The Great War

by EliteArbiter

General Grievous makes a critical decision during the Battle of Coruscant, which dramatically changes the course of the war. Meanwhile in the Rim, the United Nations of Sol finally mobilize for war after weathering decades of sanctions. Economies churn and forces mobilize as a war thought nearly over reaches a new fever pitch, and victory remains in the balance.

4. The Hammer Falls

Chapter 3

The Hammer Falls

UNS Space

Sensors detected the incoming Republic armada as soon as the formation entered Hyperspace over Kashyyyk, heading down the Great Kashyyyk Branch directly towards the United Nations of Sol. The network of deep space surveillance satellites that monitored the route had been watching the fleet buildup carefully since its inception, and with the chaos in the Republic following the death of the Supreme Chancellor, and so when the armada set their course, the UNS High Command was immediately notified, and the fleet placed on high alert.

Soon after the Republic fleet vanished, a flurry of activity began all across the UNS as the DEFCON 2 alert came down the chain of command. In space, UNS Navy warships were brought to war readiness as live munitions were pulled from storage and loaded into place, while space fighters and other craft were fueled and armed. Planetside, vehicles were fueled and armed, equipment was checked, and off duty soldiers and reservists were called back to their posts.

One world in particular experienced a particularly rapid buildup. Ursa was the UNS colony world that acted as the primary trading post for the UNS along the Lesser Lantiillian Route. Due to its economic significance, it had an unusually large population for a frontier world, and due to its strategic significance, it also boasted one of the larger military presences in the UNS. Nine million active duty personnel were stationed groundside, while a million more served in the UNS Navy in the skies above.

Highstar was the capital and largest city, and hosted the only space elevator in the frontier colonies. The elevator connected to Port Dream, part of which was a huge commercial exchange center, and partially dedicated to servicing the warships that kept it safe. Port Dream was a utilitarian construct, dedicated more to a capitalist's dream than an artist's one, and freighters came and arrived every minute.

Adjacent to the carefully controlled flow of traffic in and out of the commercial sector of the port, twenty Lima-Class battlecruisers loomed in the background, surrounded by dozens of smaller craft buzzing about like flies around an elephant. The Limas were combat tested warships purchased years earlier from the Trade Federation, and retrofitted with cutting edge UNS technology. Each carried several wings of SF-22 Raptors, SF/A-18 Hornets, and SF-35 Lightnings, along with numerous support craft including tankers, drones, and AWACS craft. All the craft were revamped versions of their atmospheric counterparts and as such earned the S prefix before their title. The UNS had discovered that their aircraft carrier doctrine applied well to carriers in space, and the vehicles themselves translated well, replacing Vulture and Hyena droids in the Lima's hangers nicely.

The Limas themselves had seen heavy changes since their days with the Trade Federation. Shifting from Neimoidian and droid crews to human crews was the first change, though far from the most significant. First, all the weapon systems were linked to the central computer system tied into the CIC. Then, numerous other weapon systems were added, the most significant of which being an Iron Dome array for point defense, a series of SAM systems, a radar array, and several missile tubes which could be loaded with either conventional cruise missiles or nuclear weapons, should the use of WMDs become necessary. All in all, the Limas were a far cry from their former selves, adapted from the combat tested variety field by the CIS to better fit UNS doctrine.

UNSS Pershing, an American flag cruiser, led the armada which included warships from several UNS states. While the UNS was effectively a single state, the military was still divided along old national lines due primarily to language barriers.

On the bridge, Vice Admiral Naomi Powell frowned at the hologram presented before her, glowing blue in the dimly lit and cramped CIC, buried deep within the heart of the battlecruiser. The Vice Admiral was a veteran soldier in her upper fifties, with graying hair, sharp green eyes, and an athletic build that did not betray her advancing years.

"Vice Admiral to CIC," the speaker squawked, and Powell turned on her heel and hurried aft and below, to the heart of the cruiser where the CIC was. As soon as she entered the dimly lit cave that was the CIC, she immediately sensed the somber atmosphere and serious expressions on the faces of the officers.

As the door slid shut behind her, a young man separated himself from the bunch and hurried forward, passing her a folded yellow slip and said firmly, "It's for real."

Z0357Z24MAY

FR: SACLANT

TO: ALL SACLANT FORCES

TOP SECRET

EXECUTE UNRESTRICTED LAND AND SPACE WARFARE AGAINST REPUBLIC FORCES.

WINTER CONTINGENCY UMBRELLA.

WARPLAN GOLF TAC 7.

STOUT HEARTS. SACLANT SENDS.

Winter Contingency Umbrella. That meant an enemy invasion force was bearing down on Ursa, while Rules of Engagement War Option Seven meant no nukes. Powell frowned and stared at the slip for a few moments, reading it twice through, then crinkled it between her fingers with a sigh. She was now free to engage any Republic forces without warning, which she would soon, seeing as the Republic forces had barreled through the T-C-B Line straight for the UNS. She knew what the invading force was composed of, and what their capabilities were, having been privy to many engagement reports from the Galactic Civil War.

