Solo banks hard as a laser barely misses her ship, her shield display flashing an angry red as it slowly recharges, its pace hampered by her having shifted more power into her engines and maneuvering thrusters.

  “Three, I need these bastards off my six.” She requests.

  “Sorry ma’am, I’ve got one on my tail myself. Unless two comes back from the dead, we need to try the flack.” Her last remaining wingman reports.

  “Damn it.” She curses, making another hard turn as she tries to get the fucks behind her into a more advantageous position, one where she might be able to nab one or two of them if they overshoot enough, “Fine, make for the Constellation’s flak field. Send them the clearance, I’m a bit preoccupied with three times the shit you’ve got.”

  “Roger that ma’am.”

  “Little Squadron, this is Little Revenge. You read us?”

  “Tell the Admiral his timing is shit.” She spits as she banks again, firing off a triplicate of lasers into a V-Wing that hadn’t noticed her.

  “Request your squadron move to flagship. Four enemy bomber squadrons and a heavy fighter squadron on course to make a run on the flagship.”

  “I’m fucking busy!” She spits as her shields light up green.

  She cuts her engines then pulls up as hard as she can. The fighter drags along, a hit to its stabilizers having worsened its maneuverability. A V-Wing overshoots her and she fires a missile at it after her first rotation, the modified concussion making a lock in a split second and racing for its victim. The two other bogies though fly under her. She flicks her engines back on, the things spurting back to life with a puff of smoke due to over-stressing the damn things. Just then her targeting computer nixes her three prior hunters, one having been made by her concussion and the others by the Constellation’s flak.

  “Tune forks and ARCs?” She asks into her comm unit as she quickly glances over at the hud built into her helmet, still wasn’t fully used to the damn thing yet.

  “Affirm.”

  “Aight, five enemy squads, one of which is heavies. My squad’s not doing hot and we’re edging into the lower percentile of acceptable battle capability. Better make it five on paper and see what turns up.” She orders.

  “Roger that. Sorry to say it looks like we’ll only be able to pull in three more squadrons of fighters for a suitable attack vector.” The Starfighter Corps officer over coms replies.

  “It won’t be enough. Not with the losses we’re sustaining.” She spits.

  “Admiral says to do what you can.”

  “Roger that.” She sighs before switching over frequencies, “Little, fall in with me and sound off when possible. We’ve got a bomber run to thwart.”

  “Two here.”

  “Four reporting.”

  “Seven coming up on your right, Colonel.”

  “Nine here.”

  “Twelve joining formation now.”

  Fuck. Half? She had lost half? Solo suppresses the urge to scream. They hadn’t even been fighting for a day yet! Sure she had heard as ten, three and eleven went down. But she hadn’t really realized that them, five, eight and six made up half her damn squadron. Her pilots were some of the best in the damn command and she had lost half of them already?

  “Dammit.” She mutters into her muted comms before righting herself as her comms get linked with the other two squadrons that would try to blunt off this bombing run.

  “1st Argai Squadron reporting, ma’am, down to five pilots.” A Tionese man reports into her ear, “Coming in with Mare Squadron, they’re the Tri-fighters on our wing we’ve practically merged with.”

  “Pride Squadron plus here, at eleven fighters, three heavy fighters.” A Quarren woman adds.

  “Alright folks. Little Revenge is being targeted by four dozen tune forks and a dozen ARCs. We’ll try and take them from the side, below their ball turret’s firing arc and flip under them during our staggered pass. Be aware, enemy ARCs may pull off to try and intercept us or go for revenge killings after we finish our pass. We’ll try and make another go for the bombers once we’ve cleared a kilometer and a half. If any break off to follow our asses we split and make passes as the opportunity arises. Got that?”

  “Clear, ma’am.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Alright people, let’s move!”

  Major General Shay watches as the huddled masses of Tionese enter the Pelta frigate. The evacuation was proceeding as well as possible at this rate. Those innocents being packed in like sardines, only permitted to carry a satchel filled with their possessions each, no matter previous wealth and station. The Major helps up a small human hatchling, placing them onto a container filled with rations for the trip.

