A few outlying meteors are slowly flying past us as we take up position. They shouldn’t matter much in this phase of the fight, more important was the rapidly built minefield at our center. It was sparse and covering too large an area for my liking, but it would have to do.

  “Minefields up, enemy’s closing.” Mi-Kus reports.

  “Pull the minelayers back to the reserve, second line.” I order. The reserve was the second most dangerous position in the tactic I was going to attempt, but it had to look convincing.

  “Fighters and bombers in position, sir.”

  “Enemy fighters coming in hot. Looks like they plan on sacrificing a couple wings to clear out some of the minefields.” Welder says.

  “Good.” I mutter, that meant they’ll be gunning for a quick assault in the center.

  “To all ships in the center, prioritize shields and weapons. Engines go cold, all other systems on minimum power.” I order. It’d fuck our mobility, but I want staying power.

  “Arms-men and Clone detachments prepared for possible boarding actions across the formation.”

  “First mine detonation detected.”

  “Enemy formation looks to be locked. Triple row spearhead formation, sir. Providence battleships in front, flanked by enemy Dreadnoughts and Munifexes, Providence dreadnought and Recusant heavies second line, flanked by fourteen Munificents, remaining enemy cruisers in third line. The Lucrehulks look to be holding the rear, third line.” Lieutenant Hursk reports.

  “Exactly as I want them.” I mutter, “Adjutants, take a note. This is the primary way to exploit a Tionese officer. They have a penchant for following in the footsteps of their forefathers. To break a formation’s center, then take the enemy apart piecemeal. The flaw in this is the chance of encirclement and the risk of a messy brawl. Something which the Republic and her enemies have taken advantage of again and again.”

  “Looks like they aren’t waiting on the droids.” Mi-Kus mutters as the Providence battleships break into the minefield, their shields taking the brunt of any remaining mines.

  “Adjutants, another note. I have found, during my career so far, that the enemy is usually quite impatient. They see a minefield and plow through it instead of circumventing it, or dismantling it to use against their foes another day. They rely on their highly automated ships to soak up the damage like cannon fodder instead of waiting. If you ever find an enemy commander who waits, they are either very dangerous or slow to come to decisions, which can be very dangerous in and of itself.” I lecture, though a slow commander could be just as deadly to their own forces as the enemy’s.

  “Unit Omen have begun firing heavy turbolasers.”

  “Another thing, I have found lacking in many enemy officers, is their lack of imagination.” I say, my eyes shining with malice, “Inform Unit Omen, they may fire their anti-fighter fragmentation missiles in t-minus twenty seconds.”

  The speartip of the enemy formation raced towards a few special groups of mines, their droids hadn’t managed to destroy. They had been hidden behind other clusters of mines and trash, but unlike most mines, these ones were far more deadly and needed a couple prods to detonate. As the missiles are ejected from their tubes and race towards the rapidly approaching enemy formation I feel a smirk grow on my face. The missiles break as the enemy ships enter medium turbolaser range, their heavy turbolasers now being met by a mixture of blue mediums and heavy. Their second line is just about to enter their medium turbolaser range when the fragments of the missiles smash repeatedly against the previously inert explosives.

  For a moment, nothing, then a series of explosions erupt from within the enemy formation, punching craters into ships with broken shields. Volleys of turbolaser and ion cannon fire join in by smashing into the enemy ships at the tip of the spear. More and more ships loose their shields with large canyons etched into their hulls by the various rounds of plasma.

  “They never seem to expect the hidden bits of debris within a sandstorm.” I say offhandedly. I knew a good handful of poor fucks who’d wandered through a sandstorm, just to get hit by a bit of metal scrap and kick the bucket then and there. I had almost been one of them. I chuckle at the memory of that lovely old mudpuppy that took pity on me.

  The Providences, despite already taking heavy damage, were closing in, almost in light turbolaser range, that would be the most dangerous moment. The enemy’s first line had finally finished entering heavy turbolaser range, though the Munifexes wouldn’t be much good on that front, the ships’ light turbolasers not even close to entering range at the far flanks of the Separatist formation.