Powell returned to the bridge and went straight to the microphone, "Ladies and gentlemen, listen up, this is the Vice Admiral speaking. As of this moment, we are now in a shooting war with the Galactic Republic, this is not a drill. We have received intel that the hammer will fall on us here on Ursa within the next few hours, so we will be going to a Yellow Alert. I repeat, this is not a drill, the next time you hear an alarm, that means the Bad Guys are out there and they'll be using live munitions too. That is all."

Lowering the microphone and turning to the bridge, Powell ordered, "Send a message to the rest of the fleet as well as the army units ground side and confirm that they've received the word, then send a message to Port Dream and have the commercial side take the elevator back down to the planet, and have the merchant ships scatter, this going to get real nasty up here pretty soon and I don't want any civies caught in the crossfire."

In the hours that followed, the bridge of UNSS Pershing was a flurry of activity as messages came and went. Warships from all across the UNS were redeployed to Ursa to reinforce the units already there, and help support the outnumbered defenders. The Port Dream evacuation was completed as Marine units redeployed all across the station to repel any possible borders. Planetside, the civilians were moved to bomb shelters in the countryside outside the cities, only built a year earlier as tensions in the galaxy grew. Fighter aircraft and attack helicopters patrolled the sky under the guidance of AWACS aircraft, while tanks, artillery, and infantry took up positions below, ready to quickly encircle and destroy invaders wherever they landed.

In space, the Limas moved in front of Port Dream to form a protective screen while smaller patrol ships filled the gaps between them. Inside the battlecruisers, spacecraft sat at the ready, their crews sleeping or lingering inside or next to them. Systems were triple checked as the fleet was brought to combat readiness.

All there was left to do was wait for the hammer to fall. In the minds of young men and women all around Ursa, that was the worst part. Adrenaline spiked with no release, as sweaty palms checked and rechecked the weapons in their hands.

RSS Salvation

Nineteen year old Jedi Knight Lila Quorl closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing and her shaking hands as she tried to mentally prepare herself for the battle to come. Lila was a human, short for her age with an athletic build, pale skin, blue eyes, and shiny black hair. She was excited and nervous to be a part of one of the most important battles of the war, an attempt to capture or kill the traitorous Count Dooku and vile General Grievous.

Lila was at the head of the 129th Division of the Grand Army of the Republic, leading battle hardened clone troopers into battle once more, this time under the command of Jedi Knight Dedro Mallio, another human several years her senior. The 129th had been assigned to this mission due to their proximity more than anything else, having been assigned to the defense of Kashyyyk a month earlier. Together, the 129th and Dedro's 233rd Divisions were rushing forward to end the war, trying to trap Count Dooku, General Grievous, and the remains of the fleet that raided Coruscant before they could reach the protection of Separatist space.

Dooku and his fleet were currently reported to be in the Kijimi System undergoing repairs from their costly raid. As they had many times during the war, they were using the staunchly neutral United Nations of Sol as a buffer to hide behind. With the UNS occupying the Lesser Lantiillian and Perlinean Routes, the Republic had to loop around and break through Separatist lines at either Nimban or Vjun, both battle hardened Separatist garrisons that had weathered Republic assaults several times already.

So the Republic was not putting up with the Separatist sympathizers in the UNS anymore, they would not let the reclusive humans jeopardize a chance to end the war, so the UNS would just have to step down. In a few minutes, the Republic armada would be arriving in the Ursa system to annex the UNS into the Republic, and pass through their space to strike at the Separatist leadership. Lila knew the UNS had declined acceptance into the Republic many times, but this time it would not be an option. They had to be absorbed before the chance to take out Dooku and Grievous slipped away.

Hyperspace alarms roused her from her meditation as she felt the jolt of the Venator-Class dropping out of Hyperspace. Out of the windows of the bridge, the blues of Hyperspace were replaced with the greenish blue sphere of Ursa, looming large before them. It was a beautiful world, reminiscent of Alderaan, and glowing with life in the Force. Under different circumstances, Lila would have liked to have meditated there.

Between them and Ursa, however, was an uglier sight. The familiar sight of twenty Lucrehulks formed an ugly blockade, defending the dark outline that was Port Dream. At first, she thought she was facing Separatists, but upon looking closer, she could see that these were different. Unlike the blue and dark gray of the Separatists, these ones were painted in a smoother, lighter gray with larger white numerals along their bows. These were some of the Lucrehulks that the UNS bought off of the Trade Federation years prior.

With an excited breath, Lila waited for the hologram to buzz to life as Mallio hailed the UNS fleet from his vessel off her port. Mallio was known to be a great negotiator, if perhaps a little heavier handed, but she had never seen him in action and was eager to spectate.

UNSS Pershing

"Contacts, contacts, contacts!" an officer shouted from across the bridge, snapping Vice Admiral Powell from her stupor, "Many Hyperspace contacts emerging on bearing three zero!"

"Very well," Vice Admiral Powell ordered calmly, "Take us to battlestations. Get those fighters out of the hangar then close the bulkheads, get a message to SACLANT, let them know the enemy has arrived."

"Aye, ma'am," the XO responded, carrying out her orders as fast as he could.

