Le Mort Homme

[Pablo Sanchez]

Le Mort Homme
Chapter One
The Lamps Go Out

----
"No, not even ignorance of the threat posed by the Yuuzhan Vong can be used as an excuse for the unreadiness of the New Republic to turn and defend itself. The only explanation for the tragedy that befell our galaxy is gross ineptitude; inexcusable incompetence. The New Republic was not too weak to stop the Vong in their first foray, not too feeble to oppose them at each turn. It was merely too unprepared, too disorganized, and too foolishly complacent to take action when action was so badly needed. The New Republic failed us, at great cost in lives and material, and it will fail us again.

"The Republic's new goals are the rebuilding of industry and reconstruction of lost worlds. I do not object to these laudable goals. What I object to is the return to unreadiness and military weakness which was so disastrous before. Other senators have said that we cannot afford the expense of rebuilding and increasing the fleet. I say that we cannot afford not to do this. If the Republic will not undertake the task of defending its member worlds, then it is not the assembly which can best serve those who elected me. I therefore report to the Senate the decision of the Outer Rim Alliance Legislature, which voted 259-60 in favor of ending its membership in the New Republic.

"It is our intention to appeal to the Galactic Empire for protection. We regret abandoning this noble experiment; however, we cannot overlook our obligation to our people. The Empire proved it's mettle in the fight against the Vong, and it can ever be trusted to place the defense of its citizens first. The promised liberties of the New Republic fade to insignificance when one considers that only those who died as a result of government ineptitude have gained the contracted freedoms. The two governments might be identical, but for the simple fact that the Galactic Empire has both the will and the capacity to shield it's member worlds from harm."

Senator Len Alhill of the ORA, address to the New Republic Senate
28-5-68 AGR
----


"They did a great thing with Coruscant, Vorst. It's amazing how close it is to what it was," Huy said.

"Back when the Imperial Civil War tore it up, it only took them a few years to get it back up to speed," Thei'lar said, "and what's it been since we kicked the Yuuzhan Vong off of Coruscant? Forty years? They always exaggerate how much damage was done, anyway. They just tore up the top levels and laid down some soft peat to stand on, nobody really knows where the ground is on that planet, anyway."

Huy shrugged at the Bothan's clarification, "Still. It's really something, I wonder how much it cost."

"About as much as it might have cost to build a few dozen battlefleets or so, I'd guess. But I'm not an accountant," Thei'lar replied, "why all this talk about Coruscant, anyway?"

The human male absently tossed the datapad he was holding to his friend. It would have missed by a large margin, but the other twitched his finger slightly and the trajectory of the little computer changed to land it directly in his palm. Vorst Thei'lar looked at the flatscreen display. It was some propaganda article about order and progress in the New Republic, using the turnaround of Coruscant as example.

"They're trying too hard to keep planets as members. The reason Coruscant recovered isn't just because of the government action, it's because of the name," the Bothan snorted.

Huy wasn't as quick, "What name?"

Vorst cleared his throat and spoke in hushed tones, almost a hiss, "Coruscant. What does it mean to you?"

The man rolled his eyes, "A big ugly ball of duracrete, with far too many people on it. You?"

"The same. The corporate mind thinks precisely what we do, the only difference being that he likes the idea. He likes it so much that he nearly achieves climax where he sits."

"You're disgusting," the man said with a not unfriendly grimace.

The two Jedi were sitting in the anteroom to a meeting room, and had been doing so for about three hours. If they did not fit the classic image of the stoic Jedi, it was because they were young and did not have the benefit of tradition. They were bored, and good enough friends that they didn't much care about keeping up appearances. Humans were naturally social creatures, and Bothans were naturally sarcastic. This mixed in a rather pleasing way for the two. Meawhile, In the meeting room things of great importance were going on, but they concerned the Jedi only peripherially. It was only the fate of the galaxy that was being decided, and the galaxy was so unbelievably big and alive that it couldn't be put into terms that well-adjusted people could understand. It took a special kind of sociopath to become a high ranking diplomat.

Knights Danril Huy and Vorst Thei'lar were bodyguards for a special sociopath. It was mainly a gesture by the Academy to demonstrate the continued vitality of the New Republic. Master Durron was making a statement: 'look at these Jedi, Imperials, and quake!' That was his style--it had not been Skywalker's style, of course, but that fellow was long dead and most of his own students had been forced by the Vong invasions and the still-growing tensions with the Empire to admit that Kyp was right.

