A Life at War: Twilight

Sykes watches as Commodore Paok continues the desperate run and gun exchange with the Imperials, the live tactical display updating with barely any perceivable delay thanks to the obscene number of sensor-buoys and civilian freighters, too lightly armed for the battle, who were busy relaying the constant stream of information from their sensors. It was probably a miracle that the Ruusan’s Folley’s battle-computer could calculate all this information so quickly.

“They’re takin’ a real beatin’.” An Adjutant mutters, her accent a tad stronger than usual, probably the lack of rest they were all suffering from. Argai had left too many exhausted yet terrified of falling asleep.

“Our orders are well defined.” Sykes’s Adjutant Captain counters, “To be the hammer which harries and breaks the back of the Imperials once they smash into the anvil which is Dellalt’s defenses.”

“But with the current trajectory of the enemy, we only have a single choice to make, orders be damned.” The Adjutant from before replies, annoyedly tapping a finger near the holo-emitter of the tactical display, tiredness for a moment forgotten, “Do we fight the Imperial’s northern thrust now, or after they’ve beaten Paok and passed Dellalt IV.”

“A valid point Lieutenant.” Sykes says, stopping his Captain from doing anything rash, “Yet our orders are precise.”

Sykes pauses for a moment, letting the noise of hushes exchanges and reports wash over him. He would not disobey orders, not without a better reason than the … likely potential that Commodore Paok and the Solar Operations Division would be eliminated in the run and gun they were engaged in. Decisions decisions.

A moment longer of silence, then Sykes speaks clearly: “Hail Dericote. Request permission to save whatever we can of Commodore Paok’s Solar Ops Division. I will follow his lead in this.”

“Understood … transmitting now. ETA for transmission reception and reply is three minutes per.”

“Very well. All ships, warm up your engines and adjust shields for possible interception.”

“Yes, sir.” His Adjutant Captain replies.

Sykes returns his focus as another Venator goes dark, left behind abandoned by its comrades continuing to engage in a constant drive by with their Imperial counterparts. Dericote better not keep them waiting.

“Imps are gaining on us.” Commander Hursk reports dutifully.

“Dodonna is relentless, I’ll give him that.” Mi-Kus mutters.

“How are our engines holding up throughout the Ops Division?” I ask.

“Not great. The maneuver really did a number on our Dreadnoughts and the corvettes. The Corellians are only doing so much better because they were built for better acceleration.” An Adjutant reports.

“Little Revenge’s reactor stability at around eighty percent. Engines are still on the verge of overheating and our fuel tanks are quite literally down to fumes.” My Engineering Adjutant reports gruffly, “We’ll be lucky to leave the system without an engine failure at this rate.”

“Hyperdrive still good?” I double check.

“Still fine, sir. We’ll be able to make the microjump no issue.” The man reports, before shifting over to a whispered grumble, “As long as we get to the jump-point.”

“Sir.” Cal interrupts.

“Yeah?”

“Remember how you told me to report any sudden bad feelings?”

“You doing that?”

“Yessir.”

“Noted.” I reply.

“Sir, cronau rads spike detected. The remainder of the Retribution Fleet has begun entering realspace. Same area as the three thrusts before them. All enemy ships from Caluula appear to be accounted for.”

“That would explain it. Alright, which way is Honor headed?” I ask.

“Current vectors has them going directly through the minefields and end up solar-side of Dellalt I.” One of my Adjutants replies.

“Probably looking to link up with Nantz. He’s the most isolated and the one most likely to make it to Dellalt proper first.” I mutter.

“Sir, transmission received from Admiral Sykes.” Commander Slas interrupts my darkening thoughts.

“Keep me posted on Honor’s movements.” I order before turning to my comms chief, “Play it.”

“Permission request, Admiral Sykes, Dellalt IV Ops Div to support current fight between Commmodore Paok of Solar Ops Div and Imp thrust north. Engagement dire. Victory not likely. Haste requested. Compliance confirmed.” The hurried voice of the Ruusan’s Folley’s comms chief mutters.

I quickly glance over at the now expanded tactical display. Sykes was right, Paok wouldn’t win decisively enough for it to matter, if he won at all: “Reply. Permission granted. Adapt from what remains post engagement including merging Solar And Dellalt IV Divisions.”

“Transmitting. ETA three minutes, fifty seconds.” Commander Slas replies.

