Sululluub Asteroid Field, Sullust System


    Brema Sector


    “We have received another transmission from Admiral Trench,” Tuff informed.


    “Good news?” I asked hopefully.


    “Negative. Our standing orders are still in effect,” a note of disappointment was produced by the droid’s artificial personality, “We are not to engage with the enemy until Operation Storm-Door commences.”


    Hope shrivelled into a confused frown, “You did remember to tell him that the enemy is engaging us, right?”


    “I have briefed the Admiral with all the necessary information, including the state of our forces and all actions that have transpired in the last sixty-one system hours,” the droid replied, “This is our third request for orders to engage. Admiral Trench has shown every indication of maintaining his stance.”


    –And his stance was the Office of the General’s stance, which in other words meant the Pantoran. Before the Supreme Commander affair, Trench and Tann were the two most reputable officers in the Separatist Alliance. Pillars, you could say, holding up the Confederacy’s military, and as we are at war, thus the Confederacy itself. That naturally meant a rivalry, one perhaps tinged by mutual respect, but still persists to this day.


    The reason for which? There were still two prevalent groups of officers in the CAF. Those formerly on corporatist payrolls, and those on federal payrolls. The Militia Act had by and large eliminated the former, mandating the latter nation-wide, but there was still a noticeable difference in culture between one and the other.


    Sev’rance Tann may be the Supreme Commander now, but Trench still had the ear of a not insignificant fraction of the CAF. The point I’m getting at is that if Trench and Tann aren’t on the same page, the CAF would not be operating as smoothly as it currently wass.


    In other words, Trench wouldn’t so blindly enforce Tann’s ‘standing orders’ unless he himself personally agreed with her. We''ve already explained in detail the exact predicament the 28th Mobile found itself in.


    I breathed out. Since Trench still did not change his orders even after that...


    So is this all part of the plan? I could only suspect.


    It has been sixty-one system hours since that initial bloodless skirmish, and Jedi General Rees Alrix has attacked us two more times. Three skirmishes. Three messages to the Admiral begging for permission to attack and wipe them out. Three rejections.


    It was actually infuriating, how obvious Alrix’s play was, and how we were unable to respond due to–what I assume, at least–greater strategic concerns. For sixty-one system hours, I could almost see the cogs turning in her head as she methodically tore apart our situation like a noir detective, sussing out every detail that made us tick.


    See, I had made a mistake, sixty-one system hours ago. We did not know why General Alrix had targeted the Auxiliary Division; we didn’t even know if that was her intent at all. In preparation for her attack, we had taken every precaution. Not only had we moved our main battle line forward by fifty-five million klicks, we also left the Auxiliary Division in the middle of an asteroid field, guarded by over an additional hundred warships. An attack on the auxiliaries shouldn’t have even existed in the realm of possibility.


    Who would take that risk, for five unassuming converted bulkers? Who would spend a hundred veteran warships for that?


    Alrix did anyway.


    We think Alrix did anyway. And that was the problem, we soon realised. There was no exaggerating the importance of the ‘6th Auxiliary Division. Not only was it the fulcrum for Operation Starlance, it was also a cornerstone of Operation Storm-Door on the Rimma Trade Route. So when Alrix fixed her intercept on the auxiliaries and charged, we flinched.


    Because our plan was blatantly obvious from the start; allow Alrix to come to us, and encircle her forces. She must have known that as well. For all we knew, her insane charge was simply a test to gauge our reaction, with no intent to actually follow through. Whatever the reason, we gave her an answer.


    Because we flinched. I gave the order to prioritise the defence of our auxiliaries. We abandoned our strategy to encircle, and pivoted into a defensive line ahead.


    And that confirmed her suspicions. Because we were slated for a crushing victory. Even if Alrix had followed through and smashed straight through us, the ultimate result would have been her fleet being caught isolated in the black, between two Separatist forces. We could have easily adapted and envelop her anyway, completely destroying the one major obstacle in our path without Storm-Door even starting.


    Except the risk to our auxiliaries was too great. Taskforce Conciliator still wielded nine Tector-class Star Destroyers and sixty Venator-class battlecruisers. Enough firepower in both capital ships and starfighters to pose a real threat to our rearguard. By the time our main battle line has reversed and caught up… even a single auxiliary being lost would cut down our chances of success in future campaigns by a fifth.


    Sixteen system hours later, Taskforce Conciliator launched their second attack. Alrix split her force into half a dozen squadrons and dispersed them across the star system, keeping her main formation between us and Sullust In the first skirmish, we had flinched, raising Rees Alrix’s suspicions–now she wanted to confirm those suspicions.


    For the next eighteen system hours, we suffered raids and skirmishes all across the Sullust Star System. She attacked, we fled, and she pursued. Again, and again, and again, to the next moon, and the next planet. She prodded different sections of the 28th Mobile Fleet, gauging our reaction each time and slowly building up a case. In the end, we made the decision to retreat into a highly defensible position in the Sululluub Asteroid Field, around a derelict mining station discovered by Horgo’s Strike Division. As Alrix had ostensibly given up her task of sieging Sullust in favour of hunting down our auxiliaries, this was the only surefire way to physically keep her at bay until the order to execute Operation Storm-Door arrives.


