Sublight Drive (Star Wars)

Chapter 85

Taris Approach, Taris System

Ojoster Sector

“Hit confirmed,” Gnifmark Dymurra announced, a slight frown on his face, “But it seems General Grievous still lives.”

“Observation: no explosion was detected,” Augur said, “The Devastation’s main artillery may have been temporarily disabled, but we have failed to eliminate the dreadnought as planned.”

“It cannot be helped,” Bunt Dantor replied evenly, “Admiral Bonteri had stressed the importance of interrupting Devastation’s firing sequence. We were unable to charge Number Two to its full capacity, and thus unable to impart enough velocity on the kill vehicle to impart the atomic energy of its mass.”

I rested my cheek on my fist. Conventional mass accelerators, such as railguns, tended to overpenetrate their targets. Their projectiles traveled so fast that they didn’t have time to fully transfer their kinetic energy to the target. The result was undeniably devastating, but still left energy potential untapped. Incredibly powerful, no doubt–Conqueress, however, operated on an entirely different level.

Her twin gravitic waveguns propelled her projectiles at such extreme velocities that they essentially friction-welded themselves to the target on impact. The collision smashed the atoms of both the projectile and the target together with forces akin to those in a particle accelerator–or even a fusion reactor. This collision would initiate a chain reaction, burning through the entire mass of the KKV and releasing every ounce of its nuclear energy into the target.

Effectively, Conqueress’ projectiles hit with such incredible speed that they overcame the limitations of kinetic energy transfer entirely and stepped into another field of physics. The numbers involved were so unimaginable the effects came full circle.

…That was, if the KKV was fast enough in the first place. And by fast, I meant over 70% the speed of light, at least.

“If we had been given more time to charge Number Two,” the Skakoan continued, “We would not have wasted the shot.”

And that was the crux of the dilemma in the bridge. Upon extraction from hyperspace, we found the Devastation pointing its moon-cracker at Taris. If we had waited for Number 2 to finish fully charging, the Devastation may have discharged in that time.

“If that ship had fired–” I shot to my feet, deathly calm, “–it would have smote an entire hemisphere of Taris into charcoal. It is clear to me that the Devastation had enough power to overload Taris’ planetary shields, and I have no doubt a second shot would’ve rendered half of the planet's surface uninhabitable. Let me be clear: I do not consider that ‘wasting’ a shot.”

In the annals of galactic history, it was said that Taris has been rendered uninhabitable once before, and four-thousand years later they were still licking their wounds. Personally speaking, I don’t think they’re eager to live through that again.

“I don’t think anybody here intends to undermine your decision, Admiral,” Gnifmark Dymurra raised his hands diplomatically, silently hissing at the apathetic Skakoan to shut the fuck up, “But what I believe the Chief is trying to say is that we just expended one of our seven remaining shots, which evidently failed to even permanently disable the target. Compared to the destruction we wrought at Korphir, this can hardly be considered an equivalent exchange.”

Fact that Taris is a Loyalist world notwithstanding, was left unsaid. I knew better; Taris supported the Jedi coup, and keeping the planet and its populace in fighting shape was towards my best interest.

I watched the Devastation slink away on the scopes, towards the safety of her fleet. The huge dreadnought was damaged, isolated, and unprotected. Prime starfighter bait. It took every ounce of restraint I had to hold off on ordering a full starfighter raid on the ship, in an attempt to destroy her before she reached General Grievous’ fleet.

Because the truth of the matter was, we ourselves were prime starfighter bait as well. Conqueress had only one hangar, a small, pitiful thing capable of servicing a single shuttle and one wing of Vulture droids. With the addition of five Munificent-class frigates–brought in from the closest sectors and still outfitted in their intelligence suites–that makes six wings of Vultures. Six LAC wings, all singularly purposed in preventing Conqueress from being jumped by some hotshot Jedi pilot.

Because Conqueress was meant to operate clandestinely, and I had just announced her existence to an entire city-world.

I suspected that the only thing preventing Grievous ordering his LACs to swarm us is one, that our small task force was as of yet lurking beyond the effective range of his sensors; and two, that the Republic fleet was placed squarely between us. ?

“Then it's better we make the next shot count, don’t we?” I shrugged off their concerns, “Six left. We better kill Grievous and destroy the Devastation before we’re halfway through the magazine.”

“Clarification: you intend on engaging Grievous, Admiral?” Augur questioned, not quite alarmed but not quite deadpan, “We have already blown our cover, but we can still extract before they get a scan on Conqueress and learn of our capabilities.”

