A Life at War: Twilight

I inhale slowly, then exhale in a hiss. Sykes needed more ships than I could spare him. Not with the Imps almost through the minefield. They might be able to brute force a victory here, so I need to outfox them. They’ve already divided their forces, but staked me down so that I could only send so much to counter their stab at my rear.

Come on, Thraken, think! You’ve studied this system so much that you know it as well as the fucking Fondor system!

I exhale again. Tabulate. They outnumber my strikecraft two to one, but my pilots have proven themselves capable of making up for those odds with previous two to one casualties in our favor. So about equivalent. I outnumber them in light ships and pickets by a significant margin. Not to mention the dozens of modified and up-armed freighters behind the enemy lines. We are about at parity when it comes to cruisers. The enemy outnumbers me significantly in battleships both in terms of quality and quantity. But is it enough to make up for the rest?

Probably, but I wouldn’t have made it this far if odds like that scared me off.

Alright, on the fly adjustments, you can do this: “Pull back the Halifax and Lusitania to the south polar point of Dellalt with a light escort, five civies, two Sphyrnas, one squadron of strikecraft. Pull back our front line deeper into the debris field. I want our battleships another two hundred clicks behind them. Pull our secondary reserve formations closer to them in turn.”

“And us, sir?” Mi-Kus asks.

I consider it for a moment. Maximize command security and availability, that meant no distractions and no obstacles: “I want the 347^th to take up the final reserve position … here between the moons. Their slow orbits will make it so we won’t be unable to communicate with our lines and only need … one relay to communicate with Sykes.”

“Understood.”

“Making adjustments.”

“Moving hard starbaord.”

Maker this better work.

Honor watches carefully from the secondary bridge of the Coruscanti Pearl, a medic stitching up the cut along her forehead. It had been uncomfortably close. She had barely made it out of the command tower when the Hyenas struck and the sheer level of damage done had thrown her against a door-frame and knocked her out for a minute. She still had a slight headache even after the application of bacta and painkillers.

“The passage through the minefield is almost secure ma’am.” Her Adjunct reports.

“Very well.” Honor replies as the medic finishes the final stitch, “Begin a general advance. Keep our strikecraft close in case Dericote throws a missile salvo at us.”

“Beginning advance, slow pace.”

“Ma’am,” The medic interjects, getting Honor to glance at the man, “I must recommend that you not conduct any strenuous activity and immediately head to medical if any headache remains for longer than an hour or two so we can conduct a more intensive scan. If any sharp pain emerges in the following day, please also come to see us.”

“I did not suffer a concussion.” Honor replies evenly, returning her attention to the tactical display.

“As you say, ma’am. However getting knocked out for any amount of time can involve slight to severe brain damage. We simply wish to assure you are at your most capable.”

“Very well. If it becomes necessary I will recluse myself and see your offices. Dismissed.”

“As you command ma’am.” The medic replies before marching out of the bridge.

Honor glances ahead at the Rebel line. Mostly cruisers and pickets hidden among the cover of Dellalt’s old orbital infrastructure. It was pathetic in a way, that Dericote had to reduce himself to these tactics. Yet wasn’t it exactly these kinds of tactics which had brought Thraken to her attention? Honor sighs, this would end up being all kinds of messy.

“Move to quarter speed.”

“Adjusting speed.”

“Prioritize enemy cruisers and battleships as they come into range. Strikecraft are to remain close, even if Dericote sends out skirmishers.”

“Transmitting orders.”

Minutes pass as the final mines are disposed of and the vessels of Honor’s return to favor prowl forward into the gaps where once there had been hundreds of mines and explosive charges. It was pathetic in a way, hundreds of man hours to assemble proper mines capable of not only surviving the countless particles and space-trash, but thrive in an environment also filled with the produced devastation caused by military weapons discharges, then laid out in a pattern assembled over countless years of tradition, adaptation and mutation, only to be taken apart in a handful of hours.

It hadn’t even been a day since her forces had entered system. Sure, she would give Thraken this, it was rather close to a full day now. Yet even so, it simply felt pathetic, underwhelming, as if her protege was holding back against her. Did she not give him the time he would need to prepare? Did she not give him every opportunity? Did she not care about – a sharp spike of pain interrupts her train of thought and Honor barely suppresses the urge to place her hand against her forehead and the stitches. She was better than that, better than the pain, better than Dericote and his traitorous ilk. Better than what Palpatine had made her.

She would show them: “Increase to half speed and prepare for a strikecraft surge.”

“How many strikecraft, ma’am?” Her Adjunct asks.

“All of them.” She hisses.

“Adjust that Engagement Group of pickets there, I want them half a click lower.” I continue my micromanaging, I knew it would likely be perceived as the sort of heavy handedness that I usually avoided, but I hope my men would be able to forgive me on account of the circumstances.

“Their cover-” Mi-Kus interjects, tone mild, a reminder, not an argument, I remind myself.

“Will still be available at a moment’s notice, however I want their missile tubes available.”

“Understood, sir.” Mi-Kus replies.

“Those Venators’ pitches are too low, ask their commanding officer about it.”

“Sir, incoming strikecraft.” Commander Welder interrupts my latest target of slight adjustment.

“How many?” I ask.

“Five … ten … twenty … almost fifty wings, sir.”

My eyes widen in shock, clearly Honor wasn’t that reckless. This had to be some kind of bluff, right? I shake my head, if this was a bluff, it was a very dangerous one: “All ships, load anti-fighter frags now! Prepare firing matrixes and prepare to knock as many of those bastards out of the void asap!”

“Copy, transmitting.”

“Shouldn’t we scramble interceptors?” Cal asks.

“Not yet, at least not until our frags are out.” I reply, keeping my eyes glued to the transparasteel window and the hundreds of specks, essentially clouds of strikecraft, racing towards us.

