Chapter 57

Chapter 57

Yag’Dhul Orbit, Yag’Dhul System

Harrin Sector

At the bridge of battlecruiser Chimeratica, Confederate Rear Admiral Rain Bonteri observed the approaching enemy. His hand flashed over the screen, and a pair of spinning scales strung out around the holographic display of Yag’Dhul like an armillary sphere, miniscule increments denoting the absolute bearings with regard to the galactic plane. The holographic planet spun, just as the star system spun, but these absolute bearings would always be aligned with the arbitrary constants set by the Standard Galactic Grid.

The New Territories will always be nested in the absolute north, just as the Unknown Regions lay in the west and Trailing Sectors in the south. That will not change, even as the galaxy itself traversed the cosmos, spiralling at a steady 250 klicks a second. One of the joys of a galactic civilisation. Standardisation. Standard bearings, standard time, standard distance, standard alphabet.

People really took standardisation for granted, even as standardisation acted as the steady hand that guided this civilisation to peace and prosperity for ten-thousand years. Even as standardisation acted as the calculating impetus behind every battle and every war, the platform from which mass destruction and slaughter would be planned upon.

Three fleets approached Yag’Dhul. Rain Bonteri eyed the absolute bearings, shifting the holograph towards a top-down view.

From the north-east, bearing 033 degrees and 100,000 klicks out, just beyond Yag’Dhul’s third moon, was Octavian Grant’s 20th Sector Armada, numbering two-hundred and fifty ships. As the 20th Sector Armada was ostensibly a rear-line combat element, most of their fighting force consisted of smaller vessels around a core battlecruiser squadron. Numbers and tonnage combined, it was a peer force to the 28th Mobile Fleet.

From the north-west, bearing 341 degrees and 90,000 klicks out, was Empatojayos Brand’s Taskforce Swift Justice, recently liberated after Fondor’s surrender and withdrawal from the Confederacy, numbering a little over one-hundred warships. Many sleek Fondorian vessels had joined this command, including new Tector-class battleships, but in total this force was still disadvantaged against the 28th Mobile Fleet. On its own, at least.

From the south-east, bearing 150 degrees and 150,000 klicks out, isolated from their comrades approaching from the north, was Anakin Skywalker’s Open Circle Fleet, numbering three-hundred ships. Bringing over a hundred Venator-class battlecruisers to bear, the Open Circle was by far the most dangerous enemy fleet element present, one the 28th Mobile might not hope to triumph over in even combat.

“Just under seven-hundred ships,” Senator Daggibus Scoritoles gravely informed the gathered officers of the 28th Mobile Fleet, “On behalf of the Body Calculus, I extend my sincerest gratitude for your efforts towards the liberation of our star system. However, in light of the Republic’s enormous advantage, I must advise you to retreat. Rest assured, even against this force, Yag’Dhul will not be taken by the Republic, this is as the Body Calculus determined.”

The Givin of Yag’Dhul were the most revered mathematicians of the galaxy, and the Body Calculus was formed of the most revered mathematicians of the Givin. Some species gave more weight to their words than others, but the Givin were one of the few who always backed their words with hard numbers. If Daggibus Scoritoles had even forgone the Givin societal custom of greeting mathematics to implore a hasty withdrawal, then the chances of victory must be bleak indeed.

“Have the esteemed Body Calculus determined the possibility of victory to be ‘zero’?” the Rear Admiral leaned back, almost relaxed.

“No possibility is ‘zero,’ Admiral,” the Givin looked at him through an exoskeleton of bone, fixed into a perpetual scream, “But the enemy has as many as three times the number of ships that you do, and intend to envelop you from three directions. However, you can still withdraw, and regroup with your allies for a counterattack. The Body Calculus has deliberated a strategy for your fleet to execute.”

“I must express my dissatisfaction, Senator,” the Rear Admiral gestured coldly, “Why do you not say ‘us,’ and use ‘you’ in its place? Is the Mathematocracy not a constituent state of this Confederacy? Yag’Dhul’s shipyards are well-regarded, and the reputation of their Wavecrest-class frigates precedes themselves. Will you not fight with us?”

“I am afraid that the Body Calculus is hesitant of committing its warships,” Senator Scoritoles bowed stiffly, “As a defeat would render it unable to defend its orbital and atmospheric space.”

“Then how must we convince the Body Calculus of our certain victory?” the Rear Admiral asked, “Must I descend to Dodecapolis, and make a presentation of my strategy with prepared graphs and charts?”

