We met Honor’s scouts in the first jump point, a dead system, between Jaminere and Argai. Where once there had been a fruitful world with a sustainable atmosphere now lie the corpse left behind by Sith Warlords in ages past. And now, this tomb, usually simply used as a stopgap for travelers in need of emergency repairs, would bear witness to the first battle between the Retribution Fleet and the Loyalist Fleet. Former comrades tearing at one another’s throats as if we were the Revanchists and Republic loyalists of old.

  I inhale deeply as the first corvettes enter system, five Gozantis, three Arquitenses, an Acclamator II and a Dreadnought. Seems my privateering friends had forced Honor into scouting in force. Good. It means we could chip away at her men more easily.

  It certainly helped that the Imperial warships jumped into an artificial asteroid field.

  “Open fire.” I order calmly.

  As one, the warships of the 1st Loyalist Fleet’s 120th Battlegroup and the 5th Free Dac Squadron’s 45th and 46th Sections unleash their long range ordnance upon the essentially stuck scouting force. Heavy turbolasers, concussion missiles and heavy ion cannon blasts racing through the asteroids and crashing against the paltry force like a sandstorm’s rage against an outcropping of stone.

  The Imperial Dreadnought decides it would prefer to at least try and close distance and smashes its bulkhead against a series of asteroids, firing its ion cannon at us all the while. Whoever was in command of the scouting force was brave, I’d give them that. Though it was doing them little good, even as the Imperial vessels deploy their strikecraft.

  “Prepare interceptors.” I order.

  “Sir, enemy transmission intercepted and jammed. They’ve tried to report their position and our numbers.” Commander Slas reports.

  “Prepare for our quick getaway. I’m not sure if they’ll send the rest of her forces now or send a relief force to look for her scouts after a few minutes of no contact.” I order.

  “Adjusting positions.”

  One by one the Imp ships fall to sustained barrage, breaking upon turbolaser fire and the asteroids alike. Soon enough all that remains is their wreckage and a starfighter brawl our pilots were winning handedly thanks to their numbers and skill.

  “Sir, detecting increase in Cronau rads again.” Commander Welder reports, “Based off of assumed distance and amount, its a large portion of the Retribution Fleet. Full analysis not possible, but ETA between one and two hours.”

  “Deploy salvage and intelligence gathering teams asap.” I order, “Rip out the blackboxes and take as many high value prisoners as possible. See if our Intelligence Attache can get us a precise idea on enemy scouting forces.”

  “Roger that, sir.” Commander Hursk replies.

  “Will we hold here when the Fleet arrives?” Mi-Kus asks.

  I frown for a moment before shaking my head: “No, this is the first skirmish for Argai. We will abandon the system once we’ve scrounged up what intel we can alongside what salvage could be of use. Prepare a report for High Command and the Oversight Committee on this engagement. Begin moving our slower ships to the next ambush point, the rest of us will catch up once practical.”

  “Understood, sir. I’ll get to that report asap.” Mi-Kus replies.

  Two jumps later I was looking over a larger portion of my forces. Sykes’s 382nd had just met us here and joined our formation, a spread out hodgepodge of lines, all pointing towards a hyperspace beacon that was far too close to a star. I inhale deeply and exhale slowly. This was the battle which unnerved me most. If we were willing to do this, what would be too much for us?

  I knew I would never be able to order the death of a world, I would never allow base-delta-zero to leave my lips in any way other than with disgust and derision. But would my fellow officers agree? Benoni had ordered the cordon and death of the Sith Worlds again, destroying what little life had managed to survive and reemerge after the genocides of the Sith and the purges upon their worlds by the Republic of old. Would he and his be willing to do the same to a world inhabited by innocents? Would the Separatists? Would my own men?

  I needed to calm myself. There was little point ruminating on this when battle was likely to be imminent.

  “Sir, IPV-1 Scout XX of the 2nd Recon reports the final enemy ships have begun entering our previous jump point. She has now obtained visuals of the entire Retribution Fleet. An element of five Acclamators, fifteen Dreadnoughts and various light ships are moving forwards, likely the vanguard for the next jump.” Commander Slas thankfully interrupts my thought process.

