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Chapter Text

Dramatis Personae

ARC trooper Captain A-26, Maze

ARC trooper A-49, Heke

Republic Commandos

                Totten Squad

                                RC-5528 Case

                                RC-5096 Rust

                                RC-5511 Leven

                                RC-5782 Slab

                Tihaar Squad

                                RC-7009 Ge’verd

                                RC-7216 Resol

                                RC-8839 Jatne

                                RC-7801 Solus

Cobalt Team Larty Crew:  Wake, Lock, Six, Frost, and Bin

Trooper Squads: Saber Squad (Sergeant Stash), Tibanna Squad (Sgt Cutty)

Officers: Commander Reach (Indigo), Captain Forr (Teal), Lt Bones (Indigo), Lt Dell (Cyan), Lt Trench (Teal)

Prologue

To:  SO BDE Command Staff, HQ Coruscant

From:  Battle Group CO, General Ausar Auset, HQ Boz Pity

As ordered, I have assembled all available GAR forces from the surrounding sectors to reinforce High General Rancisis on Saleucami.  With the addition of the troops under the command of Masters A’Sharad Hett, K’Kruhk, Sian Jeisel and Knights Durnar and T’Bolton to my own, we now stand at nearly regimental strength.  Unfortunately, the situation on Saleucami hasn’t changed, despite the best efforts of the Jedi and clone troopers stationed there.  While General Rancisis and Vos’ battle group have successfully blocked the CIS ‘Shadow Army’ of Anzati-trained Morgukai clones from escaping the planet, losses during the initial landing and subsequent engagements have been extremely high.  GAR forces are still pinned down on the open desert and the ion gun defenses and force fields remain fully operational at both Separatist held caldera cities.

With our assault fleet made up of only two Acclamators and three light cruisers, conservative casualty estimates predict that less than half of our forces will make it planet-side.  I’m requesting a Special Operations attachment to assist in infiltrating and neutralizing the defenses at either or both enemy bases.  I’m well aware that this would be an extremely dangerous operation, but the situation on Saleucami has become dire.  Any and all possible solutions must be considered.

May the Force be with you.

Chapter 1

Outside the Office of General Arligan Zey, Director of Special Operations, Special Operations Brigade HQ, Coruscant, 963 days after Geonosis

ARC Captain A-26, Maze, walked with just a little extra spring in his armor booted step this morning.  There was nothing like a good challenge, and he’d just received a very good one.  He strode down the corridors of the Special Operations headquarters building toward the office of his boss, Senior General Arligan Zey, Director of Special Operations Brigade.  This operation is mine, and this time he’s giving it to me.  Personally.

He approached the door to the Director’s office and reached up to tap the comm.  The door slid open before his finger made contact and Zey called him in.

The Jedi mantra of humility and humbleness seemed somewhat at odds with such displays of their otherworldly powers.  Shortly after Maze had been assigned as Zey’s aide, the Jedi Master had begun playing this little I-sensed-you-coming game.  When his curiosity had finally gotten the better of him, Maze had asked how the Force worked to identify other beings.  Zey had told him that all creatures left their own distinct impression in the Force and that Maze’s was one of ‘intensely focused purpose’.  That sounded like it fit about every clone Maze had ever met, but there must have been some truth to it.  Zey hadn’t misidentified anyone yet.

The aging Jedi Master looked up from his data pad and smiled weakly behind his thick beard.  “Good morning, Captain.  I didn’t expect to see you until the briefing at 0800.  There’s some caf heating up from last night if you’d like, but I’d be happy to make a fresh pot.”

Arligan Zey may have been the head of Special Operations and one of the highest ranking Jedi on Coruscant, but he didn’t seem the least bit troubled with doing his own menial labor.  Maze liked that about the man.  “Thank you, sir, that’s very kind.”

Zey set his data pad down and looked into his aide’s eyes.  “Please, have a seat Maze.  I sense a cup of caf isn’t what brought you to my doorstep this morning.”

Maze removed his helmet, placed it on the desk and accepted the offer to sit.  He would have been happier standing, but he knew it would have offended the General to refuse.  “No, sir.  It’s about the briefing.  I wanted to talk about General Auset’s request for Special Operations before anything went on record.”

Zey brought his hand up to rest his chin on and sighed.  “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“I’d like permission to lead a joint operation to Saleucami, sir.”

 “I was afraid you were going to say that, too.”

“Quick job, General.  Granted, it’s risky, but I also believe it’s vital to victory on Saleucami.”

Zey removed his hand from under his chin and started ticking off points on his fingers.  “First, I haven’t authorized the use of SOB forces on that planet for a reason.  Second, I believe I know what you’re thinking of, and if I were to give the green light, it’s a mission better suited for Captain Fordo, don’t you think?”

Captain Fordo.  Alpha-77 was a great soldier, and Maze had a lot of respect for his fellow ARC, but his daring style on Muunilist and Hypori early in the war had given him a reputation that preceded him.  “Fordo is still tied up on Deko Nemoidia with Cody, Skywalker, Kenobi and the rest of Squad Seven, sir.  And you know it.”

“I do, and I wouldn’t send him even if he was available.”  Zey continued ticking points.  “And third, your duty is here, Maze.  I realize how hard it must be for a man like you.  Sitting safe on Coruscant while your comrades are out in the field.  But the men need you here, Captain.  I need you here.”

“The men need to know I get out there too.  They feel better taking orders that might get them killed from the command staff if they see us risking our necks once in a while.  Can’t have them thinking I’m getting fat and soft behind a desk.”

Zey smiled, leaning back in his chair and patting the great belly beneath his robes.  “Nonsense, Captain.  Absorbing the commandos’ fat jokes is what I’m for.”

Maze nodded at his boss’ self deprecating little joke.  He’d never thought of the Jedi Master as fat so much as just big.  Zey was half a head taller than the clones, with broad shoulders and a thick barrel chest.  Maze had seen him in action before, too.  Following Omega Squad’s successful mission to eliminate a Separatist bio-weapon on the planet Qiilura, Maze and Zey had remained behind with the young Jedi, Etain Tur-Mukan, who had been assigned to the planet.  The three of them had then worked to mobilize the local civilians into a guerilla force that could help oust the Separatist forces and their Trandoshan slaver allies.  More than once, Zey had drawn his lightsaber, and Maze doubted that anyone who had witnessed the result would have thought to make any fat jokes afterward.

“Remember Qiilura, General?” Maze asked.

Zey’s expression sobered.  “Of course I do, Maze.  Hard to believe it was just two years ago.  Dirty business, that.  I wish things could have turned out differently there…”

“As do I, sir.  But we did do good work.  You did good work.  You’re probably the best Jedi in the Order for Special Operations.  That’s why you’re sitting here now instead of Iri Camas.”  Zey quirked an eyebrow, clearly curious about Maze’s uncharacteristic flattery.  Maze went on.  “But I’m better.  These missions are what Jango trained us for.”

“Saleucami is not Qiilura.  There aren’t any disgruntled locals to mobilize against the enemy.  No key political figures to assassinate.  Just a battleground.  It’s a job for the regular army, not Special Operations.  I’m not about to repeat Geonosis and send more of our commandos pointlessly to their deaths.  There are too few of you left, and you’re too valuable.  Or were you wanting to go just to lecture Oppo Rancisis on military strategy?”

