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“In the absence of orders, go find something and kill it.”
~ Field Marshall Erwin Rommel ~
“We’re -t! I rep-at, we’re hit! Br-ce for impact!”
At the prompt of the crackling static, twelve figures in a sea of plastoid armor brace, every individual grabbing hold of the nearest support strap.
Just days prior, Val Zenlav and her Master had received an emergency summons from the Jedi High Council, pulling them away from the annual Teräs Käsi tournament they’d been involved with on Bunduki to an extragalactic system the Padawan had never heard of, to mobilize in preparation for a conflict brewing in the Arkanis sector.
Just hours prior, preparations aboard the Guardian – an Acclamator-class assault ship serving as the quartering position for the 2nd Infantry – had begun in full force, and her Master had relayed an assignment of a small command over a decent-sized squad, from the legions of soldiers that according to the circulating scuttlebutt, had been the product of Grand Master Yoda’s forethought amidst the Separatist aggression. For an invasion of Geonosis.
Just minutes prior, Val had shared short words with her Master before they boarded separate mission-bound gunships, receiving the firm assurance that no student of his would be falling in battle on this day – though in retrospect, that assurance might have been an order. Final briefings on the operational objective had concluded, and orders had been relayed to the clone troopers, that had been assembled in perhaps the largest fighting force the Jedi had seen in nearly a thousand years.
And so, it begins. Force help us.
From the moment they passed within range of the Separatist anti-air batteries, a hail of fire reigned dominion over the sky, blast slats through the LAAT/i presenting the horrifying visage of ships bursting aflame and surrendering to the pull of gravity. Master Windu’s fleet of light interceptors had destroyed the orbital canons surrounding the planet, but despite the ‘element of surprise’ that the briefing Admiral had sworn by, Val found herself terribly unconvinced of the Republic’s current intelligence assessments.
Next, a wild cacophony of noise hits the ears of the crew. A moment of ripping metal, screaming, and the gunship rolls to the right, slamming down into the terrain and sparing not a moment before skipping once through a dune hard as durasteel, and to an abrupt rest against another downed transport. A moment of internal silence falls amidst the high-pitched ringing before the rough, wheezing tone of Val rips out into the overturned ship.
“Status report! Is everyone alright?!”
It’s another several moments of rough shuffling before a voice answers her, just loud enough to be heard over the waves of blaster fire resounding outside their temporary shelter, and Val uses the time to wipe the back of her hand against a bead of wetness on her chin, grimacing at the sight of the cracked comlink that had been previously affixed in her gauntlet.
“Sir! Seven casualties, one criti- I… eight casualties, Sir. Some minor injuries, but we’ll make do.”
It takes Val a moment to focus her vision on the jetpack-clad trooper who’d spoken through the settling dust, but when she does, a pit of dread begins to take root in her chest at the sight.
“Orders, Sir?”
“We need to move. The others will have finished their deployment by now, and we need to get out of here before the droids start combing the wreckage.” Nodding sharply to herself – and regretting the action when it brings forth a wave of nausea and spots in her vision – Val drags herself up, carefully avoiding the bodies now littering the bulkhead-turned-deck of the gunship and feels a profound sense of relief in her dazed state when the remaining men pick themselves up and begin gathering nearby armaments without further question.
The moment the Padawan reaches an upright position, a flash of burningsearingterror pain rips through her side before abruptly cutting off, sending Val crashing back to her knees with a drowning gasp. Clutching her hand to the phantom pain, Val frantically takes account of her state as the trooper who’d previously spoken stumbles over to her in a rush.
That’s… What in the karking hell was that?
“Commander Zanlav! Are you injured?”
Val graciously accepts the help standing back up, and offers a cursory, “’m fine”, before moving again.
The pain is no more.
With a nod at the remaining three troopers, Val unholsters her lightsaber, tightening her left hand firmly around the hilt and outstretching the opposite appendage with fingers splayed towards the crunched bay door above them. Then, she pushes.
The next minute stretches elastically.
Immediately after the door has been repulsed, red blaster bolts flair overhead.