  “Alright, have her continue to monitor enemy movements. See if we can confirm if it’s actually Fleet Admiral Honor in command like our spies have informed us. All ships, battle-stations. Prepare strikecraft for imminent deployment, but keep them within our hangar bays. I will not risk them to this level of solar radiation.” I order calmly.

  “Scout XX has reported enemy force has made their jump. Assuming class two hyperdrives, we’ll have an hour until they arrive.” Commander Slas reports.

  “Alright then, let’s bloody their nose some more.” I order.

  Bvinsk takes a drag from his cigarette as he exchanges glances with the holographic depictions of Brigadier General Green and Major Lins. This meeting shouldn’t take too long, not if the Spooks knew better, which they should. A long exhale of smoke considers with Bvinks nabbing a datapad offered to him by Colonel Jerjerrod.

  “Privateering actions are going well, but we’re running out of capital to pay them with at an alarming rate.” He begins.

  “They’re desperately needed though.” Green replies.

  “Not disputing that, simply stating our allies in the Core need to hand over some chits asap.” Bvinsk replies.

  “I’ll see what we can scrounge up.” Green replies, “Though at least they’ve managed to eliminate multiple light sections, a dozen logistical sections and secured various intelligence packages for us.”

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  “We’re suffering from success.” Lins says.

  “Well the Tionese Corsairs should be … less of a problem in the near future. We plan on offering them, a position in defending Argai directly. It will help bolster our numbers there in the direct engagement and hopefully rid us of some financial obligations.” Bvinsk says grimly.

  “Argai is looking more and more like a winnable battle.” Green says suspiciously, “Dericote’s already destroyed nine enemy ships of the line and twenty enemy light ships and if his reports are true, he has yet to actually lose anything in return.”

  “That still leaves a hundred and ten enemy battleships, sixty of which are state of the art and worth at least three of our own in most cases.” Bvinks counters, “Not to mention our stockpiles of high grade tibana are starting to run dry and Dericote and Benoni have nicked most of the remnants for themselves. We’ll have to switch to lower grade stuff soon.”

  “How low grade?” Green asks.

  “Red.” Bvinsk replies and Green flinches slightly.

  “I suppose going down a grade for most ships isn’t so bad, though it is a pity for those which were using highest grade tibana previously.” The Intelligence Chief says hesitantly.

  “It will mean a thirty percent downgrade in firepower and a loss of ten percent in maximum distance for all turbolasers.” Bvinsk says, “I am reliably informed that such details matter quite a bit.”

  “I’ll see if I can scrounge some more up, but you should probably inform our comrades in arms that they will have to adapt.” Green sighs.

  “On a better note, we’ve managed to nick another thirty two targets. Seven of the Removal Platoon had to break off due to increased security and we lost two Agents in action, but that’s still thirty two enemy agents and officers we no longer have to worry about.” Commander Lins says with a sad yet victorious grin.

  “Little good it does us.” Jerjerrod says in his recently preferred monotone, “Sure, thirty Imps are dead, decently important ones too, but the Retribution Fleet will arrive at Argai one way or another. Unless you somehow manage to knife Palpatine or Honor and her command staff.”

  “We’re doing our best. Eliminating likely garrison commanders, especially the competent ones, ISB Agents, Imperial Intelligence Agents and a few collaborators isn’t exactly easy either.” Lins defends his men.

  “Either way,” Bvinsk stops the two officers from continuing their bickering, “I’ve ordered Commodore Hugh and her 401st Rapid Response to make haste to Argai to refuel and restock our ships there. She’ll probably join the engagement with her flagship, her 1382nd Outer Rim and 922nd Light Outer Rim and send the rest of her forces back for further munitions and mines.”

  “Dericote will need it. Though you shouldn’t be surprised if Hugh takes all her warships to battle and leaves her transports vulnerable.” Green cautions.

