“If a man steps on the path of war, he has but two weapons. Wield a sword to take down a man, but a lie is more suited to shatter a nation.”


    — From Etkragret Kraghul (The Edicts of Kraghul), god of war and deception.


    “Once at three thousand kilometers from the planet, the fleet is to turn starboard,” I tell Gerard. The ship shakes as the volleys break against Caedes’ shield, and my hold on the holoprojector tightens. I study Gerard’s face. He is biting the inside of his cheek, weighing my words.


    Between us is the holoprojector, with a map of Marcoria and its surrounding area. Five hundred kilometers from the planet Rhu’Kra’s fleet is waiting for us, stationed directly in our line of sight. One of the smaller moons is passing them by, covering parts of the DPP for now. My fleet has just now reached its full speed, and is around four-thousand kilometers away from the planet.


    Gerard lifts his eyes up from the map. “If we do that, their planetary based anti-air will be in range to hit us. We should -”


    “I’ve made myself clear,” I wave off his concern, although the same burdens my mind. No one has besieged Marcoria for a long time, and we have very little information about their ground capabilities. I only hope they don’t expect this move from us. But this is war, and we are soldiers. Soldiers follow orders. Gerard’s eyes still linger on me. His finger hovers above the map, not too far from the planet. I nod, “permission granted, speak freely.”


    “They will decimate us, Grand General. We should turn at three thousand two hundred fifty. Especially since you ordered almost all fighters to engage against the two cruisers at our aft in order to protect our damaged one,” he says, looking at the holographic map. “Our cruisers here need a screen. Destroyers are great, but something smaller, more expandable is better.”


    I nod and turn towards the viewport. The red planet is in front of me, growing with each passing second. I can barely make out the silhouettes of the Marcorian cruisers, with their dull orange and green color schemes. But the flashes of the pulse cannons illuminate them, even if it is for a moment. I see my target. Their flagship stands off center to the right of their formation, its starboard side facing me. That is how most of their fleet faces us - on their starboard or port side. I take a deep breath. Rhu’Kra knew we would have to use a tactic such as this. “Either way we turn, they can chase us…” I mutter to myself and offer a prayer to the gods.


    The air tightens with the so-familiar smell of sweat and metal. The pleasant fragrance of the Oceanspire Lily is all but a distant memory now. I look at my watch. “Once we begin our maneuver, we will have one minute and about seventeen seconds before we enter that zone. For fifty-five seconds, planetary fire will bombard us, and during that time, all our port guns will have the best firing positions against enemy cruisers. Not to mention the ideal distance.” I draw our trajectory on the map with my finger. “Half of the Marcorian fleet will have their engines exposed, and we will have an advantage for a moment. That is a risk, but a risk worth taking.” I finish matter-of-factly, not letting him say another word.


    He bites his lip, a vein on his head throbbing, but he doesn’t challenge me. Pushing himself from the holoprojector, he makes for his station, barely keeping his balance as another shot shakes the bridge. He relays my message to the entire fleet, and I pray he doesn’t crush the communicator with that grip.


    There are whispers from the surrounding crew. None dare to look at me for more than a second, however. The only noise now is their fingers running across holo-keyboards. A heavy sigh escapes my lips as I fold my arms across my chest. I gaze forward at the viewport but see nothing but orange plasma flying by. The radar indicates that most shots land on destroyers, which is good. That is their mission anyway - to provide a screen.


    “Executing the turn due starboard,” my helmsman says, his voice steady.


    “HBC Platigith and HBC Klath move about my port. Then maneuver to your starboard. Focus on enemy cruisers whose starboard side is to us. Take them out as soon as you are in range,” I order and take a more commanding posture, with my legs planted in a wide stance and hands clasped behind my back—acknowledgments follow from both ships. But one captain’s voice trembles. I understand him. They aren’t blind, and they are not stupid either. What is playing out is far from what we had expected, even further from what we wished.


    An orange plasma strikes my viewport dead center. My eyes flinch, and my arm shoots up to shield my face—a useless reflex. Part of the energy breaks through the shield and hits the ship itself. The bridge trembles, and I curse. “Shield status?”


    “Seventy-one percent,” an officer answers in a hurry. I don’t bother looking at who responded. No time. No care. The Marcorians are overburdening their C.O.R.E.s, the only logical explanation of how they are able to breach at this distance.


    My eyes find Gerard getting up, checking himself for any injuries, and motioning for the medics to back off after not finding any. “Marcorian bastards!” He shakes his head after catching me watching him. He says nothing else, but his eyes are full of apprehension or disappointment.