“Move, brothers, move!”
The command echoes from an unknown voice outside, but in the absence of immediate orders, joining whichever endeavor the above forces are taking on seems as good an idea as any, at least until their current location is established, and the probability of completing their original objective is assessed.
Though we’re not likely to be offering much air support with a downed gunship and a broken communicator. Apologies, Master.
“You heard them. Let’s go!” Val calls.
At their leader’s signal, the four survivors of Delta Company’s 7th Squad get moving, hauling ass across the stalagmite-tipped plains toward where a detachment of troops look to be moving in a hurry up a trailing bluff path, away from where a massive metal blast door carved into the canyon wall sits with a sizable hole blown through it, roughly two-hundred meters to their left.
If that’s what I think it is, then we’re even further away from the Command Center than I’d thought.
With the flick of a switch, a luminescent blade of plasma ignites blue, leading the charge through the intermittent artillery fire that’s peppering the terrain and producing concussive impact craters at every turn, combined with the continuous onslaught of Trade Federation battle droids making a general nuisance of themselves.
It’s chaos unrestrained, and Val has to fight to urge to look to the remnants of the 7th before the group makes it to the cover of the canyon wall, so that she doesn’t misstep into a pit or a stone. It’s a fury filled charge, and when the team finally slides into cover, a moment is taken to collect themselves for the first time since the LAAT/i deployed.
“Anyone hit?!”
A moment. A pause. A chorus of negatives rise up over the screaming of a gunship tearing over their position, pressing on towards the front lines with a barrage of fire over Separatist forces.
“Alrighty. Let’s get climbing then – we need to catch up with those troopers from earlier,” Val voices the order they’re waiting on.
We’ve got to keep moving. Master Danva would beat me over the head for delaying even this long.
The entirety of the squad is too flush with adrenaline to do much more than convey acknowledgement, and with a glance over the receding terrain behind them, Val defensively readies her lightsaber once more, leading the group forward.
~ ~ ~
It’s nearly twenty minutes later when the ragtag team catches up to the previously identified detachment, but when they do, it’s at the tail end of a skirmish surrounding what looks like a Separatist command post. On an unspoken order, the 7th charges into the fray, following their Commander.
It’s more of the same chaos that had erupted on the mad dash across the plains, but this time there’s a swarm of native Geonosians flooding out of holes in the cliff face, and the droids are focused on an objective rather than taking potshots at various passing figures across the landscape. As the fireteam continues pressing further up the ravine to the outpost, focused singularly on eliminating the dwindling number of those who remain in their path save for the occasional sideline crow of triumph as enemy after enemy is downed, they’re met with the sight of at least three squad’s worth of troopers converging on a transmission beacon, centered around the lone, blue-marked figure briefing his retinue as they finish securing the location of hostiles.
Val’s lightsaber is extinguished but not holstered as she and her companions move up towards the crowd.
“Don’t celebrate yet, boys. We still need something to push those droids back. Hook, take Line and scout the ridgeline; see if you can’t find us a vehicle.” At this, the two identified troopers take off at a jog, scrambling off up the ravine as their leader continues. “This is going to be a push to the very end. We need to move fast an-.”
“Lieutenant, we’ve got some friendlies! A Jedi General and some vode!”
The effect of the passerby trooper’s call is instantaneous, as at least thirty bodies snap to face the new arrivals, and Val stares blankly at the armored figure in front of her for a moment, giving a brief glance behind her to verify the absence of her Master before realizing the encampment’s leader is waiting for a response from her.
“I’m uncertain about the General bit, but I’m the Padawan learner of Master Joclad Danva. Val Zenlav,” she offers, adding her actual name as an afterthought before turning to her companion, in the realization they’d forgone niceties during their brief and fiery descent to the planet’s surface.
“CT-3017, Lieutenant.”
“CT-3017,” the Lieutenant repeats, drawing the trooper’s attention, “you got a name, vod?”
The man at her side shifts briefly before responding to the question.
“My batchmates call me Comet, sir.”