  “Units Buckler and Avarice may begin movements, now.” I order. The two lightest formations, lacking any battleships or heavy cruisers, had the longest journey to the enemy’s rear.

  “Enemy fighters, incoming.”

  “Bring our fighters to the front now and spring their part of the trap!” I bark.

  Vultures and Hyenas scream past the front line, racing towards us, until they break off the attack, pursued by our own fighters. I take a closer look at the tactical display. The enemy Providences and Dreadnoughts had entered a brawl with my front line and it looked like they would continue to push until they made it to my position, even with the fighter brawl in front of me. They had done a lot of damage already, the shields on all Venators broken by the massive proton torpedo volleys of the Providences. A good handful of fighters and bombers break from the rapidly forming melee to begin strafing the enemy ships, forcing enemy fighters to engage and spreading the fighter engagement throughout the battle. A hundred duels of survival among leviathans doing the same.

  “Now would be the time for Units Albedo Brave and Arkania to move.” I order calmly, “They also have permission to fire.”

  An enemy Dreadnought goes up in flames, a reactor hit detonating the ship from the center outwards. A poorly shielded Munifex joining the destroyed ship when her central spine is replaced with a heavy turbolaser from the Arkania’s group. One of the Coruscanti Venators looks about three good shots away from detonating, firing off every battery almost wildly, trying to nix any enemy ship in her deathblows.

  “Enemy Providences have broken through. All heavily damaged, but they’re still gunning for us.” Welder reports.

  “Missiles loaded?” I ask.

  “Fighters are still brawling ahead of us.”

  “Give our fighters the flight-path of the missiles and half a minute to get the hells out of dodge!” I bark. I wanted to put a couple more rounds into the enemy battleships before they got too close. Working around wreckage could backfire on me.

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  The countdown reaches zero and the missiles spew forth. A motley mix of anti-fighter fragmentation and concussion missiles racing towards the enemy Providence battleships. The fragments are on a very late timer, exploding a mere hundred meters or so away from the enemy hulls and forcing thousands of shards of metal to pierce the hull alongside the concussions. Explosions rock the internals of the enemy ships, the missiles adding insult to the injuries of the previous brawls.

  One of the three battleships seems to have had enough and begins listing, her engines sputtering and hull flaking as a squadron of Y-Wings fling their proton torpedoes along the top of the enemy ship, causing more detonations along the broken hull and within the ship’s overtaxed systems. I can already tell it won’t last much longer, my intuition being confirmed not a second later as the ship begins spitting out escape pods alongside fiery explosions from within her superstructure.

  “Divert two squadrons of bombers for those two remaining Providences and give me an eta for the remaining units.” I bark.

  “Diverting Bastard and Vodka squadrons now, sir.”

  “Avarice and Buckler require another twenty to thirty minutes, sir, unless you want them to risk their shields and weapons.” Lieutenant Slas reports, “Arkania and Albedo Brave need another ten to get into position, but have begun engaging enemy flanks from medium range.”

  I tap my holster as I nod. About on schedule then: “Keep to the plan. ‘M not that desperate yet.”

  As long as the enemy didn’t see through my plan I should win. Casualties would be high, but what else was new? What else could I expect for facing an enemy with more than two times my numbers in ships of the line? I flinch as one of the Coruscanti Venators finally detonates, her hanger bay already full of holes. At least her bridge hadn’t been decapitated like one of her sister ships.

  My eyes dart around the tactical display. The enemy’s second line’s tip just entered medium range with the Coruscanti. At least the Sep’s first line was falling apart. Whoever decided to put the Munifexes there instead of the Munificents deserved to have their head removed from their shoulders. Well, they were unlikely to survive the battle anyway. Another one of the enemy Providence battleships goes up in flames as it enters medium range of my reserve. Its armor peeling off and hull disintegrating as fighters and bombers swarm throughout the battle, like carrion flies over rotting corpses.

  The thing I hate the most about my current tactic is its inflexibility once begun. It mostly came down to nerve and damage assessment on both sides. If the enemy could break through and conduct their divide and conquer strategy they would inevitably defeat more than half my ships, but if my ships manage the encirclement, force the enemy from escaping through debris placement, fighter supremacy and sheer nerve, well … there was a reason the Republic won almost every war against the Tionese in the past.

