Chapter X: The Southern Campaign, Part I
The life of a quiet sector ground on for the Southern Front. Task Group Rancor recuperated their losses and awaited further orders, which at the moment amounted to 'hurry up and wait.' Tensions between Rear Admiral Vader and Vice Admiral Poh Kraat simmered, meaning there was even less for Vader's ships to do as they were excluded from local operations. The two quickly learned it was best to simply avoid the other unless business required their direct interaction. Not ideal for the ranking officers of a local theater.
Meanwhile, the Republic marshalled its forces for a major push south, with the ultimate goal being the annihilation of local Confederate forces and the relief of Eriadu. Little did they know that players in the shadows worked to derail their efforts. Achieving victory would not be so clear cut as the soldiers of the Republic would have hoped.
Thus, the opening of the Southern Campaign marched ever closer. These are the last days of calm before the storm.
Onboard C.S.S. Immutable, Sullust System
Like all other Providence class ships, the Immutable possessed a host of facilities dedicated to servicing the needs of her organic crew. There were the typical additions of the mess hall, the officers' lounge, various rec rooms, and the observation tower located astern. Along with these facilities was the gymnasium, and out of all the aforementioned areas it saw the most use by the ship's crew. Just because one was not serving on the ground did not mean they should neglect their physical fitness; a ship in the void of space could quickly become a heated battlefield just as a planet.
The crew of the Immutable had a reputation for being especially prudent about their exercise regimens. While the average sailor always tried to squeeze in some time for physical activity, here they followed it quite zealously. It was not just limited to things such as weight-lifting or cardio either. The crew of the Immutable dedicated copious amounts of their free time to drills: CQC, kickboxing, electrostaff and vibroblade duels (blunted, of course), even applications of lightsaber forms were practiced every day in the Immutable's training centers. Even for a military vessel, the crew's dedication to keeping up their hand-to-hand combat was unusual, and surprising to many.
Surprising, until one realized that most of the organic crew were twi'leks. And that each and every one of them were former slaves.
Such a story amongst the Confederacy's soldiery was not uncommon. One of the greatest appeals of the young state to those living in the Outer Rim was its unequivocal condemnation of slavery across the galaxy, and the resolution that if the Republic would not stop the soul-killing trade practiced by the Hutts and the Zygerrians, it would. Through overwhelming force, if necessary. When the Articles of Secession had been published far and wide, the very first amendment had read thus:
We hereby declare slavery and the slave trade to be abolished across the galaxy for all time. The most basic right of each and every sentient being is freedom of choice, and the Confederacy of Independent Systems exists to defend this and all other universal rights by any means necessary.
Thousands of slavers and masters had tried to keep the knowledge of this declaration secret from their slaves. Thousands of slaves had still escaped their chains or had them smashed by the steel heel of the droid army. Thousands of slaves freed, more in a matter of months than the Republic had managed in centuries. Thousands of slaves, willing to do anything to make sure they and those they cared about would never know the feeling of a collar around their necks ever again.
Twi'leks, even though their homeworld was a member of the Republic, had always been especially vulnerable to the slave trade. They were greatly desired by those with more credits than basic decency, such as the Hutts. It was not unheard of for twi'leks to be stolen away even in the midst of their homes, a violation of both Ryloth's and the Republic's sovereignty that went repeatedly unanswered by the government on Coruscant. Ryloth was in the Outer Rim, they thought. Why should they not take care of themselves?
Thus, the twi'leks suffered, thus they were offered endless and empty platitudes by their leaders and the Republic while their people were torn asunder. Thus, were children ripped from their mothers' bosoms, husbands and wives separated permanently on the whim of a rich merchant, families destroyed in the blink of an eye. Thus they, and countless other races across the edges of the galaxy were seemingly forgotten by the Republic and the Jedi.
Thus, those who had been freed by Separatist efforts joined the Separatist armies, resolved that they would be forgotten no longer. Such was the attitude of the crew of the Immutable.
The only thing truly uncommon about her crew was that most of the organic sailors had joined as a group, having all been aboard a slave ship together when it was boarded by a Confederate patrol a few years before the war began. There were a few who had come from different areas of the galaxy, but for the most part all of the ship's crew had known each other long before their enlistment in the Confederate Navy.
With this in mind, they watched Commodore Athena Syndulla stand in the center of no less than three BX-Series Commando Droids, all trainer versions, knowing they were in for a treat. She had always been one of the most dangerous with a weapon, as their so-called masters had learned rather painfully.