“Missiles loaded.”

“Affirmative on missile loads coming in.”

“Coordinating firing matrixes.”

“Sir, enemy vessels accelerating.”

“Fighters moving into range.”

“Wait for it.” I order.

“Fighters in effective max range if they keep trajectory and speed.”

“Hold.” I double down, I wanted these bastards dead to rights.

“T-minus thirty secs before calcs need to be reworked.”

I slowly count the seconds down, then: “FIRE!”

Missiles emerge by the dozen, all racing towards the strikecraft who were suddenly banking on mass and doubling back towards the relative safety of the Imperial formation, I snap an offered pair of macrobinoculars as I march up to the edge of the transparasteel. Raising the machine to my eyes I zoom in. It would be close. Probably a lot less effective than I would like.

“Load standard missile mix.” I order as I watch the consequences of timed detonations scatter behind the strikecraft, quickly catching up with the spacecraft.

“You heard the man, half and half.” Mi-Kus relays the order as the first enemy strikecraft, I frown as only a bare few of those hit get knocked out or destroyed. Bad angle, bad comparative speeds, bad luck.

“Enemy passing behind Imperial lines, they’re taking cover behind their cruisers.” Cal reports from an Adjutant’s post at the tactical display.

“Clever.” I mutter in reply.

“Enemy fighters re-emerging from enemy lines. Estimated losses, six squadrons.”

My frown deepens. That was a bad exchange. Thousands of missiles for sixty strikecraft, it was leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

“Enemy closing. ETA for max range, one minute.”

I inhale deeply, then exhale: “All ships, prepare firing matrixes and coordinate firing solutions with your Engagement Groups. Prioritize enemy cruisers then move on to picket ships once they close into medium range.”

“You think this is a full charge?” Cal asks.

“With her momentum, certainly.” I reply, “All ships brace and adjust firing matrixes for an accelerating enemy.”

“Copy that.”

“Adjusting now.”

“T-minus five minutes till max range.”

“Keep me posted.” I mutter.

“Sir, report from Sykes, he has successfully evacuated two thirds of the personnel in the debris field, but had to abandon practically all armor and material. He is also suffering intensive pressure from the enemy line. He requests either reinforcements or permission to act as he deems best in an attempt to defeat the enemy division.” Commander Slas reports.

“Permission granted. Divert one wing and two sections of pickets from our reserves.” I order.

“Copy that.”

“Not those, Lieutenant, they’re too close to a cruiser line without battleship support.” Commander Hursk stops Cal from making a mistake.

“Oh.” The young Jedi mutters.

“These here are better positioned to get to Sykes and more separated from the actual line. They’ll do.” The Commander continues.

“Undestood, sir. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. We all made mistakes early on.” The Commander finishes before allowing the kid to pass along the order to half a dozen corvettes and a trio of light freighters.

“Enemy entering max range. They’re slowing slightly.”

“Fire at will.”

“Incoming enemy fire.”

“Opening salvo out.”

I watch carefully as the tactical display erupts into chaos, dozens upon dozens of red points emerging and disappearing in a flash as heavy turbolasers crash into shields and armor alike. They flash again when Imperial and Rebel missiles crash into hulls alongside the second and third volleys of turbolaser fire. They flash once more when the Imperial enter medium range and the returning firepower of the Rebel Coalition triples. My eyes bounce from impact to impact, watching carefully as the line I had spent so long micromanaging was left to bleed.

“Enemy strikecraft closing the gap. Estimate fifty wings.”

“Deploy interceptors and keep bombers close for possible counter attack.” I order calmly.

Hundreds of squadron markers surge from both sides as the countless flashes of damage reports come in. Then a formation goes gray, a cruiser knocked out and a picketing freighter destroyed in an instant of fire and death. Even as the damaged Fondorian Hammerhead drifted out of position, its crew continued firing, fighting and trying their hardest to keep the dying in the fight. My eyes are seemingly glued to the tactical display as the reward for their bravery is a reactor hit and an especially deadly detonation and voiding of internal compartments. That was a ship of kith and kin, gone in an instant.

I inhale slowly, the sands had taken them and made them martyrs one and all.

“Enemy bombers are overwhelming our pickets near Slocum’s division.”

“Divert reserve pickets to reinforce him.” I order, “Keep our reserve of strikecraft where they are for now.”

“Main reserve now down to two sections of pickets.” Mi-Kus warns.

I frown at that. We were burning through my reserve faster than I would have liked.

“Report from Sykes, he has received his reinforcements and is now trying to lure the enemy thrust, identified as being lead by Rear Admiral Nantz, into planetary atmosphere to use his superior shields to the fullest.” Commander Slas relays.

I frown at that. It could work, though if the Imperials had a better power supply than Sykes did, it could turn very bloody very quickly. I knew for a fact that Tectors couldn’t sustain in atmosphere shielding simultaneously with in orbit propulsion, repulsers and active internals, they could barely even sustain weapons output in atmosphere, neither could Dreadnoughts or Acclamators, though at least they has enough power output to choose between shields and weapons. However I lacked the information for Imperials.

“He isn’t facing any Victories, correct?” I double check, I would countermand the tactic if he was, the pesky missile cruisers were annoyingly capable in atmosphere.

“No, sir. They’re all ahead of us in the enemy reserve.”

“Then he may continue with his plan.” I reply evenly as another engagement group goes gray at the loss of a duo of cruisers.

It was painful. To watch hard work be ripped apart piece by piece, knowing that each breach, each broken ship, meant hundreds if not thousands of deaths. Thousands of names I would add to that little datapad hidden within my desk drawer. Another cruiser goes gray, followed by a trio of corvettes blinking out of existence.