Maze crossed his arms in front of him—not quite a gesture of defiance.  “I’m well aware of High General Racisis’ reknown, sir.  I’ve studied his campaigns.  But with less than half of the seventeen hundred men they started with, and only two Jedi Generals on planet, they will be overrun if we can’t land those reinforcements.”

“Three Jedi on planet.”

“Sir?”

“You said there are two Jedi on Saleucami.  There are three:  Oppo Rancisis, Quinlan Vos and Master Tholme.”

“Do you really believe the head of Jedi Intel is still alive behind enemy lines, sir?”

“Tholme is an estimable Jedi, and despite his advancing years, one of the best field agents we have.  He and I worked together on the Rim a lot back before we both ended up behind a desk.  Before this,” Zey patted his belly again.  “I wouldn’t count him out yet.  Master Vos was insistent in his report that he would have felt Tholme pass in the Force if the Separatists had managed to eliminate him.  And—” Zey held up a forestalling finger, “since you clones still haven’t learned to trust us Jedi on such matters, we have some more tangible proof as well.  Vos’ spies report ongoing sabotage in Sora Bulq’s command base as well as the cloning facilities that match Tholme’s style.  Now if he could just do something about their planetary gun…”

There was a lot Maze could have said about trusting any Intel that came from Quinlan Vos.  The Jedi Council may have been willing to accept the renegade traitor back without murmur, but Maze had learned all he needed to know about the man from Commander Bly’s after action report on Honoghr.  Maze would always watch the Kiffar Jedi with a very suspicious eye.  He and Zey had already been through all of this, though, and he didn’t feel like dredging it up again now, so he held his tongue.  “Yes, sir.  In the meantime,” Maze activated his holoprojector and set it on the General’s desk, “I believe there is something we can do about their airbase in the caldera just to the south.”

Zey sighed.  “Very well, Captain, I’ll humor you.  Tell me how you plan on making the impossible possible this time.”

The impossible possible.  That was what the Advanced Reconnaissance Commandos were for, after all.  Jango Fett had instilled in Maze and the other ninety nine unaltered clones that made up the Alpha batch of ARCs that same super-human, implaccable drive that had made him the best.  When Fett took something on, he knew he would win.  Time and again, that sense of knowing, paired with his own physical superiority, had allowed the prime clone to survive what should have been impossible odds.  Right up to his last moment, Jango knew he was going to kill Mace Windu on the sands of Geonosis.  We all buy it sometime, Maze thought.  Maybe I’ll buy it on Saleucami.  He doubted it, though.  He’d already thought this mission through very thoroughly, and if Zey would sign off on it, he knew he could pull it off.

“Well, sir.  You know those stealth CR-25’s the boys in R&D have been tinkering with down in Sector Three?”  Maze tapped the pad on the holoprojector, and a boxy, tri-engined starship blinked into existence on Zey’s desk.  “I need one.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Two days later, aboard the RAS Judicious in orbit over Boz Pity, 965 Days after Geonosis

Acclamator-class assault ships had been constructed with fairly spacious briefing rooms, and it was a good thing.  Standing to one side of the holoprojection table, Captain Maze scanned his assembled audience.  Nearly forty sentients sat before him, mostly clone officers from the infiltration team, as well as the six Jedi that led Saleucami’s reinforcements and the Judicious’ captain and command staff.

One of the Jedi, General Ausar Auset, was up on the dais with Maze.  Auset was the Jedi Master who had sent the initial request for a detachment from Special Operations, and since their rendezvous here on the Judicious, he and Maze had been going over battle plans together.  Maze had initially been distracted by the resemblance Auset bore to the images he had seen of the Shadow Army clones that were being grown on Saleucami.  The General was a Kajain’sa Nikto, one of the five subspecies of Nikto, as was Bok, the Morgukai mercenary who served as the genetic template for the Separatist army.  Maze suspected his reptilian heritage was about all Auset had in common with the Morgukai, however.  Here I am, a man who looks exactly like millions of other clones, and I’m judging someone based on physical resemblance.  Ironic.

The General had proven to be a good tactician and, having worked with clone commandos before, was a firm believer in the abilities of the GAR’s Special Op soldiers.  He also had a tendency to make others laugh, but that may have owed as much to his strange-sounding voice as it did to his humorous outlook on life.  Kajain’sa Niktos lacked a nose, which added a somewhat nasally overtone to their otherwise deep, guttural voices.

Auset cleared his throat, adopting as close to an oratorical tone as his speech canal could affect.  “As you know, one and a half standard months ago, High General Oppo Rancisis and Jedi Master Quinlan Vos were dispatched to Saleucami with three combat ready battalions from the 218^th Regiment.  By the time they exited hyperspace, however, a Separatist carrier had already arrived.  General Rancisis’ fleet was able to force the Lucrehulk cargo ship to retreat, but combined fire from the other CIS ships and the planetary ion cannon disabled his flagship Venator, the Inspiration.  This was something of a mixed blessing.

The Inspiration was able to put down safely behind a screening of low hills, protecting them from enemy fire, where they could offload the majority of their troops and armor.  Meanwhile, fully one third of the LAAT/i’s carrying the first wave of infantry were shot down in atmosphere.  Since then, GAR forces on the ground have been unable to successfully assault the enemy, but the two remaining light cruisers in orbit have kept the transport ships grounded.  The outer rim sieges are clearly working in our favor here, as no Separatist ships have been dispatched to destroy our blockade.”

At Auset’s gesture, Maze tapped the controls on the holotable, and the blue numbers and figures that were displaying troop strengths dissolved to be replaced by a topographic map of Saleucami’s surface.  A series of three dimensional, green-hued symbols began pulsing.  Picking up where Auset left off, Maze went on, “General Rancisis’ forces remain holed up here.  The screening hills you see to the east of them are actually a series of large sand dunes.  Apparently, Saleucami’s seasonal winds are pushing the dunes to the north-west, away from the enemy, which is a problem.”

Maze noticed one of the Jedi shift in his seat.  It was the heavily tattooed human who had been introduced as A’Sharad Hett.  “Something to add, General?”

The Jedi blinked a few times before answering, possibly caught off guard by having drawn attention to himself.  “The sand in a desert is ever shifting.  Its presence is as ephemeral as it is ubiquitous.  This is one of many reasons why the people of a desert are often nomadic.  Master Rancisis knows this.  He will be forced to move as well.”

 “Indeed he would,” Maze replied.  “Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the luxury.  Repeated Separatist air raids have further damaged the Inspiration enough to effectively keep it grounded.  If the troops move with the dunes, they lose the Venator’s shields and shelter from the elements.”

General Auset came towards the audience a step.  “Unfortunately, the situation on Saleucami has changed for the worse since Rancisis’ arrival.  The enemy has now taken the caldera city to the south as well, and has converted the airstrip there to suit their own needs.  They’ve also installed anti-air guns along the mountainous strip that separates the two calderas.  With both calderas protected by shield generators and this host of defensive weaponry, a frontal assault would be even less successful than the first was.  Which is why,” Auset paused, looking over to Maze, “the Captain and his team are here.”

