Chapter 51

Chapter 51

Star Station ‘Independence’, Murkhana System

Auril Sector

Admiral Trench patiently waited for two orderlies to leave the Supreme Commander’s office before announcing his presence. Instead of erecting the Office of the General on Raxus Secundus, or any Separatist star system, Sev’rance Tann had instead opted to repurpose the former Mandator-class star dreadnought Pride of the Core into the CAF’s mobile headquarters.

It took time for the old Harch to grow into the idea, but he could see its merits. The renamed Independence was definitely large enough to serve as the CAF’s primary arcology, should it had been established planetside. Furthermore, the great vessel was always on the move, leaping from one system to the other, and by virtue of being a starship, permitted tighter security of its perimeter. The Confederacy’s enemies would find it much harder to infiltrate the military, from now on.

“Pleasant news, Admiral.”

The Supreme Commander’s personal command room was found in the citadel of the Independence, repurposed from one of many combat information centres the old Mandator possessed. It was Trench’s first time visiting the station, since the completion of its retrofit, and the old Harch still did not know what to expect.

Knowing Sev’rance Tann, maybe he should have. She was an inordinately busy woman these days, having to not only manage the newly reformed CAF, but also navigate the exhaustive politics that came with the position. With the establishment of a new Independence Military Academy aboard the Independence itself, if the Supreme Commander was not found in her command centre, then she most certainly was supervising the progress of her personal project. Thê source of this content n/o/v/(el)bi((n))

The walls and ceilings of the command centre were covered with viewscreens and holograms, each displaying a different sector of space, dimly lit so as to not strain the eyes. At the very centre, a double ring of repeaters and readouts, blinking with the details of the innumerous assets of the burgeoning Confederate Armed Forces. And at the centre of the double circle, a simple metal chair, swivelling around to reveal the woman who spoke; Sev’rance Tann.

“Murkhana is now completely in the control of the CAF,” the Pantoran stood up, “Courtesy of Passel Argente. Extend my gratitude to the Magistrate.”

“That can be done, General,” Trench folded a pair of his arms behind his back as he strolled around the room, “But I am here for a different reason.”

“Of course.”

“Rear Admiral Bonteri has contacted me for the sixth time,” the Harch Admiral studied the stoic features of the blue-skinned woman, and studied the positions of the 2nd Fleet Group on a nearby display, at the same time, “He has fought Jedi General Alrix half a dozen times, never getting the upper hand. His complaint, naturally, are the chains around his wrists. He demands a reason as to why he is not allowed to go on the offensive.”

“It surprises me he hasn’t already,” General Tann mused.

“It is a matter of trust, General,” Trench said, “He has served under both of us, for a time. He knows we wouldn’t give orders–or a lack thereof–without reason. He now asks for us to return that trust.”

Tann’s finger curled, and the nearby display flashed into a starchart of the Rimma Trade Route, “And what will you tell him this time?”

The old Harch stroked his remaining organic mandible, “The Twenty-Eighth Mobile Fleet has been authorised to proceed with Operation Storm-Door.”

Sev’rance Tann’s opaque red eyes narrowed, “You are saying...”

“The Republic has taken the bait,” the Harch chuckled, his skin-crawling chitter filling the room, “Their Second Sector Army has ignored Mechis-Three and Yag’Dhul, and are pouring down onto the Rimma. Our forward scouts spotted the Open Circle Fleet’s redeployment; one half under Anakin Skywalker leading the vanguard to Sullust, and the other half under Obi-Wan Kenobi to Kashyyyk.”

“In the New Territories?” a low excitement burgeoned in the normally stoic General.

“Admiral Kirst’s First Fleet Group has been pushed back to Shaum Hii,” Trench built momentum, “He, too, is allowing the Republic to attack unhindered. The Republic’s Third Sector Army has reached Lantillies, and will soon reach the front lines. The Sixteenth Sector Army’s offensive has pushed General Farstar all the way to New Cov. We are losing territory all across the front.”