    A wait that was growing more and more unbearable by the hour, to the point where I felt like a persistent ex-lover constantly dialling Trench for updates. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, Tuff convinced me that our case would be more convincing if we did so after every enemy action instead, to build up justifications.


    In any case, it was then she all but confirmed that the ‘6th Auxiliary Division was truly the linchpin the 28th Mobile Fleet pivoted around. After all, the ‘6th was what put ‘Mobile’ in ‘Mobile Fleet.’ Every time she pressured the position of the ‘6th, we would redeploy in force, slowly but surely retreating the auxiliaries deeper into the asteroid field.


    In that time, she realised the second thing; we weren’t going on the offensive. When she split her force, she opened up a massive weakness. We could have surged out, crushing each squadron in detail. But we didn’t. We were under standing orders not to. But she didn’t know that, and with her suspicions raised, she wanted to confirm that too.


    Twelve system hours later, Task Force Conciliator sallied out a third time. But this time, she didn’t adopt any formation. In fact, she adopted the antithesis to ‘formation.’ As if mocking us, she deployed each of her ships in isolated groups of two to three, parading them just outside the Sululluub Asteroid Field. She tested our limits, like dipping her toes into gryzard infested waters, trying to figure out exactly how close she could get without us attacking.


    She got her answer when she came within five-million klicks of the asteroid field, when Horgo Shive’s ‘2nd Strike Division struck out with the speed of a viper, destroying a cruiser and two corvettes in the blink of an eye. She withdrew again, after that.


    After all three skirmishes, we immediately requested orders to attack. Jedi General Alrix was, after all, slowly but steadily discovering the true purpose of the ‘6th Auxiliary Division. We had already intercepted multiple outgoing transmissions requesting reinforcements from nearby Loyalist taskgroups. Our situation was deteriorating by the hour. Taskforce Conciliator had discovered our fatal weakness, and mercilessly exploiting our inability to attack, flipped the battlefield on its head.


    Taskforce Conciliator had the upper hand against an opponent four times their size, albeit, somewhat equal tonnage. And infuriatingly, in all three skirmishes, she used insane tactics that should have never had succeeded, if not for the chains bound around our wrists.


    It has been fifteen system hours since then.


    Horgo Shive contacted me.


    “Alrix is out in force again,” the Muun Commodore reported, “She’s headed right for us with her entire fleet.”


    I shared a look with my tactical droid, before breathing out slowly, “What mad strategy is she going to employ this time?”


    “She’s already employing it, Admiral,” Shive possessed a tone one would have observing an exotic animal in a menagerie, “She’s coming at us through the asteroid field.”


    Despite myself, a note of beleaguered expectation dropped from my tongue, “So she’s actually doing it.”


    ?


    Commodore Kendal Ozzel observed the tactical display and deflector readout in tandem.


    The Sululluub Asteroid Field was a vast thing, a torus-shaped belt orbiting the star in between Sullust and the gas giant Lununmo. It was there that the enemy had hidden their most protected assets; the five auxiliaries. Over the past sixty-one system hours, the Separatists have withdrawn deeper and deeper into the asteroid belt under the constant pressure of Taskforce Conciliator.


    That alone was proof that the auxiliaries were key to their campaign. No other force would sacrifice so much, and risk so much, to protect some mere retrofitted merchantmen. Bringing bulkers into an asteroid field was bold enough. They didn’t have military-grade deflectors; all it took was a few fast moving asteroids slipping through their escorts to cripple them. Yet, they hazarded the threat anyway, all to create as much distance between them and Taskforce Conciliator.


    After all, who would fight a battle in an asteroid field?


    Kendal Ozzel grinned.


    We would.


    Over the last sixty-two hours, they had discovered two key objects of interest. First, the Separatists were prioritising the safety of their auxiliaries to an unbelievable degree. Second, they were unwilling, or unable, to go on the offensive. With both factors in mind, Taskforce Conciliator possessed an incredible advantage. They could choose the time of battle, they controlled the initiative, and they could set the siege.


    “Deflectors holding steady, sir,” a technician notified.


    “I’m not blind, ensign!” Ozzel snapped, “Look in front of us! Resilient’s division is shielding us from the asteroids! Our only priority at the moment is to remain untouched until the General gives the order.”


    “Y-Yes sir.”


    Intermittent flashes of blue light battered the polarised viewports. Turbolaser bolts, vaporising any asteroid that draws too close for comfort.


    The Separatists have chosen their fortress cleverly. There was a clearing, deep within the asteroid belt, carved out by a derelict mining station, large enough to station the entirety of their fleet. From the clearing branched two winding corridors, each around 2,000,000 klicks long and 40,000 klicks wide, separated by a some hundred-degree angle transversely and thirty-degrees vertically, in which laid the tumultuous chaos of the Sululluub Asteroid Field.


