A Life at War: Twilight

I stare at the tactical display, what it depicted was like a fine work of art, a symphony of violence to commence once its victims and counterparts entered system and began to move. It was beautiful. Layers upon layers of minefields, ships hidden among the debris of battles past and in the shadows of worlds. An assembly of four more battleships and two more corvettes than I had had at Caluula. A bowstring taught and ready to be drawn.

I exhale slowly as I look over the forces, Faxe leading a skirmishing force just within the near kuiper belt of the system, minefields laying within the far-hyperspace egress point and behind his skirmishing force of fifty corvettes and fifteen MC30c frigates. A force which would fire a salvo, then run.

Dellalt I and II were in prime positions for the next trio of forces, five Recusant lights, a Recusant heavy and fivedroid manned Gozantis hidden behind the noxious atmosphere of Dellalt II, ready to pounce when given the order. Meanwhile Dellalt I had hidden behind its rocky hemisphere my two Corellian Destroyers, a dozen Dreadnoughts, our Acclamator II cruisers, a handful of Acclamator ones, two dozen Hammerhead cruisers and various other light ships and pickets. The forces split in half, ready to pounce towards Dellalt II while the other waited to harry any Imperial forces which would try to pursue those Rebels moving from said noxious world.

Next was the Solar Force, hidden behind the asteroid field which orbited the star of Dellalt, ready to reinforce or intercept any force which came too close, lead by Commodore Ylusis and his 28^th Battleship Section.

The true force though, assembled above the damnable world of Dellalt proper, was lead by Slocum, headed by most of the remaining battleships, the Inexpugnables, Invincible repair dreadnoughts, our remaining Acclamators and the paltry militia of up-armed merchants, smugglers, civilian shuttles and whatever spaceworthy vessel we could slap a lasercannon to. Ready and prepared within the wreckage of defensive stations and ship debris moved into orbit for deconstruction and salvage so many a year ago. Though of course that was not all, after all, it wouldn’t be a proper defensive line under my command without a minefield before them.

And finally, my reserve. Sykes had command behind Dellalt IV’s rings. The remaining five Venators, dozen Dreadnoughts and various other light ships and pickets his to command and act as seen prudent by him. In essence, he would be our insurance. Our rearguard or our hammer for the anvil which would be Dellalt’s orbit.

I could only hope this would be enough. I didn’t know what else I could do to prepare in these final minutes before Honor arrived.

Except pray. Pray and beg the Maker that this would be enough.

Dodonna watches carefully as the three prongs of the vanguard emerge from hyperspace. Each prong fifteen Venators, five Imperials, a dozen cruisers and two dozen light ships and pickets. Combined they were almost than half of the Imperial taskforce, yet separated as they were, they were rather weak. It certainly didn’t help that Honor’s commands only made sense if they were fighting a beaten enemy.

Dodonna could see it already, his central force and Rear Admiral Nantz’s southern forces would survive long enough for Honor to reinforce them and engage the Rebels properly somewhere around Dellalt proper, but Admiral Kreuge would be too isolated in the north by his lonesome and be eliminated outright. Honor had clearly gone mad and Dodonna had already begun preparing his informal objection to the plan of battle.

It was another butting of heads within the fleet, another injury towards the ability of the Fleet to act as one, but Dodonna cared not. If Honor had truly gone mad, as her actions above Argai hinted, then he needed to ensure she didn’t get him and his men killed.

“Admiral Kreuge has begun advancing towards Dellalt IV, sir.” His Adjutant Captain reports.

“And Nantz?”

“He’s waiting on us, sir.” His Adjutant replies calmly.

“Alright then.” Dodonna sighs, “Begin the advance. Keep in time with Kreuge’s northern force.”

“Full speed ahead.”

And so, in a staggered line, almost a hundred ships of the line move into the kuiper belt. One by one, triangles and cigars enter the mix of asteroids, iceballs and planetoids. The ships of the center and south moving slowly, carefully, as to avoid the worst of the potential damage, while the northern thrust moves faster, more decisive.

Then an explosion. An Acclamator from the center explodes on the portside of Dodonna’s Star Destroyer.

“SITREP!” The Admiral shouts.

