Chapter 78

Columex Approach, Columex System

Vorzyd Sector

There was a battle fought here, now over a year ago and honestly a distant memory, but the largest battle the galaxy had ever witnessed in the last one thousand years nonetheless. There was also little to no physical evidence it ever took place anymore, however.

No more debris fields, no more scavengers and scrap haulers and rescue cutters. In the Confederacy’s rampant thirst for ever more material to fuel its war effort, recycling the trillions of tons of wrecked durasteel and doonium aimlessly floating in space was an obvious decision, and thousands of salvage and breaking contractors had all but jumped onto the figurative gold rush. The Columex hyper-junction was empty.

And we were home.

Diedrich Greyshade had his eyes fixed to the displays as the green-blue pearl known as Columex grew larger and larger, suspended in space like a turquoise star and twinkling with the lights of hundreds of satellite foundries and shipyards. There was silence in Kronprinz’s pilothouse as dozens of officers set their eyes upon their homeworld, through shot and fizzling cameras and scopes, as if thinking just how much of a miracle it was that they were able to embrace the sight of it again.

My eyes were drawn to Diedrich’s expression, internally expecting to see a smile of some sort, even tears perhaps, as surely even I would let them slip should I see my homeworld–my true homeworld–again after my ordeals. Which was why I was so taken aback when I found a slight frown curving his lips downwards instead.

“It’s too empty,” he murmured, audible to all in the pin-drop silence gripping the Kronprinz, “It’s too silent.”

And as I ingested his words, it too gradually dawned on me how discomforting the approach to Columex was. The Columex System, the beating heart of the Commonality’s trade, was quiet. That alone was alarming in itself. The hyper-junction sat at the crossroads of two major hyperlanes; the Perlemian Trade Route and the Salin Corridor. There was trade flowing through here mere hours before the Battle of Columex erupted. By all means, Columex should not even know the meaning of empty and quiet.

“...We’re being hailed, sir,” the comms chief looked to Diedrich, then to me.

“Who?” Diedrich’s attention didn’t move an inch from the display.

Not so enraptured by the sight of Columex myself, I took the chance to slide over to the comms station, eyes gliding over the transponder code scrawled over the console: CNBC_91.42.291.43921.25_1001SM

“Battlecruiser Invincible,” I would recognise the code anywhere, leaning over the chief’s shoulder, “It’s Admiral Trench–put him through.”

“Right away sir!” the comms chief replied hastily, fingers shooting to the toggles.

“Invincible, Kronprinz,” I spoke into the open channel, “This is–”

“–I will hear an oral report in-person, Kronprinz,”Invincible replied with the unmistakable crackle of Admiral Trench, “Shut down your main engines and prepare for docking. Have the fleet hold position and maintain formation.”

Diedrich finally peeled his eyes off the display, as the prowling shadow of Invincible slid onto the scopes and obscured the sight of Columex, “Invincible, Kronprinz, affirmative.”

“Good to have you back, Coalition forces,” Admiral Trench said at last, “Welcome home.”

The channel was closed, and I leaned back with a breath, “An oral report in-person? Something ain’t right.”

“I could tell you that much,” Diedrich murmured, “Something to do with what Celis Mott told us, perhaps? He was insistent we stop for nothing until we reached Raxus Secundus.”

“That’s easy when every Separatist fleet we came across until now were smaller reserve forces,” I peered into a display, counting the numbers of Trench’s personal command arrayed in Columex’s orbit, “Think we can run that blockade?”

The Columexi chuckled apprehensively, “We don’t know if Trench is in Tann’s camp or not.”

“We don’t even know if we’re in Tann’s camp or not,” I pointed out.

The proximity alarms started blaring as the Invincible pulled up beside us, easily dwarfing the Kronprinz as extended her docking tube.

“I think we’re about to find out,” Diedrich snatched his coat off the rack before walking out of the bridge.

I glanced at the comms chief, “Get Admiral Ningo and Captain Dallin on the line. Let’s have them aboard the Invincible as soon as possible.”

