Chapter 80

Wroona Orbit, Wroona System
Harrin Sector

“Commander…” Lieutenant Commander Fajinak’s voice stirred Scout awake, the young Jedi feeling the distinct coolness of polished metal on her cheek as she pulled herself upright, “We’ve got an urgent transmission from Jurzan.”

Scout rubbed her eyes, grit scraping against her lids as she forced them open again, blinking back the haze of fatigue. She had half the mind to be ashamed of so blatantly falling asleep in the Battle Room–and being woken by her XO, no less!–but she could tell Fajinak could hardly care. His words slowly registered in her mind as she captured enough of her wits to prevent her first words being slurred. The background hum of electronics and holotech settled into her bones, like a slow-burning simmer that brought life back to her body.

Just one more sector to review, she initially thought, just another set of troop movements to confirm probably.

But it was the name of the world that jolted her to full attention, like a pike through her skull.

Jurzan… that sounds familiar. 

Commander Fajinak took her sudden alertness as his cue to continue; “The Hundred-Thirty-Eighth Armoured Corps is requesting an immediate extraction.”

“Do they lack the troopships?” Scout squinted, frowning at her console.

“They’ve been stranded for some time, sir,” Fajinak shifted uncomfortably, “We had ordered some blockade runners to relieve them with much needed medical supplies, but the frigates were urgently redeployed to Tregillis due to the higher priority of the sector.”

“Oh,” she replied dumbly, “There’s thirty-two Acclamators in the Hythrope System nearby. Can we redeploy them to Jurzan?”

“...Hythrope is being evacuated as well, sir. The order had been issued two days ago.”

“Oh.”

The air in the Battle Room felt thick, tinged with stale sweat and the sour stench of too many unwashed bodies forced to coexist in the same space for days on end. Scout was running on stimulants and sheer grit, her skin clammy under her too-tightly wrapped robes, her vision flickering at the edges from exhaustion. Around her, officers leaned over consoles, heads bowed, mumbling instructions in low, weary voices. Her staff was in no better condition than she was; hollow-eyed, backs hunched as they typed and swiped and relayed orders that seemed to vanish into the air. There was a sense of… not hopelessness… more like futility hanging like a shroud above them. As if their efforts were nothing more than feeble gestures of resistance against the vast shadow of the Separatist war machine.

No one had slept. Not really. Maybe they'd caught a few hours here or there, but even then, the vibrations from incoming transmissions kept everyone just on the edge of wakefulness, rattling their nerves with constant demands for reinforcements, reports of enemy movements, desperate pleas for relief. Each request bled into the next, an endless litany of needs they could barely meet, wearing away at the semblance of control they clung to.

Aurodia was a ghost ship, crewed by ghouls and spectres. The command nexus presiding over the Near-Rimma AO was a vast and complex structure, a living net of information spanning thousands of light-years, connecting battlefields with strategic command nodes, entangling local data points with the pulse of larger objectives. Aurodia was one of those nodes, overseeing the dozen other command vessels that drifted in her shadow in the Wroona System, each one tasked with supervising their assigned star systems.

It was Aurodia who translated their localised webs into something whole, pushing the flood of intelligence Coreward to the headquarters of the 20th Sector Army on Tallaan. Aurodia was the middle-management between the greater strategic impulses of the Sector Army and the local tactical practicalities of her satellite commands. Despite fully understanding the severity of her duties, she still wished she could be anywhere else–even on the battlefields of Vandelhelm!

“Well…” Scout pushed herself to her feet, the blue-scanned light of the holoprojection table burning into her retinas, “Are there any other nearby task forces we can send to relieve Jurzan?”

“Mikaster, Genisaria, and… here,” Fajinak pointed, briefly hesitating as a new icon blinked into view, red and ominous against the starfield projection, “Here as well, in the Pelonat System. But we’re seeing increased Separatist pressure across the entire eastern flank. It wouldn’t be safe to deprive these battlefields of their orbital support.”