    “A dual input system is useful,” I say, still looking at him. “But let’s keep emotions in check.”


    While our ships’ weapon systems draw energy directly from the C.O.R.E, the Marcorians have a two-method system. The first one was the same as ours, and, if need be, they switched over to canisters, which are fed in by an autoloader and have enough energy for two or three shots before they need to be refilled.


    We push on, turning. I watch the radar. The distance between them and us is becoming shorter and shorter. My hand grips my sword tighter and tighter. I feel a tingling in my throat and fluttering in my stomach. Almost there, I tell myself. Just a little more…


    I should feel worry. If not for the men and women that I’m sending to their deaths, then at least for the ships, and for the number of them we are about to lose. Conclave can have my head for this. Instead, I speculate on Marcorian’s next move. Their tactic is not something I would have done, no. I’d hide part of my fleet on the other side of the planet, and would let the enemy guess from which side it would emerge. A smirk spreads across my lips - perhaps Rhu’Kra is of the same mind as well.


    We are now pushing past where our previous engagement took place. Debris from destroyed fighters is bouncing off our shields. So do the dead. The dead who no longer evoke the same emotions from me as they did before, when I first saw a person die. When I was eighteen, fighting against pirates, or rather butchering them. There. Now there’s worry.


    “Our weapons are now in range,” Gerard hollers, and I blink myself back to the moment at hand.


    “Open fire!” I command and lift my head. “All ships, open fire!”


    Our blue plasma shots fly at the Marcorians, and their orange plasma flies at us. Theirs is narrower. More precise. More efficient. But it doesn’t pack as much of a punch as ours, which our enemies know all too well. We hit Marcorians. Barely scratching their shields but hitting them - good news, as they cannot fire at us without being punished as well. The lousy being is that this is Marcorian’s ideal range. Our maximum.


    Cheers of the crew echo in my ears, forcing me to grin momentarily before logic sets in again. Little did they need for joy. I wonder if they even understand that we are now stuck in this battle to the bitter end. If we cannot destroy all starboard-facing vessels, they will chase us and fire at our engines - all their other ships will take time to either turn or go around the planet. But the crew doesn’t think about that. No. They are happy to hit back. The explosions excite them. They delight and will continue until the flames burn them. They scorch me now.


    HBC Platigith is now making its way past my viewport, soaking in some of the incoming shots. But its mile height isn’t enough to fully cover Caedes from that distance, and the readings of our shield integrity trickled down. I walk over to the holoscreen with the shield readings - Sixty-four percent. And as the ship shakes, the reading drops - Sixty-one percent.


    I look at my watch, running a hand over my bald head. For the next fifty-five seconds, our ships will be at their most vulnerable, if everything goes right. Flashes from the planet catch my eye. Too many to count, and coming in hot.


    “Focus on the furthest cruisers first,” I instruct my fleet. The cruisers closest to us, we can always focus down a bit later. Marcorians are in motion, moving towards us. Others are turning their ships around.


    “Once we are outside the planetary anti-air, turn the fleet towards the port side,” I tell Gerard. “We will circle around the planet, and with any luck, will go for round two.”


    The first volley of fire is now reaching us from the planet. “Brace for impact!” I order, and my fingers eat into the metal. The bridge shakes, red lights flash. A breach.


    “Fourth deck is losing oxygen.”


    “Seal off the bay,” I say. Good thing our fighters are not here. “If our fighters survive, let them know that the fourth deck is gone for now,” I tell Gerard, and he nods.


    The red light continues flashing, alarms blaring off, but I suppress them the best I can. The second wave of fire is on the way.


    “My shields are at fifteen percent.” Nothe Gabar, captain of HBC Huwlen, appears on the holo projector. “Permission to withdraw to the back-line.”


    “Proceed.” I rub my chin and start pacing the captain’s bridge. “Order HBC Canlit, Munzioth, and Xilini to move ahead - full throttle.”


    “Grand General, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Gabar presses his lips into a fine line, his eyes narrowing. “Two of those ships are well past their prime. Taking so-”


    “I believe I’ve made myself clear, Captain,” I interject. “Their shields are intact; yours are not. Proceed.”


    He nods. “Understood.”


    The second salvo strikes, sparing Caedes this time. My crew explodes with applause as the first of the Marcorian cruisers erupts in a momentary fire. It dies off quickly, as did the crew, I imagine. Fire or open space make sure of that.


    “We’ve been hit!”


    My eyes dart to the radar.