The commodore was wearing her usual workout ensemble, form fitting pants and a top that left the sunset toned skin of her stomach exposed. Her lekku had been bound together by a leather headdress, and in her hands she wielded a sparking electrostaff. She serenely eyed the droids circling her, each one wielding a blunted vibroblade. They were set on her custom training program and so wouldn't go for any particularly dangerous blows, but the droids could still hit very, very hard.
She heard the cheers of the crew who had deigned to watch, marking each droid's position in a mental map of the sparring ring. She heard each clank as they moved, blades held at the ready but not making any aggressive moves until she began the spar. Her fingers held the electrostaff with an expert's grip, and her body stood in a relaxed but ready stance. She glanced to the digital clock mounted on the gym wall, and saw the time go from 09:59 to 10:00. She nodded.
Breathe in.
"Engage."
As one the droids closed in, each going for a different angle with their blades. She twirled the staff rapidly, her feet moving with the rapidity and grace of a ballroom dancer. The blade aimed at her shoulder was parried, along with the one going for her torso. A slash had been made at her legs, but she jumped over it quickly. The jump was turned into a spin midair, the staff being swung in a wide arc to give the commodore some breathing room. The droids backed off, and she landed in a crouch, eyes gazing intently upon the machines as they calculated a new method of attack.
She would not let them have the time, however. With a cry she lunged at the leftmost droid, stabbing out with her staff as if it were a spear. The machine deftly parried the blow, the two weapons sparking against one another. It was quickly forced on the defensive, as the commodore spun her staff in a mesmerizing pattern of steel and violet arcs of high-voltage electricity, testing her opponent's defenses for a weakness. The other two droids would not simply stand by and watch, however. They moved to attack her back while she was engaged with their comrade, hoping to exploit the momentary opening. The droids were not fast enough. The commodore was like a dervish, twirling and arcing her staff in wide and precise movements to catch any blows directed towards her. The commando droids' blades flashed with spectacular speed and precision, but it was not enough to break their opponent's defense. The four combatants moved across the ring as they did this, Athena's footwork smooth and graceful while the droids' were mechanical and precise. Surrounding them, crewmen cheered their commodore on from a safe distance.
Things continued like this for another minute or so. Eventually one of the droids again tried to aim for the commodore's legs. As before, she jumped in the air to avoid the blade. This time, however, she had jumped towards the offending droid instead of simply dodging the attack. The droid's programming registered this and moved to counter it, but the commodore was simply too fast. Spinning midair like a whirlwind, she hooked her leg around the droid's head, pulling it down sharply to the ground along with her. There was a resounding clang as the machine was smashed to the ground, and before it could recover Athena's electrostaff stabbed the blue circle on its back, a sensor that would register the hit and inform the droid's A.I. that it had been 'killed'.
Barely pausing to acknowledge her victory the twi'lek woman fell upon the remaining two droids, engaging them both at once with her staff. By now she was spinning it so rapidly that it might as well have been a solid wall of steel and lightning. The two droids were hard pressed, now that they were down by a third it was harder for them to push against their opponent's defenses and find an opening. This wasn't to say that they didn't fight ferociously and with cruel cunning, but their opponent was one of the most skilled hands at melee combat in the Confederate Navy. Programming and cold steel could only go so far against instinct driven by experience and ingenuity.
Eventually one of the droids left an opening when its attack was parried and caused it to overextend. The commodore wasted little time in sweeping its legs out from under it with her staff and hitting the sensor on its torso, 'killing' that one as well. The final droid, seeing that it had lost the numerical advantage, tried to press the attack and use the might of steel to overwhelm the commodore's flesh and bone. Just because it was on a training program did not mean it was unable to decide that breaking bone was a viable option for victory. Snapping out with its left hand the droid made to grab Athena's arm.
The twi'lek pirouetted away from and around the droid's grasp, hitting first the offending arm, then stabbing at a leg to knock the droid down to its knee, and then striking the sensor on the droid's back, 'killing' it. The fight was over.
Breathe out.
"End session, initiate recharge."
She planted one end of her staff on the floor as the droids rose and made their way for the terminals off to the side of the room while the crew cheered. She allowed herself a smile at the praise before tapping her staff on the ground with an echoing thud.
"That's enough, back to your regimens! Or are any of you feeling lucky today?"
