I was nervously tapping my holster quickly and consistently. I had gotten quite drunk last night and luckily gotten over the following hangover just as we made our final jump. It was easier to forget than to fret. Our scouting fighters, mostly ARC-170s had destroyed every Sep sensor buoy between Mintooine and Dellalt all the way from the Tion Cluster to the edge of the galaxy to ensure operational security, which in all fairness took an entire week and pulled resources away from actions in the Ash Worlds.

  My tapping intensifies as I hear the minute mark. We’d be coming out at the galactic western hyperspace egress point to make a run on an enemy repair yard, defended by an enemy squadron and three defensive platforms. Back to where my career picked off, my first engagement in the hell of a war, where we lost half our men and sailors, where I certainly would have died were it not for a simple miscalculation on the front of the enemy commander. I take a deep breath and slowly exhale. The tapping stops as I try and center myself. This was not the time.

  The navigator speaks through grit teeth: “Ten, nine, eight, -”

  “Maker keep us.” I mutter as I rapid fire a prayer in my mind.

  “-five, four,-”

  “Stars preserve us.” Mi-Kus mutters.

  “-one, exiting.”

  We’re the second ship out, the Buckler having beaten us to the punch. Soon enough a trio of Y-Wings exit hyperspace alongside a CR90 and the Fondor’s Daughter. Cruisers, corvettes, frigates and finally the proper battleships exit one by one, entering the rapidly assembling spearhead formation as we begin rapidly accelerating towards our first target of the day.

  “Jam enemy comms and split fighter screen in two. I want a fifth of them to spread out far, but stay in squadrons. The rest is to assemble a close screen. Make sure the pickets are in the right positioning and put the Venators down another hundred meters.” I order rapid fire.

  “Shields double front and load concussion missiles.” Mi-Kus orders.

  “Incoming transmission, it’s on open frequency, they must be desperate.” Slas reports.

  “Give me a synopsis. We might need to cut the raid short.” I say.

  “We should at the very least shoot at the enemy before pulling back.” Lieutenant Hursk objects.

  “Are there any other enemy transmissions?” Mi-Kus asks.

  “Nothing we can detect, sir.” A comms officer reports.

  “It’s an emergency request that the other forces behind the asteroid belt come and support the 1st Outer Dellalt Squadron.” Lieutenant Slas reports.

  “Good means the jamming should be working.” Mi-Kus mutters.

  “Prepare to launch missiles, pull the front quarter of fighters back to the rest of the screen.” I order.

  “Enemy has launched fighters. Looks like they’re going for an advanced screen. I’m also detecting multiple Gozantis making a run for the asteroid belt.” Welder reports.

  “Can we manage a switch to anti fighters?” I ask calmly.

  “Yes, sir.” The Battery Adjutant answers.

  “All ships, switch ordnance to anti-fighter fragmentation missiles and await my mark.” I order.

  “Want the enemy ships sir?” Welder asks.

  “Anything of note?” I ask.

  “Lucrehulk’s weapons appear to be moving at a slower pace than usual. The two portside Munifex seem to have engine troubles and I’m pretty sure half of the Gozantis are first generation, with all the lacking bells and whistles.” Welder reports.

  “Should be easier then.” I mutter. If a third of the enemy Munifexes weren’t operating well I could abuse the port flank. If the Gozantis were out of date I should be able to dominate the skirmishing phase. And if the Lucrehulk wasn’t operating anywhere near full capability, I should be able to simply outmatch it.

  I take a quick glance at the strategic display, counting down the seconds until the time was right to fire. The Sep fighters, mostly Vultures, with a few squadrons of Tri-fighters, Hyenas and Whitecloack fighters hidden among them. Soon, they’d be too close to dodge well.

  “Fire missiles.” I order, “Load concussions next.”

  The starfighters attempt to break, flying in multiple directions, but the Vultures and Hyenas are slower to react than the sentient pilots and tri-fighters. The missiles shatter and hit the amassed fighters like a shotgun blast.

