Chapter 85

Taris Approach, Taris System

Ojoster Sector

“Hit confirmed,” Gnifmark Dymurra announced, a slight frown on his face, “But it seems General Grievous still lives.”

“Observation: no explosion was detected,” Augur said, “The Devastation’s main artillery may have been temporarily disabled, but we have failed to eliminate the dreadnought as planned.”

“It cannot be helped,” Bunt Dantor replied evenly, “Admiral Bonteri had stressed the importance of interrupting Devastation’s firing sequence. We were unable to charge Number Two to its full capacity, and thus unable to impart enough velocity on the kill vehicle to impart the atomic energy of its mass.”

I rested my cheek on my fist. Conventional mass accelerators, such as railguns, tended to overpenetrate their targets. Their projectiles traveled so fast that they didn’t have time to fully transfer their kinetic energy to the target. The result was undeniably devastating, but still left energy potential untapped. Incredibly powerful, no doubt–Conqueress, however, operated on an entirely different level.

Her twin gravitic waveguns propelled her projectiles at such extreme velocities that they essentially friction-welded themselves to the target on impact. The collision smashed the atoms of both the projectile and the target together with forces akin to those in a particle accelerator–or even a fusion reactor. This collision would initiate a chain reaction, burning through the entire mass of the KKV and releasing every ounce of its nuclear energy into the target.

Effectively, Conqueress’ projectiles hit with such incredible speed that they overcame the limitations of kinetic energy transfer entirely and stepped into another field of physics. The numbers involved were so unimaginable the effects came full circle.

…That was, if the KKV was fast enough in the first place. And by fast, I meant over 70% the speed of light, at least.

“If we had been given more time to charge Number Two,” the Skakoan continued, “We would not have wasted the shot.”

And that was the crux of the dilemma in the bridge. Upon extraction from hyperspace, we found the Devastation pointing its moon-cracker at Taris. If we had waited for Number 2 to finish fully charging, the Devastation may have discharged in that time.

“If that ship had fired–” I shot to my feet, deathly calm, “–it would have smote an entire hemisphere of Taris into charcoal. It is clear to me that the Devastation had enough power to overload Taris’ planetary shields, and I have no doubt a second shot would’ve rendered half of the planet’s surface uninhabitable. Let me be clear: I do not consider that ‘wasting’ a shot.”

In the annals of galactic history, it was said that Taris has been rendered uninhabitable once before, and four-thousand years later they were still licking their wounds. Personally speaking, I don’t think they’re eager to live through that again.

“I don’t think anybody here intends to undermine your decision, Admiral,” Gnifmark Dymurra raised his hands diplomatically, silently hissing at the apathetic Skakoan to shut the fuck up, “But what I believe the Chief is trying to say is that we just expended one of our seven remaining shots, which evidently failed to even permanently disable the target. Compared to the destruction we wrought at Korphir, this can hardly be considered an equivalent exchange.”

Fact that Taris is a Loyalist world notwithstanding, was left unsaid. I knew better; Taris supported the Jedi coup, and keeping the planet and its populace in fighting shape was towards my best interest.

I watched the Devastation slink away on the scopes, towards the safety of her fleet. The huge dreadnought was damaged, isolated, and unprotected. Prime starfighter bait. It took every ounce of restraint I had to hold off on ordering a full starfighter raid on the ship, in an attempt to destroy her before she reached General Grievous’ fleet.

Because the truth of the matter was, we ourselves were prime starfighter bait as well. Conqueress had only one hangar, a small, pitiful thing capable of servicing a single shuttle and one wing of Vulture droids. With the addition of five Munificent-class frigates–brought in from the closest sectors and still outfitted in their intelligence suites–that makes six wings of Vultures. Six LAC wings, all singularly purposed in preventing Conqueress from being jumped by some hotshot Jedi pilot.

Because Conqueress was meant to operate clandestinely, and I had just announced her existence to an entire city-world.

I suspected that the only thing preventing Grievous ordering his LACs to swarm us is one, that our small task force was as of yet lurking beyond the effective range of his sensors; and two, that the Republic fleet was placed squarely between us.

“Then it’s better we make the next shot count, don’t we?” I shrugged off their concerns, “Six left. We better kill Grievous and destroy the Devastation before we’re halfway through the magazine.”

“Clarification: you intend on engaging Grievous, Admiral?” Augur questioned, not quite alarmed but not quite deadpan, “We have already blown our cover, but we can still extract before they get a scan on Conqueress and learn of our capabilities.”

“We’re here to kill Grievous,” I circled around the captain’s chair and leaned forward onto its headrest, “And that is what we’ll do.”

