. Quite filling, tasted good and best of all wasn’t an emergency ration. Some of the others were eating some vegetarian dish instead. Never did understand that, though I suppose if they were from a herbivore species it made sense. Fondor never really has the luxury for something like that. You eat your ration, or you don’t. Not much else to choose about.

  Soon enough the meals are finished and a few conversations are struck up again. Mostly empty pleasantries. I simply remain sitting nursing my drink and considering the crowd. Finally something interesting happened.

  The Arkanian Captain beside me turns to me and asks me a question: “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you manage an entire regional command when you were only recently promoted to Senior Captain?”

  “A decent chunk of delegation, about half my old liquor supply and having the command be almost entirely empty.” I answer, “Why, you afraid the same thing’ll happen to ya?”

  “Not to the same extent, sir. However I am currently the second in command of Mimban command. I don’t think I could do all the paperwork the Rear Admiral does.”

  “How come you’re a Rear Admiral’s second?” I ask out of curiosity.

  “The old Commodore died in action. Until either his replacement or my promotion, I am second in command.”

  “Just do your best and remember your training.” I answer, “Maker knows it makes things easier on us.”

  “If you say so, sir.” The Arkanian replies.

  “Chin up soldier. Fear is the mind killer. You have your training, your subordinates and your mind to keep it in check. And if worse comes to worst and a sandgater’s about to sneak up from below, you can always run for your rock.”

  “What?” The Arkanian asks, confusion clear in his voice.

  “When shit hits the fan, get out of the way. There’s no shame in running, despite what much of doctrine tells you. I ran at Dellalt and saved half the men in the section, not to mention many a good friend. I ran when the Separatists were about to ensnare me during my campaign to the Perlimian and the Separatists run whenever they see the blackened hull of my Little Revenge. Running, fleeing and most importantly regrouping can save your and your men’s lives. Doesn’t mean to discount bravery, just means to remember every option you have.” I clarify, taking another sip of wine to lubricate my throat.

  “A fair bit of wisdom from one so young.” The Vice Admiral admits.

  “Thank you, sir.” I reply, before taking another sip of the wine.

  “Though I think some of your wording could use adjustment. Fleeing implies cowardice and disorganization. It implies a certain panic within the ranks, it implies a rout. Better would be an organized movement. Perhaps the word retreat fits what you are trying to say better?”

  I consider the words a moment before nodding in affirmation: “It certainly does. A chaotic rush away from the line would have left me and my men dead many times over. Retreat is the better word, sir.”

  The Vice Admiral besides me nods in contentment and I continue to sip my wine. Waxing philosophy can be ever so entertaining. Later in during the conversations I pick up his and the Arkanian’s names. Vice Admiral Lipsoc and Senior Captain Uri Gerra.

  Good to know some like minded officers by name. It certainly won’t hurt.