“We’re here to kill Grievous,” I circled around the captain’s chair and leaned forward onto its headrest, “And that is what we’ll do.”

Commander Dymurra shifted nervously, “Sir, with all due respect, the droid is right that we ought to extract before they pull a scan on us. Admiral Trench was quite explicit in saying we should remain hidden until the right moment.”

“That was advice, not an order,” I countered, “And what is the right moment, anyway? Admiral Trench may have his own doctrine, but I do not agree with it.”

Keeping Conqueress unused? That was laughable, as was the idea of keeping any weapon unused. Yes, a weapon as powerful as Conqueress should not be so carelessly wielded, but that goes for any weapon. A superweapon was first and foremost a force multiplier–adhering to Trench’s strict conduct of secrecy was tantamount to hoarding strength potions in your inventory and giving yourself excuses to not use them.

Oh, but what if I need these for the boss level?

Oh, this boss is easy, what if there’s a stronger boss ahead?

Oh, this boss is hard… but doable, I should keep these for the final level.

Oh, the game is over?

I had six shots left–six potions left–when am I to use them if not in battle? Considering that Gravlex Med was a faraway and unlikely venture now, I could only use two shots a day, at best. And what the hell is a ‘right moment’ in the first place? Standing where I am now, was this not the ‘right moment’ to use Conqueress? There was an enemy general in front me, a hostile superweapon wielded against me, and a planet to save. What concerns my conscience concerns me, and I could not let a monster like Grievous rampage about while I was in a position to stop him.

“Weapons were made to be used,” I snapped my fingers, and a tactical holo of the battlespace burst to life in the centre of the pilothouse, “So we best start planning how to use it.”

“Affirmative,” Augur’s chassis set into place, and the bridge dimmed into battle lighting, “What are your orders, Admiral?”

“First things first,” I nodded stately, “Grievous outnumbers us. We need more ships, and more firepower. Inform Dodecian Illiet to deploy a forward squadron and relieve that Republic task force on the egress.”

“You intend on allying with the Republic, sir?” Bunt Dantor stormed–rolled, more accurately–to the foot of the captain deck, “They will learn about everything Conqueress has to offer!”

“So?”

“Affirmative,” Augur’s deep bass told everyone exactly what’s happening, “All ships; execute Battle Order Four according to the formation package provided.”

The tactical droid turned to me, “We will need firepower. Permission to deploy our Munificent-class frigates?”

“Have them transfer fighter control to Conqueress first,” I commanded, “Otherwise, permission granted.”

Beyond the viewport, sleek fin-shaped Wavecrests cut through to inky darkness coalesced into four distinct squadrons. Two forward divisions of twenty Wavecrests each, positioned themselves far ahead of the Conqueress, angling against the hyperlane. Two rear divisions of ten Wavecrests each, were directly off the port and starboard bow of Conqueress, forming a defensive screen in left and right echelon respectively.

The final and fifth division was that of the five Munificents, their sublight drives burning bright against the void, stationed directly in between Squadrons A and B and emptied of their LAC wings. Compared to the sleek and elegant Wavecrests, the gravely angular silhouettes of the Munificents seemed to gleam with a brutal light. Around us, squadrons of Vultures flocked, placed under Conqueress’ direct control, perching themselves on her guns to save energy.

With a super tactical droid commanding the order of battle with a far greater competence I ever could, I reviewed my assets. Sixty Wavecrest-class frigates, five Munificent-class frigates, and one Aggressor-class battleship. Number of hostile warships unknown, but certainly far greater than ours. The plan: extract the Republic taskforce, engineer an opening to snipe the Devastation and destroy, hopefully killing General Grievous in the process.

“All ships are in position,” Augur declared.

“We’re loading Number One, Admiral!” Bunt Dantor informed me, unable to hide excitement despite his misgivings.

“Alright Grievous,” I murmured to myself, “Let’s play a game of capture the flag.”

?

“Warship’s approaching from Taris’ celestial shadow!” the sensor chief shouted, “If we are to jump, we need to do it now!”

“Belay that order!” Commander Gree ordered the helm, “There’s Separatist warships in the way!”

Master Luminara Unduli plunged herself into a cold sea of tranquility, observing the situation with a peacefulness only a Jedi Master could conduct in such dire straits. In order to prevent them from immediately jumping into hyperspace, General Grievous had sent forth a squadron of Munifex-class fast cruisers to block their path while they were preoccupied listening to his exchange with the Battle Hydra.

