Jerid Sykes looks over his Taskforce Detachment. It had about half of his usual ships of the line, but an extra handful of pickets in recompense. Four Venators, four M4-I Dreadnoughts, ten Acclamator cruisers, three Arquitenses, four combat capable Peltas, twenty two corvettes and ten Pelta transports. He would have preferred another five corvettes over the mostly empty transports, their supply of mines, missiles and turbolaser munitions either already dispersed among the original taskforce or used up at Altratonne.

  Meanwhile, before the Republic Rear Admiral was the remnants of the Separatist garrison. Some ten Munificents surrounding a Lucrehulk in a bow like formation, a sole Diamond class missile cruiser standing in front of the bow, like an arrow tip, alongside six Lupus missile frigates. Behind the enemy’s advanced forces lurked two Golan I defense platforms. It could have been worse, had the entire Wyndigal defense squadron been present Sykes couldn’t have won.

  “Enemy holding steady, sir.” His Adjutant Captain reports.

  “Launch strikecraft and load anti-fighter fragmentations throughout the taskforce.” Sykes orders calmly. He knew he wouldn’t be able to win in a conventional battle, especially with the enemy’s defensive platforms, so all he had to do was unnerve them and force their surrender.

  “Missiles loaded.”

  “Begin our approach, flank speed, shields double front, Venators in the center, Dreadnoughts on the flanks, keep the cruisers and light ships in the second line until I give the order for their surge.” Sykes orders.

  “Fighters and bombers launched.”

  “We’ve some ten wings left, correct?” Sykes asks.

  His lead fighter coordinator begins answering the question promptly: “Out of the fourteen wings and four squadrons originally assigned to this detachment we’ve got eleven wings two squadrons on paper with varying levels of casualties sustained. In practice, we’ve merged a couple squadrons informally and ended up with nine wings at standard strength and a wing which could be considered half of a heavy wing.”

  “So nine standard, half a heavy. Worse than I had hoped, better than I had dreaded. The heavy is mostly bombers?”

  “Nine wings, sixty forty, fighters to bombers, heavy wing is thirty seventy on bombers though usually twenty percent larger.” The officer reminds the Rear Admiral.

  Sykes nods as he returns to look outside the bridge of his flagship. Whoever thought heavy wings needed to exist ought to be shot, probably some self important General from the Starfighter Corps. All they did was make things more complicated for everyone involved. Despite his musings though, his ships continue the approach and he glances back at his tactical display. They’d outrange the enemy Munificents unless they moved, but the enemy missile ships made a battle at range … annoying. Even so, four Venators should be able to destroy some six frigates and a cruiser at range, especially with supporting ion cannon fire from the Dreadnoughts. Yes, a battle at range would serve him best now.

  “Enemy launching fighters. I’ve got eleven wings of Vultures and Hyenas on interception course.”

  “Begin missile firing solutions. I don’t want the missiles to overlap and let more of the enemy survive.” Sykes orders coldly.

  “Copy that, sir.”

  “Rear Admiral, I have an intelligence report for you.” A recent addition to the bridge calls out.

  Sykes turns to see Major Green of Republic Intelligence holding out a datapad for him. Sykes sneers at the young officer, getting a flinch out of the man who Dericote had shunted onto Sykes’s very own ship because the Admiral didn’t want to bother with having a Republic Intelligence liaison cluttering up his bridge and questioning his sources. So of course that Fondorian schmuck would have the green haired Major clutter up Sykes’s bridge instead.

  “What is it, Major?” Sykes asks coldly, returning his attention to the Sep forces.

  “Republic sources have reason to believe the enemy in system does not have the manpower to operate the Golan I defensive platforms in system.”

  “Well clearly they’re here.” Sykes derides the man.

  The green haired man gulps, but presses on anyway: “I am aware, sir. However I deduce they are purely for show and storage. The enemy doesn’t have enough engineers in system as of the main defense squadron leaving, to keep them up and running at maximum efficiency. The platforms are either not functioning at all, or on their last legs. The enemy formation isn’t incorporating the platforms into their defensive formation either, which makes me believe my deductions are rather accurate.”

  Sykes frowns as he takes a second glance at the stations. Not even half the lights he had seen the ones over Mon Cala bear were on. Eventually he nods: “Good work Green. Makes this easier if nothing else.”