“I have already presented your strategy to the Body Calculus,” the Givin Senator replied, “They concluded it is... implausible. Defeating a numerically superior enemy in detail has merit, but that is the obvious conclusion the enemy will come to as well. A ‘defeat in detail’ will only work if the enemy has the advantage in terms of total numbers, while you have the advantage over any single one of their divisions. That is not the case here. The Twentieth Sector Armada is a near-peer force, and the Open Circle Fleet have you at every disadvantage.”

“And how has the Body Calculus arrived at that conclusion?”

“With the evaluation of a dataset of battles accumulated over the long millennia of galactic warfare. The Body Calculus has all the data on hand, should you have the capacity to analyse it.”

To analyse every battle ever fought since the foundation of the Mathematocracy in the span of hours just to prove a point, the Rear Admiral mused, is such an unnecessary effort that speaks to exactly how the Givin operate.

“Then this battle will be a statistical anomaly,” the Rear Admiral promised, “You speak of our defeat in the upcoming battle, Senator, but the battle has already begun.”

“You speak of–”

“Indeed I do,” the Rear Admiral gestured again, this time at a display, and five pairs of eyes turned to see it, “As you can see, we have already begun whittling away at the enemy force. Fifty battlecruisers of the Open Circle Fleet are leaving. The Open Circle Fleet no longer possesses the advantage, and is now a near-peer force.”

“At the cost of seventy of your own ships.”

“Seventy frigates. It is a fair trade. And one we would immediately recoup if your Wavecrests are committed to our cause.”

“Even so,” Daggibus Scoritoles’ hologram shimmered, “It is unlikely for any fleet to defeat three peer enemy fleets in quick succession. The dataset proves as such; there is no historical precedent for such an event ever occurring.”

“It appears Body Calculus fails to understand that the historical precedent will begin with this battle,” Commodore Horgo Shive said leisurely, “The Twenty-Eighth Mobile is not any fleet, not by design. Take it from a Muun, Senator, who does not move their credits easily. A risky investment promises high returns, and this fleet is an asset on which I have bet everything. That is the case for the entire Confederacy. This entire war is a volatile venture, and yet it is one that three of the most intelligent species of the galaxy have put their faith in; the Muun, the Siniteen, and finally, the Givin. Of which, only one has yet to put their credits where their mouth is.”

The silence of the Givin representative stretched on, watching the officers through pitch black, soulless eyes. He would not be moved by confidence or appeal to emotion; the Givin knew but one argument, and it was backed by numbers.

“Tell this to the Body Calculus,” the Rear Admiral finally told the Givin, “They must stop falling for the fallacy that a ‘defeat in detail’ is anything but eloquent vernacular created by military strategists to make a simple premise more sophisticated than it really is.”

Daggibus Scoritoles then questioned, “How so?”

“I will defeat the enemy. No matter how many times I must,” the Rear Admiral stood up, spreading his arms, “Once. Twice. Thrice. Four times. Do you know why I must defeat three enemy fleets? It is because I have already destroyed the fourth.”

On the display, right on top of the 28th Mobile Fleet, bearing 000 degrees and zero klicks out, was the GAR’s siege fleet, meant to take Yag’Dhul by force, once numbering four-hundred warships strong. Once. If Anakin Skywalker’s plan was for the siege fleet to buy time for the encircling forces by engaging the 28th Mobile Fleet, then he has already failed. Not a single ship of the siege fleet remained in active combat, completely destroyed over the course of three hours under the combined manoeuvres of the 28th Mobile.

Rear Admiral Rain Bonteri stepped forward until he was right in front of the skeletal features of the Givin Senator, “If the Body Calculus wants historical precedence, then tell them they stand on history. I have destroyed a near-peer force, one in an defensive posture no less, and I will do it again three more times.”

Senator Scoritoles took a half-step back to create distance, “Once is chance.”

Challenge gleamed in the Rear Admiral’s eyes, each like a kaleidoscopic crystal, “And twice is?”

If the Rear Admiral saw something within the Givin’s sunken black eyeholes, he did not show it. Something passed between the two men, and if the Givin had the biological capacity to smile, perhaps Daggibus Scoritoles would have.

“Twice will be intent.”

⁂

On the opposite side, a shared unease rippled through the three commanders of the Republic effort to destroy the Battle Hydra. The three fleets had approached Yag’Dhul swiftly, yet their pace was tempered with the necessity to remain synchronised in their approach, to eliminate any gaps in the encirclement from which the enemy could escape through.