The flagship of Admiral Trench had not changed in the months between my appearances on it, save for some cursory battle scars–not many, for I would wager Trench’s command ship wouldn’t often be found in active combat zones. Or at least, it should be what I expect after his near-death experience above Christophsis. Perhaps these scars came from daring base strikes by Loyalist starfighter wings. A Jedi-led wing, very likely if I could speculate, as it would befit their command style.

If that was the case... Invincible was here, and the Jedi was not.

Diedrich and I were the first to enter the Invincible’s conference room, as Dua Ningo and Jace Dallin made the lengthy trek from the aft hangar through-deck. Admiral Trench was watching me closely, even more vigilantly than he was on Raxus during the Supreme Commander’s confirmation vote. He was watching–no, judging me, against a criteria I was blind too. It was not a pleasant feeling.

“Admiral Trench, sir,” I saluted, “I’d thought you were still campaigning in Roche. It is a pleasant surprise.”

“And I thought you were dead,” Trench’s mandibles chittered, “Likewise.”

“I hear that a lot these days,” I said blandly, unsure what to make of the situation.

“You will be hearing a lot less of it, fret not.”

“I will try,” I told him honestly, taking a seat at the table following his cue, “I was hoping to deliver my after action report directly to the Supreme Commander.”

“Your Twenty-Eighth Mobile Fleet is a subordinate formation of my Second Fleet Group,” Trench noted pointedly, “As such, you will be reporting to me, as your commanding officer.”

“The Nineteenth Mobile Fleet–”

“Will be managed by Calli Trilm’s second in command, should she be missing or dead.”

“Her second in command is also missing or dead,” I inserted myself again, more forcefully this time, “And the Nineteenth Mobile Fleet has been transitorily absorbed into the Twenty-Eighth’s operative structure.”

“...The Nineteenth has suffered enough losses to warrant such a severe action?”

“I believe so, sir,” I answered, “As do the Nineteenth’s ranking officers.”

Trench did not even hesitate to ponder the information, “Then the Nineteenth will be subsumed by the Twenty-Eighth Mobile Fleet until further notice. I will still be taking your report.”

I shared a wary glance with Diedrich, our attention lapsing for a brief moment as the Sullustan Dua Ningo entered the compartment with Jace Dallin in tow–the latter visibly nervous about something. Meeting the infamous Admiral Trench, perhaps? I doubt it–Dallin was a combat veteran and survivor of the Stark Hyperspace War. More likely, he was nervous about meeting an enemy admiral in their home turf. He’ll have to get over it, I mused internally, the Republic is his enemy now.

I eyed the man. But that remains to be seen.

“Take a seat,” Trench awarded them a passing look before settling back on me.

“Returning to our conversation, Admiral,” I continued after greeting the newcomers with a brisk nod, “Shouldn’t we have to discuss the matter with Admiral Kirst first? As the Admiral of the First Fleet Group, he is the Nineteenth’s CO.”

“Admiral Kirst is dead,” Trench said bluntly. The atmosphere in the room settled, as if someone had upped the internal pressure in the compartment, “And the First Fleet Group has been decommissioned.”

“Decommissioned!?” Diedrich nearly shot out of his chair, “The entire fleet has been destroyed!? The First commands over two-thousand warships!”

“The final remnants of which were destroyed in the Battle of Celanon,” Trench’s testy voice forced Diedrich back down like an admonished dog, “Along with Admiral Kirst himself.”

“...The Starcrusher should not fall so easily,” Dua Ningo’s gravelly voice made his presence known, and I had to remind myself that the old Sullustan was one of two people in the room who knew Kirst personally, “And Admiral Kirst is a capable individual, if blinded by hubris from time to time, as befits a Tionese native. Tell me, Trench: which Loyalist vermin killed him? A Jedi?”

There was an audible anger in Dua Ningo’s voice, like an ireful disbelief than any Loyalist general could outsmart an admiral of the Confederacy... which, and I would hate to break it to him, was a more common occurrence than anyone in the CAF would like to admit. The Republic was slow to wake up, but they still had tens of thousands of years of martial tradition to fall back upon. The Confederacy had no such luxury, and had to foster its officer corps effectively from scratch.