Huy stretched out his consciousness into the next room and listened to the emotion running around. They were cold, as diplomats almost invariably were. The sound clarified into the thoughts of the diplomats and the Jedi eavesdropped. The two views conflicted beyond compromise. It was as if the two ambassadors had decided to set out from perfectly opposite goals with the objective of wrangling in futility. It was the fourth day of these meetings already (ten hours each day, which could try even legendary patience) and the situation had not changed.

"Negotiation isn't going to work," Danril murmured as his mind returned to the antechamber.

Vorst sighed, "I heard you the past three days, it doesn't need to be said again."

"Things might have changed."

"In diplomacy like this? Sure. Listen to me, man-creature, Bothans have a natural talent for these things. There's no way this question is going to be solved short of war," Thei'lar said in a grim tone.

Huy groaned, "You're always so pessimistic."

"What's there to be happy about, here?"

"It's all in how you percieve it, and deliver it. Like so," the human replied, and then shifted into an unbearably cheerful tone of voice, "there's no way this question is going to be solved short of a really fantastic war, children."

"I didn't get the part where you said 'children,'" Vorst said with a smirk.

Huy smiled, "I was visualizing."

"I've always disliked you Inner Core types, with your stiff-upper lippedness. What did you say when that troop transport crashed and we had to take out the insurgent camp by ourselves?" the Bothan paused, then continued in an excessive imitation of his comrade's accent, "Was it 'I am sure that every man Jack of them died with gentle confidence in the knowledge that we are here to fulfill the mission with or without them.'"

"I don't sound like that!" Huy sulked.

Thei'lar continued on in the same grotesque elocution, "Yes you do, you sound positively Imperial. Like recordings of Grand Moff Tarkin or a Coruscant schoolteacher."

"And while we're discussing this so amiably there are two men in the next room deciding to send uncountable populations to their screaming deaths."

"As I've said before, there's no creature more criminal and soulless than a diplomat. To get a diplomat, you find yourself an accountant or lawyer and give him power of life and death over many, many people," the Bothan said with a sneer.

The human chuckled despite himself, "I think you'd also need to cut out the beast's poison glands and de-fang him, but that's ancillary to the point."


----


Lord Jerol Weiss had been a ambassador in the service of the Galactic Empire for fifteen years. From his childhood, he had watched the resurgence of his nation's power and revelled in it. Each year more planets fled the failing grasp of the New Republic to join the more vital Empire. But even as he rejoiced for his government, he remembered the lesson that the last few decades had taught.

Simply put, the galaxy was too large to effectively govern; the Old Republic had put up a long fight, but except for the relatively brief golden age in the middle of its reign, it had merely been a state in transition from chaos to control and finally to entropy. The known universe was all too big and too populous to be controlled properly. The Remnant had become strong and able to resist the Vong more capably than the Republic because it was more compact--a smaller structure was sometimes more resilient to damage than a massive one. But now, with the desertion of states from the New Republic, the sizes of the opposing powers was stabilizing in the middle. The current situation would last only until the Senate gathered the courage and strength to draw a line in the sand.

They were doing so at this very moment.

The sentient across the table from Jerol was a Corellian named Greer Tanas. He was a person much like Weiss, from a wealthy family, well educated, intelligent, highly competent, and singularly amoral. Weiss had dealt with the fellow before, primarily from a position of strength. They had divided up stellar clusters between them, deciding the fate of trillions with a sweep of a light pen upon a datascreen. For two normal men such an experience might have inspired feelings of kinship, but they were effective diplomats and had no feelings at all.

Jerol had been debating fruitlessly with this man over the most important territorial issue of all. Sesswanna was the administrative and industrial core of the galaxy, as well as the most prestigious and culturally important sector. Within it's borders it enclosed the droid-run industrial complexes of Helvet Prime, the Yula Cluster, and more importantly the very beating heart of the known universe, Coruscant.

Unofficial polls had shown that the people of Sesswanna were becoming better and better disposed to joining the Empire by the day, and it was only a matter of time before this became an open issue. It was the intention of the Empire to preempt such a circumstance, which lead to immediate and devastating war between the two nations, by some sort of compromise. Weiss was authorized to offer a partition of the region, whereby the half containing Coruscant would remain with the Republic and the rest would join the Empire. This would allow the New Republic to maintain some dignity and prestige while the Empire would humbly serve the wishes of the people--or at least half of them.

The New Republic found this totally unacceptable, of course. This was the third time he had offered such a compromise, and for the third time Jerol had been rejected.