They could still jump… and risk crashing into the light cruisers in pseudomotion. Normal crews wouldn’t dare put themselves in the way of a jumping fleet, especially one made of much larger mass–but droid crews weren’t inhibited by such fears.

“Forward,” Luminara Unduli commanded, “Sweep them out of the way.”

“–You heard the General! All ships flank speed!”

To their starboard quarter, the pack of Munificents and Recusants in hot pursuit, having recently reorganised after Garland’s torpedo barrage. Finally, to their portside, the Battle Hydra’s fleet was emerging from Taris’ celestial shadow, the location of their superweapon yet unknown. To their immediate rear, the planet of Taris.

Boxed in on all four sides…

“It was Rain Bonteri’s superweapon that interrupted the Devastation’s firing sequence,” Luminara droned out the thunder of Garland’s batteries as they tore the Munifexes to shreds, “Could it be that they are hostile to General Grievous?”

“If that is Rain Bonteri at all, General,” Commander Gree warned, “That man should be dead, and this could be another Separatist trick.”

“I doubt it,” the Jedi Master mused, “I have a… feeling.”

Or lack of feeling, more like.

Clone Commander Gree knew his Jedi General better than to question her ‘feelings.’

“Be that as it may, sir,” the Clone Commander said, “That doesn’t mean Rain Bonteri isn’t hostile to us.”

“Despite our prior experiences with him,” Master Luminara blinked as a Separatist cruiser detonated in a brilliant reactor bloom, Garland’s viewports immediately polarised as the warship basked in the bloom’s glow, “I have heard that he is quite an amenable person.”

“You intend to forge a ceasefire, sir?”

Master Luminara resumed her measured stride, pacing along the starboard arc of the bridge. She glanced back at the tactical holomap, where red markers representing Separatist vessels closed in on their retreating ships. Their pursuers were steadily grinding down Task Force Garland’s rearguard.

“If it is a means of extricating ourselves from this situation," she replied, "I don’t see a reason not to.”

A communications officer turned sharply in her seat. “General! Celosia had been caught by the enemy! Zeilla is doubling back to assist!”

“Caught,” Luminara repeated softly, her tone laced with exasperation, “Again.”

“We can still jump, sir,” Gree reminded her.

She paused mid-stride– “And leave Zeilla and Celosia behind?”

“It is the correct action to take in order to save the majority of our forces,” the clone pressed, his tone unflinching.

Before she could respond, the bridge’s alarms began blaring—a harsh, urgent klaxon that cut through the din. A nearby lieutenant practically shouted over the noise: “Missiles incoming! Starboard side!”

Jedi Master and Clone Commander snapped in unison toward the starboard viewport. Beyond the reinforced transparisteel revealed an ominous sight: waves of glowing snowflakes, streaking like a silent snowstorm across the starscape. Glimmering motes of light, each trailing plasma contrails, converging on their position in tightly coordinated barrages.

She quickly assessed the threat: the torpedoes were arranged in a fifty-one by three formation, meaning it was a full broadside of torpedoes from a Providence-class battlecruiser. The targeting computer chirped again, and her stomach sank–another two salvos blinked into existence. General Grievous hadn’t been idle as Master Even Piell blew him up; in that time, the cyborg had somehow organised a line of battle.

“Can we dodge?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Not at this range, sir,” Commander Gree confirmed grimly. “We’re caught in their hammerlock.”

“Belay the jump and strike our hyperdrives. We’ve missed our chance,” Master Luminara Unduli ordered calmly, “Turn about ninety-degrees to starboard and divert all power to our retrothrusters, forward shields, and point-defense. They’re aiming for the Garland: I want a port echelon formation, with Zeilla at the front and Garland at the rear. Understood?”

Then came the chorus of affirmations as Garland shuddered under the strain of its sudden maneuvers. The warship groaned as it twisted hard to starboard, her escorts scrambling to reposition themselves. Around her, Task Force Garland shifted like a school of fish under threat, each ship breaking formation and pivoting to new positions with precise, if hurried, movements.

“Zeilla is leading the echelon,” the helmsman reported, sweat beading on his brow as his fingers danced across the console. “We’re falling into the rear position as ordered, General.”

Luminara Unduli stood firm amidst the jostling vibrations of the bridge, her hands clasped behind her back. She watched the tactical display begin to reflect the new formation as Garland slid backwards: a diagonal line, tilted slightly to present the reinforced port shields of each vessel toward the incoming torpedo barrage.

