Sublight Drive (Star Wars)

Chapter 51

Star Station ‘Independence’, Murkhana System

Auril Sector

Admiral Trench patiently waited for two orderlies to leave the Supreme Commander’s office before announcing his presence. Instead of erecting the Office of the General on Raxus Secundus, or any Separatist star system, Sev’rance Tann had instead opted to repurpose the former Mandator-class star dreadnought Pride of the Core into the CAF’s mobile headquarters.

It took time for the old Harch to grow into the idea, but he could see its merits. The renamed Independence was definitely large enough to serve as the CAF’s primary arcology, should it had been established planetside. Furthermore, the great vessel was always on the move, leaping from one system to the other, and by virtue of being a starship, permitted tighter security of its perimeter. The Confederacy’s enemies would find it much harder to infiltrate the military, from now on.

“Pleasant news, Admiral.”

The Supreme Commander’s personal command room was found in the citadel of the Independence, repurposed from one of many combat information centres the old Mandator possessed. It was Trench’s first time visiting the station, since the completion of its retrofit, and the old Harch still did not know what to expect.

Knowing Sev’rance Tann, maybe he should have. She was an inordinately busy woman these days, having to not only manage the newly reformed CAF, but also navigate the exhaustive politics that came with the position. With the establishment of a new Independence Military Academy aboard the Independence itself, if the Supreme Commander was not found in her command centre, then she most certainly was supervising the progress of her personal project.

The walls and ceilings of the command centre were covered with viewscreens and holograms, each displaying a different sector of space, dimly lit so as to not strain the eyes. At the very centre, a double ring of repeaters and readouts, blinking with the details of the innumerous assets of the burgeoning Confederate Armed Forces. And at the centre of the double circle, a simple metal chair, swivelling around to reveal the woman who spoke; Sev’rance Tann.

“Murkhana is now completely in the control of the CAF,” the Pantoran stood up, “Courtesy of Passel Argente. Extend my gratitude to the Magistrate.”

“That can be done, General,” Trench folded a pair of his arms behind his back as he strolled around the room, “But I am here for a different reason.”

“Of course.”

“Rear Admiral Bonteri has contacted me for the sixth time,” the Harch Admiral studied the stoic features of the blue-skinned woman, and studied the positions of the 2nd Fleet Group on a nearby display, at the same time, “He has fought Jedi General Alrix half a dozen times, never getting the upper hand. His complaint, naturally, are the chains around his wrists. He demands a reason as to why he is not allowed to go on the offensive.”

“It surprises me he hasn’t already,” General Tann mused.

“It is a matter of trust, General,” Trench said, “He has served under both of us, for a time. He knows we wouldn’t give orders–or a lack thereof–without reason. He now asks for us to return that trust.”

Tann’s finger curled, and the nearby display flashed into a starchart of the Rimma Trade Route, “And what will you tell him this time?”

The old Harch stroked his remaining organic mandible, “The Twenty-Eighth Mobile Fleet has been authorised to proceed with Operation Storm-Door.”

Sev’rance Tann’s opaque red eyes narrowed, “You are saying…”

“The Republic has taken the bait,” the Harch chuckled, his skin-crawling chitter filling the room, “Their Second Sector Army has ignored Mechis-Three and Yag’Dhul, and are pouring down onto the Rimma. Our forward scouts spotted the Open Circle Fleet’s redeployment; one half under Anakin Skywalker leading the vanguard to Sullust, and the other half under Obi-Wan Kenobi to Kashyyyk.”

“In the New Territories?” a low excitement burgeoned in the normally stoic General.

“Admiral Kirst’s First Fleet Group has been pushed back to Shaum Hii,” Trench built momentum, “He, too, is allowing the Republic to attack unhindered. The Republic’s Third Sector Army has reached Lantillies, and will soon reach the front lines. The Sixteenth Sector Army’s offensive has pushed General Farstar all the way to New Cov. We are losing territory all across the front.”

The two greatest flag officers stared at each other, a singular conclusion arriving to both their minds; Operation Storm-Door has succeeded. By enforcing a strict ‘no first action’ policy across the CAF, they had virtually allowed the Grand Army of the Republic free rein over the front. As expected, the Republic was launching an all-out offensive, poised to knock the Confederacy out of the war. The public motivation for the ‘no first action’ policy was a fallacy from the very beginning, but a very useful one.

The Republic already despised the Confederacy for the Attack on Coruscant–nay, that was a sore understatement–the Republic will now stop at nothing to bathe every Confederate world in Separatist blood in their quest for vengeance. No amount of pleading and backpedalling will change that–no, this policy was to invite the Republic to attack, and thus justify what will come next to the citizens of the Confederacy. With Murkhana and the Hyper-Communications Cartel now in their hands, the CAF controlled the information nexus of the entire Confederacy, from the Separatist HoloNet to the CIS Shadowfeed.

It will be a simple matter to double down on the already common belief in this nation that the Republic staged a false flag attack on their own capital, over-exaggerating the damage to justify breaking down the armistice negotiations. When the choice was believing enemy propaganda or trusted federal news sources, the choice was predictable. Besides, how could there possibly be a CAF fleet in the Galactic Interior? That was simply astrographically and strategically impossible.