    “I repeat—we’ve had a breach in the shields, we’ve been hit!” Nothe Gabar’s voice snaps me back to reality.


    He salutes me in his wrinkle-free uniform, “It was a pleasure, sir.”


    I catch a flashing light from the corner of my eye. “The honor is mi-” I jerk as the flash blinds me. Static on the holoscreen. Debris of the cruiser flying every which way. My throat tightens up, and I’m left standing with my mouth open.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    “Shit. Shit. Shit!” I strike the holoprojector, as one destroyer gets hit by the largest chunk of what used to be HBC Huwlen. Their captain’s bridge is smashed to pieces, and pods with survivors eject in the following seconds. No helping them now.


    My eyes dart from one thing to the next, and I suck in the air, my chest rising with each inhale. “Focus on their flagship!” I yell out and loosen the color of my uniform, my eyes burning with rage. I should have ordered him to pull out earlier - I berate myself while clearing my throat.


    “Three thousand forty,” a voice whispers in my ear. That is the number of dead from the cruiser alone. I suppress that knowledge.


    Regaining my posture, my gaze falls on the Marcorian Defensive Planetary Platform. “Don’t let up. Their DPP must be on the brink,” I demand of my men. “Horus!” I call the Vice Admiral, “They are yours.”


    He says nothing, but smirks before disconnecting.


    The pain eases as my better sense fight through to the front of my cortex. The burn in my arms eases as I relax my hands, but a lump in my throat prohibits me from saying anything else. Fourth volley is now on approach, coming for us. Caedes shakes violently. Shields are now at ten percent. Another destroyer disappears from the radar - its crew from the living.


    No time for grief, I tell myself and regained my composure. “There will be time to mourn,” I tell the crew. “But if we die, there will be no one to do the mourning. Press on!”


    Marcorian DPP ruptures. The flames blind me for a moment, even from that distance.


    “Executing turn due port!” my helmsmen announces, and I exhale.


    Relaxed too early - another of our cruisers is gone. Marcorian cruisers and destroyers picking off the weakest links. We do the same. But I can’t help but wonder where the rest of their fleet is. They should have four times the amount of ships I’m seeing. Perhaps going around the planet is not such a great idea. This can still very much be an ambush. Another few rounds of plasma land on my ship. “Push us out of their cruiser’s range,” I tell the helmsman. “Tell the destroyers to cover us, and release whatever fighters we have left. Have fighters suicide if they have to, but Caedes does not fall today!”


    I hate myself for that command. But a death of one or the death of the whole battleship with its crew. The lesser evil. But still evil. We fire one last volley. I watch. We hit. Their flagship loses parts of its bow. At least it won’t charge after us now, but its bridge is still intact.


    The ship shakes. I’m thrown to the floor and I curse, “Where is our screen?” A medic rushes towards me. I motion for my helmet, and soon the rest on the bridge wears one too. The lights go out, deafening alarms blare, and red lights illuminate everything, but barely. “Shut those alarms off. No one leaves for the pods!” I yell out a command.


    “One of our engines is out, and some relays are gone. That seems to be the extent of the damage, and we are looking for ways to redirect power back to the bridge,” an officer informs over the comms, his voice even, and almost nonchalant. A testament to our training, I suppose.


    “Our fighters are inbound,” Gerard informs me. “They paralyzed those two cruisers.”


    “Grand General, sir.” My radar operator, Selmor Umaz, runs up to me, his blonde hair clinging to his head, fused by sweat. “Ripples to our starboard.”


    Not now… I let out a sigh and run to the radar. Thoughts race through my mind, and my heart seems to have reached my throat.


    “Any sign of if it’s enemy or friendly?” I ask.


    Umaz shakes his head.


    “Did Fraxon or anyone else contact us?” I holler at Nesi.


    “No, sir.” Nesi runs up and stands at attention. His eyes dart to the communication array and back to me.


    “All we have are these ripples.” Umaz clasps his hands behind himself. “Whoever it is, I estimate they will emerge in five.”


    “Just in time for our round two,” I whisper, and dismiss both.


    If an enemy is incoming, I have to run. We’re already overextended, and most fleets’ shields are low. Mine are now gone altogether. There is good news, no enemy ships on the back side of the planet, just anti-air guns, which are trying to hit us, but we are just barely far enough away. I look at the radar - no pursuit from the Marcorians.


    There could still be one last explanation for the ripples. An explanation I’d prefer. Maybe Poltr has decided to show up after all. But these are just wishes, and they are wishes of a dead man, it would seem. I can almost feel my heart jumping out, my throat dry, and a throbbing headache coming on. If Marcorians won’t kill me, a heart attack will.