Another moment’s hesitation, then I continue: “Additional transmission to Admiral Slocum. Detach a small strikecraft force alongside whatever light ships and pickets are seen as practical to reinforce Admiral Sykes in the north. If deemed necessary, he is to do the same to reinforce our forces in the south of the system.”

“Orders received and transmitted. ETA four minutes two seconds.”

“Understood.” I reply as I watch Dodonna’s ships grow ever closer.

It’s like a sandstorm passing through a town, Luxerite thinks as his division is pelted by another volley of heavy turbolasers. He had slightly misjudged the calculations, his ships slightly too slow and their trajectories slightly too high for the pass he had wanted. Instead, they were stuck in a long ranged run and gun, an exchange his ships were not well suited towards, especially as the exchange was between broadsides instead of head on.

It had always been a weakness of the Hammerheads, one that had been drilled into their Captain’s heads from the beginning. For maximum firepower attack head on with a slight angle to allow the triple turbolaser batteries along the ships’ spines to join in with those upon the head. Yet here he stood upon his flagship’s bridge, the Hammerheads around him doing a poor job in the exchange while his Dreadnoughts and other vessels could only provide limited fire support from their missile tubes and ion cannons, strikecraft buzzing between the two forces dueling one another from so very close when compared to the artillery-like exchange.

“Continue our adjustments. I don’t want to lose momentum, but I want to close with this Imperial lizardick twenty minutes ago.” Luxerite orders.

“Roger that.” His Helmsman replies.

“Sir, Commodore Strom and the combined Skirmishing and Dellalt I Divisions are moving on an interception course with the Imperials.” An Adjutant reports.

“Good. Can we hold the Imps at pace so the Rendilian can manage a clean intercept?” Luxerite asks.

“Yessir.” His Adjutant Captain replies.

“It won’t be clean though. The Division’ll have sustained significant damage at this rate.” A lesser Adjutant cautions.

“Acknowledged. We maximize the damage dealt, our sacrifice will ensure they won’t be able to do more damage to more critical ships.” Luxerite replies coldly, his Fondorian training kicking in.

After all, the shipyards must survive. And what better way was there to ensure that than to make the enemy think that the madmen they were fighting, who willingly offered their lives in exchange of making those of their enemies harder, were merely the first in a wave of zealots ready to die for their comrades and their families’ livelihoods. Fondor, after all, had always had willing martyrs in abundance.

“They’re forcing our hands.” Nantz states calmly while silently fuming. Why couldn’t his comrades be this determined to do what was necessary in battle? Why didn’t they balk at consigning a world of two billion souls to death yet resist when decisive action was required in battle?

“We’re isolated.”

“ETA for Honor?” Nantz asks.

“The … Fleet Admiral looks to be meeting up with us near Dellalt.” His Adjutant Captain replies slowly, the rank apparently giving him trouble.

“If we slow?” Nantz asks for advice.

“We’d let the Fondorians leave with only moderate damage and may still be intercepted by those Sepy destroyers again.” His Adjutant Captain replies.

“It would leave us less vulnerable though. The Rebels within the defenses of Dellalt have yet to move, even though they could very well try and destroy us in detail with the other forces around us.” A young Adjutant points out.

“Yet they haven’t.” Nantz agrees.

He hesitates a moment longer, thinking over the information available to him before nodding to himself.

“Slow to half speed and pull our strikecraft back behind us to stop those corvettes from whittling them down with frags.” Nantz orders.

“Half speed.” His Helmsman reports.

“Calling back our strikecraft.”

“Enemy pulling ahead.”

“Destroyers adjusting their trajectory. They’ll still make intercept.”

“Adjust shields and prepare interception matrixes for our heavy weapons. We’ll have more time to bloody their noses this time.” Nantz orders, before turning to watch the tactical display. Honor was making good time. They might end up meeting somewhere between Sol-Dellalt and Dellalt-b. That would suit them better than at the edge of the Rebels’ defenses around Dellalt proper, the Rear Admiral decides.

“He’s coming up alongside us.” Mi-Kus reports as the first heavy turbolaser crashes against our shields.

“Long range exchange favors the Imps. We could close distance for a more even exchange.” A young Adjutant mentions, “Though that’d mean abandoning our planned trajectory for the microjump.”

“The engines won’t like that.”

“Something we won’t risk.” I reassure our Engineering Adjutant, “We are calm enough to sustain a long range exchange and I am willing to take some extra armor damage on the chin to force Dodonna to take the slower route.

