I stand at the bridge of my Little Revenge. Staring out into the stars ahead. One jump away from the largest campaign I’ve ever lead. I look through them knowing that all that stood in the way of my forces jumping and the enemy before them was my order.

  One hundred and nineteen ships of the line and one hundred ninety four light ships and pickets. All three hundred and thirteen ships simply waiting for my word. Hundreds of thousands of souls, simply waiting for my mouth to make some noise. Thousands of weapons, enough firepower to glass a small world in a day, a gesture away from doing just such a hideous deed. It’s almost comical in a way. It seems almost primitive. As if the bark of a mudpuppy could cause a dormant volcano to erupt in fire, molten rock and smoke.

  I stand a bit longer, gazing into the stars. Three hundred and thirteen ships. I fear how many I will undoubtedly loose. How many sailors, people, will be lost to the void. I take another deep breath. My liquor cabinet was under heavy lock and key, so that could offer me no comfort in this moment of introspection. Mi-Kus had even moved my beloved stash to his quarters so I wouldn’t be tempted during the campaign. I almost feel insulted, I know better than to drink when lives are at stake, but Maker on high what I wouldn’t give for something to take the edge off right now.

  I turn away from the stars towards the map. Boonta and Boz Pity were in Republic hands and connected by our former exclaves and some minor worlds we seized from the Seps over the course of the last month. Most of the Jedi left then, Kenobi abandoning the area to hunt down some dark Jedi that had attacked Hondo just before the end of the year. My privateer had once more abandoned his old base on Florrum shortly after that. Too much heat over too little time. He was mulling about somewhere in the Ash Worlds, believing this campaign would force some Seps into his net.

  The newly liberated regional command of Greater Halla was now being run by Jedi Master Rancisis, who was also leading the siege at Saleucami, should be able to distract some of the enemy during this campaign, even if the Cerulean Spear had been disbanded in all but name. McClellan, Rancisis and I were essentially running our own ships due to the absence of Therbon’s steady presence during the rotating Commanders of the Color Command. There wasn’t an officer alive, other than the Sector General, insane enough to attempt to recapture Lantillies and the coreward Perlimian right now, and thus we essentially had three parts of the Cerulean Spear working independently from one another. That probably won’t end well.

  Speaking of not ending well. The petition sent to the Supreme Chancellor, the Senate and the Senate Committee on the Armed Forces of the Republic, or whatever the kark they called themselves, had been rejected. I feel my anger bubble up at the reminder. The fucking committee had deemed our requests of investigation, incorporation and clarification too extreme! As if the current shitshow wasn’t any less extreme!

  I let out a deep breath as I take another look at my charts. We had some of the enemy numbers already. Seps were diverting ships from Jabiim, probably gunning for a chance to fight in the Perlimian, based off of their northward departure. Too bad that by the time they notice something’s up they’ll be too far out to do much about it.

  “Sir, we’re ready. All ships are in position and we just received greenlight from our forces in the Gand system.” Mi-Kus says.

  Deep breath in, deep breath out: “Very well. Everyone have their orders?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Maker keep me. To all ships, spin the tubers and let them fry.”

  The transmission is sent throughout the assembled formations and one by one, my ships enter hyperspace. I watch as they leave, first a corvette, then a frigate, then a cruiser, then one of the Venators, until finally we join them. Towards destiny, towards victory, or death.

  After a long day of rather precise gambling Elix collapses into his couch like a poorly stacked pile of bricks. He was tired, a bit tipsy and, if he was being completely honest with himself, miserable. If it wasn’t for Thraken practically begging for the contents of the small pouch still attached to Elix’s belt he wouldn’t have bothered with going through some of his old stomping grounds. Elix lets out a groan as he turns around onto his back, the things he does for family.

  The man rolls over onto his side, detaches the small bag from his belt and opens it near his face. Inside was a small ball of inky black refined metal, enough to make a handful of slugs for his … kark it, his brother. Elix had barely won the bet too, it had been a rather close game of Hosnian Holdem. All that was left was bringing them to the General and watch him turn the metal ball into the slugs Thraken would need-

  There’s a knock on the door of his ship. He sighs as he pulls the holdout blaster from his boot and places his off hand on the knife sheath. He may be exhausted, but it wouldn’t surprise him if the chucklefucks he’d gotten his little paperweight, and enough credits to buy a small apartment, from wanted their former credchits back. He has his blaster pointed at the door as he opens it with the butt of his knife. But instead of a group of angry traders it’s a woman.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Elix sighs and puts the blaster back into his boot: “Evenin’ Alice.”

  “Elix, happy to see your manners haven’t changed much.”

  The man sighs, puts his weapons away and gestures for her to enter. He waltzes over to the fridge and pulls out two cold teas. He hears the door close behind him and waltzes over to the small kitchenette, finding Alice sitting pretty on the counter. Elix suppresses his urge to sigh like a lovesick mudpuppy as he yanks himself from where his boots had decided to take root.

  “There a reason you’re here?” He asks as he passes her one of the cans, then sitting on the table in front of the counter.

  She sighs, messing around with the cool can as she speaks: “Believe it or not, I do miss you and … I wanted to see you again, since I heard you were in the neighborhood.”

  Elix bites back something he would probably regret before slowly letting a hiss of breath out in a facsimile of a sigh: “I know. Naomi keeps me up to date about what you two talk ’bout whenever the two of you run into one another.”