Maze nodded.  “Yes, sir.  General Auset and I have assessed the Separatist defenses thoroughly.  We see absolutely no way into the northern city.  Too many defenses and too many enemy personnel.  The airbase to the south, however, we can take.  My team and I will infiltrate the city and neutralize the defenses there.  Our reinforcements and General Rancisis’ forces will move in afterwards.”

The Judicious’ Captain, a stocky, balding man named Halvers, spoke up from the audience.  “You make it sound very simple, soldier.  How exactly will your team get past that shield, let alone engage the enemy with so few men?”

Couldn’t wait ten seconds for me to get to that?  “The CR-25 troop carrier we brought from Coruscant has been retrofitted with stealth modifications.  We’re completely invisible to all scanners.  We’ll break off from the fleet here, then make several micro-jumps to arrive in system behind Saleucami’s primary moon.  After making planet-fall, we can approach the air base’s perimeter on silent running.”

Halvers wore a small smile, affecting the look of an adult patronizing a child who was out of his depth.  “And do these retrofits also allow you to pass unscathed through a deflector shield?”

Auset shot Maze a quick, knowing look and took over again.  “That’s where we come in.  My fellow Jedi and I will lead a squadron of starfighters to the surface to attack the droid tank patrols on the northern plain.  The tanks are the only un-shielded targets, so the enemy should believe that this is a legitimate attack run, and not the diversion that it is.  The air base will drop their shields to scramble droid starfighters to engage us.”

One of the Jedi, a female Devaronian named Sian Jeisel, spoke up.  “What if the Separatists don’t scramble fighters, Master?  They have enough AA guns to engage us without any need for air support.”

“Fortunately, our enemy’s defenses will work against them.  All of their guns, including the AA installations on the ridge, are protected by perimeter shields.  In order to fire on us, they must drop them.  Up until now, that hasn’t been an issue for them.  With the Force on our side, we can make it through their initial attack and give them little choice.  We will be flying into terrible danger, but we need only make one run, then we can break off and allow the droid fighters to pursue us.”

The huge Whipid Jedi named K’kruhk spoke for the first time.  Unlike the equally large and hairy Wookiees, Whipids were capable of making the necessary sounds to speak Basic, but the voice that emerged from K’kruhk’s enormous mouth reminded Maze more of the songs of the aquatic aiwha back on Kamino than that of an average sized humanoid.  “Our arms manufacturers still haven’t developed an agile fighter capable of suiting my unique, well, size requirements, so I will remain aboard the Judicious.  When the defenses have been disabled, I will lead the first wave of reinforcements to the surface.”

The remainder of the briefing was spent going over mission details, such as contingency plans, chain of command and rendezvous times.  The Jedi seemed satisfied, breaking off to make their own preparations.  Captain Halvers, still not looking entirely convinced but without any further questions, left with his crew.  The other clones filed out in neat order, leaving Maze and an ARC Lieutenant to bring up the rear.

 Alpha-49, Heke, waited next to the door as Maze descended from the dais to meet him.  His brother ARC had a small quirk of a smile on his deeply tanned face.  “Nice pitch, mate.  You always did have a knack for show and tell.  Guess that’s why you left Kamino with that fancy red captain’s trim.”

The majority of the Alpha class ARCs had graduated as lieutenants, with only a select few picked to serve as captains.  Maze had learned to be a bit more patient than most of his brothers, and he suspected that was why he had been promoted.  He felt he’d been paying for it ever since, though, stuck playing the role of an administrative aid.  Heke, on the other hand, spent the vast majority of his time in the field.  He was something of an eccentric character, even among the ARCs, but he was solid and dependable, and Maze was glad to have him along.

Maze punched Heke playfully on the arm, a light-hearted display of comeraderie that the commandos back at HQ would have been surprised to see from their humorless executive officer.  “Ha.  Look where it’s gotten me.  This is the first runabout I’ve had in months.  You’re lucky Jango pegged you for the simple, knuckle-dragging brute that you are.”

“Lucky?  You’re the lucky one, ner vod.  Lucky I’m here to remind you how it’s all done.  Must’ve taken a lot of oil to unstick your rusted shebs from your seat back on triple zero.”

He’s right, Maze reflected, barely noticing Heke’s last jibe.  I got just about everything I asked for on this mission.  Despite his initial reluctance, Zey had eventually given in to Maze’s insistence to lead the op on Saleucami.  After that, the General had spared no expense, making sure they “Do this right if we’re going to do it all.”  Three platoons from the 33^rd Assault and Reconnaissance Regiment, along with their CO, Commander Reach, had been attached to assist the infiltration team of two commando squads.  Four LAAT/i’s and their crews from the 271^st Air Combat Wing would ride underslung on the CR-25 to help deploy the team.  Heke had been recalled from a recon operation elsewhere in the Outer Rim, and despite his initial griping about leaving a job unfinished, was now completely committed to the mission at hand.  Two Alpha ARCs on one mission was a big deal.  How many of us are left now?  Maze knew the answer but didn’t want to the think about it.  He’d lost brothers on worlds from Kamino, to Ord Cestus, to the surface of Boz Pity below them, and there were a lot fewer than the original one hundred still alive.

Maze now walked side by side with his brother ARC, following the other clones to the hangar bay.   The two commando squads broke off for their respectively assigned gunships to assist with the cargo loading.  Maze and Heke were supervising the preparations when something caught the lieutenant’s eye at the other end of the hangar.

“Mystic, on your six,” Heke said out of the corner of his mouth.

Maze turned his head slightly to see the facial tattooed Master Hett approaching from behind.  The man made a slight bow of his head, a gesture Jedi seemed to use to convey any of a wide range of meanings, from friendly greeting to curt dismissal.  Maze and Heke stood at attention and saluted.

“Captain, Lieutenant.”  Hett said, addressing each of them in turn.  “Master Auset reports that Truncheon Base received our message with the mission plan.  We’ve also received a reply from Master Vos.  He reports that his starfighter is planetside, fully functional and that he will join us for the air assault.”

“That’s excellent news, sir.  I’m afraid you’re going to need every bit of help available.”

“Yes…”  Hett paused, narrowing his eyes slightly as he locked gazes with the ARC Captain.  After years of working with Master Zey, Maze would no longer assume the Jedi was simply considering his next words.  Whether he was using the Force to assess him personally or was pondering something greater altogether, he had no idea.  Hett seemed to reach some kind of conclusion and continued on, his gentle voice at odds with the two battle-worn lightsaber hilts on his belt.  “In light of Master Vos’ contribution to the mission, I’d like to accompany your infiltration team.”

Maze noticed Heke shift uncomfortably, albeit subtly, on his left.  No, a Jedi General wasn’t part of their mission plan at all.  He considered it briefly anyway.  A’Sharad Hett was rumored to be an able field commander, as well as an exceptionally skilled fighter.  A native of Tattooine, he was also completely at home on hostile, desert worlds.  Still, he was an unknown element.  The commandos and troopers who were loading up the CR-25 and larties behind him knew the mission, and they could carry out their tasks without Jedi help.

