Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Geonosis, Geonosis System

Savareen Sector

I straightened out my Confederate greys, tied my hair back into a neat ponytail, and triple-checked all my effects. For the first time in seven weeks, I actually cared about my appearance.

“How do I look?” I asked Tuff.

“Like you are about to attend a funeral,” the droid dryly answered.

“Sounds about right,” I chirped, before marching off the ship, “Wish me luck.”

“I calculate a sixteen-point-four-four percent probability you will be punished for your failure,” Tuff said for his parting gift.

“I’ll take those chances,” I shoved a datapad into his hands, “Keep the shuttle warm for me.”

“By your command.”

Geonosis was very red. Arizona stretched on as far as the eye could see, the desolate landscape decorated with wildly strewn plateaus and rock spires. There wasn’t any sort of civilisation to be seen, but I knew inside those mesas were sprawling hive colonies. If I squinted I could probably find the glint of the cannon barrel peeking out of a cave... but even then, does ‘civilised’ really apply to an insectoid hivemind?

Hundreds of Federation core ships littered the vast wastelands like grey welts, their spherical hulls half-sunken into the earth to look like gargantuan missile silos from afar. Several klicks south, Guarlara was being dragged into a great ravine by a swarm of tractor tugs like a body being interned into its tomb. As for its crew... I didn’t really know–my job is to take prisoners, and then hand them off to the people responsible for dealing with them.

Honestly, they could be released in a prisoner exchange or turned into grub for the hives, both possibilities were just as likely. Finding out exactly what their fate entails could be a detriment to my conscience, so I decided I will be better off ignorant.

Even though It was only a short trek from my shuttle to the towering spires of the Stalgasin hive-city, I still couldn’t avoid sand sneaking into my boots despite my best efforts. Sand is coarse, rough, and irritating indeed... but sand is also earth, and this was the first time I’ve set foot on solid earth in months. Bad writing aside, I could fucking kiss the ground right now.

A squad of B2-series super battle droids met and escorted me inside. Out of the baking sun, the surprisingly polished halls of the subterranean colony were pleasantly cool, if a bit stale. The passageway abruptly opened up into a cavernous war room, the filtered sound of chatter reaching my ears.

I continued through even as the B2s slowed their pace to a complete stop. The massive holotable that dominated the room caught my attention first, and then the tall, strikingly blue-skinned woman next. Though her back was turned to me, Sev’rance Tann still posed an intimidating figure. Her pitch black cape was ruffled with dust and singed by blasterfire, frayed at the edges, as she spoke to a holographic figure–whom I recognised as Mon Calamari.

“–as I understand it, General,” the aquatic alien pawed his chin, “I will be cautious.”

“Not too cautious, Commander,” General Tann said, “We cannot allow the Jedi to suspect anything. Make it believable–sacrifice a few ships, if you must.”

“That is a tall order, sir,” the Commander replied, “How can I send my men to battle, knowing it is a trap, in good conscience?”

“I expect you to do your duty, Commander,” she said coldly, “Everything else is irrelevant.”

That was food for thought for the Mon Calamari, because there was a lull in the exchange right after. I took advantage of the opening to insert my presence. I straightened, my uniform snapping as I clicked my heels together.

“Captain Rain Bonteri reporting, General.”

The Mon Calamari turned its thick neck, suddenly aware of me.

“Rain,” he greeted politely.

“Merai,” I dipped my chin.

We had worked together before, albeit tangentially. My service career thus far could be described as hopping between General Tann and Admiral Trench–who was Corporate Alliance, same as Commander Merai. Being of similar rank, we were bound to work together sooner or later. Sooner, in this case, as we worked together to establish orbital superiority over Excarga, allowing Alliance forces to seize the mines on the planet.

“I will talk to Magistrate Argente myself,” the General ignored me, “So speak nothing of this to him, do you understand?”

“Loud and clear, sir,” Merai saluted.

General Tann toggled the holotable, and the Mon Calamari’s holograph winked out. The room suddenly felt a lot less safe.

“That was...?” I prodded.

