Sublight Drive (Star Wars)

Chapter 47

Sululluub Asteroid Field, Sullust System

Brema Sector

Chakdrukke was an Inexpugnable-class battleship. Shaped like a disc with a prominent ventral fin, she boasted three klicks from stern to bow, and three klicks from port to starboard beam; she had more the profile of a spin station than a starship. I’ve never heard of such a class before, which shouldn’t be surprising, as the galaxy was vast beyond imagination.

For a ship built four-thousand years ago, even more so. So it was just as impressive how well she was holding up, though it would be a miracle if there was still an original stiffener left in her. If nothing else, this ship was living proof of the ancient Republic’s shipbuilding prowess.

Just making my way to the bridge showed me enough of the ordeal Chakdrukke went through. The roar of angle grinders and welding torches filled the compartments and corridors as soldiers and droids made whatever repairs they could with the emergency patches they had on hand. It was the same scene throughout the entirety of Ventress’ command, but the fleet should find itself back in fighting order soon enough.

The Sululluub Field had enriched Sullust and the SoroSuub Corporation for thousands of years, and now it was enriching us. With Horgo Shive’s ‘2nd Strike Division dispatched to secure the myriad mining stations and repair yards littered throughout the belt, and Jorm’s ‘6th Auxiliary Division now processing a truly gratifying amount of pure metal, the 28th Mobile now had our workshops running round the clock to provide Ventress her desperately needed repair platings, spares, and expendable ordnance.

This was what the 28th Mobile was designed for, and Sululluub provided a good practice exercise to shakedown the process and work out any kinks before Operation Starlance begins.

Stepping onto Chakdrukke’s pilothouse was an experience, to say the least. Instead of a traditional pilothouse, Chakdrukke had three floors of transparisteel instead, with the central command deck–also made from transparisteel–being suspended by durasteel cables. On one hand, you got a 360-degree view of the void, on the other, I felt like it was in breach of several WSH protocols. As always, the utter genius of Republic starship design never ceases to stupefy.

Pointedly ignoring the endless, starry void beneath my feet lest I lose my sense of being, I marched straight up to Ventress and the cadre of officers surrounding her. There would always be something unnerving about being in the physical presence of a Sith, but with Vinoc at my side I finally had a Sith of my own. Distantly, I wondered how many more Force-sensitives had enlisted into the Separatist ranks at the behest of the Pantoran.

Vinoc once told me of the plight of the Service Corps Jedi, many of them opting to simply remain in Separatist space than return to a Republic that had forgotten about them, maybe even convinced by Dooku’s Raxus Address. Unfortunately, Dooku had hunted down many who hadn’t subscribed to the dark side. I once introduced the idea that Separatism and Jedi didn’t have to be mutually exclusive–that fighting for the Confederacy didn’t necessitate being one of Dooku’s Dark Acolytes.

I had to admit, it was a bit gratifying to see that General Tann had taken my word into account when enacting the Militia Act. One of the laws stated that any Force-sensitive, trained or otherwise, may enlist to the Armed Forces and be provided specialised training, or even opt to enrol in a federal military academy. It made Dooku’s Acolytes and even the Jedi Order much less exclusive, now that any Force-sensitive in the Confederacy had the opportunity to pursue their unique powers.

With Sev’rance Tann a war hero, and propaganda pieces of her and her golden lightsaber dime a dozen these days, there was really no better time to be Force-sensitive in the Confederacy. One thing for certain, the Supreme Commander was committed to providing her new military a fresh generation of Force-sensitive officers, considering her growing lack of frontline involvement.

And wasn’t that a thought? One day this nation may be led by precognitive generals and admirals, with a distinguished general staff of space wizards. Hopefully us mundane officers wouldn’t be made obsolete… but maybe I would be long dead by then. Sev’rance Tann, no matter how capable, was one person, and a national institution can’t be built in a day. Though if more Temple-bred Jedi defected to our side, bearing all the institutional knowledge that comes from an aeon-old religious order, that process might just be hastened some.

Back to Ventress–who definitely won’t be making me obsolete anytime soon.

“Bonteri,” she greeted.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Rear Admiral,” she tried again.

“Great,” I swept an eye over the bridge, before checking my chrono, “We will be engaging the enemy taskforce as soon as Operation Storm-Door commences… which may be sooner than I’d like.”

“The sooner the better!” Ventress snarled, “We have numerical superiority–we should seize it! Why must we languish around while Loyalist reinforcements could be on their way at this very moment!?”

Definitely won’t be, I reaffirmed.

“We follow orders, Commander. We have a duty,” Diedrich Greyshade reprimanded with all the disdain of a Columexi elite, “Dooku’s pawns are no longer in control of our nation. You can no longer do as you wish. If you are unable to serve the interests of the Confederacy, consider tendering your resignation.”

A side effect of the Militia Act was that all of the Dooku’s Acolytes, who had all been arbitrarily ranked as commanders by Dooku thus far, could no longer operate outside the cogs of the system. They were retroactively given commissions, salaries, and the actual authority afforded to their ranks. On the other hand, they now had superiors as well, and ‘commander’ was not a very high rank.

Ventress’ eyes flitted like a cornered cat’s, and Vinoc stepped forward.