"Enemy fleet is positioned as usual according to Republic doctrine," the tactical action officer reported, "Victors in front, Alphas in back, we are in range for radar lock on the lead Victors."

"Authorize weapons free," Powell ordered immediately, "I don't want to give them any chance to breathe."

"We have radar lock," the TAO reported.

"Hit 'em!"

On twenty Limas, missile pods elevated from their protective casings and swiveled to point off the bows of their respective vessels. There were silent puffs of mist as rocket engines ignited in the void and several hundred Tomahawks vanished from their pods and zoomed across the void of space.

The missile strike seemed to catch the Republic by surprise, Powell was surprised and delighted to see, as no point defense came out, and the missiles struck their shielded targets with one hundred percent accuracy. Victors' shields absorbed the brunt of the blow, but on some unlucky Victors, the shields failed.

The effects were catastrophic, as the warheads burrowed deep into the armor before exploding. Two Victors exploded outright, their ammunition igniting and exploding into massive fireballs that quickly faded away in the void. Two others crumpled as the force of the explosions overstressed their structures and they slowly came apart, power flickering then going off as their reactors failed. Seven more suffered damage from large holes blown in their armor, leaking atmosphere and material into the void.

RSS Salvation

"General!" Commander Hex shouted in alarm, "Energy spikes detected on all UNS ships! Missile launches detected!"

"What!?" Lila shouted in alarm and surprise. While she expected them to drag their feet in the negotiations, she did not expect them to just start shooting outright. They must be allied with the Separatists!

"Evasive maneuvers!" Lila ordered quickly, "Intensify forward deflectors! Since when do Lucrehulks carry missiles?!"

"It seems these have been modified to some unknown degree by their new owners," Hex responded, "Recommend using caution."

As he spoke, the ship jolted beneath them as it took evasive maneuvers, trying to avoid both the missiles and the other Venators. Then the missiles struck.

The effects were devastating and immediate. Lila was nearly knocked from her feet as the entire ship was rattled from a single giant punch, as the deflectors absorbed a number of missile strikes. To her starboard, a Venator was torn in half and ablaze as the venting atmosphere allowed fires to start. Looking quickly at her status, she was relieved to see that her shields had withstanded the barrage, though they dwindled out only seven percent. All around, ships were worse off for wear.

"It seems that negotiations went poorly," Hex remarked.

"Negotiations didn't happen," Lila replied tensely, "They attacked us with no provocation! Push forward and engage them immediately!"

"Yes, General!"

"General, hail from General Mallio!"

"Put him through!"

Moments later, the hologram of her fellow Jedi Knight appeared on the table. His brown hair was ruffled and normally eloquent expression flustered, "Kriffing bloodthirsty murderous maniacs! Ugh, apologies, I'm relieved to see you alive, Knight Quorl. It seems our mission to eliminate Dooku and Grievous has failed before it began. These blasted Solians saw to that."

"I have ordered my forces to attack," Lila replied slowly, keeping an eye on the holograms of the Lucrehulks, since she had no idea how long it would take them to reload, "Shall I pull back?"

"No!" Mallio said forcefully, "For years, they have aided the Separatists while claiming neutrality, now they shoot at negotiators? We cannot allow this to stand, we will go through with the mission and annex the UNS to the Republic. I will requisition reserve forces to support us, in the meantime, we need to engage these Lucrehulks to clear a path for the Acclamators to make landfall.

"Missile launch!" Hex shouted again.

UNSS Pershing

The first volley had done a number on the enemy fleet, but the defenders were still badly outnumbered, and Vice Admiral Powell bit her lip as the Tomahawk pods went through their reload cycle. She would have liked to move her forces freely to engage the Republic, but Port Dream ruined that. If she moved her fleet, she gave the Republic a straight shot at the station, and that wasn't acceptable, so the fleet had to hold its ground and prevent the Republic from breaking through.

The Victors had broken away from the Alphas and were advancing at full speed towards the Limas while the Alphas seemed to be hanging back. The second barrage of missiles hit the Victors again, yielding similar results as the first barrage, as eight more ships were destroyed or badly crippled. Interestingly, the Republic's V-Wings and ARC-170s were not with the Victors, but rather fulfilling escort duty for the Alphas. In response, Powell ordered her fighters off to engage the Alphas and to tango with the escorts.

Then the Republic was upon them. The initial missile barrages had thinned down the Republic forces considerably, but was not enough to reduce the odds to better favor the UNS. There were still thirty five operational Victors, and the Alphas were unscathed.

Turbolasers opened up as the two formations moved into knife fighting range, and organization was lost as each commander's sole responsibility became the operation of their own vessel. The first major naval action in Sol history bore distinct similarities to the Battle of Leyte Gulf many decades prior as the two armadas became intermingled and the fighting became increasingly chaotic.

"Shields to twenty five percent!" the combat defense systems officer shouted as Pershing went broadsides against a hostile Victor slipping through the formation.

"Bring us about to bearing five seven," Powell ordered, "Angle forward deflectors and concentrate fire on the superstructure!"

While the UNS Navy had never participated in a major fleet action in its history, the analysts at the office of naval intelligence and the central intelligence agency had extensively studied footage from the engagements between the Republic and Confederacy. Using that data, they had created the combat doctrine for engagements against Republic cruisers, which were then distributed to the naval commanders and drilled intensely. Now it was time to see if it would all pay off.

