**Chapter 428**
**Orbital Battle of Ryloth – Part 6**
**Captain Gilad Pellaeon POV**
**Hood – Bridge**
Madness. Pure, unadulterated madness.
Captain Gilad Pellaeon stood rigid on the command walkway of the *Hood*, hands clasped tightly behind his back as the tactical holomap painted a picture of escalating chaos. Grand Captain Pellaeon had seen his share of battles, but this one tested even his legendary composure. Jedi General Anakin Skywalker's premature jump had turned what should have been a clean, long-range dismantling of the CIS fleet into a brutal close-quarters brawl.
"That Jedi nearly cost us the entire campaign," Pellaeon muttered, jaw tight. The *Resolute* and accompanying Venators had charged in too deep, forcing Dagon's heavier ships to hold fire or risk catastrophic friendly fire incidents. Now the *Starhawk* — that monstrous CIS battleship — had nearly torn the Republic formation apart with its magnite tractor beams.
Still… Pellaeon had to admit it. He knew what General Dagon was capable of, but watching the man carve through a Starhawk's tractor beam array while standing on its hull in vacuum was something else entirely.
A new alert flashed across the display. Master Wren's ship, the *Endurance*, had taken critical damage. Its engines were crippled, and the Venator was listing badly, beginning to tumble out of formation directly into the path of concentrated CIS fire.
Pellaeon didn't hesitate. He opened a direct channel.
"General Dagon!" he shouted.
**Dagon POV**
I had just finished carving another wound into the *Starhawk's* hull when Pellaeon's voice cut through the comm in my helmet.
"Yea, General?"
"Activate emergency boosters *now*!"
I didn't question it. Through the battle meld, I felt the *Hood* surge forward. The Valiant-class Star Destroyer's powerful upgraded engines flared brilliantly as emergency thruster banks ignited. The massive warship lifted sharply above the main fleet formation in a daring maneuver, its reinforced shields flaring as it positioned itself like a protective bulwark.
Just in time.
The *Endurance* continued its uncontrolled drift, engines dead and hull venting atmosphere. CIS fire that would have finished the Venator slammed instead into the *Hood's* upgraded shielding. The ship shuddered under the impacts but held.
I leapt from the *Starhawk's* hull, using the Force to propel myself back toward my waiting Skelter. The fighter's canopy sealed as I dropped into the cockpit. Systems came online instantly.
"Time to finish this," I growled.
**Scene 2**
**Dagon POV**
I watched the *Endurance* tumbling slowly through space, its once-proud frame now a drifting wreck. Fires burned along its starboard side. Escape pods were launching in clusters. I really didn't want to play the hero today — not after everything else — but lives were at stake.
I pushed the Skelter forward, racing toward the damaged Venator. As I closed in, I reached out with the Force, wrapping the entire ship in a massive protective bubble. The strain hit me instantly.
A sharp lance of pain stabbed through my skull. Warm blood trickled from my nose inside the helmet. My vision blurred for a moment as I poured more power into the technique. Moving an entire Venator, even a damaged one, was no small feat. The dark side surged in response, feeding me strength, but the physical and mental toll was immense.
*Come on…*
Slowly, agonizingly, the *Endurance* began to stabilize. I guided it with telekinetic force, pushing the massive vessel back behind the main fleet line where the *Hood*, *Valiant*, and several Resurgents could provide covering fire.
The strain intensified. More blood flowed from my nose. My hands trembled on the controls. Every muscle burned. Yet I held the bubble firm until the *Endurance* was safely behind friendly lines.
Only then did I release the technique. I gasped, leaning forward in the cockpit as black spots danced across my vision.
That was when I felt it.
A new connection forming — faint but warm, like threads of light weaving through the darker currents I had grown used to. It felt strangely similar to the bonds I once shared with the girls. Stella's quiet fragility, Kayla's passionate need, Flare's elegant poise. This was different, yet somehow resonant.
*Master Wren… and her Padawan.*
I sensed their presence clearly now — relief, gratitude, and a spark of something deeper. Surprise. Curiosity. A tentative reaching back through the Force.
