"It is ready, Count." General Grievous' harsh, booming voice echoed around the bridge of the battlecruiser Violator, and the bridge crew seemed to cower away from their monstrous leader.

"Excellent, General. You may begin the attack at once." The hologram of Count Dooku, the charismatic Separatist leader, fizzled away to nothing.

Grievous moved to the controls of the warship, and his four robotic arms reached forward and deftly activated the Violator's hyperdrive, sending the ship rocketing towards its target, with the rest of Grievous' fleet not far behind. The campaign to take Duro had begun.

*        *        *

On the bitter, acrid planet Duro, the Bothan agent Traekis Kre'lya ducked into the shadows as a squad of fully armoured clone troopers marched past, patrolling the bleak corridors of the Republic base situated on the planet's surface. Over many centuries Duro had become an industrial and technological graveyard, and eventually as the native Duros fouled the planet's atmosphere, the inhabitants constructed many orbital cities to live in, abandoning their wrecked homeworld.

Kre'lya couldn't resist a sly smirk. These clones are almost as stupid as their progenitor! Kre'lya had once worked with Jango Fett himself, tried to betray the bounty hunter, failed, and as a result the Mandalorian had refused to pay Kre'lya his share of the profits. Even though the Bothan had been lucky to get away with his life, he had ever since held a grudge against Fett – and intended to get his revenge by wiping out the clone army that Jango was paid so well for.  

Effortlessly, the experienced infiltrator slipped through the shade, looking for an air vent through which he might slip through. There would be Jedi closer to the control room: clones he could handle, but Jedi were the problem. He had tried to obtain a Force-blocking ysalamiri, but the Republic fleet had blockaded Myrkr heavily, in order to protect the Jedi's greatest weakness.

His fur helped him slide through the cramped vent, and he silently dropped into the tractor beam control room. Two clones were operating the many tractor beams that controlled the huge cargo transfer system: Duro was a vital trade hub for Republic war materiel. He aimed his slender wrist gauntlet at the clones, and fired a pair of spiked poison darts. The clones fell, killed instantly. Take that, Fett-spawn!

Kre'lya's nimble fingers got to work reconfiguring the system, aiming the tractors at one of the huge orbital cities floating high overhead. With all the beams locked on, he prepared to activate the final button, the key which would spell the beginning of the end for Duro.

"And so it begins," gloated the Bothan, revelling in the moment. "from Duro the Separatist army will have an easy road to Coruscant!" His furry finger shot towards the vital control.

It never made it. Kre'lya was thrown backwards across the room, yanked by some sort of invisible energy force. Miniaturised tractor beam? The answer became obvious as he rolled towards the door, where a Jedi Knight stood, lightsaber blazing.

*        *        *

The fleet of twelve battlecruisers decanted from hyperspace at the edge of the Hapan shipyard world, Releq. Ten disk-shaped battle dragons sat in place above the ship forges, the jewels of the Hapan fleet. Immediately after the Confederacy fleet arrived in system, five of the Hapan ships left formation and began drifting towards the Separatist force.

Aboard the flagship dragon Blade of Death, the ship's main comlink activated. "This is Admiral Dolrath of Hapan High Command, what in the name of the Chume'da do you think you're playing at?"

The grizzled captain of the Blade made a gruff reply. "Sorry Dolrath, but we're defecting. Dooku's paying us well for this."

"You'll pay, traitor," replied Dolrath. The captain was suddenly rocked to the floor, as the five loyal dragons opened fire on the turncoats.

Across the gulf of space, aboard the Violator, General Grievous stared intently at a holographic battle map. "Move the fleet in to cover the defectors. Count Dooku has something special planned for these Hapan cruisers."

By now Admiral Dolrath had arrived in the sector, bringing with him twenty Hapes Nova-class battle cruisers, each one armed with twenty five turbolasers and two squadrons of Miy'til fighters. The bird-like starfighters streamed from the launch bays at the rear of the cruiser, pouring down onto the rogue battle dragons. The Miy'til fighters were well armed, each one carrying a payload of sixteen thermal detonators that could act as space bombs. However their shields were weak and offensive fire from the fleeing dragons tore great holes into the Hapan fighter formations.

A swarm of droid fighters joined the fray, cutting across the Hapan flight paths and destroying a great number of Miy'til fighters. The droid fighters were nimble and fast, dodging return fire, and the flock of ships cut around for another pass.