“Point-defense systems, concentrate fire along the port bow," barked the clone officer at weapons control. "All ships, stagger your fire zones and don't let anything slip through!”

General Grievous wanted her dead, and had his torpedoes projected to hit the Garland accordingly. Thus, by pushing Garland to the rear of the formation, the torpedoes will have to brave the overlapping point-defence fire from all fifty-three Venators of Luminara’s fleet.

The ships of Task Force Garland moved as if linked by an unseen thread, each adjusting their speed and trajectory to maintain the formation. Smaller escorts weaved tightly in between the capital ships, merging into the line to cover the gaps in the echelon.

But pressure was mounting; Zeilla and Celosia, at the front, desperately staved off their pursuers. It wasn’t enough; the damaged Magnolia finally buckled, and the mass of Separatist frigates stormed the breach, threatening the integrity of the formation.

“Order Anagallis to reinforce that breach,” Master Luminara commanded.

Commander Gree immediately relayed the order, not once taking his eyes off the display. The first wave of 153 torpedoes began to close in. In the silence of the void, the Bachani’s point-defense systems sprang to life, followed by Mycosia’s, then Geranium’s, then Begonia’s, then Marg Sabl’s. The entire battle line successively shuddered to life, roaring streaks of energy crisscrossing the darkness as they sought to thin the oncoming tide.

Their point-defense systems flashed in coordinated bursts, stitching a defensive net of laser fire cutting apart the incoming torpedoes with ease. Finally, Garland slid smoothly into position at the rear of the formation, her cannons picking off the few torpedoes that slipped past the earlier layers of defense.

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And just like that, the first wave was gone, completely vaporised. Not a single warhead made it through, and for a brief moment, hope flickered on the bridge of the Garland.

But the respite was short-lived.

The second wave followed immediately, rampaging down the smoke-filled space where the first wave once was, and this time they deflected their vectors in response to the Republic formation–aiming for the closest warships instead of the Garland. Though the battle line responded with the same efficiency, the cracks began to show. A handful of torpedoes slipped past the furious hail of fire, slamming into the forward shields of Mycosia and Geranium. The impacts rippled through the line, visible even from the rear of the formation. Shields flared, systems strained, and alarms began blaring on multiple bridges.

“Damage to Mycosia’s forward shields!” a clone officer reported, his voice sharp with urgency. “They’re down to forty-three percent!”

The third wave hit harder. Several more torpedoes found their marks, ripping into the hull of Bachani and carving deep scars into Anagallis. Shields across the line flickered and failed under the relentless onslaught, exposing doonium to the void. Still, the fleet fought on, every ship pouring every ounce of firepower into the space ahead, carving the battlefield into a seething whirlwind of laserfire.

Then came the fourth salvo, blinking into existence on the displays, and the fifth, then the sixth, then seventh–and it became clear to all of them that General Grievous had completely formed his line of battle, and was bearing down with the full might of a Separatist line of battle. Task Force Garland slid backwards, firing their retrothrusters while maintaining their lines of bearing in an effort to put more space between them and the Separatist line–and thus buying more time to shoot down the enemy missiles.

There was more point-defense, more countermeasures, more decoys, capital-grade mass drivers launching fireworks into the void–until it seemed as if the entire envelope of space in front of the fleet was saturated with weapons fire. The darkness of space had been transformed into a furious sea of light, the fleet pushed to their absolute limits as they fought to stem the tide.

“Zeilla reports critical damage to their aft shield generators!” Commander Gree called out, his voice a rare crack of urgency. “They’re falling back to the secondary line!”

“Reinforce the gap! Order Magnolia to cover Zeilla’s position!”

“Magnolia is gone, General!”

And yet, Master Luminara Unduli felt entirely calm, the Force feeding a constant stream of confidence into her soul. As if… as if the situation would resolve itself shortly. Her eyes flicked to the tactical display, where Rain Bonteri’s fleet loomed ominously at the rear of Task Force Garland. The frigates were closing fast, their course a direct collision with her struggling echelon. Yet, despite the grim reality of their predicament, the Force whispered to her, a quiet but unshakable assurance that it was not their end–at least not yet.

“General,” Commander Gree said tightly, “Bonteri’s forces are almost on us. If they engage, we’ll be pincered!”