“We appreciate the offer, sir.  A Jedi on the ground would be a tremendous asset, but your abilities in a starfighter are even more crucial.  This mission depends on that diversion and I don’t expect the clone pilots will last long against the defenses you’ll be flying into.”

“I could make it an order, Captain,” Hett said with a small smile on his face.  Rather than coming off as smug, as Jedi often did, the man seemed genuine, and Maze felt that Hett was testing him, rather than flexing his own muscles.

“With respect, sir, you can’t.  As Task Force Commander, I have tactical control of the infiltration op.  We’ve got our job and you’ve got yours.  We all do them to the best of our abilities and we come home.”  Despite the reputation ARCs had for mouthy voicing of their opinions—often verging on insubordination—Maze really didn’t like getting into arguments with superior officers.  Hett didn’t appear offended, though.  With that smile still on his face, he nodded again, this time less formally.

“Very well.  It seems our paths were meant to diverge here.  I sense confidence and certainty in you both, and the men on your team feel it as well.  Indeed, I can’t help but take some away myself.  Thank you.”  With that, the Jedi Master turned and walked away, heading out of the busy hangar and leaving Maze and Heke alone again.

“He’s an odd one,” Heke said, speaking for the first time since Hett’s arrival.  Maze suspected his brother had wanted to see how he dealt with the authority of Jedi Generals.

“They all are,” Maze said.  Heke was right, though.  General Hett was certainly different.  “If I’d never seen them fight, I’d wonder what they were doing leading an army.  Still, tough offer to turn down.  I hope we don’t end up missing those lightsabers down there.”

“Nah.  You made the right call.  You and I, we know how each other thinks.  I reckon we’ve got the measure of Commander Reach, too.  But him?”  Heke jutted his square chin toward the closed shuttle doors that Hett had passed through.  “Who knows what goes on in the head of someone like that.  Fewer uncertainties down there the better, even if he is one of the good ones.”

“Too right,” Maze said, turning to resume his inspection of the loading of their infiltration vessels.  He was still trying to work out whether Hett’s real reason for coming by was to volunteer for the ground op or if the whole thing had been a cleverly disguised pep talk.  He decided he didn’t care.  The peculiar Jedi had been trying to help in either case, and that made him alright in Maze’s book.

***

Flight Lieutenant CT-43/87-0522, Lock, sat in the cockpit of his LAAT/i with the pilot, Captain Wake.  They were running pre-flight checks while the rest of the gunship’s crew helped their assigned commandos and troopers load cargo and armament.  He had been flying with Wake for over a year now, and the Captain was as good of a pilot as Lock was a navigator and gunner.

“Well, Captain, ready to play chauffer for some spoiled little Spec Ops boys?” Lock asked after they’d finished the engine checks.

“Ah, Tihaar Squad aren’t too bad.  They seem to be getting on with the troopers well enough.”  Lock looked down from the cockpit at the bustling knot of commandos and troopers milling about the ship.  Wake was right.  The clones all had their helmets off, and he could see a lot of smiles and laughter from both parties.  Through the open bay doors of the gunship, he could even hear someone repeating words in Mando’a, the Mandalorian tongue.  One of the commandos from Tihaar must have been teaching some of the language to a trooper.

“Off to a good start, then.  I’m just glad our trooper detachment wasn’t from the 327^th.  Those boys lost a lot of friends to Mando mercs on New Holstice, and I don’t think they’d be tripping over each other to sign up for language lessons with the commandos,” Lock said.

Lock knew that Wake was pretty taken by the idea that the Grand Army’s closest thing to cultural heritage was their direct link to Jango Fett, who’d been the leader of the Mandalorians.  It was all the pilot seemed to want to talk about these days, and Lock had long since lost interest.  He was expecting a retort, but their conversation was interrupted when Sergeant Bin, their crew chief, popped his head into the cockpit.

Bin had a big smile on his face, revealing a large gap where several of his top teeth had been knocked out on their last mission.  He had taken some shrapnel to his visor, and after removing his helmet to see, an armored elbow had struck his unprotected face as he helped troopers aboard during an airlift.  Bin didn’t seem to mind his dental disfigurement, and was proud of his new ability to spit with greater force and accuracy than ever.  “You should hear Frost and Six down there.  They’re laying out the stakes right now, and they’ve got some good ones!”

Frost and Six were the bubble-turret gunners, and they had developed a very complex and entertaining system for scoring their individual success during a flight.  It had started as a simple game of tallying off kills and seeing who came out ahead.  Over time though, they had gotten very creative in their score keeping.  It wasn’t just that each and every type of Separatist droid had its own point value.  They scored things like who had more laser kills, who had more rocket kills, who had more rockets left at the end of the flight, and on and on.  Lock had lost track of their system a long time ago, but the whole crew still enjoyed watching the recordings from the gunners’ helmet cams when they tallied up after a mission.

Wake turned around in his seat to face the sergeant.  “Oh, yeah?  Any good wild cards this time?”

Bin continued laughing.  “Yep.  The big stakes just got laid down.  We’ve got Alpha-49 on our boat, and you’ve got your pick as to whether or not he’s going to end up smacking one of the commandos, Sergeant Stash, or me.”

Lock groaned.  Bin may have thought it was funny, but he wasn’t excited that they had been assigned an ARC Trooper at all.  Despite his earlier comment about Spec Ops boys, the commandos really weren’t any trouble.  Over the years, he’d escorted a few squads around, and after the initial hesitance at mixing branches had worn off, he’d found they weren’t much different from the normal troopers.  The ARCs on the other hand…  Lock had once heard a joke from another pilot that the only thing more dangerous than flying without flight telemetry was flying with an ARC Trooper.

Tihaar’s sergeant called up to Bin.  “Not gonna happen.  Heke only hits superior officers.  My money’s on you up there, pilot.”

Wake laughed as one of the troopers set a crate of thermal detonators on the crew deck and added, “Yeah, he’s the one who punched out his Jedi General, right?”

Another of the commandos placed a red-cross marked crate of medical supplies on the other side of the deck and joined the conversation.  “It was a naval officer.  Some senator’s son.  Broke his jaw.”

In their tight, insular community, the clones lived on these kinds of rumors, and the Special Operations Brigade was particularly shrouded in tall tales.  Lock slid out of his seat and joined the others in the cabin of the larty.  “I’ll tell you one thing.  If he tries to pull any of that Jango Fett, one-man-army business on my gunship, I’m pitching him out myself.”

Bin’s face split into his big, gap-toothed smile again.  “Sure you will, mate.  Just make sure and tell me when you’re about to try.  I could make some real money with a holovid like that to show around.”

Wake gave Lock a playful shove from behind as he exited the cockpit as well.  “Quit trying to play tough-guy, Lock.”  He looked down to Tihaar squad’s sergeant and said, “Hey, sergeant, I was wondering… a while back we worked with Yayax Squad, and they showed us the Dha Werda Verda.  I haven’t gotten a chance to do it again since.  Do you think you and Totten Squad would mind leading one here for the troops?”

