The last cargoes had been unloaded from the Acclamators' holds, and now the fleet of ships was preparing to set off on the return flight. They took up position in orbit, remaining there as long as possible to provide orbital cover. We didn't really know why we needed it—but it was better to have the ships close at hand in case of an emergency evacuation. Sure, it would've been ideal to keep them stationed at the base, but here was the catch: when the time came to evacuate, there might not be a "window" through the ion storm above us…
"Good luck, Captain," the Jedi hologram said, waving his hand. "Now get out of here before the window closes! The weather's getting worse!"
"Yes, General!" replied the Zabrak.
Turning to his crew, he barked,
"All ships—take off!"
The corvettes launched first, followed by the Shinano, and then the Marat with Akagi.
Suddenly, the Tashkent, which had been in the lead, jerked violently to the side. The clone captain's voice crackled over the comms:
"Enemy contact! I repeat—enemy warhi…"
Blaster bolts tore into the corvette, fire spilling from the bridge. The ship's bow pitched upward before it flipped over and began to plummet—straight toward the Shinano below.
"Out of the way! Immediately! Out of the way!" yelled the Zabrak, but it was already too late.
The corvette slammed into the Shinano near its combat bridge. The Tashkent's engines couldn't withstand the abuse and detonated, followed a second later by its reactor. A powerful explosion rocked both ships, and the Shinano, its bridge obliterated—and with it, all command functions—began to descend in a slow, helpless fall.
"Speed up! Turn left!" shouted the Zabrak.
The Marat and Akagi engaged their afterburners, circling around the falling vessel and pushing up into orbit. There, they were met by enemy ships.
"Launch the fighters! Prepare for battle!"
The Torrents streamed from the hangars one after another, while the Vultures were already diving to meet them. The counterattack began. CIS ships converged from all directions…
***
"Captain, the hyperdrive is damaged! The guns are out of commission! Half of the repulsors are working at full capacity!"
Reports poured in one after another.
The Zabrak strode decisively across the trembling deck, explosions rocking the ship, until he reached the communications terminal.
"Cerri! O'Connor! Get out of here!"
"Sir, we—" The connection was breaking up, the officers' voices crackling through static.
"That's an order! Report everything to headquarters! Now get out of here! Your ships are also damaged and will soon be out of commission. If we all die here, it'll be for nothing! Get out! We'll cover you!"
Returning to his seat, the captain bared his teeth and commanded,
"Full speed ahead! Ready torpedoes! All power to the remaining turbolasers!"
What does the General say? Shall we dance?
***
Pak Ganam, clutching a handkerchief in his trembling hands, frantically wiped the sweat from his face. Death had passed close by. The Republic ships had put up fierce resistance, and though two of their vessels were destroyed and only one managed to escape (not counting the corvette), the losses were unacceptable. Of the seven frigates, three were gone—most of them destroyed by that second ship, the one that went on a suicide run. At the same time, it had nearly rammed the Lucrehulk. Even so, the damage from torpedoes fired at point-blank range was enormous. The remaining ships, though not destroyed, were badly battered.
"We need to report the incident to headquarters and request reinforcements!" The Neimoidian's voice was still shaking.
"Roger Roger," replied the OOM droid in its flat tone.
And then there's that landing party. Command won't be pleased that I missed it. The Neimoidian sighed, his lip curling slightly. Let's hope it's not too big.
***
I watched as the ship fell slowly. The turbulence from the multi-ton hull of the Acclamator tore through the heavy clouds rolling in from all sides, and everything was clearly visible. It seemed to be the Shinano. A few seconds later, a distant rumble echoed from where it had crashed. Everyone froze, but no explosion followed.
"H! It's closest to you! Send a rescue team to the crash site! Get everyone out!"
"Yes, General!"
I leaned against the edge of the tactical table. The situation was dire. Because of the worsening weather, we had lost contact with the fleet and had no way of knowing the outcome of the battle—whether our ships had managed to break through the blockade or not. We couldn't contact anyone at all; the interference had reached a level that completely disabled all intersystem communications.
Yet through the Force, I could sense it—a great number of deaths. My eyes sought the Togruta. She sat huddled in a corner, perched on one of the supply crates, her hands clasped over her head. I felt uneasy too.
Ahsoka's sensitivity has grown stronger. On the one hand, that's good... but on the other—it's only trouble. And she's never killed anyone before. Neither have I, for that matter. But this time, we're facing living beings, not only droids.
***
"Count Dooku! The Republic has landed its troops on the planet! And at this very moment, there are no CIS ships nearby to stop them!" Alto Stratus, leader of the Jabiim Nationalists, stood defiantly before the hologram of the CIS leader.
"My friend, I never imagined they'd be bold enough to carry out such an audacious operation right under our noses. I will immediately dispatch several more ships to protect your planet from further attacks. How many troops have landed?"
"Not many—presumably less than fifty thousand," Stratus snorted.
"Then you have nothing to fear. You'll handle them easily. You have excellent warriors, and our combat droids, which we sent you, are numerous. You'll crush them quickly."
"Yes, Count. But in the future, I'd like to avoid such incidents," Alto Stratus said with a tight grin.
"Undoubtedly, my friend. Undoubtedly," Count Dooku answered, smiling faintly in return.
***
I looked up. The sky above was disappearing—low clouds steadily swallowed the last patch of open blue, and soon twilight settled over the plateau. The leaden masses pressed lower and lower, until thunder cracked above us, rolling in waves. Heavy raindrops began to drum against the roof of the armored vehicle.
Blam, standing beside the tactical table, began his report:
"General, the rescue team has returned. They managed to pull out about four hundred crew members—mostly gunners and technicians. Everyone on the bridge and upper decks is dead. Sixteen fighter pilots and forty-two LAAT crew members survived. Many are wounded. The rest of the clones... gone. Estimated casualties: around five hundred, though we don't have exact figures yet. The ship fell into one of the mud lakes and is slowly sinking down the slope. Presumably, within three days it'll be completely covered in—well, mud."
"So, the first blood has been shed," I whispered.
"Master?"
"No, it's just me. Don't mind," I shook my head and gave the signal. "Let's move out."