Anything to buy the Invincible repair-dreadnoughts enough time to finish the retrofits on the civilian freighters and shuttles. Maybe even some spare time to do patchwork repairs on some of our corvettes once we combine our forces with Slocum’s at Dellalt.

“They’ve entered max range, but no opening salvos yet. Probably trying to close a bit more so we can’t outrun their effective range.” Commander Hursk reports.

“Probably trying to find the middle ground between safe hits and us being unable to retaliate with medium range weaponry.” Mi-Kus points out.

“Bring up their current trajectories and bring up our planned route to the minefield we used to mark our microjump.” I order, the holoprojector quickly morphing to depict the two routes.

“We may be able to give broadsides in return along this bit.” One Adjutant points from one stretch of the routes to another.

“Missile stockpile count?” I ask.

“Minimal, sir.” My gunnery Adjutant reports, “A dozen concussions, a dozen protons, six frags.”

“Plan was to restock at Dellalt after all.” Mi-Kus reminds me before I can say anything stupid.

“Right.” I mutter, the moment of incredulous anger evaporating like water upon the boiling rocks which jutted out of the shallow sands. So how best to use my munitions.

“Strom made a second pass to alleviate the pressure on the Second Dellalt II Ops Division.” A comms officer reports, interrupting my previous calculations.

“Results?” I ask.

“Southern thrust has slowed. Moderate damage on two destroyers, heavy damage to another, loss of five corvettes.” The comms officer reports, “Enemy lost a Venator and sustained moderate damage among two Imperials and various light ships and pickets.”

“And Luxerite’s force?” I double check.

“Pulling ahead. Planning to rendezvous with Commodore Strom at meteor cluster Cresh-Aurek-Peth-Usk-Aurek. Moderate damage across various cruisers, loss of three corvettes.”

“So that’s likely what we’ll end up with.” I deduce, though we’d probably suffer less damage overall as we had no Hammerheads whose armor was not insignificantly weaker than that of a Dreadnought.

“Probably, sir.” Cal says quietly.

“Put us between our light ships and Dodonna then. We’ll lose some point defense, but I’ d rather keep my men and their ships alive without needing to divert anyone to recover them. Will the Ops Div behave?” I double check.

“Sir, most of us have been with you since the beginning, or close enough that the distinction stops mattering.” Mi-Kus answers, “Trust us.”

I smile slightly at the response: “Well then, let’s hope I merit such trust.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to NovelFire for the genuine story.

Sykes watches the Imps split their forces in half, their most damaged ships and Acclamators turning away from the rest of their fellows, a mix of Rebel pickets hounding them and forcing them to stay within the inner system at an inevitably significant cost. Meanwhile the rest of the Imps he and Paok would box in, giving them only a single avenue of escape, away from Dellalt IV and towards Sol-Dellalt.

“Adjust firing matrixes, focus on enemy batteries and the bridge shields. Strikecraft have free reign after our opening volley, but keep two wings close for picket duty and as an active reserve.” Sykes orders.

“Target lock.”

“Minimizing tactical display to local engagement.”

“Orders passed along.”

“Locks reported from the rest of the Division.”

“Have our taskforce bank starboard. Request Commodore Paok join us in the maneuver and file in behind us so we can minimize damage to Sol Division’s remaining ships.” Sykes orders.

“Incoming enemy fire.”

“Entering our own max range.”

“Fire at will!” Sykes barks as dozens of heavy turbolasers crash into his ships’ shields.

The return fire is that of a well oiled machine. Red and blue heavy turbolasers fly, missiles and strikecraft hot on their heels, the heavy ordnance outpacing the various fighters and bombers rapidly. Turbolasers smash into the broken shields and pelted armor of the Imperial force as they return fire, green blasts doing much the same to the rapidly closing Rebel force.

“Lost the Dawnlight III.”

“Shields down on two cruisers.”

“Enemy banking away from us.”

“How hard?” Sykes asks.

“Hard portside, hard over.” An Adjutant replies as the ship shudders from heavy munitions impacts.

“Refocus turbolaser firepower on enemy ventral hangar bays!” Sykes barks.

“Missile impacts.”

“Keep up the pressure.” Sykes doubles down.

“Fighters engaging, bombers breaking through.” His Starfighter Corps Attache reports as the Ruusan’s Folly shudders under another wave of heavy turbolasers.

“Shields are out!”