It’ll be several hours later when Val’s blood settles the adrenaline coursing through her veins enough to reflect upon the conversation and glean enough perspective from her peers to be appropriately unsettled, but for now, the rhythm of battle moves on at an ever-increasing pace.
Tightening the grip on her weapon and tensely surveying her surroundings on high alert, Val gestures to the 7th troopers who’d integrated themselves into the perimeter line. “Our gunship was shot down not too far from here, and we caught sight of your detachment on egress. I can’t say I know where in the hell we are or what orders you’re acting on, but if you’ve got a plan in motion, then we’re here to get back in the fight.”
The Lieutenant seems to hesitate on the newcomers for a breath as if there’s more to be addressed, but pragmatism seems to win out in the immediacy as the resounding echoes of the battle continue to loom overhead. With nary another pause, the trooper nods and continues his briefing, bringing the 7th up to speed.
“Understood, Commander. As of 0900 hours, General Yoda had returned from the Petranaki Area and taken charge of the Command Post in Sector C-18. He dispatched my Company out of the 4th Infantry, to capture the Separatist Droid Factory located to the southwest of this pass. Our Captain is currently back with the rest of the unit, rigging charges up to blow the facility, while he sent our platoon ahead to contact the Republic fleet for reinforcements,” the Lieutenant recites, gesturing to the transmission beacon at his side where another trooper is furiously pressing buttons on a wired-in datapad, “Not that the damn bugs are making it easy for us.”
As if called at the Lieutenant’s mention, a secondary flurry of activity sprouts from one of the dark openings in the cliffside, dying down just as readily when a wave of blaster bolts are fired. Though the other two members of her fire team seem to have integrated into their adopted platoon seamlessly, lost in the sea of uniform plastoid armor when her back was turned, Val finds her jetpack-clad trooper – Comet – still standing tensed at her side, blaster at the ready and prepared to engage at a moment’s notice.
As the reaction to the brief incursion settles back to standard perimeter holding, punctuated by a few figures tossing grenades down into the tunnels as the two troopers from earlier, Hook and Line, come running at a dead sprint back to the entrenchment, reporting on an AT-TE’s position and hostiles incoming just as the man working the transmission beacon lets out a whoop of victory.
“Lieutenant! I’ve got it!”
The blue-marked trooper claps the man on the shoulder before tapping at the comlink on his wrist, readying his blaster as the contingent of B1 battle droids follow after the two scouts.
“Republic forces, position H-7, Sub, 13-24. Request reinforcements ASAP!”
As the Lieutenant begins firing, Val moves forward with her original squad member, brandishing her lightsaber to cleave sharply through the first two droids to reach their position. She barely catches the audible “We’re on our way, boys,” from the Lieutenant’s comlink before the trooper moves away shouting orders like a well-oiled machine, functioning optimally even in the growing chaos like the man was born to it. His scouts report to his side, filling him in on the situation over the ridgeline.
When the platoon starts loosely dividing itself into the number of those who are moving on and those who are either wounded or remaining to act as a communications relay between the fleet and the ground forces, the Padawan pushes ahead with the former, running up ahead to rendezvous with the Lieutenant as Comet continues to fire his blaster by her side.
It’s a slow-moving but overall short trip when the group finally crests over the canyon’s ridge, bringing into view a large vehicle positioned in a sandy clearing, surrounded by an outcropping of rocky walls.
“Yeah,” the Lieutenant breathes from their position behind a boulder, “that AT-TE is just what we need. Let’s see if that Walker’s got some life in it!”
Val moves forward with her extinguished saber readied in hand, testing the waters. “Lieutenant, if I may – that position looks like a bloodbath waiting to happen. If you’d lend me a squad of your men, I could lead a distraction from the trail leading through the canyon to the plains. Maybe trick the droids into thinking we’re advancing from the opposite side.” She pauses, taking a glance at the helmets trained upon her. “If we could flank them and cut down on the attention your team is under, that vehicle could get moving quicker.” Val finishes shortly, voice fading exponentially as the Lieutenant continues to hold his blank, visored stare on her.
