“Both wings, stop extending and strike at the enemy retreating. Center, advance and shatter the enemy in the middle,” Katharin issued her orders. At some point, numerical advantage could become such that no opposing advantage, be they logistics or discipline or tactical brilliance, could overcome it.

Abbas’ fleet was about to prove otherwise.

It charged forward like a raging tsunami, blasting apart imperial forward ships. “Shift as much energy as possible from the shields to the weapons!” Abbas instructed.

Imperial reply was swift enough, with ships forming two lines that fired so fiercely that Abbas’ fleet was thinning at a horrendous pace. Katharin herself, however, was focused on taking down Yue’s retreating fleet.

Perhaps too focused.

“Regalia spotted!” Abbas’ gunner reported.

“Good. Switch to close range, send in the starfighters!”

“Wait ... that fleet—it’s too close to Her Royal Princess. All ships, switch course and aid the main fleet!” Vice Admiral Valentina ordered to her fleet.

Unfortunately, this move proved fatal to the imperial forces. Other fleets, seeing Katharin in danger, also changed course. This clogged the battlespace as the fleets struggled to coordinate, giving Abbas precious minutes and affording Yue the opportunity to retreat unmolested.

Katharin only now realized the danger she was in. Orders to mobilize imperial starfighters flew, but it was too late: republican starfighters had already swarmed the local battlespace, and when their imperial counterparts detached from their motherships, they were immediately greeted with fire from multiple enemies.

“Damn it!” Katharin cursed, stomping the ground in rage. “Withdraw! Withdraw for now!”

“Your Royal Highness, the enemy--!”

In the confusion, the Quetzalcoatl closed in on the Regalia, and after disabling the latter’s engines with two well-aimed shots, had set its murderous weapons upon the hulls of its enemy.

“Your Royal Highness, a transmission from the enemy!”

“Connect it to the main screen.”

Abbas saluted. “To the enemy commander: your flagship is disabled and within our firing range. I demand that you cease all military activity immediately, including the withdrawal of ships currently chasing and attacking any vessels of the Republic of New Stars. I also demand that rescue ships are allowed to rescue any remaining living spacemen and retrieve the dead. If our demand is not met within thirty seconds, we will fire.”

Abbas felt his heartbeat bursting to the sky. If the enemy had simply said, “fuck it”, he would be toast.

“We accept your terms,” was the reply.

Abbas breathed a huge sigh of relief.

“The mad idiot, he’s done it,” Yue muttered. “Good grief ....” Yue turned back her fleet and began evacuating the downed crew under the careful watch of the Imperial Fleet.

“Shit!” Katharin banged her table. It took her almost a minute to calm down. “Calculate our losses and the enemy’s losses. Begin evacuation.”

When a shuttle came to Karl, he was fighting the remnants of the Republic’s main fleet. Vice Admiral Hemanth had been killed when his flagship sank; the fleet was then commanded by Vice Admiral Villeneuve who himself fell five minutes later. Vice Admiral Brooke took control, but a textbook mediocrity like him couldn’t hope to match the sheer experience and skill of the Empire’s best admiral.

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“What? The Princess has been taken hostage? Tsk. All ships, withdraw!” was his response to the news

Vice Admiral Brooke took what was left of a fleet 110,000 strong—a measly collection of ten thousand vessels, half of them damaged—and fled back to republican space unmolested. He didn’t realize why, but he was thankful nonetheless for the opportunity.

Abbas retired to his quarters and had a few hours’ worth of sleep before returning to bridge. “How many of our ships are left?” he asked to a new aide.

The aide informed him that a mere 800 ships had survived unscathed, with a thousand more ships badly damaged. The rest had been consumed by the hungry beast named war.

It took 24 hours for the Republic’s forces to withdraw fully, leaving only Quetzalcoatl surrounded by imperial forces. Katharin, her emotions much calmed, ordered, “let him go. There’s no honor for us otherwise.”

“Commodore Al-Salem, huh?” Karl wondered from the Illustrious’ bridge. He messed with his own hair. “Looks like we have another strong enemy on the horizon.”

That was how Abbas escaped.

So concluded the Republic’s campaign and the Battle of Ventii Starzone, which ended in a decisive imperial victory, only slightly marred by “that one little snot”—as Vice Admiral Valentina put it.

Back in the Republic, a political, economic, and social shitstorm raged throughout the government, and then the common people. The loss of so many personnel necessitated insane pension spendings, and the Republic had to lick its wounds and repair its damaged Armada, now down to twenty-two fleets. Abbas’ victory at Alvisa was practically an ant next to this disaster.

“Well, fuck,” so one officer after another whispered in hushed tones.

This turn of events completely derailed the Whitmore politicians. They had expected a minor victory or a draw that could be spun into an overwhelming victory, but a total defeat like this was, to their second-rate politicians' minds, a blow towards their political ambitions.

They forgot that they were elected to serve the people, not maintain their power indefinitely like some sort of parasitic leech.

The Flare politicians offered words of comfort and condemnation to their war-loving foes, but in a secluded manor, Abodemi, the Flares' leader, was toasting with his closest associates, blazing smiles on their face. Their win in the coming election was practically guaranteed.

Things were far more sombre in the Armada. Someone had to take the blame for the loss, and the dead Admiral Potiorek was the easiest target. Not only was he denied the customary posthumous one-rank promotion, he was actually degraded by two ranks down to rear admiral.

Henry Applewood was promoted to Commodore as his superior, Admiral Ali, also suffered the blame and got demoted.

There was also a need to prop up heroes to divert attention, and who else but Yue and Abbas to fulfil that role?

The duo, though, was visiting the fallen admirals' graveyard. "Admiral Falkenhausen was a few months away from retirement," Abbas said as he placed flowers. "Rest now, Admiral." On his grave Abbas put more flowers than others'.

Yue approached him. "Are you done, Abbas?" she asked.

"Yeah," Abbas replied. "Is it time for that vanity show again?"

By vanity show, Abbas meant the usual pomp that the government would serve its people to mask the stench of defeat. There would be a ball, where he and Yue would be made to deliver speeches. The attendees would be government officials, those who hid in the coreworlds while sprouting and blustering about war. Maybe, if they were shameless enough, they would spin the battle into a victory.

"Thankfully, Admiral Tang covered for us and said we were too fatigued to attend."

In a way, these two really were too fatigued. Not physically, but mentally. "However, Marshal Popov called us."

Marshal Popov, in Abbas' eyes, played a part, big or small, in causing the deaths of such millions of hundreds. After all, what sort of commander was he, if he couldn't even control his subordinates?

But Marshal Popov's anguished facial features when he met them through virtual lens made all sorts of ill feelings vanish. "Vice Admiral Yue Fangling. Rear Admiral Abbas al-Salem." These two were naturally promoted.

The old marshal averted his eyes. "In light of your achievements, HQ has decided to move you to new posts. Vice Admiral Yue, you will command a new fleet formed from the remnants of the invasion fleet and supplemented with new forces. The name is Battlefleet Isolde, 16,000 ships in total. It will be ready in six months. Until then, please report to your new flagship after your break."

Yue's small pupils widened. This was certainly not expected.

"Rear Admiral Abbas al-Salem, you will serve as Battlefleet Chiyou's new chief-of-staff, replacing Vice Admiral Yue Fangling. That is all. Rest well."

Marshal Popov cut off communications. "Ah, I see. So you'll be my successor in Chiyou, then," Yue said finally.

"I suppose so," Abbas said. "Congratulations. You'll be commander of a fleet."

"They must be running short of manpower if they're using me," Yue joked. "I wonder how things are in the Imperial side."