    In this nature, the Separatists only needed to defend two thin, navigable strings of space. And should Taskforce Conciliator push down one capillary, they can evacuate their auxiliaries through the other. The tunnel-shaped voids were originally excavated by the Sullustans, to access their old mining station–but now it was to be another battlefield of this ever expanding war. Even Ozzel had to admit, there was no better location to stage a defensive battle.


    There were concerns among the staff, though it seems there always was some way or the other. It must be a Separatist trick, they say, the enemy most certainly awaits us with a trap–that is plain to see!


    Ozzel had to remind them not to think so hard about it. No need to look at the guarlara in the mouth, as it were. The only thing they had to focus on was the destruction of the enemy fleet before their foe suddenly finds the will to attack.


    They didn’t have to stress over the true purpose of the auxiliaries if said auxiliaries were scrap metal drifting on solar winds.


    But the Separatists have chosen a location where we can’t trap them! They bickered loudly again. After all, a diameter of forty-thousand klicks was not too small to host opposing lines of battle. The Perlemian Coalition’s Armada, hamstrung by unknown orders as they were, still boasted many times their number. For Taskforce Conciliator to bear any possibility of breaking through one corridor, they must bring the full might of their fleet–which will allow the enemy to escape from the other exit.


    No matter. The answer to this conundrum was obvious.


    “Follow the General’s lead!” he roared, jabbing forward, “Deflectors to the bow; all ships, forward!”


    Star Destroyer Imperious forged ahead at the head of nine Tectors and twelve Venators. Directly ahead of them, battlecruiser Resilient’s ice-blue ion drives sputtered, then roared, leading the way for two dozen Venators and a score of escorts–while on their starboard bow laid the main mass of the Sululluub Asteroid Belt. And on the opposite side of the belt, little over four-million klicks starward, was the battlecruiser Statesman leading the remainder of Taskforce Conciliator.


    Said answer was of course approaching down both corridors, trapping the enemy.


    One of Imperious’ batteries thundered off, vaporising an asteroid that dared to slip Resilient’s reach.


    Ozzel diverted his attention to the radiation scanners, and the fiery red blots piercing through the cool blues and blacks of lifeless rocks.


    He would have preferred to be leading the vanguard, but the Jedi General had all nine of their battleships grouped together under his command. Even if he wasn’t privy to her exact plan–if she even had a plan–it was clear enough that his nine Tectors would be hammerblow to crush the Separatist menace once and for all. He only needed to be a little bit patient…


    Still, there was that nagging feeling at the back of his head, that all was not what it seemed. Why did General Alrix split our fleet in two, for one, or three, counting my squadron. It couldn’t be as simple as trying to hit the enemy from two angles; the Separatists still boasted four times their number…


    He chewed air.


    Jedi’s still seeing something I’m not. Again.


    ?


    “They’re coming in from both corridors,” Krett laid out the basic details, “Two-thirds led by Resilient to our starboard, and one-third led by Statesman to our port.”


    “Splitting their force like this…” Horgo narrowed his eyes, “Do they not understand that Statesman will have their positions overrun immediately?”


    “We’ll match them,” I said to the officers, “Diedrich and Horgo will hold the line against Resilient and Imperious. They will give ground and buy time. Vinoc, Ventress and I will take our port flank, against Statesman. We’ll take our heaviest dreadnoughts, smash their starward division, sweep around to the rimward side of the belt, and block Alrix’s rear.”


    Diedrich Greyshade and Horgo Shive had the most experience with independent command, and their ‘2nd and ‘3rd Divisions were nothing to scoff at either, with a combined 115 warships–twice the number of the the Republic’s left flank, if not quite twice the tonnage. Considering the make of both fleets, in fact, the tonnage differential was nearly non-existent. Against the full-forward firing arcs of Star Destroyers, they were initially going to have a hard time about it, but we had an astrographical trick up our sleeves.


    Vinoc, Ventress and I, on the other hand, will have 130 ships, among which were some of Ventress’ repaired warships. Three times the Republic’s starward flank. That left Krett with some hundred and twenty warships in reserve.


    “I’ll take the rear again,” Krett confirmed, “I’ll keep an eye out for any enemy stratagems. But for now, stay wary.”


    Krett was our defence specialist, aboard the floating fortress Fortressa. He was one of the first to figure out Alrix’s play sixty or so hours ago, even without the Force in his head. Seeing how I was blind as a mole-rat then, I would be remiss if I didn’t take his advice. I mean… he successfully stalemated not one, but two Jedi Generals at the Siege of Ringo Vinda for three entire months. Neimoidian or not, he had a better head on his shoulders than any of us, in this regard.


    “General Alrix’s stratagems may seem mindless at first,” Krett warned, “But as with all Jedi, the idea behind all of them are rather simple. The hardest part is to stop overthinking. Consider meeting us in the belt. It may seem the height of lunacy, but it has its merits.”


    A round of affirmative nods swept through us. Looking at the tactical readouts shared across all of our displays, it was spelled out plainly. Within the confined spaces, Alrix was likely seeking a brawl, where Republic ships held the tactical advantage.


