Major General Krugwolt looks over the holomap and compares it to the paper maps the scouts had brought back. Jabiim was proving an interesting nut to crack. The world’s mud and torrential downpour tiring out his men and slowing his movements. Even so, his armored spearheads have driven the enemy out of the southern hemisphere and even seized multiple staging areas in the north.

  The General frowns. Either order a bombardment of the enemy positions and risk civilian casualties due to their proximity to the cities and the constant clouds, or don’t and risk his men. The General lets out a sigh, he wouldn’t risk civilians. At least his Corps hadn’t suffered too many casualties fighting in the south. Though in all honesty, to himself and others, that was primarily due to him sending off three divisions so Cain could win at Handooine. From what his reports said, the 300th Volunteer Corps had suffered some 65% casualties between them fighting at Jabiim and Handooine. It would certainly form an elite core of the formation, especially once they’re replenished by fresh blood.

  In comparison his 53rd Volunteer Corps was more green now, many of their veterans now serving in the 300th. Though at least Krugwolt managed to get another fully mechanized infantry division to replace one of his light infantry divisions. He really did not care for the current style of one mechanized, one armored and three light infantry divisions which had become standard throughout most Volunteer Corps. Sure, light infantry could be damn useful, but they paled in the versatility and maneuverability of a fully mechanized force.

  “Sir, Major Mud of the Jabiimi Loyalists is here for you.” A Staff Sergeant reports.

  “Let him in.” Krugwolt grumbles quietly.

  The Clone enters quietly and exchanges a nod with the General. Krugwolt would admit, the loyalists did good scout work and their growing division and a half of front line fighters weren’t bad, probably not as good as his regiment of Anaxsi or the regiments of veteran Targonnians, but not bad. Definitely better than most militias and garrison forces.

  “Sir,” The Clone begins, he was stiff, “I’ve been ordered to inform you of a potential parlay with the remaining Nationalists in a few days time in neutral territory.”

  “Meaning it’s between our two lines.” Krugwolt grumbles. He wanted to rub his face at the frustrating thought, but stopped himself. Ever since Mintooine whenever he did just that the prosthetic would slip slightly and reveal scarred skin and his gums.

  “The parlay is to allow a ceasefire and lead to negotiations of surrender from the Nationalists.” The Major says.

  “You got that in writing?”

  “Yessir.” The Clone replies before handing over a datapad.

  Krugwolt looks over it quickly and nods in satisfaction: “Alright, I’ll be there. If I kick it, my command goes to Brigadier General Chirup, of the 73rd Infantry Division and 1st Targonnian Volunteers. He’ll at least avenge us properly.”

  “I’ll be sure to do so, sir.” The Major replies before snapping another salute and leaving.

  Krugwolt sighs. Maybe the campaign would be over sooner than later. That’d be nice, especially since it would give him a rank actually suitable for his Corps and position in the command’s administration.

  Brigadier General Bvinsk can’t decide if he wants to pull his hair out by the roots or drink an entire cask of Kvass. More ships, more men, more rations, more machine parts, more credits, more bonuses, more contracts, more work. Always more work. At least he could shunt a ton of it onto his underlings, of which Captain Jerjerrrod was proving to be an excellent member, so the recently promoted General didn’t go entirely insane. At least not yet.

  “Sir, report for you.” One of the newer administrators says, holding out a datapad for the General.

  Bvinsk takes it and skims it over. The New Heurkean shipyard combine was complaining about not getting paid on time. Angry stakeholders … ah, delayed ship production due to funding problems in regards to raw materials. That could be a problem. Stars, this is why he needed another company’s worth of administrators, bean counters and busybodies. At least Toong’l station was still fully operational, though by now it was a purely administrative space station, with the logistical needs of the system being handled by a trio of newer stations.

  Bvinsk sighs as he pulls out a cigarette and a matchstick. Striking the disposable piece of wood and sulfur against his increasingly worn boots, carefully bringing the small flame to the tube of paper and tobacco and igniting it. A quick inhale before taking it out and tapping his finger against it above his ash tray.