In the brief seconds that Val waits on the Lieutenant’s decision, she holds her breath. She wasn’t trained for this kind of heavy-force frontal assault, so until further orders were received, she’d be sticking her lot with the one man who seemed to have a plan. But stars, did she hope he had a plan.
There’s an inaudible exhale released as the Lieutenant finally gives a nod of consent.
“Alright, then. We’re on a timer so let’s get moving.” At this, the Lieutenant turns to Comet with a measure of what might be humor in his voice. “You just be sure that our Jedi doesn’t get themselves killed. I’m sure you can manage that much, yeah?”
Before Val can offer a protest in her own defense, the trooper who’s stayed at her side since the initial LAAT/i crash tenses up in the armored variation of fluffed tailfeathers, affront writ in every line of his body and a hard edge to his voice that Val hadn’t expected as a crisp, “Sir!” is spoken.
As the Lieutenant divides his forces, he offers a crisp salute to the Padawan leading his men ahead.
“On your signal, Commander.”
~ ~ ~
It works, by the stars, it works.
Perhaps Comet isn’t in the most talkative mood after his impromptu flight over a spider droid, but the man can hardly begrudge Val for keeping his ass free of gaping bolt holes.
By the time the skirmish is over and the last of the Separatist forces lay immobile on the ground, Val has lost track of how many she’s cut down since landing, but though a thick layer of red dirt and grime now covers the entirety of their Squadron, she’s pleased to note that there’s not a discernable difference in the unit’s numbers from before the attack.
Slicing through a straggler with a smoothness only plasma can muster, Val and Comet make their way back to the Lieutenant, who if his posture is any indication, looks inordinately pleased to see them alive. Or maybe the pleasure is attributable to the massive vehicle he’s surveying.
“Commander! The good news is we’ve got an AT-TE and help is on the way,” the Lieutenant sounds off, jogging alongside their newly acquired vehicle as the retinue fully regroups from their divided teams.
“I’m not sensing a bad in there, am I, Lieutenant?” Val questions dryly, watching as the sunbaked terrain of Geonosis stretches in front of them in the distance, harsh light reflecting off of Separatist artillery in the foreground of the massive Core Ships that’d been detailed in the pre-deployment briefing.
The Lieutenant snorts, reloading his blaster as they move forward at a steady clip. “The bad news, is that we got word from the fleet, and the Geonosians told the droids what we’re up to. They’re unloading more clankers from a couple of Hardcell Transports. If we don’t destroy those, the droids ‘ll just march back to retake the factory before we can blow it.”
At Comet’s mumbled expletive to her right, Val feels a faint grimace tug at the edge of cracked lips.
“Well then. I’d guess we better get to it.”
From what Val can tell looking over the terrain and reaching out her senses for any familiar signatures, there’s not much direction going on between units other than ‘go kill the Separatists’, so the self-defined objective seems as good as any other.
Igniting her weapon once more with the flourish of vibrant blue, Val leaps into the fray with her adopted comrades, cutting through the first droid to stand in her path before sending its companions flying backwards with a firm gesture of her hand.
"Get 'em!"
The march moves forward at the pace of their heavy attack vehicle, and while Val is grateful for the AT-TE’s presence as the Company presses their approach on the Hardcell Transports, the Walker’s presence necessitates the usage of slow movement on open ground. In positioning themselves on such wide swathes of land, the battle droids begin to move in on single trooper speeders, the STAPs making it that much harder to implement a close-range offensive.
Val is beginning to feel thankful to the countless hours spent as an initiate, deflecting seeker droid fire during Shii-Cho forms.
Eventually, another squad joins up with the charge, bringing with them a couple of AT-TE’s and speeders, but the victory is short-lived when their original Walker becomes the victim of a hoop-wheeled tank roaring through the ranks, stirring up clouds of red dust in its wake.
Val stifles a choking noise as half a unit goes with it, screaming and burning and –
The Lieutenant keeps moving, so Val does as well. She can’t see her jetpack-clad trooper through the continuous artillery blasts raising mounds of dirt, but she hopes he’s still moving too.