  Alice is still fiddling with the can, her eyes fixed on the beverage like its her rock in the sands: “I … I know I broke it off after … after Charley kicked it, but I think I might be ready to try again.”

  Elix wants to race to her, wants to jump from where he’s sitting and throw a bottle naid on the old pyre to rekindle it. He wants to hug her and never let go. He wants to marry this girl, even after all the pain they shared.

  “Ya know, I’ve waited this long, was willing to wait another ten years at least.” He says instead.

  She places the can on the counter and walks over to him. He’s dumbfounded, still expecting some hurtful tongue lashing or a punch in the face, but instead she embraces him and squeezes.

  “No more waitin’.” She whispers into his ear and suddenly Elix almost feels whole again.

  I frown as I look over the carnage. It was honestly kind of pathetic, disappointing even. Here I stood at the head of forty two ships of the line and a hundred and two light ships and pickets and the first engagement is over in mere minutes.

  The enemy’s half a dozen Munificent strong garrison clearly hadn’t been prepared for us. They didn’t even have their shields raised when we exited hyperspace. If I had a Senior Captain that incompetent and concerned with fuel efficiency over the safety of his men they would find themselves demoted so quickly they would think they’d traveled through hyperspace! Maker I’d probably petition the Admiralty to reactivate the practice of flogging just for such and idiot.

  “Sir, we have an incoming transmission directed towards us from the planetary capitol of Dying Slowly.” Lieutenant Slas says.

  “Who names a town that?” I hear Mi-Kus mutter.

  “Now, now Captain. We have a Gag, a Running Gag and a Runaway Gag serving as corvettes in the 2323rd Light, I think we can forgive such a morbid naming convention.” I admonish lightly before gesturing for the transmission to be put on. Soon enough the visage of a well muscled and heavily scarred man appears before me. He reminds me vaguely of a couple bruisers I’d seen in various cantinas. I wait patiently for the man in a Separatist uniform to speak.

  He glares at me some more until he sighs and begins: “Admiral Dericote. I am contacting you in an attempt to negotiate my surrender.”

  “Yours and the world’s?” I ask the man to clarify.

  He grits his teeth before continuing: “Of course. I want the people to have a choice of leaving for Separatist space for the duration of one month after the surrender. I want protective custody for myself and a list of my men and I want to get off this rock asap.”

  I consider the demands while Mi-Kus hands me a datapad. I quick read through makes me suppress a smile. Looks like whenever large breakouts happen on the Sep side the local Governors end up taking quite a bit of the blame. With us here, the prisons below would definitely be broken open and many of their prisoners released. I can’t say I can blame the chucklefuck in front of me for looking out for himself.

  “Alright, but we’ll be sending down our ground forces to secure the prisons, sort through your POWs and ensure planetary security before you get anywhere near a shuttle and the civies will have to wait a month before we can allow any migration, though they’ll certainly have an additional month’s time for them to leave for Sep space after that.” The man glares at me a moment before slowly nodding. I smile in return, “Wonderful, I expect all droid armies shut down or dismantled within the hour. Expect my men within two hours time.”

  The transmission goes cold then as I turn over to Mi-Kus. He hands me the datapad and I look it over quickly. No ship losses, about a squadron’s worth of fighters destroyed, seventeen pilots now dead. I sigh as I pass it back. We’ll spend half a day making any necessary repairs.

  “What about old Xoraes?” I ask.

  “A small skirmish. Three enemy Munificents, two Munifexes and two Captors were in system. Taskforce Detachments D and H arrived about an hour before we arrived here and secured the system post haste. Abelard’s former flagship the Owlcat was decently damaged and has been sent back to the shipyard at Cophrigin for repairs. Everything else just has some extra carbon scoring and light damage, same as us.” Mi-Kus answers.

  “Are Taskforce Detachments C, B, I, J and K still on schedule?”

  “About twenty minutes behind as of last jump, but they should make it up and we can delay if necessary.” Mi-Kus says.

  I nod as I punch in my codes to change the holomap to my campaign map. It was a bit of a mess, a mixture of older maps I’ve scrounged up, military starcharts and whatever intel seemed truthful, alongside a toggle to add intel which was more rumor based. I adjust the positioning of the various units. We were still on schedule with phase one. Both first stage objectives have been seized and the Seps shouldn’t be any the wiser from it. They certainly shouldn’t suspect a larger scale invasion, at least not yet.

  “Any interesting transmissions we’ve blocked?” I ask into the room.

  “So far, mostly just half decent gossip.” An Ensign reports.

  “Got some bounty hunter trying to contact her mistress.” A different comms officer says.

  “Half decent gossip indeed. Keep it all bookmarked for the operation. You never know how valuable even something small can be and codes can be easily hidden in platitudes.” I caution, tone still light. Any humor was good humor right now.

  My eyes return to the maps. We should expect a larger force at Dennogra. One of Hondo’s informants had mentioned a group of Sep warships having moved there as an early warning system against any attack from Boonta. By the time we arrive there the enemy will know we are attacking them, but will they know the scale for certain? Not unless we allow them to, I decide.

  I feel a bloodthirsty smile grow. We should be able to keep a certain level of surprise until we’re at Sy Myrth’s doorstep. All they will know is the maw of a sandgator swallowing up everything in its path, before slinking back into the sands. I chuckle a bit at the thought. I wonder if the enemy will overreact? If they do, it could allow my comrades in arms to push the Seps back along the Perlimian and if they don’t we’ll have gobbled up the northern Triellius Trade Route before they can find solid ground.