  “We’ve lost contact with the Omen, sir!” Welder warns.

  “Check their emergency command station and get me contact with Senior Captain Oicunn.” I order, the final Providence battleship going dark, escape pods jettisoning in every direction as it does.

  “Comms channel established with the Mas Ramdar, sir.”

  “Senior Captain Oicunn. This is Vice Admiral Dericote. Omen is unavailable, Commodore Spencer presumed dead. You have command of Unit Omen for remaining duration of battle. Orders stand. Hold your position, kill the enemy. Dericote out.”

  “Understood. Stars keep us, Oicunn out.” I hear in response.

  I start tapping my holster. The enemy Munificents and Recusants, both light and heavy, of the second line had a mostly unobstructed line of fire now and were punishing whatever was left of my center. I needed the flanks to pounce already. I glance over at their eta. Another two minutes. We’ll need to hold.

  “Sir, our center won’t hold much longer.” Lieutenant Hursk warns, echoing my previous thought.

  “I agree with the Lieutenant, the enemy Providence dreadnought and her Recusants are overpowering whatever is left of Unit Omen.” Mi-Kus adds, already bracing for what he knows what should come next.

  I tap my holster. Commit now and risk the battle, don’t commit now and sacrifice far too many people for me to be happy with. Is it even a choice? Maker I hate my bleeding heart and I hate thinking in numbers: “Captain Mi-Kus, we hold our position.”

  “Sir?” Mi-Kus asks, shocked at my unusual answer.

  “I hate doing it, Maker knows I hate it, but I will not sacrifice the battle for a squadron.” No matter how much it pains me, “Unit Arkania may begin her assault.”

  The enemy had certainly already seen the movements on their flanks, they had simply permitted the exchange of broadsides, but now almost in perfect sync, Unit Arkania rotates towards the enemy. The Republic warships facing the Separatist ships head on and unleashing their full firepower as they close distance in a desperate charge. The Munificents wouldn’t be able to bring their prow weapons to bear and the Republic ships would be able to maximize their forward firepower during their charge while causing disarray in the Separatist ranks.

  “Unit Albedo Brave may conduct their own assault.” I add, the other flanking force doing very much the same as their counterparts on the other flank. Both charges are messy, ships closing distance faster than the Seps were advancing. Crashes should be avoidable thanks to the various warships of the Confederacy keeping their distance from one another. That doesn’t stop multiple Fondorian Hammerheads from crashing through enemy Gazontis and the few Munifexes still remaining, launching proton torpedoes as they emerge on the other side, their heavily armored bulkheads bursting through the enemy hulls like the jaws of a sandgator from the sands.

  Another weakness I, as well as many of my predecessors, have abused in a Tionese heavy spearhead was the weight of the formation. It is like a freight-train, once it starts it is difficult to spontaneously stop without a crash. Attacking its sides and piercing into the formation was risky due to its movements, but could also cause absolute chaos within.

  “Enemy formation appears to be breaking up.” Lieutenant Welder reports.

  I glance over to the enemy formation. The remnants of the first line and second line’s tip were still holding out decently, but everything was jerking about, trying to avoid crashes with ram-happy Fondorians, overzealous corvettes and surprisingly aggressive Venators, the only ships not currently looking to find themselves nearly surrounded by enemy ships were the flanking force’s four Acclamator ones holding possible exit points and acting as places for emergency repair, refueling and rearmament for the fighters and bombers joining the almost chaotic melee.

  A smirk grows intensely as two Munificents, who had lost their shields, crash into one another as one attempts to avoid a Hammerhead that got way too close. The two Sep ships go up in flames as their hulls merge into one. I’d bet every credit in my ship that they were both droid commanded. B1s were far too short sighted and shit at multi-step threat assessments according to my briefings.

  “Sir, our center is breaking apart!” Hursk warns.

