We came out of hyperspace at the first jump-point between Mintooine and Poseidenna like a lizardgator snapping at its prey, fast, murderous and pissed off. I look around us and wait anxiously as we leave the first egress point. The first fighters join us in realspace alongside the Lothcat and Contrarian, one of the Consulars, a second later.

  “Sitrep.” I growl out.

  “Hyperdrive is still aces. Shields we’re battered when we jumped and they’ll need a full recalibration.” The tech Adjutant reports from one of the trenches.

  “Sensors still functional, though we’ll probably want to compare our readouts to a system we’ve scanned more often to double check sensitivity.” Welder joins in.

  “Comms are good, sir.” Lieutenant Slas answers calmly as the Stellar Vix and one of our CR90s enters space alongside a trio of ARC-170s and the rest of Little Squadron.

  “Flight Little Cresh requests immediate repairs for Little Eight.” One of the fighter comms managers reports.

  “We’ll make space for them. Prepare our hangars for emergency repairs and get the H-60s out of there.” I order as the Constellation and another handful of fighters enter realspace.

  “Sir?” Mi-Kus asks me as I tap my gloved metal hand against my slugthrower.

  “Where are the other ships?” I mutter. I don’t want to think about this.

  “Sir, Senior Captain Sever is hailing you.” Lieutenant Slas interrupts.

  “Bring ‘em up.” I mutter.

  Soon enough the visage of the commanding officer of my 707th O.R. Section appears before me: “Rear Admiral. As the last ship out of system I am afraid to report the confirmed loss of the Cookie Cutter II, six Starchasers of Wind Squadron, two ARC-170s of Squall Squadron and five NTB-630 bombers of Tornado Squadron.”

  I frown at that and start tapping more intensely along my holster. That was a hundred and sixteen sailors I wouldn’t be getting back. I was also still missing a Consular and an additional ten fighters. With the losses in our fighters from the battle proper I’ve lost a hundred and thirty one sailors. Kark.

  I straighten up and look back at the stoic Captain’s hologram: “We will leave the remaining ARC-170s and the Contrarian in system to wait a rotation, or until the enemy appears, on our missing sailors. We make for Poseidenna. My H-60s will be moving to your hangar bay until further notice.”

  The man salutes before signing off. I wait for the hologram to disappear before returning to stare out the windows.

  We reach Poseidenna without having heard a single word about the lost ships. It could be that they made the jump for Pammant, but I had already added their deaths to our casualty rate. I let out a sigh as I look at the archipelago infested ocean world below. Thousands upon thousands of little islands and islets peppering the ocean like pepper flakes on a healthy soup.

  Poseidenna had been neutral in the war so far. The planet’s mixed population of Quarren, Humans, Dorneans and a smattering of other species causing a gridlock in their parliament on which side to support. The world had started as a Dac colony, but its proximity to Dornea and its idyllic surface had attracted the world’s more Republic supporting people. The split within the world’s parliament had been broken with my victory over Dac. They had jumped on the bandwagon, though certain reports from their customs fleet did mention an unsurprising amount of ships still sailing the greater Mintooine Spur.

  On a strategic side, while Poseidenna didn’t have notable shipyards, they had an extensive asteroid and planetoid mining industry throughout the world’s sphere of influence. Minerals and metals which could now, with her siding with the Republic, be fully utilized by her usual costumers of Mon Cala, Ruisto and Dornea.

  Her forces should also be able to hold off any minor incursion of Sep forces, the customs fleet having a solid number of MC30c frigates, Dornean made corvettes and a sole proud MC75 named for the world she defended. The patrol here was a formality. A symbolic show that the Republic hadn’t forgotten her returning wayward daughter and to ensure the hyperspace lanes between her and the consolidated territories within the regional command still stood firmly.

  “Being hailed by the First Minister, sir.” Lieutenant Slas reports.

  “Put ‘em up.” I order.

  Soon enough the visage of a slightly portly, jolly looking Dornean appears. Her uniform is simple, in the Mon Calamari style of court dress, but in a simple sky blue to mirror the oceans of her world. The only thing which would distinguish her uniform from the countless court floozies on Dac was the simple medallion on her chest, the ribbon holding the ornate shell imitation curling around the Dornean’s neck.

  “First Minister, a pleasure.” I say in greeting.

  “Rear Admiral. We are happy to see the Republic arrive to our humble world.” She responds, her tone light, “As a show of the patriotism our people hold for the Republic I wish to inform you that ten thousand souls wish to join the Republic’s armed forces. All but a regiment’s worth having enlisted for a position within the Navy.”