  “I’ll need to pass this one up to Admiral Dericote. But I am certain the man vill approve giving them their payments promptly from now on. Add a note to the report that we would have caught it if we weren’t this overworked and get going.” Bvinsk orders before returning his cigarette to his lips.

  The Sergeant snaps a quick salute before taking the datapad back and marching out of the room. Bvinsk looks over a different datapad with their budget. If things didn’t improve soon they’d have to start paying men in IOUs and warbonds. Things that usually don’t get paid back within someone’s lifetime, barring something drastic. Bvinsk would know, his family had still owned a couple warbonds from the Great Sith war five hundred years after the conflict had ended.

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  Another inhale and another datapad. At least the ration supply had bettered itself. Various colonies of Mon Cala seemed interested in … creating goodwill with the command’s administration by providing extra foodstuffs from their varied oceans. That alongside Wyndigal and Dennogra’s agricultural output being bought up for cheap and added to the supply chain has certainly helped, even with the diminished output from Balshebr. Though seriously, what had Dericote been thinking? Balshebr had supplied a solid tenth of the rations for the entire command and a fifth of the reserve stockpiles since her original seizure.

  The Administrator lets out a sigh alongside an exhale of smoke. If he’d known he’d be doing this much work while his comrades in administration jaunted along the front, destroying infrastructure, causing chaos and wracking up costs, he probably wouldn’t have complained his previous position wasn’t challenging enough.

  Another puff and the Brigadier General returns to his duties. He had work to do, numbers to double check and another shipment of tibana gas to order. At least the 2055th Logistics Section would be useful for that. Stars know how much of a pain it is to transport tibana with Peltas, the containers were just large enough so they couldn’t fit two of them in a single ship, such a pain.

  I look at the report with a smile. Lantillies and Ringo Vinda both under siege. Further reinforcements racing towards both sieges to end them quickly and sure up the central Perlimian. It felt like after two years of war the Republic was finally in the full swing of mobilization. Shipyards had almost fully switched over to a military first production model, soldiers enlisted on mass, junior officers were trained or promoted like never before while commissioned officers were rising through the ranks, gaining glory and suffering successes and failures alike.

  “The Galaxy is at war.” I mutter to myself as I watch a recently christened Dreadnought heavy cruiser emerge from her drydock over Mon Cala. Her and two of her sister ships would hold firm over Dac until I could organize the officers and further ships needed to lead the eventual squadron. Meanwhile the bridge crew continues their quiet work as I return my focus to my dear starcharts.

  A group of Adjutants, lead by Lieutenant Hursk, were picking over the combined map and making small adjustments, by comparing it with various notes and some of my private maps. Hundred upon hundreds of worlds peppering the map throughout the Tion Cluster Theater and its surrounding border territories. I glance up to the north, near the border between the old Sith Worlds and the north of the Tion Cluster. It was a bit of a pity that Hondo lost Florrum, I would’ve enjoyed getting a comms interception station there, what juicy sources I might gather from a world between Raxus and Serenno.

  How did the Seps manage to get between those theaters anyway? The Sith Worlds Cordon Fleet wouldn’t permit anyone within the territories they kept under quarantine. Probably through the Spadja Sector and the Gordian Reach. Just because our supply lines went through there, didn’t mean Sep lines couldn’t do the same, I suppose. I turn my focus back to the south of the Perlimian. Saleucami was still slogging along, though Republic forces from the Greater Halla Command would be moving on Bimmisaari soon, the taskforce already gathering at Boz Pity.

  I hum as Jabiim’s shade goes from the purple the map’s been using to represent sieges to the blue of friendly territory. I blink in confusion a moment before smiling. Looks like Krugwolt managed it far ahead of schedule. Good. His men can start rebuilding efforts while they wait on their eventual redeployment.

  Changing my gaze slightly I wonder what my next orders would be. Originally I was supposed to be raiding … Ingo now. Obviously that’s fallen through. Maybe the second phase of Silken Tubers would be picked up again anyway? It certainly was possible. Annoyingly my eyes shift to purple Dellalt. The Jedi still held part of the system, had even managed to land forces on Dellalt proper, yet progress was slow. They’ll need reinforcements eventually, ground forces and garrison regiments especially, but they were holding out none the less.

