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Admiral Wullf Yularen did not hesitate, even as Tallisibeth was frozen in her own surprise, and his command came as decisive as swift as a lion’s roar.

“All ships!” the Admiral shouted, “Flip and burn! Divert all power to dorsal attitude thrusters! Watch our portside shields!”

Three orders in quick succession, but each and every one rife with purpose. The first order–’flip and burn’–to slow down the rear-heavy Star Destroyers before they could strike the oncoming minefield, and the second order to have the fleet dive under the obstacle at the same time. The last and final order, to maintain strict vigilance against the Givin Defense Fleet, whose Wavecrests lurked like hungering sharks in the depths of boiling, bubbling gas.

Tallisibeth watched the images of the Open Circle Fleet flipping bow-over-stern and igniting their thrusters in a furious crunch against the time to intercept, all at the same time burning downwards so as to avoid collision altogether. She had a second to wonder why ships almost always sought to ‘dive’ down instead of ‘climb’ up, as if they were aircraft in the gravity well of a world, even though the two directions were purely arbitrary and required exactly the same effort in space.

In this case, it meant the Republic Venators pivoted their afts downwards, slipping right under the hastily laid minefield like aircraft conducting an acrobatic tailslide manoeuvre. The three-ship squadron of the forwardmost division was the most unfortunate, the three battlecruisers clipping the ventral sensor zone of the seeker mines. Within moments, the seeker mines were like moths to a flame, and explosions rippled down their lengths, collapsing shields so that other mines could strike the hulls proper. The battlecruisers reeled as the mines blew holes in them and sent fragments flying into space. One of the battlecruisers blew up as its power core overloaded, then the other two in quick succession, the three ships turning into fields of shrapnel blossoming out from the scenes of their deaths.

“Divert shields to the rear and dorsal region!” Scout was shouting before she even realised it, just in time for Harbinger to be rocked by debris and secondary explosions.

The entire bridge instinctively ducked as flames unfurled overhead, like fingertips brushing their heads as the rest of the Open Circle passed underneath the minefield relatively untouched. With a second flip, the entire fleet was once more well on its way towards the Twentieth Armada.

“Anomalous action from the atmospheric field, Admiral,” Lieutenant Klev noted, “Those skeletons are still in there, and I’d reckon they’re going to keep hitting and fading away like ghosts.”

Scout squinted in that general direction, and she could most recognise the faint silhouettes flitting in and out of existence behind that curtain of gas and rocks. That, or her brain was playing tricks on her mind.

“Bring our heaviest cruisers to our port flank, in line ahead,” Yularen commanded promptly, “And have a squadron of starfighters picket our vanguard.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Commander,” the Admiral then turned to Tallisibeth, “Where is the main Separatist fleet?”

“The… main Separatist fleet?” at that moment, Tallisibeth was taken aback.

Why would the Admiral ask her where the enemy fleet was? Unless… he knew she had inherited a sliver of Master Alrix’s ability to perceive shatterpoints. But then again… Master Skywalker had told her that Admiral Yularen had grown comfortable being in the presence of Jedi abilities, and had accepted them as another integral facet of the fleet he commanded. It stood to reason, then, Admiral Yularen knew from the moment they made the decision to return to Yag’Dhul that some greater power was in play one way or the other.

“They are…” Tallisibeth swallowed, eyeing a nearby display as she gathered her bearings, “Bearing two-nine-six, relative to Yag’Dhul. I don’t know the range.”

Admiral Yularen narrowed his eyes, and confirmed his long-standing suspicions. Bearing 296 was directly on the opposite side of the planet, in the blindzone of the Open Circle Fleet. Unless the girl had access to a groundbreaking invention, an advanced sensor able to pierce not only the multiple asteroid fields in the way, but also ten-thousand klicks of mantle and core, the Jedi could only be relying on the mystical power he knew as the Force.

“Is that the main Separatist fleet?” Admiral Yularen asked again, just to clear the inherent distrust he bore for the esoteric energy.

Is it? Tallisibeth echoed the question in her head. What am I looking at? She had touched a flame in the Force, and could feel a presence behind her shoulder, but she did not exactly know what she was looking at. A more veteran Jedi Master would have recognised the flickering candleflame in the distance as a shatterpoint in the Force, but Tallisibeth had no such knowledge.

All she knew was that that’s where the Battle Hydra was. Shouldn’t it stand to reason, then, that that’s also where the Separatist fleet was?

“I don’t know,” she could only answer, and she hated that feeling of uncertainty.

It was the sensation one felt when they had an answer in the palm of their hand, one they were certain was the answer–if not for the gnawing feeling at the back of their mind that they had missed a small but crucial step. Tallisibeth did not know what step she had missed, either, but knew she had missed one. Because as much as she wanted to say that yes, she had identified the Separatist fleet, she had also erroneously identified the Hydra’s initial target before.

“All I know…” the Padawan continued, before frustration could visibly creep onto Yularen’s stern visage, “Is that that’s where the Battle Hydra is.”

The incensed lines of the Admiral’s face disappeared, and a thin smile came to his face, “Then that’s all we need.”

“...Huh?”

“If you don’t know the range, then give me the bearings,” Yularen marched past the girl, brushing her shoulder with a palm, “I want an update every ten minutes. The rest of you; get plotting!”

“Alright folks,” in the Battle Operations Room, the senior navigation officer clapped, “We know there’s a hostile division bearing two-nine-six!”

“Range, sir?”

“Where would Swift Justice’s last known position be?”