Commander Dymurra shifted nervously, “Sir, with all due respect, the droid is right that we ought to extract before they pull a scan on us. Admiral Trench was quite explicit in saying we should remain hidden until the right moment.”

“That was advice, not an order,” I countered, “And what is the right moment, anyway? Admiral Trench may have his own doctrine, but I do not agree with it.”

Keeping Conqueress unused? That was laughable, as was the idea of keeping any weapon unused. Yes, a weapon as powerful as Conqueress should not be so carelessly wielded, but that goes for any weapon. A superweapon was first and foremost a force multiplier–adhering to Trench’s strict conduct of secrecy was tantamount to hoarding strength potions in your inventory and giving yourself excuses to not use them.

Oh, but what if I need these for the boss level?

Oh, this boss is easy, what if there’s a stronger boss ahead?

Oh, this boss is hard… but doable, I should keep these for the final level.

Oh, the game is over?

I had six shots left–six potions left–when am I to use them if not in battle? Considering that Gravlex Med was a faraway and unlikely venture now, I could only use two shots a day, at best. And what the hell is a ‘right moment’ in the first place? Standing where I am now, was this not the ‘right moment’ to use Conqueress? There was an enemy general in front me, a hostile superweapon wielded against me, and a planet to save. What concerns my conscience concerns me, and I could not let a monster like Grievous rampage about while I was in a position to stop him.

“Weapons were made to be used,” I snapped my fingers, and a tactical holo of the battlespace burst to life in the centre of the pilothouse, “So we best start planning how to use it.”

“Affirmative,” Augur’s chassis set into place, and the bridge dimmed into battle lighting, “What are your orders, Admiral?”

“First things first,” I nodded stately, “Grievous outnumbers us. We need more ships, and more firepower. Inform Dodecian Illiet to deploy a forward squadron and relieve that Republic task force on the egress.”

“You intend on allying with the Republic, sir?” Bunt Dantor stormed–rolled, more accurately–to the foot of the captain deck, “They will learn about everything Conqueress has to offer!”

“So?”

“Affirmative,” Augur’s deep bass told everyone exactly what’s happening, “All ships; execute Battle Order Four according to the formation package provided.”

The tactical droid turned to me, “We will need firepower. Permission to deploy our Munificent-class frigates?”

“Have them transfer fighter control to Conqueress first,” I commanded, “Otherwise, permission granted.”

Beyond the viewport, sleek fin-shaped Wavecrests cut through to inky darkness coalesced into four distinct squadrons. Two forward divisions of twenty Wavecrests each, positioned themselves far ahead of the Conqueress, angling against the hyperlane. Two rear divisions of ten Wavecrests each, were directly off the port and starboard bow of Conqueress, forming a defensive screen in left and right echelon respectively.

The final and fifth division was that of the five Munificents, their sublight drives burning bright against the void, stationed directly in between Squadrons A and B and emptied of their LAC wings. Compared to the sleek and elegant Wavecrests, the gravely angular silhouettes of the Munificents seemed to gleam with a brutal light. Around us, squadrons of Vultures flocked, placed under Conqueress’ direct control, perching themselves on her guns to save energy.

With a super tactical droid commanding the order of battle with a far greater competence I ever could, I reviewed my assets. Sixty Wavecrest-class frigates, five Munificent-class frigates, and one Aggressor-class battleship. Number of hostile warships unknown, but certainly far greater than ours. The plan: extract the Republic taskforce, engineer an opening to snipe the Devastation and destroy, hopefully killing General Grievous in the process.

“All ships are in position,” Augur declared.

“We’re loading Number One, Admiral!” Bunt Dantor informed me, unable to hide excitement despite his misgivings.

“Alright Grievous,” I murmured to myself, “Let’s play a game of capture the flag.”

⁂

“Warship’s approaching from Taris’ celestial shadow!” the sensor chief shouted, “If we are to jump, we need to do it now!”

“Belay that order!” Commander Gree ordered the helm, “There’s Separatist warships in the way!”

Master Luminara Unduli plunged herself into a cold sea of tranquility, observing the situation with a peacefulness only a Jedi Master could conduct in such dire straits. In order to prevent them from immediately jumping into hyperspace, General Grievous had sent forth a squadron of Munifex-class fast cruisers to block their path while they were preoccupied listening to his exchange with the Battle Hydra.

They could still jump… and risk crashing into the light cruisers in pseudomotion. Normal crews wouldn’t dare put themselves in the way of a jumping fleet, especially one made of much larger mass–but droid crews weren’t inhibited by such fears.

“Forward,” Luminara Unduli commanded, “Sweep them out of the way.”

“–You heard the General! All ships flank speed!”