“You’re a Jedi washout,” she hissed, “You think you have what it takes to defeat me?”

“You won’t find me so easy an opponent, Ventress,” Vinoc stated harshly, “Back down.”

“Do not make trouble in the Rear Admiral’s presence,” a flat voice said… flatly. It was a fair woman, dressed in a modest black coat with a face so stiff and eyes so lightless one could imagine it was a ultra-realistic droid faceplate, “I will not have disorder on my ship.”

I was unnerved enough, and apparently so was Ventress, considering she relented and backed down not a moment later.

“...Thank you, Commodore,” I pulled Vinoc back by the shoulder, “Let me be clear; we will be engaging Jedi General Alrix as soon as the go-ahead is issued. I must stress the severity of the task at hand; we must not allow Alrix to retreat. Our victory must be total and complete. This is a strategic necessity.”

“An ideal result, and one not too distant considering the undoubtedly deserved infamy of your forces, Admiral,” a Neimodian garbed in the colours of the Trade Federation spoke up, “But may I ask for an elaboration?”

I nodded understandingly, flicking out a hand, “Can someone please pull up a starmap of the Rimma on the holo?”

A nearby officer who had been doing his damndest to not listen in literally jumped in his own skin, before scrambling over his console and opening up a truly gargantuan starmap that spanned all three floors, enveloping the bridge in a flurry of blue stars and artificial lines. The Rimma Trade Route was like a tree trunk, spanning from the roof a level above us, to the level beneath our feet, visible through the transparisteel decks.

Vinoc whistled in appreciation.

“We are here,” I pointed at Sullust at my feet, “And General Ambigene is there.”

I pointed further down to Eriadu, floating in the middle of the floor beneath us.

“Our target is this,” my finger whipped through the air, and now I was pointed at a sparkling constellation above our heads–four major star systems located where the Rimma Trade Route, Corellian Trade Spine, and Harrin Trade Corridor intersected, “Yag’Dhul. Our objective is to establish forward defensive positions at Yag’Dhul, preventing anymore Republic troops from reinforcing the front while General Ambigene sweeps up the Rimma to our south.”

“If we allow Alrix to escape,” the Neimoidian understood, “She could hit us from behind when we reach Yag’Dhul.”

“Precisely,” appreciation bloomed in my chest when the projectionist shrunk down the holodisplay until the map was in a more manageable state, “The Republic’s Second Sector Army is already on its way. After securing Sullust, we will jump directly to Yag’Dhul. We will be behind enemy lines, but the Aux Division can sustain us until General Ambigene arrives. This is why it is paramount we do not leave any loose ends behind us.”

Of course, the real reason is that I didn’t want to risk the chance of an enemy fleet blocking our only vector of escape once we entered the Core Worlds, but Trench was adamant that Operation Starlance remained top secret until the moment arrived. Similarly, the reason why Yag’Dhul was chosen as our objective instead of, say, the forge world of Mechis III or bacta world of Thyferra was because Yag’Dhul sat directly on the confluence of two major hyperlanes, and gave us some much needed options.

Not to mention, the native Givin of Yag’Dhul were famous galaxy-wide for being expert astrogators due to their sheer natural mathematical abilities, and securing their help would go a long way to improving our chances of success.

“Thank you for that,” I said loudly, “Now please show us a chart of the star system.”

Right on cue, the holodisplay focused onto the star of Sullust, zooming in until the orbital lanes and bodies of the star system were close enough to be rendered in. A scanner ping went off, and fleet assets appeared, apparently based on visible drive cones and last known positions.

“Our order of battle will be as such–” I started, pausing until I was sure everybody was keeping up, “Chakdrukke, Dark Rival, and this fleet–which has been designated the Forty-Sixth Guard Fleet, will be stationed right here along with the Sixth Aux Division.”

Some of the officers moved to protest, but Diedrich Greyshade raised a palm to stop them, “Nobody doubts your devotion. You have already done well fending off the Republic, and making them bleed for every system they take. Both your ships, and your crews, are spent. Allow Captain Jorm and his auxiliaries to service your vessels their much needed repairs. We'll take it from here.”

“At least allow those of us with battleworthy ships to fight!” the Neimoidian protested, “We spent the entire war running. This is our chance to return the favour! My crew may be spent, sir, but you will find no men more eager and ready to serve some pain to the Republic!”

I looked towards Vinoc, “What do you think?”

The fallen Jedi peered at the gathered officers with a critical eye, “It will be good for morale if nothing else. These people have only been running away until now.”

“Very well,” I crossed my arms, to the barely restrained rejoice of the officers, “Any still battleworthy ships and fighter squadrons can join us. Now, we will advance towards Sullust on a straight vector, forcing Alrix to leave the hyperlane egress as she comes around to face us.”

A red-scanned line spanned the distance between the Sululluub Field and Sullust, a tiny red annotation popped up automatically, stating 82,780,000 klicks.

“We will form our primary battleline here, fifty-five mil’ klicks out, two-thirds of the way across,” I pointed, “Commander Krett’s Fifth Support Division will be positioned three-million klicks behind us as a rear guard.”

“What strategy will we use?” Greyshade mused.

I looked at Ventress, “What strategy does Rees Alrix use?”