Aboard the lead Miy'til, Kalanor's Wrath, Commander Kalanor, widely acknowledged as the best pilot in Hapan space, ordered his squadron to form up. "We need to thin out these droid fighters," he commanded, "so that we can bring in the Hetrinar bombers!" Slow and sluggish, the Hetrinar bombers were top of the range fighter ships designed to assault capital ships. They would make light work of the battle dragons, but they needed a free run at their targets.

The eight Miy'til fighters – four of Kalanor's elite men had already been vaped – targeted one wing of sixty droids, and Kalanor unleashed a cloud of thermal detonators into the midst of the droid formation. Fiery explosions ripped a hole in the middle of the droid configuration, and the Miy'til fighters ripped into the midst of combat. His three laser cannons fire-linked together, Kalanor's finger pumped his trigger, taking out one droid, swinging the ship around to target another, blasting it…within seconds the formidable droid formation wasn't even fit for a Jawa.

"Good work men," Kalanor whooped, "we've turned the tide of the battle! We've got Hetrinar bombers…"

*        *        *

"…deploying at Oh-Two-Six, General!"

Aboard the Violator, Grievous shuddered with rage. One squadron had taken out sixty droids? And now with a squad of Hetrinar bombers inbound…Dooku had made it clear that he wanted, needed, these Hapan warships, at any cost.

"Increase speed!" he roared, "We have to get to the battle and cover our starships!"

"General," replied the Violator's captain, a pudgy Sullustan named Kneb Knor, "Our engines are already running at 105% efficiency. If we push them any more they'll simply blow out on us!"

A more foolish leader might have ordered an acceleration nonetheless, but Grievous was not foolish. He stared out at the battle, thinking, and then an idea formed. "Contact our dragons. Tell them to initiate their hyperdrives. And plot us a course straight for the battle."

*        *        *

"Admiral Dolrath, the rogue dragons are trying to hit hyperspace!"

"This close to Releq's gravity well? They're mad! They'll blow us all to bits! Quickly, have the Warstride launch a pulse mass mine."

Dolrath watched through the large viewport of his cruiser as one of the loyal battleships loosed a small, spherical warhead into space. The mine hung there, pulsating weakly with an electrical energy, while it spread an interdiction field, preventing the rogue dragons from hitting hyperspace.

"Admiral! The Confederacy fleet is jumping!"

"Ha! Looks like we scared them all away."

"No, they're headed towards us…"

"What? No ship can make a micro-jump through that small a distance…oh sithspawn!" He suddenly realised the enemy plan. They were going to use the pulse mass mine to pull them out of hyperspace, and right into the battle. "Destroy that pulse mass mine!" he bellowed, but it was too late – the Separatist fleet was already on top of them.

*        *        *

"Sithspit!" cursed Kalanor, veering sharply away from the war cruiser that had suddenly, inexplicably, just appeared in front of him and his squadron. The intense G-Force pushed him back into his seat, and warning lights lit up his cockpit display, showing that six squadron members had been unable to evade and ploughed straight into the monolith.

"Guess that just leaves you and me, huh, Forlan?" He would mourn the dead later. First he had to get rid of these damn Seppies! Why were they concentrating on the Hapes cluster, the one place in the Galaxy where the Republic did not hold sway?

"Boss," came Forlan's desperate voice, "this is bad news! I'm being swarmed by fighters, ten, twenty, fifty…boss! I need help boss!"

Kalanor drove his fighter towards Forlan, his lightning reflexes taking out droid after droid after droid. He grinned, "Don't worry Forlan, you're not going to die today!" He spun his ship through a swift roll, taking out three separate fighters with one triple blast, taking the Miy'til through a dazzling array of manoeuvres.

"Yeehaa!" called Forlan, "I'm buying the drinks when we get back home, boss!" His elation turned to a scream of pain, however, as a concussion missile turned his fighter into a burning wreck.

"Forlan!" screamed Kalanor, targeting the ship that had destroyed his wingmate and good friend. Strange design, he noticed, looks like a flying wheel! The wheel-shaped fighter seemed to roll through space, four heavy laser cannons slaughtering any ship that went too close. Damn that guy's good! It soon became clear that Kalanor was the only pilot with skill enough to take him. "Everyone support Dolrath's cruisers as they attack the big ships. I'm on the leader!"

Taking the Kalanor's Wrath on a sharp path towards the wheel, Kalanor fired his last two detonator rockets, only to see them deflected by the enemy's powerful shields. The wheel span 90 degrees, becoming a sort of disk, and two ion engines lit up, propelling the ship away, towards the largest cruiser, which Kalanor's targeting computer identified as the Violator.

