Chapter XI: The Southern Campaign, Part II
The Republic's offensive has begun. With the largest force mustered for a single campaign in the war under his command, Jedi Master Plo Koon launched a swift opening strike on Confederate forces. Caught off guard by the sheer weight of enemy forces, the Confederates were compelled to fall back, suffering severe casualties in the opening engagements. Among these was Vice Admiral Poh Kraat, who performed a doomed rearguard action to buy the rest of his forces time to escape. While individually heroic, this did not detract from the fact that from a force of 200 ships, only 100 managed to escape. Only 600 Confederate vessels now remained to oppose a fleet of 2000.
As Plo Koon's fleet moves to establish a beachhead, the Confederate forces scramble to organize a response. Scraping together a fleet with his task group at the core, Darth Vader sets out to meet the enemy. The two fleets meet in their first engagement at Wroona.
Onboard Civilian Transport Starfarer, Wroona System
The space around Wroona blossomed with countless artificial stars. Turbolasers, missiles, proton torpedoes, and proton cannons flashed in between the two opposing fleets in awe-inspiring volumes. Against the backdrop of the blue planet, the Confederate fleet was arranged like a cortosis phalanx. Ships rotated in formation to present a moving target, and when necessary traded spots with fresh vessels to recharge their shields. The great Lucrehulk carriers sat in the center of the fleet, disgorging swarms of smallcraft to assault their enemy. The cruisers, with their feared proton cannons, joined together in thundering volleys at the Republic's lines. The frigates and destroyers acted as screens and harriers, either holding the line or darting out in daring sorties to disrupt the loyalist ships. It was a mighty force.
The Republic fleet was mightier.
Advancing in a massive screen that looked more like a grid-patterned constellation than a fleet, the Republic's star destroyers and cruisers answered each Confederate volley with their own. Blue flashed against red, and there were momentary supernovas as a ship finally succumbed to enemy fire. Clone pilots braved the droid hoards with unyielding courage, covering their ships and attempting to launch their own attacks against the Confederate fleet. Joined by Jedi fighters, they held the line against a ceaseless advance of Vulture and Condor fighters. Curiously, the notorious Hyena bombers were absent from the fight. This was noticed, but against the intense fighting it was a brief afterthought among most of the pilots at best.
Racing away from the planet was a gaggle of civilian and unarmed military transport ships. Among them was the Starfarer, a freight hauler whose captain couldn't just leave without doing something to help. His ship carried those who didn't belong in a combat zone; children, the elderly, the injured and disabled, and any male or female civilian who could find a spot on the ship after the previously mentioned were accounted for. They had what they could carry, and it was often very little. The Republic's advance left little time to get away. It was only the speedy arrival of the Confederate fleet that enabled any evacuation to happen at all; they were all that stood between Wroona and the Coruscant Star. There had been a brief hope that Darth Vader's arrival meant the planet would be saved, but the Sith admiral had made it plain that his ships would fight only until all assets vital to the Confederacy were evacuated. After that, the planet would be abandoned.
Needless to say, this had added an extra note of urgency to the evacuation.
Children stared out the viewports at the battle, captivated. They made noises of awe when stray dogfights drifted close to the transport or there was a particularly bright explosion. The children were too young to understand the death and destruction they were witnessing; they only saw the glory. Nor did they understand that they were being forced to abandon home. To them it was just a new and exciting adventure. As for the adults, they simply sat and hoped that they would make it out of the system before the fleet was forced to leave.
"I hope my sister got out…"
"The battle droids were being set up for stands in the city last I heard…"
"Fat lot of good they'd do. I've heard the Jedi can wipe out whole units on their own…"
"Thank the Stars the fleet got here; those clones frighten me…"
Suddenly the intercom flared to life, the grizzled voice of the captain echoing throughout the ship. "Attention all passengers, we're nearing the jump point. Secure yourselves to a seat and don't mind any turbulence. And tell those kids to get away from the viewports."
The children were duly pulled away, much to their protestation, and before long the stars elongated into endless lines. With a lurch, the transport entered hyperspace.
The passengers were both relieved and disheartened. They had gotten away, but they had also been forced to abandon their home. None of them knew when they would see it again.
