Wildhog has decided, Ringo Vinda proper sucks. The ground stomping campaign sucked more than this though, the few Sep bases Commander Doom’s men hadn’t blown up proved to be more annoying than hard to take. Tup even went missing for a bit, which got Fives in a mood. Honestly Fives was worse than Chain when he was worried.

  But this? The hallways and hangarbays, the factories and warehouses of the orbital ring? This was what Wildhog fucking lived for! It’s what had made General Skywalker interested in Admiral Dericote’s Hope Company in the first place and Wildhog felt like they were really proving their worth now.

  “So just push them along, slowly and methodically?” General Skywalker clarifies.

  “Pretty much, sir.” Wildhog agrees, “Now usually Captain Chain would have it done at the same time, on as many levels, as possible. Gives them less of a chance to try and flank us, break through the floors, the walls, the hull, or the ceiling.”

  “And heavy weapons?” Rex asks.

  “Well we can kinda fit a saber or an AT-TE into the larger hallways. I remember the Admiral had us drill on setting up boarding defenses more often than I can count. One of the drills included mounting a nice old e-web onto some hovercarts and interlock our shields to give the gunner some extra cover, or else activate the auto-firing solutions as we push it forward. Ya only need so much maneuverability on an e-web in the hallways. Keep some guys beside the thing as per usual tactics with the Z-6es and grenades. Should work wonders, though ya gotta worry a bit about the repulsers.”

  “Clarify, Lieutenant.” Rex asks.

  “Well if ya shoot out the repulsers on it, things don’t usually go well. Military grade hovercarts or personnel carts usually can take a hit or two to their repulser before thudding to the ground, but civy ones just kinda have a tendency to blow up when hit with a half decent blaster bolt.” Wildhog explains.

  “Alright then, we’ll push them alongside the planetary rotation. The enemy headquarters is close, if we’re quick enough, while being thorough as the Lieutenant recommends, we should be able to get this siege over with.” General Skywalker decides.

  “Then we shall prepare our men and make the improvised mobile e-webs.” General Tiplee agrees.

  “An attack in three hours?” General Tiplar asks.

  “I’d shoot for four.” General Skywalker says. Losing Ahsoka’s made him more cautious, Wildhog thinks.

  “We should also have an attack going against the planetary rotation.” General Tiplar says.

  “To distract the Separatist Rear Admiral Hatha.” General Tiplee agrees.

  “Do you think the Admiral will give us some of his liquor cabinet if we beat his rival for him?” Wildhog whispers to Clover.

  “Maybe,” Clover replies quietly, “but we won’t know until we win, will we?”

  Hatha looks over the battle with a frown. Sure his forces had turned back the tide above the station, the enemy fleet being pushed near the brink of exhaustion, but the surface was lost and the station was falling. Perhaps it was time to cut losses and … Hatha glares angrily at the holoprojection, pull a Black Hussar. Destroy everything of value and abscond with anything not bolted down, then take the bolts out and take the rest.

  “Sir, enemy forces have made another push. It appears they are making for our command station within the shipyards.” His tactical droid says.

  “Then the Super Tactical on the station should react accordingly. I’ll be deploying a further two regiments of droids from our legion of reserves to the closest docking bay available to our station headquarters.” Hatha orders.

  “As you command.” His tactical droid replies.

  The Republic were rather foolish in this campaign, the Neimoidian thinks. Sending so many Venators, yet hardly any other ships of the line. Sure two dozen Venators is a frightening force, yet with only half a dozen corvettes to counter Hatha’s missile frigates, his fighters and his bombers, the lighter Separatist forces were running amok. Meanwhile the Republic didn’t dare to try to enter close range engagements or else risk the Separatist Admiral’s maximum firepower.

  It was rather nice fighting against foes that were so conventional. Sure, the Neimoidian ponders, Admiral Yularen was not one to sneeze at, but he was almost too by the book. Honestly if the battle on the surface and station weren’t going so poorly he might send over half a dozen of his Munificents and four of his missile frigates to go along the south pole of the world to attack the Republic ships in reserve, be they undergoing lesser repairs or simply resting and rearming.

  “Sir, we’ve a transmission from the Super Tactical droid.”

  “Our reinforcements shouldn’t have arrived yet. What does it want?” Hatha asks.

  “Not sure, sir. Maximum priority and encryption though.” His Tionese comms chief reports.

  “Put it up.” Hatha orders as he adjusts his posture slightly.

  Soon enough the visage of the Super Tactical droid in charge of the station’s defenders appears before the mildly curious Neimoididan. It gets right to the point: “The Republic forces are in full retreat after I committed my final reserves on station in a desperate attempt to throw them back. However I believe the primary reason was the execution of Jedi General Tiplar by a Clone.”

  “Was he a traitor? One of our agents?”

  “If he was, it was not on any registers you have given me access to, Rear Admiral.” The droid responds.