The onlookers were quick to go back to their own business, knowing full well that any exercise they could put themselves through would be nothing compared to what their commodore could dish out. Charismatic leader she may have been, Athena Syndulla was also uncompromising in her and her subordinates' training. Slow sailors are dead sailors.
She made her way off to the side of the gymnasium, sitting on a bench and taking a greedy sip from her water. The cool liquid was heavenly, helping her to relax from the intense sparring session. Even if it had only lasted a few minutes, the exertions of the fight had left her soaked in sweat.
The beeping of her com-link grabbed the twi'lek's attention, and she opened it. "Syndulla here."
"Commodore," the voice of her tactical droid said, crisp and flat as always. "Commodores Kircheis and Musel have arrived to discuss the latest drill results, as per your request."
"Oh, good," she said, wiping the towel across her face as she spoke. She had been eager to go over the results with her colleagues. Purely for professional reasons, of course. It had nothing to do with her Squadron having come out ahead of both of theirs by a healthy margin. Nothing at all. "Have them wait in the bridge briefing room, I'll be there shortly."
"Very good, ma'am," the droid replied, before the call was cut.
Taking another swig of her water, Athena quickly went to clean up and don a fresh uniform. One facility that the Immutable could boast over other military vessels was a series of actual water-based showers attached to the locker rooms of the gymnasium. A luxury that she was ever thankful for, and one that made other captains green with envy. Sonic showers just weren't the same.
Let's get cleaned up and see what those two have to say, she thought, smirking to herself. It ought to be fun holding this over them for a while.
"I'm telling you; he's doing it as a punishment."
In the bridge briefing room, two officers of the Confederate Navy sat at the table, each enjoying a tea service that had been left courtesy of the crew. Known throughout the Task Group and being minor celebrities in the navy as a whole, they were rather hard to not recognize. Even without their reputations as Vader's daring subordinates, they were memorable in their own right.
"I highly doubt that, Reinhard," Siegfried Kircheis said as he sipped from the tea. He took a moment to savor the aroma and flavor before setting the cup and saucer down. "Admiral Vader isn't one to be oblique with his discipline. If he felt there was an issue that needed to be addressed, he would do so quite bluntly. I recall someone yelping like a scared puppy when they tried to question his credentials in front of ship and crew. But I doubt you need the reminder."
"It was one time," Reinhard Musel grumbled as he added a cube to his own tea, stirring it slowly. "And its not like I didn't learn my lesson after that. But still, three action drills in four days? All of them being held at the tail end of a shift? There's no way that's normal upkeep, even for him."
"Hmm, point. But if that's the case, I'll take intensified simulations as discipline over whatever else he could conjure up. It could certainly be worse."
Reinhard grunted at that, conceding the point. He took a sip of his own tea, taking a moment to appreciate the bold flavor. He was partial to caf himself, but he could appreciate the subtler nature of tea every now and then. He knew for a fact that Kircheis had his own dedicated tea service aboard his ship, and would use any excuse to set it out.
"So, what do you make of things lately?" Reinhard asked his friend after a moment. Kircheis raised a brow. "About our lack of orders."
The red-haired man took another sip before answering. "Tough to say on Command's end. We've long since repaired our ships, and our troops are well-rested. Even with the loyalists being too concentrated between us and the East to attempt a breakout, I figured the brass would at least assign us something. It's odd. As for the local command, well, you heard the conversation yesterday…"
Reinhard grimaced, recalling vividly Rear Admiral Vader's icy presence after the transmission from Vice Admiral Kraat had ended. Everyone had known to avoid their normally affable commander for a good portion of the day. "It's risky, having two of the ranking officers in the area disliking each other so heavily. I understand how the admiral feels, but at the same time…"
"Agreed," Kircheis said with a nod, features grim. "It could prove a hindrance to any operations in the future. Vice Admiral Kraat may outrank him, but Rear Admiral Vader is not a part of Kraat's command chain and paid close attention to by the public. A complicated affair. The lack of any new information from Raxus only makes things worse. Vice Admiral Trench can only keep the peace so well from the other side of the galaxy."
At that moment the door opened, revealing Commodore Syndulla in a fresh uniform. She walked into the conference room with a fresh step, having come from one of her training sessions. What she called training, anyway. Reinhard preferred to look at it as self-inflicted torture, which he wanted no part of, thank you very much…
"Morning, boys," Syndulla said, her Rylothi accent laced with teasing smugness. "I'm surprised you came all the way to my ship just to hear me gloat."