“We won’t be able to sustain this kinda exchange for long!” His Adjutant Captain barks.

“Entering medium weapons range.”

“We just lost another two corvettes and the Uninspired!”

“Commodore Paok’s formation isn’t doing much better. Reporting the loss of another Venator and four pickets.”

“One of the Imperials just went cold.”

“They’re keeping their strikecraft pretty close to their chest.”

“We just lost battery S-1.”

“Merger with Sol Ops Div in t-minus fifteen minutes.”

“Leaving medium range.”

“Will our current trajectory take us out of max range?” Sykes asks his navigator.

“Affirmative, though only for a couple minutes, sir.” The man replies.

“Shields are back.”

“We could shave off a couple hundred clicks in our maneuver if ya wanna, Admiral.” His Helmsman suggests.

“No, no, keep our course. We could use the time to regen our shields across the divisions while our strikecraft continue to suppress the Imps.”

“Transmission from Commodore Paok. Solar Division requesting permission for C&C integration and agrees to subservience.” A comms officer interrupts as a final wave of heavy turbolasers crash into the various ships, both Rebel and Imperial.

“Out of max range.”

“Permission granted.” Sykes replies to the previous officer..

“Any chance we might be able to catch up with those Imps up ahead?” An Adjutant asks, gesturing towards the Imperial Acclamators and pickets which had attempted to break off and head towards the kuiper belt before being blocked off by the section or so of Solar Force light ships and pickets.

“Possible, but it’d give the Imps more distance from us.” The Realspace Navigations officer answers.

“No, I want to try and destroy them here. Keep our current course and prepare to adjust for intercept.” Sykes orders.

“Our pickets boxing them in probably won’t survive the enemy’s rendezvous.”

Sykes sighs: “Then we shall remember their sacrifice.”

“Understood, sir.”

Honor watches the battle unfold with a distinct lack of emotion. Her northernmost thrust was already all but lost, Dodonna’s forces too far out to arrive in time as reinforcements to break out Kreuge from the inevitable brawl the man could not win. Nantz meanwhile had slowed to link up with her own ships, wary of the enemy at Dellalt sending out any reinforcements to the two Rebel forces in the south.

“Ma’am, the Little Revenge and her Engagement Group are emanating Cronau rads.”

“An in system microjump.” Honor deduces. Of course her former protege would have good enough maps of the system which had so traumatized him to allow his forces such maneuverability. Yet he wasn’t using it beyond falling back. Curious.

“Kreuge is merging into a brawl with the Rebels in the north. Looks like their reinforcements from Dellalt will catch him in the rear, even with him moving his remaining pickets to focus on his south.” An Adjutant reports.

“Have we managed to reach him yet?” Honor presses, she had been trying to get the fool to pull back ever since she entered system.

“Well we now know the mid range comms interference isn’t from the kuiper belt. We should be able to reach him, even with Sol-Dellalt limiting our tightbeam avenues.” Her comms chief replies.

“Well then what is it?” Her Adjunct presses.

“Our sensors have been picking up faint transponders, civilian grade mostly, skirting in and around the system. They could be running interference.” Her sensors chief suggests.

“Or else moving to our demanded safe point for civilian shipping at Kuiper-Dellalt-Xern-Xern-Isk-Norn.” An Adjutant counters.

“Maybe, our sensors haven’t exactly been focusing on them since the enemy has a handful of drifting and floating minefields around the system.” Her sensors chief replies.

“Plus those comet and meteor clusters.” A senior sensors officer adds.

“Continue with our current sensor alignments.” Honor decides, putting the discussion to rest in a single sentence. She would not risk Dericote throwing asteroids at her, not when he had already placed her, somewhat, on the back foot.

“Yes ma’am.” Comes the well drilled reply.

“Perhaps we should split off some of our pickets to try and ensure these … misplaced civilians make it to our safe point?” Her Adjunct suggests.

“With what, sir?” Her Adjutant Commander asks, “Our Gozantis barely out-tonne a light freighter and I for one do not think we should divert multiple fighter flights to give them the firepower needed to confront anything more dangerous than a civilian Sphyrna.”

“Of course we would divert their assigned strikecraft flights.” Her Adjunct counters, “We cannot afford to let Dericote have sensors supremacy in system. If he manages to keep us here it will only magnify any advantage he manages to manipulate into significance.”

