I was still reeling from the realization when the first flash of green emerges from the Sovereign, followed closely by turbolaser blasts from the Crown and Majesty. Turbolasers soar like vengeful monsters, passing through the atmosphere as they do. Finally they smash into the blue pearl I had spent so many years defending.

  Something was tugging at the back of my mind. This injustice. The innate wrongness. All I felt was the disgust I was openly showing on my face as three Imperial Star Destroyers bombard the oceans below me. Maker damn it all, the oceans were boiling. Yes, the shields cities would protect the people, but for how long? My mind races back to the last time I say oceans boil like this and I can feel the bile race up my throat, though I manage to choke it back.

  This was wrong, the Empire was going too far! And so it all came back to the question that had been plaguing me since Tarkin first ordered violence upon Dac. I had a choice, an opportunity, an obligation. Mon Cala was the most vital world to my plans. The Imperial Stormtrooper company on my Little Revenge might make this more difficult, but when had anything ever been easy for me and my men? We who had fought and scraped our way out from almost nothing. And when else would such an opportunity fall into my lap? Especially after Coruscant and the failed coup.

  Screw waiting. No amount of waiting for the perfect moment would bring it. No ignoring the injustices I had allowed to happen would give me the perfect moment to act. No drowning out the wails of the innocent with the noise of battle and cheap booze could stop me from realizing their plights. No more hiding. No more second guessing my loyalties, the last remnants of doubt had died away with the proclamation of the new order. No more ties to friends and foes to hold me back, they had been burned away in the skies and tunnels of Coruscant. No more excuses, they evaporated the second Tarkin ordered the extinction of all life on Dac.

  The ISB agent assigned to me turns slightly to face me, his eyes glint in the way Krell’s did. Cruelty and satisfaction at a watery world boiling. I see red and don’t even hesitate. I pull my slugthrower from its sheath and I use it for the same purpose my ancestors had for millennia, for killing scabs and the brutes employed by petty tyrants. For a moment time appears to slow, then a crack like thunder and a flash like lightening. I put a round in the bastard’s head. I finish the spin on my heels and fire twice more into the helmets of the two Stormtroopers stationed on the bridge. Somehow I’m quicker than the pair of Imperials and two more bodies thud into the wall with new holes through their heads and helmets, their brains and blood staining the wall behind them, broken plastoid falling to the ground beside their collapsing bodies.

  The entire deck goes silent. The crew likely in shock, I realize. These people who had either served with me since the Clone Wars, or who had heard of my exploits from the holo-net and their fellow crewmates, staring at me in absolute shock. In my heart of hearts I knew I had made my choice the moment an Empire had been declared, but these people may have not. Even after Coruscant, they may not have realized what I was about to demand from them.

  I holster my slugthrower and begin barking orders: “Open comms to the entire command, broadcast this message to every comms channel we have access to, civilian or otherwise, use my personal override, Emergency Code Aurek-Zesch-Osk-Norn-Norn-Niner-Niner. I want this message delivered as far as possible, exclude Tarkin’s taskforce and the invasion force on the surface from this message, In fact jam their comms if possible.”

  “Sir, wha-”

  “Now!” I bark, anger distilled into every letter of the word. It sounded cold, harsh, even to my roaring ears.

  “You’re on sir.” I hear from Mi-Kus.

  “Thank you Captain. Members of the 120th Battlegroup, my Slice Hussars. People of the Galaxy. I have served this state in one way or another since I was eighteen years old. I have fought for this state since I was twenty four. I have done things which shame me greatly. I have had glory like few others. I have bled for this state, lost many a sibling in arms and served with distinction for almost five years as the Marshal Administrator and later Brevet Junior Moff of the North East Slice Command and later the East Tion Regional Command.

  Today we have been ordered to bombard a planet. This is usually not something we balk at. Usually we would do this without question. Woe to us for it is Mon Cala, it is Dac. The planet whose people we defended for three years of war and hardship. Whose people we have bled for, wept and celebrated with, people we kept out of enemy hands and safeguarded with our service. And our orders? To commit genocide and extinction upon this worlds entire ecosystem. To any loyal soldier, citizen and sentient who I still have with me. Listen to me now … please.”