There was one natural conclusion, looking at the astrography of the quaternary system. If the Swift Justice was bearing 296 from the planet, then they must have been attempting to circumnavigate the northwestern asteroid field. Assuming the Separatist fleet engaged them just as they made the port turn, that would put them at roughly 170,000 klicks.

“First mark; bearing two-nine-six, mark oh-oh-nine. Range hundred-seventy thousand klicks!”

Precisely ten minutes later, Tallisibeth gave the second bearing;

“Second mark; bearing three-one-five, mark oh-four-five. Range unknown!”

“Plot out all possible vectors they could have gone!”

Another ten minutes passed.

“Third mark; bearing three-one-six, mark… three-two-six! Range… around hundred-ten thousand klicks!”

Hearing the report from the comms, Tallisibeth wondered how the Battle Room could have gleaned the Battle Hydra’s range from mere bearings. Having tutored the young Padawan before, when time allowed, Yularen was keenly aware of the confusion swirling in the girl, and thus gave her a hint;

Yularen folded his arms, “The enemy fleet is bearing three-two-six vertically. Our point of reference is not the Harbinger, but the core of Yag’Dhul. What does that mean?”

Tallisibeth furrowed her eyebrows, visualling such in her mind’s eye, “It would mean they are diving beneath the orbital plane.”

“They are also bearing–laterally–three-one-six. What could they be diving under, in this case?”

Realisation dawned on her, and Tallisibeth’s cheeks flushed at such a critical oversight, “In that direction, they would be diving under Yag’Dhul itself.”

“Precisely. Working with the assumption, then, that they are sticking as close to Yag’Dhul as possible to avoid detection from our pickets, we can work out their range. Now, where is Rain Bonteri?”

“He’s… still bearing three-one-six, mark two-nine-two.”

“Then it is all but confirmed, is it not?” Yularen flashed a rare, if grim, smile, before speaking into his comlink, “Chief, hostiles are bearing three-one-six, mark two-nine-two. Plot it.”

A moment passed–

“Fourth mark; bearing three-one-six, mark two-nine-two. Range hundred-and-five thousand klicks!”

That’s right, Tallisibeth realised, if they’re vertically bearing 292, then they must be almost completely beneath Yag’Dhul’s south pole–which is bearing 270. Despite that, the nagging sensations at the back of her mind never faded. She was still missing something; something small, something critical, that could decide the entire outcome of the Battle of Yag’Dhul.

But what is it?

At that thought, Tallisibeth fell back on the one constant she’s had since becoming a Padawan, and Jedi Commander: her Master. What would Master Skywalker do? A recent, but nearly forgotten memory came to mind. In the hectic and adrenaline-fueled anxiety she has been brewing in since the loss of the 20th Armada, she had almost pushed Master Skywalker’s advice out of her mind.

“Stop thinking like a Jedi, Tal,” Anakin Skywalker told her, “You aren’t alone here. The Force is useful, but don’t rely on it, or you’ll end up like Alrix. Trust your gut, but trust the people here more. You’ll be fine.”

So this is what he meant, she thought bitterly; if she had simply consulted the Harbinger

before the strategy conference… no, there’s no time to dwell on that. Tallisibeth sucked in a deep breath.

“Wait,” she spoke up, instilling as much assurance and confidence into her tone as she could muster, “We’re missing something.”

“And what would that be?” Admiral Yularen raised an eyebrow.

“What is the enemy trying to do, exactly?”

“Well, from the looks of it, sir,” Lieutenant Klev piped up, “They’re trying to slip under the orbital plane and hit us from below. I’ve got my active sensors tracking them, though. As soon as we can see them, we will see them.”

“So they’re trying to intercept us.”

“Not much else in-system to intercept,” Klev didn’t laugh at his own morbid joke, “They made sure of that.”

“If they are coordinating with the Givin to track us–which we must assume they are–then they would know we are headed to a new battlespace which would give us an advantage,” Tallisibeth aired her thought process aloud as she began pacing the deck, under the Admiral’s watchful eye, “So they should be trying to intercept us as quickly as possible.”

“And you believe they aren’t?” Yularen questioned.

Tallisibeth produced her own comlink, “Battle Room, bridge, can we plot a straight intercept vector from the enemy fleet’s last known position to ours? Can you give an ETA?”

“Bridge, Battle Room. Assuming the enemy fleet is maintaining their velocity, anywhere from forty minutes to an hour. But considering it’s a straight shot, at full combat accel, they’d be right on top of us–or below us, rather–in fifteen minutes.”

“...Transmit the plots to my datapad, please,” ‘Scout’ asked politely, the latent abilities that earned her such a cognomen swiftly coming to the forefront, “Thank you.”

From there, she tracked the plots–the solid blue lines linking pulsing red dots, and dotted lines tracing possible vectors. There were four main marks; on the four bearings she had provided the Battle Room, from which they extrapolated the enemy direction. She traced the lines again, slowly, one by one, checking for that single crucial piece of the puzzle she knew she had overlooked.

However… everything appeared to slot nicely. The Battle Hydra had maintained the momentum he accrued from defeating Swift Justice to double back starboard on a reciprocal course and was now meeting their vector on a practically straight beeline for the Open Circle–well, as straight as they could get with the planet in their way. Scout rubbed her eyes, half in exhaustion, half in frustration. There had to be something else to it, in this she was utterly adamant.