    I motion for Gerard. “If Marcorians show up in numbers, tell the fleet to surrender,” I whisper to him without gifting him a glance. “And send a communication to Conclave, telling them it’s over as well.” I feel him nod, swallowing down his emotions.


    An alarm beeps thrice, and red lights die off, regular lights coming back online. The crew’s spirit comes back to life as well, as they redouble their efforts to calculate and recalculate. Scanning the surrounding areas the best they could.


    Walking back to the radar, I avoided all eye contact, sweat running down the back of my neck. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m about to walk into history as a fool who decided in his lunacy to challenge a greater force - and failed. Granted that I have decided nothing. Historians would care little.


    With hands behind my back, I watch for what felt like hours with anticipation. My finger drums against my hand. Seconds tick. I feel the ticking of the watch with my palm. Despite that, it feels like time is dragging. A few minutes pass, we are circling back around the planet, my viewport now looking directly where the radar says ripples are. The moment of truth. I nod at Gerard, as he takes the communicator into his hand, reading to surrender just in case.


    A slight flare, and boxlike metal behemoths emerge with their dull black and red color scheme. A sigil of a lion’s head on the torso of all ships. I sigh in relief, and air rushed to fill my lungs. Fraxon has arrived.


    Smile spreads across my lips, and I pat Umaz on the back. The crew is offering congratulations to one another. Cheering and some are applauding, and Nesi closes his eyes for a silent prayer.


    “Looks like we live today!” Gerard stands next to me, his hands trembling, and so does his voice. “I’ll be honest. I was worried there for a second.”


    “Monitor our allies…” I stop mid-sentence as more and more ships emerge. My eyes widen and my face pales. My better senses scream that there is no way they can possess that many. Not after the last encounter with the Marcorians ten years ago and then their civil war… A quick thought shoots through my brain regarding their quality, but I sweep it aside. Now is not the time for underestimation. The crew’s excitement dies off, and soon there’s deathly silence.


    Seven…nine…thirteen. The sixteenth was the last… not counting the destroyers.


    The only thing I don’t know is if Fraxonnians threw all the apples into the same basket. That would be a bold move. Dumb, sure, but bold.


    I left a few ships around Hewshian planets in case the Marcorians decide on a counterattack. I can’t imagine our ally doing the same thing with so many of their ships present here. If they are, their fleet would be greater than ours, I realize, and take a step back. The bridge is silent. Only the shaking of the ship after a hit brings people back to life. Nesi is stealing glances my way, but I ignore him. I look for Gerard. He is as pale as I.


    The question, “Where could they get that many resources... and go unnoticed?”, is mirrored on his face.


    I make a mental note to interrogate our spy network.


    “How did we miss this build up?” Gerard whispers, his voice fluttering, but his eyes unwavering. His hand is gripping his sword, fingers crushing the hilt.


    “They are unleashing missiles…” Umaz says before I can respond, and I make my way to him. Gerard at my heels.


    “Missiles?” I question as I scan the radar and turn to the viewport. But they are too far away, and I can’t see anything but their silhouettes. Eyes dart back to the radar. The dots are flying fast. Too fast.


    “No!” I yell, and my eyes widen as the cold sensation runs down my spine. Realization hit. Time stops. Crew is looking at me, and slowly they too turn their head to the viewport.


    I hold my breath and watch in awe as the first missile reaches the DPP.


    Nuclear explosion.


    Then another.


    And another.


    Two missiles annihilate the Marcorian flagship. A couple of destroyers follow suit soon after.


    A dozen more missiles head for the planet’s surface.


    People below…These tactics are inhumane, I think to myself, unable to utter these words aloud. What have we done?


    “Grand General?”


    I turn to find Nesi standing by.


    “Hail Poltr,” I order and run to the Holo projector, activating the PhantomShield. “He’s gone insane for sure…” I tell Gerard, and he grunts an agreement.


    The next few moments are worse than hell. I can’t think. Can’t come up with an action plan. The PhantomShield is now activated. I hit the holo projector and wince with pain. Gerard forces himself to exhale. I motion for him to leave. He’s reluctant, but obeys without question, for which I’m thankful. My chest is tightening. I try to wet my lips, but my mouth is too dry.


    All I can think of is, what do we do next? I grab the rim of the holo, trying to calm my shivering. No one had used these tactics since the Orphan’s Strife almost four hundred years ago. We swore. After Earth became glass, all nations vowed to avoid using nuclear weapons.