“You’re suggesting giving the Hangman the opportunity to pick off more of our pickets piecemeal!” The Commander counters, “Even with their escorts they do not have the capability to win clean victories against most Rebel light ships.”

“Light ships which are entirely occupied with doing picket duty for their engagement groups.” The Adjunct spits, “If they had anything larger than a Sphyrna acting as a sensor relay we would have picked up on it!”

“Not with the level of astronomical interference this system has.”

“We have some of the most modern sensors available to us here-”

“Enough.” Honor interrupts her two senior-most bridge officers, “This is unbecoming of your stations. You will both comport yourself as befitting of an officer of his Imperial majesty’s Navy or else I’ll have you both confined to your quarters like the spoiled brats you are behaving like.”

The two chastised officers shrink back into themselves ever so slightly at that. It was proof that this ship was too mixed. A well oiled crew, one forged in the fire of battle, would not conduct themselves as such. Honor wishes for a moment that she was still on her old flag in the Home Guard Fleet, yet if wishes could come true that easily Dericote would never have gone traitor and neither would the rest of her Clique.

“Split off half our Gozantis and have them clear out the system in threes with their respective flights.” She orders the compromise, “The rest will tighten their picket line and we’ll tighten up the formation as well to align a better point defense field.”

“Yes ma’am.” Her senior officers reply, returning to the professionalism she expected from her crew.

“And order Kreuge to try and make a break for Dellalt proper so we can consolidate our forces.” Honor adds, it as a pointless order, the northern thrust wouldn’t survive long enough to get even half way there. Yet the order had to be given anyway, last thing she needed was some political floozy to try and accuse her of incompetence and throw some half-brained idiot at her former protege.

She was the only one who could beat him after all.

“DAMAGE REPORT!” Sykes barks like his life depends on it, the ship seemingly falling apart around him.

“Engine two down!”

“They’ve knocked out our primary shield generator, backups and redundant systems trying to compensate, calibration will take double standard time.”

“Armor failures throughout our starboard. Multiple class alpha hull breaches along our armor belt. Two of them made it into the starboard hangar array!”

“I’ve lost contact with three damage control teams.”

“We’ve lost one of our heavy batteries.”

“We can’t survive much more of this, sir!”

“Try and pull us to the back of the formation and move power from life support to shields and weapons!” Sykes barks.

“But the hull breaches!”

“Damn the breaches!” Sykes shouts at his Adjutant Captain, “They won’t mean shit if we can’t get our shield back. Battery Adjutant, concentrate fire upon enemy primary batteries!”

“Onnit!”

“Adjustin’ ar course, ser!”

“Have Folly Squadron make a run on that ISD there, then adjust course to strike at the Venator behind it.” Sykes barks as his ship shakes again, “And give me a constant damage update!”

“Starboard frontal armor yellow.”

“Response team three has re-established connection. Three crew barracks and a repairshop voided, eighty sailors lost to the void, all presumed KIA.”

“Formation losing integrity.”

“Well at least the Imps’ is doing much the same.”

“Scratch an ISD.”

“The Bilbringi’s Own just went dark.”

“Order her escorts over to help picket our remaining front.” Sykes orders, the loss of a Venator would be painful, but they would overcome this.

“Shields are coming back! Total array isn’t back to standard stability, give us another five minutes while we troubleshoot.”

“Wait for a full charge then move us back to the front. Keep the cycle going.” Sykes snaps, this was getting to be far too close of an engagement for his liking. And to think that Paok alone was supposed to hold these rat bastards off on his own.

“Sir, incoming transmission due south.”

“What? Play it!” Sykes barks, getting over his confusion in an instant.

“This is Warden Leader, here with twenty first, nineteenth and third operations wings, plus twenty pickets. We’re coming in hot. Where you want us Admiral?” The voice of a grizzled Aqualish emerges into the near-chaos of Sykes’s bridge.

“Prioritize enemy battleships, then cruisers.” Sykes replies, “Full ordnance, no delay, no hesitation.”

“Copy, full ordnance, no delay, no hesitation. Hope you can live with yourself.” The Pilot replies before cutting his comms.

“New priorities. Enemy frigates and pickets. I don’t want to see a single ship smaller than a cruiser among our enemy, give our fighters the room they need to destroy these Imperial traitors!” Sykes barks.

“Won’t be an easy shot.”

“It never is.”

“Coordinating firin’ matrixes, sir.”

“Don’t bother, fire in own time.” Sykes countermands.