“Pull back forward forces to the secondary positions.” I order. We were taking worse than we were giving and while the Imps in medium range were suffering far more damage than they had during their original advance, I was hesitant to try my luck with our current exchange rate.

“Copy that.”

The line jolts, ships banking starboard or portside if not simply putting all engine power into their retrothrusters. It was a seemingly chaotic moment of disorganization, yet I could easily see the order in it. Dodonna probably wouldn’t, he’d see the damage taken and the apparent disorder for panic, and based off of his prior record he should pounce on it like an overeager mudpup.

And yet … he didn’t. The Imps continued their slow advance while strikecraft continued to fight and die in the constant, overwhelming series of duels and maneuvers that made up the battle within the gaps of my formation. Was … was Dodonna not in command? His dossier, his record almost always had him pounce at a moment like this. It was practically inevitable.

Doubt started creeping in, if Dodonna wasn’t in command, or not acting like himself, then who was? Was it some orders Honor had left behind which he was following? Was there another Imperial Admiral in system beside Nantz? I steady myself, baseless speculation would do no good, I needed more information.

“Get me a comms traffic analysis. I was sure that Honor was knocked out of the battle, but the lack of aggression doesn’t make sense to me.” I order.

“Perhaps she left behind orders?” Commander Hursk suggests.

“Perhaps, but even then the comms traffic should show us the new flag.” I reply, I had assumed Dodonna would take over, but if he hadn’t then … I needed to know who I was actually facing.

“Understood, sir.”

“Give us five minutes and we should be able to get you a solid picture, sir.” Commander Slas replies in answer to my orders.

“Ships in secondary positions.” Mi-Kus informs me.

“And?” I ask.

“Damage received currently down by about ten percent, output down five percent.” An Adjutant reports.

“Keep me posted.” I order before returning my attention to the tactical display. Was the difference due to range or positioning? Would the Imps return to their previous output or would this new status quo stabilize? And if it did, would we survive or break?

Solo banks hard, but the rat bastard just wouldn’t stop hugging her ass and spraying his damn blaster at her.

For a moment she almost loses her cool as she rethinks that thought. She was spending too much time with Seven. A shudder from her shields. She needed to change tactics.

“Come on you piece of shit, keep following me.” She mutters as she adjusts her power output and pushes more into her engines. She needed to get to a flak field and fast.

“Sitrep.” She grumbles into her comms unit as she moves upwards in a sharp burst.

“Itis a bit bumpy, but Iam alive.” Four reports.

“Fuckin’ stop moving! There, scratch one bomber, where do ya need me Colonel?” Seven asks.

“I just lost Eleven, I’ll fall in with you Sev.” Ten reports.

“Fine, but you better not leave me hanging like nine did.”

“Shut up, keep comms clear. I’m leading a Twin into flak field-” A quick glance at her sensor suite, as she rolls away from a trio of lasers, “Nineteen, if I make it through this we’re reforming at the engine block of the Jabber.”

“Good Copy.”

“Roger that Colonel.”

“See you there ma’am.”

Solo nods and banks again to try and shake the bastard. Damn the bastard was good. Not as good as her, but pretty damn close. Another shudder to her ship as her shields go out. That was bad.

“Come on. Don’t leave me hanging now.” Solo mutters to herself. She was almost there.

A quick flick of her wrist has her comms set open up again, a twitch of her finger selects the local Engagement Group lead, a press of her thumb puts in a connection and she quickly barks her info into the mic: “Little Leader to Running Gag, incoming towards flak field nineteen with a V-Wing on my tail, distance two k clicks and closing fast, relative baring from Egg nineteen is two fifty, twenty, seven. Get this bastard off of me.”

“Relative baring to Engagement group nineteen is two fifty, twenty, seven. Confirm.”

“Good copy.”

“We have visual lock. A gap will open for you. Try to survive.”

“Roger that.” She replies before she spins again to avoid another triplicate laser burst.

Finally she skirts the edge of the flak field, double checking her baring with a glance, then dives, hard.

The bastard follows her into the field, victory blinding him from his imminent destruction.

Her sensors barely pick up the explosion behind her from the flak interference, but she banks up anyway, trusting her instruments to be true. She quickly gets her bearings and reconnects her most recent communique with the press of a button.

“Solo to Running Gag. Good hit. I owe ya one. Leaving your OZ, keep up the good work.”

“Good copy. Happy hunting ma’am.”

“You too, Solo out.” She replies before making a run to the rally point she had set for her squadron.

Then her sensors ping her. Three new targets, all V-Wings, all moving into an intercept course on her.

“Great. Just what I needed.” She grumbles before priming her last concussion missile and pushing power into her frontal shields. She didn’t survive Corellia to be gunned down now and like hells would she make it easy for these Imperial traitors.

This wasn’t working. It seemed the reduction in damage for both sides had only been temporary and unless I wanted to constantly retreat towards Dellalt proper I would be stuck in an exchange I could, not, win.

“Pull back Engagement Group seven, they’re drifting out of position, deploy tugs if you deem it necessary, but I want those cruisers back in position.” I order calmly.

“Roger that.” Hursk replies before getting to my request.

I had to shift this battle. The Imps had more battleships, but while they could keep up with most ships in a pure acceleration game, I should be able to outmaneuver them with my superior number of light ships and pickets. Now if only we could win this damn strikecraft battle to make such an idea actually feasible without crippling my cruisers and battleships via repeated bombing runs.

“Scratch another ISD.”

That made three this round. Plus another handful of Imperial cruisers. I feel my frown somehow deepen further. Not enough damage done, too much received. We wouldn’t be able to survive this unless I change the game.

But how?

Come on man! Think! You survived this system too many times to bother with, don’t let it kill you now! You’re better than this! So stop freezing and fucking act!