This was critical, as Yag’Dhul possessed a quaternary satellite system with three close-orbiting, oversized moons that acted as much on the planet and each other as the planet acted on them, creating erratic and powerful gravitational forces that would complicate any engagement. Such a phenomena would usually act as a hard limit for the maturation of any spacefaring civilisation, but the Givin had especially evolved with extraordinary mathematical and astronomical abilities to break out of their lunar cage.

The original plan was for the siege fleet to pin down the Separatists until the main force arrived, but considering the sudden radio silence, the three Republic commanders could only conclude their allies had already been destroyed. That left an issue, as they now had no way of knowing the exact location of the Separatist fleet. The quaternary system was filled with asteroids ripped from the moons by extreme tidal forces, and clouds of thick atmosphere hanging between them that refracted many sensor systems.

They had to approach this way, with their fleets in such a position to overlook any possible escape vector through the moons and asteroid fields. There was no fear about the Separatists' attempt to escape via going above or below the system plane, as the lack of astronomical phenomena enabled all three fleets to discover and intercept them quickly. As such, should the Separatists attempt to escape, it was determined they would do so by giving them the slip by exploiting natural blindspots created by the quaternary system.

“That is,” Jedi Commander Tallisibeth Enwandung-Esterhazy narrowed her eyes, observing the quaternary system between the gathered holograms, “If the Battle Hydra even intends to escape at all.”

“Withdrawal is the only natural conclusion for him,” Governor-General Octavian Grant argued, not unsoundly, should their opponent be any other, “We’re closing in on the enemy from three directions, and even without the siege fleet, we still command thrice their numbers. All the conditions point towards a decisive victory.”

“Not all conditions,” Jedi General Empatojayos Brand inserted into the conversation, “You don’t bother fighting a Dxunian raptor on its home turf; you wait for it to come to yours. We are doing the former. One moment you think you're the biggest monster around, the next you’re ten-thousand feet up in the jaws of a raptor. The second we cross the orbit of the third moon, we best stop thinking we’re the hunters.”

“Besides, it already isn’t a decisive victory,” Commander Tallisibeth shook her head, “The siege fleet might not be so powerful, but they still had four-hundred warships. Not to mention all of the boots we had on the ground, now at the mercy of the Givin.”

If General Octavian Grant was resentful of being disagreed with twice, he did not show it. Born into the nobility of the neighbouring Tapani Sector, Grant was a blue-blooded aristocrat, young and contemptuous for those he felt were lesser beings compared to humans like himself and his fellow Tapani nobles. For him to work with Jedi was distasteful in of itself, but a barely-civilised Onderonian and an impoverished orphan from Vorzyd-V? Fortunately for Republic cooperation, the origins of individual Jedi are not so easily discovered by outsiders.

The only way matters could be made worse was if Tallisibeth or Brand was a politician on top of it. Octavian Grant was one of the Governor-Generals who found himself gravely injured by the Supreme Chancellor’s consolidation of military authority, which itself acted as a catalyst for Grant’s newfound hatred for politicians like Palpatine. If he had to work with the spineless bureaucrats that populated the likes of Admiral Honor Salima’s Home Fleet, he might just mutiny... if it weren’t for the alternative being the alien-dominated Confederacy. Well aware of this fact, the GAR’s Strategic Command had by-and-large allowed General Grant to operate independently in the 20th Sector Army, dominated by the Tapani Oversector itself, to appease him.

Thankfully, on this occasion General Octavian Grant had tempered himself for battle, and considered his allies fellow military commanders first and foremost–though he still harboured internal doubts about the efficacy of Jedi officers.

“I will retire myself from this debate,” General Grant raised a gloved hand, “I will not pretend to know our opponent anymore than a countryman of theirs, or someone who met them in person. If the Battle Hydra truly intends to fight, however, then I can only think of one way they can.”

“They intend to defeat us one at the time,” Tallisibeth agreed, “While we are still isolated from each other.”

As the three allied fleets entered the quaternary system, their sightlines and communication corridors would soon be interrupted by the three moons and many other astrographical phenomena. Since the allied fleets had to coordinate with each other, they decided to base all of their bearings and distances relative to the planet of Yag’Dhul itself, so they would all be looking at the same thing. With this in mind, the farthest moon from Yag’Dhul was just portside of the 20th Armada, bearing just 050 degrees, relative to the planet. The second moon was on the port bow of Taskforce Swift Justice, bearing just west of absolute north. Finally, the closest and smallest moon of Yag’Dhul was slightly southwest, bearing 195 degrees.