If anybody knew, it would be someone who had the most experience fighting her all this time, right?

Ventress glanced at the officers behind her, then back at me, “She doesn’t have any. She finds a hole in your formation, even if you do not see it yourself, and charges straight into it.”

“She’s a Jedi Knight,” Vinoc rolled his shoulders, eyebrows furrowing in concern, “The Force is a powerful ally in battle. If we show any weakness, she will find it. All formations come with their weaknesses, so which will we use?”

I rubbed my cheek, analysing the hundred or so ships of Taskforce Conciliator, before coming to a decision.

“We will use Battle Order Three,” I decided.

Diedrich startled in surprise, “But that has one of the most obvious weaknesses. It’s a standard formation; you don’t need to be a Siniteen to know how to counter it.”

“Exactly,” my lips stretched into a smile, “If we use a complicated formation, she might know our weakness before we do. But a standard formation…”

⁂

“Bow-and-quarter line,” Commodore Kendal Ozzel sniffed in disdain, “They must think us fools.”

Jedi General Rees Alrix stood upon the pilothouse of star cruiser Resilient, the former flagship of Admiral Wieler, as her own former flagship, Conciliator, had been boarded and scuttled at the Battle of Medth. Ozzel’s own Star Destroyer, Imperious, sailed close to portside, the Tector’s red-painted markings ablaze as Taskforce Conciliator crossed Sullust’s terminator line, a curtain of blazing solar radiation swept over the fleet–sunscreens automatically activated across viewports.

Her earth-brown robes trailed on the polished metal deck, covering the extensive plastoid armour that protected her body from neck to toe. Many Jedi Generals had adopted the distinct white body armour of their cloned troops, and General Alrix was no different, despite never having to fight a planetside battle yet. At their feet, the crews in the data pits worked with a furnaced intensity, determined to avenge the loss of their former commanding officer.

Kendal Ozzel reflected on the start of Operation Trident, at the chagrin that gripped the officer corps when Jedi Command assigned them some nameless, recently promoted Jedi Knight to be the Jedi General, as if mocking them. That displeasure only mounted when High Command made their low expectations of the coming campaign known by approving the assignment. The Separatist strongholds of the Rimma Trade Route were too powerful, too unbreakable to be captured.

The Rimma Campaign would never go far, High Command must have thought, so why invest resources that could go to the Perlemian?

Fools then smashed the greatest warfleet of the Republic on at Columex, all while their forgotten ships on the Rimma seized world after world, system after system with unparalleled success.

To their starboard, the lava rivers of Sullust’s volcanic crust weaved and meandered, as if following them as they orbited around to face the Separatist foe. As the dark side of Sullust retreated to their rear, the formation of the enemy fleet ahead became ever clearer to them.

“With all due respect, General,” Ozzel said, “This is why I recommended intercepting the enemy fleet when they arrived. We could have caught them in transit, while they were in disarray and unorganised.”

“Is Governor-General Teshik still coming to reinforce us?” the Jedi General inquired, keeping her gaze fixed on the menace before them.

“The Separatists have blockaded all spacelanes in and out of the Seswenna Sector,” Ozzel informed, “And now that they are advancing on all fronts, General Teshik has retreated to Eriadu to shore up its defences.”

“The end of Eriadu will be the end of our Eighteenth Sector Army,” General Alrix’s robes rustled as she approached the viewports.

“You will find me in agreement, General.”

The Separatists loomed, their flanks unfurling and expanding into an imaginary horizon of gleaming riding lights and battle-forged durasteel. It was a standard bow-and-quarter line, ranging on two lines–one directly parallel to them, and the other reaching forward in a portside echelon, or reversed chevron. Standard, but effective.

“How many ships are we counting?” the General asked after a brief pause.

Ozzel leaned over a datapit to watch the numbers crawl over an operator’s shoulder– “Two-hundred warships. This is not their full force.”

“I was informed over three-hundred instances extracted at the termination shock,” Alrix looked spun on a heel, looking down on him from a lifted chin. Something disdainful shone in her dark eyes, “Is that information still correct?”

Ozzel concealed his feelings behind a professional facade, “With the addition of Ventress’ ships, General, that number is now over four-hundred.”

“Half,” she mused, “And what is your opinion on this, Commodore?”

Ozzel set his shoulders straight, “The enemy commander must not be confident with Ventress’ ships. There is, however, no explanation for not bringing their full force against us. A bow-and-quarter line against a numerically inferior force like ours can only mean they are seeking a full encirclement, and the full destruction of our taskforce.”

Her eyes swirled with a murky haze, which Ozzel has come to connect with the Force her order of monks had a relationship with. He was not a deeply religious man, but even then there was something about it that didn’t quite sit well with him. It brought victory, however, as it did at Medth, and that alone was reason for him to tolerate mysticism in a place where data and logic should be held above all else.

Tolerate, not accept.

If only Jedi mysticism could have saved the fleet at Columex, hm?

“Or,” she turned back, “They are protecting something. Something that hinders them from presenting their full might. What have we identified from the enemy?”