  “Enemy fighter force down to a quarter of original numbers. Maybe a wing and a squadron left total.” Lieutenant Welder reports.

  “Very good. Get me a wing and a half of fighters to take them on in advance of us,” I order.

  “We’ll need to pull them back before the long range engagement.” Mi-Kus mutters.

  “Who says I want a long range engagement?” I ask.

  Mi-Kus’ head snaps towards me, his eyes carrying worry: “We’re … we’re going in close?”

  “It’s the best way to beat Munificents. If our sensor readouts are correct they’ll be the most dangerous part of the enemy fleet. I think a mid range engagement would do best.”

  “So … So fighting at our best range? What's to stop the enemy from closing distance?” Mi-Kus asks confusedly.

  “Well, they need to defend their repair yard, don't they. And we can’t exactly shoot through the fighter melee, and neither can they.”

  “I fail to see the strategy, sir.”

  “So will they.” I reply happily. It was always good to throw a statistical outlier or two into ones database for whenever the enemy looked you up. Standard procedure in the Fonodrian Defense Force, not so standard in the rest of the Republic. A pity really, it was so fun to keep the enemy on their toes and if I didn’t do something unpredictable now I might go insane from the anxiety of being back at Dellalt.

  “Is this some odd Fondorian tick, or an odd you tick, sir?” Mi-Kus asks eventually, as our fighters start engaging the enemy’s remaining fighters.

  “Mostly Fondorian, but a bit of me too.” I say cheekily, tapping against my holster.

  Mi-Kus sighs before nodding: “Dully noted, should I be worried?”

  “Hard to say.” I mutter.

  “I was afraid that’d be your answer, sir.”

  Owen felt weird. Not an ate too much and bloated weird, nor a woke up with some kind of illness weird, but weird nonetheless. He was the new interim Commanding officer of the Fondorian Planetary Defense Force, which was fine, though he never really expected to get further than department head of the force’s logistical department. He had mended bridges with the rest of the family, which he kinda expected would happen over the course of his lifetime anyway and most of his family was safe, well as safe as can be with their careers.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Thraken was busy fighting in the far Slice, his darling Naomi was happily working as First Secretary to the new Government, a slightly more democratic one too, which surprised him. His cousins were happily working in the factories, mills, armories, warehouses and shipyards, so why did he feel off?

  “Thank you General.” The new Economics Minister said, a spark of genuine appreciation in his tone.

  “No problem, sir.” He replies, before leaving the room. That was it, the respect. He had always been somewhat respectable, from an up and coming old family. Hells after a couple of the old thousander families went down with the Seps and had their assets frozen to be held in trust by Fondor it wouldn’t be too surprising if the Dericotes ended up within the inner circle of the thousanders. Even after so many years of exclusion, their recent upswing was still significant enough to undo previous slights and mend bridges. It was certainly worth considering.

  Owen sighs, tapping the knife sheath as he walks back to his office. He had a meeting in a couple hours and should probably grab another cup of caf if he’s to actually listen to what the new Minister of Rations and the old Ministers of the Shipyards and Docks have to say.

  It was always the dream of the ten thousander families to be one of the thousand. It was the purpose of every credit gained, every family member born and often the dying wish of those who spent their lives in search of it and yet Owen wonders if the dream was, is worth it? Sure his family could ascend this moment by greasing some palms and taking on the assets of a couple families, but it wouldn’t be the right way of doing it.

  His comms beeps at him and he takes it out of his left breastpocket: “Dericote here.”

  “Sorry to interrupt you, sir, but the First Secretary is waiting for you.”

  “I’ll be there asap.” He answers before quickening his pace, his smile real for once. By the time he enters his office, his darling wife is already sitting on his desk.

  “This a wife visit or a job visit?” He asks, closing the door behind him.

  “Bit of both.” She answers before stepping up from the desk and kissing him gently.