  Green gives a stiff nod as he speaks: “My pleasure, Rear Admiral.”

  “Alright then. This changes things a bit, doesn’t it. Move our fighters and bombers to between our first and second lines. Move up our pickets to midship and inform their Captains to prepare for a quick charge once we’ve entered missile range.” Sykes orders.

  “On it, sir.” An Adjutant reports as she starts working on his orders.

  Just as his ships enter heavy turbolaser and missile range the Sep formation shifts in a jolt, the Munificents pushing forward in their bow-like formation as their line of missile capable ships fire off a volley of ordnance. Sykes waits a moment before nodding to himself. The enemy wanted a long range duel and like hell was he going to give it to them.

  “All ships, fire at will. Prioritize the enemy missile capable ships. Once our first salvo of missiles are away, switch to anti-fighter fragmentation missiles and prepare for enemy fighter swarm. Corvettes to advanced picket and hold there until the lines catch up.” Sykes orders rapid fire.

  Blue turbolasers and ion cannon blasts smash into the enemy ships, a trio of heavy ordnance even hitting the same Lupus frigate and turning the missile laden ship into slag in the opening salvo. Sep missiles reach the Republic ships’ range first and lasercannon fire shreds most of them into debris, with a few stubborn munitions crashing against the shields of Sykes’ line. The Republic’s missiles meanwhile face little in terms of enemy fire and themselves smash against the Separatist warships’ shields and armor belts.

  “Enemy firing another missile salvo.” A sensors officer reports.

  “They might be keeping their fighters in reserve to take us on in the brawl.” An Ajutant ponders aloud.

  “Or barely have any fighters themselves. Those Munificents don’t have hangars. Unless the Seps have some planetside airfields they’ll be limited to the maximum ten wings of the Lucrehulk. For all they know we outnumber them with fourteen full wings. Continue at flank speed and remember to coordinate your targets. I don’t want every battery to target the same damn Lupus because we failed to communicate.” Sykes orders as the central two Munificents fire off their red streaks of turbolaser flame towards his ships.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “We just loaded anti-fighter frags, sir.” An officer reminds Sykes.

  The officer frowns at the reminder. He only had three salvos of anti-fighter fragmentation missiles total. He should ration them, especially for when his forces head to Handooine once more. And yet, if the Seps do send their fighters he could certainly use them. Sykes lets out a huff of air and snapping his fingers.

  “Switch to protons and full speed ahead.” Sykes orders.

  “Where’d ya want us, ser?” His Helsman asks, his Ord Mantellian accent coming through more heavily than usual.

  “Bring the Ruusan’s Folly straight into the enemy’s center, portside of that Diamond class. Every other ship adjust their target accordingly.” Sykes answers.

  “You know what to do, adjust the batteries to soften up our targets and prepare the protons!” His Adjutant Captain barks.

  As his ships enter medium turbolaser range, enemy missiles and heavy turbolasers still thudding against his ships’ shields all the while, the firepower of his Dreadnoughts are unleashed. Medium turbolasers now joining their larger versions in pummeling the enemy ships into slag and debris. The opening volley of mediums shredding one of the enemy Munificents and two more Lupus frigates before they even had a chance to react.

  “Entering knife fighting range.”

  “Enemy fighters incoming!”

  “Get me a read and fire protons!” Sykes barks.

  “Maybe … between eleven and thirteen wings, sir.” The sensors officer reports.

  “Send in our fighters for interception. Bombers have free reign, but remember to coordinate with local ships and remind the picket corvettes to keep close to their targets of escort.” Sykes orders in reply.

  He glances to port to witness the Diamond class cruiser disintegrate as she attempts to come about to face his Venator head on. A pity the ship’s missile batteries couldn’t rotate independently and bulged our of her usual superstructure. Nasty targets those made, even with all the supplementary firepower.

  For a moment Sykes fears his intution was incorrect. That the enemy will force him to split his forces with the Lucrehulk baring down on one while the other is busy, but reality hits the Rear Admiral before he can think up a plan. The Seps’ remaining Munificents begin to charge at his line of eight ships of the line and his reserve of Acclamators and frigates. What the enemy commander certainly planned as a pounce is rapidly mauled by the Dreadnoughts and Acclamators on the wings as their Captains shift their targets to the approaching enemy.