  “Sir, we’ve seized a couple of merchant ships. Should we divert some of the refugees there?” A Major asks the Targonnian.

  “Yes, make sure that those being led away are informed of their destinations and try not to separate the families. Last thing we need is these humans to start panicking.” Shay replies.

  “Understood, sir.” The Major replies before relaying his orders to his comms officer.

  Shay glances up into the twilight sky, placing his macrobinoculars against his eyes to get a better view of the daggers and cigars exchanging fire above him. He wasn’t much of an expert in Navy matters, his service having predominantly been conducted in the dirt and mud of various worlds, but he knew enough to realize things weren’t going well for his fellow Rebels.

  Shay nabs his comms officer and begins giving him orders: “Prepare our southern forces to join the evacuation.”

  “Sir?” The Staff Sergeant asks.

  “Krugwolt won’t order an evacuation, even if the enemy decides to drop their entire tibana stockpile on our heads. I, on the other hand, am unwilling to suffer the indignity of being slaughtered by a cowardly foe who will not face us.” Shay replies.

  “Understood, sir. Should I see if we can reserve any ships for our own uses?” The comms officer asks.

  “I’ll leave it to the local commanders.” Shay decides.

  “Understood, sir.” The officer replies before turning away to relay the new orders.

  Honor watched carefully as the Rebels were forced further and further back in the north. Ship after ship pulling back from the line or being destroyed as her forces pushed forwards, inch by inch, kilometer by kilometer. Dericote was clearly floundering as her forces continued forward, despite the occasional concentrated anti-orbital battery strike destroying or disabling one of her destroyers.

  The rate of suffered casualties was still acceptable. Especially once Therbon got off his sorry rear and ordered the orbital forces at Lianna and Columex to join her. Sure, they had agreed she would attempt to eliminate Dericote by herself, but clearly they had underestimated the capabilities of the Mon Cala Merchant Fleet, something they would no do again.

  Perhaps she should lobby for some further reinforcements from the Core? She should be able to scrounge together another battlegroup’s worth of ships to replenish her losses. The Admiral frowns, yes she should probably be proactive in this.

  “Ma’am, the enemy is seemingly abandoning the Korriban’s Silence and the defensive Golan and defense platforms in the north west.” Her Adjunct points out.

  “Did we hit its engines?” She asks.

  “A reactor hit, ma’am. Seems Admiral Benoni is looking to buy the enemy more time and divert our forces from pressing them harder.” An Adjutant suggests.

  “How typical of the cyborg.” She mutters before beginning to snap orders, “Very well, deploy a quarter of the reserve to join in eliminating that thorn and split off a quarter of our northern forces to do the same. The rest of them are to push forwards, secure as much of the northern hemisphere as possible and press the enemy’s northern forces.”

  “Understood, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am, the bomber run on the Little Revenge failed. All hands lost to enemy fighters and flak before they could manage to lob a single proton at them.” Her Starfighter Corps Adjutant reports, the grizzled Colonel looking rather displeased at needing to report the loss of two wings’ bomber detachments.

  “Not entirely unsurprising. The point of the attack was to stress Dericote further.” She replies, “Continue to push our fighters as much as possible.”

  “The enemy flak is doing a number on us. Our picket units may be the only fighters left to us at the end of this battle.” The Colonel warns.

  “Unlikely,” She replies, “Dericote will pull back before such a thing occurs.”

  “If you say so, ma’am.” The Colonel spits.

  Benoni watches on, his face blank of any expression, as his ship slowly falls apart from beneath his feet. Turbolasers and lasercannons continue to fire, punching craters into Imperial armor belts and snatching fighters and bombers alike from out of the void. And yet, his shields were patchy, re-calibrating and recharging as quickly as possible, now that his engines were essentially done for, his armor was being shaved away, turbolaser blast by turbolaser blast. Various internal systems were overloaded by ion cannon fire and his engines remained gone.