Her lips parted, about to issue orders, when something unexpected happened. Instead of firing into the unprotected aft of her formation, the onrushing fleet suddenly altered course, their sleek forms veering to the dorsal and ventral flanks of the formation. Garland’s battered crew braced for impact, yet no turbolaser volleys came. Instead, the frigates shot over and under the echelon at breakneck speed, their uselessly streamlined hulls slicing through the void like blades.

“What in the–” the sensor chief started, his astonishment mirroring the shock across the bridge.

Before anyone could process the shift, the strange frigates acted. As they streaked past Task Force Garland, hatches on their underbellies opened, spilling dozens of metallic spheres into the missile vectors. Each sphere, hastily identified as a high-yield ion mine, spun free, activating its system in seconds.

The sudden minefield deployed itself directly into the flight paths of Grievous’s incoming missile salvos.

“Sensor readings show… mines, General!” a clone officer reported, his voice disbelieving. “They’re intercepting the torpedoes!”

The battle in front of the echelon turned chaotic. As the missiles streaked toward Garland, the first waves entered the minefield, and the mines responded with savage precision. Detonations rippled through the void, each brilliant orb of crackling lightning consuming hundreds of torpedoes in moments, frying their drives and navigation systems and rendering them mute and ballistic. With their guidance systems wasted, Garland’s fire control computers easily shot down the lobotomised torpedoes.

At the same time, five Munificents crashed into the flanks of their pursuers, their forward ultra-heavy turbolasers silently booming into the void, reinforcing Anagallis’ counterattack and throwing back Grievous’ warships.

“Admiral Bonteri’s fleet isn’t attacking us?” Gree murmured.

Master Luminara stood silent, watching as forty fin-shaped frigates danced in front of the echelon, their ion mines and raking point-defence fire thinning the next successive torpedo broadsides before they even entered Garland’s firing envelopes.

“To all Republic vessels, this is Dodecian Illiet, on behalf of Admiral Rain Bonteri of the Confederate Navy,” a stiff-voiced alien spoke on open comms, “We heavily advise that you loosen your formation and extricate yourselves from the battlespace, preferably via the Z-axis.”

Master Luminara Unduli immediately had a feeling she knew why listening to the Givin’s advice would be in her best interest, one eye fixated on the massive and yet growing energy reading on the scopes.

“Helm, do so,” she ordered.

Commander Gree swivelled in alarm, “But our formation, sir?”

For the first time in a long while, the Mirialan Jedi raised her voice:

“We need to clear their firing line–!” Gree’s eyes widened, “–We need to get out of the way!”

?

Garland peeled sharply to port, her thrusters blazing as she obeyed the order to clear the line of fire. Around her, the surviving ships of Task Force Garland followed suit, their formation dissolved into chaos as Venators and escorts scrambled to evade the incoming spectre of destruction.

I nodded in brisk satisfaction as I observed our line of fire clearing up.

“We have a firing solution!”

At her heart, Conqueress began to buzz in anticipation. Energy built along the length of her spinal weapon, the spectre of it seemingly visible to the naked eye as crackling arcs of light coursed down the ship's hull. That familiar gut churn of reality bending struck, instilling a sense of vertigo as the space in front me warped.

“Data sync complete!”

“Power levels nominal. Target lock acquired,” Augur’s mechanical voice intoned aboard the Conqueress, “Number Two at critical charge.”

I sucked in a breath–

“Open fire!”

The weapon released.

The spinal cannon discharged with a roar that rippled across the electromagnetic spectrum, every ship within a hundred-thousand klicks flinching against the tidal wash of energy. The gravitic wavegun’s projectile was invisible to the naked eye, a slug of tungstoid accelerated to functionally the speed of light. As the round tore through space, it carried with it a reddish shockwave of gravitational distortion, space itself twisted around it in a warped bubble.

The projectile struck the heart of Grievous’s fleet before anybody could even see its launch, atoms crashing into atoms and atoms fusing into atoms into atoms. In an instant, the atomic cascade began, unleashing a chain reaction so violent that the battleline didn’t simply explode–it became a miniature star, its entire mass consumed in a blinding flash of nuclear fire.

An entire section of Grievous’ close-knit line of battle had evaporated in the fraction of a second, and where the centre of his formation had once stood, there was now only a glowing cloud of plasma and jagged shards of debris, blowing and expanding outward like the aftermath of a supernova and sweeping everything in its path.

“We’re receiving a transmission on open frequency, Admiral!” the comms officer hollered up.

“That piece of shit is still alive?” I exclaimed in disbelief, “What will it take to kill him?”