"Of course," Reinhard said with a teasing smile of his own. They could put aside the business of their admirals for another time. "It's always a pleasure discussing the day's drill results, outlier results aside."
The twi'lek snorted as she sat down at the table, removing her cap. Quickly pouring herself some tea, she settled into her seat. "Is that a challenge, Reinhard? My sailors are more than happy to show you up in the next simulation, if that's what you're looking for."
"I'm sure," Kircheis said with a pleasant grin. "But friendly competition aside, we were hoping to go over where we could improve. Specifically, our screens' coordination could use some improvement."
Athena nodded, idly flicking through the datapad she'd brought with her holding the drill's results. "Yes, we fell for the admiral's trick with the Y-Wings for the first time in a while. I also wanted to bring up methods for improving the firing rate of our proton cannons. I know that we shouldn't rely on them so heavily, but they really are paramount in us punching above our weight like we did at Milagro."
"Some of my engineers brought up the idea of using interchangeable heatsinks," Reinhard said. "Sort of like a tibanna pack in a rifle. Except instead of holding gas for the weapon to consume, it takes in the heat from each firing. Then it's switched out with a fresh heatsink. That was the gist of it, at least. There'd need to be some tests before we explore the idea."
"We should definitely look into that," Kircheis said, clasping his hands on the table. "Even if the proton cannon outguns the heaviest loyalist turbolaser, we can only produce and mount so many, and they're far too expensive to become a mainline weapon. In terms of numbers, we'll always be outdone."
"I understand the admiral put forward the idea of mounting them in turrets as well. That would definitely improve the weight of our volleys; right now, the Providence has to fight almost like a ship of the line from ancient wet navies. Being able to use all ten guns without having to roll the ship would give us far more flexibility."
"We'll bring it up with the admiral at the next briefing," Kircheis said in response. "Now, going back to our performance against the Y-Wings…"
Onbaord R.A.S. Resolute, Antar System
The Antar system was a planet on the frontlines of the ever-growing Clone Wars. Situated in the now dangerous borderlands between the C.I.S. and Republic, it had seen its share of battles. The area had become especially important as it was situated on the flank of the Republic's supply lines into the newly occupied territories around Milagro and New Cov. With fresh forces recently having been transferred into that area to garrison the still unruly separatist populace, it was critical that Antar be defended. If this system were to fall, there was little to prevent a separatist encirclement of the entire area.
To this end, the Open Circle Fleet had been locked down in a defensive stance of the local space. There had been fears that Darth Vader's bold raids had been the precursor for some larger assault, but nothing substantial had materialized. Yet the Republic's admiralty remained weary, and were hesitant to pull away a normally very mobile force from the area. Especially with the fast-approaching date of the campaign to take the South back from the separatists.
For Ashoka Tano, it was mind-numbingly boring.
For what had to be the… actually she had lost count. After an indeterminate number of repetitions, she came out of her katas from Jar'Kai. Lightsabers deactivating, she huffed as she saw that she had been just a few seconds shy of her goal, again. Her master had been hounding her about perfecting the form for weeks now, and while she'd shown marked improvement, she always fell just short of the goals he'd set. She'd become well-acquainted with what she called Skyguy's 'drill-sarge side,' much to her consternation and Master Obi-wan's amusement.
He's only being so tough because he cares, she chided herself. After what happened with Aayla…
She frowned, refusing to start thinking those dreary thoughts. Aayla Secura's death still haunted the Jedi Order even months after the fact. The same went for Bly and his legion with the clone troopers. She knew a few men from the 501st had lost good friends at Phindar, and she tried to offer them what comfort she could. Things had gotten better with time, but the wounds left by the war weren't the sort of thing that could simply be talked away. They would linger for a long time.
She smacked her forehead. Positive thoughts!
She was getting better at the form, no one could deny that, Obi-wan had helped her tune her lightsabers to a fine sheen, the mess was serving Naboo Honey Cake tonight, Master Plo had told her how proud he was…
At that she sighed.
"I wish they would send someone else," Ahsoka admitted. She was having a rare call with Master Plo while he prepared his fleet for action. She had been informed of where he was going by Anakin, and the thought filled her with dread. "I don't mean to say you're not up to it, Master, but it's just…"
"There is a high risk, yes," the baritone voice of Plo Koon said in reply, well aware of his old ward's concern. He idly stroked the chin of his mask. "We have numbers and the troops are motivated, but this was also the case at Milagro. The enemy I go to fight is a dangerous one."
