The bombers were breaking through.

Not just that, but the enemy was starting to break the swarm. The swarm had been a good tactic - George felt at least fairly proud that, strategically, he wasn't in error. It had served its' purpose, however, meaning with the Imperial line closing he needed a new tactic.

"Move the fleet," he commanded, punching in coordinates on his command chair. "We're to circle the dogfight to orient the enemy capital ships' firing arcs through it - they've got too many living pilots in there to fire on us if it means bringing down their own ships."

As he commanded, the Pride roared forwards, scattering the bombers and their attack run as it circled the ball of vicious fighter combat until the enemy's distant warships were now on the far side of it. The Carrier and the two Birds followed, also turning to fire through the enemy's fighter groups.

Harrison grinned. It was a goddamn good thing swarm fighters were unpiloted. "Fire, all guns."

To stay in formation protects one from swarm fighters fairly effectively - it's harder for them to swarm all over you, and concentrated fire can cut down their swarms into more manageable groups. To stay in formation when capital-class turbolaser fire is coming your way, however, is a very bad idea.

Cannons roared voicelessly in the depths of space, smashing Imperial fighters and Coalition swarmers alike and lighting up the enemy dogfight. A few shots even made it through and struck the Imperial warships beyond, who dared not fire back for fear of destroying their own ships.

It wouldn't last long - the swarm was huge, hundreds of craft in size, but it was dropping rapidly and the capital fire was just as merciless to them as it was to the Empire. Once they were gone, the enemy fighters would just spill on to them as originally intended and he'd be trapped, easy prey for the Imperial capital ships.

Still, for the moment, it was cool to watch.

It was at that moment that the second Imperial element dropped out of hyperspace directly behind the Coalition warships. From directly behind the Pride of Iridonia's engines, though still out of range, Captain William Ithica smiled from the bridge of the Eternal Advanced Star Destroyer Reign of Fire. Captain Finnicum had done his work perfectly. The Coalition had taken the bait.

Time to do work now, though. "Ensign, signal Captain Finnicum that we've arrived. All guns, target that Star Destroyer. Let's get 'er close. Accellerate to flank speed." He switched to the intercom. "All ships, form up on me. Hex formation, vertical." The hex formation, with three ships forming the main line, two ships above, and two below, the Imperials would be able to bring maximum fire down on a single point in the enemy formation. It had the additional advantage of being either open or closed. When closed, the ships had a reduced firepower but able to share shield power. When open, they had more firepower. With firepower necessary now, the formation was open.

Ithica continued issuing orders. "All fighters, launch. Begin attack runs on those Birds of Prey. Bomber Squadron B, Interceptor Red, target that Carrier. Keep 'em busy. All other ships, raise shields, forward at maximum. Target the enemy Star Destroyer. Charge disruptors."

On the other side of the Coalition formation, Captain Josef Finnicum received the communique that the second formation had arrived, and it lightenend his spirits. He had been having a difficult time, as the Coalition formation had decided to use their fighters as cover. With several members of the SS still out there, as well as Finnnicum's own brother, Josef was not willing to fire through the formation. It had been in the fighters' hands to defend themselves from the Swarm fighters and the Coalition turbolasers.

In one of those fighters, Commander Jamison Finnicum fought for his life. It had been easy when the stupid droids were all he was up against. His six laser cannons ripped through them like a vibroknife through flimsy. He'd seen fighter after fighter blow apart under the punishing red energy from his cannons. But when the Imperial warships opened up, he knew he was in trouble.

"Fighters, break formation!" he cried into the comm, knowing that the turbolasers were a much greater threat than the Swarms. "Remain in wingman pairs, and watch each others' backs." He quickly looped his fighter, his wingman staying right on his tail. They cut through another Swarm formation, a turbolaser bolt barely missing them as it headed on to strike the Daemon's Fury. The Swarm fighters were disintegrating faster than the Imperials, though. It wasn't long before there weren't enough of the agile, droid-piloted craft to be a threat. The Schutzstaffel fighters looped away and reformed with the SS bombers, now flying escort as they headed for the nearest Bird of Prey.

On the Daemon's Fury, Captain Finnicum saw the Imperial fighters slide out of the way. The shields hadn't taken too much punishment as most of the enemy's turbolaser blasts had been caught in the starfighter battle. But more and more came through as the fighters moved on. Now it was time to close the pincers. "All ships, accelerate to flank speed. Choose your targets. Charge the disruptors." This was going to be fun.