They’re still waiting on Republic reinforcements when they reach the first Hardcell, but a team of heavy troopers from the squad they picked up make their way into their ranks, joining in on the artillery barrage the Lieutenant’s leading while Val move around the sandy platform, neutralizing droids.
“Standard fire’s not gonna cut it.” Someone yells over the noise, “We’ve gotta soften the ships up – try to get creative with the AT-TE’s heavy cannon!”
Another minute passes in which the tanks are repositioned, but there’s a massive overpressure when the vehicle’s heavy rounds finally punch through the shields, electrical bolts rippling around the hull as the first of the transports ignites in a spectacular blaze.
“That’s the way, boys!”
There’s a triumphant veneer to the troopers as they move to the secondary Hardcell, keen to finish off the droids now. The vigor is only compounded by the reinforcements that have begun arriving in the form of LAAT/c’s dropping more Walkers and munitions. Even so, more droids than Val’s ever seen in a single place continue to fire on them, requiring the constant deflection of blaster bolts and vigilant awareness of the troops progress.
With a reinforced leap over a narrow canyon dug into the ground, Val regroups with the Lieutenant, relieved to see Comet’s made his way back to the core team as they press onward toward the second transport.
With the experience gained from the first, the second goes down far easier as instructions are put into motion and the Walkers find a targeting solution – deplete the shields, prep the charges, unloose a barrage of heavy fire. Rinse, wash, repeat.
It’s when the ray shields are finally brought down, and an explosion rocks the immediate area that there’s enough time for the briefest of status checks between members of the Platoon.
“Commander,” the Lieutenant calls, garnering her attention, “I just received word from the Captain. Charges were set and blown. The Droid Factory has been destroyed.”
It’s a surreal feeling, for Val to look behind her at the nearly invisible black smoke rising high in the distance and to realize just how much terrain they’ve covered in the hours since their landing, but she offers a nod of acknowledgement to the Lieutenant and carries on defending the AT-TE’s that the LAAT/c’s keep dropping.
We’ve could’ve used this kind of support half an hour ago, she grumbles internally from her position at the head of a small fire team, deflecting another blaster bolt with her lightsaber.
Suddenly, the ground shifts and thunder cracks underfoot, a massive storm of red sand and ash roiling up from the site where a Separatist Core Ship has just been sent crashing down. Val takes a pause from deflecting to look over her shoulder at the oncoming wave of debris, before turni-
“SIR! Watch out!”
And, oh, Val thinks looking up towards the dusty sky, full of flecks of ash igniting, and turns her head to the trooper who’d pushed her out of the way, who’s visor is looking at her now, and a looking, but not seeing bubbles in the back of her throat as ice travels down her spine, bringing to life every nerve-ending in her body as she reaches out to the man and feels silence.
We’ve got to keep moving.
She stretches herself blindly with senses spread in overdrive as the dark storm of rock matter washes loudly over her position, reaching out for anything familiar. For her Master. For Comet. For the Lieutenant. The only feedback she can receive on the forsaken burning hellscape is a constant loop of terror and anguish and ‘we weren’t ready for this.’
Master, what are you?!
“-ir, Commander! Commander Zenlav!”
Reality snaps back and Val gasps at the grounding presence of the armored hand clenched tightly around her bicep. Val looks at the Lieutenant, who’s kneeling next to her and bracing his helmet against the rushing winds.
“You with me, kid?” The Lieutenant asks, pulling the Padawan up onto her feet. Val offers a stiff nod, and with a shaking hand summons her lightsaber – I have a duty – to her hand. She flips the switch, moving back into the fight and leaving her savior lying in the dirt.
I refuse to die here.
“Good. We’ve still got a job to do.”
I have a duty to these men.
“Lead the way, Lieutenant.”
~ ~ ~
It’s many hours later when things finally quiet down. When the only sounds left are those of distant artillery fire and the only sights are brief flashes in the rapidly darkening sky. When dusk has finally settled, a flat silence falls upon pre-staged clumps of soldiers who hold neither ceremony nor celebration, but rather reserve what little energy remains to press against their comrades with the assurance that their brothers still live while they wait for their turn to be ferried off the planet’s surface.