Ozzel slowly nodded, “All these ships have been redeployed from the Perlemian Trade Route. I advise caution; we are facing veteran commanders and veteran crews. We have identified the flagships of numerous named commanders, many of whom have battled Jedi such as yourself before. Captain Krett saw action against Jedi Generals Tiplar and Tiplee at Ringo Vinda, and Commander Shive against Jedi General Skywalker at Vorzyd-Five. We also spotted the star frigate Repulse, the reported flagship of Rain Bonteri, who requires no introduction. The Separatists have sent their very best against us.”

“Bonteri… he was the one who fought Master Plo Koon and Saesee Tiin to a standstill at Metalorn, was he not?”

“He defeated General Kenobi and Skywalker at Christophsis as well, General.”

It was as if the Separatists have gathered every officer with a modicum of experience against Jedi Generals to face them. Ozzel was determined to not let this taskforce join the list of tallies the Perlemian Coalition’s infamous Armada have etched onto their painted hulls.

“…Then I inquire, Commodore,” she finally said, “Why would using this formation of theirs convince you that they think us fools? We know our opponent, and they must know theirs.”

“Because the bow-and-quarter line is a standard battle tactic, General,” he answered easily, “It is effective in the purpose for which it had been created, but like all effective tactics, it has been extensively studied. Weaknesses were identified, and counters are well-known and practised, so much so that counter-counters were created in turn, and so on.”

“That is fascinating,” Rees Alrix said, “And what are these weaknesses?”

Is this a test? Kendal Ozzel had to admit, he could not have expected such a… foolish question. Any officer cadet worth their uniform would know the ins and outs of what was one of the most researched and applied tactics in naval history.

And as if the Jedi had been reading his mind–and for all he knew, she might have–General Alrix glanced over shoulder with a thin smile.

“Indeed, Commodore, I do not know,” she professed, “In the Jedi ways, my Master Maks Leem had taught me well, but she had never been fond of warfare or even lightsaber combat herself. Is this not why I had called you upon my bridge, to seek your advice?”

If Resilient’s crew had been despirited by the confession, they did not show it. The ghost of Admiral Wieler seemed to linger over the pilothouse of his flagship. The discipline he wrought, the respect for authority he imbued, the diligence and professionalism he imparted. He may be gone, hunted down by that savage assassin Ventress, but a piece of him remained in each and every man and woman serving on his ship.

And perhaps, part of it was the steady confidence that Rees Alrix exuded, almost visibly warping the conditioned air. Her robes dragged against the deck as her plastoid boots clapped against the plating, and yet they remained as pristine as they ever have.

“The bow-and-quarter line’s greatest weakness is its lack of force concentration,” Ozzel explained, “The inverted chevron creates a killzone that we must avoid, forcing us to attack the parallel line, to which the flanking arm can then sweep around and envelop us from the rear. However, by trying to lengthen their front and envelop us, the line becomes thin enough that a concentrated forward assault on the parallel may allow us to break the line before the flanking arm can encircle us.”

General Alrix narrowed her eyes, “So shall we assault the parallel?”

If there was one thing Ozzel could appreciate about the Jedi, it is the prominence of simple forward assaults in their tactics. Offence was the best defence, as he always said, but even offensives must be sensible.

“The enemy will likely deploy their starfighters and conceal them behind their signatures,” he forecasted, “The moment we enter their firing envelopes, the starfighters will circle around one of the flanks and strike first, pinning us down until the arm can finish us off. The counter is simple; deploy our own starfighters in advance to engage theirs before intercepting the parallel.”

“...We will not be able to achieve a tactical victory here,” the Jedi General decided, or perhaps foresaw.

“General?”

“But we can still deprive the Separatists of the victory they are hoping for,” she continued, “Very well, Commodore; have our fleet prepare to intercept the enemy. I will provide the interception target. For now, craft a command package for a tight diamond. We will only tighten our ranks at close range in order to not telegraph our strategy.”

“Very good, General,” Kendal Ozzel grinned in eagerness, and appreciation, “When shall we deploy our starfighters?”

“Have all our combat patrols return to hangars,” General Alrix commanded, “We will only deploy them when we break their line.”

His smile died as quickly as it came, “General? Their Vultures will tear us apart before we even get close!”

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“You have made your input, Commodore,” Alrix barely paid him any heed, “Have that command package ready for execution on my command. Helmsman; all ships full forward.”

Resilient lurched beneath them, their only saving grace the inertial dampeners activating before they could be thrown off their feet. As if they hadn’t been listening at all, Ozzel could only watch as the crew obediently followed the Jedi General’s order with single-minded purpose, without protest. He swallowed, watching the enemy line swiftly respond, sublight drive signatures exploding onto the displays.

Kendal Ozzel was a hardcore proponent of the constant offensive, of which he was proud to proclaim. But there was a difference between that and suicide, of which General Alrix seemed to be committing now. He could see it in his mind’s eye already; the moment Taskforce Conciliator crosses the threshold into the enemy envelopes, a swarm of Vultures would emerge from the glaring drive cones and rip them to shreds.

They will be more capable of identifying light attack craft at close range, but that would mean nothing if they didn’t have any combat patrols in the black to intercept them.

But the Jedi have their own way of fighting. Alrix isn’t foolish. She must see something I don’t, and the crew trusts her judgement.

“What do you see, General?” Ozzel asked.