“Kirst held on admirably, but suffered unavoidable losses defending against General Denn Wessex of the GAR Ninth Sector Army and General Vanko of the GAR Eighth Sector Army,” the Harch Admiral explained, “What occurred next is unclear. As far as we know, he retreated to the Separatist stronghold of Celanon, seeking further reinforcement from Count Dooku’s personal fleets under Admiral Pors Tonith and General Grievous.”

“We lost Celanon?” I asked tentatively.

“No,” Trench’s fingers curled tighter around his cane, “We don’t know. Kirst’s fleet was destroyed, but so were the Loyalists’. Soon after Celanon, Admiral Pors Tonith lifted the sieges at Axxila and Vinsoth, launching a counteroffensive back up the Salin Corridor to Shaum Hii. Meanwhile, General Grievous has launched his first major operation of the war; an offensive down the Hydian Way. He has conquered the Quelli, Meerian, and Belmuth Sectors, including the worlds of Dathomir, Botajef, and Bandomeer. His fleets now threaten Taris and Mandalore.”

“...I have been updated by the status of the war by Admiral Bonteri,” Dua Ningo drew circles on the table with his finger, “I take it you suspect foul play from Dooku’s commanders?”

“That is hard to say,” Trench bluntly danced around the question, “That bodes the question; who do you support, Dua Ningo?”

The Sullustan laughed bitterly, “So you say, so you ask, without giving me the information I require to make my fair judgement, as if I would decide based on name alone! I know Dooku, but I know not our dear Supreme Commander–forgive my prolonged absence. And I know that the Supreme Commander has overthrown the Separatist government.”

Diedrich, Dallin, and I were as quiet as wallflowers. In a debate between two old admirals, we felt no place to insert ourselves, for we would never be on equal footing. Despite Dua Ningo’s diminutive form–especially compared to the great Harch–the Sullustan held himself to the same weight as Admiral Trench. It was a conversation between equals, and ever since joining the CAF, it was something I was rather unaccustomed to. True equals. Not just equal in rank, but equal in age and experience and simply, standing. Even Trench’s meetings with Sev’rance Tann didn’t quite hold the same tension as this.

“Admiral Ningo, I will petition the Supreme Commander to estate you as the new commanding officer of the First Fleet Group, with the Bulwark Fleet at its core. Is that agreeable?”

“Very much so.”

“I would ask that you provide your ships in need of repair, along with the schematics, to the Ringo Vinda Shipyards, so that we may begin a production line. Then you will provide yourself to Raxus Secundus so that you can meet the Supreme Commander in person.”

“Very well.”

“Captain Dallin, your fleet will remain here at Columex to be inspected, as well as to act in auxiliary capacities as I had described earlier. You will be placed under my command, and await further orders.”

“Understood, Admiral.”

“Finally,” Admiral Trench turned his six-eyed attention to Diedrich and I, “Diedrich Greyshade will be promoted to Rear Admiral.”

“Ah,” the Columexi smiled, “My old rank. I must admit, it is a welcome and familiar weight on my shoulders.”

He was referring to his previous rank of counter-admiral under the local Commonality forces, which he was stripped of following the Militia Act’s standardisation of all military bodies in the Confederacy.

“Good to hear that,” something in Trench’s organic eyes twinkled, “Because you will be the new commanding officer of the Twenty-Eighth Mobile Fleet.”

“...Pardon me, sir?”

I didn’t know if it was me or Diedrich who said that.

“Because you, Rain Bonteri, are dead,” Trench levelled his gaze on me, “And it cannot be made known that you are alive; this, I have made adamantly clear to Celis Mott. We must not allow your survival to leak.”

The gears spun in my brain, “You mean to use me as a trump card.”

“Have you lost your touch?”

I thought back to Rendili. Maybe.

Then I thought even further back to Yag’Dhul.

“I hope not,” was my answer.