    See, the battlefield doctrine of the Republic and Separatist Alliance had irrevocably diverged. The Republic had greater access to high quality ammunition, thanks to their heavily industrialised Core Worlds–seen with the widespread use of their iconic blue ionised blaster bolts. The Confederacy, on the other hand, was forced to rely on cheaper, unrefined gases, as apparent from our red bolts.


    As turbolaser bolts were close quarter armaments, Republic starship designers naturally gravitated to heavier, frontloaded brawlers. Star Destroyers.


    To counter this, the Separatist Alliance moved away from gas-based weaponry, and invested in self-propelled warheads. The Providence-class star destroyer was the product; boasting a heavy array of turbolaser batteries, indeed, but its main firepower lay in its 306 torpedo tubes in 102 launchers. Then came the dreadnought variant, boasting twice that number. It was designed to be the antithesis to the Star Destroyer; to levy its missile armament to pound its opponents to scrap before they could ever get trapped in close quarters combat.


    By contrast, Venators only had four torpedo tubes, and it has been discovered that the Republic’s newest Tector-class had foregone torpedoes and missiles entirely.


    Long range battles like Centares was where the Confederacy’s starfleets shone most brightly, but get trapped in a Star Destroyer’s hammerlock–even a Venator’s–and a Providence is unlikely to win in a one-to-one brawl.


    “Looks like Alrix doesn’t want a repeat of sixteen hours ago,” Shive grinned, “Can’t blame the girl, you know?”


    Sixteen hours ago, Alrix sent a Hammerhead a bit too close to us, into the effective range of one of Shive’s missile frigates. This time, she was approaching under the cover of the belt, effectively forcing us into the close quarters brawl Separatist battle doctrine had evolved to avoid.


    It was true that the only reason we were in this predicament was because of Ventress, even if none of us would say it in her presence. If it wasn’t for Ventress’ damaged flotilla stuck here, we could be stationed safely outside of the Sullust System’s termination shock, waiting patiently for Operation Storm-Door to begin. However, we chose this location for a reason. The navigable tunnels had a quirk Alrix couldn’t know from outside, one that allowed us to marshal our full numbers.


    And it was that they widened ever so imperceptibly closer to the clearing, until it was too late, ballooning from 40,000 klicks to nearly 100,000 klicks in diameter near our end.


    “One more thing,” Ventress rasped, “Our Vultures will be useless.”


    “Not useless,” Diedrich admonished, “Just… diminished.”


    Vulture swarm tactics don’t work in an asteroid field, for obvious reasons.


    “I will take our best aces,” the Sith Acolyte said, “And only the most responsive Vultures. Any more would be a liability out there. This time, Bonteri, when I warn you, do your best to listen to me.”


    “Duly noted,” I sighed, “Anything to add, Vinoc?”


    “Look out for me too, Ventress,” he drawled, “I’m not the most connected with the Force.”


    Ventress sneered, but crossed her arms in agreement anyway, “I know.”


    There was a jab there, depending on how you took it. But Vinoc only seemed amused, and I wasn’t in the mood for stepping into other people’s quarrels.


    “If that’s all,” Horgo clapped with long, spindly hands, “Let’s get the show on the road!”


    “Remember,” Krett said one more time, “In a battle outside the bounds of common sense, commonsensical thought is always found most lacking. The Jedi’s first and final trick is not on the battlefield, but in our heads. Whatever happens, do not overthink it.”


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    The holograms then flashed out of existence. Repulse’s pilothouse dimmed into battle lighting, and the heavy thuds of blast shields vibrated the bridge as they covered the viewports. The holographic HUD spun up a moment later, cycling through a dozen different sensor modes before settling on IR.


    I patted one of Repulse’s consoles as the ship automatically pinpointed the enemy signatures ahead, Star Destroyer drive cones radiating brightly through the dense asteroid field.


    “Time for another go at it, old girl.”


    Repulse rumbled in agreement.


    ?


    A firefight was breaking out.


    Ozzel could only watch the shadowed backs of Resilient and her two-dozen battlecruisers as the first opening salvos trumpeted the declaration of battle. There had been once again cautionary words of Separatist trickery from the staff, right before the outset. After all, in these narrow corridors it was impossible to use a large force to its best advantage. The Separatists will not be able to marshal their most irritable tactic, the presentation of broadsides in line ahead.


    It was reasoned, then, that the Separatists were likely to prepare a trap ahead.


    Ozzel scoffed at that.


    It’s not so complicated. The Separatists won’t spring any trap, because they won’t be able to. It is the Republic taking the initiative, setting the stage, and controlling the pace. This was the Republic’s game, not the enemy’s.


    Sixty-three system hours since the first Skirmish at Sullust, the forces of the Republic and Confederacy met in the first major engagement in the star system. Loyalist warships, in convex formation, steadily pounded forward, intent on overwhelming the enemy with the depth of the all-forward firing envelopes of their Star Destroyers. Hundreds of brilliant beams pierced the boundless forest of asteroids, blue-red fangs of energy bit into deflector shields in sparks of bright light, the sheer volume trapped within the constriction turning them almost violet.


    Don’t overthink it. That’s what Ozzel always said.