The two greatest flag officers stared at each other, a singular conclusion arriving to both their minds; Operation Storm-Door has succeeded. By enforcing a strict ‘no first action’ policy across the CAF, they had virtually allowed the Grand Army of the Republic free rein over the front. As expected, the Republic was launching an all-out offensive, poised to knock the Confederacy out of the war. The public motivation for the ‘no first action’ policy was a fallacy from the very beginning, but a very useful one.

The Republic already despised the Confederacy for the Attack on Coruscant–nay, that was a sore understatement–the Republic will now stop at nothing to bathe every Confederate world in Separatist blood in their quest for vengeance. No amount of pleading and backpedalling will change that–no, this policy was to invite the Republic to attack, and thus justify what will come next to the citizens of the Confederacy. With Murkhana and the Hyper-Communications Cartel now in their hands, the CAF controlled the information nexus of the entire Confederacy, from the Separatist HoloNet to the CIS Shadowfeed.

It will be a simple matter to double down on the already common belief in this nation that the Republic staged a false flag attack on their own capital, over-exaggerating the damage to justify breaking down the armistice negotiations. When the choice was believing enemy propaganda or trusted federal news sources, the choice was predictable. Besides, how could there possibly be a CAF fleet in the Galactic Interior? That was simply astrographically and strategically impossible.

The ‘no first action’ policy would preserve their moral high ground in the eyes of the Separatist people, and lure the Republic to launch their renewed offensive at the same time, justifying Operation Storm-Door. And they did. And by drawing out all remaining Reserve Armadas of the GAR, they made the Republic leave their house completely empty.

And just as the Republic seeks the Confederacy’s destruction at all costs, the Confederacy seeks the otherwise.

“And now all our Mobile Fleets have to do is walk through an open door.”

And what will happen then? When the Republic faces not one, but three fleets marauding through the Core Worlds? The Republic will no longer accept peace unless it was at the end of a turbolaser battery. The Supreme Commander was determined it was not the Confederacy, but the Republic, staring down the smoking barrel of peace.

“The Republic will panic.”

“The Republic will overcorrect.”

“The Republic will bring their fleetshome.”

“And then we can cross the border unhindered,” Admiral Trench finished, “And pressure the Republic into a treaty with overwhelming force.”

This is the true nature of Operation Storm-Door. There was no hiding the extensive fleet redeployments in the prelude to Storm-Door, so they may as well use the Republic’s intelligence to their advantage.

Operation Storm-Door enabled Operation Starlance, and Operation Starlance enabled Operation Storm-Door. One would not be possible without the other, two halves of a whole. It was the shield, the spear, and the counterattack. Operation Starlance did not even exist on paper–the operation was so secret there was not a single physical record of it that hasn’t been destroyed. It existed only in the heads of the staffers who devised it, and the officers participating in it, a number that could be counted on two hands.

Make no mistake; the twin operations were their last shot at knocking the Republic out of the war. The brutal truth was clear; the Confederacy was no longer able to take the Republic in a straight fight, not this deep into the war. No amount of confidentiality was too much confidentiality–not a single officer on the front could know of the reason for their standing orders out of fear from enemy interception. Not even those participating in Operation Starlance.

They had to draw the Republic’s armadas as far away as possible from the Core for Starlance to have any chance of success. And similarly, Operation Starlance had to draw as many Republic armadas back to the Core for Storm-Door to have any chance of success.

It was for this reason the 19th and 28th Mobile Fleets will be provided a blank flimsi to rampage and maraud as strategically able in the Interior, at least until they found Admiral Dua Ningo’s Bulwark Feet. From there, the Fleet Groups of the Confederacy can exploit the Republic’s panic to gouge out an opening in the Core for the three fleets to extract from.

Sev’rance Tann deflated in relief. If not for Trench’s keen, six-fold and artificial eyesight, he would not have noticed the brief lapse in poise. For the first time, the old Harch Admiral saw through the act; it was not the indomitable Pantoran who fought tooth and nail to seize control of the largest military in the galaxy, but a mere girl, too many times his junior, wearing a uniform and rank that still seemed far too large for her.

“There were two ways the Republic could have reacted,” the girl leaned against the consoles, once more showing no sign of weakness, “They knew for certain Operation Storm-Door was some sort of trap, but they did not know what kind. They could have either acted cautiously, prodding the trap before making any major action–or they could have rushed in, attempting to destroy the trap with brute force.”