“So the question is; who will he attack first?” General Grant crossed his arms, “If we can predict this, we can manoeuvre our fleets decisively and crush the menace once and for all.”

“He will attack the Open Circle Fleet first!” General Empatojayos Brand declared with such force his hologram quivered, “A predator will always attack the most isolated prey first. Taskforce Swift Justice and the Twentieth Armada are only twenty-two degrees distant, while the Open Circle Fleet is a whole two-hundred degrees distant from us.”

“That is sensible,” Tallisibeth held her chin, analysing the battlespace carefully, “If the Separatists attack the Open Circle, the Battle Hydra would put as much distance between himself and the two of you as possible. However, the Open Circle is the most powerful fleet between the three of us. We are no siege fleet; is the Battle Hydra so confident he can destroy us before you two can reinforce?”

Octavian Grant’s eyes sharpened, considering the young Jedi Commander in a new light, “What do you suggest then, Commander Esterhazy?”

“Observe,” Tallisibeth spun the tactical holo, pointing at the large, empty space on the west side of the quaternary system, “Should the Separatists defeat us in detail, manoeuvrability is key. I think... no, the Battle Hydra will attack the weakest of us first; Taskforce Swift Justice, the only numerically smaller force between us. He will attempt to execute a surprise attack through this debris field here, and after defeating the fleet, he will break out into the west, manoeuvring around and thus able to target the Open Circle or Twentieth Armada at his discretion.”

General Brand’s eyes widened, then squinted, eyebrows drawing together in irritation. The Onderonian Jedi had not thought of that indeed, but it made terrifying sense. His fleet was separated from their closest ally–the 20th Armada–by the second moon of Yag’Dhul. The Battle Hydra could lash out during the interim where the moon interrupts the communication corridor between the two fleets, and completely overwhelm Taskforce Swift Justice before using said moon to disappear once again.ViiSiit novelbi/n(.)c/(o)m for latest novels

Anakin Skywalker’s Padawan lives up to her master’s reputation, that is what the Jedi Knight decided then.

What Tallisibeth didn’t mention was that she could see where the Battle Hydra was. Rees Alrix’s funerary flame burned brightly, the void in the Force acting like a firebreak that made it a simple exercise to deduce out where the ‘anomaly’ was. The Battle Hydra was west of Yag’Dhul, hiding behind the first moon, bearing 292 degrees relative to the planet, and he was closest to his prime target; Taskforce Swift Justice, with a thick cloud of orbital debris and asteroids bearing 305 to 343 situated between the two forces. It was with her supernatural radar that Tallisibeth formulated her strategy.

“I see...” General Octavian Grant nodded, perhaps not so disgruntled with dealing with Jedi now. At least they weren’t advocating for a full frontal assault like so many others do, “And how will we counter this movement in the scenario that the Battle Hydra does as you predict?”

Even without their allies, the 20th Armada was winning, its lighter warships flooding the new hole in the Separatist line. In such a close quarter brawl between fleets, the losses suffered was bound to be even, but it was natural conclusion when facing 252 ships with 184 that the force with the numerical advantage would emerge victorious.

...184? It was reported the Battle Hydra commanded 259 ships. Where is the remaining 75?

Grant’s smile faded, though not quite to the point of worry. As the two fleets burned past each other, and Prominence’s staff officers began planning for the reciprocal course necessary to finish off the remainder of the Separatist fleet, Octavian Grant analysed the astrographical terrain once more. The question roaring in his head was; why had Rain Bonteri foregone bringing his whole force down on the 20th Armada?

Seventy-five ships were missing, and Octavian Grant wanted to know where they were.

He scanned the tactical holo, darting from one possible spot to the other. Simultaneously attacking two of our fleets, perhaps. Possible, but unlikely. Seventy-five isn’t enough to engage the Open Circle, and using seventy-five to strike the Swift Justice is worthless when two-thirds of his fleet was sacrificed attacking the 20th Armada. If he is seeking escape, there are much more effective ways to achieve it. And if he is seeking victory, this is no way to do so at all.

Which means the missing seventy-five ships... are also targeting this 20th Armada.

From where?

Octavian Grant’s eyes sharpened.

From there.