[font=Palatino Linotype]In a flash, the TIE was back in the thick of battle--perhaps a moment too soon for the pilot's nerves, as he brought it back into the fight just in time to catch the turbolaser volleys. No, it was not a good day to be a pilot; Jarred was distinctly sure of that much.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]"Fighters, break formation!"[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]Any faster on that, and the lieutenant-commander would have gladly sworn that his CO was a Jedi in disguise. Of course, there was nothing wrong with that right now, as far as he could tell. Heck, he'd probably give up 5 months of his salary for Jedi reflexes, right now, no questions asked. And I'd get more of a berating from Command than I need to ever hear about, but that's what you get for wishing.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]As the enemy Swarm fighters began to finally become a manageable nuisance, Jarred returned to formation with his squadron, still acutely aware of the two empty holes where Four and Five used to be. Four was--thankfully--in the care of an imperial medical ward; Five...dead. A Swarm had probably clipped through his remains by now, turning them into a bloody mess. Oh, how he hoped that wasn't the case...[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]"With all due respect, sir, just what the fuck was that all about?"[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]Jarred would have snapped back, but Harlow was more than justified in his comments, or he would have gotten a very stern response. "It was a matter of trust, Two. I trusted you to hold things together for a bit; you did exactly what was needed."[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]There was very little noise on Harlow's end for a while, save the sound of his weapons firing into another droid, amplified through the speakers. When he finally spoke again, it was calm, controlled, and at least not profane...but the anger was still there. "At least there's some trust left in this squadron."[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]It was difficult, but not impossible, to keep the sigh to himself. He had to, really, for his own sake. Letting the others in on his sadness--and potentially his worry, as well--would only do more damage. Still, he was upset, and the mournful sigh was enough evidence to that fact; his beloved was injured, and now his own XO no longer trusted him. My day cannot possibly get any worse.[/font]

"Keep pulling back!" captain Harrison barked, directing his small command of warships away from the onrush of enemy fighters. "If they swarm over us, we're finished! There's too many bombers for our shields to handle."

"Sir," a sensors officer chirped, pointing frantically at his display. "The carrier can't keep up. The enemy fighters are overwhelming them."

"Leave them!" said Harrison. He gave it a moments' thought, before sighing and crossing over to the communications officer. "Okay, scratch that. Patch me in with the Carrier's captain."

The holoprojector hummed to life, showing the shaken captain of the Carrier gripping his command chair as though his life depended on it. George set his features grimly as he faced the fellow officer. "Captain," he said. "We can't cover your retreat. Without your swarm fighter wings, you're sitting ducks out there. I'm giving you the command now to abandon ship."

Startled, the Swarm carrier captain jumped up. "Abandon ship? But sir, we can-"

"Stow it," George growled. "You haven't got the time or the rank to change my mind. Set your ship for self destruct and position it between the enemy fighters and the rest of the fleet, then launch escape pods to the planet. I'll comm the troops on the surface to watch your descent and pick your men up as soon as possible."

The other captain nodded, the stern stuff that composed most Onyxian officers setting in and giving him strength. "As you command, captain Harrison." The communication ended, and George was left to consider if he'd made the right choice.

Not for very long, though. "Okay! That should buy us some time - All remaining vessels will plot a new heading. We're heading for orbit."

"Orbit?" The navigational officer seemed puzzled. "Why, sir?"

"We need to maintain distance, that's why," snapped George. "We can gravity-slingshot our way away from the Imperial fleet and continue to harrass them from a distance, instead of getting shot to bits by getting pinned between them and the planet. Now get us moving!"

The Pride and the two Birds of Prey blasted out of the swirl of fighters that had begun to engulf them, skimming the planet's orbital gravity and thus hurtling at a much greater velocity around the planet. The tactic would get them out of the Empire's reach much faster than simply flying straight away would have, and it was something the enemy couldn't do until they too reached orbit.

In the meantime, the Carrier's shields dropped - immediately drawing the attention of the hungry horde of starfighters descending on all sides. The remaining swarm fighters rallied around the carrier, using their bodies as mechanical shields as escape pods jettisoned in all directions and hurtled towards the planet.