“It’s coming in piecemeal, sir. The Republic’s Grace seems to have been hit by a series of asteroids that were hidden by other orbital bodies. It looks like they came out of nowhere!”

“Spread out the formation and see if we can get a better picture.” Dodonna snaps in turn, dozens of pickets acting upon the Admiral’s orders in a well practiced series of adjustments.

“Sir, Republic’s Grace reports too severe damage from simple asteroid strikes. They’ve suffered multiple hull breaches and lost two batteries of turbolasers.” His comms chief reports.

“What?” Dodonna asks, “Get me her Captain.”

“Sir, one of our Gozantis picked up a faint thruster exhaust trail.” A different comms officer interrupts.

“Of course.” Dodonna mutters, “Belay my order for the Republic’s Grace’s Captain. I want all ships at half-speed, tighten our formation for maximum point defense and begin calculating targeting matrices for any nearby asteroids.”

“Sir?”

“Dericote’s hidden his damn pickets in here with us.” Dodonna explains calmly, “He’s using the terrain to his fullest advantage and hidden mines within the belt.”

“Should we inform our counterparts of this?”

“Do so, but if they haven’t figured that out by now, we’re doomed already.” Dodonna orders.

I observe the tactical display, making small adjustments to my imminent orders as attrition slowly takes its toll upon the Imperials heading towards me. Mines, asteroids and explosives taking ship after ship into the inky depths, leaving them crippled or beyond repair as the corvettes which had directed them sink back into the belt. Yet soon enough the time is up. Sphyrnas, CR90s, Consulars and Tionese Sloops emerge from the belt, racing towards the minefield which would buy them enough time to ensure they arrived at the rally point for the next ambush.

“Casualties?” I ask calmly.

“Three corvettes lost to enemy fire and mishandling. Fifty sailors recovered.”

“And the enemy?” I ask.

“Five Acclamators, six Carracks, five Nebulons, two Gozantis.” Comes the reply.

“Good enough.” I mutter. A hundred dead sailors for some five thousand dead Imperials was a good enough exchange rate.

“Corvettes moving towards rally point.” Mi-Kus reports.

“Central Imperial thrust is following them.” Commander Hursk adds.

“The others?” I ask.

“Avoiding the minefield. One heading northward, might be on an intercept course with Dellalt IV, the other is heading southwards. Might be heading towards Dellalt I.” Cal answers.

“Are the droids at Dellalt II ready?” I ask.

“Calculations prepared, trajectories prepared. Simply awaiting your orders, sir.”

“ETA of imperial forces?”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“A handful of hours sir, they do have to traverse the majority of the inner system and probably won’t risk a microjump.” Mi-Kus answers.

“If they do, they’ll certainly regret it.” I agree, one did not heedlessly conduct a microjump within system unless one’s sensors and local maps were pristine. And the maps the Imps had were rapidly becoming out of date.

“They’re still gunning for the gap between Dellalt I and Dellalt II?” Dodonna asks.

“Appears that way, sir.”

“Kreuge still driving hard for Dellalt IV?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Nantz?”

“Current heading has him ending up slightly northward of Dellalt I. He is starting to pick up acceleration, he’ll probably make maximum engagement range before we do.” His Adjutant Captain responds.

“Should we try to match him?” A strategic Adjutant asks.

“No, keep current pace. No need to act rashly now. We’re the glue which binds our northern and southern thrust after all.”

The sensors chief immediately pipes up: “Sir, detecting hostile Rebel warships accelerating beyond standard towards Rear Admiral Nantz’s Southern Division.”

“Count.” Dodonna requests.

“Multiple Recusant light destroyers and a heavy destroyer too.”

“Any strikecraft?”

“Unknown, sir.” The officer replies,

“Does Nantz have them on scope?” His Adjutant Captain asks.

“He ought to, sir. However his sensors officers may be misjudging the enemy’s speed. They appear to be aiming for a pass.” A strategic Adjutant answers.

“Unusual.” Dodonna mutters.

“Sir! More enemy forces, this time form Dellalt I. Multiple Dreadnoughts, two Corellian destroyers, Hammerhead cruisers and various corvettes. They’re on intercept with our current trajectory.”