Cruising at blinding speed, Kalanor dogged the wheel-ship as it rocketed towards the Violator, dodging incoming laser fire and returning it whenever he could – which wasn't often. The enemy pilot seemed to second-guess his every move, and Kalanor found it a challenge to even keep a targeting lock on the foe.

They were in close to the cruiser now, well past the fire arcs of the turbolasers – but in range of the point defense cannons, which threw up bright sparks of crimson energy, threatening to burn through Kalanor's shields and frag his ship. Still, Kalanor relentlessly pursued his foe, skimming just meters above the surface of the Violator, dodging pylons and radar dishes, operating on pure intuition.

Then the mysterious foe drove straight into one of the hangar arms, almost daring Kalanor to follow.

*        *        *

Aboard his personal starfighter, Grievous laughed. Humans are too predictable, he thought, they will readily abandon the greater fight in search of further glory. This one hopes to take me down, it is time for him to learn a lesson!

"Pursuing craft, this is General Grievous. You have much skill, but it will not be enough. I commend you for your tenacity, and I am proud to be the one who sent you to your death."

"It's you who is going to be dying, Grievous!" came the frustrated reply, "You've killed your last Hapan!"

"How wrong you are," the General replied, and swung his starfighter deeper into the bowels of the cruiser, heading towards the power reactor.

*        *        *

Beams of pure energy reached from one wall to the other, skimming across Kalanor's shields, draining energy faster than a horde of mynocks. Soon, Kalanor's shields had failed and the power beams began to eat away at his hull. And ahead of him, Grievous continued, seemingly taking no damage!

Kalanor was just starting to regret chasing Grievous, when the enemy fighter turned on a credit piece, and unleashed his payload onto the Kalanor's Wrath, completely vaporising the Hapan fighter.

*        *        *

Grievous brought himself out of the cruiser with ease, entering a battle that was virtually over. The Nova cruisers flamed in their death throes, dropping down towards the grey-green gem that was Releq, and the five loyal battle dragons had collapsed, lying motionless in space. Wreckages of Miy'til fighters lay strewn about Hapan space, and the captured Hapan ships were pulling out.

"General, we've won the day," Kneb Knor's stutter crackled through the comlink, "the fleet is pulling back to the staging point at Kal'bari, and the Hapan shipyards are in ruins."

"There were no survivors?"

"No, General."

"Good. If the Republic find out about this before we launch the first attack…"

The implications hung, both men aware of the repercussions if Duro did not fall.

*        *        *

His arms pinned in place by a restrictive field generator, Traekis Kre'lya struggled to escape the invisible bonds that pinned him to the wall of the detention cells. Even if he had managed to break free of the generator beam, however, his interrogators mystical powers would have held him fast.

"You won't get anything from me, Jedi," Kre'lya croaked, his voice sore from too many days without water. "I thought your order was supposed to value compassion and fairness? You've…kept me here for almost a week now, with now nourishment!"

His captor, a tall human male with a shoulder-length mane of golden hair and a clean face, grinned. "We haven't killed you yet," he offered, chuckling to himself.

"If I could, I would spit in your face."

Abruptly, the Jedi's face darkened and a burning pain stung Kre'lya's cheeks as the Jedi struck him, reddening his fur. "Do not show insolence to a Jedi!" the monster before him roared, and punched the hanging Bothan in the chest, winding him.

"Isn't this sort of thing forbidden by your Council?" wheezed Kre'lya, catching his breath. "Some Republic this is, if even the Jedi are corrupt."

The Knight took deep, calming breaths, regaining his composure. "I…I never truly finished my training. But my Master was killed on the battlefields of Mantooine…"

"And with the Jedi numbers dwindling, the Council promoted you to Knight? Even though you're still liable to fly off the hook every now and again?"

Rage took over once again, and the Jedi let fly with a volley of punches. "Silence, whelp! This is my interrogation!" Reaching deep into the Force, the Jedi entered Kre'lya's mind and began to draw away his very thoughts.

*        *        *

Kal'bari was a jewel of a world, with vast rolling plains and beautiful vistas. It was no wonder that Count Dooku, a lover of luxury, had chosen to construct a small estate in the planet's loving embrace, a sanctuary to which he could retreat and plan his war.