The ‘no first action’ policy would preserve their moral high ground in the eyes of the Separatist people, and lure the Republic to launch their renewed offensive at the same time, justifying Operation Storm-Door. And they did. And by drawing out all remaining Reserve Armadas of the GAR, they made the Republic leave their house completely empty.

And just as the Republic seeks the Confederacy’s destruction at all costs, the Confederacy seeks the otherwise.

“And now all our Mobile Fleets have to do is walk through an open door.”

And what will happen then? When the Republic faces not one, but three fleets marauding through the Core Worlds? The Republic will no longer accept peace unless it was at the end of a turbolaser battery. The Supreme Commander was determined it was not the Confederacy, but the Republic, staring down the smoking barrel of peace.

“The Republic will panic.”

“The Republic will overcorrect.”

“The Republic will bring their fleetshome.”

“And then we can cross the border unhindered,” Admiral Trench finished, “And pressure the Republic into a treaty with overwhelming force.”

This is the true nature of Operation Storm-Door. There was no hiding the extensive fleet redeployments in the prelude to Storm-Door, so they may as well use the Republic’s intelligence to their advantage.

Operation Storm-Door enabled Operation Starlance, and Operation Starlance enabled Operation Storm-Door. One would not be possible without the other, two halves of a whole. It was the shield, the spear, and the counterattack. Operation Starlance did not even exist on paper–the operation was so secret there was not a single physical record of it that hasn’t been destroyed. It existed only in the heads of the staffers who devised it, and the officers participating in it, a number that could be counted on two hands.

Make no mistake; the twin operations were their last shot at knocking the Republic out of the war. The brutal truth was clear; the Confederacy was no longer able to take the Republic in a straight fight, not this deep into the war. No amount of confidentiality was too much confidentiality–not a single officer on the front could know of the reason for their standing orders out of fear from enemy interception. Not even those participating in Operation Starlance.

They had to draw the Republic’s armadas as far away as possible from the Core for Starlance to have any chance of success. And similarly, Operation Starlance had to draw as many Republic armadas back to the Core for Storm-Door to have any chance of success.

It was for this reason the 19th and 28th Mobile Fleets will be provided a blank flimsi to rampage and maraud as strategically able in the Interior, at least until they found Admiral Dua Ningo’s Bulwark Feet. From there, the Fleet Groups of the Confederacy can exploit the Republic’s panic to gouge out an opening in the Core for the three fleets to extract from.

Sev’rance Tann deflated in relief. If not for Trench’s keen, six-fold and artificial eyesight, he would not have noticed the brief lapse in poise. For the first time, the old Harch Admiral saw through the act; it was not the indomitable Pantoran who fought tooth and nail to seize control of the largest military in the galaxy, but a mere girl, too many times his junior, wearing a uniform and rank that still seemed far too large for her.

“There were two ways the Republic could have reacted,” the girl leaned against the consoles, once more showing no sign of weakness, “They knew for certain Operation Storm-Door was some sort of trap, but they did not know what kind. They could have either acted cautiously, prodding the trap before making any major action–or they could have rushed in, attempting to destroy the trap with brute force.”

“Not knowing that by doing so, they have already fallen for it,” Admiral Trench approached the Supreme Commander, towering over her, “You have foresaw their reaction perfectly, General.”

“Then it all the more crucial Operation Starlance produces the intended effect within the Republic,” Tann remarked, “We must prepare accordingly. Is the Second Fleet Group ready for action? You will be pitted against the most fortified Republic front of the war.”

“Your concern is appreciated, but unnecessary, General,” Trench staked out the room, examining the fleet positions in the Perlemian on the displays, “Rear Admiral Merai’s Dac Offensive has secured the Quarren shipyards of Calamari Space, including the Pammant Docks. With this, the dreadnought Subjugator has finally entered service. With both Malevolence and Subjugator, my Second Fleet Group can pierce even the strongest enemy positions.”

The Subjugator-class star dreadnought was the heaviest Separatist warship ever put into service, designed by the Free Dac Engineering Corps as the response to the Republic’s own star dreadnoughts. Nearly five klicks long, it possessed a massive through-deck ion pulse cannon that could disable entire fleets with a single shot. The first to enter service was Malevolence, followed by her sister ship Devastator. With the newfound security of the Pammant Docks however, the original testbed and namesake, Subjugator, can finally complete its retrofit and enter service.

After the damning success of the designs at the Battle of Columex, a fourth ship of the class had been ordered, and its keel recently laid down in the Quarren shipyards of the Enoth System.

In any case, with two Subjugator-class star dreadnoughts on the Perlemian Front, the GAR’s 3rd Sector Army will be due for an unpleasant surprise.

“Very well,” the Supreme Commander circled back to her seat, “Then let us reveal to the Republic the true depth of our willingness to fight.”

The Pantoran quietly composed herself, then toggled the integrated comlink on her instrument board, “This is the Supreme Commander to Admiral Kirst of the First Fleet Group. Be notified that all actions pertaining to Operation Storm-Door have been authorised. Maintain your defence-in-depth of the New Territories, and make the Republic pay dearly for every world they take. You may inform the Nineteenth Mobile to proceed with Operation Starlance.”

Unlike General Farstar’s defence of the Corellian Run, Admiral Kirst was explicitly ordered to give ground. The strategy was twofold; the 1st Fleet Group was facing not one, but three GAR Sector Armies–the 7th, 8th, and 9th. The 10th Sector Army would have been included, if they were not poised to combat Trench’s own 2nd Fleet Group on the Salin Corridor. The reason for a defence-in-depth strategy, then, was more obvious.