Val too, is weary to the bone, but she doubts any kind of rest will be forthcoming for some time yet. While the other members of the plastoid huddle in which she’d settled seem to have succumbed to exhaustion, there’s too gaping a void in the Force around her for sleep to be found – something’s wrong – and staying alert seems to offer its own sense of comfort.
With a fierce grip around the cylindrical weapon that’s carried her through the day, Val waits to be evacuated, silent and tense, with the only remainder of her original squadron stiff by her side.
The Lieutenant’s unit had regrouped and been directed to the assault ship they’d initially deployed from, some hours prior.
The sky dims completely. Their turn is up, and the ground crew scurrying around summon the first group of their retinue to board the next available gunship.
When she and a few others who’d maintained consciousness finally move, a ripple effect of men rocking violently forward from their positions ensues, accompanied by the grasping of weapons to level against enemies not present.
Not a comment is made.
The flight back to the Guardian is far more serene than her last aerial adventure had ended up, and when the LAAT/i finally lands in the port-side hangar, unloading the troop complement and prepping to return to the surface, Val takes a step forward before coming to a stop, turning to face the soldier who’s standing facing his marching comrades but looking back her way.
“You coming?” After the previous hours, the idea of the opposite brings forward an unsettled feeling in her gut.
The trooper in question takes a soundless step towards the Padawan, tentatively raising a hand before retracting it.
“Commander, I, –”
“Comet! Is that you?” There’s a holler from a pack of troopers in grime-caked plastoid, charging across the bay. The sound is exuberant enough to snap Val from her focus and she watches with thinly veiled shock as several of the men take off their helmets, revealing tanned, identical faces.
Clones, echoes faintly from her memory of the briefing.
Any tenseness Comet had previously retained visibly melts upon reunion with his brethren, but before things get too out of hand, the trooper takes a step apart from his fellows and pulls his own scuffed helmet off, turning to face the Padawan in front of him.
Val interrupts before a word can be said. She’s been done saying goodbye to her men since their gunship first touched down nearly sixteen hours prior.
“Keep yourself alive, Comet. We’re going to need every good man we’ve got.”
The trooper falters in whatever he was about to say, before reaching out his arm to clasp her own, a glint of humor flashing in light brown eyes.
“You too, Commander. I don’t know where else I’ll find someone so willing to toss me through a pile of droids, but I’ll try my best. I’ve got a reputation for always making my way back where I’m needed.”
A laugh escapes Val at the man’s easy grin. “Well if that doesn’t work out, you can always come back and find me. I’m can’t say where my Master and I are headed from here, but I’ll try and save you a seat.”
“That’s all I could ask.”
The moment extends until the two figures finally release their grasp on one another, and Val takes a step away to tiredly watch as the man she’s stood alongside replaces his helmet and gives her a nod before blending back into the backdrop of uniform troopers in the hanger.
It’s only when she reaches out her senses that a familiar signature pings in her periphery, pulling her feet inexorably deeper into the Guardian, and toward a sparse room where several recognizable figures mill about, speaking softly between themselves. Master Danva isn’t among them; she knows him too well, and the familiar feeling of his presence would have been picked out as soon as she stepped aboard the ship had he been there. A feeling of creeping dread that has followed her since touchdown roils within pit of her stomach.
As an interim member of the Council of Reconciliation, Val had hoped the Knight would have already made his way back to the assault ship to reconvene with the High Council members present.
“Masters,” Val voices, moving to bow dutifully to various members of the Order present. She wobbles uncertainly with the motion, disliking the spots in her vision it brings on.
“Welcome you are, Padawan Zenlav. Good is it, to see you alive.”
Val raises herself from her gesture of respect.
“Thank you, Master Yoda. It’s good to be alive.” The Padawan pauses, looking around the room, and readies herself to raise her inquiry when the Grand Master intercedes her line of questioning.
“Come, young Padawan. Much to discuss, there is.”