As if prophesied by his words, a red alert blipped into existence on the starchart, flagged up by a satellite command vessel. A messenger materialised at the holotable within moments, bringing her the transcript from the comms bay. 

“The Separatists have launched an all-out planetary assault on Lohopa-Two, sir,” the messenger passed her the transcript, “Boeus Command recommends withdrawing from the Jurzan and Hythrope salients to tighten the front.”

She stared at it, her tired mind scrambling to process, as a low murmur started rippling through the room. 

“An isolated offensive on Lohopa doesn’t sound like the Tombmaker,” Commander Fajinak told her, “We must assume that this is it.”

Scout’s pulse quickened as more alerts began appearing, from a slow trickle to a mass, spreading across their eastern flank on the Harrin Trade Corridor like an infectious rash. The Battle Room buzzed with activity, as officers and staffers came alive from their fugue as anxiety and panic set in.

“Only the Harrin Corridor?” Scout’s voice was eerily calm, instilling a sense of stoic tension in the room and overpowered the rising panic, “Can we confirm with General Ry-Gaul and General Skywalker that they aren’t seeing any unusually large Separatist activity?”

“I’ll secure a line to Vandelhelm at once, Commander,” the messenger nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to the comms bay.

Lieutenant Commander Fajinak was staring at her intensely, “Commander sir, if the offensive is only on the Harrin Corridor as you suspect–”

“Then it means even Horn Ambigene is feeling his losses,” Scout nodded, her fist clutching around that little glimmer of hope, “His callous disregard for losses has come to bite him back.”

And it means we made a mistake, Scout thought, that I made a mistake. I sent the vast majority of our available reserves to Vandelhelm and Wroona on the Rimma Trade Route, anticipating the main Separatist offensive to materialise there. 

“We need to commit everything to the Harrin,” Fajinak said decisively, “Stop the Tombmaker in his tracks at Lohopa.”

Scout held down the intercom, “Operations, issue a withdrawal for all forces in the Hythrope and Jurzan salients. We are consolidating our front in the Lohopa System. Authorise all required task forces required to evacuate our armies.”

“Acknowledged, Commander–”

[ATHALLIA HQ] REQUESTING IMMEDIATE REINFORCEMENTS—ENEMY FORCES BREACHED PLANETARY DEFENCES; CIVILIAN EVACUATION INCOMPLETE.

An urgent transmission from Athallia caught her attention, with the news that reinforcements have already been authorised by the relevant station.

[ARMATH HQ] HEAVY CASUALTIES REPORTED; REMAINING FORCES ARE HOLDING PERIMETER BUT URGENTLY NEED SUPPORT TO PREVENT COLLAPSE.

But before she could even catch her breath, her console chimed yet again, somehow with increasing urgency. This time, there weren’t any available units on hand to redeploy, and the local command centre was seeking advice–

[MIKASTER HQ] SEPARATIST BOMBARDMENT ONGOING; POPULATION CENTERS AT RISK—REQUESTING EVACUATION CORRIDORS FOR NON-COMBATANTS.

[DERRA HQ] MULTIPLE ENEMY DIVISIONS CONVERGING; LAST LINE OF DEFENCE COLLAPSING—URGENT REINFORCEMENTS OR FULL EVAC NEEDED IMMEDIATELY.

She didn’t even have time to answer. Another transmission was forwarded to her station, then another, and another. A trifling number at first, but as if following in the wake of the alerts, soon pouring in with the wrath of a storm as hundreds of battlefields soon came under the fire of the Separatist offensive.

[ATRAKUS HQ] SUPPLIES RUNNING CRITICALLY LOW; WE CAN'T HOLD FOR MORE THAN THREE SYSTEM DAYS WITHOUT RESUPPLY OR EXTRACTION.

[PELOMAT HQ] GROUND FORCES OUTNUMBERED; NEED AERIAL SUPPORT AND ORDNANCE DROPS, OR WE RISK TOTAL LOSS OF DEFENCES.