  Benoni would sigh, if it hadn’t been drilled out of him in his first days in the Cordon Fleet. All he could do was refuse any rescue attempts Dericote and Sykes offered him and hold. His non-essential crew had already been evacuated when he realized the reactor hit had also damaged the engine’s propulsion systems, leaving the Korriban’s Silence, essentially, dead in space.

  Better give his men a chance to fight another day than to take them all down with him. He may be willing and almost eager to end his service in attempt to help restore the honor of he Navy, but he would not force his men to do the same.

  And yet, enough personnel had stayed on to man every essential post and a few of the non-essential ones. Batteries remained almost fully crewed after a bit of quick reshuffling, arms-men remained ready to repel enemy boarding attempts. The Korriban’s Silence would, essentially, become another fortress above Argai, holding off Imperial forces and forcing Honor’s hand.

  “Enemy is surrounding us from all sides. They’ve even deployed some of their reserves.” A sensors officer reports.

  “Keep steady. Mark out firing matrices for our guns and batteries. Continue to coordinate with the former Separatist defensive platforms. The plan remains unchanged.” Benoni speaks.

  “Sir, detecting LAAT gunships incoming.”

  “Lock down the hangar bays. Divert power from interior lighting into the defense turrets. Begin pulling power from the emergency grid and the batteries as well.” Benoni orders in reply, “Arms-men to defensive positions. Ready boarding shields and begin moving emergency weapons emplacements into position. Prepare emergency internal broadcast.”

  “Broadcast ready.”

  “Attention all sailors. Weapons free. I repeat weapons free. Make every room a bunker, every hallway a killing field, every reactor a bomb waiting to explode. We sell ourselves dearly. For the Republic.” Benoni orders sternly before making a cutting motion with his arm to cut the transmission, “Get me engineering next.”

  “Engineering here, sir.” The grizzled voice of a Devaronian engineer reports onto the bridge.

  “Lieutenant, prepare primary reactors for detonation. We are stuck in the void and I plan on luring in the Imps as close as possible before taking as many of them with us as possible.” Benoni informs the bridge and his engineering chief.

  “Understood. For the Republic.”

  “For the Republic.” The bridge replies.

  Yes, Benoni thinks, they would show these Imperial upstarts the power of the Republic’s Navy. Because it hadn’t been overwhelming firepower and advanced technology which had ensured the Navy’s dominance, sure it had helped when it was so, but it was not the reason. It had been the determination of her officers. The unwillingness to yield, the determination to fight to the very last when asked of them, which had gained the Republic victory after victory in wars against the vile Sith. And it would do the same again now, even if Benoni would never see it.

  “For the Republic.” Benoni echoes his men.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  I continue to watch as the battle continues, poorly. I should have expected we would loose the moment the Reprisal Fleet actually appeared in full. But ambition and a few too many victories seems to have given me a modicum of false confidence. I frown, damn Honor for her competence.

  “Begin pulling back our northern forces further. Have we finished loading up the critical civilians?” I ask.

  “Most of them, sir. General Krugwolt is refusing to leave the fortresses, but the first transports are rejoining us in the second line, protected by our Acclamators.” Mi-Kus answers.

  “Good. Have our northern forces continue to fall back as the evacuation ships arrive from the north. The 53rd Volunteers and the local forces will hold Argai’s surface while we try and beat back Honor:” I reaffirm the plan.

  “Understood, sir.”

  I watch as a heavy turbolaser passes us by, missing by a few klicks. A bad shot that, probably from a gun that only recently had been given us as their new target. Not great, but not terrible. A sextet of concussion missiles emerge from below us, racing towards an Imperial destroyer, likely to crash against their shields and suppress some battery or another.

  “Fighter stats?” I request.

  “Down eleven wings of strikecraft, mostly among our fighters. Heavy fighters and bombers are holding up better on average due to us having less work for them.” The Starfighter Corps Major reports.

  I sigh, of fucking course: “Enemy estimate?”

  “Down twenty wings, twenty two tops.” Commander Hursk answers.

  “About two to one.” I mutter. Not a great average, especially with strikecraft on the defensive.