“Hopefully less than the same amount of effort needed to kill you, sir!”

I froze, then snapped my fingers and pointed at him, “You make a good point. Patch him through.”

–tzzt–tzzt–

“You have allied yourself with the Jedi, Rain Bonteri?” Grievous’ scratchy, eternally tormented voice crackled out of the comms, “Traitor”

“I’m not trying to kill the Jedi, General,” I replied dryly, “I’m trying to kill you. You are the traitor, and have been since your master Count Dooku attempted to overthrow the government he founded.”

On every sensor display, it was evident General Grievous’s fleet had been reduced to a pale shadow of its former might, a battered remnant of warships struggling to reorganize amid the chaos. Yet, despite that, they were regrouping with mechanical precision behind the veil of gas and plasma. Number 2’s full powerdischarge had damaged its barrel, but Number 1–whose low-power discharge allowed another power cycle–was still available. If nothing else, it would give us another chance at killing Grievous.

Five shots left. Gnifmak Dymurra’s crisp reminder pulled my focus back to the harsh calculus at hand. One shot had saved Taris from annihilation; another had cleaved Grievous’s fleet in half. But was it worth risking a third for what was now only a chance to take his life? The Devastation was crippled, and with Grievous’s forces so gravely wounded, Taris stood a reasonable chance of defending itself against any planetary assault. General Grievous was still alive, but ineffective.

I scratched my cheek, boring a hole into the tactical holo with my eyes.

…No, it wouldn’t work.

There was debris in the way. A growing cloud of plasma from the effects of the first shot that would react with the KKV–acting like a shield–unless we purposefully use a low-power discharge to avoid the effects of an atomic collision. Except, that would betray the point of the weapon, and hardly take out anything.

Unless we find the Devastation.

I leaned over to Augur, and asked as such

The super tactical droid paused, his optical sensors dimming slightly as if to underscore his consideration. When he finally replied, the tone was brusque, almost apologetic.

“Negative: the Devastation does not appear on our scopes.”

Even the largest things can be frighteningly hard to find in space–even an eight-kilometre long dreadnought–much less among the battlefield. The ship was most likely hiding somewhere behind the cloud of debris blocking our scopes–if she hadn’t already jumped to safety.

And wasn’t that a shame? General Grievous was going to escape. Conqueress, and the weapon she housed, was designed to eliminate her targets in a single pass. But when that singular strike failed to achieve its intended purpose, the results were… problematic. I had arrived with the explicit goal of destroying both Grievous and the Devastation. I had failed in the first and achieved only a partial success in the second. The cost was immense–two irreplaceable shots expended, and worse, the exposure of the Conqueress and her secrets to the galaxy at large.

With that in mind… Admiral Trench’s going to reserve some scathing words for me.

“You were right, Commander,” I admitted and Dymurra twitched at the acknowledgement, “This wasn’t an equal trade. Tell me–how would you balance the scales?”

Gnifmark Dymurra’s eyes narrowed, his expression sharpening as his mind shifted to its most calculating state. It was easy to forget, but this was the man who brokered the sale of three nineteen-kilometre long interstellar trains to the Perlemian Coalition on the eve of battle, and the man who saw so much potential in the gravitic mass driver stratagem that he staked the Loronar Corporation’s existence on a singular gamble. That gamble–the gamble that he could turn space warfare on its head–willed Conqueress into existence.

“Take the Republic survivors into custody, Admiral,” Commander Dymurra advised, “The nature of our weapon has been revealed, but that was hardly a well-kept secret. Christophsis, Bothawui, Columex, Commenor, and Korphir have all been battlefields the Republic laid witness to. As long as the Conqueress' specific capabilities remain undisclosed, we can still salvage the situation. Thus far, we’ve detected no scanning or visual locks on the Conqueress. They don’t know where we are.”

"Wouldn’t taking prisoners risk compromising that secrecy?" I inquired, prompting him to continue.

“Conqueress remains a secret, but your survival is not, sir,” the Ampliquen officer corrected, “Taris cannot communicate; they’re in a blackout after Grievous’s assault. And Grievous himself won’t reveal your presence–the lack of pursuers thus far despite his immediate recognition of you after witnessing a single shot attests to that. That leaves the Loyalists. If we take them into custody, we ensure our operational secrecy remains intact.”

"Observation: the Republic task force outnumbers ours," Augur interjected, his voice a metallic rumble that carried across the deck. "A lesser force attempting to capture a greater one is not a realistic proposition."