Something is off. If Scout was confident in one thing, it was her uncanny ability to detect the slightest details from something large. That was the one inherent gift the Force had deigned to allow her. And sometimes, she had learned over her tenure in the Jedi Temple, you just needed a new perspective.

“...No,” she mumbled, “Transmit this data to a holoprojector.”

Admiral Yularen snapped his fingers, and it was done. Time was ticking, Scout knew–fifteen minutes–but Anakin Skywalker’s stubborn streak had rubbed off her, and she had to figure this out.

The holographic celestial globe appeared before her eyes in its three-dimensional glory–and then she found it. The Perlemian Coalition’s Armada wasn’t the Givin Defense Fleet, and they couldn’t have possibly navigated the northwestern asteroid field in any form of haste, and thus opted to ‘climb’ over it.

First mark to second mark: vertical bearing 009 to 045. Then second mark to third mark: vertical bearing 045 to 326. That means in between the second to third mark, the Battle Hydra traversed a whole 79 degrees down on the vertical plane, when they could have simply traversed another 45 degrees ‘climbing’ instead of ‘diving.’

They were already climbing, thanks to the asteroid field. Why would they suddenly dive again? If speed was a factor in intercepting us–which it is–wouldn’t the obvious decision be to circumnavigate Yag’Dhul’s north pole instead of south pole?

Unless…

“We’re looking in the wrong direction,” Scout blurted out, suddenly short of breath, “Battle Room! What if the enemy fleet had continued from the second mark to the planet’s north pole instead!? What would be their ETA to intercept then!?”

Admiral Yularen, at the very least, didn’t need to wait to know the answer.

“Lieutenant!” he roared, “Expand our dorsal sensor grid! I want eyes above our heads! Helm, standby for evasive manoeuvres!”

As Harbinger’s sensors locked into place and blasted out just about every wavelength on the electromagnetic spectrum, Scout blinked around a hundred contacts materialised into being out of the black.

“Contact!” Klev and his operators hastily began painting targets, “Eighty ships!”

“Why didn’t we catch on the passive sensor sphere!?”

“They’re flying dark, sir!” another sensor officer gritted his teeth, “We had to paint the entire spherical section with light. But that means they know that we know.”

True to word, the skies over the Open Circle exploded out in hundreds of gleaming sublight drives, thruster plumes blazing like newborn stars in the celestial sphere. They were shaped in a deep spindle, and had obviously been aiming to spear straight through the top-down profile of the Open Circle’s formation. After they had been discovered early, however, the enemy division evolved into a more flat, rectangular shape, with capital ships anchored at the centre and corners.

A picture-perfect Separatist battle lattice.

In a split-second, Harbinger’s innumerous displays were blaring with warning symbols as thousands of Separatist missiles rained down from above. Almost by instinct, the Open Circle’s formation convulsed as one like a living organism, with escort ships racing up and lighting up the void with a terrific roar of point defence lasers while bright-hot flares filled the empty spaces between ships until it seemed the formation was set ablaze by an internal inferno.

They had responded well, Scout knew, but now they needed to react in kind. For a moment, she looked towards Admiral Yularen for directions, only to see the man carefully judging the enemy attack vector. His cautious disposition was prompting him to see the enemy’s tactics play out before responding, so he had the full picture in mind when devising a counterattack.

It was not an incorrect decision, by any means, but Scout’s every urge was telling her to counterattack now. They weren’t facing just this one division, but also the Battle Hydra’s personal division diving under them, and the Givin Defence Fleet as well. The tables had turned; now, they were the ones surrounded.

“Battle Room,” Scout held her comlink closely, “How long until the Hydra’s intercept?”

“Bonteri, sir?” a voice returned, “They should be slipping under the atmospheric phenomena in four minutes.”

And once they slip under the phenomena, they’ll be in sensor range. Four minutes. What sort of formation can be adopted in four minutes, while under fire no less? Scout drowned out the blossoming fires of intercepted warheads and screaming deflector shields, rifling through her mental library of tactics and formations he had learned and remembered under Yularen’s watchful gaze.

We’re being attacked from above and below. I need something that can leverage the firing arcs of our Star Destroyers…

What about the ‘Zeilla’? But that’s only effective in one direction, and will leave our carriers vulnerable… Scout drew out the hypothetical command package on her datapad–but if we can make use of our battlecruisers’ SPHA-Ts…

“Admiral!” Scout gasped, “If we use the Zeilla formation–”

“The Zeilla is only effective in a single direction.”

“But our battlecruisers have ventral SPHA-T batteries!”

Yularen paused, narrowed his eyes, and liberated the datapad from her hands. He inspected for a few, heart-thumping seconds, before briskly handing it off to a nearby officer.

“Execute it.”

Scout’s stomach leapt, “S-So… it’ll work?”

“Only one way to find out–” and then, Yularen roared, “Hard right, hard over! Bring us around!”

⁂

“We’re not fighting Anakin Skywalker, are we?” Commodore Horgo Shive muttered to himself as the ‘2nd Strike Division of the 28th Mobile Fleet thundered down its assault vectors, “Because this isn’t normal.”

The Republic’s transit formation was roughly box-shaped, anchored by a left-hand L-formation of heavy capital ships and the rest of the space filled with lighter vessels. Those lighter vessels were now rising to provide a cover screen of point defence to shield the L-shaped formation of Venators. And said Venators… starting from the leading ship–Harbinger herself–were circling around starboard. Just as the Harbinger reached the crest of her turn, she killed her turn and kicked herself into a deft tailspin, the kilometre-long vessel spinning like a top until her aft was facing the interior of the circle she had just turned.

