An explosion rocks the ground ahead of him and Krugwolt suppresses the urge to scream in frustration. He was so damn close! They were within artillery range of the Separatist Parliament! Blaster fire races throughout the last boulevard ahead of the central plaza as entrenched droids and various Republic volunteers exchange fire between the various rubble of destroyed and disabled vehicles, Krugwolt’s own command juggernaut about half a klick behind them and currently being used as an impromptu forward operating base.

  Krugwolt had decided he would rather brave the shell-hole battered streets than stay in the Sep artillerists’ new favorite target. His prosthetic lip itches at the memory of another entrenched position he had tried to seize, though at least this one’s climate didn’t threaten to freeze his nuts off. An explosion rocks the building ahead of him before a dozen AT-RTs race over the new rubble, making a desperate charge towards the now much closer Seps, the Targonnians on their backs firing blaster pistols and old looking rifles alongside the light blaster cannons on their vehicles, their officers waving their dao vibro-swords at their foes.

  The advancing B1s are either destroyed or circumvented as they continue their rapid charge, a trio of Saber-tanks now also crawling over the rubble with one bearing their Colonel halfway outside of the top hatch waving a sword around and firing the tank’s lasers into a different group of droids, the B2s and crab droids suffering a bad mauling as they hesitate between continuing laying down suppressive fire against Krugwolt’s main advance and the new threat.

  Krugwolt climbs out of the shell crater, pulling out his own ceremonial sabre and pointing towards the enemy as he shouts: “FORWARD DAMN YOU! FOR THE REPUBLIC!”

  He begins moving towards the next shell-hole in a quickmarch as his men around him climb out of their own cover and charge towards their foes, the AT-RT charge already blunted and almost entirely eliminated by approaching Sep armor, the NR-N99 Persuaders’ forward armament breaking the charge despite the Targonnians’ best efforts.

  Krugwolt continues his straight forward march despite an explosion rocking the ground a few meters to his left, shrapnel and dirt buzzing around his face and pinging against his helmet as he continues forward. More and more men gather up the courage to join his advance, helped by the mad ramblings of the increasingly close Targonnian Colonel and his infantry providing cover fire from the rubble of the destroyed building. Krugwolt can finally make out what the Colonel has been shouting at his driver as he finally decides to take cover in a shell crater close to the Targonnian’s position.

  The alien and veteran continues his tirade against his driver as Krugwolt suppresses a chuckle: “I DON’T CARE IF IT’S DANGEROUS! DRIVE ME CLOSER, I WANT TO HIT THOSE DAMN DROIDS WITH MY SWORD!”

  “HO, SHAY!” Krugwolt shouts.

  That catches the Colonel’s attention, the Targonnian’s head swiveling a moment before finding his General in a crater to his left: “HO, KRUGWOLT!”

  “BUNKER DOWN YOUR MEN, I’VE ORDERED ANOTHER FLANK FROM THE OTHER ALLEYWAY ON THE ADVANCE’S LEFT, SHOULD DETONATE ANY MINUTE, YOU CAN USE YOUR SWORD ALL YOU WANT THEN.” Krugwolt shouts over the continued blasterfire, a Sep tank exploding ahead of them as a Republic rocket smashes into its center mass.

  “ROGER THAT.” The Targonnian Colonel shouts before adjusting his turret’s position to give a group of advancing B1s a horizontal slash, cutting many of them in half.

  A hum distracts Krugwolt from his observations and the General’s face pales. Gunships. Krugwolt grabs a comms officer by the shoulder and begins barking orders: “Get me our advanced artillery Captain and tell him his company is to divert to provide anti-air flak! If even one of those gunships get into blaster range I’ll have their damn hazard pay!”

  “Roger that, sir.” The comms officer replies before repeating the orders rapid fire.

  The whirring of the droid gunships gets closer and closer as clouds of flak erupt over the entrenched forces’ heads. Krugwolt pulls out a spare flaregun and aims it up into the sky. A moment of hesitation, then a pink flare races up into the sky. An explosion breaks open another building on the opposite side of the road as over a hundred men charge through the new breach, closely followed by a duet of AT-TE walkers. One of the armored vehicles takes a Sep rocket to its cockpit, yet as it collapses onto the rubble the other fires off a mass-driver round into the Sep’s armor.

  “FORWARD!” Krugwolt shouts as his side of the advance joins in the desperate charge.

  “There goes starboard battery three.” A gunnery officer bemoans.