  It’s almost over too quickly for the Rear Admiral to process as more and more Sep ships end up savaged by the Captains under his command. He jumps on the quick action to bark out his next orders: “My Ruusan’s Folly and the Duro’s Flight press on to take on that Lucrehulk. All other ships are to split the formation in twain and take on the remaining Sep warships on each flank. Get me the Acclamator behind us to join in our assault on the enemy Lucrehulk. Once the enemy’s flanks have been cleaned up I want the two groups to swing around and threaten their respective Golan platforms.”

  “Moovin’ back to flank speed.” The Helmsman reports.

  “Should we load another volley of protons?” His Adjutant Captain inquires.

  “Yes, I would hate to have to break through the enemy’s shields once we enter knife fighting range.” Sykes replies.

  “We’re goin’ in that close?” His Helmsman requests,

  “We’ll move below. Have the Duro’s Flight move above and use her SPHAT before making a one eighty degree rotation. I recommend her Captain prepare accordingly. We leave the pickets behind, no need to risk them.”

  “On it, ser.”

  The Venators approach the large circular ship like two daggers slicing through the void, firing turbolasers all the way as fighters swarm around them. The onslaught on the Separatist warship lessens slightly as the Duro’s Flight moves above the firing lines of her heavy turbolasers, yet as the two Venators reach their positions the lack of previous fire is made up for with a long blast of green fire from the Duro’s Flight’s retrofitted keel hangar bay. The moment the concentrated turbolaser finishes carving into the Sep warship the Duro’s Flight begins turning on its head, her heavy turbolasers firing at the first available opportunity.

  The Lucrehulk attempts to return fire, yet with her shields breaking in multiple places and her hull being pummeled from above and below, as fighters and bombers make runs on the less targeted areas of turbolaser fire, she is doomed. And yet her crew fights on, turbolasers firing on defiantly as her comms array continues to update the orders of the droid fighters in system to ensure they fight effectively. Sykes may not enjoy their continued resistance, but he certainly can respect it.

  “Intensify fire against the enemy turbolaser emplacements and request the Duro’s Flight to target the enemy comms array asap.” Sykes orders.

  A few more minutes of sustained bombardment and the Lucrehulk suddenly finds itself without any significant offensive weapons or her heavy duty comms array. Even so, as internal systems fail and further trenches are carved and holes blasted into her hull, her crew fights on with lasercannons usually meant for point defense.

  “I’d commend them if it weren’t for all the time they’re wasting. We still need to secure the world below and make repairs for our return to Handooine.” Sykes grumbles.

  “We’re still within permitted parameters.” Major Green offers.

  “Yes, but if we can’t intimidate Wyndigal into a surrender we’ll be running behind. Even with reinforcements and some four days of non stop repairs I don’t like Commodore Jim’s chances against whatever the Seps left behind at Handooine without our assistance.”

  “We can always leave some Acclamators behind.” Major Green offers.

  “Undoubtedly we will.” Sykes replies, “But the difference between leaving a sole Acclamator to ensure a basic defense and leaving a section’s worth of cruisers to lead a planetary invasion is quite the difference.”

  Something important in the Lucrehulk’s internal hangar detonates as a large explosion rocks the vessel and debris smacks against his Ruusan’s Folly. Major Green nods in seeming understanding: “Who’ll lead the garrison. It’s not like we have any garrison forces left right now.”

  Another explosion peppers the shields of the Venator as Sykes answers: “Probably my security chief. A Captain is a slightly low rank for the planetside garrison, but it is a temporary measure. It’ll only last as long as this campaign, plus however long it takes for 5th N.E.S. Command Garrison Brigade to finish training and deploy. I believe at least one of her constituent regiments is done with their training by now.”

  “If you need a higher ranking man, I am present.” Major Green offers as the Lucrehulk’s center of the portside ring explodes apart in a shower of fire and debris.

  “Your analysis could prove equally useful here or at Handooine.” Sykes says, hesitantly.

  “And yet we need to ensure Wyndigal turns from a Separatist stronghold into a Republic one.” Green replies, “You could avoid leaving an Acclamator behind and leave enough crew to man one or both of the Golan platforms instead.”