“Good. Admiral Ningo, Captain Dallin, you may return to your vessels,” Trench looked at them, “I pray that you remember what was said here today. Admiral Bonteri’s survival must be kept secret as much as possible.”

“Of course, Admiral,” Jace Dallin saluted.

“Stay safe, you old spider,” Dua Ningo nodded grudgingly, “You too, Bonteri.”

“Likewise,” I shook their hands.

Once they were out of the compartment, Trench turned to Diedrich and I with a certain severity in his eyes that made us sit up straight as a board, “Now then, are you prepared to receive your new assignment, Admiral Bonteri?”

Admiral Bonteri. Something about the way I said it made me pause. I was, of course, Admiral Bonteri. It was a casual shorthand for the more mouthy Rear Admiral Bonteri, but usually the full rank would be read out when dealing with official matters such as orders and assignments.

“Admiral, sir?”

“Admiral Bonteri, did you know what Operation Starlance has done?” Trench dug into my soul.

“I consider it a success, sir.”

“As does the Supreme Commander,” Trench’s open mandibles made a horrible facsimile of a grin, “And as do I. Despite our losses in the north, here on the Home Front we have not only pushed the Loyalists back to Salvara, but we have pushed the Loyalists beyond Salvara. All the way to Roche. All the way to Phindar. Starlance has struck such a terror into the heart of the Core that it was enough to convince systems as major as Rendili to secede. Congratulations, Rain Bonteri, you’re being made an Admiral. A full Admiral.”

My heart didn’t know whether to soar or plunge.

“And the reward for success is even more work to be done,” Trench pressed on mercilessly, “You have brought back to the Confederacy one warship that could turn the tide of the war, now we ask you to bring back another.”

I was still stunned when Trench threw a holoprojector onto the table. Blue rays of light burst out from the emitters, scanning a new warship into existence–one I have never seen before. At the bottom I read in Aurebesh: Aggressor-class long-range artillery platform.

It was a design completely alien to the galaxy, and nothing that has preceded it looked similar to it in any capacity. In fact, it looked like it had jumped out of a completely different video game from my old homeworld. From a cursory look at the spinning projection, the Aggressor-class was a little over 1,600 metres long, shaped like a tuning fork with a four-pronged claw-like aft nesting eight sublight thrusters upon which sat a traditional Star Destroyer bridge with two shield generators.

What caught my attention was the ‘tuning fork’ part of the ship, which essentially consisted of two massive vertically-arranged prongs that jutted forward from the engine block, taking up two-thirds of the vessel’s entire length. Looking at the projection from the front, however, I saw two open bores, and realised that two prongs were the largest ship-mounted artillery pieces I’ve–no, the galaxy has ever seen.

“This is the Aggressor-class battleship, designed by the Loronar Corporation and built by the Techno Union–” Trench introduced us to the brand new warship, “–right here in the Columex System. Its main battery are its dual spinal-mounted kilometre-long gravitic waveguns, capable of sniping a target from across the diameter of a star system. The Supreme Commander believes that even a single one of these can decide the outcome of a battle, and thus a war, and Columex is currently building two of them.”

This... so this was what the Loronar Corporation and Techno Union were up to? I knew the Loronar Corporation was known for their outlandish designs, but this... I recalled Gnifmark Dymurra’s original prototype presented to me on Raxus, which appeared sort of like an interstellar catamaran. This was that catamaran flipped on its side, and improved so that the two prongs didn’t facilitate one wavegun between the two of them, but instead were each their own waveguns.

“If... if these battleships are being built here in Columex,” Diedrich sounded like he couldn’t decide whether he was elated or terrified that such weapons were being constructed on his homeworld, “Then why can’t we deploy them immediately? Are they unfinished?”

“We are indeed missing one final component that can only be sourced from one place in the entire galaxy; Gravlex Med,” Trench waved his hand, and a high-gravity planet replaced the vessel schematics, “We have already contracted the Gravlex Launchworks to manufacture the parts for us. Unfortunately...”