  “Adjust the positioning of the Fondor’s Daughter to make up for lost firepower.” I order in return.

  “Got a Munificent coming in from behind, about one fifty meters above our plane.”

  “Divert that duet of DP20s we’ve got to intercept. Slow that cruiser.” I order.

  Things were clearing up in a way, though not in a particularly kind way. Crippled cruisers, frigates and destroyers littered the ever changing brawl, with a tragically low number of escape pods able to be rescued as turbolasers fly between battleships. The Fondor’s Star and the surrounding ships were increasingly battered, we wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer, our returned shields already on the brink once more. One bad hit and the Tector might detonate at this point.

  A salvo of proton torpedoes crash against the buckling shields as an approaching Providence dreadnought, an annoyingly fresh one from what I can gleam, unleashes its frontal armament. Heavy turbolasers rotate by silent command from Hills and unleash a staggered volley against the approaching ship.

  “Divert Little Squadron and whatever bombers we’ve scratched together to make a run on that damn Providence!” I order.

  Strikecraft race across the formation towards the still approaching vessel, an Acclamator adjusts its position below us, angling upwards, as they do so. I turn away, trying to gauge the possibility of consolidating with a nearby pocket of frigates around a Venator, the ships being assaulted by a larger assortment of Tionese Man o’ Wars. I shake my head, better to focus on the threat dead ahead for now, at least until it was lessened. The western part of the battle was going much better, Republic ships mopping up the enemy far flank and attempting to roll up enemy ships towards the center, following them close behind as they do.

  An explosion rocks our starboard as the Acclamator, previously below us, takes a full volley of proton torpedoes meant for the Fondor’s Star. The smaller ship breaks apart under the massed munitions from the predatory Providence. The detonation throws some of the racing strikecraft out of formation, but the veterans adjust quickly and continue their charge towards the Providence, Vultures and Tri-fighters rushing to intercept.

  “Sir, incoming transmission from Vice Admiral Sykes!” A comms officer shouts in triumph.

  “Bring him up.” I order as turbolasers race below our strikecraft, smashing into the prow of the Providence, though the ship adjusts its heading to come along in a broadside.

  Soon enough the visage of my stern looking underling appears before me: “Ad--ral, my --n ha-e fini--ed m-p-ing up the enemy re---ve and nort--rn force and have --gun d-----ing the --serves fo- the ---face invasion. Where do --u --ed us?”

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  I feel relief flood my senses as I glance over the tactical display: “Send your fastest ships to the eastern flank, they’re under too much pressure for my liking. The rest should be spread out between the west and center west portions of the battle to try and roll up this mess I got us in.”

  “Unde--tood, sir. We’ll -ake ha--e.”

  “Good, Maker keep you.” I reply as the bombers strafe the top of the Providence, dropping proton bomb after proton bomb along the ship’s spine.

  “--ars -eep you, Adm----.” Sykes replies before the hologram fizzles out, returning to a more updated tactical display.

  A turbolaser shears off part of the Providence’s beak like prow as the two ships begin a deadly dance of broadsides. The Fondor’s Star shudders and her shields break once more, shattering apart like glass struck by a hammer. The ship continues to shudders as consecutive turbolasers smash into the armored hull of the ship. We were at least giving about as well as we were getting, I think as our strikecraft continue to swarm the Providence.

  “Sir, we just lost engine two!” An officer shouts from his trench.

  “That damn Munificent.” I growl. Glancing around the tactical display I tap a limping Acclamator II nearby that had just won a duel with a Tionese Man o’ War some two hundred meters above and a click behind us, “Get that ship to engage the enemy Munificent that’s pounding our rear and divert all but the bare minimum of engine power to our shields.”

  “Yessir.” An Adjutant replies.

  The Fondor’s Star shudders again as I get the profound feeling that something was about to break. I glance at a secondary tactical display focusing on the Fondor’s Star alone and see far too much orange and red, symbolizing damage and hull breaches respectively. We won’t be able to keep up with this much longer.

  An explosion rocks our starboard as the Providence takes a rather bad hit, loosing her hanger bay and a decent chunk of her portside batteries. Shrapnel crashes against the hull, reminding me of a bad sandstorm in all the worst ways. Another shudder from something important detonating on our portside.

  I turn and walk steadily to the edge of the bridge, orders being flung about for small adjustments in position for the Star as a Tri-Fighter buzzes the bridge, a red and blue painted Starchaser in a hot pursuit. I stare at the opposing Providence like the damn thing owed me money as it continued a sporadic, yet almost constant, exchange of turbolasers with the Fondor’s Star.