[AVILES PRIME HQ] ARTILLERY UNITS OVERRUN; REQUESTING EXTRACTION AND REDEPLOYMENT TO SAFER SECTORS.

Frantic messages poured through the din, a steady stream of urgent updates that began to overlap, voices merging into a panicked cacophony. The compartment buzzed with the frantic pace of fresh alerts–and responses; each one detailing more deployments, more fleets, more worlds falling under the weight of invasion. She could feel the tension coiling tighter, escalating from the sluggish, dull exhaustion of days gone without sleep into something sharp, bristling and electric.

[GALLAPRAXIS HQ] SEPARATIST GROUND ASSAULT INTENSIFYING; CASUALTIES MOUNTING—NEED IMMEDIATE EVAC FOR INJURED AND VULNERABLE.

[HYTHROPE HQ] PERIMETER DEFENCES FALLING BACK; ADDITIONAL ARMOUR AND INFANTRY REQUESTED TO PREVENT ENEMY BREACH.

[OOLIDI HQ] RESOURCE SHORTAGES CRITICAL; FRONTLINE FORCES LOSING MORALE—REINFORCEMENTS REQUIRED TO STABILISE POSITIONS.

[GENISERIA HQ] ENEMY FLEETS MASSING ON SYSTEM OUTSKIRTS; NEED REINFORCEMENTS TO SECURE TRADE ROUTES AND PREVENT SIEGE.

[EDAN HQ] PLANETARY SHIELDS FAILING UNDER SUSTAINED FIRE; EVACUATION OF ESSENTIAL PERSONNEL REQUIRED IMMEDIATELY.

Lieutenant Commander Fajinak looked to her, face pale, and she knew they had nothing left to send. She swallowed down the acidic taste of helplessness down her throat, and showed none of it on her face.

“Lieutenant Commander,” Jedi Commander Esterhazy’s voice a frigid cold, her eyes reflecting hundreds of incoming reports, “Inform our troops on Jurzan that no help will be coming. Independent action has been authorised, and they are allowed to surrender or fight at their own discretion. We do not have the resources to spare.”

“...Very well, sir.”

How many lives of the 338th Armoured Corps and other units fighting on Jurzan had she just written off? She didn’t dwell on the thought, waving it farewell with the vague hope that the Separatist commander on the planet was more sympathetic than their General. 

“General Skywalker’s on the comms, Commander!” a comms officer announced.

Commander Esterhazy’s fist immediately slammed down on the push– “General Skywalker, this is Wroona Command. I need a status report of your front on Vandelhelm!”

“Wroona Command,” Skywalker’s cadence was rock solid, “We are engaged in a stalemate with the Separatist forces on the planet. Little progress have been made on either side.”

Scout shared a look with her XO, “Acknowledged, General Skywalker. It appears the Confederate Fourth Fleet have launched their ninth all-out attack at Wroona. The central vector of their offensive is focused Coreward of the Harrin Trade Corridor. Over a dozen contested systems are threatened by the invasion. We must shorten the front.”

“...Is that your honest evaluation of the situation, Commander?” there was a ghastly wind howling in the background, punctuated by distant explosions.

Commander Esterhazy swallowed thickly, “It is. We need to liquidate any salients that endanger the structural integrity of the front. The Separatists are running out of resources too–that is why they are only attacking along the Harrin Corridor. They need us overextended to advance.”

“Then what will you have us, Commander?”

She breathed out, “The Five-Oh-First Legion will be redeployed to the Lohopa System one thousand parsecs east of Vandelhelm. This is where we must stop the Separatists.”

“Clone Commander A’din’s Seventh Legion holds Lohopa-Two,” General Skywalker recognised

“It is the only world fortified enough to halt the Separatist advance,” she explained.

“So you have decided to liquidate the Jurzan and Hythrope salients,” General Skywalker murmured, and Scout involuntarily tensed at her Master’s incoming judgement, “...Sounds good to me. I will inform General Ry-Gaul of the development. Demand more warships from General Grant and reinforce your position at Wroona; Lohopa-Two is no fortress world, and an invasion fleet or two slipping to Wroona is a foregone conclusion.”