  For a moment I was unsure what to say. Then certainty. It felt like I was being guided by some vital remnant of those memories of old Earth. As if some small piece of lost culture had been sustained for this, and only this moment. I quickly pull my ancestral knife and cut my palm with a practiced ease, a blood sacrifice was the least I owed as I allowed Mon Cala to boil.

  “Over thy bleeding wounds I foretell. A curse shall light upon the limbs of men. Domestic fury and civil strife shall cumber all parts of the galaxy. Blood and destruction shall be in use, and dreadful objects so familiar that mothers shall but smile as they behold, their infants quartered with the hands of war, all pity choked with custom of fell deeds, and their true spirit, ranging for revenge, shall all cry in a voice as one, a voice against this empire of warcriminals, against this empire of lies, against this empire of slavers and the corrupt, they shall all scream with one voice CRY HAVOC and let slip the dogs of war.”

  I pause a moment, green flashes illuminating my face from the distance. I gather my thoughts and re-center myself. One last order. I would give one last order under the laws of this Empire. An order I had balked at when it had been introduced under the Republic. And yet here I stood with thousands of my subordinates, any people who had intercepted the frequency and the annals of history all listening to my words. One last order.

  “Join me now in rebellion. To restore the Republic. To make a better republic. JOIN IN THE DEFENSE OF DAC! JOIN OUR SIBLINGS IN ARMS AND LET ALL WHO STAND IN OUR WAY DIE THE DEATHS OF COWARDS AND TRAITORS, TOO SCARED TO STAND FOR WHAT IS RIGHT BY LAW, MORAL AND MAKER! I hereby authorize the execution of all traitorous members of the 120th Battlegroup and any formation who heeds my call upon those who stand in your way. Any who do not wish to join me are to enter escape pods and jettison from loyal Republic ships. I authorize these orders under military law, Part 312 paragraph Besh sub-paragraph sixteen dash seven on traitors to the Republic and anti-Republic agitators as well as under the protocols of evacuation and Navy anti-boarding action doctrine. As the highest ranking member of the Republic’s military not compromised by illegal, immoral and vile laws and perceived obligations I hereby declare a Republic government in exile under a temporary ruling body until a time when civilian oversight can resume. To any Senators, officers, soldiers, citizens, anyone, who wishes to join us, await further instructions and remember, as long as the ideals of the Republic burn in your heart and soul, the Republic, our Republic, lives on. May the Force be with you, may the Maker forgive us all. Long live the Republic. Fleet Admiral Dericote, loyal son of the Republic out.”

  I wait for something, anything. An assassin’s blade or blaster bolt. A reaction of any kind. I was greeted by only silence. Silence and the pooling of blood from the first man to die in this new war. His blood begins mixing with mine as the cut continues to drip. That took my attention. The blood had pooled now onto my left boot. I tilted my head at the corpse, as if the man I had murdered in cold blood would simply stand up and greet me as he did only this morning or insult me from beyond the grave. The knife felt heavy in my left hand.

  “S-sir?”

  Someone is calling me. Weird, I thought I had given my orders already. Another war. I wonder if my decision will prove to be the right one.

  “Your orders sir?”

  Ah, that was Mi-Kus. Yes, good man, loyal man. Maker preserve me I have signed the death warrants for every single man, woman and child who now assists us.

  I snap out of it for a moment and begin snapping orders, gesturing with the blade as I do: “You heard me, we head towards our allies, consolidate our forces, then shatter these Imperial traitors. Helmsman, bring us about, all ahead full. Captain assemble a group of arms-men and Clones and go through the ship. Anyone who wishes to leave may be jettisoned by escape pod. Ask them to forgive us for not allowing them time for their personal possessions and wipe any resistance out. I will not abide traitors to the Republic staining my ship and her reputation with their presence. Commander Slas, begin hailing any Mon Cala Merchant ship in system to inform them of our intentions, use the codes we used for the battle of Mon Cala and if they think it’s a trick request they not fire on us until we’ve left the range of Tarkin’s section. Hursk, begin emergency light broadcasts for the switch to Emergency Operation Torch codes until further notice. Get to it.”