"Oh… dang," I muttered, wiping blood from my nose with the back of my gauntlet. Not now. Not another complication.
I keyed the fleet channel, voice rough but steady. "All ships, this is General Dagon. Reform battle lines. Focus fire on the *Starhawk*. Let's end this."
**Scene 3**
**Grand Captain Wilhuff Tarkin POV**
**Sovereign – Bridge**
Grand Captain Wilhuff Tarkin watched the destruction of the *Starhawk* with cold satisfaction.
The *Sovereign* and *Blackfire* had coordinated their fire perfectly. Both ships — one under his command, the other under Captain Arten Su — unleashed full broadsides of XX-10 ultra-heavy turbolasers and heavy ion cannons. The damaged CIS battleship never stood a chance. Its already compromised forward sections buckled under the onslaught. Massive explosions rippled along its 2,400-meter frame as reactors went critical.
The hatchet-prowed behemoth broke apart in a brilliant fireball, debris scattering across the orbital battlefield. With the *Starhawk* gone, the heart of the CIS defensive formation collapsed.
A signal came through from General Dagon across all channels:
**"All ships — deploy fighters."**
Tarkin allowed himself a thin smile. "You heard the General. Launch all squadrons. Finish them."
Waves of starfighters poured out of the hangars across the fleet. TIE Punishers led the assault, their heavy ordnance making short work of damaged CIS capital ships. TIE Avengers, Advanced, Whispers, and Defenders followed in deadly formation, sleek and lethal. Skelters from the Allegiance-class battlescruisers joined the fray, their pilots eager to capitalize on the chaos Dagon had already created.
The remaining Vulture droids — what few survived Dagon's earlier rampage — were swept aside in minutes. The CIS fleet, once numbering over 120 warships, was reduced to burning hulks and expanding debris fields. Munificents shattered. Recusants split apart. The last few Dreadnaughts and Sabaoth Destroyers tried to flee but were hunted down by coordinated fighter strikes and long-range fire from the Resurgents.
Tarkin observed it all with clinical detachment. The battle had been costly — lost Lancers, damaged Venators, brave crews gone — but the victory was decisive. Ryloth's orbital space now belonged to the Republic.
He opened a private channel to Dagon. "General, the enemy fleet is routed. Shall we begin landing operations?"
**Dagon POV**
I sat in the cockpit of the Skelter, breathing heavily as the last pockets of resistance were mopped up. The strain from moving the *Endurance* still throbbed behind my eyes, but the battle was effectively over.
"Begin landing preparations," I ordered. "Coordinate with Skywalker and Kenobi's forces for ground support. Cham Syndulla's resistance cells should be lighting up the surface soon. We finish this today."
Through the new, fragile bond, I felt Master Wren's presence again — a quiet thank you mixed with concern. Her Padawan's emotions were brighter, more curious. I gently acknowledged the connection but kept it light. There would be time to address it later.
For now, Ryloth waited below — occupied, suffering, but no longer alone.
The liberation had begun in earnest.
Pellaeon's voice came over the comm once more, steady and professional. "*Hood* reporting in. Shields holding. General… that was some impressive flying. And that maneuver with the *Endurance*…"
"Necessary," I replied simply. "Status of all ships?"
"Losses within acceptable parameters given the circumstances. The *Endurance* will need extensive repairs, but the crew is safe thanks to you."
I nodded to myself, watching as thousands of Republic and allied fighters swarmed the remaining CIS stragglers. TIE Defenders danced through the debris fields like predators. Punishers delivered the final blows to crippled capital ships.
The orbital battle was won.
But the real fight — the ground war to free Ryloth from Wat Tambor's grip — was only beginning.
I keyed the fleet-wide channel one last time. "All commanders, prepare for planetary assault. This world has suffered long enough. Let's bring them freedom."
As the fleet reorganized into assault formation, I allowed myself a moment of quiet reflection. Skywalker's impulsiveness had nearly cost us dearly, but we had adapted. The *Starhawk* was scrap. The CIS fleet was broken. And new, unexpected connections were forming in the Force.
The Soldier within me remained focused.
Ryloth would be free by nightfall.