But there was a more sinister reason behind Admiral Kirst’s defence of the Confederacy’s northern holdings, devised by the adroitly sinister mind of Rear Admiral Calli Trilm. The Raxus Government’s main internal political rival in the Serenno Government established its main powerbase in the galactic north. By fighting for every inch of ground and calculatively permitting the Republic to advance through the New Territories, every system lost ripped away another pillar of Count Dooku’s support.

When the Republic captured Banking Clan affiliated worlds, for instance, the Raxus Government also dealt with another internal threat–slowly setting the stage in the deplorable case the Confederacy finds a civil war unavoidable. For a woman born and raised on the Serennian colony world of Clysm, Calli Trilm bore frightening little loyalty to her homeworld… or anything other than herself, for that matter.

“This is the Supreme Commander to General Farstar of the Third Fleet Group,” the Supreme Commander prepared the next transmission, “Be notified that all actions pertaining to Operation Storm-Door have been authorised. Hold the enemy at New Cov, encircle, and destroy them. Let them take not an inch of the Mid Rim.”

General Atticus Farstar, the protege of Sev’rance Tann herself, recently promoted after his success in Bothan Space. Farstar’s strategy was simple; stop the GAR’s 16th Sector Army dead in its tracks at the fortress world New Cov, while their Bothan allies under Rear Admiral Laryn Kre’fey holds his flank at Kalarba. Then, Commodore Karoc’s 224th Strike Division, awaiting at Daalang, would proceed down the Gamor Run to Milagro, effectively cutting off the 16th Sector Army from its supply lines.

“Admiral,” then was Trench’s turn, and the Supreme Commander gave him the oral command; “Be notified that all actions pertaining to Operation Storm-Door have been authorised. I don’t believe it necessary to elaborate upon the strategy you personally devised. You may order the Twenty-Eighth Mobile to proceed with Operation Starlance. They will first jump to Yag’Dhul to cut off the 2nd Sector Army’s supply line, then begin their incursion with the Nineteenth Mobile. Inform them the Fourth Fleet will take their place in Sullust.”

“You seem confident Admiral Bonteri can still defeat General Alrix. He has been engaged in battle on six separate occasions,” Admiral Trench observed, “And not once has he been able to take the upper hand. What makes this occasion so different?”

“The commanders of our two Mobile Fleets are very different people, but unbeatable when the battlefield plays to their strengths,” the Supreme Commander stood up, lifting an open palm, as if there was an invisible spider resting upon it, “I have made my considerations when choosing where to deploy them. Admiral Trilm is like a spider, knitting her web in silence, awaiting her enemies to tangle themselves in her invisible threads, before finishing them off. The standing order to ‘hold your position’ would work entirely in her favour.”

“Which is why she was posted in the neutral Kashyyyk System,” the old Harch concluded, “So that the Republic could not attack her?”

“Perhaps I am looking down too much on the Republic,” she admitted, “But that would be correct. For Operation Storm-Door to succeed, the Republic must grow suspicious of our Mobile Fleets and redeploy their most dangerous assets to the front accordingly. Considering one half of the Open Circle Fleet was retasked to Kashyyyk, this ploy has succeeded.”

“Admiral Bonteri, on the other hand,” as if making her point clearer, General Tann lifted her other palm, “Is like a viper. He shines in unrestrained, offensive actions, and like a viper defending their nest, he will twist even the most defensive battlefields in order to strike first. There is a common thread when you study his battles; the First Battle of Christophsis, Battle of Teth, Battle of Metalorn, Battle of Columex… these were all defensive battles, and yet in each one Admiral Bonteri fought as the aggressor.”

“You believe…”

“I believe that if Admiral Bonteri was permitted unrestrained action, he would have annihilated General Alrix’s fleet before the Republic could even realise he was at Sullust,” the Supreme Commander confirmed, “Thus he was forced to be hamstrung, and put in an unfavourable position most counteractive to his expertise. And as expected, General Skywalker and the vanguard of the Open Circle Fleet was sent to reinforce General Alrix’s positions.”

“There was no telling the Republic would react that way,” Admiral Trench stroked his mandibles in thought, “To assume the enemy’s reactions is a risky endeavour.”

“Then we must disagree, Admiral,” General Tann smiled thinly, “Do you not realise it is the Republic who would realise just how dangerous Admiral Bonteri is? In every battle I had listed, Admiral Bonteri fought against one or more Jedi Generals, and defeated them. It is the Republic who understands how he fights more than anybody. I imagine they must have panicked, realising the inexperienced General Alrix has been pitted against the viper himself. It is natural they send the Jedi General who has the most experience dealing with him to reinforce Alrix.”

“And when Admiral Bonteri jumps to Yag’Dhul, General Skywalker will be too far away to stop Operation Starlance,” Admiral Trench finished.

The Supreme Commander nodded sharply, visibly pleased. She then prepared her final transmission.

“This is the Supreme Commander to General Ambigene of the Fourth Fleet Group,” –the final, and most critical to Operation Starlance, was the First General on the Rimma Trade Route, “Be notified that all actions pertaining to Operation Storm-Door have been authorised. Take Eriadu with all haste and fortify Sullust in anticipation for the enemy offensive.”