  I nod in appreciation. It’s good to know I’ll have the bodies necessary to man the ships Mon Cala, Ruisto and Pammant are producing. I place my hands behind my back as I speak: “Thank you for informing me madam. I am certain they have already been tested to Navy standard. I’ll send transports to pick them up as soon as practical. I will also inform General Krugwolt of the soldiers-to-be now available to him. Is there anything else … necessary for our discussion?”

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  The First Minister simply shakes her head: “I merely wished to show the support Poseidenna holds for the Republic.”

  “In that case, I thank you once more, Minister and wish you a pleasant day.” I respond before cutting the transmission. Karking politicians. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had the same number of souls willing to enlist for the Seps if they had won at Dac.

  “Let’s get out of here already. We have a few more jumps to make before we can return to home base.” I order as the bridge moves to follow my orders.

  Taral was a quiet system nowadays. Uninhabited by sentient life and devoid of any purpose beyond being a minor hyperspace junction between Poseidenna, Lothal, through her Dornea, and New Heurkea, another Mon Cala colony world.

  Once long ago Taral had hosted an outpost for the Sith Empire, but that was ages upon ages ago. Now the only remnants of their presence was a series of craters on the world of Taral V. I take a glance at our scanner station and nod as all seems clear.

  I slowly walk over to my usual post as I give out the usual orders: “You know the drill. Send out teams to double check the sensor buoys in system and begin fighter patrols. We should be done here in an hour or two, so make sure to let our hyperspace capable fighters get some actual rest now.”

  Forcing the pilots into hyperspace was taxing, especially during longer jumps. It was why ships had docking hatches alongside hangar bays, but with the loss of two of our corvettes we were a tad too low on space to have a good cycle of rest for our pilots. Regrettably I had also removed the machinery to store two squadrons in the Little Revenge’s hangar bay to make it less cramped and fit a tugboat within.

  It was a boring couple hours. Nothing was amiss. We jumped to hyperspace soon enough, heading back to Dac, at least until the next raid.

  I was sitting at my desk silently cursing every ancestor I’ve ever had for begetting the people who would make me. Maker I just, ugh. Therbon was acting as if I hadn’t been single handedly running the regional command for him since the third month of this war!

  “… I of course expect you to have Mintooine seized within the week at this rate. If the enemy is this incompetent, it should be no difficulty for the ‘Black Hussar’. No, I believe the report on the battle of Mintooine shall be on my desk by the end of the month.-”

  “Sir, I have told you, it is not possible.” I repeat, for the third time this meeting.

  Krugwolt finally joins in at that, the man currently coming in to this meeting from the trenches of Targonn’s final siege: “I have to agree with the Rear Admiral. Based off of his reports and the enemy’s number of forces we cannot successfully seize the world of Mintooine. Not to mention my corps is currently occupied with finishing off the civil war on Targonn. Pulling us out prematurely will doom this world to further months of conflict and likely halt most, if not all, ration shipments in an act of protest.”

  “Then seize the rations anyway!” Therbon barks. How was this man in charge? His temper was shorter than a sandcricket and he was as hungry for victory as a sandgator.

  “With what men? I only have a single Corps of Republic troopers on Targonn, we’re the elite speartip to the Targonnian army of three hundred thousand! Do you expect me to force the farmers into the fields while they are still armed from fighting their neighbors? Do you expect me to subjugate a world anew, with far fewer men, because let me remind you, sir, you also expect me to conduct a ground invasion of Mintooine at the same time, because you are being impatient?” Krugwolt presses, his voice a mix of exasperation and anger. Thank the Maker for him.

  Colonel Bvinsk decides to join the discussion, having previously been busy ignoring us in favor for a requisition order of foodstuffs: “Sir, all due respect, but you cannot rush this command. It has always been in a risky state and has only recently even been capable of actual offensive actions instead of raids. I’m honestly surprised the command hasn’t fallen yet and you have the Rear Admiral and the local allies to thank for that. I suggest you trust in their local expertise.”

  Therbon looks as if he’s about to explode so I intervene: “Sector General, sir. We are still on the original timetable. If we receive the reinforcements we outlined in the original briefing we will be able to seize Mintooine within two months’ time. If we do not, I am uncertain we will be able to seize Mintooine within any reasonable time period.”

  Therbon zeros in on me: “And where am I to procure the number of ships you demand? Who will command them? Do you expect me to decimate the defenses I have along the Perlimian? Leave the Core vulnerable? When that bastard Trench has been conducting a campaign through the Roche asteroids?”

  “I am simply informing you, sir, on what we require to conduct the operations demanded of us.”

  “Can’t you pull strings at Fondor? They should have provided plenty of ships to the Navy by now.”

