“Entering close range.” An Adjutant reports, his tone emotionless.

  “Continue with the charge.” I order calmly.

  Enemy fire intensifies, a peppering of light turbolasers joining the pounding of heavy and medium turbolasers. This was the worst range of our Republic warships. Light range made the heavy turbolasers sluggish and allowed launch tubes filled with proton torpedoes to be unleashed. Exactly that was happening to us as the increasingly damaged Providence dreadnought ahead of us spews forth its armament of proton torpedoes, over two hundred of them, now racing towards the Fondor’s Star.

  “BRACE FOR IMPACT!” Captain Hills shouts.

  Proton torpedoes smash against our shields and I feel them shatter under the pressure, a series of explosions rocking the armored hull not even a second later. I was rather impressed the shields had lasted this long in the first place, but it seemed the Fondor’s Star only had so much good fortune.

  “Once we’re broadsiding the Seps won’t be able to pull that again. Put power into speed and pull alongside that dreadnought’s portside now!” I bark.

  I can almost see the formation of Detachment South disintegrate in slow motion as her front line and the enemy’s front line crash into one another. The Fondor’s Star merging between the Separatist dreadnought and a Recusant light destroyer and unleashing her full firepower on both in a devastating broadside. I stop myself from narrowing in on the Tector’s fight, trying to ensure the battle doesn’t go to shit around me.

  “Take out those heavy batteries!” Hills barks at his gunnery Adjutants.

  “Flank Divisions, press the attack and see if you can get behind the enemy with the first line while the second takes your place in the melee. Message to Vice Admiral Sykes. He is to see if he can cause enough trouble to have the enemy commit their reserves to him so we can punch a hole through the enemy here.” I order rapid fire.

  Yet as I inspect the tactical display a realization slowly becomes clear. We didn’t need to punch a hole, there already was one. The area between the disintegrating lines to the galactic south and the still medium range engagement to the west. The lines weren’t long enough and a gap not only existed, but was expanding by the push of the my western flank.

  I had to seize this. I grab one of my Adjutants by the shoulder as I begin giving my orders: “You, get in contact with Generals Koth, Krugwolt, Cain and Tagge. They’re to divert their forces to the western flank. I want Commodore Praut to form a Fondorian Flying Slug like I did at Mintooine with the Praetor. He is to keep the troop transports in the center and the surrounding ships are to ensure they make it to the planet’s surface asap. You got that?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Then go!” I bark at the woman. She makes haste and takes a spare comms station, repeating my most recent order rapid fire as I turn my attentions to the battle around me. Enemy reserve units were heading towards my flanks to try and cut off the encirclement while a few Sep warships attempted the same maneuver in those areas as well. The battle was getting out of control. More ships were heading for Sykes as well, but things weren’t going exactly to plan.

  “Shields are back!” The Ensign barks in joy as a trio of Vultures buzz our bridge, pursued by a duet of R-41 Starchasers.

  “Recusant light to our portside going down!” A gunnery Adjutant barks in relief.

  “Divert power from portside batteries to starboard, I want our rate of fire doubled within the minute. Admiral, Can we get some more support ships?”

  I consider it a moment before nodding: “Get me the Fondor’s Daughter and a picket from our second line and have them cover our rear towards the enemy Providence on our starboard. Inform our second line officers in the central divisions to begin deploying reserve ships of the line where necessary.”

  I notice multiple Dreadnoughts that had been kept in reserve move forward in a staggered manner across the entire line. The sturdy ships would likely do well now. Be they armed with missile tubes for proton torpedoes or ion cannons to knock our enemy systems, their support would do well. Especially with their improved accuracy for their medium turbolasers and getting in range for their various laser weapons. After all, the Dreadnought was made for brawls like this. I recenter myself as I continue to observe the tactical display. The melee was developing quickly as more ships go dark, the second line moving in to replace them promptly. Escape pods launch from their derelict motherships and too often are picked off by angry point defense gunners.

  I frown at that last observation. It had been happening too often over the last three battles, Republic gunnery officers willing to fire upon enemy escape pods. And yet there hadn’t been enough time or spare crewmen to hold investigations on the matter, never mind enough spare crew to replace any guilty party. It certainly didn’t help that the Seps were falling back onto the desperate action as well. I turn back to the tactical display, knowing the casualty list would be so much higher for this campaign than I would usually enjoy.

  Enemy reinforcements fill gaps, our starboard now firing against a Munificent maybe three clicks above and fifty away. Her many light turbolasers angled perfectly to bombard our upper armor in a series of quick strikes. Damn Seps, I hate it when they use their ships this well.

  “Adjust power output in the batteries back to standard.” Captain Hills orders, seeing the fresh Munificent as an equal threat to the increasingly battered Providence dreadnought.