  “Yessir.” Comes the Commander’s reply.

  “Tighten up our formations as the northern forces pull closer. Intensify our flak coverage and pull energy from lighting and temperature controls.” I order, “Give that last bit out as advice for the entire fleet.”

  “Sir, temperature controls are kinda important if we don’t want to suffer multiple heatstrokes from the reactors excess heat or get reports of frostbite from hull breaches.” Mi-Kus warns.

  “Pull enough to make sure it stays within survivability parameters then.” I supply.

  “Roger that.” An engineer replies from one of the trenches.

  “Evac report?”

  “Northern third evacuated.”

  “Keep it up then.” I reply.

  Honor watches as the Praetor is pelted with heavy turbolaser after heavy turbolaser, bombarded with heavy ion cannon blasts and bombarded with proton bombs and torpedoes alike. Benoni’s sacrifice was slowing her men and allowing Dericote to pull back further and further. It would only be a matter of time, and not a lot of it at this rate, until the traitor and his ilk retreated from the system, something she would not allow at the current exchange of casualties.

  “Dodonna is leading the bombardment of the Korriban’s Silence, yes?” Honor double checks.

  “Yes ma’am. That and the destruction of the remaining northern defense platforms.” Her Adjunct replies.

  “Good. Move us just beyond the edge of the anti-orbital batteries and deploy the reserve above the poll. I would have them angle their ships so that their engines face away from Dericote’s forces while their tops face the planetary surface.” Honor orders.

  “Bombardment?” An Adjutant asks for clarification.

  “Yes.” She answers calmly.

  “Understood. Will we be joining the assault?” The Adjunct Captain asks.

  “Not until I order it. A Secutor is not an asset to be recklessly thrown into battle.” She replies sternly as she watches the first Star Destroyers and Venators begin to move.

  Honor watches as the ships move behind the engine block of the Korriban’s Silence and begin to rotate on their central axis. Watches as Dericote slowly begins to realize what she is doing and begins stripping forces from his already weakened center to reinforce the north and try to break through her line. Watches as a trio of blasts from the anti-orbital batteries crack a Tector open as it is about to finish its rotation. Watches as the final ship finishes and finds themselves ready to exact her will.

  “Reserve ships deployed behind line not currently engaged with the Rebel pocket are hereby to begin Base-Delta-Zero operations upon the world of Argai.” She orders.

  “Transmitting.” Her comms officer reports as her Adjunct Captain begins to grin openly.

  A few seconds later the first heavy turbolaser flies from an Imperial Star Destroyer, races through the atmosphere, and crashes into the surface. Followed by another and another, then dozens more. She watches with dispassionately as heavy turbolaser after heavy turbolaser cracks the crust of Argai below, the tactical display marking out each impact with a red dot upon the world’s previously holographic blue surface.

  This would force Dericote to remain and fight. Because her student would not be able to live with himself otherwise. Honor nods to herself. This would provide victory. This would be the first step towards her vindication. This would be retribution.

  I was unusually calm as I watch my former mentor and sponsor commit ultimate sin. Damn it she knew how I felt about this exact thing. She knew this would get to me and I would be damned if I simply stood there and did nothing. So instead, I inhale deeply and begin barking orders.

  “Unload our Peltas into the Acclamators now! I want them to do return trips and get as many civies and soldiers aboard as possible. Scratch together our gunships and shuttles to join them and try to get people from the more rural areas. Tell Krugwolt if he and his men are coming they’re leaving all the armor and anything bigger than a blaster behind! Strip whatever pickets and cruisers we can from the center by bending it towards the northern line. Pull every bomber and fighter we can spare from picket duty northwards for a striketeam. We stay as long as we can and we’ll stay a minute more after that, you understand me? I want those Acclamators filled to bursting and our Venator’s cargo bays full too! NOW HOP TO!”

  “Understood, sir.” Mi-Kus replies.

  “Transmitting orders.” Slas reports.