The next eleven ships in the line ahead followed that manoeuvre precisely and in quick succession, until the ‘top-most’ layer of the Open Circle was a twelve-petaled flower, with their bows facing outward and engines inward. The next eleven Venators after them followed through, diving half a hundred klicks ‘beneath’ the topmost layer and forming a second array of petals, with each ship strategically placed in between the petals of the topmost layer. This time, however, they were ‘upside down,’ so that their ventral turbolaser batteries were facing the top.

All fifty Venators promptly executed such a formation, creating four layers of petals, each layer facing alternating directions, with such facility Horgo Shive could conclude some Jedi trick was in play–such as the one reported to occur at the Battle of Metalorn–or there was a truly skilled commanding officer behind these joint manoeuvres. As soon as the four-layered formation was completed, the Venators cut their engines, so that they were now drifting laterally on their resultant vector.

Then, to complete the formation, the Open Circle’s escorts speared themselves through the hole in the centre of the formation, organised into a similarly tubular shape with dorsal superstructures facing outwards, extending upwards–or downwards–along the formation’s vertical axis. This created a double-ended spindle shape, or perhaps, one much more akin to the profile of a pulsar star.

“They overextended their escorts!” Vinoc exclaimed, “We can destroy them piecemeal as we move towards the capital ships!”

The Muun Commodore curled his fingers, “It is not that simple. The purpose of their spindle-like structure is twofold–first to intercept any missiles or torpedoes targeting the capital ships, and to break up our battle lattice at the same time.”

“So we destroy them systematically. They are overextended.”

“If we slow down the entire battle lattice to deal with the escorts, those Venators will tear us to shreds,” Horgo Shive clenched his fist, “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to know what it’s like being on the receiving end of quadruple-ranked Star Destroyer firing envelopes.”

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There was a brief pause from the Crying Sun, likely as Vinoc analysed the enemy formation once again– “And if we attempt to bypass the spindle, they can attack our flanks with impunity. We’ll be forced to decide whether to defend against the spindle or the petals.”

“It seems so. They’ve outflanked us without flanking us.”

Commodore Vinoc laughed, “Then we’ll revert back to the spindle formation as well.”

Horgo nearly doubled over in surprise, “What?”

“No– ‘spindle’ isn’t the right word for it,” Vinoc mused, “What about ‘tube’? We’ll form a tubular shape that sheathes right over the Republic’s spindle. That way we can completely destroy the spindle, and if the Venators attempt to fire back–”

“They’ll also be shooting at their own ships,” Horgo finished, eagerness gleaming in his black eyes once more.

“Inform the Givin. Tell them to alert the Third Division to the Republic formation,” Vinoc said, “We can pin them here, while Rain and Diedrich devise a strategy to cripple them. We’re going on the attack.”

⁂

Scout could’ve only watched on in awe as Admiral Yularen expertly facilitated the double-Zeilla formation with nary a misstep, skillfully micromanaging the burdensome manoeuvres of nearly half a hundred battlecruisers and carriers as if the entire fleet was but an extension of his own body. At the same time, however, the Separatist formation reacted on a dime, their battle lattice condensing once more into a spindle with an open core.

The enemy spindle then crashed into Republic spindle–and the Republic spindle all but melted away. The lighter Arquitens and Peltas of the Open Circle were simply no match for the overpowering firepower of Separatist destroyers and cruisers, and the once organised array of small warships turned into a falling cascade of debris and fragments punched along by momentum, descending towards the Republic’s main line of battle as quickly as the Separatist menace.

“Good,” Admiral Yularen nodded, as if hundreds of spacers had not just perished before their eyes, “Attacking an overextended formation was an obvious enough reaction. They have taken the bait.”

Of course, by sticking so closely to the Republic spindle, their Venators couldn’t attack the Separatist warships without also risking friendly fire. But that was where the second facet of the double-Zeilla came into play.

The second layer of petals consisted of eleven ‘upside down’ Venators. In other words, their hangars were facing away from the view of the Separatist forces.

“Layer B,” Yularen commanded calmly, “Launch all starfighters. Head downwards for ten klicks, then sweep around in open cluster formation. Backfire speed, zonal attack pattern. Happy hunting.”

Eleven pairs of hangar doors groaned open and a torrent of sharp-fanged starfighters came screaming out, all forming up outside of the enemy’s view within the visual shadows of their motherships and ramping up to attack speed. Then, together, they banked hard on their etheric rudders, coming about and over the rims of their carriers like the spray of some exotic fountain. From the Separatist perspective, there was no warning. In one moment, there were no starfighters, and in the next there were four-thousand bloodthirsty starfighters in perfect formation already settling into their attack runs.

The enemy was rallying their combat patrols to respond, but the hounds were already set upon them. Separatist frigates exploded and broke under the force of concussion missiles, their pieces tumbling across space. A half-dozen light destroyers shattered into fragments. Three heavy cruisers reeled out of formation, two completely destroyed in rainbow-hued vapour of rhydonium-based fuel, and the third put out of battle. Their battleships and battlecruisers took the blows head on, having had time to reinforce their forward shields, thanks to the sacrifice of the lighter units, and blundered through the assault with superficial injuries but apparently no critical damage.

“This is for Swift Justice and the Twentieth!” someone whooped as explosions bloomed over the viewports.

“Thisis swift justice!”another cheered.