  “Sir, report from Commodore Praut and the ground forces. They’ve made it through between the two lines and are making a run for the capitol, but the enemy reserve and the defensive installations are dead ahead of them. General Koth wishes to press on, but Commodore Praut has asked for advice.” A comms officer reports.

  “The enemy reserve?” I ask.

  “Twenty Sepy Dreadnought M-2 heavy cruisers, headed by a Providence dreadnought, the forty Captor carriers and four Lucrehulks.” Lieutenant Hursk answers.

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  A deep inhale. If we could secure the capitol and its defenses we might be able to force a surrender. The Reserve and transports should be able to defeat the enemy formation, but it would cost time. I let out a resigned sigh: “A direct assault should allow the transports to get to the surface, though they will be unprotected. Enemy anti air would do too much damage. Pierce the enemy formation while holding the flying slug. Securing the Separatist capitol is the entire purpose of the operation. It must be secured, at all costs if necessary.”

  “Transmitting orders.” the comms chief reports.

  “That will be the deaths of thousands.” One of my Adjutants whispers.

  “A noble sacrifice.” Captain Hills replies.

  “A necessary evil.” I whisper in turn. The sooner this war ended, the less soldiers, sailors, civilians would die. What was a few thousand more when compared to the billions who had already died?

  I fuckin’ hate the numbers.

  The Acclamator shudders around Krugwolt as he continues to regret his decisions. The Silken Bat was one of four Acclamators that held his 53rd Volunteer Corps, their support personnel, their vehicles and remaining supplies. He was starting to wonder if he should’ve put his boot down when Dericote ordered his, Cain’s, Tagge’s and Koth’s various corps to make a run for the capitol ahead of them. The world is closing rapidly now, the only obstacles some twenty enemy Dreadnoughts, a dreadnought and forty Captors, arrayed in two lines, the Lucrehulks anchoring the formation, but they won’t matter much for this engagement, not when they’ll, apparently, be punching through.

  “General, we’ll be entering maximum range imminently.” The Captain of the Silken Bat informs him, “If all goes well, it’ll only be half an hour before we enter orbit.”

  “Very well.” Krugwolt says, taking his helmet out from between his arm and hip and placing it on his head, “You have my comm codes. Keep me posted. I plan on being in the first wave so I can coordinate from the surface.”

  “Is that wise, sir?” The Captain asks.

  “No, but I’ll be damned if I’m not on surface before General Koth. It was my men who’ve fought on this front long before he even attempted to arrive. They deserve to have their General with them for this.” Krugwotl responds as he double checks his armor. Breastplate with his rank plaque above his heart, shoulderpads, vambraces and armored gloves. Kneepads, greaves and durasteel tipped boots. Blaster pistol, ceremonial sword, chipped from use on Mintooine, now sharpened into a series of jagged points along the curve of the blade, backup blaster pistol, medkit, spare munitions and a couple of thermal detonators. Yes that should do, especially if he sticks with his command squad.

  “Then I commend you for your bravery and honor. If you don’t make it, I’ll make a point of mentioning it in your eulogy.” The Captain says, head held high and tone light.

  “I’ll be sure to return the favor.” Krugwolt says.

  “Very good, sir.” The Captain responds, snapping a formal salute, boot-heels clacking together in the Lantillian style as he does.

  Krugwolt returns the salute before marching out of the bridge, his command squad joining him in the elevator from their guard posts outside of the bridge. Various heavy duty comms units strapped to most of their backs, a Z-6 in one of their hands, bandoleers of grenades and blaster packs on the veterans’ armored chests. The elite of Krugwolt’s original Corps, originating from various worlds that supplies the soldiers of the North East Slice Command.

  The sole Targonnian, a Sergeant Major, wielding a modded blaster rifle with a sniper scope speaks up: “We’re ready, sir. Come Hells or high water.”

  “Good to hear, Sergeant.” Krugwolt affirms, grim determination taking over his face and mind. A sentence that had been passed through the Navy Battle Division and the transports echoing in his ears. At all costs if necessary.

  Dericote was right, the Separatists had to be defeated here, their legislature captured and remaining government’s legitimacy burnt in the pyre that he would make of their parliament. Hundreds of Billions had already died, more than half of that number being his fellow soldiers. What was a few thousand more to ensure they secured the enemy’s defeat?

  He enters the LAAT gunship as the Acclamator shudders. His commlink chirping at him. A flick of his thumb turning on his receiver in his helmet.

  “Sir, enemy fighter presence higher than originally expected. Seems Raxus’s planetary airfields weren’t stripped for the Perlimian front. It’ll be more rocky of a descent than originally planned.” The Captain’s voice comes through.

  “We stick to the plan. At all costs, Captain.” Krugwolt says.

  “Understood, sir. Long live the Republic.”