Far from the Starfarer, amongst the pitched dogfighting that was taking place between the two sides' smallcraft, one Confederate squadron in particular was wreaking havoc. Composed entirely of Tempest Zeros, they operated like a red whirlwind. Each fighter was piloted by a veteran Valahari, hardened by their exploits against the Republic and amongst one of the most acclaimed organic units in the Confederate military. All of them were the crème of the crop, skilled as individuals and extremely deadly as a unit.
These were Tofen's Raiders. One of the first units that Valahari had committed to the war and led by her most beloved son.
"Raid Leader, I count three V-19s trying to make a pass on you. I'm on their tail."
"Copy that Raid-3, I'll set them up for you," Tofen Vane himself said as he piloted his craft. "Figures you need my help to get any kills."
"Har, har," his squadmate said, voice dry as Tatooine even over the comm. "Not everyone can be as lucky as you, sir."
Tofen smirked, enjoying the banter. He found it helped to take the edge off being in a life-or-death situation. He saw the three tangoes on his scopes, and moved his craft in such a way that it was a tempting target but not in any overt danger. Easily dodging the azure lances, he saw another Tempest Zero line itself up behind the three V-19s on his tail. Before long, all three were reduced to space dust by his comrade's fire.
"Thanks, Raid-3. I'll have the drinks ready when we get back."
"Anytime, sir," Raid-3 said, before peeling off to search for more targets. For his part, Tofen quickly locked on to a pair of ARC-170s, blasting them away in short order with his laser cannons. Another V-19 followed shortly after that. He was almost starting to think this was too easy when one of the Jedi showed up.
"I was wondering where the real fight was," he said, gunning his engines to face this new opponent. They were flying the triangular Aethersprite, a solid fighter that could do a lot of damage in the hands of one of those accursed Force-users. Even only a few months into the war, however, Tofen knew well how to handle one of these supposedly unkillable pilots.
"That's right, follow me," Tofen murmured as he zipped by his enemy, a few potshots denting the shields. The Jedi was quickly on his tail. He sent a signal to his squadmates to keep their distance and focus on maintaining unit cohesion. Verdant flashes from Jedi's laser cannons filled his vision as he danced nimbly through all of them, the rear laser cannon on his own crimson fighter sending its own fire right back. The two continued their dance of death for what felt like hours. Speeding through the space of the battlefield at a madman's pace, both of the pilots were blinded to the overall course of the battle. Their only focus was on each other. The main difference was that Tofen had his squadron running interference against the enemy. No help would be coming to this Jedi.
He spied the drifting hulk of a broken Munificent, and decided that was where he would claim his prize. Breathing deeply, he focused his mind and remembered the advice that Dooku had given him.
"The Jedi are used to their enemies' emotions flaring like a star. If you keep yourself calm and centered, they will be momentarily thrown off balance. That is when you strike, my friend."
He made for the derelict ship, twisting through the wreckage like a serpent. His calmed mind meant the Jedi had a harder time finding him in the tempest of emotions that was a battlefield, and before long he'd misled his enemy into ending up in front of him.
"Gotcha," he declared, blasting his enemy away in a hail of crimson laser fire. For a moment he felt a strange sensation, as if his chest had been hit with a hammer, but it quickly passed. Knowing that this was supposedly from his being Force sensitive (at least, that's what Dooku seemed to think), he ignored it. Resembling a triumphant bird of prey, he flew his fighter back into formation with his squadron, and it was then that he received the signal to withdraw.
"Well pilots, looks like this show is over. We're leaving now."
There was some playful grumbling, but his Raiders all followed him as they and the other Confederate smallcraft conceded the field to the enemy. While it never felt good to experience a defeat, he'd take all of his squadron coming back alive any day. Moving swiftly, they joined the larger Confederate formation.
Through his viewport and on the radar, he could see as Vader used the gravitational pull of Wroona to slingshot to the opposite side of the system and the jump point. The Republic didn't seem too interested in following, focusing on establishing a blockade of the planet. Thanks to that, the Confederates were able to leave the system with little issue. It left a sour taste in Tofen's mouth, abandoning those left on the planet, but he knew it couldn't be helped. The fleet couldn't liberate Wroona later if it died now.
Tofen's Raiders, along with all of the other Confederate smallcraft, swiftly landed aboard their motherships. In his squadron's case, it was the carrier C.S.S. Sucker Punch. It wasn't quite the same as the Raiders' regular base, nothing could ever replace their home away from home, but for now it was good enough.