“ETA?”

“Just after the Dellalt I force hits Rear Admiral Nantz.” A different sensors officer answers.

“This is too well coordinated for my liking.” Dodonna mutters, “Slow speed to half.”

“Slowing.” The Helmsman reports.

“They’ve adjusted their trajectory already.”

“Nantz is slowing too.”

“Droid ships making minor adjustments. They’re gonna go through Admiral Nantz! Acceleration increasing?” A sensors officer reports.

“How much fuel have their burned through for this?” A strategic Adjutant mutters.

“Probably only had a half tank in the first place.” A different Adjutant suggests.

“Manned ships also accelerating further. They must be straining their compensators real bad for this.”

“I don’t see a fighter screen either. They’re vulnerable to a possible intercept, sir.”

“No, keep fighters in their current positions. An attempted intercept would simply strain our pickets and I don’t wish to give Dericote the opportunity to fling missiles at us.” Dodonna responds to the latest suggestion.

“But sir!” The Adjutant tries.

“No. Our strikecraft will do more good in protecting us from a possible missile alpha strike than doing some paltry damage during an attempted intercept.” Dodonna counters as he glances over at the transparasteel windows of his bridge. Over a dozen pinpricks slowly growing in size as they approach at dangerous speeds, “Honor better hurry up.”

I could feel the pressure against my chest, blood sinking away from my front. Sanguine soaked muscles struggling to pump vitae through my arteries as the strain of too many gravities pushed through me, my men and my ship. It felt like hours even though I knew it wasn’t. My eyes strained, even with the gifts of ancestors past. Yet despite it all they remain focused on the transparasteel before me and the small holographic screen centimeters in front of my left eye.

The countdown was rapidly decreasing on the HUD, the small durasteel piece digging into flesh despite being padded to avoid it cutting my face. A screen blazing red light into my face as the numbers continue to fall, half a dozen other countdowns occurring simultaneously in the corner of the display, barely perceivable by my strained body.

Fifty seconds.

I could feel my skin tear open as a slight defect in the padding around my eye gives way to durasteel.

Forty seconds.

A trail of blood descends along my cheek. Soon. Almost there.

Thirty seconds.

Each and every Captain with a missile capable warship, meaning all of them, would be wearing a similar contraption, counting down the same seconds as I was.

Twenty seconds.

Soon the Empire would know the danger I posed at this scale of battle. An entire system at my disposal with only a single world I needed to defend. If I had had more time I would have made every asteroid a fortress.

Ten seconds.

Made every square inch of void an unassailable minefield

Five seconds.

Turned comets and meteor showers into racing warbands.

Three.

Too bad I didn’t have the time.

Two.

This would have to do instead.

One.

I press the trigger.

Concussion missiles eject at an angle, their propulsion systems kicking in as the semi-automatic loading systems, manned by droids for once, begins inserting the next salvo of concussions. A new countdown slides into the center of my vision, shorter this time. The turret below strains as it adjusts its firing position.

The HUD flashes green and I pull the trigger again. Another salvo of missiles emerge, a different trajectory, one that would link up with the first salvo of missiles mere minutes before they reach their destined targets.

Missiles begin loading once more as the countdown restarts, descending rapidly from its much lesser start. The turret sways once more, motors straining against the pressure. We’d be burning through our munitions this battle, but if we didn’t win here, no munitions would save us from the wrath of the Empire beyond. They had too many factories, resources and replacement parts, too many ships, too many bodies.

Missiles fly as I press the trigger simultaneously with the countdown ending and the screen flashing green. The countdown begins once more, warship grade proton torpedoes entering missile tubes as we increasingly close distance, their sheer explosive potential would be a significant force multiplier.

Green, trigger pulled, skin pulling at my muscles and my muscles on my bones, the torn patch of skin growing as it suffers continued pressure. The pain of durasteel digging into unprotected muscle sharpening my focus.

Green blasts crash against our shields, Imperial heavy turbolasers punching against shields or racing in between the gaps of the lattice.

Red, green, blue and azure returns en mass, followed by another green flash as I pull the trigger.