"Lord Weiss, the New Republic once again categorically refuses any compromise on this issue, because there is no such deal to be made. The right of my government to maintain and rule its own sovereign territory cannot be infringed by any outside power. Any attempt by the Empire to do so is a gross violation of our national rights and dignity and will be interpretted as an act of war," Tanas said.

Weiss inclined his head a few degrees towards the fine wood table, shut his eyes wearily for a few moments. The lighting in the well-furnished room had a tasteful and comforting bluish tint, but his eyes burned nonetheless. He raised his head again, after a few moments.

"A government exists only as the executor of the will of its people. The people of Sesswanna have decided that the New Republic no longer offers the best hope for safety, stability, and freedom; you can no longer hold onto them," Jerol replied, "the treaty that I have offered is better than the one that your own citizens desire. If you will not accept it, the Empire will have no choice but to act on their behalf."

"Then it will be war," Greer concluded neutrally, "this meeting is over."

The Republican diplomat exited the room to join his Jedi escorts. He would send his message to Coruscant--or rather it would be bounced from there to the emergency headquarters of the New Republic Military Command, wherever that was. Then ships would come, and soldiers. Many people would die, it was more than likely planets would die as well.

Weiss reached up to his neck and undid his collar. At least his predecessor had negotiated the Yaga Minor Accord, the agreement that outlawed the construction of so-called "superweapons" like super-lasers and world-devastators and sun-crushers... and whatever other hyphenated devices military scientists could come up with. That was something, even if the obliteration of a living planet still required only a pocket cruiser and an hour's bombardment.

Jerol hit a button on his personal datapad that summoned an assistant. The young man entered the room and awaited instructions, looking for all the world like a stiffly animated gray corpse; in appearence just like every other man who ever entered the Imperial Diplomatic Corps.

Weiss yawned, his work finally at an end, "Jacobi, send the message to the Moff Council that our offer has been refused, and get me a brandy."

The young man paled, turning a sicklier shade of gray than before, "Is it to be war, then?"

"Of course war," Jerol replied, "it has to happen every so often, otherwise people get lazy and weapons rust. The Old Republic learned that lesson. 'The flower of government must from time to time be refreshed by the blood of the citizens,' said Tarkin."


----


Grand Admiral Yuma began the briefing. He and twenty other men were seated at the command table in the War Room on Yaga Minor. Yaga Minor had served as the core of the Imperial Remnant effort during the Vong Wars and had since been the center of military command and control for the expanding and recovering Galactic Empire. The table was very large and well lit from above, while the rest of the room was quite dark. Each man had a console and holoscreen before him, and a single primary holoprojector dominated the center of the table. The other men at the table were members of the Imperial General Staff, Imperial Defense Board, Ubiqtorate, and other branches; Yuma was the highest ranking military officer and thus in charge of the meeting.

He tapped at the keys on his console, and a map of the galaxy floated up over the table. A few more keystrokes, and it was divided into Republican Red and Imperial Blue. Then green markers identified major friendly military concentrations, and yellow markers for likely enemy fleets and armies. He then typed in the proper code for the war plan he was to be explaining, and a profusion of thousands of arrows, arcs, lines, and other cryptic symbols appeared. It was almost more than Yuma, even with his decades of military experience and cybernetic brain-enhancing implants, could handle. The word "Archipelago" hovered in white beneath the galactic map.

"Archipelago is the galactic level war plan that the General Staff has prepared for the eventuality of a dispute over Sesswanna. In brief, it calls for main thrusts towards Coruscant from our bases in the core, against Corellia from Hellas, and a sweep through the outer rim," Yuma explained.

The relevant lines and arcs obligingly flashed white as he spoke of them.

He continued, "The plan is to use the superior power, morale, skill of our fleets and armies in offensive maneuvers, to force the enemy to disperse his numerically superior forces and dilute his strength. Our personnel training and technical strength will allow our fleets to make multiple sorties in rapid succession and more than compensate for our inferiority in numbers."

One of the other men at the table, an elderly Moff named Wergard, leaned forward in his seat to get a better look at the map, "Do we have an estimate on time?"

The Grand Admiral nodded, "If all goes according to plan, we will be forcing a favorable peace settlement by new year's day. Sesswanna, most of the central rim, and general disarmament of the New Republic, as per Victory Plan 'Othello.'"

"And if things don't go according to plan?" Wergard asked.

"The plan is foolproof," Yuma rejoined with injured pride.

"One thing I learned from my participation in the war against the Yuuzhan Vong," the Moff said, "is that you can always count on the enemy to be a bigger fool than your plans could possibly account for. What is our course of action if Archipelago is unsuccessful?"