Even as the last fighters entered their hangars, Vader's fleet reached the jump point, and before long the Wroona system had been conceded to the Republic.
It would not be the last.
Wroona System, Three Days Later
It had taken the Republic's forces surprisingly little time to establish an occupation on the planet. When the separatist fleet had so quickly conceded the system, it was expected that a hard fight lay ahead for the ground troops. There were indeed multiple engagements when the clone troopers first landed, but this resistance proved to only be a token response. What droid formations did exist were either brushed aside with laughable ease or were bypassed to be annihilated later. It was only after these formations were destroyed that the loyalist forces discovered that no organic officers were present among the machines. They had, in effect, been wound up like clockwork soldiers and left to be turned into scrap.
There was confusion everywhere. Wasn't Darth Vader supposed to be a dogged defender? Was this really all the man who had destroyed Aayla Secura's fleet in a day had to offer? Where were the traps? The insidious last stands that would claim hundreds of soldiers before finally being bested?
CT-7654, "Asher", didn't know, and he didn't like it one bit.
He was currently riding shotgun in a speeder as it zoomed down a main road in the planetary capital. As a Senior Commander, he was the ranking officer in command of the 66th Legion, one of the sixteen currently attached to Sector Army South. A veteran force, they had seen action in several campaigns, including the march on Ryloth. This latest campaign was expected to be a slog in space and on the ground, so the brass had selected only the best of the best.
At least, that's what the boys kept loudly boasting. For his part, Asher had simply nodded and begun studying in detail the major systems of the Southern Front. When his men touched down, he and they would be ready for whatever bullshit the seps could throw at them.
Asher was by nature a taciturn person. He cared for his brothers, and believed in the cause they were fighting for, but he wasn't as gregarious as most other clones. He preferred the quiet of his office, reading for leisure or simply taking in the silence. When he wasn't reading, he was either training or actually fighting. Anyone who took his quiet nature to mean he was shy or anxious would be quickly disabused of this notion when he barked orders to his men, and cursed as well as the finest sailor. Wherever the 66th went, Asher would be close to the front, organizing his troops with finesse and certainty. This otherwise quiet and considering man had led many a charge, taken many a hill, and blasted many a hole in whatever clanker was stupid enough to get in his way.
With that in mind, it had utterly surprised him just how easy this first landing was.
Turning his helmeted head slightly, he gazed out the window of the closed speeder, taking in the site of the local civilians trying to carry on with their business. The invasion had been relatively kind to the Wroonians, all things considered. The swift conclusion to the fighting meant that little collateral damage had occurred, and the Jedi and clones were by their nature gentle occupiers. He'd overheard a few non-clone officers grumbling about the natives getting off too easy considering they were separatist sympathizers, but aside from that there'd been no major issues.
Even with that, Asher didn't have to look hard to see the nervous tension which gripped the populace. They were terrified of the clones and Jedi, no doubt fed story after story by separatist propaganda of the brutality of the Jedi invaders and their slave soldiers. He snorted. The first time one of these people had called him a slave to his face, he'd decked them in the jaw. This was what he was born to do. All clones were at home in two places; with their brothers and on the battlefield. He was no slave, he was a soldier, a Mando in all the ways that mattered. These people didn't know slavery; if they wanted to know what it looked like, they could take a look at the Twi'leks that Wat Tambor had sold to the Zygerrians before Ryloth was retaken. Then they could tell him who was really fighting for a decent galaxy.
He shook his head. How these locals felt wasn't his problem. So long as they didn't cause trouble, he had no quarrel with them.
"Lively crowd, eh sir?" the speeder's driver quipped, a brother at the rank of corporal. Asher noted that his name registered as 'Indigo'.
"You can say that again," Asher replied as he gazed back ahead, the municipal building getting closer. It now flew the Coruscant Star, and where before it had been a simple bureaucratic hub it was now the center of the loyalist occupation. "Almost makes me want to be in a firefight. At least then the seps are being honest about how much they want to kill you."
Indigo laughed, nodding in agreement. "Right about that, sir! I can't wait to get back with my batchmates; no offense, but driving this speeder is boring as all hell, and the locals don't make for good conversation to say the least."