Soon, their space around the spindles was consumed by a blistering hail of point defence, missiles, and starfighters of all kinds, scrambling any accuracy afforded by Harbinger’s scanners. Trapped in the hail of fire, the surviving Separatist forces bludgeoned their way out of the killzone and into a more spread-out formation, launching a renewed offensive of droid fighter-bombers accompanied by a fusillade of torpedoes.

But away from the spindle, the quadruple-ranked envelopes of the double-Zeilla formation now had them dead-to-rights.

“All ships: open fire!” Admiral Yularen barked, “Primary targets are the capital ships. Maintain formation except to manoeuvre as necessary to avoid enemy fire. Local fire control is granted to all warships and artillery stations!”

The double-Zeilla exploded out in volleys of superheavy turbolaser fire and raking charges of energy beam weaponry from their SPHAs. Scout watched on the displays as the Separatist fleet tried to charge in, only to have their momentum stifled and struck down over and over. For now, however, the Open Circle was staving off the Battle Hydra’s assault.

But it never left Scout’s mind that a hydra had more than one head, and if the Zeilla formation had one critical weakness, it was that it was completely immobile. Just as a constantly evolving formation such as the Whirlwind employed at the 7th Battle of Sullust was unmaintainable, a completely static formation such as the Zeilla was also unmaintainable, simply for different reasons. The former was due to the limitations of crews and hardware, while the latter was due to the evolving nature of a battlespace.

The Zeilla formation was so effective in a defensive posture like this because it capitalised on the nature of Star Destroyers in a formation that maximised firepower in relation to each other. Once that relationship was broken down, the formation would crumble into nothing but a loose cluster of disorganised warships stuck in individual, nonoptimal positions.

“The main fleet’s here!” the sensor chief shot to his feet, “Ten-thousand klicks beneath us! Eighty-three ships… they’re in a battle lattice!”

Scout shared a look with Admiral Yularen.

⁂

“That’s quite a…” Rear Admiral Rain Bonteri regarded the Republic formation closely, having seen nothing quite like it, and thus he was searching for the right descriptor to use.

“Strange formation?”

“Aesthetic formation,” he finished, marvelling at the tight lines of relation each Republic cruiser maintained with each other, “Is our battle lattice completed?”

“Just so.”

“Perfect.”

The battle lattice of the ‘3rd Battle Division of the 28th Mobile Fleet rolled, each ship turning within the formation to present its bows to the Republic fleet above them so that the Separatists warships were now coasting sideways within their rectangular formation. This battle lattice was arranged differently to that of the ‘2nd Battle Division, with the heaviest capital ships in the centre with successively lighter escorts fanning out until the edges were anchored by light corvettes.

The very moment the centremost warships–including Chimeratica and Kronprinz themselves–were directly beneath the Republic’s ‘downward’ spindle, the entire battle lattice erupted forwards as one. Just as occurred on the topside of the Zeilla formation, the Republic spindle crumpled under the onslaught of the Separatist offensive, Kronprinz leading the charge down the spindle with all the speed afforded to her. The battle lattice began to warp into a curved funnel around the centre, as the Tionese warships raced ahead to chomp down on the Republic.

It was exactly what the Open Circle was waiting for. The Separatists had taken the bait again, it seemed.

‘Layer C’ of the double-Zeilla formation, their hangars similarly facing away from the ‘3rd Battle Division as ‘Layer B’ did the ‘2nd Division, unleashed their starfighters together. But that was exactly what the 28th Mobile Fleet was waiting for. The Republic had taken the bait.

“Launch all starfighters!” the Rear Admiral ordered, “All capital ships, retreat! Escorts, push forwards! Grind them into a fine dust!”

Like hounds snapped onto their reins, the battlecruisers of the ‘3rd Division promptly about-faced and reversed their momentum with such agency the action could have only been achieved by Tionese ships of their build. Now, the funnel was beginning to invert into a cup-shape, with the capital ships falling back and the escorts on the edges racing forward.

Let’s take a gander into the mental states of the Republic pilots. Their allies had been defeated, and they were thirsting to avenge their loss. Their comrades up top had sown hellfire into the dastardly Separatist positions, achieving a major victory, and now they were starving to do the same on the downside. The closest enemy ships in range were naturally the Separatist battlecruisers, which had ostensibly overextended away from their escorts and lattice. From the perspective of the Republic pilots, these capital ships were easy pickings.

But those capital ships withdrew, and the pilots chased after them, glory right within arms reach.

There was no knowing what the attitude was like aboard the flagship Harbinger, or whether they noticed the Separatist trap or not. In whichever case, the Republic pilots did not notice they were flying straight into the maw of the Hydra.

And when they realised, it was already too late. The funnel-shaped formation had inverted into a cup-shaped formation, with the capital ships at the base of the cups. Now, the starfighters had two choices–fly on a reciprocal course, braving the nearly twenty kilometres of point defence from the scores of escorts surrounding them, or attempt to break through the capital ships and out the back of the ‘cup.’

Or rather, it didn’t matter what they did.

The escorts opened fire. Four-thousand Republic pilots died. It was like shooting fish in a barrel, except it was the barrel itself that was shooting. Whatever surviving pilots immediately began falling back towards the Zeilla, weaving in and out the corpses of their fellow comrades, using their floating bodies as cover to do so. The entire Separatist formation was burning forward now, maintaining that cup-shape as they launched a renewed offensive towards the Republic centre.