“Double back. Split off a third the engagement groups to move behind Dellalt Aurek another third is to move behind Dellalt Besh.” I order.

“Sir?” Mi-Kus asks.

“The center is to double back and join us here in the reserve. Once we’ve rallied we retreat further towards Dellalt proper. We lure them in. We make them over commit.” And if that didn’t work it would give us the most possible routes to escape from, hopefully maximizing the amount of survivors.

“Understood.”

“Get me a solid route.”

“What speeds?”

“Front line at all ahead full, once we rally I want us to move to half speed.” I order.

“Our strikecraft, sir?”

“Five wings to Aurek, nine to Besh, the rest with us.” I continue to expand upon the half mad plan that was developing in my mind. It would only leave me with some nine wings in practice, but it would do.

“Copy that.”

“And I want Solo and Little Squadron at Besh. She’s gonna be leading the strikecraft assault from there.”

“This will be costly.” Mi-Kus cautions.

“I know.” I hiss, but what’s another thousand dead when compared to what Honor has already done.

“As long as you do, sir.” Mi-Kus replies.

This story has been stolen from NovelFire. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Sykes watches as the Imperial division continues to follow him into the atmosphere of Dellalt. It was risky, especially since he and his were leading Nantz and his down. The ship shudders under his feet as clouds buffet the transparasteel windows with rain and sleet.

“Imps in atmo. Closing fast.”

“Keep power focused on our shields and point defense. I’m fine with dropping right now.”

“We won’t be able to keep shields once we punch it, ser.” His Helmsman reminds him.

“I know.” Sykes hisses. It was precisely that which made this entire thing such a risk.

“Comms from the 203^rd, sir. They think they can get some shots off with their remaining heavy arty and triple-A, but they’ll need a minute or three.” His comms chief reports.

“Good, keep me posted.” Sykes replies.

Another minute of sporadic return fire and strained shields, broken armor and a burning corvette plummeting towards the surface below, flames erupting from within as its inevitable doom approaches. Sykes barely spares the ship a glance. Soon he would exact vengeance in the name of the many the Empire had murdered. He should make sure it stings.

“Focus fire on enemy battleships, specifically their engine blocks once I give the order.” Sykes commands.

“The surface forces too?” His comms chief double checks.

“Of course, I want these bastards dead after all.” Sykes replies

“Report from General Shay, he thinks he should be able to get in the remaining triple and quadruple-A within our OZ if you’re willing to wait a bit longer, otherwise he can fire at your command.” A different comms officer interrupts.

“No, keep them where they are. I am perfectly fine with relying on the 203^rd alone for this.” Let them avenge some of their comrades directly.

“203^rd has received transmission and acknowledged.”

“All ships bank hard, face the enemy!” Sykes barks.

“Comin about, ser! Hard starboard hard over!” His Helmsman replies.

The floor practically falls out from under them as the ship lumbers about to face the Imperial formation head on.

“All ships, drop shields. All forces, fire at will!” Sykes barks once more.

Azure blades of turbolaser fire erupt from the clouds below, joined quickly by blue, green and red blasts of turbolaser and ion cannon fire. They crash against the Imperial vessels like a wave upon the shore breaking upon their armor even as they carve trenches, punch holes and break off edges. Edges was too kind a word really, those were blocks of lodging, backup storage facilities, tertiary systems and turbolaser emplacements, but even so they broke off and fell towards the surface all the same.

“Come on, flinch.” Sykes mutters as his ship shudders again, no more shields to hide behind, now only firepower and armor remained.

Yet even as he spoke the words, he knew the Imperials would refuse him. He could see it in the way the ships angled themselves to further intensify their firepower, the way they made way for their second line when the first Tector inevitably fell towards the surface below. The way strikecraft buzzed and swirled throughout the skies, engaging in their age old tradition while the ships which housed them tore one another apart like packs of rival beasts. All blood and gore, brawl and battle, brutality distilled and then imbued into the violence enacted upon one another.

A Recusant breaks, the Imperial firing arcs giving them the opportunity to carve its engines from the rest of the hull by breaking its spine. Sykes barely gives it a glance as the destroyer suddenly suffers the effects of gravity in full once more, the droid brain continuing to unleash turbolaser fire upon the Imperials as it descends in defiance of its inevitable death.

Then another pair of Tectors break, their repulsers and engines failing as azure beams of fire carve into their engine blocks. They join the Recusant they had just condoned to death by gravity, though they fail to join it in continuing to face death defiantly and stop unleashing their batteries as they find themselves rapidly closing distance with the surface below.

“Sir, we won’t be able to sustain this for much longer. We need to pull out of enemy firing range, make for space if we want to survive this.” His Adjutant Captian cautions.

“Acknowledged.” Sykes replies as another pair of Imperial battleships fail to resist the pull of the world below.

“Sir, we need to pull back.”

“Why won’t he flinch?” Sykes whispers.

“SIR!”

“Fine!” Sykes shouts, “All ships retreat. Pull back to the void and regain shields. Continue to fire upon the enemy as we regroup halfway between Dericote’s reserve and Dellalt. Strikecraft are to act as a rearguard.”

“Comin about then ser.” His Helmsman acknowledges the new order.

“A rearguard, sir?”

“They are to maximize damage done to the enemy while they’re in atmosphere.” Sykes says, “Whatever the cost.”

“Sir.”

“I know what I said.” Sykes interrupts his second in command, “Maximize Imperial damage, whatever the cost.”

“Acknowledged.” His Adjutant Captain replies, “Pass it along to flight control.”

“Yes, sir.” The internal comms officer replies.