  “Has Fondor been liberated?” I ask, confusion clear in my tone.

  “Has been for over a month. It occurred while you were gallivanting with that traitor Jedi Krell, I believe.” Therbon answers easily.

  Fondor was free? Ma’ and pa’ were safe? Why haven’t I heard from them? Why wouldn’t the Republic be lauding the victory? I force through my confusion to ask my question: “Why wasn’t I informed, sir?”

  “It has nothing to do with your area of operations.” Therbon answers dismissively.

  I shove the confusion aside to answer the Sector General’s earlier question: “Even if I managed to get a squadron’s worth of ships from Fondor, that wouldn’t be enough ships to conduct the battle. It would up our rate of raids, but only by a week.”

  After two to three weeks of transit. But Fondor is free? I can hardly believe it. Maker I’ll need to break out my last crumbs of guestfood! And the best whiskey in my cupboard. Maker this was wonderful! I’ll need to tell Luis too.

  “Rear Admiral” Therbon growls.

  “Sorry, sir. I am simply ecstatic about the news of my homeworld’s liberation.” I respond.

  “Bvinks, repeat!” Therbon barks at my fellow soldier.

  “The Sector General merely wished to inform us the timetable stands until our next group of reinforcements arrive.” The Colonel easily replies.

  “Of course, sir. When should I expect these forces?” I ask.

  “Within the month. Dismissed.” My superior barks before his hologram goes out.

  “Well then. If you both will excuse me, I have suddenly found something worth celebrating today.” I say.

  “We are glad to see another world returned to the fold.” Krugwolt replies.

  “Do you think you could get some of the Fondorian defense fleet here?” Bvinsk asks.

  “Maybe, I’ll need to pull some strings and get a decent picture of what’s actually happening, but I sure hope so.” I answer easily, I feel light as a grain of sand.

  I can’t wait any longer. I finish punching in the encryption codes and wait patiently, my office door locked despite the privileges my rank grants me allowing my actions. It takes an agonizingly long five minutes until someone picks up on the other end.

  “Who’s this?” A young voice asks.

  “This is mudwhelp. This sure as hells ain’t mother pup.” I reply, keeping my cool. Had the transmitters been compromised? If so I’ll need to scrap this one asap.

  “Oh, you’re Uncle Thraken Owen Luke Davafid.” The voice says.

  “I repeat this is mudwhelp. Who the hells are you?” I ask. If they knew my name, they must be relatives, or a ten thousander family that pa’ had introduced me to at some point. Though I was pretty sure the only families we ever gave my full name to were the Askilitsks and the Zsinjs in the capital now that I think about it.

  “It’s cousin Philly Ulman Tom Atyad Askilitsk Dericote, me and my siblings are your third cousins once removed.” The boy answers. That confirmed a few things.

  “Alright Philly. Suppose I believe ya. What’s the sitrep?”

  “Well ma’ an’ pa’ are busy fighting the few droids that’re left. Uncle Owen Atyad is real sick. Aunty Aloise is apparently pregnant again. Grand Aunt Hildy Liza died a few days ago from heart failure. Uncle Owen Luke is busy trying to fight the Republic to let us keep our defense fleet’s independence, or at least let it be commanded by fellow Fondorians. Cousin Tom Luke broke his nose and lost his two front teeth and iz nasty. Oh and Auntie Naomi Rend is busy tryin’ to get a new government capable of actually functioning. The new railgoing First Minister is kindof a lizardick-”

  “Don’t think you should be sayin’ those words.” I mutter.

  “I entirely blame Auntie Naomi Rend. Anyway. They’re busy. Oh! I also heard we should thank ya for never eating your midday rations.”

  “Yeah that was me.” I answer, “Alright then. Supposin’ you ain’t lyin’ can you give my ma’ an’ pa’ a message or two?”

  “Sure!” The kid replies.

  “Mudwhelp is aces, but could use a few fellow hunters, but don’t risk the nest. Current packmates doin’ well. Could use some extra food though. Old sling doin’ well. Mudwhelp got into a couple scuffs, but ain’t dead yet neither. Your pup loves ya’ and stay safe for Makers sake.” I say easily.

  “What do you mean you got in a couple fights?” The kid asks. I see ma’ gave the cousins some of the rudimentary codewords we use.

  “Fought a traitor, fought a few skirmishes, fought a battle. Now get the info to my ma’ or I won’t teach any of y’all how to cheat at cards in the Outer Rim without nobody getting mad ‘bout it when I get back.” I threaten.

  “Alright. Nice meetin’ ya Uncle.” Philly says before logging off. I stow the comms unit back and sigh into my seat. Maker it’s a relief that ma’ and pa’ are safe.