The appointment of Horn Ambigene to the 4th Fleet Group was undeniably a deft political move, one apparently originating from Sev’rance Tann herself, instead of Calli Trilm. The First General of the Confederacy was loyal not to the Confederacy, but the Separatist cause itself, making him a neutral agent in the political turmoil gripping Raxus and Serenno. Furthermore, his renowned reputation and skills was necessary to inspire and restore morale among the troops of the Rimma Trade Route after the losses dealt by the Hundred Days Offensive.

From the military angle, however, Trench had his reservations. The First General of the Confederacy was not suited to large-scale campaigns. He was a field officer, his experience and command style forged on the bloody battlefields of the Tydane System which he called home. He was far more suited for his former role of Commander of Organic Training. However, Trench had to admit, if there was one officer who could make the GAR–nay, the entire Republic–fly into a hysteria, it was Horn Ambigene.

“We must be prepared to shoulder eternal damnation if Operation Storm-Door is to succeed, and win the war, General,” Admiral Trench was old. Harch of his species could live for centuries. He would live for decades more, but at mere mention of Horn Ambigene, his bones already ached, “For the longevity of the Confederacy, I hope this is worth the price.”

Sev’rance Tann looked at him, then looked down, “I presume you speak of General Ambigene. Yes, his invasion of Eriadu will be bloody, but there is no commander in the CAF better suited to planetary warfare.”

“Invasion?”

There will be no invasion. This is Horn Ambigene we are speaking of.

Trench saw straight through the mask of the Supreme Commander, at this slight confusion swirling behind her red gaze, “Yes, invasion, Admiral. General Ambigene will invade Eriadu with overwhelming might, then move to and fortify Sullust before the Republic reaches. I am well aware of his brutal methods, but I consider them a necessity for an otherwise swift capture of a world as fortified as Eriadu.”

“Supreme Commander,” Trench felt Doctor Cratala’s prosthetics dig into his flesh, “I am afraid you have underestimated Horn Ambigene. You cannot judge him with the same criteria you judge the rest of us with. He is a man of a completely different calibre.”

“A smaller or larger calibre?”

“An older calibre,” Trench stressed, “He is a guerilla general, who has only fought a war of defiance his entire life. He considers ‘victory’ and ‘defeat’ not in terms of territories gained and lost, but in terms of enemy soldiers killed compared to allied soldiers lost. Even I cannot fathom the horrors he’s been through. General, nobody can imagine the personal crusade Horn Ambigene waged against the powers that be, before he took Dooku’s offer. For decades, he alone protected the natural wealth of Tydane, single-handedly fighting off the persistent encroaches of the Judicial Forces and corporate overlords of the Republic.”

Sev’rance Tann frowned, “I had imagined those were exaggerations made by our overly-excited media. Not even the Stark Commercial Combine could fend off the Republic in the Hyperspace War for more than a year, and yet you claim the Tydane System did so for decades?”

“Horn Ambigene gained a reputation for being more trouble than he was worth,” Trench said grimly, “Can you conceive one must do to achieve such a reputation? General, this requires more than just mere ‘brutality.’ The Republic took from him his allies, his friends, his family, and everything he held dear. And yet, the Ghost of Tydane was a man who would still rather tear his homeworld apart than surrender to the Republic.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Admiral Trench did not fault the Supreme Commander for her ignorance of Horn Ambigene’s true character. In the grand scheme of the galaxy, Ambigene was but a single man, protecting but a single star system in a small corner of the impossibly vast expanse of the Outer Rim. It was natural that hardly anybody has heard of his decade-long plight.

But Trench was an admiral of the Corporate Alliance, and he was no stranger to violence and exploitation and should it come to be, doling out atrocities in the name of greed. He has always held himself to a certain standard, and never personally engaged in such acts, but the old Harch has never denied bystanding and even enabling the inevitable horrors that arise from such exploitation. He has, after all, been many times the leader of the Alliance Fleets that scoured the Outer Rim for riches and resources.

It was natural that in his long career, Trench had come to learn of the so-called Ghost of Tydane; the vengeful guardian deity of a rich star system on the fringes of civilization. The Ghost that brutalised every prospecting fleet, commercial convoy, and Judicial Force escort that coveted a foothold in the Tydane System, until even the largest megacorporations considered the place more trouble than it was worth. If strange turns of fate and a common enemy had not made them unlikely allies, perhaps Trench would have eventually tested his mettle against the Ghost of Tydane.

It was for this reason then, that Trench has only met Horn Ambigene in person once, during the ascension of the Supreme Commander on Raxus Secundus. It was then that Trench realised just how much first impressions could be deceiving, because he had a complete idea in mind when he first met the infamous Ghost of Tydane. The First General was an ageing man, by human standards, who spoke with a hard, grating voice. Otherwise, he could have been dismissed for just another greybeard officer, who has lived long enough to tell a few fascinating stories of war.

Even now, Trench could hardly reconcile these two very different images of the same man. It was only out of concern and benefit of the doubt did Trench decide to warn Sev’rance Tann of the stories that swirled around Horn Ambigene among the ranks of former corporate officers.

“Eriadu is the symbol of everything he despises,” the two most powerful officers in the Separatist Alliance locked gazes, “An Outer Rim world who betrayed the plight of the Outer Rim, who would lick the boots of Coruscant. Who would abandon the common cause of the Rim, so they could stand with the exploiters rather than the exploited.”