“And inform Dericote of the situation.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sykes finally returns to gaze through the mix of clouds and fire, towards the Imperial warships that had beaten him. He would show these bastards what it meant to cross him. They may have won this battle, but the war would be theirs.

“Sir, transmission from Admiral Sykes, his gambit in atmosphere has failed and he has sustained heavy casualties while inflicting even heavier casualties upon the Imperial line.”

“Did he give us specifics?” I aks.

“Negative, sir.” Commander Slas replies.

“Fine, keep me updated. I’ll need to know what to work with soon.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Center has officially joined us, sir. Formation is established” Cal reports.

“Good.” I acknowledge the kid’s report, “Continue to pull back until we’re at our new position.”

“Yeah that looks about right. Sir, update on that hostile command analysis you wanted.” Commander Slas says before gesturing towards her second in command.

“Sir, we have confirmed that Imperial orders are still coming from the Coruscanti Pearl.”

“So Honor’s Adjunct is in command?” I ask, not exactly unusual, but unexpected if so.

“No, sir. We just managed to unscramble an orders package from a decent bit after the attack on the Pearl’s main bridge. It specifically has Honor as its developer and as the commanding officer.” The man continues.

Fuck.

“Alright. So Honor is still in command. Good work.” I mutter, this was problematic.

“Sir, we have a problem. The Imperial forces have split into quarters. One is heading towards Aurek, one to Besh and two are heading straight for us.” Commander Hursk interrupts my slowly forming train of thought.

Double fuck.

I inhale slowly then exhale slowly. That was … problematic, if not unforeseen. Splitting up forces was always a bit risky and the most obvious way of countering that was splitting up your own forces. So now I just had to hope that Slocum at Besh and Luxerite at Aurek would be capable enough to beat their respective foes.

“Okay. Fine.” I hiss before pushing my shoulders back and snapping orders, “Bring me our reserve force at the south pol and the remaining blocking forces at the remaining minefield entrances. They’re to rendezvous with us at our final rally point. I also want our civy freighters at the kuiper belt to move to Dellalt IV. Microjumps permitted.”

“Sir?” Mi-Kus asks.

“We’ll need everything we can get to survive this.” I mutter coldly.

“Understood, sir.”

Honor observes the calming glow of the tactical display with a certain level of disassociation. She blue and red flickers and hums depicting the running skirmishes occurring between her advanced strikecraft pickets and the rearguard vessels of the Rebel Coalition as they splintered and retreated away from her superior forces.

“We’re closing with the enemy ma’am. We should be able to begin another maximum range engagement within the next ten minutes.” An Adjutant interrupts her musings.

“Very good.” Honor replies evenly.

Her lines were holding formation and advancing in good order. The Rebels were in retreat, though they had clearly not decided to abandon the system quite yet. All that remained was to ensure they were broken here, now if only she could manage that quickly. Perhaps she should punish Dellalt below the same was she had Argai. After all, she had only truly spared the worlds between Argai and Caluula because the Rebels had so obviously abandoned them in favor of skirmishing with her vanguard.

Yes, perhaps-

Honor’s hand almost makes it above her waist before she pushes it back and places it within the other, gripping it hard to stop herself from rubbing at the sudden sharp pain erupting from her forehead. Damn Dericote and his attempt to remove her from the field. She inhales deeply, then exhales in a hiss. She would recluse herself to medical expertise once the battle was over.

“Increase acceleration. Close distance and open fire once in range.” Honor spits.

“Ma’am, increasing our speed at this point could give the enemy an opening.”

“I gave my orders.” Honor spits, her glare practically burning into the eyes of the Adjutant that dared question her.

Her subordinates simply disappointed her these days. All skittish glances and nervous looks. All blood-lust and discipline but no creativity. She was sick of it. Why did all the competent people, her friends and allies, desert her? Why did Dericote decide Rebellion was better than reform? What had he been drinking to fall into this madness?

The poor fool was going to get himself killed. She better make sure it was done cleanly.

“We’re about to enter maximum range, effectiveness will be low, but we should be able to manage some hits.”

“Fire at will.” Honor orders, venom in her voice. She had already given her orders, why were they questioning her like this?

A minute passes, then a series of pings light up the tactical display. Low to moderate damage across the board, though practically all of it had been absorbed by the shields of whichever vessel had been hit. Another minute and another flash of pings. More substantial damage, though Dericote’s ships managed to take them on their shields once more.

She knew that the display was lagging behind, consolidating actual damage reports from the scanners and visual reports took time and the display could only manage so much information at once. Some things were simply lost, others ignored in favor of more important data. It was why tactical displays simplified information and narrowed down during engagements.

It was why she needed scheduled updates from her comms officers about the other engagement groups she had diverted to pursue the Rebel forces hiding behind the lunar horizons.

“Ma’am. Both flanks have met the Rebels retreating behind Dellalt Aurek and Besh.”

“Good. I want regular updates every five minutes.” She orders, slightly more often than standard, but it should do for now.

“He’s continuing to retreat.” An Adjutant reports.

“I don’t see what he’s pulling back for.” A different Adjutant mutters to herself.

“Maybe to pull us out of position?” A third one suggests.

“That would assume his lunar forces either defeat their counterparts before swinging around behind us.” Her Adjutant Commander interrupts.

“They could swing around at our rear without engaging with our pursuing forces.” Comes the counterargument from her Adjunct Captain.

“A possibility, though it goes against quite a few of Dericote’s preferred tactics we have on record.”

“Maybe he’s trying to link up with the forces he sent to delay Rear Admiral Nantz, sirs?” An Adjutant suggests.

The two officers consider it while Honor mulls the thought over herself. Not an impossibility. Though she rather doubted that Sykes had been able to do anything other than delay and perhaps maul Nantz’s division. Though if Nantz had been lured into a trap it became a tad more likely that Dericote would attempt to link up with his trusted subordinate. Now if only she had such a man under her command.