To that, Rees Alrix gave the answer; “A vulnerability.”

⁂

I checked my chrono.

Sometimes, the hours before battle were the most difficult. Knowing you have already gave all the necessary briefings, and made the necessary preparations, and left with nothing to do but wait. Knowing your life and the lives of thousands were on the line, and agonising over the fact that you couldn’t do anything more because you’ve already done everything you can.

It was the hours before a final exam, knowing you’ve studied and revised everything you needed to know and still wondering if you could know more, wondering if you were missing something.

It was that something that lingered like a spectre over your head. Most of the time it was your own mind playing funny tricks, because on a droid-crewed ship there was little chance of a weapons engineer cutting corners, a deck officer forgetting to do their necessary rounds, or a tactician failing to consider all the options. Not when those tasks were programmed, hardwired directly into artificial brains.

But that was one ship.

That something will always exist, and will never show itself until the critical moment you realise the something you need isn’t there.

Waiting for a battle to start was agonising. I was here. The enemy was there. And now I was waiting for an order coming in from thousands of parsecs away, one that might come in minutes, hours, days, or weeks.

So maybe I was a little thankful when the enemy decided to be less patient than I.

Drive cones bloomed into the tactical holo as Taskforce Conciliator surged ahead, wrenching themselves from Sullust’s gravity well and forcing a path straight towards us without any recognisable formation.

I stood up, “Status?”

“All ships report on standby,” Tuff said.

“All systems green and operating at acceptable parameters,” Kavia followed.

I tapped the comlink on the armrest, “Ventress, get your birds in the air. I’m giving you command of our Vultures.”

“Understood.”

I toggled the frequency, “All ships, Repulse; all ahead full. You have your orders. Check your bearing at all times. Don’t straggle.

“Repulse, Renown; roger roger.”

“Repulse, Kronprinz; understood.”

“Repulse, Crying Sun; got it.”

A hundred more affirmations poured in, and I quickly lost track of who was who. A quick look at the feed on the comms repeater got my head back in the game, however, as a cascade of check-ins poured down the callsigns.

Repulse rumbled, sublight drives igniting with fiery zeal. A series of thuds echoed through the hull as her Vulture wing dropped from her rafters, encircling the hull in close combat escort. To our portside, the ‘4th Battle Division swelled forth in line abreast, dreadnoughts and battleships pounding like the thunderhead of an approaching storm. To our starboard, the sleek Tionese battlecruisers of the ‘3rd Battle Division surged out ahead like unrestrained hounds, their speed unmatched by any in the Fleet.

At the same time, Ventress’ fanbladed Ginivex-class starfighter dropped out of a Sy Myrthian, followed by a whole–and perhaps, only remaining–wing of Rogue-class starfighters from Forty-Sixth Guards. Soon after, their droid counterparts followed in the form of Vultures, Hyenas and Scarabs, in a darkening cloud that remained well aft of the main line of battle.

The plan was simple. According to Ventress, Jedi General Alrix was the type to identify a weakpoint in her enemy’s formation before mercilessly exploiting it, over using complicated stratagems planned many moves in advance. In other words, like most Jedi she used her instincts. Therefore, we will have the most simple formation of all, with the most obvious weakpoint–because it was better to fight a Jedi with a deficiency we know and account for, rather than try to outwit the Force.

That being said, the weakness of the bow-and-quarter line was the fragility of its long line abreast. Near the inverted chevron, overlapping firing angles created an unassailable crossfire with every ship supporting the one adjacent to them, but on the line abreast that wasn’t possible. Which was why the purpose of the line abreast was to give ground, slowly retreating while the angled arm reached forward and flanked around, completing a three-way encirclement.

Alrix’s objective was most assuredly to shatter the line abreast before we can flank her, splitting our battleline in two and opening us to be defeated in detail–and this is where the starfighters come in. Starfighters can respond more promptly than warships, and can pin down the enemy until the flank could be executed fully.

The trick laid in disguising where the starfighters will come from, as the stratagem would all be for nought if the enemy could simply see where they will be hit from and deploy a screen in advance.

Right now, there was–I checked the tactical holo–near 50,000,000 klicks between our forces. At this range, the most effective scopes were for drive cones by far. Sublight engines were bright, hot, and spit copious amounts of radiation in every direction. They were basically unmissable. Furthermore, different classes of ships with different drive configurations produced different drive signatures, allowing us to effectively identify the make of enemy ships at the same time.

However, it was precisely because sublight drives were bright, hot, and spit radiation in every direction that we can hide smaller drive cones in their near proximity. Trying to find the tiny cones of LACs among a horde of battleships was like trying to identify if there was a candle or a hundred in a bonfire.

Unfortunately, droid starfighters weren’t all that smart. The manoeuvres will require timing and precision, of which Vulture droids may be unable to accomplish. They were good at swarming, overwhelming the enemy through sheer numbers, but this tactic required a little more finesse than that. Controlling the droids from the bridge of their motherships meant factoring in a response delay. A field commander was needed. Someone who could judge the ebb and flow of the battlefield from the ground and react appropriately.

Ventress would field that role. She was one of the Confederacy’s ace pilots, and had more experience with starfighter combat than all of the 28th field officers combined.