  “Well said Captain, Krugwolt out.” He turns to his comms chief and motions for the comm receiver, “Get me a Corps wide transmission asap.”

  “Onit, sir.” The Quarren says.

  A moment of fiddling with the box on his back, then a thumbs up and Krugwolt begins speaking: “Attention all members of the 53rd Volunteer Corps. Enemy aerial resistance is higher than expected. Remember your training, if you’re shot down hunker down and hold out using everything available to you. We fight for all who’ve died this war, do not sully their memory with surrender. Every second you resist is one more we have without your attackers on the primary advance’s assault on the Separatist Parliament. This will be bloody, but it at least it won’t be muddy like Jabiim. Long live the Republic, Lieutenant General Krugwolt, proud soldier of the 53rd Volunteer Corps and citizen of the Republic, out.”

  There’s barely a second between the next shipwide transmission: “This is your Captain speaking, entering atmosphere. Expect heavy turbulence on account of clouds, the seasonal winds and an unhealthy amount of hostile anti-air flack.”

  “Didn’t know he was a comedian.” A Staff Sergeant quips.

  “Hear he did a decent routine back in the Lantillian defense force.” A different Staff Sergeant replies with a smirk.

  “Begin takeoff.” Krugwolt orders into his comms unit.

  “Roger that. I’ll try and keep her steady, but based off of the reports of enemy triple A it might be hard to keep your comms fully active.” The pilot responds.

  “That’s fine, just get us down, the landing zone is large enough for me to work from there.” Krugwolt responds into his comm.

  “Roger that. Pilot out.” And the LAAT begins moving out of the Acclamator, dozens more following in its wake, some carrying AT-TEs, some holding artillery, but most are transporting infantry. Once they’ve secured the landing zones the Acclamators can fully land and deploy the heavy armor and remaining mechanized infantry in reserve. Once they’ve unloaded they’ll head back to orbit to help win the battle among the stars … if they make it at all.

  Flack buffets the sides of the LAAT, throwing the soldiers inside around, though they all manage to remain standing for now. Krugwolt slowly counts the seconds like the beat of a drum in his mind. Another shudder and a distant, yet far too close, explosion. The quiet murmurings of one of his Staff Sergeants praying, the flak outside, the wind, the red light switching on.

  “T-minus thirty seconds. Looks like most of us made it.”

  The flak stops, but the explosions don’t, rocket infantry, Krugwolt deduces. It makes an annoying amount of sense to use cheap rockets with cheap B1s as another level of anti-air defense once the gunships have descended below the flak’s minimum range. It was ingenious in a way, it would do very well in a city like this.

  “Greenlight, doors open, good luck General.” The pilot says as the doors open around him. The rest of the men jump out immediately and begin forming their perimeter, Krugwolt and his command squad close on their heels, the LAAT rushing up into the sky to provide close air support around the landing area.

  The plaza is large and home to a fountain and a few dozen trees. Krugwolt counts the heads around him. Maybe a brigade and a half instead of the division that was assigned to the LZ. Oh well, he’s done more with less.

  “Get sniper teams from the LZ guards up on those roofs there and in that tower over there.” Krugwolt begins rapid fire, “Assemble whatever of the 3rd Targonnians that made landfall here alongside whatever mechanized troops that landed. We begin making our way towards the Parliament building. Everyone else is to expand the perimeter. I want the elements of our engineering companies to begin setting up basecamp here so the Acclamators have an easier time unloading. Finally I want our unloaded LAATs to make a run on the triple A to the southwest of here. It’ll be costly, but we need the path cleared for the Acclamators.”

  “Roger that, sir.” His comms chief answers.

  In the distance Krugwolt can hear a mix of blaster fire and explosions. They needed to press the attack quickly, at least the avenues of Raxus were large enough for heavy armor and the plazas large enough for an Acclamator to land, though it would be a very snug fit. A couple people might loose their homes, but … victory at all costs.

  “Will we be waiting on the command juggernaut, sir?” One of this staff Sergeants asks.

  Krugwolt considers it a moment before shaking his head: “No, flag down one of the advancing AT-TEs and have us join the main assault. We’ll switch to the command juggernaut once it’s caught up with us.”

  “Understood, sir. I’ll see about flagging down that AT-TE.” The Sergeant replies.

  Krugwolt waves the Quarren off. The engineering companies are working like busy ants, cutting down the trees to increase the landing area for the approaching second wave of LAATs and setting up barricades, blowing in the way housing and setting up sandbags in the remaining LAATs in the area around the plaza, it would do for temporary barricades.

  A distant explosion pulls the Lieutenant General’s attention, a building collapsing in the distance souring his already morbid mood. An AT-TE begins moving towards his command squad and its hatch opens to allow him and his men in.

  “Victory at all costs.” Krugwolt mutters to himself.