The final CIS ship erupted in a massive explosion.
For a moment, space fell strangely quiet.
No new hyperspace ruptures. No fresh fighter swarms. Only drifting wreckage and the fading glow of plasma clouds marking where sixty-six enemy vessels had once stood.
My fighter's cockpit temperature alarms flared red.
Overheating.
I throttled down and angled toward the nearest safe bay—Dittmar's flagship.
"Republic command, this is Alpha Leader requesting emergency landing clearance. Engine temperatures critical."
A brief pause.
Then Dittmar himself came over the channel.
"Granted immediately, General Marek. Bay Three is clear. You've more than earned it."
I guided the battered fighter into the Acclamator's hangar. The moment the landing struts locked, deck crews rushed forward with fire-suppression units and coolant lines.
The canopy lifted with a hiss of vented heat.
Dittmar was already striding across the deck, boots striking durasteel with dramatic emphasis.
"General Marek," he said, offering a crisp nod. "Your assault on those Lucrehulks was decisive."
I stepped down from the cockpit.
"You followed orders precisely, Commander," I replied evenly. "Your torpedo strike on the Munificent cluster broke their flank. Well executed."
He straightened almost imperceptibly.
"Of course," he said, attempting modesty and not quite succeeding. "A coordinated maneuver."
Through the Force, I felt it again—that deep need for validation.
So I gave him just enough.
"You held formation when others might have panicked. That discipline won the engagement."
That did it.
His confidence solidified into something steadier—less frantic, more earned.
Behind us, reports were streaming in.
"Preliminary loss assessment," a clone officer announced. "Fifty fighters lost out of six hundred and fifty deployed."
Dittmar exhaled slowly. "Acceptable."
"Enemy fleet destroyed," the officer continued. "Total confirmed: sixty-six vessels."
Silence followed.
Sixty-six.
The orbit of Togoria belonged to the Republic.
A holocomm activated nearby. Commander Kinaun appeared in shimmering blue.
"General Marek. Commander Dittmar. Eight one-kilometer salvage vessels have just arrived. Transponder codes confirm Lantilles registry."
Good.
The request had gone through.
"Inform them," I said immediately, "priority target is Techno Union transport wreckage. Their cargo was intended for base construction—reactors, prefabricated structures, armored plating. Recover everything salvageable."
Kinaun nodded. "Understood. They're already deploying collection tugs."
Dittmar folded his hands behind his back. "Then we proceed with landing operations on Togoria?"
Before I could answer, another transmission cut in—this one marked High Command.
"Fleet elements at Togoria," the clipped voice stated, "blockade or planetary landing is no longer authorized. New strategic priorities require immediate redeployment. All major vessels are to return to assigned sectors."
The message ended.
Dittmar frowned. "We win a decisive engagement and are ordered to leave?"
"Togoria can be stabilized later," I said calmly. "High Command likely fears overextension."
He didn't like it. I could feel that.
Glory interrupted again.
But I stepped closer, lowering my voice slightly.
"Commander, a different opportunity presents itself."
He looked at me sharply. "Go on."
"The CIS intended to establish a fortified position here. Their transports carried prefabricated base components. If we allow the salvage crews to recover enough intact modules…"
Understanding dawned.
"We build the base ourselves," Dittmar finished.
"Exactly. A Republic stronghold constructed from captured Separatist material. Efficient. Symbolic. And strategically valuable."
His eyes lit with renewed ambition.
"And credited to the officer who secured the system," I added quietly.
He gave a slow nod.
"Yes," Dittmar said. "I will draft a proposal to High Command immediately."
Kinaun's hologram flickered thoughtfully. "You're thinking long-term again, aren't you, General?"
"Always," I replied.
Outside the hangar bay, salvage ships were already moving among the wreckage fields, their massive frames illuminated by the dying fires of war.
The battle for Togoria was over.
But what came next might matter even more.