"At least it isn't Jabiim," Asher said with a small shudder. Now that was a hellhole he'd be more than happy to never see again.
With that, the speeder came to a stop in front of the building, and Asher quickly exited. He sent a thumbs up to the driver.
"Take a break, brother, I'll probably be in here a while. I'll call when I'm ready to leave."
With an enthusiastic "yes, sir!" his driver pulled away, leaving Asher to ascend the stairs of the municipal building alone. The sentries saluted at the sight of the clone with yellow accents on his armor, a salute which he returned. The trooper manning the security station took a brief glance at his credentials before waving him through. Asher was quickly swallowed by the bustling crowd of clone and non-clone personnel, all of them rushing to and fro save for the guards which kept silent vigil. Most of these were too busy to salute even someone of his rank, which didn't bother him too much. He wasn't such a stickler for regulations that a gesture or lack thereof would cause an issue.
The building itself was a simple government office, designed with wroonian aesthetics but otherwise unremarkable. Fortunately, said aesthetics amounted to a simple circle, which allowed Asher to quickly make his way to the command room. Here there was another sentry point, and the security check was much more thorough. After a couple of minutes, he was allowed through, and the clone commander left the bustle of the main hall for the equally loud chatter of the command room.
He ignored the multiple clones at work amongst the terminals, focused instead on the large holotable towards the back of the room. Or rather, the figures surrounding the table. He clicked his heels as he came to a stop, offering a salute to one of the highest-ranking Jedi in the campaign.
"CT-7654, Commander Asher, reporting as ordered, General Luminara," he said. The General turned away from the holotable to gaze upon him, and no matter how many times he saw her face he was struck by how at peace she looked. Luminous blue eyes twinkled as she took him in, and for a split second he thought her lips twitched upward.
"I must have the wrong sort of reputation, if you still feel the need to address me with your number first, Asher," she said after a moment, her soft voice doing nothing to blunt his slight feeling of embarrassment.
"Ah, sorry sir," he said, still standing at a relaxed parade rest. "Force of habit and all that."
She shook her head in amusement, gesturing him to the table. He noted both the general's padawan and a Jedi Knight with the wildest mane of hair he'd ever seen were also standing at the table. Commander Offee was looking on in open humor, while the unknown Jedi had a bland look on his face. He was still staring at the projection on the table.
"You know my padawan Barriss," she stated, said padawan giving a small bow which he returned with a nod. "But I don't believe you've met Quinlan Vos."
Asher offered a nod to the Kiffar, which went largely ignored. Asher would have been offended, if he didn't know that Vos had been Aayla Secura's master before she became a knight.
Everyone dealt with grief differently, even a Jedi. He knew that from experience.
"I can't say I have, sir," he said after a moment, turning back to General Luminara. He caught the look in her eye as she gazed at Vos for a moment, before she turned back to him. Asher ignored it. "What did you need, General?"
"Two things," the Jedi said after a moment. "First, you'll be receiving a new Jedi attaché. He'll be accompanying you from now on during the campaign. I understand that it's rather sudden, but Master Plo felt that as many Legions as possible need as least one Jedi with them."
"In case Vader makes an appearance," Asher stated rather than asked, getting a nod from Luminara. It made sense; he'd much rather have a Jedi at his back if the arch-clanker showed up. "When will I be receiving them?"
"At this very moment," Luminara said, amusement returning to her voice, and he followed her gaze to Quinlan Vos. He had been silent the entire time, and if anything, he had become even broodier since Asher had entered the room. "It is high time Knight Vos started exercising some responsibility. And the 66th is the perfect fit for him."
You mean you're saddling us with the problematic one, Asher thought, but he kept his silence. If these were his orders, he'd follow them.
Vos let loose a sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. Asher was surprised at the sudden change that came over him; where before he'd appeared to be a stony, brooding man, now he almost seemed like a pouting child. It was a whiplash that the poor clone was not prepared for.
"You're really set on this, Luminara?" Vos asked, and the General's upturned lips only made him sigh again. He heard Commander Offee giggle. For his part, Asher stared at the scene in fascination.
"You can't escape," the Jedi Master sing-songed, and the Kiffar only sighed once more. Nonetheless, when Luminara held out his orders, Vos took them. It was like watching a pair of siblings. Who was elder or younger was a question of some uncertainty.
