At the same time, on the planet's surface, a skinny Neimoidian — one of the thirty surviving crew members — reported to the Chief Trader:
"Sir, we are under attack by Republic forces! A ship of unknown design has assaulted the orbital platform — it's practically destroyed!"
"Where did they come from? Launch all fighters! Activate the combat droids! We will not give them this planet!"
The Chief Trader leaned back in his chair. The war that had been brewing for years had begun, but he hadn't expected it to reach him so quickly..
The problem was that most of the droids — both starfighters and ground units — were stored in the orbital holds. To control the planet, whose inhabitants were few and scattered, thirty thousand units out of more than one hundred and forty thousand were deemed sufficient. The C-9979 transports were only four at all, fifty heavy MTTs, and five hundred AAT tanks out of more than six thousand had been deployed. The small hangar could hold no more than a hundred droid starfighters.
"Send a message to the Regional Trade Hub on an encrypted channel immediately! We need reinforcements at once!"
***
I would have gladly destroyed the Separatist base with an orbital bombardment, but Captain Ragnos rejected the idea. According to him, although the ship was more vulnerable on the surface, its shields were still active, and its weapons more than capable of fighting back. Furthermore, it was unknown whether the Separatists had deployed anti-orbital defense systems, and testing that theory by exposing the transport — with all troops assigned to the operation aboard — was hardly the best idea. Not to mention, the planet's atmosphere, while not drastically, still affected the accuracy and energy of turbolaser fire.
So, a ground operation had to be organized.
The landing went like clockwork. Under the cover of fighter strikes, gunboats deployed the first wave of infantry, supported by ten tanks, practically in full view of the enemy ship. The Separatists reacted sluggishly, with noticeable delay. The pitiful hundred Vulture droids were shot down almost immediately — no match for inexperienced but living pilots, especially in relatively equal numbers.
It became clear at once that there were no planetary air defense systems, aside from the weapons of the base itself — more precisely, the LH-1740-class ship. Even there, only three full-fledged turbolasers were operational, genuinely dangerous to the shields of large ships. About four dozen heavy laser cannons were scattered across the round hull, but that distribution prevented them from concentrating fire in one direction. The rest of the weapons were designed exclusively to counter starfighters, and even then… Ball, what can I say? We conserved our fighters and avoided throwing them into a frontal assault against the base's shields and anti-aircraft batteries.
Nevertheless, the opportunities before us were seized. The Acclamator landed neatly ten kilometers from the merchant ship, deploying its loading ramps. Light cruisers patrolled the orbital perimeter in case the traders attempted to flee in their "ball." The Separatist vessel had no intention of taking off, however, instead firing back at our fighters with its defensive turrets.
Scanning revealed the ship had been converted into a mobile factory. It was, of course, less efficient than the droid foundries on Geonosis, but with sufficient raw material, it could produce up to three hundred B-1 units per hour — and one AAT tank every two hours. Meaning that in a single day this "sub-factory" could churn out seven thousand droids and a dozen tanks. Not counting the fact that its holds— sixty-six million cubic metres — could also store immense stockpiles of parts, ready for rapid assembly.
"General, all units have landed safely," Commander Blam reported.
"Excellent. Let's advance on the Separatist positions."
Taking a seat on the roof of one of the tanks, which had a mobile command module in the rear, we moved along the loading ramp to the exit. Ahsoka turned her head in every direction, excitement and anticipation overflowing in her presence.
The AT-TEs formed up in a line. Between them marched the clone infantry, arrayed in columns. Light reconnaissance walkers skittered along the flanks, while six self-propelled guns strode importantly behind. At the rear, a dozen SPHA artillery platforms marched in stately formation.
At a range of two kilometers from the enemy ship, we opened fire on the droid positions. The self-propelled guns extended their stabilizers and prepared their barrage.
The CIS forces, distracted by our forward probes until now, had finally recovered and launched a counterattack. No fewer than fifteen thousand B-1 droids advanced, supported by two hundred AATs and ten heavy MTTs.
Our tanks, standing their ground, opened fire. With superior accuracy, they struck one target after another. Intense volleys from clones, who had taken up a lying down position, cut down the advancing columns of droids.
Studying the situation on the command post's holo-table, I realized my plan had worked. Well — "my plan." In truth, I only nodded sagely and refrained from interfering with professionals who clearly knew their jobs. The time for radical changes had not yet come. To be honest, I still didn't fully understand what even needed to change.
"All squads, prepare! Open fire!"
The self-propelled guns unleashed a coordinated volley, collapsing the enemy shields in ten seconds. Their next salvo pierced the armor.
Our units advanced slowly. The tanks maintained constant covering fire while the clones pressed forward in short bursts, covering one another.
Meanwhile, our fighters and gunships closed from all sides in a star-shaped assault, targeting the Separatist ship firing points.
The simultaneous ground-and-air offensive bore fruit.
Gunboats, supported by fighters, destroyed the transmitting antennas with missiles. The tanks followed through — their armor-piercing kinetic rounds proved devastatingly effective. After another salvo from the artillery, the station began to burn and erupt from within.
The reactor explosion was underwhelming, most of its energy venting upward into the sky — only a cloud of dust swept across our lines. After that, the remaining droids should have shut down, but…
They continued to fight. I recalled that the Neimoidians had learned from the mistakes of Naboo: now the droids carried their own processors in case of communications disruption. One of the tactical droids must have assumed control. Still, that did not save them.
Assault gunboats cut through the defensive nodes, and the clones finished the work. Soon, the last droid collapsed into a heap of scrap.
We had won.
"Excellent work, men. Report our losses."
"It's too easy," Ahsoka murmured. Throughout the battle she had longed to charge into the front lines, casting pleading glances at me, but I had deliberately ignored her.
"Yes, sir," Blam replied. "We're checking… confirmed. General, casualties are within acceptable limits — less than half a percent, wounded and killed. Exact figures still being tallied."
The Marat's captain's voice came over the comm.
"General, we have a problem."
A chill ran down my spine.
"I don't understand, Captain. Clarify."
"The commander of one of the light cruisers has just reported… one moment… correction, General, we have seven problems: three Lucrehulk core ships and four Munificent frigates."
On the holo-table before me, the image of the arriving ships appeared. I recognized the Munificent frigates instantly by the distinctive curve of their hulls. Even in hologram their main-calibre directional guns looked formidable.
Although, if memory served from old articles I'd read, appearances were deceptive. Size was not everything — their guns were not much stronger than the barrels of the Acclamator. Something to do with the focusing lens, the key element of a turbolaser — and with the bankers' production technology being mediocre at best. How much of that was actually true…
"Too easy, was it?" I glanced at Ahsoka.