    There were no fancy formations, no brilliant manoeuvres, no convoluted stratagems. There were only shields forward, and the enemy ahead. This was not a battle of skill, but one of pure firepower.


    And the Navy of the Republic was not lacking in firepower.


    General Alrix’s battlecruisers roared ahead in furious forward assault, heavy DBY-827 turbolaser batteries shoving shot after shot down the throats of the enemy. In this battlefield, the main Separatist ships of the line, their Providences, were unable to present their broadsides, whereas the Republic’s wedge-shaped hulls could open fire with all guns.


    Ozzel felt his stomach churn. They were winning, that much was certain. After responding to the initial assault, the Separatist right flank had finally laid down a steady stream of laser fire, and began retreating back up the corridor. But something still nagged at him. His Tectors, the heaviest warships in Taskforce Conciliator, were stationed at the rear.


    It was not so much that it was a questionable decision–though it no doubt was–simply that he wished he was in the vanguard, so that he could see the faces of the fleeing enemy himself.


    Unable to do so, Ozzel occupied himself by reviewing the tactical displays to vicariously live the battle through the screens


    And it was there he noticed that as the Republic left wing pushed the Separatists further and further, the diameter of the corridor was slowly beginning to widen, like a reverse funnel. As it did, the enemy was able to introduce more ships to their frontline one by one. Already, some Separatist Providences were trying to storm past the bow of Resilient, nearly brandishing their torpedo launchers, if not for the relentless fire of the Republic front pushing them back.


    “Get me a line to the General!” Ozzel barked.


    “Patching in the Resilient right away, sir!”


    General Alrix’s hologram commanded the deck of Imperious as she appeared, earthen cloak ruffling in an imaginary breeze.


    “Something the matter, Commodore?”


    “Reporting, sir,” Ozzel missed the timing to salute, but the Jedi didn’t seem to notice, “The passage is expanding, allowing the enemy to leverage their greater numbers against us. The further we push them back, the more the astrographical advantage will slip from us and tilt towards the Separatists.”


    It appeared the Separatists had prepared accordingly by retreating into a larger region navigable space in the belt in their rear. It was difficult to parse on the tactical display, but with a keen eye and some skill with the hardware, one could project what looked like a wine bottle in the asteroid field. Right now, they were in the ‘bottleneck,’ but as they pushed, they were gradually moving into the ‘bottle’ itself. If they continued pushing, the Separatists could easily field reinforcements and surround them before they could realise.


    General Alrix disappeared for a brief moment, ostensibly to corroborate his findings.


    Sixty-four hours. A wave of asteroids buffeted Imperious and Ozzel’s rearguard, bypassing the bow-concentrated particle shields and tearing into their Tectors’ armour plating. Superficial damage, and perhaps from some freak event.


    Two minutes later, a second wave of asteroids broadsided his ships with chaotic turbulence, knocking their formation off-kilter. Ozzel, cracking whips of rebuke at his panicking deck crew, ordered shields diverted to starboard to block the next wave.


    “Get our formation back in order!” he demanded fiercely, “Lieutenant, I want details, now!”


    The General had not yet returned, leaving the holoprojector flourishing a mildly blue empty space, one intermittently interrupted by Resilient’s deck officers passing back and forth like apparitions.


    “It’s hard to tell, but it looks like our right flank is the cause, sir!” the sensor officer reported hastily, fingers dancing across his dashboard.


    “How!?”


    “It’s the Statesman, sir!” the lieutenant swallowed thickly, “They’re targeting the asteroids around them!”


    Ozzel fell into contemplation, but the sensor officer took his silence as confusion.


    “...They are shattering the asteroids, sir,” he tried to explain, “Creating a chain reaction of fragmenting asteroids that is now reaching us. Our right flank is trying to collapse the tunnel, and make the space unnavigable–”


    “I know that,” Ozzel snarled, “I want to know why they are doing that! It wasn’t part of the plan!”


    If it was, then he wasn’t informed. The thought only served to irritate him further.


    “Commodore,” the Jedi’s calm voice nearly made him jump as he snapped around, “Statesman reports they are being pushed back.”


    Ozzel wetted his lips, looking out through the starboard viewport. Apart from splintering asteroids, there was no sign of the battle so far away yet so near. The enemy strategy clicked in his head. The reason they were so easily pushing back the paltry force on their front must be because the enemy had marshalled their heaviest squadrons against Statesman.


    “They must be intending to crush our starward division, then sweep around and hit us from our rear,” he predicted, “How will we respond?”


    “I am unable to,” Alrix said, “The Separatist rearline had sent some forty ships to reinforce the front. It is as you say. The further we push them back, the stronger the resistance. We are already losing momentum, and must soon consider our vector of retreat. Unfortunate, but we can still accomplish the objective of this battle.”


    “Then cycle my battleships to the front!” Ozzel demanded heatedly, “Our Tectors are more than an even match for however many numbers the Separatists try to throw at us!”


    “Not quite,” the Jedi General’s expression grew a mote colder, “I foresee a great blaze in our foe’s ranks. I need you to ignite that blaze, and the ensuing wildfire will consume them.”