And then she could tell he was smiling. "But fret not, young one. I will have Luminara and her padawan Barriss to help me, and several other seasoned Knights have volunteered to come along as well. Why, we might just steal the limelight from you and Skywalker if we're not careful."
She giggled at that. "Skyguy is upset that he won't get to take part. We've been stuck here for weeks now. I'm not sure how much longer the boys can keep up with his live flight drills."
Her smile dimmed, and Plo Koon sensed her mood. "It's just… I want you to come back, Master Plo. I don't want another funeral where there's no body, especially not for you."
I can't lose you. Not my father in all but blood.
"I will not make any promises, Ahsoka," the old Jedi said grimly, though not ungently. "War has a habit of making even the simplest oaths impossible to keep. But I will do my utmost to survive. You can rest easy on that. And even if the worst should happen and I don't… I will be with you, young one. Always."
She knew that quite a few more conservative Jedi would have considered her conversation with Master Plo to be evidence of too much attachment, but she frankly didn't care. He was the being who had raised her, taught her the ways of the Force, instilled in her a desire to serve the Order and bring good into the galaxy. Even after her time with Anakin, Ahsoka could not let go of her old teacher. Really, she was lucky. She'd ended up with two excellent teachers.
More Jedi than I'm comfortable with say that attachment is a doorway to the Dark Side, her master would say. But I think they're wrong. It's perfectly fine to care. To love. Our bonds are what give us the strength to do what's right, Ahsoka. Never forget that.
"Commander?"
Rex's voice jolted her from her thoughts, and with a yelp she whirled around to face him, tripping in the process. The clone officer could only stare bemusedly at her antics. For her part, Ahsoka held her head in embarrassment, groaning all the while. To think that she'd been so consumed in her thoughts she hadn't even noticed Rex coming up behind her.
"Are you… alright, sir?" he asked, blessedly making no mention of her decidedly un-Jedi reaction. He offered her a hand, which the Togruta gladly took. She offered him a smile, still tinged with embarrassment.
"Well, tripping like a baby rancor aside, I guess. Just thinking," she said, arms interlocking behind her back.
"I have no idea what you mean, sir," Rex said with a straight face, only the twinkle of his eye giving away his humor at the situation. "Anyway, I was just coming by to get you. General Skywalker is, ah… experimenting."
Ahsoka raised her brow, immediately knowing what Rex meant. Her master was like a little kid sometimes… "The gunships again?"
Rex nodded, somber and solemn. "He's already disassembled half of Turbo's. Poor lad nearly fainted when he saw it."
The young Jedi sighed, already walking towards the door. "I'll do my best. Though if you're coming to me it must mean that Obi-wan isn't making much headway."
"Not true, sir," Rex said, briefly causing Ahsoka to look up. "The general said, and I quote, 'Nope' before walking in the exact opposite direction. So, technically, the battle isn't lost yet."
"Only because no one's actually there to lose it," Ahsoka grumbled, even though in reality she felt lightened at the antics of her friends. She and Rex pressed on, the pair making a quaint sight. He, the battle-hardened clone with back straight and gait that of an officer worthy of respect, and her the diminutive Jedi Padawan, still trying to figure out where exactly she fit in this highly irregular yet tightly knit family.
"Sir?" Rex said after a moment, gaining Ahsoka's attention. He smiled at her. "Don't worry about the general. It'll take more than some arch-clanker to take him down."
Her eyes widened, utterly surprised that Rex had somehow understood what had been troubling her when he found her. But then, maybe it wasn't so surprising. Rex made a great effort of knowing the moods and feelings of his troops, understanding that morale was of utmost importance. He'd gained quite the keen insight from the endeavor, and she half-wondered if he was Force Sensitive with how well he could read both his fellow clones and his Jedi officers.
"Thanks, Rex," she said in reply, truly grateful for his reassurance. "Well, let's go see just how bad Skyguy's tinkering is this time, eh? If I'm going to fight a hopeless battle, you're at least going to slog it out with me."
Rex chuckled, a low and rasping sound that brimmed with warmth. It was the warmth of a stolen moment in between firefights, or of a quiet night on watch with naught but the stars and one's comrades for company.
"I've got your back, sir."