  They separate, Owen having raised an eyebrow at his wife’s antics: “Something stress you out?”

  She sighs before sitting down on the raggedy couch he had nabbed from a sale when he was furnishing his office. He sits beside her as she talks: “Some nobles from the Tapani Freeworlds were being absolute assholes. Some of them had tiny stakes in the shipyards and aren’t exactly happy with the small governmental reforms we’ve done to incorporate the Unions and Syndicates into the decision making planetside and in orbit.”

  “Well nobles from Tapani are full of it anyway. They’re just as rich and self-absorbed as the thousand with half the brains and a weird obsession with laser swords.”

  “You only say that because you don’t have to deal with them so often.” She mulls.

  “Probably.” He concedes. He really should get that cup of caf.

  “I miss my son.” Naomi eventually says.

  “You really must, if you’re claiming him.” Owen concedes.

  “Never thought he’d ever be this far out of reach.”

  “We could comm him the next time he has some downtime.” Owen offers.

  “We should, maybe get a couple of your cousins to join in.”

  “That’d be nice. We should probably start planning a family reunion too. It’ll be nice to have the family back together when the war’s over.” Owen says.

  “’s long as no feuds get started, fine by me.” She says, leaning in on her husband.

  “I do have a meeting to prepare for.” He mutters, placing an arm over her shoulders.

  She sighs the tone defeated: “We can stay like this a little longer. Work’s been keepin’ us apart too long.”

  “Last time it was this intense was the emergency about the trade dispute when Thraken was born.” Owen says.

  “That was not a fun year and a half.”

  “At least R4 made us recordings.”

  “She’s a good droid.”

  “Yeah, glad we gave her to Thraken.”

  “Do miss her snark though.” Naomi admits.

  “We’re lucky she hasn’t gone haywire with you never mind-wiping the extra data.” Owen says.

  “Maker knows she’s probly gone wack, since Thraken never exactly liked doing it himself.”

  “Maker keep us whole.” Owen mutters.

  “So far so good.”

  I watch as the last charging Munifex goes up in flames, a heavy turbolaser from a Munificent racing past her burnt hull towards our formation, smashing against the shields of the Albedo Brave. The strategy had gone well so far, the enemy cruisers taking medium and heavy turbolaser fire alongside the occasional concussion missile, slowly chipping away at their capability to fight.

  “Bring us into close range. Hold missile fire and surge our fighters and bombers forward. Prioritize the repair-yard for our bombers.” I order.

  “I’ve got an enemy Munificent coming from behind the asteroid belt.” Welder reports.

  “Slas, see if you can jam any transmissions from it.” I order. Shouldn’t get greedy.

  “They’ll send a larger force to investigate soon enough.” Mi-Kus warns.

  “By the time they see us it’ll be too late.” I mutter coldly. Greed killed old Di-Van in this very system.

  “We’ll move on with phase two!?” Mi-Kus asks in shock.

  “Knocking out the tibana gas extractors will be worth the risk.” I mutter. It would damage the enemy.

  “Is it? Sir, they’ll be back up and running within the week!”

  “Yes, but a week will strain local defenses, force them to concentrate their resources and stress their supply lines, giving our raiders and privateers a better haul.” I explain as one of the remaining Munificents goes up in flames. I have better maps than Di-Van ever did, better intel too. I can do it, but only once, they’ll see it coming a second time.

  “So … should I press through the enemy forces?” Mi-Kus asks.

  “We’ll have to detach some forces to ensure the enemy repair-yard is properly destroyed.” I mutter, this was the difficult part of phase two. Another Munificent explodes like a firework, her debris crashing against our hull as we pass the ship and fire into the defense platform ahead of us.

  “So, yes.” Mi-Kus mutters.

  “We’ll detach the … Lucky Kelp, Prince’s Duty, Dac’s Guard, Little Spark and Nail. Senior Captain Sor will have command.”