    Ozzel quite liked the sound of that.


    “You only must point me in the direction, General.”


    Rees Alrix closed her eyes and spun towards the viewports, as if she was only deciding upon his target right at that moment. After a long moment, she lifted up an arm and pointed a finger.


    “I sense a vulnerability right… there.”


    Kendal Ozzel tried to trace her finger on the tactical display, following it as a straight line until– would you look at that, so that’s why the Statesman was… unbelievable. He was starting to like his Jedi. Maybe Admiral Wieler had been onto something.


    “That’s not a target,” he had the compulsion to point out.


    “A vulnerability can be many things, not merely a place and time. Here, it is a choice with no correct answers,” Alrix lectured with a sense of finality, “I trust that you do not have the same weakness. May the Force be with you.”


    ?


    On the Separatist left wing, the forest of asteroids transformed into a garden of red, blue, and violets overrun with wildly blooming blossoms. Javelins of light blazed and gleaming missiles screeched down the corridor as we stormed the Republic back. For some reason, they weren’t directly responding, but instead focusing on trying to collapse the tunnel by shattering the asteroids around us.


    Every time the display refreshed, a drive cone would dim, then disappear, among the mounting chaos. Flowers sprung across the hulls of ships, smoking wakes their stems and destruction their petals, each colourful blossom consuming the lives of hundreds.


    Star dreadnought Olympus Mons led the charge, six-hundred missiles erupting from her hulls like the black wings of a god of war incarnate, unfurling out as she lashed at the enemy. By now, microasteroids were more hazardous than the enemy; miniscule grains of rock zipping around like a mad game of pinball, slipping through exhausted shields and tearing plating from warships.


    “The corridor is collapsing,” Tuff reported, audibly concerned.


    “We have them on the ropes. This is their last ditch attempt to stop us,” I grunted, toggling the comms, “All ships, all ahead full! Break the enemy!”


    Sublight drives ignited, and the ‘4th Battle Division roared in triumph, its dozen battleships and ten battlecruisers driving ahead in furious tempo. Before us, the Republic was burning a frantic retro as they attempted to withdraw from the worsening situation. Like a nest of rampaging leviathans, our dreadnoughts surged past the enemy’s bow, unleashing concentrated fusillades of strikes against the enemy.


    Battlecruiser Statesman, buckled, then snapped under the pressure. Olympus Mons unleashed another broadside, tearing out chunks of doonium and ripping apart bulkheads. From the wreck, debris and bodies streamed out into the hard vacuum. And yet, even then Statesman’s dorsal turbolasers continued defiantly thundering out into the void. Even more, as if escaping their mother’s corpse, a flurry of starfighters streamed out of the gaping holes in a last ditch attempt to strike back, only to be met by whips of point defence–if they had not already been popped by the stray micrometeoroid.


    The indomitable spirit displayed was something to be admired.


    “Our shields are in the red,” Kavia warned through the intercom, “Any longer in here and I can’t guarantee hull integrity.”


    “Got it,” my uniform was soaked through with hot sweat on cold skin as I did my best to manage both the fleet and my own ship, “Crying Sun, you alright?”


    Far ahead of me, I tried to make out Crying Sun through the array of battle. The ‘4th Battle Division had pushed nearly 12,000 klicks ahead Repulse, hounding the remnants of Alrix’s starward wing every step of the way.


    “Going strong,” Vinoc answered, “We’ve taken damage on our port bow, but the Second Division can still follow through with the plan. There’s a problem, though.”


    Of course there was. I blew out a breath.


    “Let’s hear it.”


    “Something doesn’t feel right. Alrix sent so little to face us over here, and they’re crumbling so easily. Even she should know better, and if not her than her staff. This has to be a trick.”


    “Is that the Force talking?”


    “I can’t tell the difference.”


    I swallowed, “Diedrich and Horgo are running Caraya’s Gauntlet out there, by how far Alrix is hammering them. We need to clean this up on our front and help them as soon as possible.”


    Despite Vinoc, my every instinct was still roaring to push, push, and push. Our opponent was on the back foot, their line was crumbling, and we had momentum on our side. Just a little further, the devil on my shoulder seemed to whisper, just a little further and we’ll crack them open.


    “Incoming transmission from Ventress,” Taylor looked at me.


    “Patch her in.”


    “Bonteri,” Ventress’ naturally gravelly voice said, “I’m bringing my fighters to our right flank.”


    Not even asking for permission, huh?


    “Why?”


    “Alrix has played her hand.”


    Sixty-five hours. The Republic rearguard of nine Tector-class Star Destroyers and dozen Venators finally sprung into action. Battleships in the lead, they veered starboard and plunged straight into the field of asteroids in between the corridors, crashing their way through the forest of cosmic rocks, shoving and trampling every obstacle in their way without any concern for their own safety.


    For a moment, it felt like the battlefield was holding its breath as all sides watched the some thirty warships slamming through the supposedly unnavigable region. With relatively fresh shields, the Tectors rammed every asteroid it did not vaporise beforehand, driving a deep wedge into the gap and blatantly posing the question; ‘where am I headed!?’