“If you want the Republic to panic, General, then Horn Ambigene was undoubtedly the correct decision to make,” Admiral Trench found the holochart displaying the 4th Fleet Group around Eriadu, “The Republic will panic, I assure you, but not out of fear of the Coalition Armada and the Bulwark Fleet.”

“Then what will they fear, Admiral?”

“They will fear what I fear, General,” and Admiral Trench felt fear in his old bones, because not even he could fight the way Horn Ambigene does, “And I fear Horn Ambigene is about to teach the galaxy exactly how long it takes to turn a planet of twenty-two billion souls into a tomb.”

Sev’rance Tann levelled with him, her fingers edging towards the comlink once again, as if contemplating withdrawing her orders.

“Is that,” the old Harch warned, “A burden the Confederacy is willing to carry?”

Then, the Supreme Commander withdrew not her orders, but her hands, and folded them neatly onto her lap. She stared blankly over his shoulder, and Trench distantly realised she was in one of those trances of hers, from which she made a thousand calculations in the span of seconds, that would put even the Givin of Yag’Dhul to shame.

“I can only express…” after a silence, her lips finally peeled apart into a grim smile; and Trench understood the true depths she would bring the Confederacy for victory, “Anticipation.”

⁂

Sululluub Asteroid Field, Sullust System

Brema Sector

Rear Admiral Rain Bonteri marched onto the command bridge of battleship Chakdrukke with a tempest in his step, his cape billowing at his back like a purple flame. All who came under his presence stopped and saluted, whether they be his personal Onderonian Guardsmen, Koorivar Fusiliers, Gossam Commandos, Skakoan Legal Deputies, Neimoidian Gunners… or Asajj Ventress and the officers of the 28th Mobile Fleet themselves.

It has been one-hundred and thirty-one system hours since the first engagement between the Sululluub Field and Sullust, and Taskforce Conciliator has engaged the 28th Mobile Fleet six times, slowly chipping away at its strength. Finally, Admiral Trench has unshackled them, and given the order to proceed with Operation Storm-Door.

Rain Bonteri gently pressed his palms onto the round table, meeting each and every officer there with a certain blankness in his eyes that conveyed nothing but a chill, merciless fury, framed by dark shadows that belied hours of non-stop planning and strategizing. The air is suffocating, Ventress thought. It was not heavy, or oppressive, or any way similar to that of standing under Dooku’s presence. No, the air was… empty.

As if there wasn’t any air at all. As if she was standing in a vacuum, and with each painful breath scraped no oxygen into her lungs. The Force was distant from her, like she was trapped in a stasis field, and she could not even will a thread of it to her fingertips. And without the Force, Ventress felt… exposed. She felt cold, and naked, as one would miss the familiar weight of clothes.

Across the table, a similarly uncomfortable expression was found adorning Vinoc’s face, to inform her she was not alone.

“You all must already be informed, but I will reiterate,” Bonteri’s mouth moved, but no sound was produced, despite her better wisdom. It was as if his voice started and ended in her head, “Operation Storm-Door has begun. We will defeat Alrix here, and make for Yag’Dhul immediately.”

“When will we move out, Admiral?” Diedrich Greyshade asked.

“Did you not hear me?” his tone, emotionless, “I said immediately.”

At the unspoken wonderment hanging in the air, Bonteri produced four datacards.

“Only Ventress, Diedrich, Vinoc, and Horgo will deploy with me,” he slid each datacard to the respective person, “Krett and Jorm will remain here. As for the four of you–this is the strategy devised by Tuff and myself. Insert them into your flight computers; they contain a variety of possible encrypted commands, covering for every scenario that might arise, and they will be automatically activated when it detects satisfactory conditions from your ships. Accept the orders within, and fulfil them to the best of your ability. If you are unable to, you may take independent action.”

The wonderment morphed into bewilderment, and even Ventress was taken aback.

“Will… will this work?” Vinoc held up the card to the light, as if checking to see if there was any secret hidden within the flimsy piece of metal, “Alrix has seen through every single one of our strategies thus far.”

“She’s had the upper hand thus far,” Bonteri countered, “Now we do. It has been five days. If I have failed to figure out Alrix’s trick by now, I would ask Ventress to carve out my eyes myself.”

“An honour, really,” Ventress commented dryly.

“Let me guess,” the Muun, Horgo Shive, steepled his bony fingers, “There will be no communication between divisions for the entire battle?”

“Correct,” Bonteri swept his gaze over them again, “Do you all trust me?”

Even Ventress had to admit, how could they not? Rain Bonteri had sacrificed virtually the entirety of his personal, direct command in the 4th Skirmish at Sullust, in order to protect three of the commanders and their divisions under his command. Many had their reservations, considering Bonteri was known for his solo engagements, but he has since proven he would not prioritise his own safety in the thick of battle.

If it was a matter of trust, then it went both ways. But to go into battle without even knowing the true depth of the plan... was another level entirely. Ventress honestly couldn’t tell if they could pull off whatever Bonteri had in mind.

“Good,” Bonteri took stunned silence as his answer, “Because I will trust all of you to carry out my commands in battle. My flagship will take the lead, followed by Ventress, Vinoc, Diedrich, and Horgo. Until the datacards are activated, simply obey this standing order; follow the ship in front of you. Pass this on to your subordinates, and every ship under your direct command. Any other questions?”