The Imperial pilots were wise enough to recognize what was going on. The rats always did abandon a sinking ship, after all, so even as the last escape pod shot towards the surface the Empire was already retreating back to a safe distance. All at once, explosions seemed to emanate from somewhere in the ship's reactor core. The chain reaction grew and grew, until the entire vessel was destroyed. What time it had bought the rest of the fleet none could say, but the Empire's pursuit had been delayed.

Captain Ithica cursed. The kriffing Coalition was smarter than he'd anticipated. They'd sacrificed the carrier, causing his fleet to retreat as it exploded. In the wake of the explosion, the Coalition fleet was speeding towards the other side of the planet as quickly as possible, using the planet's gravity to increase their speed. They were already moving too fast for him to catch them, but there were other ways to eliminate the fleet. He wasn't going to let them get away that easily.

"All ships, flank speed. Let's at least get within warhead range, people. All fighters, full pursuit. Target the shield generators and engines. Slow them down!"

Captain Josef Finnicum, aboard the Daemon's Fury, hadn't had to retreat as far. The carrier had been behind the Coalition's line of battle, so when he saw the escape pods, he simply slowed his formation. Then the Coalition turned and headed towards the planet. Finnicum instantly increased speed, but he was forced to swing wide around the doomed carrier. He was still within turbolaser range, but only barely. The few shots he could take did little damage, mostly fizzling by the time they hit the Pride's rear shields. Still, he gave chase. There was the chance that they could still catch the elusive Harrison.

But the ships kept pulling away. In a last ditch effort, Finnicum said, "All ships, launch warheads. Maintain original targets. Let's see if the torpedoes and missiles can catch them."

Commander Jamison Finnicum saw the carrier explode. It momentarily darkened his cockpit as the sensors dimmed the transparisteel. When he could see clearly again, he saw the Coalition making their run. He smiled. Their using gravity to increase their speed, he thought. Too bad they'll never be faster than our fighters. Or our bombers. "All squadrons, form on me. Let's chase 'em down."

At that moment, the third element of the SS fleet dropped into realspace. The massive Astrus-class Destroyer Tyrant dominated the area, flanked by its support vessles and the Aurora-class Star Destroyer Serpent's Head, moved forward at maximum speed. On the bridge of the Tyrant, Wes Vos scrunched his brow as he watched the enemy fleet retreat. He ordered the fleet to give chase, but he knew there was no chance of catching them now.

And Wes found himself wishing that Admiral Thorton would screw up the timing and show up early.

And then the timer hit zero, and the Imperial flotilla jumped into hyperspace. Men hurried about as they prepared for the pincer maneuver to catch the Coalition above the planet and smash them between the hammer and the anvil.

32...33...34, Kach counted in his head.

After a precisely thirty-five second long micro jump, the shiny new Tempest Command Cruiser Torrent entered orbit above Genaris, flanked by the dozen ships in her escorting squadron.

And there ahead sat the enemy, rapidly swinging around the planet at a velocity that would have required some sort of boost for the ships, probably from gravity.

"This wasn't in the plans," Kach grumbled to himself. But they would make do. "Launch fighters, then bring up the shields. Charge the weapons, fire as they are ready. Target the Birds of Prey first. Electromagnetic accelerators are to switch to bombardment projectiles, I repeat bombardment projectiles. Fire them on the Star Destroyer."

Absently, as his men rushed to carry out the orders and open fire, he realized that George was still stationed in the same ship he'd had over Bandomeer, the Pride of Iradona. This wasn't too great of a surprise--A captain would often spend a decade on the same ship before getting promoted, or transfered to another one.

He smiled at his thoughts, the look on his face confusing a nearby lieutenant.

This error was one that would be corrected.

Microjumps were a pretty clever maneauver. The concept is that a hyperjump made within a system's gravity well will take a moment for gravity to pull out again - but in that moment, a ship can cross a large distance very rapidly. The maneauver isn't especially safe, which is why sublights are still the preffered form of transport for short, insystem trips.

The reason why microjumps are so risky, George reminded himself, is because the closer one gets to the heart of a gravity well, the stronger the force of gravity. At some point, as one gets closer, the force of gravity pulling you out of hyperspace is strong enough that jumping into hyperspace is more akin to running into a brick wall.

