Senior Captain Luis Sicato glances over the tactical display again. His fellow Fondorians in position between the two suns of the Byss system. They were all lucky in a way, the enemy had followed the bait laid out by Thraken almost too perfectly, diverting one of the last two remaining Recusant heavy destroyers, all of the enemy’s six remaining Dreadnought heavy cruisers, some fifteen Munificents and ten Captors to attempt to destroy his comparatively small force of four Dreadnoughts, eight Fondorian Hammerheads, two decently damaged Acclamator ones and an Acclamator two, which had survived the Sep invasion and hidden in the kuiper belt in system until Luis’s arrival. Not to mention some thirteen Sphyrna hammerhead corvettes and five DP20s.

  Luis double checks his formation and nods to himself. It had been a surprise when Thraken overrode the usual command structure to place his friend in command, despite Commodore Miller’s availability and presence in system, however not an entirely unpleasant one. It was not entirely unusual for a lesser officer with more experience to take command of a battle when ordered by a superior. Many a battle against both Sith, Mandalorian and pirate lord alike would have been lost were such a tradition not in place. Honestly the only mildly unusual part of the mildly unusual situation was that most officers were replaced by either fellow Captains or fellow flag officers.

  After all, a Rear Admiral taking command over a Vice Admiral or a full Admiral could easily be explained away, as could a Captain taking over for a Senior Captain. Commodores were the usual exception in this situation, almost never being the one to take command over a true member of the Admiralty, yet also usually being experienced enough to never warrant a lesser Captain to take over their duties. It was a bit of an insult therefore to make Luis the commanding officer over Commodore Miller and yet it had been done anyway.

  “Everything still on schedule?” Luis asks his bridge officers.

  “Yes, sir.” Comes the reply.

  “Enemy ships have finished exiting hyperspace.” Luis’ sensors officer reports.

  Byss was currently hidden behind the galactic northern sun, if the enemy made a run for the world to try and destroy what little infrastructure that hadn’t been destroyed by the short invasion and counter invasion, Luis’ ships could make a series of passes at them, using the suns’ gravity to slingshot his forces to make them harder targets. And if they made a run for his ships, with their depleted fighter compliments and being clearly outnumbered both in tonnage and firepower, well then they would be falling right into his trap.

  The Abyssins may be a poor people, but they knew their suns’ habits like few species and when Luis had asked their representative if there was any advantageous place in system for him and his men to do battle against their pursuers the monocs had told the Senior Captain of his decent luck.

  “Enemy has gone into full speed.” Luis’s sensors officer reports.

  “All ships, arm concussion missiles and begin weapons trajectory calculations for medium to long range. Dreadnoughts Tidal Wave and Tidal Spirit, begin positional adjustments so your portside faces the enemy. Ocean Breeze, follow the Fondor’s Daughter in positional adjustments so our starboards do the same. Acclamators begin slow withdrawal, pickets forward five hundred meters.” Luis orders as he turns to face the starboard transparasteel windows, “Turn missile turret to hard starboard, level.”

  “Rotating starboard.” His Helmsman reports.

  “Basic firing solutions done.” His chief gunnery officer reports.

  “Enemy’s closing fast. Seps will be in missile range in approximately ten minutes.” His sensors officer adds.

  “All ships have their orders, wait for my command.” Luis says quietly. No need to jump the gun, it had been the reason Thraken had placed him in command after all. Fondorian naval tradition emphasized aggression. Don’t let the enemy take the initiative, because the Sith, or pirates, or Mandos, or terrorists or rival worlds could use their initiative to cripple Fondor’s pride, her shipyards. No, better to take the fight to the enemy and smash their heads in as fast and decisively as possible.

  It was an ingrained part of Fondor’s military tradition, yet Carida had tempered Luis’s aggression and given him patience. Meanwhile Carida had reinforced Thraken’s mean streak and wish to stack the deck against any foe in his favor. Luis suppresses a chuckle, he had learned early on not to trust his friend in any card game long ago, unless someone neutral was dealing and Thraken wasn’t wearing a log sleeved shirt.

  “Enemy in range.”

  “Fire all missiles.” Luis orders. Like a round of buckshot from a slugthrower, over a hundred missiles emerge from within the DP20s, Hammerhead cruisers and his Fondor’s Daughter. The enemy holds off from returning fire as the missiles smash against their shields, explosions rocking the solar radiation strained defensive measures. Finally the enemy opens fire with their heavy turbolasers and red streaks pass between orbs of solar fire. A few thud against the shields, but most pass harmlessly through the formation.

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  “Another salvo of missiles. Wait for my command.” Luis orders calmly as the enemy unleashes another volley of red fire, the flames racing towards his ships. They splatter against the shields of his ships once more as Luis calmly counts down the seconds.

  “Missiles loaded.” The Battery Adjutant reports.

  A few seconds later one of his comms officers adds to it: “All ships report missiles loaded.”

  “Fire.” Luis orders and as a third barrage of enemy turbolasers smash against his ships’ shields his returning volley is released, “All ships, pull back to point Vixin-Cresh-Aurek.”

  “Sir, shields can’t take much more of this.” An officer reports from the trenches.

  “Take power from our lesser systems. We need engine power and shields.” Luis orders.

  The missiles explode across the enemy formation as Luis’s ships turn about, rotating on the spot until, as enemy turbolaser thud against shields and hull alike, their engine blocks face the enemy’s prows. Then with a lurch the formation jolts forwards, occasional defiant fire from a Hammerhead’s rotated batteries or a Dreadnought’s rear turbolasers soars towards the enemy.