To their starboard quarter, the pack of Munificents and Recusants in hot pursuit, having recently reorganised after Garland’s torpedo barrage. Finally, to their portside, the Battle Hydra’s fleet was emerging from Taris’ celestial shadow, the location of their superweapon yet unknown. To their immediate rear, the planet of Taris.

Boxed in on all four sides…

“It was Rain Bonteri’s superweapon that interrupted the Devastation’s firing sequence,” Luminara droned out the thunder of Garland’s batteries as they tore the Munifexes to shreds, “Could it be that they are hostile to General Grievous?”

“If that is Rain Bonteri at all, General,” Commander Gree warned, “That man should be dead, and this could be another Separatist trick.”

“I doubt it,” the Jedi Master mused, “I have a… feeling.”

Or lack of feeling, more like.

Clone Commander Gree knew his Jedi General better than to question her ‘feelings.’

“Be that as it may, sir,” the Clone Commander said, “That doesn’t mean Rain Bonteri isn’t hostile to us.”

“Despite our prior experiences with him,” Master Luminara blinked as a Separatist cruiser detonated in a brilliant reactor bloom, Garland’s viewports immediately polarised as the warship basked in the bloom’s glow, “I have heard that he is quite an amenable person.”

“You intend to forge a ceasefire, sir?”

Master Luminara resumed her measured stride, pacing along the starboard arc of the bridge. She glanced back at the tactical holomap, where red markers representing Separatist vessels closed in on their retreating ships. Their pursuers were steadily grinding down Task Force Garland’s rearguard.

“If it is a means of extricating ourselves from this situation,” she replied, “I don’t see a reason not to.”

A communications officer turned sharply in her seat. “General! Celosia had been caught by the enemy! Zeilla is doubling back to assist!”

“Caught,” Luminara repeated softly, her tone laced with exasperation, “Again.”

“We can still jump, sir,” Gree reminded her.

She paused mid-stride– “And leave Zeilla and Celosia behind?”

“It is the correct action to take in order to save the majority of our forces,” the clone pressed, his tone unflinching.

Before she could respond, the bridge’s alarms began blaring—a harsh, urgent klaxon that cut through the din. A nearby lieutenant practically shouted over the noise: “Missiles incoming! Starboard side!”

Jedi Master and Clone Commander snapped in unison toward the starboard viewport. Beyond the reinforced transparisteel revealed an ominous sight: waves of glowing snowflakes, streaking like a silent snowstorm across the starscape. Glimmering motes of light, each trailing plasma contrails, converging on their position in tightly coordinated barrages.

She quickly assessed the threat: the torpedoes were arranged in a fifty-one by three formation, meaning it was a full broadside of torpedoes from a Providence-class battlecruiser. The targeting computer chirped again, and her stomach sank–another two salvos blinked into existence. General Grievous hadn’t been idle as Master Even Piell blew him up; in that time, the cyborg had somehow organised a line of battle.

“Can we dodge?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Not at this range, sir,” Commander Gree confirmed grimly. “We’re caught in their hammerlock.”

“Belay the jump and strike our hyperdrives. We’ve missed our chance,” Master Luminara Unduli ordered calmly, “Turn about ninety-degrees to starboard and divert all power to our retrothrusters, forward shields, and point-defense. They’re aiming for the Garland: I want a port echelon formation, with Zeilla at the front and Garland at the rear. Understood?”

Then came the chorus of affirmations as Garland shuddered under the strain of its sudden maneuvers. The warship groaned as it twisted hard to starboard, her escorts scrambling to reposition themselves. Around her, Task Force Garland shifted like a school of fish under threat, each ship breaking formation and pivoting to new positions with precise, if hurried, movements.

“Zeilla is leading the echelon,” the helmsman reported, sweat beading on his brow as his fingers danced across the console. “We’re falling into the rear position as ordered, General.”

Luminara Unduli stood firm amidst the jostling vibrations of the bridge, her hands clasped behind her back. She watched the tactical display begin to reflect the new formation as Garland slid backwards: a diagonal line, tilted slightly to present the reinforced port shields of each vessel toward the incoming torpedo barrage.

“Point-defense systems, concentrate fire along the port bow,” barked the clone officer at weapons control. “All ships, stagger your fire zones and don’t let anything slip through!”

General Grievous wanted her dead, and had his torpedoes projected to hit the Garland accordingly. Thus, by pushing Garland to the rear of the formation, the torpedoes will have to brave the overlapping point-defence fire from all fifty-three Venators of Luminara’s fleet.

The ships of Task Force Garland moved as if linked by an unseen thread, each adjusting their speed and trajectory to maintain the formation. Smaller escorts weaved tightly in between the capital ships, merging into the line to cover the gaps in the echelon.