“Not knowing that by doing so, they have already fallen for it,” Admiral Trench approached the Supreme Commander, towering over her, “You have foresaw their reaction perfectly, General.”

“Then it all the more crucial Operation Starlance produces the intended effect within the Republic,” Tann remarked, “We must prepare accordingly. Is the Second Fleet Group ready for action? You will be pitted against the most fortified Republic front of the war.”

“Your concern is appreciated, but unnecessary, General,” Trench staked out the room, examining the fleet positions in the Perlemian on the displays, “Rear Admiral Merai’s Dac Offensive has secured the Quarren shipyards of Calamari Space, including the Pammant Docks. With this, the dreadnought Subjugator has finally entered service. With both Malevolence and Subjugator, my Second Fleet Group can pierce even the strongest enemy positions.”

The Subjugator-class star dreadnought was the heaviest Separatist warship ever put into service, designed by the Free Dac Engineering Corps as the response to the Republic’s own star dreadnoughts. Nearly five klicks long, it possessed a massive through-deck ion pulse cannon that could disable entire fleets with a single shot. The first to enter service was Malevolence, followed by her sister ship Devastator. With the newfound security of the Pammant Docks however, the original testbed and namesake, Subjugator, can finally complete its retrofit and enter service.

After the damning success of the designs at the Battle of Columex, a fourth ship of the class had been ordered, and its keel recently laid down in the Quarren shipyards of the Enoth System.

In any case, with two Subjugator-class star dreadnoughts on the Perlemian Front, the GAR’s 3rd Sector Army will be due for an unpleasant surprise.

“Very well,” the Supreme Commander circled back to her seat, “Then let us reveal to the Republic the true depth of our willingness to fight.”

The Pantoran quietly composed herself, then toggled the integrated comlink on her instrument board, “This is the Supreme Commander to Admiral Kirst of the First Fleet Group. Be notified that all actions pertaining to Operation Storm-Door have been authorised. Maintain your defence-in-depth of the New Territories, and make the Republic pay dearly for every world they take. You may inform the Nineteenth Mobile to proceed with Operation Starlance.”

Unlike General Farstar’s defence of the Corellian Run, Admiral Kirst was explicitly ordered to give ground. The strategy was twofold; the 1st Fleet Group was facing not one, but three GAR Sector Armies–the 7th, 8th, and 9th. The 10th Sector Army would have been included, if they were not poised to combat Trench’s own 2nd Fleet Group on the Salin Corridor. The reason for a defence-in-depth strategy, then, was more obvious.

But there was a more sinister reason behind Admiral Kirst’s defence of the Confederacy’s northern holdings, devised by the adroitly sinister mind of Rear Admiral Calli Trilm. The Raxus Government’s main internal political rival in the Serenno Government established its main powerbase in the galactic north. By fighting for every inch of ground and calculatively permitting the Republic to advance through the New Territories, every system lost ripped away another pillar of Count Dooku’s support.

When the Republic captured Banking Clan affiliated worlds, for instance, the Raxus Government also dealt with another internal threat–slowly setting the stage in the deplorable case the Confederacy finds a civil war unavoidable. For a woman born and raised on the Serennian colony world of Clysm, Calli Trilm bore frightening little loyalty to her homeworld... or anything other than herself, for that matter.

“This is the Supreme Commander to General Farstar of the Third Fleet Group,” the Supreme Commander prepared the next transmission, “Be notified that all actions pertaining to Operation Storm-Door have been authorised. Hold the enemy at New Cov, encircle, and destroy them. Let them take not an inch of the Mid Rim.”

General Atticus Farstar, the protege of Sev’rance Tann herself, recently promoted after his success in Bothan Space. Farstar’s strategy was simple; stop the GAR’s 16th Sector Army dead in its tracks at the fortress world New Cov, while their Bothan allies under Rear Admiral Laryn Kre’fey holds his flank at Kalarba. Then, Commodore Karoc’s 224th Strike Division, awaiting at Daalang, would proceed down the Gamor Run to Milagro, effectively cutting off the 16th Sector Army from its supply lines.