"They may have the numbers, but we have the firepower," Dymurra countered, gesturing sharply, "Conqueress is a strategic asset, Admiral. Her very presence alone shifts the calculus of any engagement. The Loyalists have just witnessed the galaxy’s most powerful naval cannon in action. A demand for their surrender will carry weight–they will comply if they believe the alternative is atomic disintegration."

I leaned back slightly, processing his words, already imagining the potential outcomes.

"Augur?" I prompted, seeking the tactical droid’s input. Personally, Dymurra’s reasoning was compelling, and my thoughts were already racing ahead to the possibilities.

"Assessment:" Augur began, his optics flaring briefly, “Commander Dymurra’s strategy is sound.”

“Inform Dodecian Illiet to broadcast the demand of surrender,” I immediately ordered, and the comms station scrambled to comply, “As for the fleet–”

“–Action on the scopes!” Bunt Dantor buzzed in alarm, having been calibrating Number 1 for a potential shot at the Devastation, “Grievous is coming out of the debris!”

Alarms blared in my mind, and the deck erupted into motion, officers scrambling to update their stations as Grievous’s fleet roared from the plasma-laden chaos of the debris field. Four-hundred warships were counted, aligned in a perfect battle lattice, a wall of gleaming sublight drives burning hard for Illiet’s forward divisions. Even with half of his fleet gone, General Grievous still outnumbered us three-to-one, and after spending so long reorganising his formation, he had no intention of fleeing.

“Assessment: he will be aiming for a decapitation strike against the Conqueress,” Augur announced.

“Foolhardy,” Bunt Dantor scorned, as if he was insulted at the thought of Conqueress being underestimated, “Far too foolhardy. Does he not realise the weapon he levels against? One shot will be all it takes to reduce the rest of his fleet to stardust.”

I leaned forward, scrutinizing the tactical holo. At first glance, Dantor’s assessment seemed correct. General Grievous’s aggressive charge appeared reckless, almost desperate–a suicidal gamble, as it appeared. But something about it nagged at me, an itch in the back of my mind. I did not know much about General Grievous, but if I could confidently say one thing about him; he was not stupid. He would have been the Supreme Commander of the CAF if not for my machinations, and he would have led the Confederate starfleet straight to the skies over Coruscant.

As the standard battle lattice confidently sailed toward us, I could only believe there was a larger strategy at play. But what could there be? The battle lattice was Standard Battle Order 4, one of the five basic building blocks of Confederate fleet doctrine. By design, there was quite literally nothing simpler. That simplicity was the basis of the formation’s strength.

So what modifications have been made to counter Conqueress?

Alright Grievous, let’s talk basics. I unconsciously thinned my lips, and Augur, the perceptive three-eyed droid he was, immediately took notice. What’s the first thing a junior officer must consider about Battle Order 4?

“Dimensions,” I murmured beneath my breath, “Proper spacing, and maintaining lines of bearing.”

Augur wordlessly began directing the scopes to take the dimensions of the enemy lattice. I was so engrossed with analysing General Grievous’ formation that I had not noticed the tense atmosphere infecting the whole bridge, that disbelief and ridicule once bubbling now fizzling into taut speculation.

Four-hundred warships, at least. He made two ranks, I squinted, typically done to add mass and momentum. Perfect for breaking into the opponent’s own line of battle. But then why…?

“Why does his battle lattice look so large?” I asked aloud, the realization striking like a thunderbolt, “That’s the giveaway of a poor commander.”

An effective battle lattice requires tight lines of bearing and overlapping firing envelopes, something only possible with droid crews. It was still possible with organic crews, of course, especially with automated guidance systems, and there were many ways to modify the battle order, but as a general rule of thumb–if you want your enemy to break, you need as much massed firepower in one place as possible. And that meant as tight a formation as possible.

I magnified the display, taking a closer look at the lattice. Except, Grievous’ formation was the opposite of that. It was difficult to tell in the vastness of space, but Conqueress’ scopes were the best the Confederacy had to offer. The spacing between General Grievous’ warships were egregiously large, and the only thing giving away the purposefulness of the action was how fastidiously the lines of bearings were maintained.

“Fuck,” I suddenly swore, “Kriff. Shit. Helm: all power to retrothrusters. Astrogation: plot a jump to Ord Sigatt immediately. Engineering: power down Number One and have our hyperdrives spooled before he gets in range!”

“Affirmative,” Augur did not argue, coming to the same conclusion as I, “And the Republic survivors?”