  Almost there. I needed another eight minutes and things would be going perfectly to plan. A quick glance and then resignation. Fuck it: “All ships in the reserve, shields double front, we’re moving into medium turbolaser range to support Unit Omen!”

  “Transports too?” Mi-Kus clarifies.

  “They’ll add extra targets for the enemy to focus on. We can still dismantle enemy infrastructure without them.” I answer as the Little Revenge lurches forward, followed by my personal squadron’s cruisers and corvettes. A trio of Dreadnoughts, three Acclamators, six Pelta transports, two MC30c frigates, my MC40a cruiser and half a dozen corvettes. Charging into the speartip of the enemy formation currently mauling the remaining Venator, three Dreadnoughts, two damaged Acclamator ones, a barely functional Acclamator two and a smattering of corvettes. It would be tough, Maker it was a death sentence for countless sailors.

  “Enemy Providence breaking off from the brawl, she’s taking the heavy Recusants with her. Looks like they’re gunning for us.” Mi-Kus says quietly.

  “Load concussions and prepare targets for turbolaser fire, shields double front and lock down the hatches.” I order, glancing over to the tactical display. The Meteor group was almost here, the trap almost complete, “Maker keep us.”

  Colonel Bvinsk was usually a calm man. Mind you a calm man with a habit of smoking cigarettes and cigars to an excess and drowning himself in liquor every Sunday dinner, but a calm man nonetheless. So when his First Adjutant saw him on the warpath, the Zabrak Lieutenant knew it was bad.

  “Sir?” Lieutenant Istris asks.

  “Seps just broke our forces at Randon, shattered the entire White Fleet to do it. The Fourth Sector Army is in disarray after loosing a quarter of her forces and Sector General Praji is making a run back to his headquarters to consolidate forces, rally the White Fleet remnants alongside as much of the Cuirass Fleet as possible and retake the system.” The Colonel snaps, thrusting the datapad with the relevant information at his Adjutant.

  “That means we’re back to using the supply lines from the beginning of the war.” Istris says.

  “Supply lines which are already compromised. The Seps took Dalaang a month ago. We’re stuck using the southernmost route through Bothawui again.” The Colonel says as he places a cigarette between his lips and fishes for a match.

  “The Marshal Administrator won’t be happy.” Istris says.

  “Vice Admiral Dericote won’t have a choice in it. I’ve already sent a message to Sector General Therbon, warned Major General Krugwolt and asked for assistance from my superiors in the logistical department. However we aren’t completely cut off yet, so they’ll probably only set our requests at a low priority.”

  “Especially when Praji is acting so quickly to attempt a recapture of the system, or at least put it in contention again.” Istris adds.

  “True that.” Bvinsk mutters as he strikes a match against his boot heel and brings it to the cigarette between his lips. He takes a quick drag, before extinguishing the flame with a quick flick of his wrist.

  “What can we do, sir?” The Zabrak asks.

  “We’ll continue to mount pressure on High Command, establish those new munitions plants Dericote wrote about and pray for the best.” Bvinsk says, taking another drag as he finishes.

  The Colonel’s Adjutant takes a look over his own datapad before piping up again: “I should also inform you, that a Captain Jerjerrod will be transferring to our office within the month, though the recent combat will probably delay it to the start of next year.”

  “That one of Dericote’s allies?” Bvinsk asks.

  “A relative of one, according to our sources, sir. Grandkid of Admiral Jerjerrod. He was bumped over to desk duty after complaining about the practices of the Procurement Office and subsequent leaks of his complaints, though there never was any confirmation on if he leaked his complaints or not.” The Lieutenant says.

  Bvinsk takes another drag before speaking: “Was going to wait until the end of the year, but I suppose I should assure your position now.”

  “Sir?”

  “I’ve submitted a request for your promotion to Captain.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Don’t mention it. Now get me the reports on our current rations supply and how many spare turbolaser shells we have lying about. I need to adjust our supply-chain with the loss of Randon. Stars we’ll probably have to loot Munto Codru’s depots if things don’t improve fast enough.”

  “As you command, sir.” Istris says, before snapping a salute and marching off. Looked like the month ahead would be difficult for the local logistics department.