As the red lances of plasma struck the Victor, shields flared then burst as they were overloaded, then the lances began striking the armor. With pinpoint accuracy of trained professionals, the naval gunners pounded the Victor's overly exposed superstructure, reducing it to melted slag. With its bridge destroyed, the Victor drifted aimlessly as the clone gunners kept firing. The UNS gunners adjusted their fire accordingly, and silenced the Victor's guns. The ship was neutralized, though not destroyed as it drifted through the battle leaking fuel, atmosphere, and debris.

"Excellent work," Powell commended, "Bring us sixty degrees to starboard and shift fire to hostile Victor."

"Aye, Ma'am."

"Shields at three percent," the CDSO warned, "We'll be taking it off the armor in moments, Vice Admiral."

"Understood," Powell acknowledged as Pershing shifted beneath her feet. Even if she wanted to retreat, there was no chance of that, as they were surrounded on all sides by hostiles.

As Pershing came about, the turbolasers opened fire against the unaware Victor, whose wrath was directed at a beleaguered UNSS Fuso. The Victor was showing Powell its rear, with its deflectors angled to absorb fire from Fuso.

The turbolasers cut through the vulnerable rear of the Victor and burned through to the reactor, causing it to go critical with such force that the shrapnel shorted out the remaining shields Pershing had left. Unfortunately, they were too late for Fuso, as the Japanese flag battlecruiser slowly came apart as its overstressed framework finally broke.

"Incoming!" the CDSO shouted moments before the entire ship rumbled from turbolaser impacts along the upper port side of the battlecruiser. The lights flickered briefly as alarms began ringing, and huge holes were torn in the armor.

"Bring us back fifty degrees to port," Powell ordered, "Damage report!"

"Superficial mostly," the XO reported quickly, "The port hangar suffered damage, and we have fires on decks ten, eleven, and twelve, firefighters are heading to the scene. We lost a turbolaser and missile pod on the port side."

"All ahead, flank speed!" Powell ordered, "Concentrate fire on the underbelly! Status on the tomahawks?"

"Armed and ready, Ma'am," the TAO reported, "But at this range we risk damage from the blast, we're too close for the void to dissipate it fully."

"We have no choice," Powell answered as more plasma pounded the port side of the battlecruiser, ejecting debris into space, "Launch the Tomahawks!"

"Aye aye, Ma'am."

The Tomahawk pods rotated, then launched their payload directly into the hull of the Victor at a range of only two hundred meters. The effect was immediate, as the force of the impacts sheared the stricken cruiser in half, but the blasts damaged Pershing as well, tearing off the fore section of the port hangar entirely. The venting atmosphere caused the ship to list to port as the engines adjusted to account for the force of the venting atmosphere.

"Seal the leaking sections!" Powell ordered quickly as the ship suddenly was hit again, this time directly astern.

"Victor, six o'clock high!" the TAO shouted urgently as more plasma pounded into their unshielded stern.

"We're losing the reactor!" the XO reported in a fast, shaky voice.

"Jesus!" Powell swore furiously as the ship shook again, "Emergency engine shutdown, stabalize that reactor right fucking now!"

Powell bit her lip and clenched the sides of the holotable tightly as the battlecruiser rattled again, and the lights flickered then went off, plunging the bridge into darkness before the backup generators came online and the bridge was bathed in dim red glow, as alarms blared loudly and damage alerts popped up from all over the ship.

"Engine shutdown complete," the XO reported quickly, "Reactor failing to stabilize, we've got a runaway reactor! Time to failure is approximately ninety seconds!"

"That's it, divert all power to shields," Powell ordered, then seized the microphone, "All hands, abandon ship, repeat, all hands, abandon ship!"

"Time to go, Vice Admiral!" the XO shouted as she lowered the microphone, and looked up to see the bridge crew rushing for the door. Powell sighed and joined them. Though she worried for her crew, there was nothing more she could do for them. Pershing was toast, and survival was up to them now.

RSS Salvation

"We can't keep this up!" Commander Hex warned desperately as the Venator was hit again by the dying Lucrehulk in front and below them.

The Lucrehulk had just used its missiles to destroy RSS Quest, and Lila had thought they would catch it unaware by coming up from the stern and hitting its engines. The Lucrehulk had not exploded like the Separatist ones usually did though, but rather the crew had actually had the forethought to shut down the engines and prevent its reactor from going critical, then they had rotated their turbolasers and started shooting back, pounding the weakened Venator.

"Critical damage to the bow!" Hex shouted again, "Recommend breaking off, General!"

As he said that, however, the lights on the Lucrehulk went out and most of the turbolasers fell silent. Seconds later, escape pods began launching from the stricken vessel as explosions began to tear it apart. Two turbolasers kept firing, however, shooting back even as their vessel died, and Lila found herself impressed by the resolve that these humans had, fighting to the very end. Finally, the Lucrehulk exploded as its reactor failed completely, and its fight finally died.