“Admiral,” then was Trench’s turn, and the Supreme Commander gave him the oral command; “Be notified that all actions pertaining to Operation Storm-Door have been authorised. I don’t believe it necessary to elaborate upon the strategy you personally devised. You may order the Twenty-Eighth Mobile to proceed with Operation Starlance. They will first jump to Yag’Dhul to cut off the 2nd Sector Army’s supply line, then begin their incursion with the Nineteenth Mobile. Inform them the Fourth Fleet will take their place in Sullust.”

“You seem confident Admiral Bonteri can still defeat General Alrix. He has been engaged in battle on six separate occasions,” Admiral Trench observed, “And not once has he been able to take the upper hand. What makes this occasion so different?”

“The commanders of our two Mobile Fleets are very different people, but unbeatable when the battlefield plays to their strengths,” the Supreme Commander stood up, lifting an open palm, as if there was an invisible spider resting upon it, “I have made my considerations when choosing where to deploy them. Admiral Trilm is like a spider, knitting her web in silence, awaiting her enemies to tangle themselves in her invisible threads, before finishing them off. The standing order to ‘hold your position’ would work entirely in her favour.”

“Which is why she was posted in the neutral Kashyyyk System,” the old Harch concluded, “So that the Republic could not attack her?”

“Perhaps I am looking down too much on the Republic,” she admitted, “But that would be correct. For Operation Storm-Door to succeed, the Republic must grow suspicious of our Mobile Fleets and redeploy their most dangerous assets to the front accordingly. Considering one half of the Open Circle Fleet was retasked to Kashyyyk, this ploy has succeeded.”

“Admiral Bonteri, on the other hand,” as if making her point clearer, General Tann lifted her other palm, “Is like a viper. He shines in unrestrained, offensive actions, and like a viper defending their nest, he will twist even the most defensive battlefields in order to strike first. There is a common thread when you study his battles; the First Battle of Christophsis, Battle of Teth, Battle of Metalorn, Battle of Columex... these were all defensive battles, and yet in each one Admiral Bonteri fought as the aggressor.”

“You believe...”

“I believe that if Admiral Bonteri was permitted unrestrained action, he would have annihilated General Alrix’s fleet before the Republic could even realise he was at Sullust,” the Supreme Commander confirmed, “Thus he was forced to be hamstrung, and put in an unfavourable position most counteractive to his expertise. And as expected, General Skywalker and the vanguard of the Open Circle Fleet was sent to reinforce General Alrix’s positions.”

“There was no telling the Republic would react that way,” Admiral Trench stroked his mandibles in thought, “To assume the enemy’s reactions is a risky endeavour.”

“Then we must disagree, Admiral,” General Tann smiled thinly, “Do you not realise it is the Republic who would realise just how dangerous Admiral Bonteri is? In every battle I had listed, Admiral Bonteri fought against one or more Jedi Generals, and defeated them. It is the Republic who understands how he fights more than anybody. I imagine they must have panicked, realising the inexperienced General Alrix has been pitted against the viper himself. It is natural they send the Jedi General who has the most experience dealing with him to reinforce Alrix.”

“And when Admiral Bonteri jumps to Yag’Dhul, General Skywalker will be too far away to stop Operation Starlance,” Admiral Trench finished.

The Supreme Commander nodded sharply, visibly pleased. She then prepared her final transmission.

“This is the Supreme Commander to General Ambigene of the Fourth Fleet Group,” –the final, and most critical to Operation Starlance, was the First General on the Rimma Trade Route, “Be notified that all actions pertaining to Operation Storm-Door have been authorised. Take Eriadu with all haste and fortify Sullust in anticipation for the enemy offensive.”

“I know that look in your eyes,” in his many years, Horn Ambigene has seen much, “It is the fuel of the dark side of the Force. The very object the Jedi Order preaches against.”

“I wish to wield power against the Republic, so that its rot may be cleansed with fire,” those fiery orbs met his stone gaze, “Whether it be the light or dark side of the Force, it needn’t matter to me. Dooku saw the light of the Jedi as weakness, and killed any who disagreed with him. Isn’t that just as the Jedi enforce the opposite? He is no better than the Republic and the Jedi Order.”