“Understood, General.” 

She could see it unfolding now, the slow-motion horror of a coordinated assault reaching across the map in blood-red tendrils. Her hands shook slightly as she leaned forward, bracing against the holotable to study the flashing icons, her mind in a race against the advancing Separatist warfleets. Commander Esterhazy has lived this life eight times before; each sector falling back leaving a void that seemed impossible to fill, each plea for aid was a reminder of the enemies bearing down upon her, tightening like a vice around Wroona.

“General Secura is also fighting on Derra-Four, maintaining the Mikaster salient,” he continued, “Have her withdraw her forces to Lohopa and rendezvous with me there.”

“Understood, General,” the Jedi Commander pressed her palms down on the edges of the holotable to anchor herself, looking towards her second. “Contact General Secura now!” she hissed.

“We can’t!” Fajinak hissed back, cajoling a nearby comms chief for an answer, “Derra Command isn’t responding!”

Scout felt her stomach twist. Derra IV is too far out, and the Mikaster salient is too overextended. The closest allied armies are at Armath and Atrakus, and both are already holding on a knife’s edge as it is. 

“Can we directly contact General Secura’s forward base?” Commander Esterhazy demanded, “What about Marshal Commander Bly!?”

She felt the need to keep her hands moving even as she waited for a response. Requests to evacuate poured in from every sector, every channel buzzing with demands they couldn’t possibly meet, but her hands kept moving, issuing orders, redirecting what scant forces remained. Her team moved with her, but their voices were fractured, panicked, even in the crisp efficiency of military jargon.

“We managed to get a connection through to Commander Bly!” the comms chief suddenly shouted out, and her heart leapt, “Commander–!”

“–Is this Wroona Command?” despite sharing the same voice as every other clone trooper, Commander Bly’s voice was hardly recognisable, raw and scratchy through the comms. 

“This is,” Scout answered hastily, “Marshal Commander Bly, this situation on Derra–”

“...Derra-Four has been lost,” the Marshal Commander’s words came down like a sledgehammer, “Reinforcements from the Sixteenth Sector Army never came.”

“General Secura–”

“–Sir,” Commander Fajinak whispered to her, “We’re getting a visual transmission from his end. Should we put it on the holo?”

Scout froze.

But ultimately decided; “Do it.”

Fajinak nodded cautiously, and forwarded the transmission into the holoprojection table. Upon reading it, the projection zoomed in on the Derra System, opening a new window with a holorecording captured within it. It was from the viewpoint of a warship escaping towards Derra IV’s hyperlane egress–an Acclamator-class assault ship from the transponder code. There were sixteen more Acclamators in the frame of the holo, along with a smattering of Venators and escorts, all escaping from the world.

But all eyes in the Battle Room were fixated on the sphere of Derra IV itself. The hologram projected distorted footage corrupted by internal damage and enemy jamming, but even then, they could clearly make out the Separatist warfleet hovering above key locations on Derra IV. There was a singular warship that caught her eye, its destroyed hull and armour plates large enough to cover entire houses, its scars massive as a ravine each due to its immense size.

She recognised it. How could she not?

Battleship Antecedent. The Hammer of the Rim. 

And it was firing upon Derra IV. Spiralling clouds of superheated maelstroms churned over its vast oceans, visible from outer space. Across the planet’s atmosphere, skyscraper-sized turbolaser bolts punched through the stratosphere, sending ripples outward, no more than raindrops on an endless pond from the distance.

The Battle Room was deathly silent. 

“That’s another world gone,” Fajinak murmured, as if crossing off a tally. He may as well be.

“...Be notified we’re withdrawing to Lohopa. General Secura–” Commander Bly breathed sharply, “General Aayla Secura has been killed in action on Derra-Four.”