  It doesn’t even sound like my voice anymore. As the orders stop I feel my head turning back to the floor. The blood was luring me in again, it has me enraptured, I barely notice the salute and the ensuing barked orders from my loyal officers. I think I can already hear blasterfire. Maker preserve me, what have I done?

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Mi-Kus had grabbed the blaster carbine from one of the dead Stormtroopers and assembles a squad of Navy arms-men and various Clones of Hope Company, Captain Bugs first among them, each carrying a blaster and every second holding one of the boarding shields. They had been stationed just behind the bridge in a side barracks in case of a hostile boarding and now? Now they would repel the invaders to their ship, their home.

  “Sergeant, I want you to take two men into the supply closet next to us, get a bunch of white cloth, I don’t care what kind, and cut it into strips, then hand them out to our loyal crew, arms-men and Clones. We tie them on our upper right arms. Got it?” Mi-Kus ordered

  “Yessir!” the Sergeant replied

  “GET TO IT! Rest of you follow me, FOR THE REPUBLIC!”

  They started clearing the approach to the bridge, gathering strength with loyal crew and arms-men joining them in a steady stream.

  “Sir, this door is locked from the inside.” one man eventually said.

  “Breach it. Detain anyone within.” He orders in turn, before snatching all but five of his men to continue scouring the ship. They needed to ensure the hyperdrive, life support, armory and reactors were secure asap. Sure, almost all of the Little Revenge’s crew was loyal to the cause, but the Stormtroopers weren’t and not everyone was as loyal to the Republic as the bridge crew and the Clones of Hope Battalion. Woe to any fool who even considered deserting the Republic’s just cause. Mi-Kus suppresses a smirk, it took the Admiral long enough for him to spring the plan. Maybe a bit too long.

  Chain doesn’t even wait until the Admiral finishes speaking before he and his brothers begin to act. Vibroblades and blasters do dirty work, stabbing into the gaps of the Stormtroopers and blasting the enemies of the Republic in quick, violent close quarters combat. The new recruits aren’t bad, but they’re still green. Untested and given second hand training from Clones who had far too little time to get them up to the lower standards of the Empire.

  Chain flicks the blood from his vibroblade before re-sheathing it and picking up a boarding shield, Daffy and Dudd doing much the same beside him.

  “Orders, Commander?” Daffy asks.

  “Daffy, take your men from 4th Platoon and secure the reactor and the path from there to here. Dudd, you’ll be coming with me to secure a safe route from the barracks to the bridge and make safe contact with the Admiral. If you catch Oggs or Bugs send one of them to secure Engineering and the other to the secondary bridge.” Chain orders.

  “Roger that.” The two recently promoted Captains reply.

  “Alright then. let’s move!”

  Solo watches and waits patiently with her hand on the trigger of her Little One’s lasers. She had been ready and waiting for launch since Tarkin had entered system and now, she and her squadmates were the most well armed and armored bunch in the hangar bay.

  “Alright ladies and gents. Anyone here questioning their loyalty to the Admiral?” Solo asks.

  “Shut up Colonel, we need to finish refueling the shuttles.” The Hangar Commander replies, continuing their work as various officers and enlisted exchange slightly mistrustful glances.

  “You take that rank out of your mouth!” Solo spits.

  “Fuck off and line up your squadron for launch. I’ve got more important shit to do than be your baby sitter for your hurt ego, Miss Colonel!” The Commander spits back.

  “BITCH!-” Solo begins her tirade as various officers sigh in either relief or annoyance. This argument wouldn’t end until those two were dead. The crew get back to work as the handful of arms-men begin setting up impromptu barricades around the main elevator, best be prepared after all.

  Tarkin looked down at the boiling impacts the turbolasers left in the water. It had a calming effect on him, meditative like lying in the mud of Eriadu during a longer hunting trip. The King had hidden among his people and this was a wonderful way to force his surrender, or at the very least kill the traitorous xeno. Might makes right may not be entirely correct, but a show of force wouldn’t hurt … much.

  “Moff Tarkin, Fleet Admiral Dericote has broken formation.” He heard one of his officers say.

  “Tell him to return to his position.” He commanded.

  “Sir, our comms are being jammed.”