"There was something else as well, General?" Asher prodded, hoping to move the conversation along. He didn't mind the playful side of his Jedi leaders, but all the same he preferred to get the salient points of any meeting done with as quickly as possible.
"Right," Luminara said, her tone returning to that slower, more serene inflection that more than a few Jedi used. "Just a warning Commander, one that I've been sure to share with the other general staff as well. You're uneasy, aren't you?"
Asher nodded silently, an inkling of what the General wanted to say already formed in his head.
"Our enemy is a wily, cunning and ruthless commander. Twice now he has outwitted and decimated superior fleets, with comparatively light losses for himself. For him to simply abandon a planet, with hardly a fight at that, is not normal," Luminara said, with the other two Jedi nodding in ascent. Asher agreed; something about this gave him a terrible feeling. It was as if the fleet was poised at the edge of a yawning abyss, and they were too blind to stop and see the danger.
"I'll make sure the men are on their toes, Sir. The 66th will be ready for anything."
"Good to hear," the Jedi Master replied, offering a small smile. "Well, don't let me keep you. Dismissed, Asher, Vos."
Asher clicked his heels and saluted, while Vos simply waved and began walking towards the door. The clone quickly followed, falling into step to the right of the Kiffar. They quickly made way through the halls, the presence of two high-ranking officers more than enough to clear a path through the otherwise bustling foot traffic. Once they were away from the worst of the crowd, Asher turned towards his new commander.
"Well, sir, since we're stuck together, fancy some caff? You'll need to know how the 66th works if you're gonna be worth a damn as a commander."
Asher had the slight satisfaction of seeing the brooding Jedi's eyes widen in surprise. He had definitely not expected such a blunt statement, but if Vos was going to be with him for a while he was going to learn something very quickly; the 66th Legion didn't care for the delicate approach.
Asher was rewarded with Vos's grin. "You know what? Why the hell not."
En Route from Wroona to Vandelhelm, Two Weeks Later
The Republic fleet continued its campaign, moving in force from Wroona to Vandelhelm. Several minor systems along the route had been captured, and garrisons put in place to keep the supply lines secure. Unlike at Wroona, Vader made no appearance at these systems. They had simply been left to their fate.
This lack of battle only served to further agitate the Republic forces, their unease growing as the famed Nightmare of Milagro refused to engage them. Quite a few saw cowardice, and that was the line being taken up by pro-Republic news outlets. Others, however, felt that instead of cowardice, it was patience. Darth Vader wasn't running; he was waiting for the right moment to make his move.
Regardless of their worries, the soldiers of the Republic pressed on, refusing to turn away from their mission. Yet another minor system had fallen under the fleet's umbrella, and yet another garrison was to be deployed. Unlike at Wroona, this system and so many others had been unable to evacuate in time. Not that there was much of importance; aside from the odd outpost and administrative center, the Confederate presence on these worlds was minimal. And they had long since destroyed or fled with any information which might aid the Republic.
There was one common factor amongst these otherwise insignificant planets which served to further unnerve the commanders of the Republic expedition. It had been brushed aside at first, seen as simple separatist brutality. But it kept happening, on every world they occupied.
"Please, we need food!"
"My children haven't eaten in three days!"
"The droids burned it all!"
On world after world, the fruits of labor had been stripped and burned away. The droid army, needing so little in terms of food and water, seldom took anything from the fields and orchards and livestock enclosures. They simply burned, cut down, and shot. The Confederacy did not need food, but it would not suffer letting the Republic have it either.
"Help us, please!"
The clones looked to each other; uncertainty hidden behind their blank faceplates. They'd embarked on this campaign expecting a hard-fought battle, crawling inch by inch through mud and sand and blood to dislodge the steel heel of a frightfully determined enemy. Instead, all they found was simple misery.
"… We can't just leave them Sergeant."
The clone in command, looking once again at the separatist civilians desperately begging for something, anything, felt his heart plummet. A woman stared at him with empty eyes, while a man tried to console his child who was crying because they couldn't eat. Behind them their farming village, surrounded by black fields and hollowed out dreams. He'd seen several places like this already, all different worlds with different people but all knowing the same despair.
He couldn't look away.
"Gather up in a line, keep it orderly!" he called out, making his decision. "We don't have much, but we've at least got water and some rations. I'll radio in for more, but you'll have to be patient! Don't worry, we won't let you starve!"