“Roger.”

“Transmitting.”

“Flying Fish III destroyed, all hands.”

“Prepare to pull our strikecraft back to give the Wardens a clear shot. Notify at last practical moment! Don’t let up on those traitors, we don’t let them even think of re-calibrating their weapons for a frontal flak field. They don’t get the privilege of breathing!” Sykes barks.

“Copy.”

“It’ll probably be close. Possible blue on blue incident above standard acceptability threshold.” His Starfighter Corps Adjutant reports dutifully over the noise of Sykes’s bridge.

“This isn’t a standard situation.” Sykes replies, “It will be acceptable, because we need it.”

“Copy.” The man grumbles in reply, transmitting the info to the opposite bridge tower.

“The Malastare is drifting out of formation,”

“Redirect tugs to keep her in line.” Sykes snaps.

An explosion rocks the ship. Then a panicking shout: “The Ord Mantell just went critical! She knocked out three pickets on the way out!”

“Adjust our pickets and pull the formation in closer!” Sykes barks.

“Closer? Sir, that closeness just got two hundred sailors killed!” His Adjutant Captain snaps.

“We won’t survive their incoming strikecraft swarms if we spread out!” Sykes shouts in reply.

“Wardens group coming in hot.”

“Pulling strikecraft now.”

“Enemy picket line?” Sykes asks.

“Down to three corvettes, one frigate.”

“Acceptable.”

“Enemy strikecraft following ours.”

“Fools.” Sykes growls.

“Detonations along the Imperial capitols’ upper and frontal armor. Looks like a successful missile strike.”

“Reroute the 3^rd Wing’s fighters and those corvettes to assist us here.” Sykes snaps at his Starfighter Corps Adjutant, Imperial V-Wings and bombers suddenly buzzing his bridge and the remaining ships of his division while his remaining strikecraft and pickets attempted to cut these vengeful traitors down to size.

“Copy.”

“3^rd Wing splitting off, corvettes attempting a one eighty rotation so they can burn full and link up with us in one fell swoop.”

“Bombers beginning their run. Ion missiles off, proton missiles away, t-minus ten for first impacts, minus thirty for first bombing run.”

Sykes snaps up a spare pair of macrobinoculars and watches as dozens of Y-Wings, Tempests and NTB-630s let their deadly ordnance drop along the broken hulls of the Empire’s northern thrust. Explosions crack shields, break open armored hulls and void hallways of the atomized remains and cooked bodies of the Imperial foes that had dared turn Argai to ash. It almost felt like justice.

“Switch heavy battery focus to any remaining Imperial capitol ship while the strikecraft maneuver for another pass, cut fire once they begin it then repeat until all that remains is wreckage.” Sykes orders, a calm he barely remembered from weeks ago flowing into his body, “And start tabulating losses.”

“Firing orders received.”

“I’ll see about beginning tabulations, sir.”

The ship shudders again, a heavy turbolaser crashing against her shields, though the blast was very much alone, the rest of the scattered volley finding their destinations among the remaining of cruisers and battleships of Sykes’s force.

“Five hostile bombers on approach. Depot Squadron moving for interception.”

“Adjust flak foci and keep an eye out for others on approach.” Sykes’s Adjutant Captain orders.

“Dericote’s just finished his jump. We might be able to pull in his Dellalt II Jump Division.” An Adjutant reports.

“No, no, we’ve practically destroyed these fools already. No need in straining any more resources.” Sykes replies, besides he didn’t want to give these Imps any excuses. No whining about how it was the Hussar’s fault for their defeat when it had been Sykes’s, Paok’s and their men’s sacrifice that had beaten them.

“Scratch one Imp.”

“Keep up the pressure, adjust trajectories and speed to keep parallel with these traitorous bastards. They don’t get the luxury of slinking back to their bitch of a commander.” Sykes orders.

“Copy that.”

“Recorded transmission from Fleet Admiral Dericote, sir. High priority.”

“Play it.”

The Fleet Admiral’s voice is cold, even after the static of bouncing off whatever freighters he had used: “Sykes, stop playing with your food. Finish them off before Honor begins encircling Dellalt’s gravity well or request support.”

“Reply, Message received.” Sykes replies before snapping at his men: “Intensify firepower, spin us if necessary, but those Imps die by our hands and they die now.”

Battle of Dellalt (17BBY) Phase II

Imperial Forces: Gray

Rebel Force: Red