Here we go again, Lock thought.  He was getting a little tired of his friend’s new obsession with everything Mandalorian.  We’re the Grand Army of the Republic.  The best army in the galaxy.  Isn’t that enough?  Lock had enjoyed watching Yayax perform the ritual war dance, though, and he didn’t want to burst Wake’s enthusiastic bubble, so he kept quiet.

The sergeant exchanged quick glances with his fellow commando, then smiled up at Wake.  “Sure thing, ner vod.  I’ll see if Maze and Heke want to join in as well.  I wouldn’t count on Totten though.  Their training sergeant was one of the non-Mandos.”

Wake looked surprised and a little concerned about that.  He frowned and asked, “Bad blood?”

The commandos laughed and the sergeant brushed this off.  “No, nothing like that.  They’ve just got their own culture and I think they get a little sick of everyone assuming that anyone from Special Operations is as Mando as we are.”  He lowered his voice and leaned in to add, “Besides, it’s no secret now that the squads trained by Mandalorian sergeants have higher survival rates than aruetyc trainers.  There aren’t a lot of them left.  Totten over there is one of the few original squads in the brigade, Mando-trained or not.”

“Original squads?” Lock said, surprised.  “You mean after all this fighting, they’ve never lost a brother?”

“That’s right.  Those four have been together since decanting.  They know it, too.  Their sergeant, Case, is a good soldier, but I think he feels like he’s got something to prove.”

That was interesting.  Lock had lost so many brothers in this war.  He didn’t know any clone that hadn’t.  It was different for the commandos, though, he supposed.  Just you and your three squad mates your whole life.  He knew he shouldn’t pry, but couldn’t stop himself from asking.  “Is Tihaar an original squad, Sergeant?”

Wake turned his head to Lock, looking angry and embarrassed.  “I apologize.  My co-pilot doesn’t always think before he speaks.”

The commandos just laughed again, not looking the least bit offended.  “Ah, don’t sweat it.  Me and Jatne here are from Wad’e Tay’haai’s company, and Resol and Solus are two of Tervho’s boys.  We each lost two of our original vode on Geonosis.  Been together ever since.”

“Ge’verd almost died on Geonosis too,” the commando named Jatne added.  “But apparently my sergeant was too determined to keep riding my shebs to let something as trivial as death stop him.”

Just then, the distinctive blue flashes of ARC Lieutenant Heke’s armor could be seen approaching the gunship.  He made his way to Sergeant Ge’verd and stopped, addressing the assembled group.  “Having a nice little chat here, gentlemen?  Back to work.  Maze wants you and your team, Sergeant.  The rest of you, keep it up.  We’re disembarking at nineteen hundred.”

Heke spun on his heel and marched off.  Ge’verd spread his arms in a shrug.  “Guess that answers that, then.  We’ll have to see about a Dha Werda when we get back.”

The group of clones broke up, returning to their tasks.  Wake was looking at Lock, shaking his head.  “Back in the cockpit, big-mouth.”

Lock laughed.  “What—afraid I’m going to scare off your new dancing partner?  Got a crush or something?”

Wake squeezed into the cockpit first, making an obscene gesture over his shoulder.  Lock was glad he had asked Ge’verd about their squad.  While he didn’t typically like to get too close to other soldiers before dropping them into a combat zone, he felt it had been worth it with Tihaar.  He realized he was actually looking forward to joining the Dha Werda Verda when they got back.  Not if.  When.  As for Heke, though, Lock was planning on spending as little time with the surly ARC Trooper as possible.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

The next day, Separatist Air Base, Sagujero, Saleucami, 966 Days after Geonosis

Sweat dripped down Tol Skorr’s forehead and into his right eye, but he didn’t dare blink.  His opponents were good.  Four of them were spread out, circling him warily.  He dropped the tip of his lightsaber a centimeter, faked a glance to the left, and that was all it took.  All four opponents moved as one, closing in on him and swinging metal staffs with blinding speed.  They would have had him in an instant, had it not been for the precognitive aid of the Force and the skills he had honed in sparring sessions with Count Dooku, Sora Bulq, and Asajj Ventress, master duelists of the highest caliber.

Skorr’s lightsaber moved in a blur, parrying precise thrusts and vicious swings aside.  His blade found the open face of one opponent, then the unguarded thigh of another.  The two left standing pressed in from front and behind, intent on crushing him in between.  Only a last-second Force push to the front and a kick to the rear kept them from succeeding.

As soon as they had been knocked down, all four were on their feet again, guards up and not even winded.  Skorr thumbed off his lightsaber and smiled.  “Good.  Very good.   You fight like that—together—and most Jedi won’t stand a chance.”

Skorr’s opponents were four of the group of two hundred Morgukai clones that had arrived from HQ a few days ago.  Their presence, while unasked for, had turned out to be very welcome.  They were only clones, but had quickly proven to be immensely more useful than the battle droids that made up the bulk of the garrison.  They’d been especially useful during these training sessions he’d set up in a cleared-out section of a starship hangar on the airbase.  Dueling the clones had been a great way to assess their combat readiness, as well as provide a workout for him.  Most of all, it gave him something to do.

It had been over a month and a half since the Count had sent Skorr to Saleucami.  He’d been well on his way to delivering the droid forces to Sora Bulq, loading the first wave of clones onto the empty C-9979’s and shuttling them half-way across the Galaxy to General Grievous for redeployment.  Then the Republic had shown up, and Bulq had ordered him to divert to the city to the south and take over the airport there.  Since then, Skorr had placed the city under martial law, converted the airport into an airbase, installed perimeter shield generators and AA guns, and mostly just tried to keep himself from dying of boredom.

The four clones stood before him now, legs slightly spread and their combat staffs held before them in both hands, with one end resting on the floor.  Their leader, Ig or Ag or Og—Skorr couldn’t remember their names—brought one scaly hand to his armored chest in salute and spoke, “Lorda Bok say that to face your enemy one-to-one is true Morgukai way.”

Skorr smirked at him.  “Your friend yesterday fought me the true Morgukai way, didn’t he?”  He left the rest unsaid.

Skorr had wanted to see how good these fully trained clones really were, so he’d fought one in earnest, with his real lightsaber instead of the powered-down training saber he was using today.  The clone had impressed him immensely.  Remarkably swift and agile for such a sturdy, powerfully-built creature, it was also highly skilled with the cortosis staff weapon the clones used.  The staffs, which projected an energy blade similar to an industrial cutting torch on one end and held a powerful electro generator on the other, were incredibly deadly in such adept hands.

The clone had not only been quick enough to counter his saber strikes, but strong and bold enough to press the attack.  The staff even held up against the lightsaber—for a handful of blows, that was.  An overhand chop had cut right through it, then passed through the strips of black chest armor and gone halfway into the clone’s chest.  Whoever was manufacturing their so-called lightsaber-proof weapons and armor was definitely skimping on the expensive cortosis ore.  If Skorr ever found the charlatan, he’d kill him of course, but he wasn’t overly concerned.  The Morgukai were a lot more likely to die from clone blasterfire than at the hands of a Jedi.

Skorr thumbed the blade on again and beckoned the forgotten-named warrior forward.  Just then, a spindly B1 battle droid with yellow command flashes came trotting into the hangar and clanked over to their improvised sparring circle.