    “To do this now…” I started.


    “The plausibility of this action being a coincidence is exceedingly low,” Tuff finished, “I will conduct a full recalculation of the battle.”


    If we were to consider Alrix’s main objective in the past, then the obvious conclusion was that they were going to try reaching our rearguard and target our auxiliaries. But it just seemed so… unreasonable. They had what, some thirty ships? Commodore Krett had almost ninety ships in reserve, not to mention that even those Tectors would have their shields spent long before they reached Krett’s main line of battle.


    So how would they do that? They can’t rely on sheer speed this time, not this thicket. Shit, what was the enemy seeing that we weren’t?


    “Take every fighter you need and slow them down,” I hastily told Ventress, “Taylor, bring up every angle of the battle as you can. Tuff, try to calculate every possible way those Tectors could break through Krett’s line.”


    “Don’t need to tell me, Bonteri.”


    “Roger roger.”


    “I will not assume,” Tuff declined, “There is no evidence that our auxiliaries are General Alrix’s target.”


    “They have been for the past sixty hours–” the tactical holos exploded onto the bridge, pins and annotations and vectors criss-crossing all of them as the collective computing power of Repulse’s bridge plunged into calculations as we tried to find the ‘vulnerability’ that Alrix was seeking out, “–What could she be after if not them?”


    “It is statistically impossible for the enemy to breach our rearguard,” Tuff inserted, “The plausibility of such an event is a percentage of a percentage. They cannot be targeting our auxiliaries.”


    “You know statistics aren’t reliable when the Force is in the equation–”


    My uniform was soaked through, now. Did Repulse’s radiators get destroyed? From time to time, I would look back up from my figures to see the enemy Tectors drawing closer and closer.


    “I concede that your statement is more true than false,” Tuff was deathly calm, “However, consider the ten-point-two-three-three percent chance that the Tectors manage to destroy the Fourth Battle Division.”


    Wait. Closer and closer?


    There was no way to accurately tell their vectors, as they were flying manually, weaving through the asteroid field as they avoided the larger rocks and pushed through the smaller ones. However, if they were targeting our rearline, shouldn’t they be proceeding laterally relative to our stations?


    “In that case… you think they are coming here?”


    “I have included Commodore Krett’s input into my calculation parameters,” the droid all but confirmed, “I can only conclude that the most probable answer is the correct answer.”


    Don’t overthink it. Once you do, the Jedi’s got you in their trap.


    The Tectors were still headed in such a way that there was no predicting which way they could go. A swarm of lights–starfighters–were now buzzing around them, starting a lightshow amidst the asteroids.


    “Then bring us around,” my mind settled into a concentrated fugue, completely absorbed into the tactical holo, “Let’s meet them. Get me Krett and Vinoc.”


    “We’re patched in, sir.”


    “Crying Sun, Repulse,” I wasted no time, “Withdraw to my position at best speed. Fortressa, Repulse, I’m requesting reinforcements.”


    “I already sent the forty ships to reinforce Greyshade’s Battle Division,” Krett replied first, with a tone of apology, “I’m seeing the same thing you are. Right now, those Tectors could either hit you or me, correct? If we were playing dejarik, then Alrix got us in a fork. If I reinforce you– my tactical droid calculated that the Tectors will come for me instead. I’ve got my pride in Fortressa, but against twenty-one Star Destroyers? They’ll have a straight run to Jorm.”


    I fist was so tightly clenched around my tablet that I wouldn’t be surprised if the crystal screen cracked. The asteroid field was still interfering with our sensors. Every time the display refreshed, those Tectors appeared in completely different places than the system predicted, splitting up and converging time and time again.


    “I can dispatch a squadron,” Krett tried, “Make it linger half way between us. We’ll observe how Alrix responds, and redeploy accordingly.”


    “Those are twelve Venators,” I winced, “Can your frigates react faster than starfighters storming your position?”


    The ensuing silence was all the answer needed.


    “Stay put,” I told him, “Tell Diedrich and Horgo to storm Alrix’s positions and take out as many of her ships as possible.”


    “Shall I deploy Vultures?”


    “Let’s not waste them.”


    “That’s all well and good,” this time it was Vinoc who made his presence known, “But I think I just found out Alrix’s trick. We’re stuck.”


    “Say again?”


    “We used to fish back on Folende,” he said, “This is a fish trap. And we’re the fish.”


    I looked back at the tactical holo, spinning it to get a better angle on our port flank. With his words in mind and heart in my throat, I found the corridor… still there. Confusion blossomed in my chest. From Repulse’s scopes, it was true that the passageway had been constricted thanks to Statesman’s wild firing, from some 40,000 klicks sloping down to 10,000–but it still appeared entirely navigable.


    “I don’t follow,” I nudged Tuff to pry into his thoughts on the matter, “Are you able to withdraw?”


    “We are,” Vinoc hastily swore, “But we’ll have to thread the needle. From our side, the corridor is no wider than a hundred and twenty klicks. The friendly folks here know it–they planned it. They’re just waiting for us to turn around so they can rip into our rear as we try to squeeze through the hole.”