  Hm, must be the Mon Cala Merchant fleet. Pesky things, though again an excellent use of their powerful shields holding the Imperial Navy from advancing beyond the equator and towards their capitol.

  “Keep trying, someone locate which Merchant ship is broadcasting the frequency, maybe we’ve found a week spot.”

  A long minute passes, then: “Sir, it’s the Little Revenge!”

  “What?”

  “The jamming frequency, it’s coming from the Little Revenge!” The man repeats.

  “Sir, more ships from the 97th have broken formation! The Lucky Kelp, Prince’s Duty, Dac’s Revenge, Fondor’s Daughter, Little Star, Little Spark, Constellation, Desert’s Lament, Wasp, Buckler, Mudpuppy’s Bite, Gauntlet, Fondor’s Pride, Nail … Stars it’s almost the entire 120th!”

  “Sir, I’m picking up weird sensor readings from the Dac’s Guard, It appears to have launched multiple escape pods. The Buckler appears to be on an interception course with them.”

  “Sir, The Fondor’s Daughter has also launched multiple escape pods, so has the Little Spark and Little Revenge!”

  “What is going on? GET ME ADMIRAL DERICOTE!” Tarkin yells. There’s a moment of silence before the visage of the Fondorian appears on Tarkin’s bridge.

  “Governor Tarkin?” The voice of the Admiral seems weirdly detached from the Hologram of the Man. He is holding a bloodied shortsword, his officers cap is sitting at an angle that is entirely unprofessional and unlike the officer. His eyes seem miles away. Tarkin thinks he can even see some specks of blood splattered across his uniform.

  “Admiral Dericote, why have so many of your ships launched escape pods and broken formation?” The Governor asks.

  “Ah yes … that. I feel no sorrow in informing you, Moff Tarkin, that I no longer recognize the Emperor or his subordinates of the so called Empire as my superiors.” Comes the cold voice of the Admiral.

  “What are you talking about? This is treason Dericote.” Tarkin says, his voice becoming chilled.

  “No, what you and people like Palpatine have done is treason. I have remained loyal, MY MEN, have remained loyal. To the ideals of the Republic, not what her institutions have turned her into. Not this monstrosity which would make the Sith and Pius Dea burn with jealousy. And damn anyone who still holds to her if this is what the Republic has become.” The Admiral says, heat returning to his voice alongside a fire in his eyes.

  “You will hang for this.” Tarkin threatens.

  This wakes the man from his distant stare. He grips the shortsword tighter and his eyes burn with hatred and determination. Tarkin only receives three words in response.

  “So. Will. You.” The Admiral counters, the hologram disappears, leaving Tarkin fuming.

  “I want every ship in the 120th destroyed now!” The Governor orders, pointing to his gunnery officer.

  “But sir, we don’t know which ships are still loyal” Said officer replies.

  “They are guilty until proven otherwise. FIRE!” The Moff shouts, his rage at the slight and threat blinding him.

  The Imperial Star Destroyer banks towards the assortment of cruisers, frigates and corvettes and begins to unleash turbolaser fire into the ships. It’s poorly coordinated by the gunnery officers due to target saturation and lack of priority targets. Many of the shots are absorbed by the hit ships’ shields while others miss the smaller frigates and corvettes entirely.

  That seems to jolt the rest of the line into action, the Venators of the 99th and their pickets beginning a slow one hundred and eighty degree rotation towards Tarkin’s ships, their turbolaser batteries locking onto his ships. The Constellation begins making a turn, as sharp as the large Corellian ship can manage, to face in the direction its heavy turbolasers have begun firing at.

  And to make it all worse, a group of Merchant Fleet ships detach from the line that had been facing the former starboard flank of the Imperial line. A long ship, surrounded by various light cruisers and frigates making a charge.

  “Sir, scanners are picking up an energy spike form the Merchant Fleet Vessel Home One.” A sensors officer reports.

  “We have bigger fish to fry! Adjust formation into a proper line and face these rebel scum! Disable the Little Revenge when possible, I promised Dericote a hanging and I plan on fulfilling that promise.” Tarkin barks.