But pressure was mounting; Zeilla and Celosia, at the front, desperately staved off their pursuers. It wasn’t enough; the damaged Magnolia finally buckled, and the mass of Separatist frigates stormed the breach, threatening the integrity of the formation.

“Order Anagallis to reinforce that breach,” Master Luminara commanded.

Commander Gree immediately relayed the order, not once taking his eyes off the display. The first wave of 153 torpedoes began to close in. In the silence of the void, the Bachani’s point-defense systems sprang to life, followed by Mycosia’s, then Geranium’s, then Begonia’s, then Marg Sabl’s. The entire battle line successively shuddered to life, roaring streaks of energy crisscrossing the darkness as they sought to thin the oncoming tide.

Their point-defense systems flashed in coordinated bursts, stitching a defensive net of laser fire cutting apart the incoming torpedoes with ease. Finally, Garland slid smoothly into position at the rear of the formation, her cannons picking off the few torpedoes that slipped past the earlier layers of defense.

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And just like that, the first wave was gone, completely vaporised. Not a single warhead made it through, and for a brief moment, hope flickered on the bridge of the Garland.

But the respite was short-lived.

The second wave followed immediately, rampaging down the smoke-filled space where the first wave once was, and this time they deflected their vectors in response to the Republic formation–aiming for the closest warships instead of the Garland. Though the battle line responded with the same efficiency, the cracks began to show. A handful of torpedoes slipped past the furious hail of fire, slamming into the forward shields of Mycosia and Geranium. The impacts rippled through the line, visible even from the rear of the formation. Shields flared, systems strained, and alarms began blaring on multiple bridges.

“Damage to Mycosia’s forward shields!” a clone officer reported, his voice sharp with urgency. “They’re down to forty-three percent!”

The third wave hit harder. Several more torpedoes found their marks, ripping into the hull of Bachani and carving deep scars into Anagallis. Shields across the line flickered and failed under the relentless onslaught, exposing doonium to the void. Still, the fleet fought on, every ship pouring every ounce of firepower into the space ahead, carving the battlefield into a seething whirlwind of laserfire.

Then came the fourth salvo, blinking into existence on the displays, and the fifth, then the sixth, then seventh–and it became clear to all of them that General Grievous had completely formed his line of battle, and was bearing down with the full might of a Separatist line of battle. Task Force Garland slid backwards, firing their retrothrusters while maintaining their lines of bearing in an effort to put more space between them and the Separatist line–and thus buying more time to shoot down the enemy missiles.

There was more point-defense, more countermeasures, more decoys, capital-grade mass drivers launching fireworks into the void–until it seemed as if the entire envelope of space in front of the fleet was saturated with weapons fire. The darkness of space had been transformed into a furious sea of light, the fleet pushed to their absolute limits as they fought to stem the tide.

“Zeilla reports critical damage to their aft shield generators!” Commander Gree called out, his voice a rare crack of urgency. “They’re falling back to the secondary line!”

“Reinforce the gap! Order Magnolia to cover Zeilla’s position!”

“Magnolia is gone, General!”

And yet, Master Luminara Unduli felt entirely calm, the Force feeding a constant stream of confidence into her soul. As if… as if the situation would resolve itself shortly. Her eyes flicked to the tactical display, where Rain Bonteri’s fleet loomed ominously at the rear of Task Force Garland. The frigates were closing fast, their course a direct collision with her struggling echelon. Yet, despite the grim reality of their predicament, the Force whispered to her, a quiet but unshakable assurance that it was not their end–at least not yet.

“General,” Commander Gree said tightly, “Bonteri’s forces are almost on us. If they engage, we’ll be pincered!”

Her lips parted, about to issue orders, when something unexpected happened. Instead of firing into the unprotected aft of her formation, the onrushing fleet suddenly altered course, their sleek forms veering to the dorsal and ventral flanks of the formation. Garland’s battered crew braced for impact, yet no turbolaser volleys came. Instead, the frigates shot over and under the echelon at breakneck speed, their uselessly streamlined hulls slicing through the void like blades.

“What in the–” the sensor chief started, his astonishment mirroring the shock across the bridge.

Before anyone could process the shift, the strange frigates acted. As they streaked past Task Force Garland, hatches on their underbellies opened, spilling dozens of metallic spheres into the missile vectors. Each sphere, hastily identified as a high-yield ion mine, spun free, activating its system in seconds.

The sudden minefield deployed itself directly into the flight paths of Grievous’s incoming missile salvos.

“Sensor readings show… mines, General!” a clone officer reported, his voice disbelieving. “They’re intercepting the torpedoes!”