  Sykes considers it a moment before nodding alongside the Lucrehulk’s final defiant volley, the ship deploying escape pods barely a second after: “Then we’ll do that. I think … unless you object I would have you placed as Military Governor of Wyndigal until the Colonel of the 5th Command Garrison Brigade arrives.”

  “Very well. Do we want to attempt negotiations with the Governor now, or after the troops have boarded and seized the Golan platforms?” Green asks.

  “I think we’ll have our arms-men bloody themselves.” Sykes replies with a dark grin.

  A young boy looks into the void to watch the fight. Dagger and cigar shaped ships exchanging fire with the Donut-esque Lucrehulk and the cross-like Munificents while the smaller ships fall one by one. His Father hides his anxiety with a nervous looking smile, but all the boy sees is the sparkle of explosions and the reds and blues of turbolasers.

  “We should be safe.” His father worries, “There are three Legions of battledroids and a battalion of loyalists here.”

  “Pa?”

  “Oh, but its the bloody Black Hussar’s men.” His father continues along, not having heard his son. The boy gives his pa a confused look as his father’s comms unit beeps in alarm.

  The man stares at it a moment before hitting it to accept: “What is it?”

  “Governor, it’s Brevet Colonel Mai’ers. We’re being hailed on all frequencies by the Republic forces in orbit. We’ve blocked civilian comms from picking it up, but anyone with a telescope or a half-decent pair of macrobinoculars can see the entire Republic taskforce demanding our surrender in emergency light code.”

  The boy’s father’s face goes ashen: “Get me in contact with the leader of the Republic forces. I believe we can negotiate.”

  “Are we surrendering?” The Brevet Colonel asks icily.

  “If the reports we received from Targonn, Taskeed and Dennogra are true, the Hussar’s men will not hesitate to bombard our positions. Maker keep anyone who dares resist once all our forces are destroyed.” The Governor answers.

  “I’ll route the communique to your office.”

  “Thank you, Colonel.” The boy’s father says.

  “Maker keep you, sir.”

  The comms unit goes cold as the boy’s father marches towards his office, his son at his heels.

  “Pa, what’s going on?” The child asks curiously.

  “The next few days will be rather stressful, Junior.” The Governor replies.

  “But why?” The kid asks.

  “Because we’ll be meeting a lot of new people and … we may need to move.” His father answers as they enter his office and seats himself at his desk.

  “But I like the house.”

  “I do too.” His father says as the hologram in front of the man activates.

  “Governor Blount?” The man in Republic naval garb asks.

  “Correct, you are?” The boy’s father replies.

  “Rear Admiral Sykes of the Republic Navy, Taskforce Detachment Little Billhook, usually of the 382nd Battlegroup and the Ruusan’s Folly. Beside me is Major Green of Republic Intelligence. He will be the temporary Military Governor until the arrival of the 5th North East Slice Command Garrison Brigade. We are here to negotiate your surrender.” The Admiral replies.

  The boy’s eyes almost glow in wonder. A real Admiral. The previous Commodore suddenly seemed a lot less impressive. The boy’s father meanwhile looks almost grim: “What are your demands?”

  “The droid forces are to be deactivated and dismantled. Your loyalist forces may remain, however they will surrender any armor and anti-vehicle weapons to the garrison until further notice. You may remain Governor as long as you comply with the orders of Military Governor, Major Green, and even expect to regain any lost powers once this war is over and you continue to comply. Your world will be made the eventual home of a division sized force at minimum and likely see further defenses and defenders placed here in the future to secure your surface and orbit. In thanks for your cooperation the stationed force’s engineers may be put to work in infrastructure overhauls and maintenance. There will also be a period of increased rations and a series of celebrations are scheduled for the election of a Republic Senator to represent the Ash Worlds Sector. Any ties with the Separatist Government will be broken and … I believe that is it.”

  “That’s it?” The Governor asks warily.

  “Oh, right. One last thing. Your refusal of our terms will result in orbital bombardment of the Governor’s house, the administrative headquarters for the world, any and all military installations and various pieces of critical infrastructure.” The Rear Admiral threatens.

  “Then it seems I have little choice but to accept your terms.” The Governor sighs, looking much older all of a sudden.

  “Excellent. You may expect a temporary garrison to arrive alongside Major Green within the hour. Have a good day.” The Admiral says with a devilish grin.