  “As you command.” Lieutenant Slas mutters before punching in the information.

  “Shouldn’t we leave more escorts?” Mi-Kus asks.

  “Captain Sor is more than capable to know when he’s outgunned. This is a raid, priority is damaging the enemy without receiving damage in return. He will retreat if he must.”

  “Should I detach fighters for them?” Lieutenant Hursk asks.

  “Three squadrons, better take those that have taken a beating so they can have get repairs if necessary.” I advise.

  “As you command.” The Lieutenant says, as he looks for possible squadrons and passing the information along to a comms officer. Hursk would do well as a second, now the question is if I should keep him on hand in case Mi-Kus ever wants his own command, or see about transferring him to a Commodore who could use him better than I. Thought for later, I suppose.

  Finally the last enemy structure within the system’s kuiper belt, excluding a firm dismantling of the repair-yard, explodes, leaving us safe on this side of the system, the lone Munificent from another enemy formation having turned tail and fled back towards the enemy formations.

  “Get the ships, not diverted for dismantling the repair-yard into a spearhead formation, pickets in the first row, we’ll take point on the second, put the Venators between the Dreadnoughts. We’re going over the top!” I bark.

  “This isn’t some trench battle.” I hear one of the strategic Adjutants mutter to herself.

  “You’d rather go below?” I ask.

  “Should work better for the Venators, sir.” She says.

  “Worth considering in a different battlefield, but the tibana gas extractors in the Dellalt system are about at the same relative height as the kuiper belt’s upper asteroids and I wish to take them on from the front. Does that satisfy your objection?” I explain calmly.

  “Yes, sir.” The Sergeant answers.

  “Ascending now.” The Helmsman reports.

  “When we get into range I want every heavy turbolaser, concussion missile and heavy ion cannon to fire on the extractors. Once I see enough damage we’re gunning straight for the hyperspace egress point.” I order calmly, “Prepare for micro jump.”

  “Thank the stars.” Mi-Kus sighs as I march to the front of the bridge. The extractors were like specks of dust over a tiny ball in the distance. The gravity well of the gas giant should tear us out of hyperspace before we smash into it … probably.

  Yet as hyperspace takes us in and spits us out within seconds the details of the enemy extractors and their defenders become very clear. There’s a Dual Hemisphere-Omni support vessel between the two extractors, two Dreadnoughts on either side of the logistics ship and two Munificents beside each extractor. The enemy certainly knows we’re here now and lucky us, we haven’t been turned to paste.

  “Looks like that’s it for the extractor garrison.” Welder reports.

  “Any movements from Dellalt proper?” I ask, they’d be the force best able to intercept at this time of year.

  “We’ve identified the marking of the first through third Dellalt Squadrons in orbit of Dellalt proper, a Providence dreadnought, two Lucrehulks, three Providence battleships, a Recusant heavy, four Recusant lights, twenty Munificents, thirty five Munifexes, Stars know how many corvettes and fighters at this point. I’ve also got four Munificents of the three-oh-ninth Squadron.”

  “Mark that, this might be Hatha’s base of operations.” I order as I march back to the tactical display.

  “No disrespect, sir, but it is a bit weird that you’re so concerned about a single enemy flag officer.” Lieutenant Hursk says.

  “He almost beat us at Mon Cala and lead a successful retreat at Mintooine. Not to mention his repeated raiding of our shipping throughout the Ash Worlds and along the Perlimian. He has proven more effective than many other Sep officers I’ve fought.” I explain, my eyes staring at the countdown until we’d be in range.

  “Looks like the forces at Dellalt proper are gunning for us, if they don’t go for a micro jump we should have more than enough time.” Welder reports.

  “They won’t risk it.” The hyperspace Navigations Officer says, “The gas giant’s asteroid field would cause them more interference than us and they have two moons and multiple minor astronomical objects to avoid first.”