"Incoming!" Hex called out, and Lila's head snapped up to see another damaged Lucrehulk turning away from the wreckage of RSS Mercy to engage her own damaged vessel. The starboard side of the Venator was shredded as its already damaged armor absorbed shot after shot of superheated plasma from the Lucrehulk.

"Break off, break off!" Lila ordered as the Venator rumbled beneath her feet, "What's our status?"

"Critical damage to the bow and starboard side, reactor heat levels approaching the red zone, and two turbolaser batteries fully offline, both on the starboard side," Hex reported, "We can't take much more of this."

Luckily, the Lucrehulk chose not to pursue them as they backed off, opting instead to engage the critically damaged RSS Peacekeeper, which collapsed after only a single barrage.

"And the fleet?" Lila asked, wondering if she wanted to know the answer.

"In shambles," Hex replied grimly, "We have lost twenty six more Venators since we got within range, in exchange for fifteen of them. Our Acclamators made landfall, but our fighter screen was almost completely annihilated, and we have lost six Acclamators to fighters and ground fire…"

Lila was shocked into silence for a long moment. Never in the history of the war had the Republic taken such heavy losses against an enemy they so greatly outnumbered. Forty two out of fifty one Venators lost in exchange for fifteen out of twenty Lucrehulks was unheard of.

"And that's it, General Mallio has issued a general retreat order," Hex reported grimly, "We're falling back to the outer system to regroup and await reinforcements. The ground forces will be on their own for the time being."

Fort Montgomery, 10:30pm local time

While the situation in orbit was grim, the Navy bastards had managed against long odds to hold the line, and now it was up to the UNS ground forces to finish what the Navy had started. From the allied command bunker at Fort Montgomery, the defense was rallied.

Ursa had at its disposal a huge arsenal of military power, but given the relative unpredictability of the Republic's choice of landing site, much of it would be caught on the wrong continent and kept out of the fight. Fortunately, the Republic had followed their usual doctrine, and landed in the wide open steppe lands 100 kilometers east of Highstar. It was also the greatest concentration of military forces on the planet.

General Paul Raeder, German Army, was the designated Supreme Commander of Ground Forces, and was tasked with the deployment of all the UNS nation's ground and air assets to contain and destroy the Republic landing. From the depths of Fort Montgomery, staring intently at a holotable as the Alphas began making their landings. He was expecting to encounter the brunt force of two Jedi led Legion, along with several more Legions worth of unmarked clone troopers, totalling in at two to three million enemy combatants, supported by heavy armor but limited air support.

On the tarmac of the nearby Miller Airfield, hundreds of aircraft sat armed, fuelled, and ready for combat. As the Alphas came down, Raeder gave the greenlight to the UNS Air Force officers to launch airstrikes against the enemy landing. He would give them not even a second of breathing room to gain a foothold on his planet. AWACS and CAP were already airborne, but from the many runways of the sprawling complex, aircraft of all shapes and sizes took to the wing.

F-15EXs, Tornadoes, and Eurofighters left for immediate strikes against the advancing armor column marching right out of the Alphas and towards Highstar, while B-1Bs, B-52Hs, and even a trio of B-2As assembled in the busy night skies for strategic missions against the landing sites themselves. The vaunted UNS atmospheric superiority fighters and interceptors joined the bombers as escorts, or to launch separate missions against Republic air units. Within moments of lifting off, wings of F-35As, F-22As, Eurofighter Typhoons, and F-2s were vectored in from the AWACS aircraft to engage the famous Republic LAATs.

With the Air Force given the green light, Raeder was free to focus on his ground units at hand. It was both a blessing and a curse that the Republic had chosen to land so close to the capital. On the upside, the landing site could be contained more quickly, since UNS forces were already nearby, and aircraft could launch continuous strikes without needing in-air refueling, which freed the tankers up to help ferry aircraft to the capital from elsewhere on the planet. On the downside, the UNS did not have time to prepare adequate defenses beyond what had already been set up.

So instead of waiting for the Republic to come to him, Raeder decided to launch an immediate counterattack against the enemy, hoping to halt their advance as close to their landing zone as possible, and keep them as tightly bottled as he could. He also knew that his armor was much faster than the walkers that the Republic used, which gave him an advantage, which would be lost if he settled into a stationary defense.

The Army forces at Highstar were quickly divided up into three separate units. Army Group A was composed of ten infantry and six armored divisions of mixed American and British ground forces. As the largest Army Group, their job was to punch directly up the middle, and halt the Republic advance. Army Group B was made up of seven infantry and three armored divisions of German forces, whose role was to flank the Republic from the north. Army Group C was composed of the remaining ground forces on Ursa, making up eight infantry and five armored divisions of Japanese, Indian, French, Dutch, and Australian soldiers. Army Group C was tasked with driving down the intercontinental highway, and flanking the enemy from the South.

The hope was that the hardened fighters of Army Group A would halt the Republic advance long enough for Army Groups B and C to outflank and encircle the Republic's landing plan, titled Operation PYTHON, was dispatched down the chain of command, and within minutes, the tanks were rolling.