    In other words, I’ll damn the 284th Battle Division to annihilation if I retreat, as I would be allowing the Tectors to complete the encirclement. If I remained in an attempt to buy time for Vinoc to extract, however, it may be signing off my own annihilation. Munificents were capable warships, and could punch far above their weight class… but against Tectors? Those things were triple Repulse’s size and had quadruple Repulse’s firepower.


    For a moment, I considered asking Vinoc to go through the asteroid field, just as the Tectors were doing now, but Tuff seemed to realise what I was thinking, and dissuaded me with a stern look from his pitiless photoreceptors. Demanding foolish acts made in desperation are unlike you, they seemed to say.


    Then the Tectors turned, finally settling onto their ultimate heading–straight towards us. My mouth dried. I have to make a decision. The thought seemed so far away. Do I stay or retreat?


    “Get your game together Bonteri!”


    For a moment, I thought it was conscience coming back to haunt me again. Then I reasoned there was no way my conscience would have the grating voice of a chainsmoker.


    “Alrix isn’t kriffing invincible!” Ventress berated.


    As if illustrating her point, a thundering explosion roared through the comlink–briefly deafening me–followed by a flash of light and blinking pin. The drive signature of a single Tector-class Star Destroyer was wiped off the map.


    “There’s no trying to outwit her game,” Ventress snarled, and a second drive signature disappeared. But for each Star Destroyer downed, it cost dozens of her own pilots, “So just play it!”


    The dozen Venators opened their hangars, flooding the tactical holo with a convulsing mass of ARC-170s, swiftly overwhelming Ventress’ squadrons and forcing her to retreat. As the Dark Acolyte did, she swung around a 120-klick wide asteroid and struck the nearest Venator in retaliation, hitting something nasty and blowing it up. The ARC-170s pursued briefly, before breaking off and turning their attention–all 2,500 of them–to me. My frigates will be lamb to the slaughter.


    “The odds have reversed on our right flank. Conciliator is now being pushed back, due to Commodore Krett’s reinforcements,” Tuff notified, “This battle will be decided here. Your decision, sir?”


    I looked back, ears still ringing from the destruction of the Venator. The first of Vinoc’s battleships had just crossed the collapsed tunnel. Repulse’s scopes could just faintly make out a great blaze tearing apart the asteroid field on the other side as Olympus Mons fought like a dreadnought possessed, near-singlehandedly keeping the counter-attacking enemy at bay.


    “...How many ships do I have?” I asked anyone who could answer.


    “Fifty-five,” Taylor immediately said, “Five Providences; thirty Munificents, including Repulse, Renown, Revenge, Unicorn, and Centaur; and twenty smaller ships.”


    And each and every one of them had an open palm painted onto their hulls. It was my personal fleet, the White Hand. The symbol was proof of my existence, a small, personal rebellion against the unfairness cosmic powers had dealt me. Throughout the history of my world, cave paintings often feature handprints that serve as a testament to humanity’s existence. In a similar vein, the placement of the open palm on distant planets or moons was a message to the universe, a declaration that we were here and left our mark on the cosmos.


    Maybe, just somewhere, somehow, I had hoped I was not the only Earthling in this foreign place, and that someone might have recognised the symbol as I gained notoriety in the galaxy. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, nothing ever came of it. Maybe that simply meant that this was my galaxy now, and there was no point looking back.


    I made a cursory check of the White Hand’s overview, confirming something I already knew. Depleted shields, major structural damage, hull integrities failing. There would be no coming back. And yet, in exchange for saving the heaviest and most powerful warships of the 28th Mobile? A more than fair trade.


    Demon Moon smile upon me, I’m going to do something stupid.


    I tapped the comlink, “Crying Sun, Repulse; take your time–we’ll hold the door open for you.”


    “Force be with you.”


    I took the consolation as it was, despite my boiling hatred of this unreasonable ‘Force’ right then, "Tuff. I will have some choice words for Trench later."


    "I will prepare the tea, sir."


    “Knew I could count on you. All ships,” I swallowed, pointing a finger gun straight into the asteroid field, at the Republic division that dared to attempt to outplay me. Damn me if I didn’t get a higher Tector kill count than Calli right here. “Deploy all fighters. All power to sublight drives. Intercept the enemy.”


    Sixty-six hours. Star Destroyer Resilient and the Republic left wing made a bloody withdrawal under the onslaught of battlecruiser Kronprinz and destroyer Havoc. Star Destroyer Imperious, threatening to cut off the 284th Battle Division, crashed into the remnants of the defending White Hand Division amidst the asteroid belt, at the head of seven Tectors and eleven Venators. On the starward flank, the 284th Battle Division made an orderly retreat despite suffering counterattacks from the Republic right wing.


    Preliminary casualties report Taskforce Conciliator suffered the loss of Statesman and twenty-one other warships, including seven of nine Tector-class Star Destroyers. The 28th Mobile Fleet lost Olympus Mons and sixty-six other warships, including fifty of the fifty-five strong White Hand Division.