Yuma thought for a long moment before responding. He hated dealing with pompous politicians, especially when they were veterans who thought they still knew everything there was to war. Archipelago was the fruit of the Imperial military experience in the Vong Invasion; barring an unprecedented change in the very nature of hostilities, it would work perfectly.

"The Galactic Empire, as you are no doubt aware, is much more ideologically and ethnically homogenous than the Republic, most of us being human instead of a hodge-podge of different species. If the war goes on too much longer than planned, we will be able to employ our resources more effectively, and will be more or less immune to the polarization and disintegration that the heterogenous Republic will undoubtedly suffer," the Grand Admiral finalled replied, "of course, we can't effectively plan for this in advance. The spoiling operations and stop-gap measures that such a phase of war would require can only be summoned on the spot. The basic mobilization structure is there, and that ought to be all that we need."

"Very well, Grand Admiral Yuma," the Moff conceded, "we will see how it all turns out in practice."

"Mobilization will begin at once," Yuma finished the briefing.


----


"Your training, Atkins, introduced you to military discipline and drill," the company commander said, "and this will certainly not end now that you have begun your career in earnest. However, you will find that the Imperial army is a family, and we take care of our children."

Private Peren Tomasz Atkins was only twenty years old, and like many young men he had had little direction in life after finishing secondary school. Unlike many, he elected to enter the Imperial army. Volunteering for service was an important decision, because the military was a career to last not less than five years with a mandatory further fifteen years of commitment to the reserves. If he got a good thing going, he might stay on in active service for the rest of his life. The rest of his life might last less than the requisite five years, of course, but this was the army and they probably understand the difficulty and release him from the obligation.

"Sir, yes sir," Atkins replied.

"That's one training-yard affectation you can leave at the door, Private. I only need to hear 'sir' once for each sentence," Captain Arpad corrected him with a gentle smile.

"Understood, sir."

The two soldiers were in the Captain's office, a small windowless box in the divisional base. The 589th Imperial Fusilliers was one of the nearly uncountable active duty rifle divisions in the Empire, and like most it was made up of soldiers from the immediate stellar neighborhood. Atkins's home planet of Leincest was only a few hundred light years away, and it had to be assumed that the officer's place of birth lay a similar distance away. It was not far from the Sesswanna sector, and it was heavily influenced by the culture of Coruscant and surrounding areas.

The captain looked down at the holoscreen on his desk. It was invisible to Peren at the angle, but it certainly showed his personnel files. Peren idly wondered what they might say, but he was forbidden to read them, because they contained sensitive information and what were probably hurtful assessments from his former instructors.

"It says here that you excelled in marksmanship and unarmed combat drill," Arpad read, "and in fact you placed fiftieth of a field of five hundred in your training camp's throw-boxing tournament."

"I did, sir," Atkins answered truthfully.

"It's good to have a good athlete join the company, because they often make well motivated soldiers," the Captain said. He hit a button on his desk and the holoprojector hummed off.

"Now then, Private Atkins--" Arpad began, but just then a display on his desk flickered and beeped. He keyed it quickly.

The projector came back on, again invisible to Atkins, though he could hear the man on the other end.

"Major Prote, good to speak to you sir," the Captain answered.

The voice on the other end, "Not so good, Captain. The division is being mobilized, your company will embark on the transport at ten-hundred tomorrow."

"It's war then?" Arpad asked.

The other said, "Could be, could be. Just get your men together and we'll see what's what."

The connection terminated, and Captain Arpad looked up at Atkins, "You had better join your group, Private Atkins. It will be R Platoon, the map to your barracks is on your datapad."

Peren frowned, "Sir? Will there be time for my one-hour religious break tonight?"

The captain raised an eyebrow, and remembered that the private's file had recorded that the young man was a member of some religious sect, and his devotions required him to take an hour each week for prayer and reflection; it was bad luck for the day to have fallen just now. A silly thing, but Arpad knew the army had to be accomodating to the faithful.

"I don't suspect that there'll be a lot of time, but you can ask your platoon sergeant and we'll see what. Now, get going, there's work to be done," Arpad said.

[Falkenhorst]

VERY COOL, I want more!

[MKSheppard]

NEEEEEED MORE

Oh yes, I officially hate you now Don't worry, it's
just that competitive urge that arises when someone
surpasses you in fanfic writing, and you need to cach
up. :lol

Seriously, damn good fanfic, and let me guess, you're using
names from EUII's military research list?

[Admiral Felire]

I must agree with the previous posters in saying that this is a very good fic. Something that must be continued and will be read with great enjoyment.