⁂

Korphir Approach, Korphir System
Gordian Reach

The Gordian Reach was a mostly uninhabited patch of space nestled in between the Hydian Way and Near-Perlemian. The region formed one of the galaxy’s natural barriers, blocking easy fleet movement between the two super-hyperlanes. It was a chaotic labyrinth of stellar graveyards, empty voids, and dense nebulae–a natural fortress and maze sprawled just north of Phindar. And right in the heart of it was the Yavin System, where the future Rebel Alliance would erect their base of operations.

Yavin wasn’t our destination. Our destination was the Hydian Way, on the opposite side of the Gordian Reach. And that meant running the Korphir Trace, an incredibly tiny spacelane running between Korphir and Arkuda that was the only known route to cut through the otherwise impenetrable nebula known as the Roil. With time, maybe the Givin could calculate another path through the cosmic mountain range, but time wasn’t exactly a luxury we could afford.

And so the Roil laid before us, a great splash of gas and multi-coloured dust strewn across the void like celestial paint. The night sky view from Korphir and Arkuda must be incredible.

“Statement: the Dodecian is correct,” Augur’s deep, steely voice was bone-shaking, “Our scans are indicating unnatural gravity wells ahead of us. Assessment: the Korphir System is protected by an extensive hyperspace interdiction net.”

“Well, I am assuming it is not one of ours,” I murmured, appraising the scans.

“Caution: the Confederate Armed Forces possess no documented military installations in the Korphir System,” Augur answered.

“So there’s a Republic base here,” I surmised.

“Assessment: a probable hypothesis.”

“Long-range search-mode scanning,” I ordered, “Flush the system and find it, starting from the centre.”

“Affirmative.”

Augur wasted no time in getting to work, commanding the crew of battleship Conqueress with precision efficiency. The massive warship’s scanner suites immediately activated, flaring to life as they swept the star system ahead of us, its inner planets entirely within the cone of our bow. Bunt Dantor–the scientist who designed and engineered the weapon system–and his Techno Union technicians and researchers, practically buzzing in their pressure suits, eagerly monitored the results; testing, scrutinising, and logging every detail from the bespoke sensor arrays they had painstakingly developed for what they called the most advanced weapons system in the galaxy.

It struck me as somewhat like children testing out a new toy, if those children catalogued every scrap of data they could glean. After all, this was Conqueress's first deployment, and given the layers of secrecy surrounding her construction, it was also her maiden field test and voyage.

Nevertheless, I tried not to let it affect me. Not that it did matter; I ended up taking a nap because it took approximately ten hours before we found something.

“Observation: sensor contact, range six-billion klicks bearing oh-two-nine mark double-oh-eight,” Augur suddenly boomed, “Probable solar orbit.”

Six billion… what a mind-boggling number. That was the distance from Pluto to Mars.

“Switch to focus-mode and paint the target,” I slowly stood up, “I want an identification. Are the shells loaded?”

“Loading guns Number One and Number Two!” the weapons officer reported, “Set to anti-ship mode. Awaiting firing solution to begin targeting sequence!”

Clank-thud! The deck shuddered as the first round was locked into the firing chamber, a gargantuan tunqstoid kinetic kill vehicle about the size of a small apartment complex. The shell was so egregiously large that Conqueress could only carry eight of them–four for each gun–which made every shell worth their weight in gold. And that’s a lot of gold, because tunqstoid was notoriously dense. They made blast doors out of the stuff–hell, half the ship’s weight probably lied in the KKVs alone.

“Enemy fleet signature confirmed,” the sensor chief hollered next, “Identification: Grade-Three battlestations, thirty-one capital ships. Interdiction array nexus confirmed. Solar orbit.”

“Target the nexus,” I ordered, feeling my voice tremble just slightly as adrenaline pulsed through my veins. The murmur of excitement from the Techno Union technicians was contagious, “Augur, can we knock down enough of the interdiction net to make the jump?”

“Affirmative.”

I nodded, taking a moment to inhale and let my heart settle. His answer was simple and firm, as according to his programming, and his presence was unflinching. I trusted his assessment. Why else would you keep a two-metre tall super tactical droid on your bridge if not for making judgements like these?