“Continue to pursue Dericote. If his lunar forces approach we hold them with our Victories and cruisers while our destroyers press forward. They will be the anvil that our own lunar detachments will use to break these Rebels on.”

“Understood, ma’am.”

She had missed the last handful of flashes, but she catches the latest one. A ship specifically marked to add a notification if it suffered significant damage had just done so. Honor hums for a moment, emotions whirring into something akin to another migraine. Thraken wouldn’t forgive her for this one. He was all too emotional when it came to his friends and he had known Luis the longest.

Too bad. He shouldn’t have betrayed her.

“We just lost contact with the Fondor’s Daughter, sir. Bridge hit and voiding reported while she was adjusting her vector to remain in formation.”

I exhale slowly. Carefully. I would not lose my cool. Not when there was a very likely chance that Luis was still alive. He always did prefer keeping himself close to the bridge doors, keeping the tactical display between himself and the transparasteel which marked the bridge’s position.

“Rescue teams?” I inquire.

“Already deploying, sir.”

“Understood.” I acknowledge.

“Sir, comms transmission from Slocum. He has sustained moderate damage, but managed to push the Imperial forces back. He’s asking for new orders.”

“Continue to harry the Imperial forces and see if he can rout them outright.” I order before returning to gaze at the tactical display.

“Understood, transmitting.”

“I’ve got Sykes on scope. It doesn’t look good sir.” Another voice pulls me from my analysis of the situation.

“How bad?”

“He’s lost half his ships and I see barely a wing and a half of strikecraft with him.”

Fuck.

“Any Imps?” I ask

“They’re coming out atmosphere now. Looks Sykes gave better than he got, but that’s still three Imperials, a Tector, eleven Venators and almost twenty cruisers plus strikecraft.”

“Their count?” Mi-Kus double checks.

“At least five wings, probably more.”

Double fuck.

We were stuck between a rapidly approaching rock and an equally uncomfortable hard place. I had to think fast. Act faster and be decisive. Could victory still be achieved? I quickly input a series of commands to expand the tactical display. My gaze hardens. No chance at victory. Not any more. Too many ships were at yellow, orange or even red armor. Shields were failing across the board from over-taxing and I had lost entire Engagement Groups to the Imperial onslaught.

Then a draw? A siege? Something to buy me time? My eyes jump from planet to planet, moon to moon, Division to Division, Engagement Group to Engagement Group, ships to ship. No. The Empire’s tonnage advantage was too significant now. We had suffered too much damage and I could not rely on my ships to be able to repair themselves in system. Too many of them needed to enter drydock for full repairs and our stocks of replacement parts and emergency repair materials was too low after the weeks of skirmishes even after most of our ships were resupplied after Argai.

It dawns on me slowly then all at once.

We had lost.

“Fuck.” I hiss.

Okay damage control. My eyes start jumping and my fingers fly as if possessed. Ships are selected and attached to one another as I try to create a proper plan.

“We’re done here.” I speak more clearly as I select a corvette and add it to a new formation.

“Sir?”

“We have been tactically outmaneuvered. If we want to stop this battle from being anything other than an outright slaughter we must begin damage control now.”

“We’re retreating from Dellalt?”

“From the entire system.”

“What about the people?” Cal asks.

“We do what we can, but the fleet must survive. We cannot protect people when we’re all dead.” I hiss in reply as my most experienced Adjutants begin assisting me, seeing broadly what I am planning.

I finish up the first stage of the orders package then and begin barking orders: “All transports I have just selected are to make for the surface of Dellalt. Evacuate all military and governmental personnel we can. Our civy transports and our IPVs out in the system are to make for the minefield exits we have. They are to hold them open and act as a rearguard to shield us from strikecraft pursuit once we break out of here.”

“Sir, I need to know when you plan on giving general orders of retreat.” Mi-Kus reminds me.

“Once we’ve broken out of this trap of our own making.” I reply, snatching up another trio of frigates and attaching them to a new formation that should hopefully hold Honor for the time we would need to maneuver.

“Report from Rear Admiral Luxerite, sir. His forces have been pushed back beyond his orders. He is keeping good order, but he has lost most of his auxiliaries.”

“He is to move north and conduct a running battle with the Imps. Then he is to hold them at the northern passes.” I snap.

“Good copy. Relaying orders.”

“Alright that should be it.” I mutter to myself as I quickly glance at the tactical display. The orders package should work.

“Sir?”

“Orders package. Send it.”

“Understood.”

Now I just had to pray that it would work.

Honor watches as Dericote’s forces break apart in a beautifully choreographed series of maneuvers. Strikecraft, corvettes and frigates peeling off from their previous Engagement Groups and Sections before reforming into new formations. She would appreciate it more if it wasn’t such an obvious ploy.

Thraken had given up.

And now he would attempt to do what Zsinj had. Kill himself in some sorry attempt at bringing honor back to his name and the Navy he believed he still served. It would be pathetic if she didn’t understand it so very well.

The tradition was old, ancient. From the times when Sith still ruled vast swathes of the Outer Rim. One did not surrender to Sith. Stories of torture, slavery of every sort devised and sacrificial murder were all too common. So instead, when defeat seemed certain and escape nearly impossible, one charged. One threw themselves upon the blade of one’s foes while stabbing at them with whatever weapon remained in hand, be it rock or blade or blaster or warship. All in hopes of killing oneself and the Sith one faced at the same time.

She could see it already, how his personal section, that 347^th which has stood by him since he had first been given command over the defense of Mon Cala, and whatever remained of his personal squadron, the 97^th which he had commanded during the early days of the Clone Wars before being awarded command of the final ships which joined him now. The 120^th Battlegroup, the Slice Hussars. She admired their loyalty, admired their willingness to commit to the final orders of their commanding officer, the man who had brought them through the hell which had been the Clone Wars before convincing them of his treason.