“Commander Skorr,” its vocabulator rasped.  “Urgent news from our long-range sensors.”

The droids seemed to think everything qualified as urgent news, no matter how mundane.  That was why Skorr had begun making a habit of leaving his comlink back in his quarters when he left the air traffic control tower they had turned into a base.  He also enjoyed making the droids run to find him.

“What’s urgent this time, droid?  I’m busy.”

“Republic forces, Commander.  A fleet has just exited hyperspace and is heading towards our quadrant of the planet.”

Reinforcements.  Damn.  And they were so close to obliterating the remainder of GAR forces on the open desert, too.  The air raids Skorr sent out every night, along with the droid and Morgukai battle groups that Sora Bulq commanded, were wearing down the enemy troop strength.  The cost was high, though.  The latest report from Commander Bok stated that the droid forces Skorr had delivered to HQ were already down over thirty percent.  It was the cursed Oppo Rancisis and his famed battle meditation that was foiling them.  Whatever they threw at him, the old Thisspiasian seemed to anticipate and react ahead of time.

What made matters worse was that Quinlan Vos was serving under Rancisis.  If I had only managed to bring that smug bastard in when I had him on the Titavian, Skorr thought bitterly.  Since that failed mission, the Count had told Skorr that Vos was still on the side of the Confederacy, and that he was now a triple agent.  Supposedly, Vos was in place to leak information on the Republic’s battle plans, but so far, they hadn’t heard anything useful from him at all.  The Count might have still had faith in Vos, but Skorr didn’t.  As soon as the Kiffar Jedi played them false, he’d be there to bring Dooku Vos’ dread-locked head.

Skorr turned toward the door quick enough to send his long blond locks whipping behind him.  “You four,” he said over his shoulder, “with me.”

Skorr stepped out into the night air, heading towards the command building at a brisk pace, with the droid and four Morgukai following behind him.  He wished he could say he stepped into the cool night air, but it seemed that Saleucami only had two temperatures: hot and hotter.  Right now, Skorr didn’t notice.  His blood was boiling for a fight, and if these Republic reinforcements wanted one, he was happy to give it to them.

***

Maze pitched forward into the trooper in front of him as his gut experienced the familiar sensation of transitioning from hyperspace back to real space.  The crowded deck of the LAAT/i was momentarily filled with a jumble of clattering armor as the fifteen assorted troopers and commandos lurched into one another.  It was standing room only, and they had already been on their feet for a long time.

Before disembarking from the Judicious, Maze had been faced with the unfortunate reality of logistics.  He needed to get one hundred and forty-one clones, four gunships, and all of their equipment onto one troop transport.  CR-25s were spacious, freighter-sized ships that were designed to accommodate entire platoons and their heavy equipment.  Cramming an entire company into one, however, was out of the question.  He had originally hoped to procure several of the stealth-equipped ships, but he’d made an enemy of himself with the technicians when they had been forced to work around the clock to get just one of them finished in time to fit the mission’s timetable.   As a result, the only solution was to load all teams onto the gunships—which could attach to the transport’s belly via docking clamps—prior to the jump and ride out the duration of the trip as such.

Maze had tried to make the most of the forced downtime, and had gotten to know the troopers of Tibanna Squad, the team’s infantry attachment, as best he could.  They and their sergeant, Cutty, were a cheery lot, clearly used to conditions similar to the cramped companionship they were now sharing.  The four commandos of Totten Squad, however, had proven to be every bit as insular and taciturn as he’d thought they would be.  Maze had talked with them at length about mission details and not much else.  ARC Troopers weren’t exactly known for their cheery dispositions either, so Maze wasn’t about to pass judgement on the commandos for keeping to themselves.  This mission did call for team players, however, and he made a mental note to keep an eye on that.  He reminded himself that Totten had returned unscathed from the entirety of the Republic’s failed Jabiim campaign, which spoke volumes about the squad’s professional abilities.

“We’re in position, Captain,” the voice of the CR-25’s pilot filled Maze’s ears.  “Micro-jump coordinates were dead on.  We’re in the shadow of Saleucami’s primary moon.  Stealth systems are up and running and comm traffic is coming in loud and clear.”

“Excellent, pilot.  Carry on.”  The plan now was to wait until Auset’s assault fleet arrived, which according to Maze’s crono should be any minute.  Once the Separatists were aware of the enemy fleet, their CR-25 would proceed to the hills just beyond the air base.  The Jedi starfighters would then launch their attack and the shields would be dropped to allow droid fighters out.  It was the part of the mission that relied on a large number of variables going exactly right.  It was also the part of the mission that Maze had absolutely no control over.

“They’re here, sir, right on schedule.  Time to go dark.”

If Maze had felt powerless a moment ago, like a spectator watching a limmie match on the holo screen, this was the part when the screen’s power cut out.  The CR-25’s stealth coating and sensor jammers were capable of making it invisible to all but the naked eye.  That cloaking field was supposed to screen the underslung larties as well, but there hadn’t been time to properly test that.  In order to be sure, they were going to have to power down not only all systems on the gunships, but their armor and weapons as well.  They would literally ride this last leg of the trip out in the dark.

Maze switched to the team comm and spoke to every clone aboard the four gunships, “Alright lads, quiet time.  Not a peep until Captain Eight-Three gives the signal.”

Maze cut the comm channel and made sure the power on his side arms were off, then directed his HUD to shut down his suit’s systems.  He popped his helmet off and clipped it to his belt, surrounded by the sights and sounds of the other clones doing the same.  A moment later, the faint red interior lighting switched off, dropping them into complete darkness.

Maze had long suspected that gestating in clear glass tubes instead of a dark womb had given the clones a mild case of claustrophobia.  Judging by the tense feeling of unease that momentarily washed over him and the slightly shallow breathing he heard from the others in the dark cargo hold, he was probably right.  A few deep breaths with long exhalations was all he needed to calm down.

With the life support systems on the larty shut down, there was only enough air in the cabin for a few hours.  Slightly less in the two gunships that were carrying three full squads of infantry.  With his armor’s climate control system turned off, it was about to start getting very cold in the uninsulated crew bay too.

A slight sway to one side was the only indication Maze had that the ship was now moving.  Aside from the occasional clunk of armored shoulders bumping into one another and the metallic noises of the gunship shifting in the docking claws, it was completely silent.

A few minutes later there was a hard bump.  Then another.  Then the ship began shaking violently, jostling the clones around as they clung to their safety lines.  We’re in the atmosphere, then, making planetfall.  As long as an ion cannon doesn’t find us first, we’ll be in position soon.

***

Skorr hustled across the air field toward the control tower, passing under the wings of one of the massive C-9979 cargo ships along the way.  The four winged, antique-looking aircrafts took up an entire quadrant of the tarmac, and until General Grievous sent reinforcements to clear the Republic blockade, there was no way to get rid of them.  They would continue to sit empty of clones and empty of use.