  “Intensify shields on our portside, divert power from starboard to do it.” Hills orders.

  I pick out half a dozen Y-Wings strafing just above our turbolaser impacts, dropping proton bombs as they go despite the nearby rubble, at their head a familiar Starchaser snipes at incoming Tri-fighters. The small detachment swerves upwards, holding their remaining payload for a moment, before making a run for the enemy rear. A few bombers go down due to the combination of flack and enemy interceptors, but in the end, the Starchaser and its four remaining Y-Wing wingmates launch their proton torpedoes and concussion missiles at the bottom of the enemy’s bridge stalk.

  “Divert fire to enemy upper bridge stalk.” I order as the strikecraft continue over to the other side of the Sep warship.

  A duet of heavy turbolasers smash into the bridge stalk just above the impact points of the strikecraft’s ordnance. It snaps and slowly flies away from the ship as a third and forth heavy turbolaser smash into it, pushing it further and further. I can barely make out a couple dozen bodies, droid and human alike floating from the new holes in the ship.

  “Sykes better hurry up.” I grumble.

  A blasterbolt pings off his helmet, grazing the damn thing and almost throwing Krugwolt from his position riding one of the recently arrived armor, the AT-OT’s open hull perfect both for a good field of view and apparently sniper fire. The larger repulser tanks that arrived alongside the Infantry Fighting Vehicle were certainly doing a good number. The Falchions and new Sabers were almost within spitting distance from the Separatist Parliament and sniping any approaching B1 column with ease. LAATs were flying overhead, trying to encircle the building as soon as possible while Krugwolt’s infantry continued their assaults.

  Enemy armor was creeping up along the sides of the parliament building to face his armored spearhead and their supporting infantry, yet even the various upgraded AATs weren’t enough to slow his advance. Rocket armed infantry managing to disable many of them before they could threaten this last push.

  The AT-OT lowers itself to begin deploying its platoon of Volunteers to support the front, the trained pioneers of Krugwolt’s Bandomeerian Regiment getting to work quickly with their heavy durasteel lobster tail armor making a run for one of the shell craters to set up their E-web and mortars. Who’d have thought the short Meerians had enough strength to wear such heavy plate alongside carrying such heavy equipment? Though Krugwolt would certainly not complain.

  “Sir, one of our LAATs have sighted enemy armor incoming.”

  “And?” Krugwolt asks the Sergeant.

  “Um … can you confirm that?” The man asks into his comms unit, “Sir, they’ve spotted three Decimators.”

  Fuck.

  “Alright, pull back our armor, we’re dismounting too. Get me a platoon’s worth of volunteers, give them magnetic thermal detonators from within the IFVs and contact our forward artillery batteries. Prepare their sightings on the Parliamentary plaza. We’ll saturate the entire thing with shells until those Decimators are nothing but debris and dust.” Krugwolt orders.

  “Sir, we should pull back too.” An Adjutant suggests.

  “No.” He counters, “Our advance is already on the brink. We follow the Anaxsi doctrine in this, none shall pass.”

  The Adjutant sighs but nods: “Very well, sir.”

  “I’ve got eyes on those Decimators. About a click out and approaching slowly.” The Targonnian Staff Sergeant reports, one eye closed while the other glares through his sniper scope.

  “Notice to forward artillery. Load HE-AP ammo and fire on my mark. I’ll order the infantry charge once those things are gone, roger?” Krugwolt orders.

  “Roger, sir.” His comms operator replies.

  Decimators were a dangerous foe. A super heavy repulser tank with an especially deadly turbolaser and shields to put some older corvettes to shame. Yet they were slow. And with the distance available, he should be able to destroy them before they enter a range where he would have to worry. Whoever was in command clearly had little experience with the deadly heavy tanks.

  “Artillery reports targets sighted.”

  “Fire.”

  A few seconds later, as the Decimators unleash their opening salvo upon the retreating armor, punching a hole clear through the AT-OT Krugwolt had been in moments before as well as cracking open two Falchions behind him as well. The debris from the explosions smack around their point of origin, a blaster stalk landing in the shellcrater that was protecting Krugwolt and his men. Yet the Republic response had the entire plaza erupting in explosions. Krugwolt observes the devastation carefully as Vultures and LAATs race across the sky. An explosion erupts from behind, an AT-TE detonating from a proton bomb launched by a Separatist Starfighter, now free to act as the artillery focused their firepower on a singular target.