“Alrix’s connection with the Force is strong,” Ventress gritted her teeth, “How will this strategy work? What makes it different?”

Their eyes met, and Ventress was reminded of Count Dooku, and the assured confidence of a man who held the galaxy in the palm of his hand. It was not so great here… but she was still reminded of the feeling of being a pawn, but moving according to the whims of somebody above her. It was as if Bonteri beheld the entire Sullust System at his fingertips, as if he controlled both fleets entirely without either knowing, and as if he knew he already won the battle before it began.

“We’ve tried outsmarting the Force many times, and failed many times,” Admiral Bonteri started meaningfully, “And it all stems from a key misunderstanding in Alrix’s ability. Over these five days, I have tried to prove my hypothesis, and now I am certain. The Force is a cheat, but ultimately, Alrix is the cheater. I must only get inside her head, and the Force will be useless.”

“We will devour Alrix whole with this single battle, fleet, ship, and body, whole,” he narrowed his eyes, “Forget trying to outwit the Force. We are going to play Alrix at her own game, and beat her at it.”

⁂

Eriadu Orbit, Eriadu System

Seswenna Sector

“General,” Commander Zett approached the First General of the Confederacy from behind, “A Republic fleet is trying to escape. Should we intercept them?”

“Maarisa Zsinj’s Outland Regions Security Force?”

“Yes,” Wiffa Zett confirmed coldly, “Sir.”

“Ignore them,” Horn Ambigene spun around to regard the Commander assigned to him by the Pantoran, and noted the gleaming metal cylinder attached to her waistbelt, “Humour me, Wiffa. What made you leave Dooku’s side to find asylum in the Pantoran’s armies?”

Wiffa Zett was a short, tanned woman, with her hair fashioned into a simple blunt bob cut. Obsessively pristine, not a strand of hair was out of place, revealing her burning orange eyes clearly, like two raging suns. A sinister aura clung to her black battle robes, lashing out blindly at the world. Horn Ambigene thought it reminded him of himself, back in his younger days, when he was still raging against the unfairness of the galaxy.

“The same reason you did, sir,” the fallen Jedi wrinkled her nose, “I left the Order for Dooku’s side because I realised the same thing he did; that the Republic is no longer worth serving. Back then, many of us in the Temple still saw Master Dooku favourably. In my blind hate for the Republic, I obediently listened to his words as if it was gospel. He taught me many things, the dark arts the Jedi would never teach, and I am stronger for it. For this, I thank him.”

“When the Separatist Parliament passed the Militia Act, you left him anyway.”

“I realised what many of us who joined him realised,” Wiffa Zett grit her teeth, “Dooku does not believe in the Confederacy. Dooku only believes in his Confederacy. He does not truly believe in the cause he founded, only what that cause can do to empower him. Disobedience is met with punishment, and protest is met with death. He pits us against each other, so that we may fight over his favour and what he has to teach. He dispatches us to murder and kill, not the enemies of the Confederacy, but his enemies.”

She breathed out, “Sev’rance was the oldest of us. She must’ve realised the truth about Dooku, and sought out her own path. The Militia Act made many of us see that truth as well, and we now follow in her footsteps.”

“I know that look in your eyes,” in his many years, Horn Ambigene has seen much, “It is the fuel of the dark side of the Force. The very object the Jedi Order preaches against.”

“I wish to wield power against the Republic, so that its rot may be cleansed with fire,” those fiery orbs met his stone gaze, “Whether it be the light or dark side of the Force, it needn’t matter to me. Dooku saw the light of the Jedi as weakness, and killed any who disagreed with him. Isn’t that just as the Jedi enforce the opposite? He is no better than the Republic and the Jedi Order.”

“As for me…” the First General of the Confederacy turned his attention to the viewports, “I left Dooku’s employ because Sev’rance Tann offered me something greater. Tell me, Wiffa, have you ever seen anything quite like this?”

Past the transparisteel of the battleship Antecedent, laid Eriadu, and 1,500 warships of the Confederacy of Independent Systems.

“A fleet,” Commander Zett described what she saw, “This is power of another kind. Power found in rolled steel and the hollow bore of a turbolaser cannon and the warhead of a missile. Power to wield against the Republic.”

“This is more than that,” if Horn were still a younger man, there would be tears in his eyes as he beheld everything he strove and fought for. If you could see this now, he wanted to tell his fallen comrades, if only you could see that we were never alone, “This is the Outer Rim. This is the accumulated grievances of the Outer Rim, gathered in single purpose. Like you, I took Count Dooku’s hand. For revenge, but for a cause I wish existed fifty years ago. This, Wiffa, is vindication.”

Fifteen hundred warships of the Outer Rim. From the shipyards of Sluis Van, to the scorching mantle of Mustafar. From the bustling tradeworld of Enarc to desolate wastes of Sanrafsix, and the exploited mines of Sharlissia. A hundred systems, a hundred flags, and a hundred symbols. A hundred worlds that might otherwise be enemies, bitter rivals over some patch of darkness or the other, all gathered in single cause, all bearing the Confederate Hex.

All the years Horn Ambigene spent fighting felt worth it now, for this one single moment. It was vindication for his wartorn world, that their efforts had never been in waste.

“It exists now, General.”

“Quite right,” he smiled, pleased as he could be, “What were the Supreme Commander's orders, Wiffa?”