  I sigh, it looked like my actions at Dellalt were making things harder for Midnight Voulge. The civilians were in an uproar in the occupied territories and resistance was particularly stiff throughout the world. At least Rear Admiral Hatha had been diverted to fight against Generals Tiplee and Tiplar over Ringo Vinda. That meant the Seps had left a less experienced Commodore behind with just enough ships to hold off General Forte. In all fairness the Commodore had done pretty well, until General Tapal had arrived with his 433rd Outer Rim Squadron.

  Oh to be a fly on the wall of that poor Sep officer’s wall when two more Venators, three Acclamators and some sixteen light ships and picket entered realspace out of the blue. I chuckle silently at the thought. Maybe Dellalt will need my intervention, but right now, it doesn’t and despite the … shame it brings me, I can’t help but remain in a good mood from that. If I ever need to stay in Dellalt for longer than it takes to go from one egress point to another it will be too soon.

  I let my gaze drift over the map again. Was there any real territory to consolidate? I suppose Drongar could be fully seized, even though it would probably cause more problems than solve. Maybe Gbu? Ah, but it would almost be impossible to actually seize the world with oppressively heavy gravity. Not unless I could get an entire Corps of high gravity capable soldiers and even then it probably wouldn’t be worth the logistical issues. I sigh, the world would probably be a pain in the neck for the foreseeable future.

  Maybe I should make a run to Ringo Vinda? Sure it was out of the way, wasn’t in my command and was currently under siege, but it would do the men some good to have an easy mission and probably put the fear of the Maker into the Seps. Maybe just take my 347th Outer Rim and the new 2055th Logistics to do the supply run, give the new ships a safe first mission and my men something calmer than the battles past. Probably attack a convoy or three on the way. I nod to myself and jot that down. We’ll get to that asap. I’ll leave Faxe in charge of the remaining 97th in case of a Sep incursion. Yeah, that sounds like a wonderful idea.

  “Sir, I’ve got a transmission, recorded, from an unknown source.” The temporary comms chief reports.

  “Is it clean?” I ask.

  “Looks so, sir. Just a basic transmission, looks almost stripped clean.”

  I consider my options a moment before nodding: “Isolate it fully and put the entire thing onto a handheld holoprojector for me.”

  “Yessir.”

  The officer quickly does as ordered and soon hands me a small disk. I click its playback feature and the face of General Solomahal appears before me. The Lutrillian looks slightly beat up, but otherwise fine. There’s a moment where the hologram flickers a few times. I recognize the purposeful corruption Solomahal used to order me to delete the file afterwards. Another flicker and I know I’ll at least get to misplace this one under my boot.

  “Admiral. I’ve made it out of Sep custody. I lost a lot of good soldiers at Azure alongside a handful of datapads. You might end up with one shipment or another from it, but don’t think I’ve kicked it form that alone. Go ahead and keep all the spares and the handful of bits and pieces heading your way, not worth going through all the logistical hassle of getting them back to me. General out.”

  I click the recording off before tucking the projector into my belt. I’ll destroy it later, use it for spare parts or something. At lest the Lutrillian was alive. I don’t think I could manage his network and take over leading all the bits and pieces the old General would leave behind either. Though I suppose the few fellow officers the Lutrillian’s been recruiting that should contact me in the future might as well stay with me. Though this was a bit of an opsec risk. Better to only know your superior than your superior and his comrade.

  I frown, the old warhound had mentioned once about wanting to get his first round of recruits to know one another. Especially since at least I, and probably some of the others, were now equal in rank to the Republic Intelligence officer. I look around the bridge. No suspicious glances, though there were a couple curious ones, from Lieutenant Hursk especially.

  “He’s an old mentor of mine, helped me in how I should establish my Marshal’s Agents. He has his own ring of informants and since he was captured some of his fail-saves triggered. He just told me to live with it and not bother giving them back.” I answer the Lieutenant’s curiosity.

  “Seems kinda … intelligence-y” The Lieutenant says.

  I let out a sigh in acknowledgment: “It is, it really fucking is.”