Drive cones grew, heat and radiation expanding outwards as their well-defined edges frayed and blurred into hazy smears of light. It wasn’t easy to judge the velocity of the enemy formation, as they were burning straight at us. We can estimate, however, based on their drive cones.

I watched the distance between us plummet as the relative contact velocity skyrocketed.

“Their accel-squared is rising,” Tuff noted.

I nodded blankly. Our fleet was forging ahead at a reasonable accel-squared, with the intention of levelling at a steady 500Gs, as we needed to maintain our bearings between ships, not to mention that this was the top acceleration our retrofitted Lucrehulks can maintain. On the other hand, Alrix had slammed the pedal to the metal off the starting block, and her fleet was now climbing to an astronomical 1000Gs, with seemingly no intention of slowing down.

“What’s the maximum inertial dampening Republic cruisers are rated for?” I asked aloud.

“Two-thousand Gs in the best circumstances,” the tactical droid answered, “But grievous internal injuries to organic crews may still occur.”

“I can imagine,” I observed the enemy formation–or lack thereof. With each ship possessing different drive specs, Taskforce Conciliator didn’t have a stable formation, “Show me our vectors.”

Lines burst out of the pins, each with their own annotated accelerations and bearings. Whereas our formation had neat, parallel lines with matching bearings, the Republic had a mess of constantly shifting figures.

I frowned, “Relative intercept velocity?”

–13,859KPS

–14,183KPS

–16,431KPS

–17,003KPS

–18,098KPS

…What the fuck?

The distance between us wasn’t just plummeting now, it was a literal blur of numbers as the readout struggled to keep up. Everytime the tactical holo refreshed, the enemy pins traversed a greater and greater distance, until it was as if they were warping through the void.

Something wasn’t right. I smacked the readout, as if it was malfunctioning. But it wasn’t. The Republic was really going that fast. The time to intercept was an hour, but every time I looked away, it seemed to reduce by whole minutes, instead of seconds.

“Have their LACs been deployed?” I demanded.

“Negative.”

…What the hell is she doing? This isn’t how you fight a battle!

I checked the time to intercept again; she won’t have enough time to deploy starfighters at this rate! Wait, is she planning to deploy starfighters at all? I shook my head; that thought was absurd. Everybody knew that you needed starfighters to counter Battle Order 3.

I needed to check our acceleration, or by the time we make contact there won’t be any formation left to fight in. Some of our slower dreadnoughts and battleships were already straggling behind, and our Lucrehulks were being left in the dust. But if we shut our engines now, our starfighters were going to be revealed. That wasn’t much of a problem on its own, as the Republic were likely already expecting starfighters–as was standard for the tactic–but it was their location that would give away which flank they would strike from.

We had to continue burning bright and dirty… unless Ventress suddenly decided to go rogue.

Ventress suddenly decided to go rogue.

She took her fighters and spun them right around, all fifteen-thousand of them, and began streaming back to Krett’s 5th Support Division trailing three-million klicks to our rear. And maybe, just maybe, that was my fault for forgetting she was a Sith acolyte first and foremost.

“Ventress,” I asked with a measured calm that I didn't quite feel, “What are you doing?”

“...Something is up,” Ventress hissed, telling me something I already knew, “We’re playing right into Alrix’s game.”

“And your response is to…” I wanted to say desert, but I knew that wouldn’t be quite true, “...retreat from the battle?”

“I’m not retreating,” she denied impertinently, “I’m reducing our intercept velocity.”

I toggled to the fleet frequency, “All ships, Repulse; shut down primary drives. Maintain formation.”

There was no point burning if the reason we were burning for decided they didn’t need it anymore. As soon as the order was transmitted on the tightbeams, the entire 28th Mobile went dark as a single body. And as soon as we did, our scanners picked up signals–

“LIDAR,” Tuff reported, “The enemy is targeting us with lasers. I recommend employing our shields and passive countermeasures to refract and scramble them.”

I nodded absentmindedly, waving the go-ahead.

“Repulse, Crying Sun; copy,” there was irritation in Vinoc’s tone, “What on Malachor is Ventress doing?”

“I’m trying to find out,” I clenched my jaw, switching frequencies again, “–Now, why are you reducing your intercept velocity? Where the hell are you going!?”

A beep– Stelle looked up at me; “Sir, Commander Krett is sending us a tightbeam.”

“Tell him I’m trying to deal with it!”

“Roger roger.”

“I am not going anywhere!” Ventress bit in audible frustration, “It’s you who needs to slow down!”

“Thirty minutes to intercept,” Tuff said dryly.

“Why!?” I shot to my feet, nearly shouting.

“–I don’t know!” Ventress screamed back, and it was then I realised she was not frustrated at me, but at herself, “I have a bad feeling! Even I know Alrix should have her fighters in the black by now! But she doesn’t!”

I looked back at the tactical holo. Alrix wasn’t letting up, and the lights past the transparisteel viewports were only growing from tiny sparks to flares in the darkness.

“You’re jeopardising our entire strategy off a bad feeling?” I demanded.

“Sir, Commander Krett is contacting us again!”

“Twenty-seven minutes to intercept.”

“Tell him to fuck off!”

“Roger roger!”