He hadn’t noticed, embroiled in the battle, but the 20th Armada had advanced forward enough that they had passed the third moon of Yag’Dhul, creating a massive blindspot to their port quarter. If Bonteri had been hiding one-third of his fleet behind the moon, tracking their advance for a singular moment to hit them from behind in a spectacular hammer-and-anvil...

“I see,” the General spoke aloud, catching the attention of his bridge crew, “It appears we may have been outplayed.”

“General?” his XO questioned.

Granted handed his staff officer the datapad; “Helm; full speed ahead. We must break through this brawl. Pick out our most disabled warships and have them lag behind to act as a rear particle shield. Have their ventral surface face our rear, and evacuate them once such manoeuvre has been executed.”

As expected, once the frigates and battleships had cleared the Republic’s gauntlet, they began dispersing. The remaining three Lucrehulks roared as they hastily descended, while the ranks of frigates fanned upwards and out, or downwards. It was with this manoeuvre that the Republic spacers could appreciate the damage done to the enemy line of battle, as thirty-seven frigates and twenty destroyers continued to follow their final course, hurtling along on invisible rails of inertia. They took no action to move, incapable of doing so.

In comparison, only sixteen Republic battlecruisers were taken out of commission in that engagement.

Such pleasure was quickly crushed, however, as they entered the firing range of the final and third rank of the triple-ranked Separatist line of battle. And this time, they came face to face with the full broadside of Crying Sun and the seventy-four warships of the 284th Battle Division. At the same time, a sensor officer cried out on the deck of the Prominence–

“Hostile contacts! Bearing zero-three-nine relative to the planet, range twenty-thousand klicks! They’re coming out from behind the moon!”

“How many?” General Grant asked a question he already knew the answer to. One ship stood out in particular to him, gleaming brightly on the scopes with chrome armour and fabulous solar sails that would not be out of place on a luxury yacht. A Tionese battlecruiser.

It was a marvel of engineering and naval architecture that spoke to Grant’s noble soul. He had never seen one before, and even at this distance, he still wished he could speak to the captain of such a fine vessel.

“Seventy-five, sir!”

“They’re crossing our ‘T’ from both front and rear,” his XO said, pessimistic, but not found lacking in the line of duty, “It might be the end for us here.”

That brought him back to the task at hand. After all, 20,000 klicks... was well within the effective range of Separatist missiles and torpedoes. And indeed, as if heralded by the thought, flashes of light erupted across the enemy battleline–once, twice, three times–a flurry of brutal warheads racing towards the 20th Armada’s not quite defenceless rear.

“Concentrate shields to the front,” Grant ordered instead with reinforced calm, “Have our gunners take local control and focus on the enemy in front of us. Target hardpoints; the torpedo launchers.”

“Very good, sir.”

With prompt reactions, the gunners of the 20th Armada turned their barrels forward and released their thunderous firepower. Almost simultaneously, the ‘4th Battle Division launched their salvoes. In such close quarters, sparks erupted all across the empty space dividing the two battle lines, furious eruptions that boomed what felt like mere metres away in front of them, forcing the view screens to darken in response, lest all within became blinded. The space was so narrow and confined, in fact, that energy particles and turbolaser bolts and torpedoes collided at terrific speeds, annihilating one another in a cannibalistic fury.

Then, at their rear, the first enemy volley reached them, smashing right into the bulwark of battlecruisers Grant had ordered left behind to act as a physical shield. They shattered upon impact, tens of millions of tonnes of steel blasted outwards and towards the 20th Armada’s engine blocks, smaller shards being incinerated in ion thrust plumes while larger chunks of debris crashed straight into aft bulkheads.

“Order all ships to shut down all power feeds to the thrusters immediately!”

Similar commands rang out through the bridges of the battlecruisers present, each captain skillfully taking command of the situation and preventing what should have been an inevitable disaster–a chain reaction of engine explosions–from occurring. Then the second volley arrived, and finally the third, and by the end of it many Republic captains had independently partitioned their shields between fore and aft to more effectively distribute the damage.

Nevertheless, by the time the two Separatist divisions had completed their respective ‘crossing the Ts,’ much of the 20th Armada had been rendered immobile, the huge engine blocks of their Star Destroyers turning into a liability, brutally mauled by Separatist warheads. Much of the fleet was still intact, and their weapons effective, thanks to Octavian Grant’s decision to sacrifice his own ships to protect their rear, but without working engines, they could not move.