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  Hatha ponders that a moment. Could it be stress? A spontaneous change of heart? A death wish? Revenge? Mutiny? The Neimoidian considers each option carefully before deciding he doesn’t have enough information: “Get me every recording we have on the event. Unedited. I shall inspect it myself. Until then, press the assault with the forces I’ve sent you. See if you can press the enemy past their most recent mustering grounds by detonating a few floors under them. Void them if you must, damage can be repaired and it’s not like the yards are producing anything at the moment anyway.”

  “As you command.” The droid says before saluting and cutting the transmission. A moment later a datapackage is received and Hatha puts it on front and center on his bridge.

  He watches the execution, what other word was appropriate for such a heartless, emotionless, killing, on repeat. Sometimes slowing it, sometimes accelerating it. He watches it from the recording devices they placed in the drydock turned battlefield, from the eyes of a nearby B1, a sensor dish of a half finished Munificent, which had occupied much of the space within the drydock, and from the eyes of the Super Tactical droid, which had been scanning the room and centered in on the Jedi during her death.

  After minutes upon minutes of analysis the Neimoidian stirs from his thoughts: “This was no bout of stress. Something … something more happened here.”

  The Neimoidian suddenly hesitates. Who should he contact with this? Admiral Trench was in nominal command of the Perlimian theaters, but he was currently stuck fighting at Chazwa against Admiral Dorja. Something on this level … perhaps he should contact General Grievous? No, he would likely only dismiss it. When all else fails … the Neimoidian nods to himself, when all else fails, get your sponsor on the line.

  “Contact Viceroy Gunray. Maximum priority and maximum encryption.” Hatha orders.

  “Not Admiral Trench?” A Sy Myrthian officer asks.

  “If we contact him the transmission could be intercepted. Viceroy Gunray is currently on Raxus. Now get him on the line!” The Neimoidian barks as he thinks over his options. He should commit to the station while he’s at it, “And deploy the rest of our reserves to the station alongside a strikecraft assault on the Republic’s attacking Venators.”

  “On it, sir.”

  “Sir, we’ve made contact with the Viceroy.” His comms chief says.

  “Front and center. Move our light ships and pickets forward as well while we’re at it.” Hatha orders before turning his full attention to the holoprjector.

  The Viceroy looks mildly annoyed upon his mobile throne: “What is it, Rear Admiral?”

  “Viceroy, I have pushed the enemy back and halted their offensives over Ringo Vinda for the time being. However that was not the motivation for this call. The Jedi General Tiplar was killed by a Clone.”

  The leader of the Trade Federation looks curious at the statement: “Was it one of ours? One of Dooku’s?”

  “No, Viceroy. I have analyzed the recordings thoroughly. It appears as if the Clone was under a trance.”

  The Neimoidian leader rubs his chin in thought: “I shall inform Count Dooku of this. However, we shall show initiative. Bring this Clone to our offices at Centares. If that is all, I have a call to make.”

  “That is all, Viceroy. I shall be quick about it.”

  “Do not fail, Rear Admiral.” The Viceroy orders as his hologram goes out.

  Hatha takes a deep breath before making his decision: “Prepare the Mud of Jabiim for imminent departure and get me … three gunships, two squads of B2 Jets and send them along the primary Republic supply route. I want them lying in wait to ambush whatever ship they send out. Knowing Skywalker … he will send something light. Maybe even just a shuttle with escorts. At most a Consular with a few fighters. Three gunships and two squads should manage that if they take them unawares, especially with our raiders limiting their fuel reserves.”

  “On it, sir.” A Neimoidian droid controller acknowledges.

  “And be quick about it. The last thing we need is to disappoint both Count Dooku and Viceroy Gunray.” Hatha doubles down.

  Wildhog wasn’t sure if General Skywalker had ever seemed so … quiet before. Almost clinical. The convoy had been raided and Tup kidnapped and Skywalker simply seemed … cold, definitely angry, but also cold. The shuttle raced along the ring, keeping dangerously close to its hull. Honestly Wildhog wasn’t entirely sure why he was being taken along. Fives he got, Tup was his favorite and an ARC, Rex made sense, he was General Skywalker’s second, but why him? Sure he was a Lieutenant, but so were Appo and Vaughn. He double checks his holdout blaster pistol, then the grenades and hull breacher explosive charges, then his DC-15 carbine and wishes once more he could just use his Z-6.

  “Stay calm, Wildhog.” Rex mutters quietly as the shuttle thuds down.

  “Who says I ain’t calm?” Wildhog complains.

  “Your posture’s all stiff brother.” Fives teases.

  “Fuckin’ hells.” Wildhog complains as the four Republic officers leave the shuttle and begin carefully making their way to the hangar bay. Once they arrive Wildhog can’t decide if he should wine or shudder.

  Captain Rex sums up the Lieutenant’s thoughts pretty well though: “There’s gotta be over a thousand droids in there. That’s a bit much, even for you, sir.”