“Gravlex Med is in the New Territories–the heart of Serenno’s sphere of influence,” I finished, internally lamenting my situation. Was this how Calli Trilm felt? I am certainly empathising with her now. There was a certain... exhaustion, that I felt, and it made me feel like a zombie, just mindlessly going along with whatever Trench was saying, without the energy to argue.

Gravlex Med. Engineering the Tann Railgun for the Battle of Columex, I couldn’t help but research the world. Gravlex Med was an extremely high-gravity planet that prevented the local Anx from achieving interstellar flight. Their solution? Massive fuck-off cannons that fired their spaceships into orbit, and towards the nearby star systems. The Gravlex Launchworks were still manufacturing those cannons, both to launch their ships into space, but also for a different purpose; to fire the planet’s accumulated trash into their sun.

Suffice to say, if there was any species capable of utilising gravity to build massive fucking cannons, it was the Anx of Gravlex Med.

“Make no mistake,” Trench advised us, “The Aggressor-class are operational, and all field tests do indicate their the waveguns are working within parameters. These parts from Gravlex Med will, however, allow the waveguns to fire regularly without need for constant maintenance checks after every volley. We were intending on having the parts delivered here, but the secession of the New Territories has led to Gravlex Med being in the middle of enemy territory.”

“The mission is thus simple,” Trench slid me a datachip over the table, “You will be put in command of an Aggressor-class battleship, and with the Givin fleet you have acquired from Yag’Dhul, you will navigate to Gravlex Med and overhaul the Aggressor at the Launchworks. Then, you will return to us. Simple as that.”

I stared at the datachip, and beneath the table, clenched my fists until my nails left pink crescents in my flesh, “Operation Starlance was simple. This is simple too? With all due respect, you expect me to take a half-working untested superweapon into the heart of enemy territory and sojourn there for stars know how long? Before just waltzing out without Count Dooku being any wiser?”

I shot to my feet, staring down the massive spider, “Why don’t you take your Second Fleet, Aggressors in tow, and smash your way to Gravlex Med! Reduce Serenno to ash while you’re at it! The CAF is in your hands–what does Dooku have that can even pose a threat to you!? Another stupid secret fleet!?”

Admiral Trench clicked his mandibles, “Not Count Dooku. The Republlc. The reason Serenno was so easily able to take over the New Territories is because Raxus Secundus has never been able to exercise authority over the north. Phindar, Bonteri, our problem is Phindar. Fortress world Phindar.”

I shut my eyes in frustration, but I could understand what he meant. There was only one major hyperlane capable of facilitating the transit of massive fleets between the Perlemian and the Hydian Way, and that was the Salin Corridor. The very Salin Corridor that was straddled by the Loyalist fortress world Phindar. The Confederacy has been trying to overcome Phindar since the very start of the war, to connect its two disjointed territories. But Phindar held strong, even to this day, and refused to bend or break.

The only other route was taking a massive detour north through the Shaltin Tunnels, which led into the Republic-controlled Corporate Sector, or through the incredibly dangerous and hazardous maze-like Gordian Reach. Phindar was a massive wall preventing any military fleet crossing between the New Territories and Near-Perlemian–which was what forced Admiral Kirst to turn to Dooku for reinforcements in the first place. Not even Trench could displace Phindar.

But a small task force, like the one Admiral Trench was proposing? And utilising the expertise of the Givin astrogators no less? We could bypass Phindar...

“Is this the only way?” I gritted my teeth.

“We are now fighting a war on two fronts,” Trench told me, and I could tell he was being honest, “We must use every superweapon we can get our hands on. Only you can pull this off, Bonteri, with all your experience, and with your ‘death’.”

“My ‘experience’ led my fleet into a death trap at Rendili!”

“Then don’t do it again,” Trench simply told me, “Right now, you are a ghost to both the Republic and the Confederacy. Ghosts can’t die twice.”

“And Phindar?” Diedrich questioned, “We are now fighting on two fronts, but if we can’t get through Phindar–”

“The Supreme Commander has a plan for Phindar,” Trench interrupted him.

“Which is?”

“We try to convince the Republic to let us through.”