Into the heart of the one-sided battle, a figurative noose tightening around the small Alliance task force, came a sudden dagger: the Vice-Chancellor's huge Trade Federation battleships. If they had been unsettled by their sudden reversion to realspace, they were doing a good job of hiding it; the void around them was rapidly filling with dozens of fighter squadrons, a swarm that could probably annihilate The Mongrel's battle group on its own. With the attention of the
CETCOM
fleet seemingly directed elsewhere, it was up to the marauder to make the next call. It was never his desire to withdraw... but clearly the Alliance had powerful forces moving nearby.
This was the delicate game they had played for several standard weeks: strike where the enemy was weak, then vanish before his strength arrived. But every time they'd intercepted a freighter convoy or blown apart a lone patrol ship, the Brotherhood had raised the temperature along the Namadii Corridor. They had tried to simmer the figurative pot by drawing out
just enough enemy military ships, vessels they could capture and turn to their own purposes. Instead, it seemed, they had boiled the pot over, and now ran the risk of getting burned. If they lost more ships than they gained, if the damage they sustained was more expensive than the cargo they captured...
Well, that could not be allowed. Csilla lay ahead.
It would have amused - or perhaps disgusted - The Mongrel to know that his calculus in that moment was not so different from
Aerarii Tithe
's; both were concerned with balance sheets of sorts, carefully measuring the cost-benefit ratio of the battle. One thing was immediately clear: with the size of the incoming fighter screen, there was no sense in using boarding pods any further. They'd just be blown apart in transit, losing marauders without the possibility of taking enemy ships. Given that The Mongrel's entire role in the battle was to deliver those pods to enemy ships they might capture, the costs of remaining at this ambush spot far outweighed the benefits for him.
If the Hand of Purification wanted to remain in this skirmish, let them; they were outfitted for a mass confrontation. The Mongrel's little hunting pack had already taken one good-sized freighter that day, and they would have to content themselves with that prize. Departing the launch deck, the marauder leader hurried back to the bridge of the
Festering Wound. He ignored Tithe's transmission, but sent out one of his own.
"Bloodsworn, prepare to disengage. Take whatever prizes you have and fall back beyond the Hand fleet's perimeter." Staring out the front viewport, The Mongrel marked Tithe's ship. There would be a day when they came for the Vice-Chancellor's head...
But this was not the time or the place.
It rankled to depart from a fight like this; it was not the Maw's preferred way. But the Brotherhood's territory was still small, and in facing the colossal Galactic Alliance, it had to use the same tactics that The Mongrel used when fighting Jedi: survive, delay, disengage. It
did bring a smile to the Bloodsworn sub-chieftain's face to think of what was coming, the great weapon that all the resources they had stolen from Alliance shipping were going to build. The Mercy was going to be like nothing their enemies had ever seen. If they were disturbed by the strength and organization of these hyperlane pirates, they would be truly horrified by what happened deep in Chiss space.
"Direct fire behind us to discourage pursuit. We're leaving."