This way, when the Separatist centre launched its missiles and starfighters, the Republic spindle could not intercept them without being struck at by the Separatist flanks with impunity. Rain Bonteri watched on the display as the 28th Mobile swept into range, rapidly closing the range. He had positioned his ships and positioned his fleet, given his commanders authority to fire, and now had nothing to do but watch. Watch as the Open Circle was gradually ground down.

“The Second Battle Division is retreating,” TF-1726 informed him, “Commodore Vinoc and Shive report that their losses have put them out of effective action. Half our fleet is gone.”

Half our fleet is gone. Those five words rang out through the silent pilothouse. Rain Bonteri was unmoving as he judged those words. If they managed to send that transmission, it must mean they are individually fine, he reasoned, thinly hiding his ire from his droid crew, but a commander could hear no more terrible words. Defeats have been suffered with less losses–a victory won at the cost of half a fleet is no victory, but a damn embarrassment!

For the 28th Mobile Fleet, such a loss was not so devastating, as the vast majority of ships put out of battle could be repaired and put back into service. This was the purpose of the Auxiliary Division, but such news was still one of the most bitter a commander could swallow, whatever the circumstances.

“So…” he muttered, furious, “This is the capability of Wullf Yularen?”

It was a natural conclusion. Anakin Skywalker was at the Llon Nebula, and all Jedi take their Padawans wherever they go. As such, command of the Open Circle Fleet naturally fell into the lap of the ranking officer, Admiral Yularen. It was also the correct conclusion. Wullf Yularen was a cautious and orthodox commander, but that also made a skilled organiser and masterful formation fighter. It was only with Yularen’s invisible hand puppeteering the strings of the Open Circle that they could have conducted themselves to such crisp efficiency and effectiveness.

In a formation like the double-Zeilla, without the admittedly effective unorthodox actions and brash impulses of Anakin Skywalker curtailing him, Wullf Yularen was in his element.

This, however, was not the only conclusion the Battle Hydra drew from the loss. One of his heads was not participating.

“This will not be the second time I’ve suffered defeat at the fickleness of my allies,” he hissed, “Where the hell are the Givin!? Are they so loss-averse? Have I not thrown enough corpses at their feet to prove my sincerity!?”

If Diedrich Greyshade was in the same comms channel right then, the former Commonality officer would be cringing down to his toes.

“Tuff, get me a line with the Givin commander!”

⁂

On the visual display, spots of bright light flared as Separatist missiles struck Republic shields. The Open Circle’s shields were firing back, but the Harbinger still quivered from the impacts of weapons on her shields and tallying the damage from an occasional hit that had made its way through the screening spindles. That, however, paled in comparison to the devastation the Open Circle was laying into the Separatist’s ‘2nd Battle Division.

The double-Zeilla was pushing downwards on their attitude thrusters to rise after the retreating Separatist above, at the same time putting distance between themselves and the Separatists below. The topmost Republic spindle was plunging into the centre of the collapsing enemy formation, each Republic ship only briefly exposed to enemy fire as it tore through, while the Separatist ships in those areas were battered by ship after ship. The lighter enemy units were ripped apart under the repeated blows, flaring and dying around the stronger islands formed by the surviving capital ships.

“There’s our vector of escape,” Yularen identified, “We need to extricate ourselves before the Givin decide it is time to end us.”

“But what about the Twentieth Armada?” Scout asked, “We’ve taken our half of the Coalition’s Armada. We can still win!”

Yularen simply shook head regretfully, “We have been outmanoeuvred. If the Givin were not a factor to contend with, I would fully believe we have a fine chance of defeating the Perlemian Coalition here, especially since it is obvious their full might have been whittled down from their engagements with the Twentieth and Swift Justice. But with the Givin still present, that is simply not the case. Our best bet would be to regroup with General Skywalker, and return with a counterattack on the system using the full might of Jedi General Ry-Gaul’s Second Armada south of us.”

“The Second Armada is fighting the Separatist Fourth Fleet Group.”

“A problem to contend with once we ensure we have escaped with our lives intact,” Yularen swung around to Lieutenant Avrey, “Avrey, contact General Skywalker. Inform him we have failed to destroy the Coalition Armada, but have destroyed half to two-thirds of their fleet, thus crippling their combat effectiveness and operational significance. Until they receive reinforcements from the Fourth Fleet Group, the Coalition Armada has been rendered strategically impotent.”

“Where should we rendezvous with him, sir?”

“The Llon Nebula is as good a location as any.”

With that, they took to undertaking their mission to escape. A mission easier said than done. While the Separatist forces above them were dispersing like a swarm of flies before an irate hand, the Separatist force below was mauling deep in the Republic ranks. The Zeilla formation began to condense as each of its petals furled, massive battlecruisers and carriers pitching their bows onto their resultant vectors to put their main sublight thrusters onto their proper angles of attack.

However, the complicated expressions and attitudes of the double-Zeilla modification meant there would be a greater lag in manoeuvres between the successive layers, with ‘Layer D’ acting most sluggishly to bring their thrusters on the proper vectors. This created a miniscule rift between the two halves of the Open Circle’s evolving formation, between Layer C and Layer D, where the dozen Venators of Layer D was lagging behind the rest of the fleet.

As much as Admiral Yularen tried to rectify the sluggishness, there was no overcoming an inherent weakness of a static formation attempting to move onto one vector. It was the law of inertia coming into play. One could imagine a straight static line, a queue of people, stretching on for many metres. Even if the first man in the queue would start moving, it would take time for that motion to trickle down to the last man in the line.