Republic Landing Zone

Clone Commander Skip watched with pride as his unending masses of clones marched down the ramps of their Acclamators, blasters at the ready. Beside them, the stomping AT-TEs that would be his vanguard spearhead rumbled the area for miles around, announcing loudly that the Republic had arrived to bring order to yet another noncompliant world. The infamous pink pauldrons and white armor of the 223rd glistened under the bright spotlights of the Acclamators as they assembled into columns and marched in the direction of the primary objective, Ursa's capital. The LAATs flew ahead, looking to land troops at key locations ahead of time, and to support the advancing armor.

The mission was to seize Ursa quickly, and take control of the space elevator, so that when the fleet returned to crush the remaining Lucrehulks in orbit, they could easily ferry reinforcements down to the surface. Aside from an admittedly worrying fighter attack that had mauled the ARC-170s and V-Wings and claimed several Acclamators during the landings, the resistance had been light so far, and Skip was optimistic. Skip had dealt with organic forces before on Jabiim, and he was confident that he could handle anything the UNS would throw his way.

Skies of Ursa

The first strike in the ground battle for Ursa was delivered by the elite fighter and strike pilots of the UNS. From the dark depths of the sky, vectored in by several AWACS aircraft, the air superiority fighters were the first to launch their missiles. Hundreds of AMRAAMs and AIM-9s were launched silently. The aircraft that launched them immediately turned back for home, gone before the enemy even knew the missiles were coming.

The experienced operators in the AWACS aircraft watched the missiles all the way in. Given the lack of reaction, the officers aboard the AWACS aircraft quietly noted down that the Republic seemed to lack any sort of missile detection system, beyond the capability of the pilots' own eyes.

The orders were to clear the skies directly over the armored column, with the first wave of air superiority fighters targeting primarily the enemy CAP so that the bombers and strike aircraft could attack without fear.

With the unprepared clones flying in loose formation and with the attack coming completely without warning, the results were predictably devastating. The missiles struck with ninety seven percent accuracy, and reduced the number of operational Republic fighters by almost fifty percent. Combined with losses already taken in space, the Republic was already looking at less than twenty five percent of their original fighters operational.

The cumbersome LAATs were the next target. For some unknown reason, the troop transports were flying well above the safety of the ground cover, with exactly zero fighter escort. The baffled AWACS operators noted this strange tactic down as they vectored in the second wave of air superiority aircraft.

The LAATs had reacted to the sudden loss of the fighters by increasing their speed and gunners becoming more alert, but they did not dive or scatter. The gunships were easy pickings for the next barrage of air to air missiles. The AMRAAM and AIM-9 missiles were designed to destroy agile, supersonic fighters, making their use on slow and unprotected transports beyond exemplary. Hundreds of bright flashes lit the night sky as proximity fuses detonated and reduced heavily loaded LAATs to burning wreckage falling ungracefully to the ground. As the second wave of air superiority fighters turned for home to rearm, the skies of Ursa had fallen firmly in the grasp of the UNS.

With the skies clear, it was time for the strike aircraft to make their appearance. Hidden completely in the clear and moonless night, five Tornadoes of the Luftwaffe led the attack against the advancing Republic column. Skimming low over the wide and empty plains of the Hamadryan Steppes, the flight leader maintained total radio silence.

As the strike group neared their target, the complete darkness was broken by burning pyres, scattered seemingly at random across the steppes. Looking more closely as they passed by, the flight leader recognized the fires as the burning wreckage of countless Republic aircraft, smashed from the sky by the vengeful UNS.

The flight leader grinned as his Tornado skimmed close over a ruined LAAT. The anti-Republic sentiment in the UNS had been brewing for decades, and this was sure to be a popular war. In the flight leader's mind, it was one that was a long time coming, and he was ready to finally bring the pain.

As the wreckage frequency increased, the flight leader became increasingly vigilant as he watched his own instruments and the skies around them, preparing for an intercept that could come at any moment and with little warning. The Tornadoes were not using their own radar, but rather relying on the huge system mounted on the AWACS aircraft, since activating the radar mounted on the Tornadoes themselves would alert the enemy to their location. Even so, the powerful AWACS radar gave a mostly clear picture of the skies, which showed the Republic scattering and panicking, with surviving aircraft making best speed back towards the relative safety of their landing zone. Still, the flight leader was vigilant, as all it took was one sneaky bastard to end it all.

At eight kilometers from the target, the intercept still had not come, but the flight leader did not relax. The skies might be clear of enemy fighters, but ground fire was still a very real threat, and this was the most dangerous part of the mission. Approaching at speeds nearing Mach 1, the flight leader gently pulled back on the stick and activated the laser on the bottom of the aircraft.

The laser sighted in on the target, and the flight leader looked, and was astonished by what he saw. The clones were marching in formation with their armored vehicles, mostly the famous AT-TE, with absolute no attempt at concealment whatsoever. The vehicles had their running lights and even their spotlights on, making the advancing column as visible as a freeway at midnight.

The flight leader snorted contemptuously as he toggled the launch switch, releasing the Tornadoes impressive payload on the armored column. The other Tornadoes in the flight did the same, and the payload was unleashed. The laser guided bombs that the Tornadoes were equipped with guided themselves in precisely, and the results were devastating.