“As for me...” the First General of the Confederacy turned his attention to the viewports, “I left Dooku’s employ because Sev’rance Tann offered me something greater. Tell me, Wiffa, have you ever seen anything quite like this?”

Past the transparisteel of the battleship Antecedent, laid Eriadu, and 1,500 warships of the Confederacy of Independent Systems.

“A fleet,” Commander Zett described what she saw, “This is power of another kind. Power found in rolled steel and the hollow bore of a turbolaser cannon and the warhead of a missile. Power to wield against the Republic.”

“This is more than that,” if Horn were still a younger man, there would be tears in his eyes as he beheld everything he strove and fought for. If you could see this now, he wanted to tell his fallen comrades, if only you could see that we were never alone, “This is the Outer Rim. This is the accumulated grievances of the Outer Rim, gathered in single purpose. Like you, I took Count Dooku’s hand. For revenge, but for a cause I wish existed fifty years ago. This, Wiffa, is vindication.”

Fifteen hundred warships of the Outer Rim. From the shipyards of Sluis Van, to the scorching mantle of Mustafar. From the bustling tradeworld of Enarc to desolate wastes of Sanrafsix, and the exploited mines of Sharlissia. A hundred systems, a hundred flags, and a hundred symbols. A hundred worlds that might otherwise be enemies, bitter rivals over some patch of darkness or the other, all gathered in single cause, all bearing the Confederate Hex.

All the years Horn Ambigene spent fighting felt worth it now, for this one single moment. It was vindication for his wartorn world, that their efforts had never been in waste.

“It exists now, General.”

“Quite right,” he smiled, pleased as he could be, “What were the Supreme Commander's orders, Wiffa?”

“Operation Storm-Door may begin,” she obediently recited, “Take Eriadu with all haste and proceed to Sullust, to relieve the Twenty-Eighth Mobile of its position, and fortify the system in preparation for enemy incursion.”

Take Eriadu will all haste, hm? This Supreme Commander of ours is quite the troublesome lass, isn’t she? To take a world like Eriadu with all haste... would still take months. Not only would it make it impossible to aid the 28th Mobile and fortify Sullust in a timely manner, it would also exact a bloody toll that Horn Ambigene was unwilling to see paid again. He despised people like the Pantoran, who demand so much with no effort to understand the painful endeavours taken to make her plans possible.

“I hear Admiral Bonteri has taken quite a beating at the hands of that Jedi, Rees Alrix,” General Ambigene, however, knew very well the realisms of war, “As we may find ourselves delayed here, let us send him some help. Don’t we have a black sheep among the Fourth Fleet Group we can expend?”

“Naradan Du’lin’s twenty Mistryl destroyers,” Wiffa Zett recalled, “She entered our AO a day ago, and then hid herself among our fleet.”

“The squadron of the infamous Emberlene Warfleet,” General Ambigene nodded in recognition, “Incredible mercenaries, those women. I remember now; a certain Admiral Trilm had requested a favour of me, that I discreetly send these mercenaries on their way without notifying the Pantoran.”

“Our Supreme Commander does not look brightly upon privateers and mercenaries.”

“I think they are quite useful,” the First General’s expression was hard at the thought of the Pantoran, “Fortunately for Calli Trilm, I do not like Sev’rance Tann. I was unable to fulfil this favour before, under the strict purview of our ‘standing orders,’ but with the commencement of Operation Storm-Door, this is the perfect opportunity. Send a hidden transmission to Naradan’s flagship, and let’s put her on her way... under the guise of pursuing Maarisa Zsinj, let us say.”

“Very good, General,” Wiffa Zett then relayed his orders, before returning to him, “But I must say... Calli Trilm’s designs seem to stretch across every corner of this Confederacy. Many say she is Dooku’s personal aide and confidant, yet she also commanded the Perlemian Coalition, and supported the rise of the Pantoran over Dooku’s own recommendation. And now she is the Supreme Commander’s political advisor, but also works behind her back to deal with mercenaries.”

“The spider’s web cannot be seen unless you are looking for it,” Horn Ambigene agreed, “And there poses the question; is it worth looking for it in the first place? I think not. Not for our means.”