“FLIP!” I choke as I force air from my lungs, the Navigations officer, struggling to flick switches, cutting the primary engines and pushing the limited maneuvering thrusters to flip the ship..

Gravity lurches, lessening, then evaporating, the bridge crew taking advantage before it’s inevitable return.

“Shields holding.”

I pull the trigger again as we pass in between the Imperial formation at lightening speed.

“Three corvettes lost.”

“Damage reports coming in.”

“Formation holding.”

“Send low priority medic request.”

“Gravities returning.”

“Urk.” Someone chokes.

“Decelerate.” I order calmly as Dodonna moves to follow us in intercept. Good, he was falling into our trap.

Our primary engines flare back to life, on minimal power to avoid further strain and stress, the last thing we needed was an engine failure now. I continue to keep an eye on the countdown, pulling the trigger once more so another salvo of proton warhead bearing torpedoes can begin their new flightpaths.

“Returning firing controls.” I say as I flick a switch, the head gunnery officer taking over once more as I slowly, suffering the strain of a few too many gravities, remove myself from the chair I had been strapped in and climb up the ladder from the technicians trenches in my bridge.

I slowly move to the tactical display, the doors of the bridge opening to allow a handful of medics to begin surveying the personnel damage this little maneuver cost us. A few jump into the trenches while others move to other stations, working around the sailors still manning their posts.

One Medic moves up beside me and tries to place a dollop of bacta upon my wound, but I hold up a hand to stop the man: “Disinfectant only. Save the bacta for those who’ll need it more.”

The medic scoffs, but complies, adding a small bandage upon the wound below my eye. I then quickly march over the tactical display. The Imps were on our tail now, trying to catch up as we decelerated back into safe parameters. The ships were in fact mostly stable, only a single cruiser had lost their shields in the maneuver and taken some moderate hull damage while a handful of our remaining corvettes had suffered similar damage. I could work with that.

“Sitrep on Dellalt II Force?” I ask.

“One disabled Recusant light, two ships lost shields and suffered moderate damage. They’re currently luring the Imps’ southern thrust closer to Dellalt I so our remaining forces on this side of the system can move to intercept.” Comes the reply from my trusted second in command.

“And the Imps?” I ask.

“Across both engagement groups?” Commander Hursk asks.

“Yes, do it in one go.”

“Two disabled Venators, six disabled Dreadnoughts, four Acclamators and a Carrack.” The Adjutant Commander answers promptly, “Furthermore, three Venators, two Acclamators and three Carracks damaged to varying degrees.”

“Not enough damage.” I mutter, the maneuver itself had strained us too much for that level of damage to be acceptable.

“Solar Force has intercepted the northern Imperial engagement group.” An Adjutant reports as we move past the debris of the old Dellalt II mining outposts.

“Status?” I ask.

“A run and gun brawl. They’re trying to lure them further out to Dellalt IV so our forces there can assist.”

I frown slightly. Commodore Paok was doing as ordered, yet she was also not supposed to engage the enemy in these types of skirmishes until after the Imps had deployed all their strikecraft so Paok could alpha strike the bastards with a series of anti-fighter missile barrages.

Yet the Imps hadn’t deployed fighters, their usual weakness for once a benefit as my preferred way of crippling enemy strikecraft numbers was made null and void by the simple maneuver of not deploying any. It was infuriating. Outdone by apparent incompetence and defiance of millennia old Navy doctrine in favor of the new order’s favored Tarkin doctrine.

“We still on course?” I ask eventually, trying to focus on something I could still control.

“Yessir.” My Helmsman reports.

“Dodonna is tailing us.” Mi-Kus mutters, “Looks like he’s trying to get ahead of us for an intercept, but his calculations appear to be somewhat off.”

“Then we stay the course.” I reply sternly and pray the Maker will heed my words.

Faxe watches as the skirmishing force locks into formation with the droids which had given a hearty blow upon the Imps’ southern thrust.

“Formation established.” His second confirms his own observations.

“Keep trajectory until we get to our rally point. Let the droids burn off some more speed.” Faxe orders, last thing they needed was to strain their engines any further.

“Imps splitting their force. About equal numbers to what we’ve got in pursuit of us. The rest looks to be heading towards Dellalt II for a swing by.” An Adjutant reports.