“Kamino, Captain,” she stated, as if that explained everything, “One of our double agents has warned us that the Republic has uncovered the plans for our strike on Kamino.”

It didn’t take much effort to put everything together. Our impending attack on Kamino had been something of a terribly kept secret for some time now. After Senator Esu invoked the Articles of Secession in the Galactic Senate, spearheading Abrion Sector’s withdrawal from the Republic, the idea of attacking Kamino was floated around. From Passel Argente’s firebranding in political circles–something not many of us were fond about–to increased fleet presence on the Triellus, the ‘idea’ was materialising by the day.

This was an attack months in the works, with a disproportionate amount of materiel and effort put into it. Which was a given, considering the target was Kamino. If we suddenly abandon all of it now, the hackles of Republic Intelligence will rise into the sky.

“If we abort, we’ll give away our agents in their ranks,” I surmised.

General Tann nodded shallowly, “I have instructed Commander Merai to fail safely. He will flag a ‘disorganised retreat’ to the Manda System.”

Manda System. I consulted my mental map. The Manda System laid in Republic space–an odd choice for a fallback line. Though maybe it was just to sell the image of defeat, I can’t really tell with General Tann.

“Why can’t we plan our assault around the Republic knowing?”

It was a simple enough question, and really I was asking the obvious. Wasn’t that the point of even having a double agent? If we know that they know, then what they know is now bad intel after all. The General obviously didn’t think so, because her face darkened at the mention of it.

“My hands are tied,” she all but hissed, “Someone wants Magistrate Argente to fail.”

Oh. Passel Argente was the main backer for this cause, investing massive amounts of resources and clout to pull it off. This ‘someone’ must be very important, if even Sev’rance Tann couldn’t do anything about it... wait, oh shit.

My lips thinned; better not press this. I was only a Captain–not even a flag officer!–no need to dip my fingers in matters I do not understand, and likely harmful for my health. It was reassuring enough to know that General Tann was in damage control mode, unmistakably attempting to mitigate the scale of disaster the upcoming Battle of Kamino is going to be–and also roping Merai into her own plans, because she was sharp like that.

I coughed, trying to claw myself out of the hole I dug into, “May I relieve myself of the prisoner here?”

I wanted the Padawan out of my hands as quickly as possible. Not only did I not feel safe with a Jedi down the corridor–albeit in a cell–just keeping a Jedi painted a bright red target on my back. If Barriss Offee wasn’t about to escape via some Force trickery, someone was bound to rescue her sooner or later.

“What is her condition?”

“She is– uh, meditating in her cell,” I said hesitantly, “For several days now, actually. She is eating, if minimally. I have her lightsaber here.”

After taking it, General Tann ignited the lightsaber, producing a short blue blade. The glow almost seemed to sink into her opaque red eyes as she carefully inspected it, adjusting her grip on the handle. Then, with a flick, she shut it off.

“I forwarded your ideas to Count Dooku,” General Tann walked over to a wall–intriguingly smooth, unlike the rest of the cavern–and I followed her, “But he expressed the apparent necessity of converting Offee to the Dark Side. Or, if that should prove impossible, her outright death.”

Her tone of speech told me everything I needed to know of exactly what she thought of that. I cringed at the thought of executing a child–not an adult, for certain–but I supposed that was preferable to another Sith.

“Because we are winning, sir,” I said gingerly, “News from the front passes through so many channels of propaganda that effectively none of it reaches the citizens. The frontline systems are well aware of the war, but the Foundry of the Confederacy still does not quite believe we are even fighting. It’s why the Peace Faction still believes in a ‘bloodless’ conclusion.”

Tann scoffed, almost in disbelief.

“The Sarapin Campaign has proved strategically worthless, now that the Core has recovered,” I pointed out, “Excarga and Ryloth are corporate enterprises, and a waste of military resources. Axion was a tactical victory, but does not mean much. All of them are sold to the masses as ‘brilliant’ and ‘major’ victories, and proof of our just cause. Meanwhile, our defeats on Muunilinst, Cyphar, and Lianna? I doubt a single civvie on Raxus has heard of them.”