The bombs detonated in the middle of the column, striking the lead vehicle and trailing downwards along the column to explode into the ones behind it. The first AT-TE was struck dead on by a bomb, and exploded viciously as its ammunition was ignited, doubling the explosion of the bomb itself, The shrapnel from the dying walker eviscerated the clone troopers marching next to it like a giant fragmentation grenade. The rest of the bombs trailed down the column with similar results, crippling walkers or destroying them completely, and shredding infantry and light vehicles.

The column came to an immediate halt as the first two dozen vehicles were crippled or destroyed, and the first wing of Tornadoes turned back for home, clearing the sky for the next strike force to attack moments later.

The next waves of strike aircraft compounded the results of the first, blowing up more walkers as panicking clone troopers fired blindly into the sky, trying to hit an enemy they could hear but not see, and who were there and gone in a flash. The entirety of the strike aircraft made their attacks within a span of only eight minutes, but the hundred or so aircraft releasing their payloads had managed to annihilate the formation, and scatter the survivors, without a single aircraft lost. When the last of the strike aircraft turned for home, the column was scattered and in chaos, having suffered nearly fifty percent casualties before even engaging the enemy, and with almost all surviving vehicles sustaining minor to major damage. With their forces decimated before even encountering enemy ground units, the rattled clones turned back and began a retreat towards their landing zone.

Then the strategic bombers arrived.

Republic Landing Zone

Commander Skip could hardly believe how quickly everything had gone completely to hell. Never in his years of combat experience had he ever suffered so many losses so quickly. Initial figures from his surviving sub commanders suggested near total losses for fighters and LAATs due to the kriffing missiles that the UNS seemed to love, and the ground forces were already down to less than fifty percent operational readiness.

Sixty five percent casualties in thirty minutes! Thirty minutes!

Skip had already sent out the retreat order, pulling the extended ground forces backwards to consolidate and see if he could pull some kind of success from this madness. At present, the clone commander was kicking himself for underestimating the enemy's air power so completely. With the exception of space combat and troop insertion, air superiority had played little role in the Clone Wars, and Skip had generally overlooked it. Radars and dedicated anti air weapons were few and far between, and his armored column had had none of it, expecting to encounter limited aerial resistance.

The UNS was shaping up to be a completely different beast from the Separatists, however, and they had just given Commander Skip the biggest rude awakening of his life. He wanted more than anything to relay this critical information back to the Republic, so they would be better prepared going forward, but it seemed that the UNS had jammed his communications. The blasted kriffars thought of everything, it seemed.

Luckily, the radar system he did have was finally being set up in the middle of the landing zone, on a raised platform so it could survey the whole area. It was set to come online any second… there! The hologram on the holotable shrunk dramatically as the radar expanded their vision.

"Commander!" the radio chirped urgently, causing Skip to look up from the holotable, "We have picked up fifty large contacts approaching rapidly, high altitude!"

"Dank farrick!" Skip swore furiously as a bunch of new contacts appeared on the periphery of the holotable, which looked to be several wings of huge, high altitude bombers.

Around the fifty large contacts was a screen of a hundred or so smaller contacts, which seemed to be fighter escorts. The UNS aircraft appeared to recognize that they had been detected, as they immediately loosened their formation. Suddenly, a trio of new contacts appeared momentarily at the front of the formation, then vanished along with the whole formation as some sort of jamming technology was activated.

Looking up quickly from the holotable, Skip saw the display from the radar itself. Where there had once been a number of dots, there was now a giant wall that turned an entire hemisphere of the display into a single giant contact, concealing everything within.

"They're jamming us!" the radar technician shouted in alarm over the radio.

"Vector what fighters we have left at those bombers!" Skip ordered immediately, switching his helmet's frequency to the remaining pilots, "We can't let them hit the landing zone!"

"We've got none left!" another clone shouted, "All of our aircraft have either been grounded or destroyed."

"And our Anti-Air?!" Skip demanded.

"Gone."

Then this landing is already doomed. Blast.

Fort Montgomery

General Raeder allowed a ghost of a smile to cross his face as the holotable showed the bombers pass over the target to release their payloads completely accosted by enemy resistance. The strike and air superiority aircraft had done their job, and the path was cleared for the big birds.

The B-2B jammer variant of the stealth aircraft had done their job to perfection, slipping into enemy airspace undetected, then activating their powerful radar jammers to screen the approach of the big B-52s. The B-52s dumped their massive payloads on the overexposed landing site, then turned and headed for home, as the bored fighter jockeys followed them along since there were no more airborne threats to take care of.

The results of the bombing were predictably devastating, with every single Alpha sustaining catastrophic damage, and huge fires starting across the landing site as fuel and munitions exploded. Raeder nodded thoughtfully at the results.

I'm certainly not jealous of whatever poor bastard is in charge of this mess.

The armored forces were reaching the edges of the failed Republic advance and were advancing carefully, but there were no enemy encounters. It seemed the Republic had issued a total retreat, to try and compensate for the damage dealt by the initial waves of strike aircraft.