  Damn Honor. Damn her for the millions of deaths she just ordered. Damn her for forcing me to kill my own men in order to save the innocents. Damn her for making me abandon Krugwolt and his men in the north. And damn her for putting me in this damnable position!

  Seagull twitches the joystick carefully as his LAAT descends through the atmosphere, turbolasers racing downwards in the distance. As of twenty minutes ago, he and his copilot had been pulled from standby and sent down to try and rescue as many yokels as possible while the frigates made runs to the forts and cities.

  “Got visual on village designate cresh-seven.” His copilot mutters from behind.

  “I see it too. Activate the lights and see if we can wake them up, if the turbolasers haven’t done so already.” Seagull orders.

  “Roger that.”

  The LAAT’s lights turn on, bathing the houses of the small village in white light as Seagull pulls up the ship’s speakers: “Attention citizens of Argai. Imperial forces have begun strategic and terror bombardments of Argai. Begin evacuation procedures and board the LAAT gunship landing in your village square. Abandon any and all livestock and valuables which cannot be gathered together within t-minus ten minutes which cannot be carried. Anyone who fails to board the LAAT within twenty minutes will be left behind. Doors opening.”

  Seagull clicks off the speakers and opens up the hatch to stand up and direct the people as his copilots finishes landing procedures. The first people were walking out towards the gunship, a few belongings in hand. Ten minutes, then a flight up to a Venator, then a flight back and repeat this whole circus until there was no one left to save.

  Sometimes, Seagull hated his job.

  “Sir at this rate we won’t manage to continue the evacuation for much longer.” An Adjutant interrupts my slow spiral downwards.

  “Drecks situation.” I spit, “Honor knows this is keeping us here. How many more worlds will she subject this to if we show it will keep us here? Will she do the same to every insubordinate world she finds in her path?”

  “You know her better than the rest of us, sir.” Mi-Kus points out.

  I sigh before resigning myself to a decision I never really wanted to make: “Begin preparations to send out the Fortress Protocols, fifth and third revisions and bring up the plans for the Partisan Protocol.”

  “Understood, sir.” Mi-Kus replies before motioning for a comms officer to prepare a data transfer.

  “Try to get a message to the worlds under our purview in the Tion Cluster. See if we can get the loyalists to evacuate with us as we pull back to Caluula.” I order to delay the inevitable.

  “Abandoning the entire central cluster may cause massive desertions.” Commander Hursk points out.

  “Better live for a chance at victory than be defeated in totality.” I reply, trying to justify my orders to myself, “And get me Krugwolt!”

  “Sir, enemy pushing our north further down. We’re barely holding onto the equator at this point.” An Adjutant interrupts.

  “Continue to adjust our line and see if we can intensify evacuation efforts.” I snap in reply.

  “With what ships? We’ve stripped every gunship and shuttle from inter-ship transports and emergency crew reshuffling. We’re already sending our Peltas down to the surface as often as we can manage! Unless you want to ground our Acclamators too, there is no other ship!” Mi-Kus snaps back protectively.

  I shut up, the break in decorum and Navy tradition would usually be grounds for dismissal of one of us. Yet there was little traditional about these times we were fighting in. Instead of the usually demanded reprisal I sigh.

  “Sir, incoming transmission from General Krugwolt’s headquarters.”

  “Front and center. The bastard better have a damn good explanation for not being in orbit by now.” I spit, the image of my friend appearing shortly after in a fuzzy and staticky hologram.

  “Thraken.”

  “General Krugwolt, why have only a handful of your forces evacuated?”

  “We’re staying.”

  “You’re fucking what?”

  “Every civilian our presence here saves is well worth it. I know some of my men have already evacuated with my blessing, but most of us are holding up in the fortresses. It’ll take Honor months to break them all. Time you’ll need to win this war.”

  “This is suicide Stefan.” I reply, “I cannot guarantee we get back here in time to save you.”

  “Then it is a sacrifice we will will-ngly provide. Better to die saving as many as we can than to die fighting you, friend.”

  “Don’t you fucking dare cut this transmission.”

  “If you don’t make it, know every life saved will have been worth it. Long live the Republic, friend.”