He didn’t care about the Confederacy’s politics–he didn’t care about the Confederacy at all. No, he utterly despised it, the pit of snakes on Raxus wielding the grievances of the Outer Rim to further their own personal ambitions. None of them cared about the Rim; none of the cared about the slaves in chains, the open pit mines carving up worlds alive, the sprawling industrial complexes that swallowed entire biomasses. None of them. It just so happened that they opposed the Republic, and the enemy of Ambigene’s enemy was his ally.

Even the Confederate Armed Forces he fought for. A third of the CAF were former corporate stooges, the likes of that deplorable Trench, Loathsom, and Tonith. If it wasn’t for the fact that they now wielded their strength against the Republic, Ambigene would not think twice about killing them.

But what of the Supreme Commander, Sev’rance Tann? Bah–she was a military authoritarian who wanted nothing less than to command the galaxy’s largest military institutions as if it were her own personal fiefdom. The Confederacy, the entire Clone Wars, only served that one single purpose for her, and nothing else mattered. She couldn’t care less if billions had to die for her coveted final victory.

And what of those two rising stars, Rear Admiral Bonteri and Rear Admiral Trilm? They were nothing more than aristocrats in uniform, who cared only about themselves and their own personal power. Everything else was secondary.

Even Count Dooku himself couldn’t keep his true nature hidden forever, and now his sins had been aired over the holowaves.

The Confederacy of Independent Systems was one founded by idealists and ruled by rationalists. But he didn’t care. Because the Confederacy gave him the one thing he wanted for so long.

He allowed a beat to pass, as he carefully traced the outlines of Eriadu’s green continents and cheerful blue seas. This world is entirely at my mercy, he thought, and yet I shall give them one last chance to surrender.

“Contact Gideon Tarkin. I wish to offer one final chance of mercy.”

Mercy the Republic never gave me. Mercy I never gave the Republic. Perhaps he was a changed man? He nearly laughed at the absurdity.

Wiffa Zett bowed and departed, and not a moment later the holographic bust of Gideon Tarkin was before him.

“I recited the conduct of war to you before, Tarkin,” Horn Ambigene said bluntly, “And I shan’t do it again. Surrender, and I guarantee Eriadu’s entrance into the Confederacy of Independent Systems. The Outer Rim still welcomes Eriadu as one of its own. Do not force me to shed the blood of your world.”

Eriadu, Coruscant of the Outer Rim. As if that was a name to be proud of. Eriadu has been many times subject to offers of commonwealth from the Confederacy, and each time this blasted world turned down the welcoming hands of their brothers and sisters of the Outer Rim in favour of the pittances from the Core.

Eriadu was the last major Loyalist stronghold in the Outer Rim, and it was a world under siege, and one that has been, in one way or another, since the Clone Wars began. Its fleets have been decimated, its planetary shields cracked and broken. There was no resistance left, but that found planetside.

“I must decline again, Ambigene,” Gideon Tarkin was a poorly hidden disgust, as if he could hurl at the mere reminder of Eriadu being a Rimworld, “You will find us quite willing to spill our blood. Our loyalty to the Republic is absolute. If you wish to take this planet, then meet us on the ground. We shall fight for every landing ground, for every mountain fortress, every hill, and every city, and every street.”

Horn Ambigene sneered at Tarkin’s grandstanding, “As you wish. I shall say this out of what common cause I share with your people. Eriadu is still a Rimworld, and I cannot bear to witness the blood of the Rim spilled any further. As in accordance with the Yavin Code relative to the Protection of Civilian Persons in Time of War, I will allow you to evacuate your civilians unmolested. Let them not die for your arrogance.”

“It is your arrogance that will undo you, mad dog!” Gideon Tarkin snarled back, “We are not the same as you. We do not flee. Every citizen of Eriadu will do their duty for the Republic!”

“So be it. There are no words left to waste between us,” Horn Ambigene closed his eyes in remorse, ordered the connection severed, and opened his eyes in anger, “Was that recorded, Wiffa?”

“There are no non-combatants left on Eriadu, General. If they wish to die for the Republic, then let them die with it,” the fallen Jedi grinned, a brutal light gleaming within her eyes, “Our fleets are in position, General. We await only your word.”