Onboard C.S.S. Ambitious, Sullust System
The bridge of the Ambitious was as lively as ever. Even while they and the rest of the fleet sat in orbit of Sullust seemingly doing nothing, there was still plenty of activity among the relatively small formation of Task Group Rancor. Eighty ships of war required a great amount of coordination, even if all they were doing was holding position. Patrol patterns needed to be routed, formation maintained, traffic monitored and corralled where needed, and countless other seemingly mundane minutiae of keeping a fleet running smoothly. As the old saying went, 'the only quiet ship is a dead ship.'
The lack of immediate orders for the Task Group to attend to would have normally made other sailors envious of their downtime, but as the other ships of the Southern Front had come to realize, Darth Vader rarely let his fleet rest without earning it first. Drill, after drill, after drill had been run and rerun in varying fashion by the Sith's fleet, and observers from the other formations had quickly become overwhelmed with the pace and intensity of the wargames.
"I've heard of exercises," one officer had said after observing a rather nail-biting wargame that had seen the Task Group barely edge out a victory over the opfor. "Those are one thing. What you people get up to is utter insanity."
Nonetheless, the training spoke for itself. Task Group Rancor operated at a standard that was on par with some of the finest naval traditions anywhere in the galaxy. Insanity or not, they had taken naval warfare and raised it from their profession to an art form. The other officers, those wise enough to realize that even with the somewhat maverick reputation Vader's fleet had garnered, were eager to glean what they could from the exercises and conversations with the Task Group's sailors.
At the moment, the leader of these mavericks was huddled at his customary position at the tactical table on his flagship's bridge, studying several maps of the Southern Theater. There were convenient markers to indicate the positions of all ships in the area, with any ships being unidentified or of enemy make being marked with a flashing blue X. Worryingly, there were several such symbols to the north, clustered around Fondor and Foless.
"These are the last confirmed sightings that the probes had," 3110 said of the markers. It then pointed towards a flashing red symbol indicating Vice Admiral Kraat and his fleet. "The Vice Admiral has taken up position at Yag'Dhul, though wisdom dictates that he refuse an engagement there if it becomes necessary. His scouts have yet to report back."
Vader nodded at the information, going over what they already knew. By chance, or the Force, a cargo freighter crewed by merchants sympathetic to the C.I.S. had passed along information that there was an uptick in loyalist activity in the area. Sightings of multiple ships had been mentioned, and they'd even provided holovids of a few that they'd gotten close to during their travels. In a rare moment of agreement, he and Vice Admiral Kraat had acknowledged that while the report had little to verify it (and there was precedent for beings looking to make a quick credit by passing along 'vital intelligence' that only turned out to be empty space and wasted time), the fact that the physical evidence had been genuine merited at least a cursory look.
Having said that, Vader was weary regardless. He was still keenly aware of how far off intelligence could be from the actual situation.
"Have we heard back from Command?" he asked, not looking away from the map. The Force nudged him, telling him that there was something afoot, but frustratingly it was little more than a vague sense of foreboding.
"Only that things have been quiet along the frontlines," 3110, he really needed to come up with a name for the droid, said. "There are reports from several sectors of subunits peeling away and returning to the Republic's interior, but aside from that there is nothing worth noting."
"Usually, that is an indication of a major operation being prepared," Vader mused, tracing his fingers along with frontlines between the C.I.S. and the Republic as the whispers from the Dark Side grew. Dangerenemiesdestructionslaughter-
"But where is the hammer, and where is the anvil?" he wondered aloud, now pointing at specific locations. "To strike at Mygeeto, and deal us another blow in the North? Or perhaps to hit Randon, and further widen the gap between the East and South."
His intuition and the whispers told him that was wrong however, and with a building thrill of battlelust and dread his finger moved further south. Does battle call me once more?
"Or will they strike here, to liberate Eriadu from our siege and take Sullust's shipyards?"
Along with his head, he thought darkly.
"It cannot be discounted," 3110 said, altering the hologram to forecast a hypothetical invasion of the Southern Theater. "In spite of, or perhaps even because of, our presence, it is easy to see the Republic devoting significant resources to the area's pacification. The calculations all end up with this theater as a valuable region, the presence of Task Group Rancor only adding onto the numbers."
Perhaps the intelligence was right this time, they both thought. How amusing that it had come from a source completely outside the employ of the C.I.S.