Sadly, George remarked, as he saw the Imperial reinforcements stumble out of hyperspace above them, Those damn safety protocols drag them out of hyperspace before they hit that wall. A pity - the galaxy could use a new Snowkan.

The Imperial reinforcements floundered, a good measure above orbit, as they tried to bring their weapons to bear at the Onyxians below. "All power to engines!" George growled, rounding on his chief engineer. "We've gotta get out of the firing lines before they can stabalize!"

The Imperials took potshots, but by the time they had righted themselves from their surprise reentry the Onyxians had already blased past, riding the waves of the same gravity that had yanked their foes into disarray.

"Out of range!" exclaimed the tactical officer, relief rolling off of the crew. "We're out of range, sir!"

George glanced at his holodisplay, seeing the angry Imperials chasing after them at half the speed. He was away and clear.

For now.

"Keep all power to engines until we get a coolant warning," Captain Harrison ordered, as he retook his seat. "Unless they've got any more surprises in store for us, we'll get half a planet between us an the Empire then make for open space."

[font=Palatino Linotype]Jarred was, for what he could safely count as the tenth distinct time today, not happy with the current state of affairs. His squadrons had already been forced to fall back in order to avoid a toasting from the enemy carrier, even though he was entirely willing to fly through the damned mess to pursue the Coalition dogs. Perhaps, he figured to himself as he begrudgingly complied with the orders given to him, that was what made him so different...that he was prepared to defy orders in order to do what he had to do.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]Perhaps that was also why the SS medical staff considered him too insane for even so little as garbage scow duty.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]It was also what made him so good at his work...the fact that he was completely unwilling to experience fear. It existed, sure, but as long as it was ignored, it could exist without being of any effect. As long as it was controlled, it could hold effect without detriment. It was when fear conquered that it became dangerous...by ignoring it, Jarred had ensured that he would remain unconquered. [/font][font=Palatino Linotype]And Medical hated him for it.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]As he drove his fighter through what remained of the enemy carrier and turned to face the retreating enemy fleet, his scanners caught sight of their energy trails cutting through the planet's gravity. It was an impressive stunt...but nothing compared to the speed of the Imperial attack squads, which could easily surge over that of the enemy fleet. That was all they had to do, as well...catch up with the enemy flagship, and bomb it so bad that it had to pray for the ability to limp home.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]"Bombers," he began on the fighter group comm-channel, "prepare for attack runs. Split into groups of sixteen on each member of the retreating enemy fleet, and prepare everything you have. Fighters, escort formation three." The result was a dangerous, damnable formation of 6 Schutzstaffel squadrons, 2 squadrons of Hurrikanes, and four units of Storm bombers, all bearing down as hard as they could on three retreating Coalition ships.[/font]

[font=Palatino Linotype]For the briefest of moments, the bombers were completely undefended as they locked onto their targets, firing every last proton torpedo they had at both Birds of Prey, and the Pride of Iridonia. The fighters moved back into cover formation almost as soon as the last torpedo was away, with the TIE Schutzstaffels falling in right at the head of the pack. As the Coalition fleet tried valiantly to escape intact, 768 torpedoes flew right behind them, gaining steadily.[/font]

Wes stared out the viewport as Captain Harrison and his Pride of Iridonia fled past the point of capture. Soon they would be in hyperspace, fleeing towards Coalition-held space. He flipped on the comm. "Captain Finnicum, Captain Ithica, Commodore Thorton. Cease pursuit. Repeat, cease pursuit. Reform on the Tyrant." If nothing else, they would be able to cover the landings.

Another call was placed, and the Venators waiting just outside the system made the short jump. A full division of Waffen-SS troops and two divisions of regular army, as well as a division of armor, launched in their dropships. The SS Star Destroyers positioned themselves over the landing area and bombed it unmercifully. Turbolaser blasts tore up a twenty-kilometer-wide circle, leaving nothing to hinder the infantry's landing.

Captain Ithica looked down from the bridge of the Daemon's Fury and smiled. With the extreme bombardment, the defenders of the two military posts in the circle never had a chance. If they weren't dead already, when the Skorpions got to them they would be. Served the Coalition kriffers right. Then a thought hit him. Huh. Guess the criminals at Bilbringi that are from Generis will have quite a surprise when they return to find their planet occupied. Ha.