“Operation Storm-Door may begin,” she obediently recited, “Take Eriadu with all haste and proceed to Sullust, to relieve the Twenty-Eighth Mobile of its position, and fortify the system in preparation for enemy incursion.”

Take Eriadu will all haste, hm? This Supreme Commander of ours is quite the troublesome lass, isn’t she? To take a world like Eriadu with all haste… would still take months. Not only would it make it impossible to aid the 28th Mobile and fortify Sullust in a timely manner, it would also exact a bloody toll that Horn Ambigene was unwilling to see paid again. He despised people like the Pantoran, who demand so much with no effort to understand the painful endeavours taken to make her plans possible.

“I hear Admiral Bonteri has taken quite a beating at the hands of that Jedi, Rees Alrix,” General Ambigene, however, knew very well the realisms of war, “As we may find ourselves delayed here, let us send him some help. Don’t we have a black sheep among the Fourth Fleet Group we can expend?”

“Naradan Du’lin’s twenty Mistryl destroyers,” Wiffa Zett recalled, “She entered our AO a day ago, and then hid herself among our fleet.”

“The squadron of the infamous Emberlene Warfleet,” General Ambigene nodded in recognition, “Incredible mercenaries, those women. I remember now; a certain Admiral Trilm had requested a favour of me, that I discreetly send these mercenaries on their way without notifying the Pantoran.”

“Our Supreme Commander does not look brightly upon privateers and mercenaries.”

“I think they are quite useful,” the First General’s expression was hard at the thought of the Pantoran, “Fortunately for Calli Trilm, I do not like Sev’rance Tann. I was unable to fulfil this favour before, under the strict purview of our ‘standing orders,’ but with the commencement of Operation Storm-Door, this is the perfect opportunity. Send a hidden transmission to Naradan’s flagship, and let’s put her on her way… under the guise of pursuing Maarisa Zsinj, let us say.”

“Very good, General,” Wiffa Zett then relayed his orders, before returning to him, “But I must say… Calli Trilm’s designs seem to stretch across every corner of this Confederacy. Many say she is Dooku’s personal aide and confidant, yet she also commanded the Perlemian Coalition, and supported the rise of the Pantoran over Dooku’s own recommendation. And now she is the Supreme Commander’s political advisor, but also works behind her back to deal with mercenaries.”

“The spider’s web cannot be seen unless you are looking for it,” Horn Ambigene agreed, “And there poses the question; is it worth looking for it in the first place? I think not. Not for our means.”

He didn’t care about the Confederacy’s politics–he didn’t care about the Confederacy at all. No, he utterly despised it, the pit of snakes on Raxus wielding the grievances of the Outer Rim to further their own personal ambitions. None of them cared about the Rim; none of the cared about the slaves in chains, the open pit mines carving up worlds alive, the sprawling industrial complexes that swallowed entire biomasses. None of them. It just so happened that they opposed the Republic, and the enemy of Ambigene’s enemy was his ally.

Even the Confederate Armed Forces he fought for. A third of the CAF were former corporate stooges, the likes of that deplorable Trench, Loathsom, and Tonith. If it wasn’t for the fact that they now wielded their strength against the Republic, Ambigene would not think twice about killing them.

But what of the Supreme Commander, Sev’rance Tann? Bah–she was a military authoritarian who wanted nothing less than to command the galaxy’s largest military institutions as if it were her own personal fiefdom. The Confederacy, the entire Clone Wars, only served that one single purpose for her, and nothing else mattered. She couldn’t care less if billions had to die for her coveted final victory.

And what of those two rising stars, Rear Admiral Bonteri and Rear Admiral Trilm? They were nothing more than aristocrats in uniform, who cared only about themselves and their own personal power. Everything else was secondary.

Even Count Dooku himself couldn’t keep his true nature hidden forever, and now his sins had been aired over the holowaves.

The Confederacy of Independent Systems was one founded by idealists and ruled by rationalists. But he didn’t care. Because the Confederacy gave him the one thing he wanted for so long.

He allowed a beat to pass, as he carefully traced the outlines of Eriadu’s green continents and cheerful blue seas. This world is entirely at my mercy, he thought, and yet I shall give them one last chance to surrender.

“Contact Gideon Tarkin. I wish to offer one final chance of mercy.”

Mercy the Republic never gave me. Mercy I never gave the Republic. Perhaps he was a changed man? He nearly laughed at the absurdity.

Wiffa Zett bowed and departed, and not a moment later the holographic bust of Gideon Tarkin was before him.

“I recited the conduct of war to you before, Tarkin,” Horn Ambigene said bluntly, “And I shan’t do it again. Surrender, and I guarantee Eriadu’s entrance into the Confederacy of Independent Systems. The Outer Rim still welcomes Eriadu as one of its own. Do not force me to shed the blood of your world.”

Eriadu, Coruscant of the Outer Rim. As if that was a name to be proud of. Eriadu has been many times subject to offers of commonwealth from the Confederacy, and each time this blasted world turned down the welcoming hands of their brothers and sisters of the Outer Rim in favour of the pittances from the Core.

Eriadu was the last major Loyalist stronghold in the Outer Rim, and it was a world under siege, and one that has been, in one way or another, since the Clone Wars began. Its fleets have been decimated, its planetary shields cracked and broken. There was no resistance left, but that found planetside.