[The Duchess of Zeon]

Continue this, Pablo. It's good work.

[MKSheppard]

*leaps up onto table with a MP-5 and waves it at the denizens
of SDN*

COMMENT ON THIS, DAMN YOU! COMMENT!

[Col. Crackpot]

[Yoda] mmmmmmph. much ground combat i forsee, much ground combat. the shattering of skulls, perhaps, yes?[/yoda]

drop your weapon and step away from the table.....you will not be harmed.
*the distinct clicks of hundreds of automatic weapons being readied can be heard* yeah, thats right, you will not be harmed

[Pablo Sanchez]

*leaps up onto table with a MP-5 and waves it at the denizens
of SDN*

COMMENT ON THIS, DAMN YOU! COMMENT!

It's only gotten <80 views so far. I think you should take a chill-pill. As I post more chapters, assuming the quality stays up, hopefully people will take notice.

[Grand Admiral Thrawn]

I hope Saxaphonewhatever planet gets nuke pretty fast.

[Pablo Sanchez]

I hope Saxaphonewhatever planet gets nuke pretty fast.

???

Seldom have a seen such an incoherent post come from someone besides Hit-Man or Ali Tavakoly.

[Grand Admiral Thrawn]

The planet "Sesswanna" is the most stupidly named planet ever. Since it's what the whole war will be about, there's a good possibilty it will be BDZed by the side that loses it. And good ridance.

[Pablo Sanchez]

Sesswanna is a sector

[Agent R]

To get a diplomat, you find yourself an accountant or lawyer and give him power of life and death over many, many people

I don't know why, but this really appeals to me.


When can we expect an update?

[Darth Fanboy]

Sesswanna is a sector

a very imprtant one at that, and an excellent choice considering the Post-New Jedi Order situation the story takes place in. Of course now the part for that seems interesting is what will be the Jedi role in this conflict.

Will we see Jedi serving for rival governments yet still trying to uphold the ideals of their order? Oh this could be delicious.

[Sea Skimmer]

Sesswanna is a sector

So that means we get thousands of BDZ's then?

[Grand Admiral Thrawn]

Sesswanna is a sector

Lots of BDZs then.

[Pablo Sanchez]

Le Mort Homme
Chapter Two
We Have Only to Kick in the Door

----
TO: CINC Coruscant Axis
FROM: FLEETINT Station 6

Received message from garrison. Pro-Imperial mutiny in progress. Ubiqtorate reports no involvement by our intelligence elements. 70-80% of local troops appear active in mutiny; remaining 30-20% are presumed undecided and inactive; regular NR divisions confirmed as remaining in control of primary shield generation and C&C apparati. Otherwise situation unknown, possibility of aggressive landing on Coruscant to assist rising and capture planet must be addressed.

Will advise as information arrives.

ENCRYPT
SEND
----


"The thing you've got to remember, Atkins, is that the waiting is actually the hardest part. That, and the heavy lifting, organization, scheduling, busy work, getting shot at, and actually getting shot. Those are also the hardest parts. Oh... and don't forget the floggings," Sergeant Davis pontificated.

The 589th was aboard its transport and hurtling through interstellar space. The ship had space for divisional artillery, vehicles, command and control gear, and sixteen-thousand odd men; the furnishings for the men was slightly better than what was provided for the inanimate gear. Atkins was laying in the bottom bunk of a rack of three which reached up very near to the ceiling two and a half meters overhead. The sergeant was across the aisle, and they and the rest of the platoon were waiting for their turn to go into an empty compartment which was supposed to be an exercise yard. In the meantime, they would participate in the old Imperial Army institution of bullshitting the new guy.

"But it's better than the navy. See, it's the same institutional concept, except that here you don't have guys trying to fuck eachother in the asshole all the time," Davis continued, "which results in a total paradigm shift."

Atkins frowned slightly at the curse word. At the beginning of basic he would have blushed, but he had heard enough bad words often enough that he was no longer embarrassed. He had been raised differently from most members of the army.

"How's that?" he asked.

"Well, for one, you don't have all this trouble with anaphrodisiacs. You can't actually tell a man that you're going to chemically prevent him from getting horny, it's bad for morale. So you sneak it into their food," Davis elaborated, "but then you've got trouble with them slipping antidotes into their food, or the cooks being in on the game and not putting the stuff in at all. What do you do then? Make an aerosol and pump it through the ventilation system. But then you're getting the officers and not just the crew, and officers can get pussy from their pretty assistants or whatever. So that's a bust. The way they unsex the navy crews is a closely guarded secret. I think they just inject it into them while they sleep. Anyway, I don't see why all there's all this concern about anal sex."