“I don’t like that.” Faxe mutters, would they be gunning for an intercept? Possible, though the angle would be awkward. Unless. … Unless they were looking to intercept his new formation en route to Dellalt proper.

Faxe’s frown deepens at that. The last thing he needed was the Imps trying to tail him and his.

“Can we … can we take them?” Faxe asks.

“Not with current hull damage. Shields may be up, but I don’t like our chances of taking on those Imp destroyers with our Recusants, especially with Venator support.” His second councils.

Faxe sighs, “Adjust course, we move to rally point Senth-Three by that meteor cluster Thraken had us keep an eye on for this. We’ll see if we can link up with Luxerite.”

“Roger that.”

“Formation coming with us.”

“Imps adjusting course too.”

Faxe sighs, of course this Nantz would be clever enough to basically neutralize his formation with a handful of battleships. That was just their luck.

“Looks like they’re hugging high orbit.” Luxerite’s second says.

“They’re gaining momentum.” Rear Admiral Luxerite replies, “We either spring our trap now and reinforce the Dellalt II and the skirmishing force or we get caught in bad terrain.”

“So we spring early?” An Adjutant asks.

“Sands take us, yes. All power to engines and shields. See if we can get a missile calc in for our apparent interception point.”

“No dice, sir.” His gunnery chief replies, “Intercept point’s too vague for a proper calc yet. It’ll have to be a quick and dirty one instead.”

“Never mind then.” The Rear Admiral sighs, “Hold formation and prepare for intercept, this won’t be clean, but maybe it’ll be enough.”

He prayed it would be enough.

Nantz frowns as he watches the two prongs move in synchronized tandem. The Captains assigned to him and his personal squadron were capable if nothing else, moving as ordered while his most trusted subordinates, each commanding from a Venator, trailed the forces which had opened this battle by bloodying the nose of the Republic … Imperial, by blooding the nose of the Imperial advance.

He sighs, he was still unused to the change, even after a year. He would probably never be used to it. Not like he disliked his job, but ever since the flags and banners had changed something had shifted and Nantz just couldn’t put his damn finger on it.

The Rear Admiral is torn from his musings by his sensors officer: “Sir, incoming Rebel formation. Multiple cruisers and battleships plus escorts and strikecraft. They’re on an intercept course with us.”

“Where from?” Nantz asks.

“Looks like the same area the force that intercepted Dodonna came from.” An Adjutant reports.

“Note it for the report, adjust our shields and tighten our fighter and picket screens. I’d rather take more damage on our capitals than risk our more vulnerable assets.” Nantz orders calmly.

“Understood, sir.” His second replies moving to micromanage the shields as the Strikecraft coordinator begins rattling off further adjustments into his headpiece.

Maybe it was Argai that wasn’t sitting with him right? Nantz’s frown deepens as the Rebel ships continue their rapid advance. He was usually more … on top of his emotions. More able to keep them in check and focus on the fights before him. Instead here he was, stuck thinking about the actions he had condoned mere weeks ago.

“Enemy eta fifteen minutes.”

“Keep me posted and keep formation.” Nantz orders, “No glory hounding today.”

“Roger that, sir.”

Yes, it was probably Argai that was putting him off. After all, the Republic had always seen Base-Delta-Zero as a procedure only to be used upon worlds with no civilian presence and where a siege would be far more damaging in the long term. Argai had had too many people and while a siege would have been costly, it could easily been done by rear echelon units from Cerulean Spear Command. The Army needed some more use anyway and the Acclamators could be spared for such a duty. So why had Honor ordered Argai destroyed? Why had he followed her orders?

“Enemy about to enter maximum range.”

Had he been daydreaming that long?

“Make final adjustments to shields.” The Rear Admiral orders, returning to the present and shaking the momentary thoughts of … whatever it had been.

“They’re not slowing.”

“They’re gonna make a pass.”

“Entering max range.”

“Fire at will.” Nantz orders calmly, despite the inner turmoil swirling within. He would continue to serve at the best of his abilities. As long as Honor doesn’t push him.

Battle of Dellalt (17BBY) Phase I

Imperial Forces: Gray

Rebel Force: Red