With the skies clear, the Air Force launched a wave of autonomous MQ-9 Reaper drones to perform reconnaissance flights over the ruined landing site. As the minutes rolled by and the camera feeds came in, the evidence revealed was enough to relieve the hearts of the UNS high command. They showed trails of dejected and dispirited clone troopers streaming back towards their destroyed landing zone. Their morale looked shattered and Raeder did not anticipate them putting up a strong resistance.

Republic Landing Zone

Skip stood helmetless and bloodied at the heart of what had once been the concentration of Republic forces for the annexation of Ursa. Not anymore. The Acclamators were all in ruins, the prefabricated structures destroyed, and depots in flames. The holotable somehow still functioned, despite the rest of the room charred and burned by a bomb that had detonated just outside. Miraculously, none of the clones within the command center had died.

Perhaps it's the will of the Force, as the Jedi always say.

"Are we able to make contact with the fleet yet?" Skip asked, the urgency in his voice replaced with dejection.

"Not yet," a clone technician reported, "But we're working on it! With perseverance, we'll get through! We always do."

"Not this time," Skip grimaced as the holotable revealed enemy tracked vehicles entering the peripheries of its range. The tracked vehicles were accompanied by what appeared to be infantry transports in speedy wheeled vehicles and low flying rotor aircraft.

"Clones won't give up without a fight!" the same clone countered, "We'll make them pay, Commander."

"And how has that gone so far? We inflicted minimal damage during the landing, at the cost of several Acclamators, and what now?" Skip demanded, "We have done nothing! Clones were killed by enemies they never saw, and struck down from further away than we can react to. We were helpless to defend against their bombers turning our landing zone to ash, and now they fly recon missions over us with impunity!"

Skip gave a long sigh to control his rising temper, "I will gladly die for the Republic I was born to serve, but I will not sell away the lives of my brothers for a lost battle. Get me in contact with whoever's in charge of the UNS forces, it's time to end this."

The ever efficient UNS did not take long to detect the hail on open channels, and within minutes, Skip was face to face with an aging, weathered man in a light gray uniform, heavily adorned with medals. From his experience dealing with Separatists, Skip prepared himself for triumphant banter, and was surprised when it did not come. The older man frowned deeply as if he were the one surrendering.

"I am Commander CT-2982 'Skip' of the 223rd division, Grand Army of the Republic," Skip greeted with a respectful nod. He paused for a moment, waiting for a response that did not come, "May I have the pleasure of knowing who I am speaking to."

When the man did speak, it was with a thick accent of which Skip was not familiar, but nevertheless still carried the weight of an experienced veteran, "General Paul Raeder, German Army, and Supreme Commander of Allied Ground Forces, Ursa. Why did you hail us, Commander?"

"As I am sure you're well aware, my situation is unsalvageable," Skip sighed, "What are your terms for our surrender?"

The man nodded slowly, though he did not smile. After a moment, he responded, "You will give your unconditional surrender. Lay down your arms and allow our ground units to enter your camp and take you into custody. You will not be harmed, and will be treated humanely, in accordance with the Geneva Convention."

"I accept your terms," Skip nodded, "We will broadcast our surrender on open comms, and await your arrival."

Fields of the Hamadryan Steppes

Well that was anticlimactic.

Before the Army had made any contact, the news had come down the chain of command: the clones were giving up. It seemed the Air Force had scared them into submission. The M1A2 SEP Abrams tank of Army Group A was at the head of a unit of similar machines, and surrounded by a horde of APCs and Humvees. The devastation that the Air Force had delivered was clear as all the vehicles had to swerve to avoid debris from destroyed Republic machinery as the tanks rolled into the landing zone.

US Army Lieutenant Hank Tibbets stood in the open top hatch and manned the roof mounted machine gun as the armored lance slowed. The helicopters had gone ahead and ensured that the Republic was genuine in their surrender, which they were. The clones were standing outside their camp in a rigid, square formation, several thousand strong. They held no weapons, and made it clear they had no intent of continuing to fight. While massive, Tibbets could not help but wonder how much larger it had once been, seeing how many transport ships had landed.

Credit where credit is due, the Air Force pukes did their jobs.

The effects were shown by the fact that Army Group A had more tanks than the Republic had clones remaining, as the unit was so huge that they had to form a crescent around the huge clone formation several vehicles thick. The group was made up of British and American divisions, so Challenger 2s were splashed here and there between the Abrams.

From the American and British APCs came many units of infantrymen who approached the clones and accepted their surrender. The initial tension was quickly broken, as it became clear there would be no more killing that night. The disgruntled clones intermingled with the infantrymen as medics checked them for injuries and treated those who required it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Charger," the voice of the platoon leader came through Tibbets' headset, "Hold position, let the grunts process 'em."

"Roger," came the reply from the other three tanks in the platoon.

After about half an hour, the tank crews got permission to get out of their tanks to stretch, as medevac helicopters airlifted the clones most in need of medical attention back to Highstar, while the rest were organized into columns to begin the march back towards the city, where a football stadium was being converted into a makeshift POW camp.

With the battle over, Army Group A was split, with a small portion being used to escort the POWs, while the rest were to return back to their respective bases. Those who were expecting quick trips home were to be disappointed however. While the battle was over, the war was just beginning.