“Ventress, get back to your stations now! Don’t force us to override the Vultures,” my gaze was shooting between readouts, mentally calculating whether we can get the LACs back in time to salvage the battle, “You can still make it back in time!”

“Twenty-five minutes to intercept,” Tuff droned.

I swore, “Stelle, execute the override codes.”

“...”

“Stelle?”

“It… it looks like they’re out of range?” the droid’s statement sounded more like a question.

My frown deepened, “She can’t possibly link all of them to her starfighter. They still need a central server to work from.”

“They’re… Commander Ventress transferred them to battleship Fortressa.”

Krett’s flagship.

“Sir, Commander Krett is contacting us again.”

“Oh for– patch me in!”

I waited as patiently as I could for the Neimodian to start; “My apologies, Admiral–”

“You have the Vulture overrides, Krett? Transfer them to me.”

Krett went silent for a moment.

“...My apologies, Admiral,” he said again, with an indecipherable tone, “But I don’t think our enemy is fighting the same battle that we are.”

“...What?”

“The vector of the enemy flagship doesn’t intercept any of ours.”

I looked at Tuff, and he immediately brought up the vectors again. And indeed, the line leading out of Resilient did not intersect any of ours. Now, usually this didn’t mean anything, as it was perishingly rare one would actually engage the ship it was aiming for, but fixing an intercept target–even on a random opposing ship–was a simple and effective way to create a useful point of reference for the rest of your fleet.

If Alrix was not making any of us her intercept target, then either she was truly flying arbitrarily, which was hard to believe, or she made her point of reference something else entirely.

“...What do you think, Tuff?”

“This tactic has zero matches in my databanks,” he answered, “Opening new calculation instance.”

“No need for that,” I waved him off, “We only have… twenty minutes to intercept. Just tell me if victory is still possible without our fighters.”

“Considering the enemy no longer has the time to deploy fighters, and have not adopted any effective formation,” he calculated, “I compute an eighty-six point nine-five-five percent chance of overwhelming victory, based on the parameters available to me.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad…”

But then what the hell was Ventress on about in the first place? I squinted at the tactical holo. Even if Alrix wasn’t aiming to intercept us, we were still aiming to intercept her. And without LACs on the field, we can easily envelop her smaller fleet and destroy it completely. The starfighters had been taken out of the field on both sides, that’s all. Nothing changed in the end… we were still going to win. We were still going to destroy them.

In the purple king’s name, Bonteri, when was the last time someone did anything for you without direct orders?

An annoying voice I wish I had never heard again appeared in my head. Fuck off.

This may sound absurd coming from me, but you need to trust those who serve under you. That’s what they’re there for. You’re not the only one trying the best you can.

…

“And what if the enemy adopts an effective formation?”

Tuff stared at the holo with a critical eye, “Factoring in their velocity and positions, the number of formations the enemy can adopt in time for intercept is severely limited and unlikely–”

I blew out a breath, cradling my forehead, “Ventress fought Alrix before. I can’t discount her ‘bad feeling’ being some Force-damned power.”

“The Force is not an unreliable variable, neither quantifiable nor qualifiable–”

“I know!” I snapped, “We’ve gone through the motions before.”

“...Calculations complete,” Tuff finally announced, bringing up his datapad and keying in the result.

Almost immediately, new vectors popped up on the holo, along with ghostly apparitions of possible formations factoring in the current relative bearings and speed of each ship along with time left to execute the necessary manoeuvres. One formation and its variations stood out to me most prominently; a somewhat conoidal diamond that looked terribly familiar… where had I seen that before?

I checked my chrono for the time left to intercept. Fifteen minutes. I had to make a decision now.

Ventress had taken up new stations around Krett’s 5th Support Division, and the 5th itself was acting strangely, doubling up their lines and condensing their formation.

I wetted my lips, “That cone shape. Superimpose it on their current headings and extend out Resilient’s vector.”

The holo created a second instance of itself, simulating what would happen if the ships moved into the cone formation, then extending out the vector of the point–where it shot past our battleline and off the display.

“What is she targeting?” I rubbed my eyes, “The Sululluub Field behind us? Expand the scope of the display.”

The display zoomed out, showing how the vector extended out through the Sululluub Asteroid Field before it curved due to some orbital influence or the other.

“–Hostile intercept detected,” Tuff announced, and there was a realised panic in his modulated voice.

I checked the intercept, and my breath was caught in my throat and my eyes widened three sizes. Then I looked back at the conoidal formation and realised where I had seen it before; it looks like an arrowhead. The last time I saw that formation was at Metalorn.

I checked my chrono.

Ten minutes. Not enough time.

No. The pieces suddenly clicked in my mind’s eye. I should have realised from the start; Rees Alrix was by all accounts a master tactician. I was right from the moment I saw her suicidal charge; this wasn’t how you fought a battle. Ventress realised the same thing, and abruptly acted on that instinct. Then it was Krett who realised why; because Alrix wasn’t fighting us

It’s not us who needs time. It’s Alrix.

I slammed my fist down on the fleet frequency, “All ships, this is Repulse. We are making a complete withdrawal! Hard left on etheric rudders and retro-burn as you do; present broadsides and open fire once the enemy is in effective range!”