A standard Zeilla formation would only have two layers, but Scout’s modification to it gave it two more. Not simply two more layers, but two more layers facing the other way.

It was lag, that gap, that the Givin Defence Fleet capitalised on. Seventy Givin starships burst out of the atmospheric cloud, launching a flurry of torpedoes at a specific battlecruiser in Layer C. Under that hail of fire, the mighty Republic warship lost its shields–then took a hit in the wrong place, and its reactor blew while the ships from Layer D were catching up and gaining momentum.

The adjacent ship–a carrier called the Brilliant Light–in Layer C was too close. Scout stared at the display, as the shockwave from the exploding Venator reached out like a great hand slapped the Brilliant Light off course and tumbling out of formation. That alone would have been recoverable, if the Brilliant Light hand not so accidentally tumbled right onto the resultant vector of a fast approaching battlecruiser from Layer D, the Starseeker.

It was then, that everybody on the deck of the Harbinger–nay, every officer and sensor operator spectating, damn allegiance–knew the Givin had calculated precisely this outcome. After all, how else would such an unlikely series of perfect coincidences occur?

Not even the computerised collision avoidance systems of the Starseeker could avoid the reeling Brilliant Light. They were simple on the wrong trajectory, with neither time or space afforded to them.

The two Venators struck as Scout watched on in silent, gaping horror.

The collision–which looked so slow from the relative shelter of Harbinger’s bridge but must have occurred at many thousand klicks per second–turned both ships into single titanic ball of heat, light, and outward gases that blossomed like an actual Zeilla flower in the dark of space, a twin-reactor combustion that within a fraction of a second, annihilated up to 7,000,000tons of hypermatter. For reference, the main reactor of a capital ship such as a Venator would typically annihilate four tons of hypermatter for every light-year travelled. The result; a terrible, man-madestar, by all definitions of the word, that shone so briefly but blindingly brightly that it lit up the void of the Yag’Dhul Star System.

Before anybody could even utter a word of shock or exclamation, thousands of retinas had already been scorched through, though that was not the least of their worries. With no sizable mass and gravity to keep the orb of burning gas contained, the false sun exploded outwards suddenly and violently.

The three closest warships to the explosion were all but vapourised into rampant gases and superheated slag flung out at fractions of lightspeed, and rest were thrust in outward vectors starting from the explosion. The ships in Layer C were shoved up and out, towards the relative safety of Layer B and Layer A, while the ships in Layer D were shoved down and under, towards the awaiting arms of the Separatist ‘3rd Battle Division.

Only then, did a collective gasp of shock and dismay rise up on the bridge of the Harbinger. Or rather, the events occurred so quickly that by the time people were reacting, they were already mostly over.

Admiral Yularen, finally seeming shaken for the first time since… since ever, called out commands to refocus his crew; “Damage report!?”

“N-Nothing got past our shields, sir!” a stunned techie blabbered out, “The… the ships in Layer B protected us!”

Scout shook herself back into focus as well, forcing himself to look away from the collective graves of over 10,000 spacers and evaluate the situation once again. The ten or so ships in Layer D that had been advertently blasted back towards the Separatist lines were already blasting out white flag frequencies. They obviously weren’t planning on fighting and dying if they could surrender, and the Battle Hydra has been known to accept such before.

And indeed, the Coalition Armada killed their velocities to undertake the boarding actions that would bring the Republic ships into internment. The Givin Defense Fleet had returned at the very last moment, but as far as Scout and Yularen were concerned, dealt the most devastating blow. With no losses of their own, they took out fourteen capital ships and many dozen more escorts, and they were not stopping.

Scout took a deep breath, focusing on bringing the remainder of the Open Circle out of the orbital system, which required turning up and starboard. The manoeuvre, necessary as it was to escape the atmospheric anomalies that plagued the quaternary system, inadvertently brought them back downrange of the Givin line of battle and made an intercept possible. The Wavecrest-class frigates all but swam around the battered Republic lines, slashing across their deck over and over as the Open Circle continued accelerating away.

Thankfully, the Open Circle still had their remaining escorts, and the shields of their most powerful warships were more than enough to shrug off any blows that could come from the enemy frigates. A massed, alpha strike such as the one that took out Brilliant and Starseeker could not occur again.

“Fleet hyperdrives are ready and synced, Admiral,” Avrey reported, with a lack of her usual enthusiasm.

Yularen chewed his cheek, and Scout took one last look at the battlefield. Sorry, General Grant. I made a mistake, and we all paid a dear price. If she ever met him in person… Scout might just beg for forgiveness. As if in reaction to her thoughts, the presence behind her shoulder writhed, and the Force writhed with it. The presence then faded back into Force, and the candleflame over the shatterpoint finally winked out as it burned away that last of its fuel.

Sorry, Master Alrix. There was no answer. The presence was gone.

“Execute jump.”

158 of the 250 ships of the Open Circle Fleet that were initially brought to bear against the 28th Mobile Fleet safely jumped away.

⁂

60,000 klicks away, aboard the Star Destroyer Prominence, a different scene was playing out. General Octavian Grant had dispatched the remaining battle-worthy ships of the 20th Armada to aid the Open Circle Fleet against the Perlemian Coalition’s Armada, and now they were reporting back.

It seemed that soon after they received the transmission that the Harbinger was coming to rendezvous with the Prominence, they were intercepted just southeast of the 20th Armada’s location. The ships the 20th sent, which were all crewed by Tapani nationals, then took one look at the desperate and deteriorating situation of the Open Circle and independently opted to circle back, signing the situation off as hopeless.