“What are you saying?” one of the Sith apprentices asked.

“I’m saying there isn’t a Supreme Commander because we are already ‘winning’ without one,” I carefully checked the General’s expression, but it was painfully blank, “If we want to start getting into their heads, we need ‘real’ proof we are losing the war. If we want to market a Supreme Commander, we need to market the necessity for a Supreme Commander.”

“...What do you think, Vinoc?” Tann asked.

One of the apprentices–Vinoc, presumably–shook his head, “If what the Captain says is true, then there is no way we are getting through the propaganda machine. Not unless we somehow have more credits than the corporations.”

The situation really was bleak. It was obviously in the oligarch’s best interests to keep using military resources to pursue their own goals, so they had their hands so far up the media’s asses they could spin the narrative of the war to suit their interests without consequences.

“Do we need to?” the other apprentice, Karoc, questioned, “We just have to overwhelm them with the truth.”

Shit, I can’t believe I’m agreeing with a Sith.

Sev’rance Tann turned around, face blank, “Are you suggesting we start losing?”

She said it as if the idea was insulting, and even unthinkable.

“I concur, sir,” I immediately stepped in, “We are winning tactical victories without any strategic concern, but we can also do the opposite; losing meaningless worlds is still losing worlds. Right now, the war is being fought in the Trailing Sectors and Western Reaches, far from our main population centres.”

Vinoc quickly caught on, “We can engineer defeats in the New Territories and Trans-Hydian. If the Republic starts pushing up the Perlemian, the propagandists will have no choice but to accept that the war has come to the Confederacy.”

Okay... maybe these guys aren’t so bad, after all.

Karoc leaned over the holotable and zoomed towards the Perlemian Trade Route, which thrusted straight into the heart of the Confederacy, “The only problem is that we also know the importance of the Perlemian, and have fortified it to Malachor and back. Some of our most powerful fleets regularly patrol the hyperlanes in the region.”

I rested an arm on another, grabbing my jaw, “The Clysm Fleet is stationed at Salvara, guarding the gate of the Foundry. I am well acquainted with its leader, Commander Trilm. Maybe we can–”

I stopped myself midway, abruptly aware of the dangerous silence pervading the atmosphere. In a brief moment of stark awareness, I realised I was advocating for willfully losing to someone who hated losing–and as far as I knew, didn’t even know the meaning of ‘defeat. There was an odd sense of camaraderie between the three of us as we waited for General Tann to react, internally cringing as I half-expected her to blow up in our faces.

It never came. In fact, nothing came. The blue-skinned alien just continued to stand by the holotable, staring into the galactic projection wordlessly. As the minutes ticked away, I checked my chrono–six minutes–and stamped down on the impulsive urge to wave a hand in front of her face.

“Our logistic lines in the Trailing Sectors have collapsed,” General Tann suddenly said, making me leap out of my skin, “With Hutt spacelanes in enemy hands, the entire salient has turned into an unsustainable pocket. We have two options: use our remaining strength to break the encirclement and abandon the region, or concentrate forces on both ends the Bothan and Gamor Runs to reestablish direct connection between the north and south.”

“The government will never accept abandoning an entire theatre like that,” I noted.

“Then we are left with but one choice.”

The General used the holoconsole to map out her strategy. Currently, our theatre centred on the Corellian Run was isolated from the rest of Separatist space. We had been using the neutral Hutt Space to circumvent the Republic encirclement, but that was no longer possible. Unlike our holdings in the Western Reaches, this front wasn’t self-sustaining, which meant we were now running against the clock before we ran dry.

To restore our supply lines, our allies in the north will have to take the key Republic stronghold of Daalang, which bottlenecked the Trax Tube, Bothan Run, and Gamor Run. Meanwhile our fleets in the south will have to smash through Bothan Space to link up with the north at Lannik. A label in Aurebesh spelled out: Operation Sidestep.

The issue? Our fleets are overstretched. To undertake such a colossal offensive, we will have to redeploy our strongest assets from the Trans-Hydian, creating a ‘void’ of military elements on the Perlemian. It was the perfect bait for Republic Intelligence. We just had to make it believable.