  The transmission cuts off then as I silently seethe. The ship shudders again, a proton bomb exploding against our armor belt. Fine. Fucking fine.

  “Your orders, sir?” Mi-Kus presses.

  “Only so much water can be rationed in a drought, in desperate times blood must be shed.” I quote the ancient wisdom of my forefathers like it was poison on my tongue, “Continue falling back at our current pace, continue the evacuation at our current pace. Keep as many IPVs and sensor buoys in this system active as possible. We will return if it kills me. Send out the Fortress Protocol directives now, hold back on Partisan until I give the order. I’ll deal with the fallout once we make the jump for hyperspace.”

  “So a general retreat?” A younger Adjutant asks.

  “Not until I have grabbed the last possible refugee by the scruff of their neck and hauled them aboard.” I reply sternly.

  “Another hail from Admiral Dodonna, ma’am.” A comms officer reports.

  “I do not wish to hear it.” Honor replies as she motions for two cruisers of the reserve to right themselves and join the primary advance.

  Dodonna had objected three times so far to the devastation of Argai. Twice informally, the veteran of many a campaign’s eyes stormy each time he spoke over hologram, and then a third time, formally. He had outright stated, in a formal complaint, that would have to be sent up the chain of command due to his rank and position as one of her division commanders, that he believed the bombardment and destruction of Argai’s surface to be a waste of time, resources and something which would galvanize the insurrection.

  Little did Dodonna understand that it was this very action which had silenced the fortresses and their anti-orbital weaponry. Little did Dodonna realize this action would cripple the tentative alliance between the Republic idealists, Separatists and pirates. That this action would devastate Dericote, would make him unwilling to leave another world behind without dreading her ordering another base-delta-zero upon the worlds he claimed to protect.

  So she would allow this little insubordination for the time being. Once Dericote had been routed she would request further reinforcements and have Dodonna take on lesser roles, shunting him away from her taskforce proper and have him and a taskforce detachment move upon the lesser worlds of the Ash Worlds Sector.

  “It is a second formal complaint, ma’am.” Her comms officer interrupts her musings, “Formally supported by almost half of his subordinate Captains and informally supported by Rear Admiral Nantz.”

  That gives Honor pause, though only for a moment. It was one thing for a single officer, or even a handful of them, to formally object to the actions taken by their superior officer. It was another for it to be protested by more than a handful, especially by those with ranks and experience suitable for commanding a battleship.

  Then anger sweeps away the surprise. How dare Dodonna? How dare he continue to question her orders? How dare he subsume the usually stern Nantz into this plot? Did Dodonna not understand the necessity? Did he not perceive how much this was ruining the Rebels’ morale? That this was what it would take to break the fools who decided to defy the Empire? To commit treason? To betray her?

  “Inform the Admiral that if he does not cease these foolish complaints and dangerous politicking I will have him removed from his current command and force him to take command over a single section of corvettes!” Honor threatens.

  “Understood, ma’am.”

  With Dodonna inevitably chastised back into proper compliance, Honor could refocus on the problem at hand. Dericote would cut his losses soon, his ships battered and beaten, filled with refugees and with the sting of defeat. He would likely begin suffering defections and desertions from those who weren’t suicidal enough to throw themselves at her might. She could already see the first Acclamators make the jump out of system as the final remnants of the Rebels’ southern flank turns in with the rest of their line.

  As another hour ticks by, she fully allows herself to relish this victory as, one by one, Dericote’s ships retreat, leaving a smaller and smaller rearguard behind until the final collection of beaten cruisers, battleships and escorts pull back, hounded by her fighters and long range turbolaser bombardment.

  Victory never tasted so sweat.

  Forces lost between first skirmish between Retribution Fleet and Coalition Taskforce and the end of the Battle of Argai

  Depicting the fourth and final phases of the Battle of Argai in 7960 C.R.C.

  Red = Rebel Coalition Forces

  Dark Gray = Imperial Retribution Fleet

  Yellow = Argai Surface to Orbit artillery range