Despite being presented with sitting ducks, however, the surviving forces of the Perlemian Coalition’s Armada ignored the mauled 20th Armada and continued on their present vector, bound westward.

Octavian Grant stared at the dead holoemitter, where the tactical holo was once present. Rolling blackouts gripped the Prominence as engineers struggled to revive the main reactor, after it had suffered extensive damage. Thankfully, the warship’s emergency power cells were still keeping essential systems, such as gravity and atmosphere, online. Despite that, Grant could still form a mental image of the tactical holo in his mind’s eye, tracing the vectors of the enemy divisions as he had last seen them through his imagination.

“...I see,” he mumbled, “Clever.”

“Sir?”

“I must admit Commander Esterhazy is due more credit than I had given her,” Octavian Grant admitted, “She was correct in her assessment that Swift Justice was Rain Bonteri’s primary target from the start.”

“I would argue it was us, General,” his XO raised an eyebrow.

“How many of our ships are permanently out of combat, Captain?” Grant asked.

“...I would say around a hundred, General.”

“And the other hundred-fifty will be able to re-enter combat once repairs are completed?”

“Correct.”

“This was an indecisive engagement,” Grant assessed, “Bonteri realised with General Brand and I so close to each other, one fleet could come to the reinforcements of the other. But he also realised the importance of taking out our Twentieth Armada, to sever communication between Swift Justice and the Open Circle. Thus, he engaged us not to annihilate our fleet, as one should expect from a defeat in detail, but simply to disable us. With our power systems down, we can no longer move, and no longer communicate. And yet, Bonteri was not forced to engage in a lengthy battle in which he could become pinned down.”

“It is our shame for not deducting his intentions.”

“Agreed,” Octavian Grant paced the deck, “I had not expected such a sophisticated strategy from an Onderonian. Is there anything else we know about him?”

“He’s a noble, sir. From the House of Bonteri,” the officer said stiffly, “Shall I have our engineers bring us back into fighting shape?”

“Now that would explain it,” the Tapani noble nodded seriously, “For now, prioritise our bringing our communication suites back to life. Have every still-combat capable warship rendezvous with the Open Circle. It will not remove the stain upon our honour, but fighting with Commander Esterhazy in the decisive engagement will make up for our shame.”

“Very good, General.”

Governor-General Octavian Grant released a breath, staring out at the inky blackness beyond Prominence’s viewports. It was a good duel, Bonteri. I look forward to our next bout.

⁂

Meanwhile, thirty-thousand klicks away, there was a conversation going on between the Tionese battlecruiser Kronprinz and the Separatist fleet flagship Chimeratica.

“He’s good, that one,” Commodore Diedrich Greyshade said, “Octavian Grant. We will have to keep an eye on him.”

Rear Admiral Rain Bonteri nodded distantly, though Greyshade was unable to see it. They had intended to completely obliterate the 20th Armada there, using the battle lattice to occupy the 20th Armada long enough to lure them right in between two full battle lines of torpedo broadsides to grind Octavian Grant’s fleet into dust. Instead, almost a quarter of the remaining 28th Mobile Fleet was now blasted scrap metal, and they had only been able to destroy less than half of the 20th Armada.

“We will have to circle back around later and finish them off,” Rain Bonteri told Greyshade, “For now, it is imperative we hit Empatojayos Brand before he can react. Let’s not make the same mistake twice.”

“No mercy for your countrymen, Admiral?”

“The only homeland the Jedi know is Coruscant.”

“That is a good point.”

Internally, Rain Bonteri stirred. Octavian Grant was a new player he knew far too little of. Until now, the 20th Sector Army had been content remaining in the borders of the Tapani Oversector, and so there was not much known about their officers and fleets. He had been content believing that most of the GAR’s Interior Armadas were populated by comparative unskilled men, with all of the most talented officers being relegated to the front lines. However, if all of the 20th’s commanders were as skilled as their General, then he may have to re-evaluate this supposition. Operation Starlance may encounter an initial obstacle far more troublesome than he had anticipated.

“As for Octavian Grant,” Greyshade mused aloud, “He might become a problem in the future if we don’t deal with him now.”

“He did better than I expected,” Rain Bonteri acquiesced, “All the more reason why we must remove him. He won’t make the same mistake next time.”

One could imagine Diedrich Greyshade grinning on the bridge of Kronprinz, “Right. He missed the forest for the trees.”

“He did. Only this time, however.”

For now, however, a singular thought was present in the minds of every Separatist captain; two down, two to go.