Davis finished with a sigh, and considered, "What religion are you, anyway, that you had to pray instead of loading gear for an hour?"

Atkins now blushed, "The Universal Church."

"Never heard of it," said Davis, "but I've never heard of ninety-nine percent of all religions in the universe. What were you praying about?"

"Nothing," Atkins responded quickly.

"Nothing? Well, thanks a lot for wasting a man-hour of the army's time. You shouldn't bother anyway, I doubt He's listening. If I were God I'd be too busy getting pussy to worry about someone like you," Davis said.

Peren set his jaw and didn't reply. He'd always gotten plenty of shit for being one of the faithful, but it was impossible for him to just get used to it.


----


"How long did it take to go wrong?" Grand Admiral Yuma asked rhetorically, "sixteen hours?"

"It is now Kickoff plus seventeen point five hours," his adjutant, Rear Admiral Pirtra corrected.

The two were moving down the hall of the great Eclipse Class battleship Eradicator IV, which served as Yuma flagship and command center. Its superlaser and thousands of turbolaser batteries went entirely to waste while the only component of the ship to see action was its communications array. Yuma sometimes wondered what the point of so lavishly equipping a command ship was, he could have done just as well with a refitted Imperator. He guessed it just wasn't grandly imperial enough to run things efficiently.

Yuma and Pirtra entered the high command deck of the Eradicator. The room was bathed in the glow of strategic holoscreens and hummed with activity. The Officer of the Watch stood with a snap and saluted.

"Admiral on Deck!" he announced, and the rest of the men rose and saluted as well.

Yuma returned the salute without slowing his pace, "As you were."

The two made their way to the command table as everyone else seated themselves and went back to work. There were already six men seated at the table: Ubiqtorate Director of Core Operations Lesley Iork, High Marshal Adam Branning, the sinister COMPNOR Inquisitor Lev Meclis, and their assistants. Yuma was sympathetic to Director Iork and High Marshal Branning, since they managed intelligence and ground military operations in the Sesswanna Sector, respectively. The Inquisitor, on the other hand, was just some shadowy civilian fanatic who was mucking about in the military sphere. He had complicated everything.

"No need for small talk, gentlemen. Tell me what is happening, Inquisitor Meclis," the Grand Admiral began as he seated himself.

Meclis drew himself up proudly, "COMPNOR has instigated a general mutiny of the locally drawn militia garrison of Coruscant."

Yuma waited politely, in case the man had something more to say. He sincerely hoped that the Inquisitor had something, anything, more to say.

Apparently not. The Grand Admiral sighed, "I already knew that. What I want to know is why you felt that it was unnecessary to inform the Navy, or the Army, or even the Ubiqtorate of your operations."

Meclis made a sour face, "We didn't want the credit stolen from us."

Director Iork was stone faced, as was Yuma. Branning was an old infantry officer and had once upon a time commanded a rifle company against the Vong.

"You goddam apple-polishing sodomite," the High Marshal shouted, "do you have any idea how badly you've fucked things up so you can impress the Moff Council?"

The various officers working at consoles within earshot of the table looked up, then back down. It was interested to hear someone starting up a good tirade at the command table, but it was more important to get the work done.

Meclis half rose from his seat in shock, "Grand Admiral, I will not stand for this language! Especially in such a serious setting!"

Yuma looked sharply at Branning, "That is quite enough, High Marshal. What I think you meant to say is that this new development has significantly altered our timetable."

The Marshal's hands twitched as he suppressed his rage, "Yes."

Meclis sat back down, "I see no problem. We will simply divert forces to Coruscant."

Branning shook his head and looked at the black surface of the table, "It's not that simple. With regards to manpower, the army is very stretched. The operational plan has us advancing and retreating fluidly on as many fronts as my forces can handle, I can only assume that the navy is in the same state. Even worse, only a handful of my subunits are prepared for a thick urban theatre, and all of those are already tapped for other key planets. To sustain an advance on and capture of Coruscant, we're going to need to suck someplace else dry."

"What's more, we never planned to actually take Coruscant by force. We were going to envelope it and neutralize it as an enemy base of fleet operations, and we would receive it in the peace treaty without having to fire a single shot on the surface. That was the plan for all of the hive-cities, but now we're stuck," Yuma continued.

Meclis hadn't considered the consequences before COMPNOR had acted on the Coruscant plan, and he wasn't inclined to start now, "It can't be too hard. Coruscant is only one planet!"