He entered the code into the key pad of the tower’s ground floor and walked past the turbolift to the stairwell.  The lift was broken, just like everything else on base.  Just as well.  One entrance made it easy to secure the control room, and in a pinch, Skorr knew he could call on the Force to survive the thirty meter jump from the top.  The tower was a ludicrously exposed place to be in modern warfare, but with the shield dome up and running, he was safe from all enemy fire.  It also gave him an unobstructed view of the airfield, the city below, and even the desert and jagged hills surrounding the caldera.

Sagujero City was built into a wider and shallower caldera than the planet’s capital to the north, where HQ was located.  The airfield had been built on the flat, raised shelf of the caldera, with the main city sitting in the deeper pit below, close to the subterranean rivers and magma tunnels that sustained all life on Saleucami.

Skorr hurried up the stairs, taking them two at a time.  The solid thuds of the Morgukai’s heavy boots matched him pace for pace, but the metallic clanks of the battle droid’s feet grew fainter as they ascended.  Droids could do stairs just fine, but not very quickly.

The command room was deceptively quiet as Skorr burst through the door.  Several skeletal OOM droids sat silently at their stations while the tall Koorivar major that Skorr had placed in charge leaned on the room’s holotable with one hand while he pressed the other against his earpiece.  The humanoid turned towards the door, his lumpy brows beetled in a scowl below his single cranial horn.

“Commander Skorr,” he grunted in accented Basic, “I’ve been trying to reach your comlink for—”

“What’s our status, Major?” Skorr snapped impatiently as he strode towards the holotable.  Major Ravaal was an able officer, but Skorr found him to be a bore.  Fortunately, he seemed content to run the base’s day to day operations, which left the Dark Jedi free to occupy his time elsewhere.

Ravaal opened his mouth, then closed it abruptly, squared his shoulders and started again.  “The Republic fleet is holding position beyond the horizon.  It consists of two—”

“Have you contacted HQ yet?  What are Master Bulq’s orders?”

“We’ve been in constant contact with HQ.  General Bulq has not issued any—”

“Why?  Comm him again.  Let him know that I want to speak with him.”  Skorr leaned in close to add emphasis to his last order.  Ravaal was clearly growing flustered by his demands, but he needed to know who was in charge here.  Skorr was a big, solid man, and his reddish brown armor added additional bulk to his already intimidating frame.  He rarely needed to call on the Force to get his point across.

Ravaal blanched, just as Skorr had known he would.  “Very well, Commander, I’ll try again.”

The Koorivar turned back to the holotable, picked up his headset and spoke into it.  Skorr smiled to himself.  It went against all of the Jedi teachings that he’d had shoved down his throat for nearly four decades of his life, but it just felt so good to make others do as he wanted.

After a few moments, the holotable projected a three-dimensional image of the ugly face of Rath Kelkko, head instructor of the Anzati assassins who had been contracted to train the Morgukai clones.  Rath had his arms crossed over his broad chest and looked down his bulbous nose at the holo-receiver in mild annoyance.

“Something to report Skorr?”

Skorr ignored the Anzati’s attempt to start out with the upper hand.  “Where’s Master Bulq, Rath?”

“Sora is in the magma tunnels with Bok and a team, hunting Tholme.  He’s been updated on the situation and should arrive shortly.  Anything else?”

“Just put him on when he arrives.  I’m in command of the air base and I need his orders.”

Kelkko curled his lip in amusement, raising enough of his mustache to expose his sharp teeth.  “I’m sure you do.  Tell me, Skorr, do you contact Sora for permission every time you need to use the ‘fresher, or is that a decision you can actually make for yourself?”

Skorr bristled.  If that worthless excuse for a combat instructor were here right now, I’d tear his…  Taking a deep breath, Skorr remembered the advice Dooku had given him during their sparring sessions.

You’re so easy to provoke, Skorr.  Anger is useful, but blind rage simply makes you careless and clumsy.  Cold hate.  That is the key to the Dark Side.

For once, Skorr chose to take the higher ground.  “I’ll remember you said that, Rath.  Have Master Bulq comm me as soon as he arrives.”  He flicked a switch on the projector, closing the link to HQ and watched the images of the Republic fleet hover in front of him.  Skorr fingered his neatly trimmed goatee thoughtfully as he stared into the blue light.  Suddenly, several small, red dots began to pour from one of the translucent Acclamators.  “Major, what’s this?”

Major Ravaal hurried over to the table and highlighted the dots, bringing details up onto the screen.  “Fighter squadron.  Looks like… seventeen ARC-170’s, twenty-two V-wings, and five Eta-2 Actis fighters.  They’re heading for our position.”

No gunships then, huh?  Must be strictly an attack run.  Those Etas are the new Jedi starfighters, though.  Hmmm.  “Blow them out of the sky,” he commanded.

 “We will.  Just as soon as they’re in range,” Ravaal continued tapping commands into the keypad and speaking into his headset, addressing Skorr in between the orders he was issuing.  “Looks like they’ll be coming in too low for our ion towers to fire over the hills.  The AA guns on the crest will be acquiring target locks soon, though.  Gun shields lowered, locking on now, and firing!”

Skorr turned his gaze from the blue holographic images to the window.  High above the caldera rim, beams of red light cascaded from the hills silhouetted to the North.  Farther off, blue and red streaks lanced up from HQ’s location, along with an occaisional huge, yellow flash as the main planetary ion cannon lit up the night sky.  Some of the beams terminated in tiny puffs of exploding fire, accompanied by an electronic beep from the holoscreen as the computer tracked enemy kills.

Reaching into the Force, Skorr probed outward toward the enemy fighters.  The distinct signatures of five Force-users showed up in his mind’s eye like lighted windows on an otherwise dark high-rise.  Jedi.

Skorr reflected on how difficult it would have once been for him to sense the individual Jedi from this distance.  Then Count Dooku had opened his eyes to an ability to go beyond the constraints of his Jedi teachings by using the power of his own will.  By embracing the Dark Side.  The choice to do so had been the easiest one of his entire life.

Major Ravaal’s voice pulled him back to the battle.  “Commander, the enemy fighters are now in range to fire their weapons.  Sir, they’re attacking our tank patrols on the northern plain!”

The AATs and Hailfire droids that Skorr had delivered to HQ had been instrumental in preventing the Republic from launching ground attacks at either Separatist installation.  Losing them would severely limit their ability to keep the enemy pinned down on the open desert.

“Keep firing, Major.  Give the tanks some cover.”

“Sir, the guns will continue to fire, but they’ve entered their defensive fire-and-shield sequence.  If we drop the shields completely to allow them to keep firing at full tempo, they’ll be vulnerable to enemy strafing runs.  I suggest we drop our dome shield and launch a squadron of Vultures to meet the Republic in the air.”

“You don’t give the orders here, Major.  I do.”

“Yes, sir.  What are those orders?”

Skorr hated this.  This isn’t where I should be.  I should be out tracking down targets for the Count, making contacts and acquiring intelligence.  That’s what I did best as a Jedi and it’s what I do best now.  Where are you, Bulq?  What should I do?

Ravaal was staring at him, a frown of concern on his face.  “Commander Skorr, the fighters will be over the hills any moment.  If we’re going to launch fighters, we need to do it now, before the enemy can get into the city when we drop the shield.”