⁂

Kendal Ozzel felt his heart lodged in his throat as Resilient tore a seam through space, his skin prickling as the enemy battleline went dark and prepared their guns for contact. He was unsure if the cause was nervousness at the suicidal nature of the charge, or the damaged inertial compensators trying and failing to keep pace with the screaming main reactor.

“Sir,” one of the pit officers reported, “Enemy Vultures are retreating.”

Rees Alrix looked down at them, “All of them?”

“All of them?”

“Very well. Continue at present acceleration and heading.”

“Very good, sir.”

Ozzel watched one of the readouts in silent astonishment; relative intercept velocity 35,000KPS. Over a tenth of lightspeed. These weren’t sane tactics; no amount of training could have prepared him for this. Resilient, nay, the entire taskforce was being pushed to its physical limits in order to reach the Separatist battle line before the enemy to realise what their true intentions were.

“Five minutes to contact,” he whispered beneath his breath. Contact, not intercept. They weren’t intercepting this group.

“Execute command package,” the Jedi General abruptly ordered.

Just as the tightbeams were dispatched however, their scopes were suddenly blinded by the scorching heat and radiation of two-hundred configurations of sublight drives erupting across the artificial horizon. Through the sunscreened viewports, a bead of brilliant white pearls strung across the width of the sun, and the relative intercept velocity started to fall. Drive-glows. Too bright to be facing away from them.

–34,000KPS

–31,000KPS

–27,000KPS

“Hostiles are withdrawing!” an officer said hurriedly, “They’re decelerating!”

The Jedi General was unmoved; “Continue at present acceleration and heading.”

Ozzel was not so calm, “I want details! Are they retro-burning?”

“Affirmative, sir! They’re presenting broadsides!”

Alarms immediately rang out in Ozzel’s head.

He climbed down into the data pit and observed the tactical display over the officer’s shoulder, watching how the enemy vectors were shrinking in magnitude and deflecting to portside. Contact velocity was dropping, and time to contact was now increasing. He reported as such to the General; “They’ve pivoted from an offensive to a defensive posture, General! They will be unable to encircle us, but with our contact velocity reduced and facing full broadsides, it is highly unlikely we will be able to break through their ranks as intended.”

She frowned, “Weren’t they planning to envelop us? I cannot imagine them doing so from a that position.”

“I can only mean they have seen through our strategy, General,” Ozzel explained, with no small irritation, “Separatist warship’s have their firepower concentrated on their beams. Against a solid battleline, we will not be able to break through without being torn to pieces. This was proven at Centares.”

The Jedi General narrowed her eyes, then looked away, back at the sparkling lights ahead.

The bridge was silent.

“Sir?”

“...Tch.”

Jedi General Rees Alrix clicked her tongue, and it was as loud as a thunderclap.

“Sir?”

She spun around, allowing Ozzel to catch the briefest glimpse of a deep scowl marred onto her expression. Robes billowing, she marched back down the length of the bridge under the gaze of dozens of officers, clearly intending to leave.

Ozzel swore, clambering out of the pit, “General!? What are your orders!?”

“Send a message to General Grant and the Twentieth Sector Army requesting reinforcements. Tell him who we’re facing.”

“What about the enemy, General?”

“The enemy?” Alrix paused in her steps, as if just realising they were still in a battle, “...Return us back to our stations. I will meditate on this, and we will try again in sixteen hours.”

And then she started again, striding through the open blast doors and disappearing around the corner. The entire bridge seemed to be suspended in a stasis field.

“Well!?” Ozzel barked, breaking the trance, “You heard the General! Send to all ships; check acceleration and bring us back to Sullust orbit!”

“Yes sir!”

Ozzel swallowed his frustration as the bridge sprung back into action, the helmsman coaxing Resilient back to a manageable velocity for a reciprocal turn, handling the warship as one might a glass chalice. As the invisible pressure on his body retreated, he allowed himself to look at the tactical display again, tracing Resilient’s vector with a sharpened gaze. Forward, blowing past the enemy fleet, into the Sululluub Asteroid Field…

And straight into the five massive auxiliaries the Separatists had brought into the system. Ozzel didn’t think much of them; they were currently repairing Ventress’ flotilla, but that’s all they were; repair vessels. But the Jedi General thought otherwise. Why did the enemy break off so suddenly? He could think of one reason; because they realised what our true intentions were, and it terrified them. Those auxiliaries…

“Lieutenant,” Ozzel called, “What do you think of those auxiliaries?”

The sensor officer looked up from his post, “Nobody brings auxiliaries onto a battlefield, sir. That’s common sense.”

“So there must be more than what we are seeing,” Ozzel concurred, “Let’s find out everything we can about them.”

“Very good sir.”

Kendal Ozzel looked at the vectors one last time. If General Alrix’s plan had worked… it would have been a one way trip. To break through the enemy lines would also mean ultimately being trapped behind them and isolated from the safety of Sullust’s fiery shadow. But the Jedi was confident that if the definition of ‘victory’ was not to ‘win’ but to deprive the enemy of their own ‘victory,’ then, somehow, those five measly jury-rigged bulkers were key to everything.

And judging the enemy’s reaction–

“Looks like the Jedi was right again,” he murmured.