The First General of the Confederacy lifted his tablet, and saw Eriadu in its entirety, and the 1,500 warships that orbited it. Then he saw power. Power found in rolled steel, in the bore of a cannon, in the warhead of a missile. He saw attack vectors. He saw attack vectors from every squadron and every ship. He saw targets. Painted targets, on every landing ground, every mountain fortress, every hill, every city, and every street.

The bridge of battleship Antecedent was silent in pregnant anticipation. Horn Ambigene reached into his overcoat and produced an old metal flask, banged and battered and dented and scorched, witness to a lifetime of battles. He popped off the lid, like the crack of thunder, and swirled the liquid, like the crashing of ocean waves.

He raised it to the lights above. Unbeknownst to him and all around him, a single tear ran down his cheek, in it mirrored the surface of Eriadu, as if the world was trapped in a crystal orb.

It was the last fragment of a young soul, who would spend his life in single-minded pursuit of justice, warring against the galaxy that wished to carve open his homeworld and extract its blood and flesh. It was the last fragment of an aged soul, who had surrendered his final humanity in his relentless crusade, and in the process ground his homeworld down to its bleached and salted bones. It was the last fragment of a callous wretch of a soul, who had been fighting a war against injustice for so long, he had ultimately forgotten what he had fought for.

Until nothing but bottomless hatred for the galaxy remained, a great pit that wished nothing more than to devour the stars and sate its hunger for vengeance. What did the Confederacy give he cherished so dearly? The power to spend the rest of his life spitting at his hated, eternal foe, until his very last breath. At last, after over half a century, that moment has come.

“My friends,” he told men long dead, unconcerned of his captive audience, “I stand here in your place. On behalf of us all, I extract our pound of flesh. I bring to this world; emancipation, the apocalypse.”

He drank to his lonely toast, and thus spoke the Ghost of Tydane–

“Remove this blight from the face of the Outer Rim.”

“With pleasure.”

From the surface of Eriadu, it must look like a hundred thousand newborn stars had graced the sky at once, even in the bright of day. Then lightning and thunder came to earth, fire raining from the sky, destructive pillars of energy that left nothing but ash behind. Massed fire from turbolasers, a ceaseless hail of missiles and torpedoes. From the surface, one could only look above and feel the stomach-churning certainty that the galaxy was falling upon you. The wrath of fifteen-hundred warships that descended like the hammer of the cosmos itself.

There was nowhere to hide.

Not over the oceans boiled into storms of superheated steam.

Not beside the lakes and ponds vaporised into dry, cracked earth under the stormfront of atmospheric hellfire.

Not on the landing grounds churned into fields tilled with blood and slaughter and baked into fields of shattered glass.

Not in the mountain fortresses buckled and cracked, falling into the abyssal depths of the crumbling mantle.

Not in the hills vanished beneath a relentless furor of hellfire, from which rivers of molten rock flowed freely.

Not in the cities reduced the smouldering remnants, the metal skeletons of skyscrapers like corpses of giants reaching for the heavens.

Not in the streets engulfed in raging firestorms, entire populations crying out in a terror that rang the galaxy like a bell, before being silenced in inevitable atomisation.

And the screams poured into the Force, until it was an unmistakable roar heard throughout the universe.

A Jedi wandering down the halls of the Temple looked to the sky, wondering if anybody could hear that too.

A Jedi among the deserts of Dantooine, feeling the sand shiver beneath their feet.

A Jedi wading through the swamps of Mimban, pausing as stagnant water quivered and flowed.

A Jedi tripping over an protruding root in the dense forests of Togoria, hearing the wind howl through the trees like a weeping choir.

A Jedi on the bridge of their starship, watching the stars burn with an intensity never seen before.

A Jedi standing amidst the towering heights of Coruscant, closing their eyes as the galaxy darkened just a bit more.

Two Sith in conversation in the bowels of the Works, savouring the damned and yet wondering when the monster they created had broken free, chain and collar all.

It would take forty-eight hours and seventeen billion lives, and the entire galaxy would know without question; the last and greatest offensive of the Confederacy has begun.