As such, the fighting Open Circle and 28th Mobile had seen neither hide nor hair of the 20th Armada, maintaining the belief that the 20th had been put out of battle for the time being. Except, the Prominence’s systems were once again firing up, warmth seeping back into the halls of the mighty battlecruiser and skin of its spacers–many of whom had taken to equipping vac-suits out of caution.

One by one, the flames of ion drives burst back to live, and the 20th Armada once more flexed its arms and legs, ready to battle once more. The question was: should they?

“We can withdraw to another orbital system around a different planet,” Grant’s XO posited, “And prepare an advantageous battlespace there. Our ships reported there being only around a hundred Separatist warships left in fighting shape. We can beat them.”

“The Givin know their own star system like the back of their own hand,” Octavian Grant shook his head, “I would not risk it. What truly concerns me is whether Bonteri would actually attempt to engage us if we did withdraw to another planetary body in-system.”

The XO took a single brisk glance at the rebooted displays, at the pins of the Coalition Armada and Givin Fleet now racing back to the location of the 20th Armada to finish them off, and looked back at his commanding officer, “I imagine they would, sir. Why is that a concern?”

“Because it would reveal their intentions with the star system,” Grant crossed his arms, “Why are they so adamant about securing Yag’Dhul so completely and thoroughly?”

“Well, it would be to cut off the Second Sector Army’s supply lines.”

“That would not require such thoroughness,” Grant shook his head, “We were able to use this system as a supply depot and juncture without capturing Yag’Dhul. If they wished to cripple the Second’s logistics, they would have already done so the moment they drove the ancillary ships out of the system, crushed the siege fleet, and turned the orbital supply depot into scrap metal. But no, they need to secure this system totally.”

The XO, who was a Tapani himself, swallowed at the implications, “You believe the Separatists intend on using Yag’Dhul as a staging point for an assault on the Core?”

It would certainly be sensible. Yag’Dhul sat on the nexus of two hyperlanes leading into the Galactic Interior; the Rimma Trade Route–to Fondor–and the Corellian Trade Spine–to Corellia. The 20th Armada would have been forced to split their forces across both hyperlanes, while the Separatist 4th Fleet Group could send their total strength on their chosen route of invasion.

“That’s…” the XO continued hesitantly, “Very unlikely, sir. Strategic Command projects that the Separatist State is on its last legs. They hardly have the operational capabilities to conduct a prolonged, large-scale offensive against the Core directly!”

“And yet,” the General of the 20th Sector Army said quietly, “We’ve just received news a Perlemian Coalition Armada under Calli Trilm had just struck Commenor.”

Fortress world Commenor. The eastern gateway of the Core Worlds. The hearts of every spacer aboard Prominence’s bridge sank as one. If Commenor was the eastern welcome mat of the Core Worlds, then the southern welcome mat would be the Tapani Sector. If their General was correct, the war was coming home.

Something to note about the 20th Sector Army was that it was almost entirely manned by men and women of the Tapani Sector. The Tapani Sector, or rather, the Tapani Federation, was an autonomous state existing under the umbrella of the Galactic Republic. On the opposite side of the Galactic Centre, the Tapani Federation was as distant from Coruscant as Coruscant was from the New Territories in the Outer Rim. Thanks to this astrographical reality, the Tapani Federation has had four centuries to dominate the Southern Core politically, economically, and culturally.

As such, naturally the entire 20th Sector Army and 20th Armada were predominantly Tapani. Even their Governor-General, Octavian Grant, was a Tapani noble, because the Republic High Command realised the militaries of the Tapani Federation would not follow a foreign commander. Compare this reality with the other Sector Armies, whose Governor-Generals were all assigned by the Chancellor and his Military Advisory Council based on other factors like skill and loyalty, there were only two Sector Armies out of twenty in which the Office of the Supreme Chancellor exercised little to no influence over.

The first was the 2nd Sector Army, whose Governor-Generalship was left vacant due the Corellia’s neutrality in the war, and thus uniquely commanded by Senior Jedi General Ry-Gaul and Jedi General Aayla Secura, both of whom were now combating General Horn Ambigene on the Rimma. The other was of course the 20th Sector Army, which was commanded and administered by the Tapani Federation first and foremost, by virtue of Tapani fleets and armies constituting the vast majority of the 20th Sector Army’s fighting force.

As such, the 20th Sector Army was an army that prioritised the Tapani Federation over the Galactic Republic. With this in mind, Octavian Grant’s next decision was natural and even expected, if not at all loyal. But he wasn’t a Loyalist–none of the Tapani worlds were–they simply fought for the Republic because the aristocracy of the Tapani Sector were as threatened by the ideology of Separatism as much as the Republic Senate was.

“We will withdraw back into friendly space,” Grant ordered, knowing full well he was abandoning his allies in the 2nd Sector Army, “And prepare forward defensive lines in the Bestine and Ghorman Systems. Inform our fleets at Mechis-Three and Thyferra to erect interdiction arrays and send an urgent transmission to Procopia and Fondor warning them of the possible invasion; we will not allow any Separatist fleet to disgrace the sanctity of our home!”

⁂

As the 20th Armada turned to leave, Rear Admiral Rain Bonteri, who was vaguely aware of the political circumstances within the Grand Army of the Republic due to his prior research of the astrographical region, suddenly had a sinking feeling that Operation Starlance was about to get a whole lot more impossible.