  “Noted. On a different note, Kota has also officially reorganized his militia into the 1st Rebel Airborne Division and has begun the training of a 1stRebel Armored Division, so far he has about a brigade’s worth of volunteers and small arms to supply them with. Problem is, he wants whatever armor we can scrounge up for him.” Bvinks informs the Intelligence officers.

  “Jabiim isn’t a primary avenue for Imperial advance right now, especially with the North Triellius between Sy Myrth and Junkfort Station now officially allying themselves with us. Best keep the Republic armor we have in reserve for more reliable units.” Green suggests

  “On a similar note the 12th Bandomeer Volunteer Brigade has made contact at Anzat. Seems they’ve take casualties but also liberated the imprisoned soldiers of the 23rd Anaxsi and 3rd Yabol Opa Volunteer Regiments. Now mind you, they’ve all taken casualties, but with the recently arrived remnants of the 4th Yabol Opa slinking in through a couple smuggler routes. They’re enough to form two Brigades sans armor and some of the heavier support company supplies.” Bvinsk states feeling a bit of pride for his fellow countrymen’s successful escape.

  “Two brigades. You want to form another Division?” Green asks.

  “No I’d rather not. I plan on ordering the 12th Bandomeer, with the Fleet Admiral’s permission of course, to begin digging in at Dellalt while the Yabol Opans and Anaxsi move to Cophrigin to replenish their armor and other supplies.” Bvinsk replies.

  “Ah, so that’s why you don’t want to give Kota his toys. Very well, I’ll support you in that.” Green nods before they turn to the next group of industrial and logistical targets the Intelligence Brigade should attack next.

  The ships exit hyperspace, the star pulses and suddenly their shields are practically stripped bare.

  The order from the Admiral’s lips are swift and decisive: “Fire.”

  Turbolasers and ion cannons scream, the star pulses. The Imperial warships attempt to come about, the star pulses and heavy turbolasers crash into their unshielded hulls. Imperial warships move to return fire yet their medium turbolasers peter into ineffectiveness as they splash against Rebel warships and the blasts of heavy ion cannons and missile fire of the Dreadnoughts aren’t concentrated enough to do anything other than crash against the shields of the Rebel force. Meanwhile the star pulses.

  Inside the Imperial warships sailors scramble for medkits to begin popping anti-radiation pills while others continue to operate their stations. Most of the time the shields of a warship, or heavy duty transports on the civilian market, had enough shields and armor to ensure their occupants would never have to deal with the worst radiation of a star or radioactive asteroid. Yet so close to a star, with their shields stripped away by solar radiation and heavy ordnance alike, the sailors had to suffer hundreds of rads a minute. All the while the star pulses again.

  A Dreadnought goes up in flames as its armor collapses to sustained turbolaser fire, the star pulses. An Acclamator launches strikecraft in a desperate attempt to ensure their pilots’ survival, the star pulses. More strikecraft emerge and begin racing towards the various lines of Rebel warships, the star pulses. Missiles emerge once more from within the Rebel warships, racing to intercept the Imperial fighters and bombers.

  The star pulses, missiles explode into clouds of deadly shrapnel, crashing into the Imperial strikecraft charge. Hundreds of pilots die as the formation attempts to adapt only to find the cloud of shrapnel to be too large to circumvent and too fast to escape. The few fighters who do manage to avoid the shrapnel clouds continue their assaults, yet are forced away by the intense flack provided by the various lasercannons from the Rebel lines, the star pulses.

  Heavy turbolasers pound against durasteel until the last ship lies disabled, tombs for their dying and dead crew who had fought an unwinnable battle. A few Imperial strikecraft slink away, out of the range of immediate death while the Rebel warships move to make their next jump, the star pulses. A moment’s hesitation, then new orders. Rebel forces wait for their commanding officer to leave his former mentor a message.

  As the star pulses and the Rebel warships leave for hyperspace and their next ambush site they leave nothing but corpses, dying pilots and a plate of spare durasteel with a simple message: Here lie traitors to the Republic who continue to follow illegal and immoral orders, may their deaths be the kindest we give their kind. Signed, Fleet Admiral Thraken Owen Dericote, Black Hussar, Rebel.