If only she had commanded such loyalty still. If Thraken had not been so foolish as to reject the new order, if he had remained loyal, if he had not betrayed her, she would have elevated these men to the same level as the 1^st Fleet, her Homr Guard. She would have made them the next generation of military leaders, the place one was sent for action in the Outer Rim, the force which would have shown up the Anaxsi and Corulagians. She would have carved their names into the annals of Navy history.

And yet they had betrayed her alongside Thraken. Oh, her darling, foolish pupil. Where had she gone wrong with him.

Honor sighs. She knew how this would end and her migraine was getting worse.

“Dericote has given up. He will attempt to do what our predecessors in the Navy have done. We will grant him this honor. All power to shields and point defense, take it from our engines and main armaments.” Honor orders, she would at least give him this kindness.

“Ma’am, we should not give such a … dignified death to the traitors.” Her Adjunct objects.

“He was a hero of the Republic once, we shall honor him for that, not for his actions this past year.” She decides.

“But what if-”

“I said, we would give him his preferred method of death. I for one would also wish the same dignity would be given to my own person should such options lie before me.” She shuts him down, hard.

“The Little Revenge’s reactor is running hot.”

That was all the confirmation she needed. He was going out in the most honorable way left available to him. She would be proud if she wasn’t already so disappointed in him. Oh how the mighty had fallen, first her old friends and now her protege.

“But ma’am, he-”

“Either faces a death by firing squad after months of torture, death by hanging after months of solitary confinement or a death with honor. I will grant him that death.” She doubles down.

“I want it noted that I object to this.” Her Adjunct presses.

“So noted.” Her Adjutant Commander replies, “However I agree with the Fleet Admiral. He does his training credit, though little else.”

“Acknowledged.” Her Adjunct hisses, “If the Fleet Admiral permits it, I will recluse myself from the remaining battle in protest.”

Honor considers it a moment before nodding slowly: “Permission granted.”

The man marches off in a huff, just as Dericote’s ships fully accelerate on a collision course with her own ships.

The formation is holding up well all things considered.

“Pull strikecraft back. No need to risk them unnecessarily when it comes to a reactor detonation.” She orders.

“Understood, ma’am.”

Minutes tick by as Dericote’s ships unload turbolasers in a far larger number than they had previously. Their munitions joined by proton warheads and concussion missiles, though most of those are picked off by Honor’s point defense platforms. She watches carefully as their interception courses converge at various Imperial class battleships, cruisers and the Coruscnati Pearl. She notes that Thraken himself was gunning for her flagship, seemingly gunning for a central impact.

“All ships, evacuate into internal bunkers now.” She orders before marching off. She would observe this last hurrah of her protege from the relative safety of the internal bunker system, after all she would have to outlive her protege to show the galaxy that while his honor may forever be tarnished by his treasons, he had still acted honorably in battle, something she could not say about many of her colleagues within the Empire.

I was feeling an acute sense of deja vu. Running towards an enemy, trying to escape by hoping and praying that they were misinterpreting what I was doing. Though of course it would have to be within the Dellalt system, within the actual gravity well of Dellalt too. It was ridiculous.

“Shields are out.”

“Hold steady.” I acknowledge.

“I don’t like our current engine strain, sir.” My chief engineer grumbles.

“Acknowledged. Keep giving what she can.” I reply.

“T-minus thirty secs until we need to bank.”

“Reactor’s running real hot. We need to deactivate something soon or else we might actually blow.”

“You have your orders.”

Come on, come one. We were so close.

“Enemy strikecraft have pulled back.”

“Admiral Luxerite is holding the escape route for our northern forces.”

“Slcoum thinks he can rendezvous with us once we’ve made the pass.”

“Banking.”

“Full power to shields and engines, strip whatever you need!” I bark.

“Pushing more power into engines and shields.”

“Guns are quiet.”

“We’re passing through the enemy formation.”

“Reform formation once we’re on the other side! Deploy strikecraft from our hangars stat, we need their support in picket duty asap!” I bark my orders.

“Understood, deploying strikecraft.”

“Formation re-establishing, though we’re adjusting it on the fly due to the losses we sustained.”

“Understood.” I acknowledge.

“Enemy banking towards us. Looks like they’ve abandoned any attempt at going for our transports.”

Good.

“Sitrep.” I request.

“Reactor heat is going down slowly. Though we might as well start chucking buckets of water at it at this rate. She can’t take that kind of strain until we’ve been through drydock.”

“Engines will live, though I’m starting to worry about three and six.”

“We lost three corvettes, two frigates and a cruiser in that maneuver. Honestly I’m surprised it wasn’t worse.”

“I guess it worked.” I mutter before inhaling and exhaling deeply. I had had my doubts, but I would not look a gift Gundark in the mouth.

I inhale deeply again, removing my officer’s cap to run a hand through my hair. I could hardly remember the last time I had allowed myself that … annoying habit, but this felt … appropriate given the circumstances.

“Continue our current course. See if Slocum can meet up with us.” I order.

“He will do what he can, seems the officer sent against him was rather skittish, they pulled back to shadow his forces once they were beaten back.”

“Good. Makes this mess easier.” I exhale.

I tried to replay the battle in my mind. To find where I had gone wrong, it had all started out decently enough, but I could see it now. Honor had outmaneuvered me. Not by threatening the world below me or by abusing my morality. She had simply outmaneuvered me conventionally. It almost makes me want to laugh. Laugh at the situation I had found myself in. Laugh at this mad galaxy I found myself in. Laugh at my self for believing, hoping, that making my stand to save a world would be worth it.