  “That shuttle there. They’re loading Tup onto it.” Skywalker says. Wildhog can already feel a Skywalker plan coming up, “We’ll grapple onto it, take the ship and bring it back to our lines.”

  “Hate to burst your bubble, sir.” Fives says, “But I’d bet Wildhog’s bottle naid collection, that the shuttle is going to go from here to that Munificent that’s rapidly approaching our position.”

  “We might still make it? They clearly want Tup alive. We board the shuttle and race off with it, we might get intercepted, but Munificents don’t carry ion weapons.” Wildhog proposes hesitantly. Why couldn’t he have his damn Z-6 with him? He could probably take on the enemy with Skywalker, Rex and Fives if he had his Z6, an hour of prep-time and maybe another hull breach explosive or three.

  Skywalker closes his eyes for a long moment, before sighing loudly. His eyes open and he shakes his head: “No we wont.”

  “Sir?” Rex asks.

  “We pull back, after we plant multiple trackers on that shuttle.” Skywalker decides, “We can have some of the fleet, or a friendly patrol pick up the ship and rescue Tup.”

  “Alright, you two heard the General. Mount your trackers and fire when the ship makes a pass.” Rex orders his two men, adapting to the new plan with practiced ease.

  “Why’d I ever leave Hope?” Wildhog mutters mutinously.

  “Because you get more action with us.” Fives responds easily.

  Soon enough the shuttle emerges from the hangar bay. Three shots and a toss, four hits, four seals. Wildhog sighs and nods to himself. The group of soldiers continue to watch as the shuttle quickly enters the safety of the Munificent. The Sep cruiser banks and begins heading towards the galactic western egress point.

  “Alright, let’s get out of here and report. If we act fast enough our ships can intercept that cruiser before it gets to the Separatists.” General Skywalker orders.

  “Yessir.” The Clones reply as they begin their spacewalk back to the shuttle.

  Hatha watches as the Munificent jumps to hyperspace. Her precious cargo was insurance, vital insurance and an attempt to make good over his failure within the Ash Worlds. The Neimoidian looks over the tactical display once more. The droid legions had pushed the Republic well, forcing them into less than a quarter of the orbital ring. Yes, Ringo Vinda would not fall under Hatha’s watch.

  “Sir, incoming transmission. It’s Count Dooku!” A Neimoidian comms officer reports.

  “Front and center!” Hatha barks before standing up and adjusting his hat. It was a fine thing, standing tall, as befitting of a Neimoidian of his station. Soon enough the visage of Count Dooku appears before the Neimoidian.

  Hatha does not hesitate on the short bow he does as he speaks: “Count Dooku, you honor me.”

  “Rear Admiral. I wish to thank you for your swift and decisive action. Your continued defense of Ringo Vinda is worth much commendation. I believe your service to our cause over the last months more than make up for any failures. In fact, I believe you deserve commendation for your service. I have recommended you be promoted to Vice Admiral of the Confederate Navy and my suggestion has already received support from Viceroy Gunray and Admiral Trench.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Hatha replies earnestly.

  “I am certain the other members of the executive council will either support or abstain from the decision. Though that is not the sole reason I wished to contact you.” The Count of Serenno says.

  “What else is there, my lord?” Hatha asks, curiosity clear in his voice alongside a hint of suspicion.

  “I have need of your forces elsewhere. A different formation will arrive within a day. Your forces are to depart as soon as they arrive, for the Contruum-Gizer Gap. It is proving far more volatile than we had feared. Your ships and expertise are desperately needed to ensure our convoys can make it through unmolested while the Republic’s do not.” The Count orders.

  “If I was given command of these forces and some more time I could force the Republic from the system. They are already near the brink.” Hatha objects, “Can our new orders not wait?”

  “Sadly not. Admiral Trench has stalled over Chazwa and is running low on ammunition. Speed is of the essence.”

  “Then I shall make haste, my lord.” Hatha says with a light bow.

  The hologram goes out as thoughts swirl through the Neimoidian’s mind like a maelstrom. He was almost certainly to be promoted to Vice Admiral. He was abandoning Ringo Vinda. He was given orders directly from the head of state! Those orders were paltry in comparison to his current station. He glares at the recently returned tactical display as he considers his options.

  “We leave behind a third of our strikecraft and our Gozantis. Deploy whatever remains of our attached navy droid security to the surface below, except for two regiments, which I wish to deploy to the orbital ring. Once this is done, prepare defensive positions, we will give our allies the best chance possible at victory.” Hatha decides.

  “Sir, not to sound insubordinate, but it feels like we’re always taking a step back.” A Tionese sailor complains.

  “It may seem so at times, but the Count and the Executive Council make sure we always keep the big picture in mind. Trench seizing Anaxes and beyond will ensure victory.” Hatha counters, though he wasn’t sure if he believed it himself anymore, “Now make haste. We have a war to win.”

  “As you command, sir.” The bridge replies as one.

  Hatha may not win Ringo Vinda, but he had his crew and his ships. That would have to do, the Neimoidian thinks to himself.