“Very well,” I breathed out as the rangefinders clicked into alignment, “Inform Dodecian Illiet to calculate the jump to Arkuda.”

“Affirmative.”

“Intercept plan has been copied and sent!” the fire control officer called, his voice tense and sharp.

“Copy plan!” the weapons officer replied, “Awaiting approval!”

“Affirmative: approved as planned, all stations prepare for intercept,” Augur folded his metal arms behind his back, “Gun Number One is authorised to fire.”

“Copy; all hands amend power distribution, full power to Number One!” Gnifmak Dymurra, the Loronar Corporation officer and attaché commanded, “We’ll keep number two warmed up just in case!”

The bridge lights dimmed in a programmed sequence, the surrounding starlight beyond the transparisteel dome fading to black as the targeting array concentrated on the target six-billion klicks forward. Number 1, as we called it, was so vast that its barrel alone extended half the length of the ship. Inside, energy began to course, power surging and converging as Conqueress’ four tritium fusion generators directly fed into concentration, overlapping gravitational pulses herded along Number 1’s length.

“We have target acquisition!” the sensor officer announced, the low hum of systems spinning up creating a bass undercurrent to the crew’s chatter. The bridge began to feel a slight vibration at our feet, as if Conqueress herself was tensing up in anticipation.

“Plotting intercept course!”

“We have a firing solution!” 

“Data sync complete!”

“Awaiting orders!”

“Fire!” the words left my lips before I knew it, as if I had been taken in stride a line of falling dominoes.

The command had barely left my lips before Conqueress discharged, and reality itself seemed to shudder. A blinding column of energy tore from the ship's superstructure, cascading forward in a beam so intense that it turned the view beyond the bridge into a single, searing wash of bleeding red. The bridge vibrated violently, thrumming like the body of a giant beast unleashing its roar, the unstoppable lance of molten light disappearing into the inky blackness of space, leaving behind a reddish backwash in its wake as the only proof of its existence.

For a split second, I felt weightless, as though the sheer force of the shot had displaced Conqueress itself, the shockwave rippling through the decks with a deep, bone-rattling shudder. The pressure in the air shifted, static prickling across my skin, like standing at the eye of a storm and watching it unfold in a massive exhale. All around me, the bridge crew stared in rapt attention, eyes wide, mouths slightly agape at the monitors and holodisplays.

And held it that way for three whole hours.

Until the contact disappeared from the screens, the tiny blip of light fading out of existence–replaced by a flare of searing energy expanding in a slow, silent bloom across the system map, like a star exploding in miniature.

The enemy probably got hit by the KKV before they even realised we were scanning them.

“Hit confirmed,” Gnifmak Dymurra squinted, “And the interdiction net has dropped. We are free to insert into hyperspace.”

“Dispatch engineers to Number One,” I immediately ordered, “I need to know how long before we can use it again.”

“Affirmative,” Augur’s response was swift, “Weapons, depower Number Two. Dispatch engineering squads. Request: provide detailed damage report in twenty-four standard hours.”

“Copy that, chief!”

“Scepter, Conqueress,” I spoke to Dodecian Illiet’s frigate, “Sync navicomputers for insertion.”

“Conqueress, Scepter,” the Givin officer replied, “Orders acknowledged. Syncing fleet hyperdrives for insertion.”

“–Wait!” Bunt Dantor protested, racing to the front of the captain’s chair, “We need to remain in the system a little longer; my researchers need to analyse–”

“We’re here on a military assignment, Dantor,” I interjected, “Not a field test. The weapon proved effective, and the interdiction net has collapsed. We will not wait around to see if any surviving enemy forces remain to intercept us.”

“Statement: we must focus our efforts on repairing gun Number One,” Augur said coldly.

“Besides, what is there to analyse?” Gnifmak Dymurra piped up, pointing at the holos with a heavy weight in his tone, “There’s nothing left but smoke.”