  “Sir, Merchant Fleet deploying strikecraft. I have two wings of worth of Starchasers, two of Headhunters, three of Cloakshapes, one of V-19 Torrents, three of Y-Wings and one of H-60 Tempests incoming.”

  “Then deploy our fighters and push the Majesty forward to intercept that glorified fishtank approaching us! It should enter an effective maximum range before the Venators do and I want to tear this pitiful attack apart now!”

  “Sir, I’ve detected Cronau radiation from due north.”

  “What now?” Tarkin sneers.

  “Ships exiting hyperspace. Transponder reports MC80a named Ruisto’s Pride and four M4-I Dreadought heavy cruisers.” The sensors officer reports.

  Very well, Tarkin thinks, he may now truly be outnumbered in turbolaser capacity, but he could still win.

  “Majesty now engaging ship designate Home One at maximum range.”

  “And?” Tarkin asks.

  The man chokes.

  “AND?” Tarkin repeats himself, not bothering with looking at the tactical display when he can see the flashes of red and various explosions rocking the dagger and cigar.

  “Majesty reports her shields are down. She just got hit by a barrage of heavy Ion cannon, heavy turbolaser and over a hundred concussion missiles at once.” The Adjutant says.

  Tarkin blinks in confusion before reality hits him over the head like a brick: “Pull back to the Mintooine hyperspace egress point. Recall our strikecraft to picket duty and maximize our point defense, shields and engines! And get Lord Vader back up here now!”

  He had to get out of here.

  “Adjust position of Division Home One, they’re too isolated. Deploy our strikecraft and see if we can knock out the Majesty’s engines. Prepare boarding troops.” I order, finally getting back into my zone.

  “Sir, there’ll be an entire division of Stormtroopers aboard, not to mention the battalion of arms-men and whatever Imperial Army forces they have aboard.” An Adjutant warns.

  “Stormtroopers and Imperial Army soldier that were deployed planetside and heavily reduced.” I reply with a grin.

  “It’ll be tricky.” Adjunct Captain Mi-Kus reminds me.

  “Commander Chain?” I ask into the room.

  “Sir?” The Clone asks, scorched armor hinting at the fighting that had happened within the barracks.

  “Your estimate of Hope and Endurance being capable of it with additional arms-men support?” I ask as a volley of ion cannons smash into the Majesty once more.

  “We’ll manage, sir. But expect heavy casualties.”

  “Deploy a cordon around the Majesty then, keep her systems suppressed under ion cannon fire, but keep distance. I don’t want any suicidal officers blowing the Majesty to Maker on high just to scorch a couple of our ships.” I order.

  “Roger that, sir.”

  “Colonel Solo reporting enemy strikecraft pulling back. Enemy flack surprisingly light from behind the engine block.” Commander Slas reports.

  “Note it for future use.” I order absentmindedly as I stare at the Sovereign and Crown’s engine blocks in the distance. We could probably snipe at them with long range missiles and ion cannons, but we wouldn’t be able to stop them.

  I frown: “Hail Raddus, I would request the assistance of the Home One, New Heurkea, Pride of Ruisto and a section of light ships and pickets from the Mon Cala Merchant Fleet while my 97th Outer Rim Squadron pursues Tarkin and Vader. Split off the 111th Colonies Cruiser to defend Mon Cala and act as a possible rapid response group for Ruisto and New Heurkea. Split the 401st Rapid Response in half, Hugh is to remain behind with her half to lead the Mon Cala stationed forces, the other half is to join us in the pursuit.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Hugh will be happy about the command.” Mi-Kus says.

  “She’ll not be happy about being left behind.” I reply as I continue to stare holes at Tarkin’s two Imperials.

  “Enemy ships are entering the hyperspace egress point towards Mintooine.”

  “What’s the garrison there like again?” I ask.

  “Five Star Cruisers, none retrofitted, six MC30c frigates, two Sphyrna class hammerhead corvettes from the Merchant Fleet and four M4-I Dreadnoughts from the Imperial garrison, locally crewed.” Lieutenant Hursk answers.

  “Prepare Taskforce Pradeux for pursuit and warn Mintooine’s defenders of the incoming guests.” I order.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The two Star Destroyers jump to hyperspace. So this is how the new war would begin, I wonder. A victory, but would it last?