    “Grand General Varick…” Poltr appears on my screen. His dark skin stands out in contrast to the white background of his surroundings. Tastefully placed around him are expansive furniture and portraits of him and other great heroes of previous ages. I couldn’t help but wonder if Poltr thought he was on a cruise ship. He could not be serious. I told myself, but then another thought shot through my mind: How did he win a civil war? Not nukes; otherwise, I would have heard of that.


    “You bastard!” I yell at him, unable to keep my composure. “This is not what we agreed upon! Civilians-”


    “That hardly qualifies as a ‘thank you.’” Poltr chuckles and straightens himself out, and looks down on me like a child. His thin ponytail of grey hair dangling at his waist.


    “You are delusional,” I mutter through my teeth. “What trickery is this? Where were you? Where are the rest of the Marcorian fleets?”


    I ignore the blinking light and my communication officer. Whatever the case, now is not the time.


    “I assumed you decimated them,” Poltr says a playful smile on his lips, but a momentary confusion still flies across his face. “And don’t worry, nukes are only to soften them up. I’m merely testing them, really.” He offers me a smile, revealing a row of white teeth.


    “There’s a reason we don’t use them,” I counter, trying to reason with a plain madman. “Where did you get them, anyway?”


    “Our ancestors didn’t use them and look where that got them. Three hundred years in slavery to the Marcorians, and counting.” Poltr’s face grimaces as he spits at the floor. “I will use any tactic necessary to deliver my people from these fanatics. As our ancestors used them to deliver us from Earth’s rule. Tell me Varick, do you hate Herald, son of Jetu, a Hewshii, who was the mastermind behind the glassing of Earth? Or Kiltur, the one who engineered all the warheads? Or even Marcoria herself, the leader of the Five Orphans? Do you blame them for orchestrating all that death?”


    “That was different.”


    “Different how, Grand General?” Poltr leans in, and my heart skips a beat.


    Glimpsing movement out of the corner of my eye, I return my gaze to the viewport. Hundreds of transports are now making their way to the planet. Marcorians try to shoot some down but, for the most part, are stuck fighting Fraxonnian cruisers.


    “Cease your hostiles, Poltr,” I demand, still not looking at him. “Marcorians yet still may forgive your people for this transgression.”


    “That’s not why I came here.” He pauses. “However, if you cannot stomach this, you may return to the hole from which you came. Your job here is done. My people came to take our rightful freedom. And I will make sure that the freedom we gain today will last forever.”


    “History will judge you,” I state, and disconnect.


    “Draw the fleet away from the conflict,” I tell my helmsman as I head towards my seat.


    My head drops into my hand as I sit down. Retreat to Hewshia? I open my eyes and allow my hand to drop.


    “What now?” Gerard whispers.


    I ignore him, but his question lingers - eating at me. Gerard still stands. I motion for him to go, shaking my head. I need to think. Duty compels me to continue. We came to get our freedom, and no one said that I would like the way we would win it. But this was not a war for freedom anymore, not in any sense I can justify, and I hope the Conclave will see the same.


    “What am I to do?” I whisper to myself, and take a deep breath. Gerard commands the crew to do their job and steals a glance my way. I nod in appreciation.


    I gather my thoughts. I need to salvage the situation. Retreating now would only waste time and nothing more. Our warp jump was still not ready, and once we jump back, we would have to wait and waste even more time. And the things I want to do to Fraxonnians right now should not be hindered by time.


    Go against orders - help the Marcorians? My conscience whispers in my ear. If only war was this simple. If only doing what’s right won wars, I’d bet atrocities wouldn’t happen.


    I sat up straight. To what end will I help them? Changing sides without Conclave’s approval... I bite my lip. I want to yell. To break something. But only allow myself to clench my fists. Nails dig deep into the flesh of my palms.


    “Let me know if there’s any change in the posture of their fleets. I’ll be in my quarters,” I order Umaz.


    “I need time to think,” I tell Gerard as I walk past him.


    I grab my head with both arms as I sit down on my bed. So much death. More than we were promised. This will be a quick war, they told me. Now, I’m part of bringing genocide in the full meaning of the word.


    I wish politicians fought their own wars.


    Getting up, I head to the conference room. I need to speak to the Conclave, and I need to talk soon. However, interception is possible, so I won’t use the holo. They must see me. They must know the cost of their shortsightedness. And if they don’t condemn Poltr and Fraxon, I will resign, honor or not.


    My holo call is answered, and I lift my tired eyes up, “Marwen, I need a favor.”