Captain Finnicum, on board the Reign of Fire, had similar thoughts. His focus, though, was split between pleasure at having suceeded and thoughts about his brother, still chasing down the Confederation forces as they fled. He hadn't heard anything since the carrier exploded. He hoped Jamison was okay.

Commodore Jamison Finnicum rolled his fighter as turbolaser blasts flew from the rear-firing guns of the Pride of Iridonia. His squadron was behind and to the right of Blue Squadron, one of the SS Kommando squadrons. He was amazed at the piloting skill of the pilots of those craft. He'd heard they were good, but these guys could fly circles around any other pilot he'd ever seen. And apparently these were the newest SS members. Kriff, I'd hate to fly against their veterans, he thought.

Still, his men were holding their own. They were jinking in all directions to throw off the gunners on the Pride, but with so many snub-nosed craft giving chase, it was impossible that they could always miss. Then Finnicum heard over the comm, "[font=Palatino Linotype][font=Verdana]Bombers, prepare for attack runs. Split into groups of sixteen on each member of the retreating enemy fleet, and prepare everything you have. Fighters, escort formation three."[/font][/font]

Finnicum recognized the voice of Lieutenant Commander Jarred Smith, the SS Kommando in charge of the fighters, and rolled his fighter into the new formation. The bombers let loose their payloads quickly, four torpedos from each of the Storm's four warhead launchers. That was a lot of torpedos in a short amount of time.

The fighters swarmed back into their original formation as soon as the last torpedos were on their way. Jamison watched as the warheads sped towards their targets. The gunners tried valiently to take out as many as possible, but with so many warheads, it was impossible to do so. Another voice came over the comm as the weapons impacted the rear shields, though, "All fighters, return to your base ships. Assume escort formation; prepare to repel planetary fighters."

Smith confirmed the orders, and the Schutzstaffels, Storms, and Hurrikanes turned from pursuing the Coalition ships and headed back towards their respective ships. The fight was almost over, but the planet was not yet theirs. Not yet.

"Sir!" exclaimed a shocked lieutenant. "Multiple contacts closing fast... hundreds of enemy ordnance inbound, target locks confirmed!"

Harrison frowned. So they weren't away yet. "Time to impact?"

"...Thirty seconds, sir!" reported the lieutenant, keeping panic in check. "All heading straight for us."

The Pride couldn't hope to repel fire of that magnitude. At the very least their engines would be crippled, making them easy prey for the Imperials - unless he could find a way out of the situation. "Angle deflectors towards the missiles and prepare a course change. Prepare to break orbit and move sharply spaceward at my signal."

Harrison settled into his command chair, watching the approaching lights of the missiles close with his ship on the holographic display. Already his accompanying vessels were pulling away, fearful that the Pride might explode and take them with it. He didn't begrudge them the move, it was a great risk he was taking. "Hold..."

The command crew held its' breath as the swarm of deadly red lights closed on the sluggish green triangle, such basic imagery standing in for the horde of missiles and torpedoes that would blow asunder the kilometer-long craft. "Wait for it... now!" Harrison bellowed, causing them to lurch as the artifical gravity compensated.

The Pride of Iridonia swung suddenly upwards, breaking orbit with a great heave of effort. The missiles that followed in its' wake tried to steer upwards, but found the gravitational pull of orbit too strong, streaking by en-masse by the barest of margins. They tilted, struggling to turn to their intended prey, but it was too late - one by one, the errant ordnance exploded, letting the Pride glide through a fading ball of fire.

"Clear of the blast," reported a visibly relieved lieutenant. "At your command, sir."

Harrison got up from his chair and looked out into space. To one side, the Imperial fleet gathered like dark storm clouds over the little Onyxian outpost. To the other lay open space and freedom.

"We have no choice," the commander growled, stamping out any hint of regret or hesitation. "All remaining ships are to prepare for hyperspace. We'll regroup in deep space and from there decide on our next course of action." If there was still a Commonwealth to defend by then, he would fight the good fight. If there was not, then it would be on to Sinsang and the rest of the Coalition.

Regardless of the outcome, however, Harrison knew that he had lost that day. "The field is yours..." he muttered under his breath. "This time. But next time?" Settling back into his seat, Harrison glanced over at his lieutenant. "Get us out of here."

The surviving Onyxian ships sped away from Generis until they were mere silvery specks. These too at last vanished as they jumped to hyperspace, taking with them the last escapees of the battle of Generis.