"And on our end, it is woefully undermanned," Vader said, gazing at the arrows representing any possible loyalist advances. They carved through the red areas like a lightsaber through cheap metal. Even though it was merely a hypothetical representation, he found himself uneased by the imagery.
"Indeed, sir," 3110 said. "The tension and lack of extensive communication between you and Vice Admiral Kraat only complicates our situation. We are officially a reserve, but in reality, we are actively kept from the possible flashpoints, and the chance for proactive defense is lost immediately."
"That is partially my own fault," Vader admitted, now somewhat regretting his standoff with Kraat. Regardless of their personal feelings towards one another, they were both officers and should have learned to put such things to the side for the sake of the troops. "Insect though he is, Kraat does know how to organize a fleet. Perhaps there is time to have a rapprochement, at least for the moment."
"Blind optimism does not suit you, sir," 3110 said, not looking away from the table.
Vader looked towards the droid; amusement clear in his tone. "And neither does sarcasm for you."
"I am learning," it said with a flash from its photoreceptors. "The past few jokes have even gone well enough that a sailor laughed."
"Progress is a remarkable thing," Vader said, before turning back to the table and becoming solemn. "I feel that the hammer will fall upon us, and it will fall hard."
"It will be Milagro all over again," 3110 said in agreement. "Except this time there will be no escape. We will have either victory or disassembly."
Vader nodded. "Regardless of our hopes, send a message to Vice Admiral Kraat anyway. Giving him some warning will be better than nothing at all."
Turning from the table, he set his gaze out towards the vista of Sullust and the surrounding starscape. One of those specks of light held the force which was about to be unleased upon him and his troops. He idly wondered which particular point it was.
Victory or death, hmm? He thought, sedately striding towards the viewports with his hands clasped behind his back. 3110 simply nodded at the order, continuing to observe the tactical table. The droid was well used to its commander's quirks by now. For his part, the Sith stopped just before the forwardmost viewport, thin transparisteel the only thing between him and the void of space.
That seems to be the only thing I know lately. How droll.
Republic Ministry of Defense, Coruscant
In one of the many situation rooms within the ministry, the Chancellor and several of his aides and military advisors sat gathered around the conference table with suitably grim faces. Grand Master Yoda was there as well, representing the Jedi Order. Several holograms stood at one end of the room, the images of Plo Koon, Luminara Unduli and Admiral Coburn looking equally grim.
"Chancellor," one of the aides said as he looked at his watch. "It is time."
Palpatine nodded solemnly before standing from his seat, causing everyone else to straighten. He had done what he could to ensure that events proceeded as he wished, but outside of discreet efforts things were now out of his hands. It was time to roll the dice.
"Begin the operation," he said, getting nods from the three holograms. "The prayers and hopes of the Republic go with you. May the Force be with you."
And may she not derail my plans before they can even begin, he thought darkly, eyes boring into the projected image of the Southern Theater.
Vader… let us see what you're really made of.
Author's Note: Sorry for the delay everyone. Been preparing for grad school the past few months, and while I wish I could say the delay won't happen again we all know that's unlikely at best. Still I'll do my best to keep chapters coming.
A slow chapter this time, though with the promise of action to come. It was a good opportunity to explore two things I've always wondered about: slavery in Star Wars and why the Confederacy fights. Considering the Confederacy's focus in the Outer Rim, it is almost certain that these two issues are mutually inclusive. You need more than simple political machinations and corporate backing to start a galaxy wide civil war, there are actual social issues at work here.
Take Ryloth for example: we know that it is a member world of the Republic, they have their own named Senator and all. Yet one of the groups most targeted by slavers, is the Twi'leks. In essence, Republic citizens are being targeted for slavery, something their government has outlawed for millennia, and nothing is being done. There is resentment there, and I would bet good money that this situation has been repeated in other worlds in the Outer Rim as well. It's not a simple matter of beating back the droid armies and helping the people get back on their feet; quite a few will not want to be brought back into the Republic's fold, and will do whatever they feel is necessary to stay out.
A number of people seemed worried about Palpatine's reaction in the previous chapter, and all I can say is he's human. He'll have moments of panic. That doesn't mean he can't calm down later and look at the situation rationally. The mark of a great strategist is not how well their initial plan unfolds, its how they handle events when they start to deviate from what they originally expected.
But enough of hearing me ramble. The next update will be for Britannia's Children, hopefully without the delay. I look forward to seeing you then.