“Conqueress has already been functionally disabled,” I leaned back, an acute sense of defeat curling in my gut, “With a larger fleet, I would have pounced on the chance to tear apart that sorry excuse for a battle lattice–but I do not have a larger fleet on hand at the moment. Get me a line to the Republic commander. I wish to negotiate.”

?

“So the butcher refuses to retreat,” Master Luminara Unduli murmured, a hand raised and plucking at invisible strings in the Force.

“Seems like the Givin are as alarmed as we are, General,” Clone Commander Gree nodded, taking stock of the situation around their fleet.

The Givin Wavecrests, having successfully shepherded Task Force Garland out of the line of fire, were now scrambling back into a formation–a defensive chevron around the Garland and other Republic survivors. Meanwhile, the five Munificent-class frigates formed a slanted echelon against the incoming enemy. Almost immediately, jamming cones screamed out towards Grievous’ formation, disrupting targeting systems and communication relays.

The enemy warships faltered momentarily, their movements growing erratic as the jamming field scrambled their coordination. Behind that front line, the Wavecrests moved with mathematical precision, their overlapping firing envelopes adjusting seamlessly to track incoming Vulture squadrons attempting to flank the formation.

It was a strange sight for a strange war, both Republic and Separatist forces allying against a madman who tried to smite a planet.

“We’re picking up another massive gravitational signature behind us!” the sensor chief raised the alarm, “It looks like that gun is charging for another shot!”

Against Grievous?

Before she could respond, the comms officer turned sharply in his seat, “General, incoming transmission on an open frequency!”

Luminara’s senses tingled, like a pinch between the brows, “Source?”

“Unknown,” the officer replied, “But the signature matches the large vessel at the rear of the engagement–the one that fired the weapon.”

Large vessel. To think that was all they knew about the Separatist Alliance’s newest superweapon. Even with on the same battlefield as them, it remained so far afield they new hardly anything about it except the consequences of its actions.

“Patch them through,” she ordered. Whatever this was, ignoring it would not aid their situation.

The bridge fell silent as the transmission crackled to life.

“To all Republic vessels, this Admiral Rain Bonteri of the Confederate Navy,” spoke the voice of the Battle Hydra. A stern, but rather mellow and calm tone unexpected of a monster of his calibre, more fitting at the lectern of a lecture theatre rather than the command of the most impressive battlefields the galaxy has witnessed in a thousand years, “I am offering a temporary ceasefire. General Grievous is no friend of the Confederacy, and I find more common cause with you than him.”

A murmur rippled through the crew, disbelief mingling with unease. Luminara felt the tension in the Force, the weight of fear pressing down on her people. She raised a hand, silencing the whispers.

“This is Jedi General Luminara Unduli of the Grand Army of the Republic,” Master Luminara replied coolly, “I was of the impression that General Grievous was a Separatist commander, as are you.”

“...Master Jedi. It has been a long time,” the Battle Hydra almost purred, “I must correct you: General Grievous is a Separatist, but he is no friend to the Confederacy. Just as there are Loyalist terrorists that pay no tribute to the Coruscant, there are Separatist warlords that hold no allegiance to Raxus Secundus.”

“Consider me suitably educated, Admiral,” the Jedi Master replied, eyes fixed on the storm of laserfire beyond Garland’s viewports as both Republic and Confederate warships erected a barrier of fire against incoming warheads, “Now, what do you suggest?”

“I have already secured a line of retreat to Ord Sigatt,” he informed her, “Permit the Givin to synchronise your drives, and we may withdraw from this situation with our hair still on our heads.”

Master Luminara smiled, “Is that superweapon of yours no longer an option?”

The reply was apologetic, “I am afraid not. It pains me to admit that General Grievous had outplayed me, for I do not have the resources to exploit his weakness.”

“You bit off more than you could chew,” she decided, glancing at Commander Gree, “And what will happen when we reach Ord Sigatt?”

Commander Gree silently shook his head.

“We make an accord, or go our separate ways. Has Barriss Offee told you anything?”

“She need not tell me anything for me to know everything,” a sharp edge creeped into the Mirialan Jedi’s words, “I wonder if you are the cause?”

“Not the cause, simply the impetus.”

“Is that so?”

“General,” the Clone Commander whispered, “The Wavecrest are requesting astrogation access.”

Jedi Master Luminara Unduli folded her arms into her robes, plucking at the strings of the Force.

“Very well,” she finally decided, “I am certain we have much to discuss.”