  The bombardment lightens somewhat as another explosion occurs distantly behind the intermixed forces of the 53rd Volunteer Corps, Krugwolt carefully counting down the seconds until the Decimators should be done for. Yet despite it another salvo of their firepower emerges from the smoke and rubble, crashing against Republic armor and infantry both.

  “Hold fire!” Krugwolt orders his comms officer, the man relaying the order promptly as Krugwolt emerges from the shell crater they had taken shelter in, sword raised towards the smoke and blaster pistol in hand: “FORWARDS!”

  Soldiers begin to rush, those carrying magnetic thermal detonators interspersed with those simply charging for new cover, blasterfire once more emerging from the smoke as the few droids that had survived the chaos open fire once more. Until they stop.

  Krugwolt’s brows narrow in confusion as his men continue forward into the smoke until it clears to reveal three destroyed Decimator hulks and a handful of recently blasted B1s, B2s and Commando droids. Seems the Seps were almost out of soldiers if they were sending their Regimental bodyguard teams to the front. Krugwolt chooses to slam into an upturned chunk of Decimator repulser to catch his breath and wait for the inevitable Separatist blasterfire.

  “Sir, am I seeing things right?” His Staff Sergeant asks.

  “What is it?” The General asks, moving his head above the cover to take in his surroundings, his eyes scanning the damaged plaza. Destroyed beyond recognition, Republic soldiers swarming it, Meerian pioneers making a rush for the grand entrance of the Parliament, a Lieutenant in a lobster tail ordering explosives to be planted and a breaching team to be organized, Targonnian foot scaling the walls with grappling-hooks and the skill of urban warfare specialists.

  “A white flag.” The Sergeant says, pointing up towards the top of the Parliamentary building.

  Krugwolt’s eyes drift upwards, slowly, to where the Separatist Hex had been emblazoned upon a blue banner. Said banner was gone, replaced with a white tablecloth from somewhere, its edges embroidered with golden and durasteel thread. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

  “Stars, it’s over now, isn’t it?” He can’t stop himself from asking.

  “Looks that way, sir.” His comms chief replies, his voice hoarse from shouting orders for hours on end.

  “Someone comm the Fleet. Tell them the good news. And begin securing the building promptly. Artillery back on AA duty and … See if we can get a recording of the last few minutes. This is something for the history books.” Kugwolt orders.

  “Understood, sir.” The Staff Sergeant replies as a Targonnian and Human begin waving a banner with the Republic cog they had gotten from somewhere from the roof of the east wing.

  It was over.

  I inhale slowly and deeply as I watch the battle dissolve. Separatist warships surrendering en-mass as reports of their Parliament’s surrender are confirmed and their losses mount. Seems that had been the deathblow for their moral.

  I chuckle slightly at the thought. A mere few weeks ago we had almost been where they had been. The only difference being Coruscant’s inability to be seized and the Separatists being unable or unwilling to rally whatever reserves the Perlimian Campaign and Grievous’s assault on the Republic Capitol had left them. It seemed this war hadn’t ended by the total destruction of one side or another, but by the moral of both being obliterated nigh simultaneously. And the only thing which separated who had won this war was who had been able to rally together their core, been able to scrape together what little moral was left to outlast the other.

  I inhale deeply. Then exhale slowly. Victory never smelled so sweet, though that could very well have been a side effect from the caffeine stims I had taken to ensure I would be able to remain awake if this battle turned into a siege. Yet it hadn’t. Instead I stood victoriously over a world which had defied the Republic and stood behind warcriminals and monsters both.

  “And Alexander wept, seeing as he had no more worlds to conquer.” I mutter to myself, getting a few side-eyes from the closer Adjutants.

  I exhale in relief, another slight chuckle escaping me as I watch the tactical display change slightly as ships move to secure and impound those enemies which had surrendered and destroy the few which had refused to.

  “Begin organizing our ground forces into solid patrols and deploy whatever arms-men we can spare to assist them in securing the surface. Scratch together our least damaged ships and send them to secure the shipyards over Raxus Prime, have … have Sykes oversee it on my behalf. Hold off on any celebrations until I give the go ahead, we can’t afford to get lax now, the enemy could still to take us with them into the sands.” I order.

  “Understood, sir.” Captian Hills replies with a grin.

  I feel my own grin finally overtake me. We had just won the war. It was all but over now. And with the war won, all that was left was to win the peace.