The civilians cheered, and the clones felt the burden on their souls ease slightly. At least they could do good here. Food and water were brought in, the people were grateful. Wells may have been poisoned and fields burned, but they would not wither away into nothing.
And so, the same scene was repeated, over and over. On world after world. The Republic forces, driven by basic decency, gave and gave. Their hearts would let them do nothing else. Their stocks smaller, and smaller, and smaller by the day. No one bothered to ask the question though.
What happened when they too ran out of food?
Coruscant, Three Days Later
Far away and far removed, the devil watched and waited as the campaign unfolded. He had been on edge ever since the beginning of this expedition, cruel mind working frantically to come up with more solutions to turn it to his advantage. Data stream after data stream scrolled by, enough information to overwhelm most minds. For him it was never enough. Not a day went by where he didn't wish he could see and do more. He needed more, he needed the right piece to act upon, but-!
A pause.
An errant report enlarged and read thoroughly.
Food and aid needed, a chance to do right in a galaxy gone so wrong.
The stocks of valiant warriors dangerously low, being expended in a noble attempt to help those who were left with nothing.
A perilous journey, but one that could be made if the enemy was kept unaware.
The devil smiled.
He had his piece.
Onboard C.S.S. Ambitious, Five Days Later
Close at hand and close involved, the dark admiral stared at the information on his holotable. A formation of dots moving across the galaxy at rapid pace, following a projected path that flew into the heart of danger. A series of coordinates and dates. All of it detailed and so far, accurate, as their observers had proven.
Most importantly, a detail of the escort accompanying a mission of mercy. Something that in a different time he might have done everything to protect.
"The scorched earth is starting to pay off, then," Ventress said from her side of the table. Eyes like ice tracking the formation, predator drawn to prey. For his part Vader stared on, blank mask not once deviating from the opportunity that presented itself.
"The enemy has proceeded exactly as calculations predicted," 3110 chimed in, eyes flashing. "And intelligence has provided what we need. There will be no better opportunity to strike."
He had stolen and burned, taking and taking from the people he had sworn an oath to protect. Once he knew that the Republic would use its own supplies to feed the starving, he had found their weakness. A single planet was vast. The area known as Southern Space infinitely vaster. Far too vast for the Republic to both advance and feed a now starving population.
As a Sith, the maelstrom of suffering should have intoxicated him. He should thirst for the cocktail of misery and despair which the Southern Front had become, eager to inflict more and more. In some ways he did. Even now, a part of him snarled and strained, wishing to unleash devastation upon his enemy. Even now, he wanted to prove once again to the Jedi, to the galaxy, that he was here, that he would not go away.
Another, equally large part of him simply wished to be done with it. Even the stale air from his respirator unable to banish the sour taste in his mouth. There was no valor, no glory in what he had done the past few weeks.
What a warrior, what a soldier he was. His hand reaved and stole, his troops burned and pillaged, his ships ran and hid. He had gambled on this, he had pinned victory upon it, he had known what he was ordering, and yet-
It didn't matter. Whether he regretted or not, this was the hand he had played. He would see it through. Victory was the only way to make the suffering he had witnessed meaningful now.
"Commodore Kircheis," his bass voice called, said officer straightening. None could see behind his mask; none could see amber eyes that looked upon them all with tired resolve. "Take your Squadron. Circumvent the enemy lines. Destroy this convoy."
A clicked heel, a swift salute. An equally tired, equally resolved face. Kircheis would do his duty quickly and efficiently. He also simply wanted the affair to be over.
"At once, sir."
Author's Note: The year marches on, and so do I. It is far overdue, but I return, dear readers.
This is the build up for the decisive events of the campaign. I originally planned to go into more detail, talking about the logistics of it all and why the numbers mattered, but in the end, I decided a shorter, more emotional lense suited what is happening far better. War is hell, and everyone is learning that as the conflict drags on. From the soldiers in the trenches to the generals in their headquarters, everyone is affected one way or another. Everyone must find the strength to move forward and make something of it in their own way.
Various ambiences were used in the making of this chapter, from Star Wars to WW2 to 40K. They were... surprisingly inspiring.
Anyway, happy reading, and thank you all for your forbearance and support.