Director Iork finally spoke, "The single most important planet in the galaxy. You can expect the Republic to fight tooth and nail to hold it; it'll be a hell of a meatgrinder. On the other hand, the hearts and minds program will be a bust if we let the mutineers go down. We have to intervene, and right away."

Yuma leaned back in his chair, "That decision has already been made. You are dismissed, Inquisitor Meclis. Please refrain from any more operations like this in the future."

The Inquisitor opened his mouth, getting ready to say something, but Yuma interrupted, "We have plans to discuss. Military plans."

Meclis stood with an ugly glare, "Then I will take my leave. Good day, gentlemen."

After he and his assistant left the room, High Marshal Branning sighed and rubbed at his temples, "War is too important to leave up to chance and civilian fools."

Yuma brushed a bit of lint from his white sleeve, "High Marshal, I trust you have compiled a list of what you think we'll need."

Branning tapped a few keys on his datapad, and the information appeared on a holo above the center of the table.

"That's going to use up all our reserves," Yuma said doubtfully as he scanned it.

"And then some," the High Marshal replied morosely, "the formations highlighted in red will need to be drawn from other sector groups; my staff has already begun the paperwork."

"Can't you trim it at all?"

"I already have. This is the bare minimum of what I'll need to take and hold Coruscant. Between the killing machine planet itself, ancillary operations to sieze and hold neighboring planets, and spoiling attacks to prevent enemy reinforcement of their formations, I'll need the lion's share of men and material from the whole Empire," Branning replied.

Yuma tapped a few keys on the table, and the data shot through the Eradicator's comm systems to other command posts throughout the galaxy. He also sent a message to his staff. He would have to start the same harvesting program as the army to get enough ships for a decisive strike in Sesswanna.

"This old ship might be entering combat herself, soon enough," Yuma said quietly as he glanced around the room, "We can only hope that the New Republic is disorganized as us. Director?"

Iork nodded, "All indications suggest that we should be so fortunate. They were trying to react to our own thrusts and maneuvers while mounting offensives of their own, so this thing has them thrown off balance. They've got a bigger manpower pool than us, of course, but they can't move it as fluidly. This may be a blessing in disguise."

Branning gave a look of surprise, "How's that?"

"The loss of Coruscant would be a tremendous blow to Republic morale and prestige. We could see individual entities like the Corellian Free State and Central Rim Alignment sue for a separate peace. We have only to kick in the door, and the rest of the whole rotten structure will collapse," the Director responded with a tight-lipped smile.


----
TO: Flotilla 54
FROM: CINC Coruscant Axis

cease advance towards objective xim 2045 asap STOP new orders attached STOP prepare for operations on coruscant proper FULL STOP

ATTACHMENT
ENCRYPT
SEND
----


"Where are you, Sergeant?" someone shouted from down the aisle, accompanied by the clatter of his boots on durasteel deckplates.

Lieutenant Richard Pierce shot down the aisle, straight past Atkins and Davis, then skidded to a halt and turned around.

"What is it, sir?" Sergeant Davis asked with a laugh.

"Change in plans, big change," Pierce said rapidly, "we're not going to a plains area on the surface of a mixed climate-terrain planet anymore."

The sergeant paled slightly, "Where are we going, then?"

"Captain Arpad says to prepare for close urban terrain in six hours," Richard answered.

Other soldiers began to wise up to the commotion and started chattering.

Someone said from above, "The 589th isn't equipped for that!"

He was right, of course. 'Fusillier' was an archaic term for a man with a light rifle, and a fusillier division was essentially a rifle division that had gotten a little below its fighting weight. It was a good thing to put on the ground in a followup wave, because it could move quickly through varied terrain and hit hard where necessary. But fusilliers lacked the staying power and sustainable weight of fire needed for harsh urban combat.

Then again, these were all men from the Galactic Core, raised in a particular tradition.

"They'll be none of that, then, lads," the Lieutenant said, "command has to know what they're doing. Otherwise they wouldn't be doing it!"

That calmed them down. Deference for authority, good manners, and a stiff upper lip--that was the Core. The lieutenant strode briskly back down the aisle to where the officers had their bunks.

Once he was out of sight, the same voice as before moaned slightly, "God. I'll never see Kardhif again."

Davis shifted into his NCO mode, it was time to buckle down and hold the meat together. That was what sergeants were for.

"I've seen it myself, it's not that damn pretty. Get some balls of durasteel, men, and we'll get through this alright," he said, "as for me, I already got some from the quartermaster. I'll be going back to sleep."