Had I simply traded Dac for Argai?

I didn’t want to think of that now.

I glance back at the tactical display. Reevaluating the situation. Sykes had the largest force consisting of all ships from the center that hadn’t been a part of my 120^th including the two Inexpugnables which had done decently enough this battle, even though they didn’t end up playing a significant role. He was rushing southward as the Imperial force that had harried him slowed, practically stopping to lick their wounds and reorganize properly.

One under Luxerite was holding ground I don’t think I needed them to hold anymore. I quickly send my fellow Fondorian an ew orders package to link up with our civilian auxiliaries between Dellalt and Dellalt IV. He would ensure my own forces and those under Slocum had a clear avenue of escape. Speaking of, his force was heavily damaged, though quite a few ships had survived instead of failing, a kind surprise though certainly unexpected.

I gaze at the tactical display as if it held the answers to every question I still had. A picture was forming, slowly, messily, the calculus not clear, but also not … unfavorable.

We could still try and contest Honor. Try to keep her in system. Try to keep her here. Keep her far away from our industrial heartland. Keep her here untilreinforcements, reinforcementsI knew would not come in time, arrived. Keep her here and bogged down. Hope and pray that Imperial factionalism would outweigh the clear strategic need to support Honor.

I move over to expand the tactical display. A short list of ships lost appearing before me, one stands out. Hugh’s flagship, the Avarice, had been lost in an instant. A ship that had been with me since the first year of war. A ship who had barely even made it to the engagement, yet had thrown itself along with its crew into the fray in some vain attempt at keeping the flame alive.

That was the question wasn’t it. How do I keep the flame alive? Do I burn the remaining ships I have here? Give the galaxy another hundred thousand martyrs before someone smarter than me managed some kind of retreat? Maybe survive, maybe die, maybe live to see the Empire’s destruction, maybe be snuffed out without the rest of us.

No. If I had to cut off another limb and consign myself to the worst of the nine hells, I would do it. I would abandon countless innocents to the mercy of the Empire to save what I could. Make millions of civilians into martyrs instead of allowing a few hundred thousand to die in their place. All to hopefully protect billions now and hopefully, some day, liberate untold trillions.

Maker forgive me: “I am enacting orders of retreat. Each flag officer is to take their forces and make for the closest available world of significance for evacuation or sabotage of industry and establishing refugee routes towards Mon Cala.”

“That will cause chaos when the Operations Divisions break down.” Mi-Kus cautions, stopping anyone, including a devastated looking Cal from objecting.

“Exactly.” I reply, “We need the Empire to be unable to deduce our movements. What better way than to actually make it be chaotic.”

“Madness.” Hursk curses.

“But Honor should buy it.” I reply calmly, “Now hop to! Our group will make for Mintooine via the most direct route, dropping mines whenever practical. Commander Slas, deploy orders of retreat package Dellalt seven, then prepare a transmission for all Rebel forces throughout the Slice, priority alpha-one-one.”

“Transmitting orders packages.”

“Coming about, sir.”

“Adjust shields to our rear, defend our engines.”

“Ready for your regional transmission, sir.” Commander Slas says.

“Attention all Rebel forces. This is Fleet Admiral Dericote. We are now enacting Fortress Protocols plan three. Clearance code, Coruscant-Usk-Eight-Aurek-Seven, repeat Coruscant-Usk-Eight-Aurek-Seven. The following worlds are to be used as rendezvous points and as points of consolidation. All worlds not included in this list are to be evacuated of critical personnel, military equipment, strategic assets and any refugees you can carry in that order of priority. Any factories, critical infrastructure and depots which you cannot evacuate or obfuscate to acceptable levels are to be wiped from all databanks baring the personal databanks of any flag officer or ranking officer of the rank of Brigadier General or higher and those within inhabited systems to be scuttled. It is with sorrow in my heart that I designate the following worlds as rendezvous and consolidation points. Tion, Raxus, Mintooine, Pakuuni, New Heurkea, Dornea, Toong’l, Sy Myrth, Wyndigal, Jabiim, Handooine and Trasemene. I repeat in alphabetical order, the consolidation and rendezvous points are Dornea, Handooine, Jabiim, Mintooine, New Heurkea, Pakuuni, Raxus, Sy Myrth, Tion, Toong’l, Trasemene and Wyndigal. Further notice, the worlds rimward of Mintooine, spinward of New Heurkea and trailiing of Pakuuni are not subject to the evacuation order.

“Maker forgive me for this. This is Fleet Admiral Dericote of the Rebel Coalition out.”

“Transmission sent.”

“We’re being hailed by multiple formations.”

“Reaffirm my orders. If they don’t trust their judgment, orbital infrastructure first, then surface based military infrastructure. Divert whatever ships deemed practical to evacuate our surface forces once they arrive in system.”

“And the people?” Cal asks.

“Whoever is convenient.” I reply.

“We’re about to link up with Admiral Slocum. Imps are trailing behind him, but they’re also increasing distance.”

“Move to link up with Slocum, then adjust course out of the minefield. We’ll take the route these Imps kindly made for us.”

“Understood, sir.” Mi-Kus replies.

The formations merge like a well oiled machine, leaving the Imperial wedges behind. I take another glance at the tactical display as the final ships leave the gravity well. Then I exhale, Honor seemed content to lord over the world that had broken me. I feel a shuddering breath escape me. It felt right that I was leaving Dellalt like this. Like I was back at step one. I just had to hope that I would be able to climb out of this hole again. Maker forgive me for what I would do to make that happen.

Battle of Dellalt

Note: Almost all Rebel ships of the line heavily damaged and rendered practically combat ineffective in aftermath, most Imperial ships moderately to heavily damaged with logistical supplies exhausted.