“I must decline again, Ambigene,” Gideon Tarkin was a poorly hidden disgust, as if he could hurl at the mere reminder of Eriadu being a Rimworld, “You will find us quite willing to spill our blood. Our loyalty to the Republic is absolute. If you wish to take this planet, then meet us on the ground. We shall fight for every landing ground, for every mountain fortress, every hill, and every city, and every street.”

Horn Ambigene sneered at Tarkin’s grandstanding, “As you wish. I shall say this out of what common cause I share with your people. Eriadu is still a Rimworld, and I cannot bear to witness the blood of the Rim spilled any further. As in accordance with the Yavin Code relative to the Protection of Civilian Persons in Time of War, I will allow you to evacuate your civilians unmolested. Let them not die for your arrogance.”

“It is your arrogance that will undo you, mad dog!” Gideon Tarkin snarled back, “We are not the same as you. We do not flee. Every citizen of Eriadu will do their duty for the Republic!”

“So be it. There are no words left to waste between us,” Horn Ambigene closed his eyes in remorse, ordered the connection severed, and opened his eyes in anger, “Was that recorded, Wiffa?”

“There are no non-combatants left on Eriadu, General. If they wish to die for the Republic, then let them die with it,” the fallen Jedi grinned, a brutal light gleaming within her eyes, “Our fleets are in position, General. We await only your word.”

The First General of the Confederacy lifted his tablet, and saw Eriadu in its entirety, and the 1,500 warships that orbited it. Then he saw power. Power found in rolled steel, in the bore of a cannon, in the warhead of a missile. He saw attack vectors. He saw attack vectors from every squadron and every ship. He saw targets. Painted targets, on every landing ground, every mountain fortress, every hill, every city, and every street.

The bridge of battleship Antecedent was silent in pregnant anticipation. Horn Ambigene reached into his overcoat and produced an old metal flask, banged and battered and dented and scorched, witness to a lifetime of battles. He popped off the lid, like the crack of thunder, and swirled the liquid, like the crashing of ocean waves.

He raised it to the lights above. Unbeknownst to him and all around him, a single tear ran down his cheek, in it mirrored the surface of Eriadu, as if the world was trapped in a crystal orb.

It was the last fragment of a young soul, who would spend his life in single-minded pursuit of justice, warring against the galaxy that wished to carve open his homeworld and extract its blood and flesh. It was the last fragment of an aged soul, who had surrendered his final humanity in his relentless crusade, and in the process ground his homeworld down to its bleached and salted bones. It was the last fragment of a callous wretch of a soul, who had been fighting a war against injustice for so long, he had ultimately forgotten what he had fought for.

Until nothing but bottomless hatred for the galaxy remained, a great pit that wished nothing more than to devour the stars and sate its hunger for vengeance. What did the Confederacy give he cherished so dearly? The power to spend the rest of his life spitting at his hated, eternal foe, until his very last breath. At last, after over half a century, that moment has come.

“My friends,” he told men long dead, unconcerned of his captive audience, “I stand here in your place. On behalf of us all, I extract our pound of flesh. I bring to this world; emancipation, the apocalypse.”

He drank to his lonely toast, and thus spoke the Ghost of Tydane–

“Remove this blight from the face of the Outer Rim.”

“With pleasure.”

From the surface of Eriadu, it must look like a hundred thousand newborn stars had graced the sky at once, even in the bright of day. Then lightning and thunder came to earth, fire raining from the sky, destructive pillars of energy that left nothing but ash behind. Massed fire from turbolasers, a ceaseless hail of missiles and torpedoes. From the surface, one could only look above and feel the stomach-churning certainty that the galaxy was falling upon you. The wrath of fifteen-hundred warships that descended like the hammer of the cosmos itself.

There was nowhere to hide.

Not over the oceans boiled into storms of superheated steam.

Not beside the lakes and ponds vaporised into dry, cracked earth under the stormfront of atmospheric hellfire.

Not on the landing grounds churned into fields tilled with blood and slaughter and baked into fields of shattered glass.

Not in the mountain fortresses buckled and cracked, falling into the abyssal depths of the crumbling mantle.

Not in the hills vanished beneath a relentless furor of hellfire, from which rivers of molten rock flowed freely.

Not in the cities reduced the smouldering remnants, the metal skeletons of skyscrapers like corpses of giants reaching for the heavens.

Not in the streets engulfed in raging firestorms, entire populations crying out in a terror that rang the galaxy like a bell, before being silenced in inevitable atomisation.

And the screams poured into the Force, until it was an unmistakable roar heard throughout the universe.

A Jedi wandering down the halls of the Temple looked to the sky, wondering if anybody could hear that too.

A Jedi among the deserts of Dantooine, feeling the sand shiver beneath their feet.

A Jedi wading through the swamps of Mimban, pausing as stagnant water quivered and flowed.

A Jedi tripping over an protruding root in the dense forests of Togoria, hearing the wind howl through the trees like a weeping choir.

A Jedi on the bridge of their starship, watching the stars burn with an intensity never seen before.

A Jedi standing amidst the towering heights of Coruscant, closing their eyes as the galaxy darkened just a bit more.

Two Sith in conversation in the bowels of the Works, savouring the damned and yet wondering when the monster they created had broken free, chain and collar all.

It would take forty-eight hours and seventeen billion lives, and the entire galaxy would know without question; the last and greatest offensive of the Confederacy has begun.