  Finally the final puzzle piece clicked into place and Luis begins barking orders rapid fire: “All ships, rotate to face the enemy, but keep speed, I want a half decent arc! Fire missiles and turbolasers at will, we have half a minute, then all power into shields and lock down the ships! Prepare to launch fighters and jamm the enemy comms now!”

  Just as the Abyssins had predicted a sun spot suddenly spews forth in a solar flare, which agonizingly slowly, yet inevitably, smashes against the Separatist detachment. Luis can almost imagine the internal systems short circuiting, blowing or overloading all at the same time. It was why battles this close to stars were so uncommon.

  “All ships may fire at will. Deploy strikecraft.”

  Missiles, turbolasers and ion cannons are let lose by their respective ships, smashing against poorly shielded or entirely unshielded ships and breaking into their hulls. An enemy Dreadnought goes up in flames alongside a Munificent and a Captor as more and more Republic munitions explode along the hulls of the Separatist warships. Finally after the second salvo of missiles smash against the enemy ships Luis gives a simple order.

  “Charge.” The Senior Captain and commanding officer orders, an evil glint in his eyes.

  Like a mudpuppy’s pounce the Republic warships jolt forwards, turbolaser flames and ion cannon fire being thrown at the enemy and leaving scorched holes and streaks across the Separatist ship’s armor. A well placed shot nails a Munificent’s heavy turbolaser’s tibana reserves and detonates the entire front of the ship. Luis almost feels bad for the Seps in front of him. Lured into a trap and now entirely defenseless and unable to return fire as his ships pummel them into scrap.

  Finally, after five more enemy ships fall to his fire and his ships are within the Separatist formation, fighters and bombers racing across the enemy ships like sandcrickets do a corpse, an enemy ship returns fire. It is the third furthest ship from the Star, a Captor, that either by luck or skill managed to fix enough of her systems to become operational once more.

  “Divert strikecraft to the recently reactivated Captor. We’ve taken enough punishment from the enemy I think.” Luis orders.

  Slowly as if they are being woken form slumber a few more Sep warships activate and yet, as they do, they are pummeled by Republic ordnance and swarmed by Republic starfighters. They might manage a few potshots, but they don’t survive long.

  “Sir, Munificent designate Scion of Wyndigal wishes to surrender.”

  “Mark her as surrendered, pass it along and give her standard surrender orders.” Luis orders in reply.

  It takes longer than he would have liked, yet far less time than it should have in a conventional battle. Luis ponders it a moment. An absolute victory. No ships lost on his side for the destruction of thirty two ships of the line. It was … something he had never thought he would have to do and yet here he stood, at the bridge of his own ship having just done so.

  He looks over the destroyed ships of his foe and lets out a sigh. Luis was a Fondorian from a family of shipbuilders and soldiers. Certainly not some prestigious ten thousander family, but in decent standing. Each member imparting the love of the inky skies and the ships that traversed them into the next. Luis, staring around at this new graveyard of such ships just saw waste. If it wasn’t for the Republic’s promises and ideals he might have even joined the Seps for hope of advancement, anything was better than this wastefulness.

  “Such a waste.” Luis mutters before straightening himself and beginning to spit out orders again, “Inform the Abyssin administration of our victory and our need for temporary POW housing and the sale of … however many enemy ships we haven’t captured to the scrap merchants. We need to hand out salvage rights to loyalists as rewards and deploy our detachment’s scavengers to look for intel. We might be the first unit in the entire campaign to know exactly what the enemy’s forces entail. Assemble the formation a couple dozen klicks above the enemy’s wreckage. Prioritize enemy intel and escape pods and get me Commodore Miller.”

  The orders begin being followed as Luis stares out into the void. Thraken would be fighting at Astigone around now. Then, if all goes to plan, they’ll defeat Hatha at Balshebr and retake Handooine at the same time. Luis double checks his chronometer and sighs. He had some time, but better be early to assist in the preparations than late.

  “Commodore Miller is on the line, sir.” His comms chief reports.

  Luis gives the nod and soon enough the fellow Fondorian man appears before him with and begins speaking: “Senior Captain. My congratulations, an excellent battle, though perhaps slightly underhanded.”

  “Thank you Commodore. All ships performed excellently, as expected.” Luis replies, “I would ask your council as a superior officer.”

  Miller’s eyes narrow slightly as he speaks: “What about?”

  “We have a few options here. I am rather partial to leaving a few corvettes to ensure we can gather all intel possible and leave a paltry force to defend Byss if necessary.” Luis starts.

  “And yet we must make haste back to the primary fleet.” Miller continues.

  “And yet every ship counts and I fear the optics we could gain if we leave Byss with no defenders.” Luis finishes.

  “Yes, one must always consider the optics.” Miller agrees, “We cannot sacrifice a cruiser, but … we could leave a few corvettes and that Munificent.”

  Luis almost jumps on the idea: “Sell the Munificent to the Abyssin for whatever they’re willing to pay, probably something on the cheaper side, crew it with a skeleton crew of Republic officers to train the Abyssin sailors on it while we make jump for Balshebr.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Even if it defies current and former Navy protocols this course of action will serve us best, simply remind our Abyssin friends that this will be a customs ship and not a military vessel.” The Commodore says with a sly smile.

  “Pick whoever you can spare and a trusted Lieutenant for command.” Luis orders. He should be more polite about this, but unless one was from high society, Fondorians typically didn’t care much for proper procedure.

  “I have a cousin in mind for the role. She’ll do well.”

  “Then we’re agreed. Rally the men and begin plotting courses for Balshebr. We may have won a battle, but the war is still up for grabs.”

  “Well said. Maker keep you.” Miller says with a quick salute.

  “And you as well.” Luis replies as he echoes the gesture.