Weeks of progress were wiped out in an instant as the Armada’s fleets withdrew from the might of Starfort Almus, supported by nearly 130,000 warships from various Aten fleets. The tide seemed to turn once more.

“Our fleets have been forced to retreat everywhere,” was Vice Admiral Yue’s report to Marshal Tang. “I do not foresee anything different until Starfort Almus is brought down.”

A mere 24 hours later, a message came out to all fleets from headquarters: “cease all operations, concentrate all forces on the Welstra Starzone.” Five fleets were in good enough shape to respond: Battlefleet Agni, Battlefleet Sakura, Battlefleet Isolde, Battlefleet Tristan, and Battlefleet Aegis. Combined with headquarters’ forces, they would number roughly 110,000 warships.

It was Admiral Black who earned the credit for pushing back the Armada’s forces, and he seized control over much of Aten’s fleets. Upon hearing of the Armada’s massing in Welstra, he was of the mind to march there at once and destroy the enemy’s main force.

Yue and Abbas had finally been reunited in Welstra, and they enjoy a drink together in Cutrose’s lounge.

“I have to say, it’s a different feeling when we fight fellow Republicans,” Yue said, her drink swirling aimlessly. “This just feels wrong.”

“Full agreement,” Abbas said. “The faster we resolve this, the better.”

“Yeah.”

The two of them looked outside. It was a soldier’s privilege, to be able to look upon the shining stars so clearly. “For years now, all I know is fighting,” Yue said. “I’ve never thought of anything else. What about you?”

“I like the stars,” Abbas said, somewhat emptily. “I grow tired of all the fighting.”

A comfortable silence lingered between the two. Both were struggling to let out their feelings. “Yue,” Abbas said finally. “After this war is over, will you marry me?”

The cold Yue smiled warmly. Raising her glass, she toasted her fiancee. “With pleasure.”

16 May 2603 was the date when scout ships first detected the arrival of Aten vanguard fleets in Gandharva Starzone, adjacent to Welstra. Nodding grimly, Marshal Tang convened a council.

“My fleet’s turtle ships will form the center, in the Turtle Wall formation. Combined, the turtle cannons should be a match for Almus’ main gun. Of the rest of my fleet, I’ll command half as the headquarters. Yue, you take the other half, and together with your own, you’ll form up the port.”

Vice Admiral Yue nodded. “Understood,” she said.

“Anand, you’ll be the starboard. Koo, you’ll be the reserve.” The two quiet men, deep in thought, nodded. It was said that they traced their ancestry to old warlords of Earth.

“As for scouts in the rear and flank, we’ll use local defense units,” Marshal Tang continued. Her eye then shifted to her protege.

“Abbas!” here Marshal Tang’s voice seemed to be twice as mighty as it previously was. “This is your opportunity, especially, to prove your mettle. Take both Battlefleet Tristan and Aegis, and circle around the starboard flank as far as you deem appropriate. Attack Almus from behind and disable it. I’ve assigned several divisions of sappers and elite ground troops to your fleet. They can infiltrate Almus and disable its systems.”

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“Yes!”

“You expect this battle to be long, then. Circling the starboard will take at least twelve hours,” Admiral Anand noted.

“I expect it to be at least half as spectacular as Istoria. Also: if I am killed, command falls to Anand, then Yue, then Koo,” Marshal Tang said. “If nothing else, all of us should rest and prepare our forces.”

On 21 May 2603, the Third Battle of Welstra Starzone erupted. The two fleets faced one another in fairly orderly lines. Starfort Almus hung ominously in the middle of the formation. The grey, cube fortress was brimming with activity, its anti-air defense taunting. A horrible, red eye emerged from its core—its main gun, oozing with power.

Against it, stood ten thousand turtle ships. Most of their crew had been evacuated, leaving only the gunners and essential personnel behind. The shields of the ships, vertically arranged such that their shell-shaped hulls faced the enemy, congealed into one supercharged barrier. The dragon heads at the head of the ships turned 180 degrees, ready to fire.

“Marshal Tang. Surrender and I will treat you generously,” was Admiral Black’s message before the battle.

“I have crossed lances with an admiral whose fingertip has more wisdom than you,” was the reply.

“So it begins,” Abbas remarked. He had a message sent to his second-in-command, Commodore Zach. “Commodore Zach, be prepared to follow my fleet at a moment’s notice.”

“Aye, commander.”

Positioning himself around three light seconds behind Koo’s reserve fleet, Abbas could barely watch the carnage in front of him. Anti-radar systems had become so advanced that radars were practically obsolete in military use, and obviously he couldn’t send out scout ships. All he could see was discerned from his own eyes and reports from the frontward fleets.

But he could still see quite clearly. A baleful blast of energy struck Marshal Tang’s turtle wall formation, blasting apart a few ships. Dragon cannons jointly fired, forming a powerful beam that struck Starfort Almus. Ships swarmed on port and starboard. Neither side wished to suffer a blow from the other’s superweapon, so the firing started at a much shorter range than usual—one or two light seconds, perhaps.

“Please be safe, Yue ...,” Abbas muttered.

Yue was in the fight of her life. Guarding the port alone, she concentrated on defense, skilfully switching out exhausted units with fresh ones. Sweat broke in her forehead despite the cool temperature inside her command deck. Admiral Anand, holding the starboard, was in the same predicament. The Aten fleets were numberless, their hulls blighting the Welstra system’s sun. The Armada could not play the game of numbers.

“Rear Admiral Abbas, it’s time. Take your fleets, circle the starboard, and fall on the rear of the enemy.”

So important was this message that Marshal Tang did not send it by digital communications out of fear of interception, but rather with a shuttle. At once, Abbas and Zach led their fleets.

“Press our advantage!” Admiral Black ordered. He had the numerical advantage in the first place, and that advantage was only exacerbated further by Marshal Tang’s sending of Abbas and Zach. He also saw no need to devote forces to reserve, or to guard the flanks and rear. Perhaps overconfidence was sometimes a boon.

“Koo, to starboard, help Anand. Fleet, we’ll smash the port!” Marshal Tang ordered.

The combined firepower and discipline of Battlefleet Isolde and Chiyou held off the overwhelming numbers of the enemy whilst Anand and Koo’s guns sung a song of death and destruction on their front, but it was only a matter of time until Aten’s fleets overwhelmed the Armada. The battle hung at a delicate balance. The fate of the Republic was at stake. Would military authoritarianism finally triumph over republican democracy today, at this time, noon of the twenty-second day of May of 2603?

Just as the delicate balance was about to be turned over, a line of Aten ships at the back exploded into a ball of flames. Commodore Anton Zach’s fleet had arrived, and they now struck the enemy’s starboard. Starfort Almus sluggishly shifted its main gun, prepared to fire at Zach’s fleet.

“Unguarded rear. Unprotected flank. His eyes see only forwards. And that is why we will win today,” Marshal Tang said. “Advance, sandwich their starboard between us and the flanking fleet. Dragon cannons, fire!”

The dragon cannons belched out a concentrated beam of pure destruction, distracting Starfort Almus. Though the turtle ships suffered a blow as compensation, the duel lasted long enough for Zach’s ships to close in.

At 1400, Abbas’ fleet finally arrived. Abbas stood from his command chair. The cubic structure of Starfort Almus stood in front of him, yet oblivious to his presence. His body felt stiff from the pressure and the euphoria.

“Attack!”