Davis laid back in his berth and closed his eyes.

Atkins closed his eyes and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a little star on a sort of necklace of beads, and mumbled the prayer he had made earlier, while the others had been helping to load the transport, "Merciful God, give me the strength not to fail my fellows. Protect me from the blows and wiles of my enemies and the vagaries of combat. Grant me the force of will that I may not hesitate in the most necessary moment. Merciful God, let me and my fellows survive this battle and those to come, but if it is not to be, conduct us into Your heavenly grace and love. Let it ever be so."

Then he put the first bead between his thumb and forefinger and mumbled, "God protect me and keep me in Your grace, in life or in death."

He fed the beads through and repeated himself over and over, as if he was a belt-fed slugthrower shooting out prayers. It was all he had.


----


"Report," Grand Admiral Yuma ordered.

Rear Admiral Pirtra replied, "All wings report operational readiness and formation is set. Time is Kickoff plus twenty-two hours."

"Slave their navigational controls to the Eradicator," Yuma said.

The order, rich with ceremony, passed down to the tactical officers.

"We have navigational control of the fleet, Grand Admiral," Pirtra reported.

Yuma nodded, "Excellent, we will commence operations. Admiral Wells, you have the conn."

As a Grand Admiral, Yuma was of course a great tactician and naval officer in general. Unfortunately, he was in the middle of a military operation much too vast for any Thrawn-style heroics; he would spend the battle behind many layers of armor and shields, coordinating the sector. Ideally the Eradicator would have been safely parked far from any actual battle, but Yuma couldn't spare a single vessel, not even one as vital as the flagship of the entire fleet. Admiral Wells would command the battle from the bridge and Grand Admiral Yuma would command the entire offensive from the command deck.

He stepped onto the turbolift just as the Eradicator and the fleet with her jumped into hyperspace. In about twenty minutes, things were going to get very interesting in the space immediately around Coruscant.

[Darth Fanboy]

An excellent read, my one question is the use of an Eclipse star destroyer, when Perhaps an Executor Class would have been more appropriate, considering the role you are putting it in, unless the Eclipse you mention isn't the same behemoth of a ship with Superlaser and enough weapons to take on entire fleets.

[Pablo Sanchez]

An excellent read, my one question is the use of an Eclipse star destroyer, when Perhaps an Executor Class would have been more appropriate, considering the role you are putting it in, unless the Eclipse you mention isn't the same behemoth of a ship with Superlaser and enough weapons to take on entire fleets.

It's the same ship. Didn't you notice that the Grand Admiral in command was thinking the same thing as you

[Darth Fanboy]

An excellent read, my one question is the use of an Eclipse star destroyer, when Perhaps an Executor Class would have been more appropriate, considering the role you are putting it in, unless the Eclipse you mention isn't the same behemoth of a ship with Superlaser and enough weapons to take on entire fleets.

It's the same ship. Didn't you notice that the Grand Admiral in command was thinking the same thing as you

Yea but Im thinking that an Eclipse would be too valuable, that the Empire in this instance couldn't possibly let it go to waste no matter what, especially with the Superlaser. The Executor class SSD seems however like a prestige ship that would go to waste.

But once again thats just a minor mitpick, 'tis very good reading. Plus If you dp keep the Eclipse in there it opens up the potential for that Superlaser.

[MKSheppard]

STALINGRAD STALINGRAD STALINGRAD STALINGRAD STALINGRAD STALINGRAD STALINGRAD STALINGRAD

oh.....did I get ahead of myself?

[Falkenhorst]

I'm just waiting for the sequel where the empire turns into the analogue of the Third Reich and we get to see Blitzkreig on a galactic scale.

[phongn]

I'm just waiting for the sequel where the empire turns into the analogue of the Third Reich and we get to see Blitzkreig on a galactic scale.

Does that mean the rest of the Republic will rally all Soviet Union-like and crush the Empire all the way 'til the mother of all street battles in Bastion?

This is good stuff, Pablo, keep it coming!

[Sea Skimmer]

Does that mean the rest of the Republic will rally all Soviet Union-like and crush the Empire all the way 'til the mother of all street battles in Bastion?

Street fighting is much easier when the streets are surrounded by the empty lots that unrestrained turbolaser and seismic charge use will bring about.

[Pablo Sanchez]

Street fighting is much easier when the streets are surrounded by the empty lots that unrestrained turbolaser and seismic charge use will bring about.

You can't pull that kind of bullshit if you're hoping to move your official seat of government to the planet afterwards