A red sky framed the grassland as Dooku rode through the willowy meadow astride an arthidoc, a dignified creature native to Kal'bari. Four muscular legs propelled the arthidoc across the plains, and the beast's keen eyes were able to spot even the slightest movement, making the creatures exceptional tracking tools. Dooku enjoyed big game hunting; it gave him a chance to exercise his power and natural right to dominate others. For that was the way of the Dark Side, those who truly understand power bow to no-one. The arthidoc brayed, and Dooku aimed his traditional Kal'bari hunting musket, an archaic weapon that fired energy propelled slugs, sending a single blast that tore through the air and felled a docile beldoth, towering reptilian creatures that fed on greenery and plants.

The wind flying through his noble white hair, Dooku brought his arthidoc to a halt and leapt from his steed, landing beside the fallen beldoth. A most laudable catch, he thought, as he sliced through the beast's slender neck, removing its head, and bagged his prize. Mounted correctly, this will fit in my antechamber nicely. As he returned to the arthidoc, however, he heard a deep roar behind him, turning to see a pair of malicious galastan burst from the foliage, obviously attracted by the scent of rotting meat. Bipedal creatures with thick green scales and sharp maws, galastan beasts were top of the food chain on Kal'bari. But for Dooku, they merely presented a chance to further hone his skills.

With athleticism that belied his age, Dooku somersaulted over the two raging beasts, unsheathed his Sith lightsaber, and with a long sweep cleaved the larger predator in two. He ducked instinctively, narrowly avoiding a thin stream of paralysing venom, before striking forth, pressing the attack and decapitating the second foe.

Dooku returned to his hunt.

*        *        *

Grievous was waiting for him at the estate, the cyborg commander sheathed in a spotless white cape, wrapped around his droid body. "The battle dragons await in orbit, Count," began Grievous, "I already have a crew repairing the damage – and preparing the ships with the insignia of Ta'a Chume herself."

Dooku smiled, and laughed. "Excellent, General. I could not have planned this better myself. I have several star cruisers inbound, ready to join your fleet. In the meantime, let us plan the first strike at Duro. I trust your Hapan stooge knows little of the plan?"

"He is under the impression that we merely wanted the battle dragons due to their military might, Count," replied Grievous, "and it shall remain that way until he goes to his fiery death."

*        *        *

Okay, thought Kre'lya, during a respite from one of the beatings, this is not a good day! Then the Jedi's fist smashed into his face once again, and there was nothing but pain.

"You killed my master!" yelled the Jedi Knight, "and for that I'm going to tear you apart hair by hair!"

"Look," gasped Kre'lya, "it was a job! Just a job! It's war! People get killed! I killed your master…"

Another punch.

Blood dripping across his face, Kre'lya continued. "I killed your master so that I could bag more clones! I killed your master because I was ordered to!"

At least Kre'lya knew why he was being treated like a bag of rotten meat. After the Jedi had stolen his thoughts, he had hung in a void, limp, until the pain woke him up: the pain of having his face smashed to pieces by an angry fist. But as the Jedi exuded hate and rage, and the air thickened with emotion, Kre'lya's memory had slowly seeped back into his consciousness, piece by piece.

The sooner I kill this guy, the better! He's gone psycho! Struck by sudden inspiration, Kre'lya endured another barrage before gabbling, "Some way you pay back your master's honour! By beating me like a punchbag! You've proven nothing. If you truly want to avenge your master, you'll fight me, one on one. Otherwise, you're defiling your master's memory."

The beating stopped, and the Jedi stood back, chest heaving, eyes clouded with rage. Okay, maybe this wasn't such a good idea! He's either going to fall for the bait, but more than likely he'll kill me now.

Kre'lya sighed with relief as he felt the bonds slacken, and he slid to the floor, grateful to have a moment of rest. But he could spare not a second! Lifting himself onto his feet, he raked the Jedi's face with his sharp Bothan claws, bundled the Knight over, and charged out of the room. Using his hatred to fuel his strike, he threw his fist into the clone trooper guard, grabbed the soldier's rifle, and fired several times. Disorientated by his captivity, Kre'lya had to jack into a computer panel and access a station map. To his surprise, he found himself not too far away from the tractor beam station. No stupid speeches this time, Kre'lya! He hurriedly aimed the tractors high overhead, and then slapped his paw down onto the master control panel. He fired several times into the panel, frying the controls beyond repair, and turned to face the angry Jedi who burst in through the door, lightsaber raised high, ready to strike.

"We really ought to stop meeting like this," Kre'lya rasped. Heck, if those are going to be my last words, at least they were good ones!

A scream of rage accompanied the flashing blade that severed the Bothan's head. As if staring at what he had done, the rogue Jedi began to weep, until he was crushed by the falling station, and by the Dark Side.