The eight-hour flight to Lantilles I trivially missed — as soon as I reached my bunk, I collapsed and fell asleep. I was completely exhausted, even though I hadn't done anything special. Emotionally, though… that speech to the clones alone was enough to drain me. Once again, I had to say all the right words about the struggle, about brothers, about how heroes would never be forgotten… I announced to the new regiments that they were now part of the Legion. Now I had regiments numbered from seven to twelve. Of course, it was no longer a canonical legion, but… am I a general here, or just out for a stroll?
An hour before arrival, I managed to open my eyes. After a shower and a light breakfast, I even found the strength for a short meditation. Sitting in the lotus position, I closed my eyes and began clearing my mind of stray thoughts. It was difficult, but in the end, I managed to reach a state close to nirvana. My consciousness gradually calmed…
When I finished meditating, I headed for the ship's bridge. I preferred to be there when the ship exited hyperspace — the sight was worth it, and it was a combat alert situation, after all. So I hurried to the bridge.
Halfway there, I was suddenly, as they say, hit. Vague images of ships locked in battle flashed through my mind. Staggering, I barely managed to grab the bulkhead.
Damn it, Force over my left shoulder! What was that just now??? My head was splitting — a real migraine. Was that a Force vision or something? That was unexpected. Although, why be surprised — with the way I've been meditating lately, it's no wonder my mind's going haywire. Still, I wasn't about to ignore such a gift. The Force had saved my skin more than once; dismissing it now would be unwise, to say the least.
Coming to my senses, I rushed onto the bridge.
"Captain Ragnos! Full combat alert! Prepare torpedoes for launch! The enemy is waiting at the exit point — to our left and right — Munificent-class frigates!" I barked out the orders.
The captain immediately began issuing commands, though his expression was frozen in a mask of deep bewilderment.
The minutes stretched endlessly…
"Five… four… three… two… one! Jump complete!"
The Marat dropped into normal space right between the flight paths of two Separatist frigates, which were being pursued by Republic ships. Two more CIS ships appeared on the right.
"Open fire!" commanded the zabrak. The guns, already aimed, needed only minor sight adjustments.
The turbolaser turrets flanking the Acclamator's bridge spat out green bolts of energy, joined moments later by the smaller guns. The battle lasted barely a minute — we managed to destroy one of the frigates, while the others escaped into hyperspace.
"Sir, ships directly ahead — Commander Rinaun's squadron," reported the comms officer.
"Oh, an old acquaintance. Request a communication channel."
***
Commander Rinaun, standing on the bridge of his Acclamator, was nearly grinding his teeth in frustration. The damned Separatists were on the run again. Over the past week, CIS ships had been raiding the fleet's sectoral base at Lantilles several times a day.
Lantilles was a bustling megacity planet, home to humans who had dominated cargo transport and shipbuilding along the central section of the Perlemian Trade Route — from Tannaba to Centares — for millennia. Dozens of orbital stations, platforms, and docks surrounded the planet, while hundreds of merchant vessels passed through its ports daily. Hundreds of trading, shipbuilding, and repair companies had taken root in this lucrative location. It was no coincidence that this system had been chosen as the fleet's sectoral base.
The Lantilles government, led by Tiberium Carnegie, had pledged full support to Chancellor Palpatine from the very first day of the war — offering its orbital docks to the Republic Navy and Army, and mobilizing all available armed forces.
And their forces were impressive. The Lantilles Defense Fleet alone fielded twenty-seven modified Dreadnought-class heavy cruisers — no surprise, considering their dominant position in the Lantillian sector and seven neighboring ones. To maintain order along their stretch of the Trade Route and defend their interests against the ever-growing Trade Federation, they had to keep a formidable fleet. Supporting the Republic was as much an act of survival as loyalty — a way to fend off the CIS with someone else's strength. The Trade Federation had become far less restrained now, unbound by either the Senate or the law.
One way or another, Lantilles had inevitably become a CIS target.
The Separatists operated in small groups — three or four ships, mainly Munificent-class frigates. These, if one could even call them warships, were essentially modified collection vessels. Still, they were surprisingly well-armed for non-military ships. The weapon quality was poor, but they each mounted two heavy turbolasers — serious firepower against the small craft of the Republic fleet, not to mention unarmed transports. Add in a swarm of Vulture droids, and they became dangerous opponents indeed.
They would jump into the system, launch their attack, and flee as soon as they met resistance from the on-duty ships. The hundreds of starfighter droids were the real trouble — they assaulted orbital platforms and small cargo haulers, and they were difficult to counter.
And now, four frigates were retreating, pursued by two Acclamators and two Dreadnoughts. Soon, they would retrieve their Vultures and jump. This had happened more than once — and not just during Rinaun's shift.
The situation was dire, especially since Rinaun's ship carried two dozen trainees — fresh midshipmen and second lieutenants, graduates of the Justice Department Academy's accelerated program, assigned to a "familiarization flight" through the system.
And now this embarrassment — right in front of those greenhorns.
Suddenly, one of the clone operators reported,
"A large ship has just emerged from hyperspace!"
Rinaun stared at the display. Right in front of the CIS frigates, the Republic Acclamator-class military assault ship— Marat — had dropped out of hyperspace, mere kilometers away from the enemy.
Oh, if only they knew… if only they'd been ready… but now—
He didn't finish the thought before the assault ship opened fire with all its turbolasers and secondary batteries, launching several torpedoes simultaneously. One of the frigates closest to the Acclamator took two direct hits; a massive explosion tore it in half.
The trainees behind Rinaun erupted in cheers.
The other frigates managed to jump — except one, whose bad luck would haunt it. A torpedo struck it mere milliseconds before the jump. Its fate was sealed: the explosion would surely throw it into normal space, and that could mean anything — stellar crown, an asteroid belt, even the core of a planet.
"Sir, it's been identified as the Marat, sir!"
Rinaun allowed himself a rare smile.
"Sir, General Vikt is requesting your attention!"
"Connect him," the commander said, waving his hand. His mood, sour moments ago, began to lift.
An image of Mikore Vikt appeared on the central holoscreen before Rinaun. The Jedi smiled cheerfully.
"Good to see you, Commander! Looks like you're having plenty of fun out here."
"What brings you to our backwater, General?" Rinaun replied in kind, keeping his tone light while glancing at the trainees — many were staring open-mouthed at the screen. Well, of course — it's not every day you got to see something like this.
"Shooting!" the Jedi said vaguely, then continued in a more serious tone. "I came for reinforcements, to check on patrol schedules… and, well, to get acquainted with my colleagues."
"Then…" Rinaun paused for a second. "I'll take the liberty of inviting you to the Officers' Meeting tonight."
"I'd be honored, Commander. It's just… I don't think I have the right outfit." The Jedi spread his arms.
Rinaun mentally pictured the Jedi in the kind of opulent attire favored by certain aristocrats and nearly chuckled.
"Oh, don't worry about that — your armor will do just fine. These are times of war…"
It'll be an entertaining spectacle.
"Well, then I'll definitely be there," the Jedi replied, inclining his head before the transmission ended.