  “Excellent.” I mutter as the counter finally goes into maximum range, “Fire. Helmsman, begin adjusting our path towards our getaway.”

  Turbolasers spew their plasma, as dozens of missiles are launched. We begin to angle ourselves back towards the kuiper belt as we continue our approach. The turbolaser fire smashes into the enemy extractors first, carving large holes into the mining complexes. Another volley of our heavy turbolasers smash into the extractors, followed shortly by the missiles. One station goes up in flames, her tibana gas storage igniting from a lucky concussion missile, while the other starts drifting towards the surface of the gas giant below, some of her stabilizers and engines having been knocked out by a heavy turbolaser.

  “Get us out of here.” I order calmly.

  We make a run for it. I desperately count down the minutes until we’ve made it beyond the kuiper belt and can make our jump. Senior Captain Sor has already made the jump, not waiting for us, as I would expect from the man. We have almost half of the forces at Delalt on our tails, pursuing us like bloodthirsty hounds.

  I hesitate, we could beat them. Follow the tactics of the fifth Alasakan Conflict again to maximize firepower and place so many Maker blessed mines the enemy will either be funneled into our kill-zones or be doomed to fight us piecemeal. I squash the errant thought like an angry sandcricket beneath my boot. I would not follow Di-Van’s footsteps by facing a force too large for my own at Dellalt of all places. Even if I milked every possible advantage, abused the Tionese’s preferred tactics with twists on the old counters I don’t think I could win this. I feel my breath quicken slightly at the realization. I could not win here. From that realization the answer is seemingly simple. I had to get the kark out of here before I join my old commanding officer in the cold void of this system. I would not fall under the light of this system’s sun and her seemingly angry rays.

  “Enemy has sent fighters and bombers to pursue.” Mi-Kus warns me, grabbing me from my thoughts as he does.

  I take a glance over to the tactical display. I could … no. We need to prioritize our escape, not sacrifice forces without just cause. I take a breath before speaking: “Move our pickets into our back line alongside all our hyperspace capable fighters.”

  “Sir that’s almost our entire fighter force.” Mi-Kus warns, “They won’t be in a good starting position with the enemy on our tails.”

  I frown before slowly nodding. That was the part of the plan I disliked the most: “Make it half then, alongside all our Y-Wings, the NTB-630s, the ARC-170s, all of them.”

  “As you command.” Mi-Kus answers as I return my gaze to the countdown.

  Not much longer. I start tapping my holster anxiously.

  “Enemy fighters have engaged the rearguard.” Lieutenant Slas warns.

  A bit longer.

  “We’ve got fighters breaking off.”

  “No, all fighters either return to hangar bays or prepare for jump, we’ll hold them off from now on.” I order. We’re so close. I whisper out a prayer “Maker don’t let us fail when we’re so damn close.”

  “You heard the man!” Mi-Kus barks at the comms station.

  “Come on.” I mutter as fighters and bombers race past us to the front.

  “First ships making the jump.” Welder reports.

  “Hold us at the egress point.” I say, cursing myself a hundred different ways as I spit out the order.

  “Sir?” Mi-Kus asks, his eyes wide in a mixture of fear and confusion.

  “We’ll be the last ship out.” I mutter as the Albedo Brave and half a dozen cruisers, frigates and corvettes make the jump, followed shortly by the Constellation and her escorting Arquitenses.

  “Fuck.” Mi-Kus curses before snapping at the gunnery Adjutant, “Intensify our fire towards our rear. Concentrate shields around our engine block, hyperspace modules and navigation computers.”

  “On it, sir.”

  “Already relaying orders.”

  Maker who keeps, why am I doing this? A Hyena drops her payload on one of the CR90s and I fear for the crew as it makes the jump to hyperspace after suffering the hit to its hull. More and more of our ships make the jump until the last ship lagging behind, a battered Sphyrna class corvette makes the jump.

  I don’t hesitate a moment: “JUMP!”