“We will transmit this memo on secured lines to all our fleets in the region,” Sev’rance Tann looked uncharacteristically grim, “However, this dispatch will also have to travel through Republic-held transceivers to reach our allies in the north. Unfortunately, the encryption keys we used just happened to already be compromised by enemy intelligence. But we don’t know that.”

“The Republic will realise the Foundry has been left virtually defenceless,” she continued, “And press a major–but cautious–offensive in an attempt to reach Raxus Secundus and end the war. This will light a fire under the Senate, forcing them to elect me as Supreme Commander. Then, we launch our counteroffensive from the south and outflank them."

“How will we make sure the Republic doesn’t advance too far?” Vinoc asked, “We only want to frighten the Senate, not actually threaten Raxus.”

General Tann looked at me, “I am promoting you to Commodore, Bonteri. Return to Raxus for your shore leave and assemble a new fleet. Use my name and authority as you wish.”

What the fuck? Am I expected to hold back the entire Open Circle Armada!?

I didn’t let any of my thoughts show, “For what purpose, sir?”

“First, to keep the Republic from our key worlds like Metalorn and Ringo Vinda. Maneuver so that they are only able to take strategically meaningless systems such as Casfield, Aargonar and Chorios. Systems that we can afford to lose, but are close enough to fear-monger about,” she explained, “Second, our raid on Gualara’s archives have uncovered a wealth of enemy data, including their supply corridors. Use them to plan logistic raids in order to slow down their offensive.”

On one hand, I got my promotion. On the other hand, my first task is to single-handedly stop an entire Republic offensive. You know what, I really thought my promotion would be a more satisfying moment than this. But hey–I’m now a flag officer, so I finally have greater access to resources I need to work out my contingencies. Not to mention I was practically handed a blank check.

“By your command,” I said duly, “However, the hit-and-fade tactics required for this operation necessitates organic commanders. I find that droids are too inflexible for this kind of adaptive warfare.”

General Tann fingered her comms, “Vinoc will serve under you as a captain. What of Commander Trilm? Can she be trusted? Which corporate pocket does she belong to?”

I noticed a wingless drone enter the battle room from the corner of my eye, “None. I believe she received her commission from Count Dooku himself.”

Tann’s features sharpened, “How loyal is she to Dooku?”

“Trilm is the opportunistic sort–” like me, but I guess that’s why we get along, “–She’s loyal to whomever she benefits from.”

“Then can she be converted to our bloc?” Karoc interjected, “How close are you with her?”

I squirmed. I slept with her once, after we got wasted at a drinking party not long before the Battle of Geonosis. We were celebrating our recently acquired commissions with a bunch of other officers–but nobody needed to know any of that.

“I can bring the Clysm Fleet to our side,” I said faintly.

The Geonosian drone shuffled right up to me, holding up what looked like a folded blanket with a rank insignia plaque lying on top of it. The Confederacy’s rank pins were unique, designed so that it was entirely contained in a Confederate roundel and thus stitched right onto the shoulder. The commodore’s rank had the first–the top triangle–second, third, and fifth sections coloured in grey.

I gingerly plucked the effects out of the Geonosians hands–very carefully, so I wouldn’t have to touch the insectoid–subconsciously realising that General Tann had planned for this promotion in advance. She only used the promotion to dump not one, but two utterly unreasonable missions on my head, while effectively preventing me from protesting in any actual capacity.

“Very well,” General Tann gave me a pointed look, “I have prepared for a frigate to be added to your squadron, in order to cover up the loss of Resistance. You will take your command back to Raxus through the Triellus, in order to bypass Republic space. As long as you move quietly, the Hutts won’t notice three ships passing through their territory. Is there anything else you require?”

I quietly looked down at the new uniform in my hands. You know, now that I have hopped ship, I might as well milk it for what it’s worth.

I met General Tann’s red stare, “I will need a commission and a naval lieutenant plaque. Sir.”

I added the ‘sir’ to sound more polite.