One Recusant.
One Munificent-class frigate.
Two Hardkell transports.
One Lucrehulk core ship.
Destroyed.
Sartorius Dittmar stared at the tactical display, jaw tight.
"Enemy vessel count?" he demanded.
"Twenty-five remaining, sir," reported a clone officer.
Twenty-five.
Still an overwhelming number.
The holotable glowed with hostile signatures—Munificents regrouping, Lucrehulks deploying fresh fighter screens, transports attempting to withdraw under covering fire. The second CIS squadron was soon arriving, right on schedule.
Dittmar felt the weight of it.
Too many. Too coordinated.
Then a transmission cut through to his command channel.
"Commander," came the calm voice of Dagon Marek, "I will handle the Lucrehulk-class enemy ships. You focus on the starfighters and frigate line. Keep several ships back to protect the Acclamator's exposed rear."
Dittmar hesitated.
Behind his confident posture lived something else—an inferiority complex buried under noble titles and inherited wealth. A man desperate to prove he deserved command. Desperate to be seen as brilliant.
Through the Force, Dagon felt it immediately.
A gentle nudge.
Not control—just encouragement. Reinforcement of what Dittmar already wanted to believe.
You are capable.
You are the one leading this victory.
"Yes," Dittmar said firmly, straightening. "Very well. I will crush the enemy fighter screen."
He was not connected to Chancellor Palpatine. No shadow interference. No subtle resistance in the Force.
Good.
---
### Republic Counterattack
Six Acclamators aligned into a spearhead formation and accelerated directly toward the Separatist fleet.
Torrent starfighters flooded from their hangars in disciplined waves, engines flaring bright against the void.
Corvettes used the assault ships as mobile shields, then surged forward under afterburner thrust, peeling off toward exposed CIS flanks.
The first turbolaser volleys erupted from the Acclamators—bright lances of energy striking Munificent hull plating.
The duel between the capital ships was swift and brutal.
The CIS relied on numbers.
The Republic relied on aggression.
Dittmar saw the opening.
"Target damaged stern sections!" he barked.
A dozen proton torpedoes streaked across the battlefield, threading through debris and crossfire.
They struck a cluster of already-weakened Munificent frigates.
Seven CIS ships vanished in enormous plasma eruptions.
The shockwave rippled through nearby formations.
But the battle was far from over.
---
### Dagon's Assault
Another Lucrehulk rotated into defensive posture, its massive ring structure releasing a fresh wave of Vultures.
I accelerated.
Ion trails shimmered behind my fighter as I cut straight through the swarm. Blaster fire flashed around me, shields flickering under grazing hits.
The Lucrehulk's central core was its weakness.
I dove directly into its superstructure cavity.
Heavy point-defense cannons opened fire. I rolled, inverted, and skimmed across interior gantries, hugging structural beams to break targeting locks.
Two concussion missiles into shield projectors.
A brief overload ripple.
Then I unleashed the primary strike—focused bursts into the inner stabilizer lattice.
The Lucrehulk collapsed inward.
Not a dramatic external detonation—no massive outward bloom.
Instead, its internal structure failed catastrophically.
The enormous ring buckled, sections folding into themselves as reactor instability tore it apart from within.
Fragments drifted outward like dying embers.
---
### The Grinding Clash
Meanwhile, Dittmar pressed his attack.
Acclamators advanced in overlapping fields of fire.
Munificents attempted flanking maneuvers but were intercepted by Torrent squadrons and corvettes.
Ion blasts arced between hulls.
Hardkell transports tried to retreat behind their escorts, but Republic gunners targeted engine clusters with surgical precision.
Explosions flickered across the battlespace.
"Enemy fighter density decreasing by thirty percent," reported a clone officer.
"Maintain pressure!" Dittmar ordered.
He could feel it now—momentum shifting.
More CIS ships fell.
Another Munificent broke apart under sustained turbolaser fire.
A transport erupted in flame.
Yet still, red markers remained on the display.
Objective remained unchanged:
Destroy all enemy ships.
The void around Togoria burned with wreckage, plasma, and drifting metal.
And neither side was finished.