Bitter thoughts about being out of his depth made Skorr hesitate.  He had absolutey no experience with this kind of rear-guard command.  A crippling fear that he was going to let that show was threatening to overwhelm him.  The image of Rath Kelkko laughing at him for making stupid mistakes and Count Dooku’s pitying scowl filled him with impotent rage.

To hell with them, he thought.  I won’t give them that chance.  I know how to deal with bugs.  “Launch them all, Major.”

“All of A-squadron, sir?”

“All of all squadrons.  All Vultures and all tri-fighters.  All of them.”

***

Captain Maze braced his stance to keep from falling as the ship once again burst into motion.  After making planetfall and travelling for a short time, they had been holding position, waiting for the shield to drop.  The sudden acceleration probably meant that had happened and they were on their way inside.  Of course, it could also mean they’d been spotted…

Maze’s gut felt the giddy sensation of a quick drop in altitude.  That’s us coming over the ridge into the caldera.  We’re in.  A moment later, the lights in the cabin flicked back on and there were two hard bangs on the cockpit door.  The crew chief, Sergeant Ten, banged his fist against the bulkhead, repeating the signal back to the pilots and roared, “Buckets on, boys!  Charge it all up!”

The familiar wash of adrenaline pulsed through Maze’s veins as he sealed his helmet and powered up his blasters.  The cold dread that had been building in him during the hours of forced idleness ebbed away, replaced by the alert feeling of living only in the present.

Maze heard the engines to his rear whine into life and the pilot of the CR-25’s voice cracked onto the speakers, “Engine checks on all larties.”

“Azure team, green,” the pilot of Maze’s gunship reported.  Cyan, Teal, and Cobalt Teams all reported ready as well.

“Disengaging docking clamps in three, two, one.”  A magnetic pop, accompanied by a loud clank went off above Maze’s head and their gunship peeled away. 

The CR-25 would break off now and head for a natural amphitheater in the northwestern corner of the city.  The overhanging rock would provide protection from enemy strafing runs and mortars.  Commander Reach and one squad of the ship’s full platoon would remain on station to function as forward air controllers.  The amphitheater would also serve as their primary fallback position if things went to osik and they had to hole up in the city.

The remaining three squads from the troop carrier would proceed to launch an assault on the air base.  The attack would only be a feint, as would those carried out by the troopers of Cyan and Teal teams on the magma reactor and shield generator, respectively.  The diversionary attacks by the infantry troops were the key to allowing Azure team, led by Maze, and Cobalt team, lead by Heke, to carry out the true purpose of the mission.

The two ARC Troopers and their individual commando squads would head to the substations that diverted power from the magma reactor to the main shield generator and the smaller generator that protected the AA guns on the hilltop.  Taking out the substations wouldn’t shut down the shields forever, but it would work long enough for the reinforcements to invade the city.

Maze felt positively electrified to finally be in the thick of things after all of the days of planning.  I’ve needed this.  No sitting back, safe and sound, playing advisor to others this time.  He didn’t kid himself about the very real danger he and his men faced, nor about the responsibility he held for putting their lives on the line, but his fears were focused now, and he’d use them to complete the mission.

It was time.  He switched his helmet comm to the secure team channel and spoke to every man on the infiltration team, “Alright men, we’re in.  No reinforcements and no way out until we get the job done.  Carry out your orders and we’ll see each other at the extraction point.”

It’s a good start.  Now let’s just make sure there’s a good finish to match.

***

Blue dots streamed onto the holographic scene, depicting the dozens of droid starfighters that Skorr could see launching from out of the window.  Ravaal had clearly thought it was foolhardy to leave them without any fighter support at the base, but he had known better than to argue about it.  He also didn’t have the same handle on the situation that Skorr did.  If they were going to remove those Jedi fighters from the situation quickly, it was going to take overwhelming numbers.

The black shapes of the droid fighters disappeared over the ridge, and Skorr switched his gaze back to the holotable where blue dots streaked toward what remained of the swarming red ones.  Tiny symbols that represented the Separatist tank units were retreating back towards HQ, suffering casualties all the way.  As the blue dots closed in on the reds, V-wings and ARC-170’s began to show up as kills on the board.  One of the Etas even winked out of existence.  Skorr could feel the Jedi’s death in the Force.  He briefly wondered if it was someone he had known at the Temple.

The remaining red dots regrouped, then began flying west, toward the low hills and the Republic’s crashed Venator.  Yes, run away little bugs.  Lead the droids right back to your nest.  Before reaching the ship, however, the Republic starfighters cut hard to the north, and the swarm of blue droid dots followed, intent on chasing their enemies to the ends of the planet.

Suddenly, blue dots began flashing and disappearing from the display.  Skorr rushed to the window, and he could see the afterimages of green lasers shooting into the northwestern sky.  He twisted towards Major Ravaal, anger contorting his face.  “I thought you said our air raids had destroyed the last of their defensive batteries, Major!”

Ravaal was staring at the screen, unwilling or unable to meet Skorr’s gaze.  “Th-th-they did, Commander,” he managed.  “They must have effected repairs.  I don’t know.”

A warning klaxon sounded and another red shape appeared onto the screen, shooting off in pursuit of the air battle.  More blue dots winked out of existence.  A pit of dread filled Skorr’s stomach.  He knew just who was in that starfighter.  Vos.

He almost started marching toward the door and directly to his own starfighter, but then thought better of it.  The modified Headhunter that he’d brought to Saleucami was only a temporary replacement for his last ship, and he knew it was no match for the nimble Jedi starfighters he’d be facing.

Thinking of his last ship, the Hell’s Anvil, filled Skorr with bitter memories.  He had acquired it on an Intel gathering mission for Count Dooku.  His clues had led him to a derelict KR-TB “Doomtreader” starship that had once belonged to a Mandalorian named Montross, a dead rival of Jango Fett’s.  Skorr was convinced that the information Dooku wanted was in the Anvil’s databases.

He’d been wrong.

Quinlan Vos had once again beaten him to the punch and successfully completed Dooku’s mission.  Skorr would never forget the humiliation of standing next to his prize on the landing platform, where the count and Vos had come to meet him.  After letting Skorr know how miserably he’d failed, Dooku had still seen fit to let him keep the ship.  He could still hear his master’s words:

“Keep the ship, Tol.  I think it suits you.  Come along, Quinlan, I have a mission for you.”

Vos had beamed at Skorr and strode off with the Count, who was still speaking loudly enough that Skorr knew he’d been meant to hear him.  “There’s some poetic justice here, Vos, isn’t there?  Skorr now owns the ship of the loser of a contest, while your own ship so closely resembles its winner’s.”

Quinlan’s ship, the Skorp-ion, which did indeed resemble Fett’s iconic Firespray-class patrol ship, had eventually shot down the Hell’s Anvil on yet another failed mission.  After that, Skorr hadn’t even bothered to have it repaired.  As nice a ship as the “Doomtreader” had been, he’d never been able to look at it without seeing Vos’ smug little smile.

Skorr was brought out of his miserable reverie by the sound of the comm chirping.  Bulq must have returned and was now wondering why so many of his starfighters were being blown out of the sky.

“Don’t answer that, Ravaal.  Not yet.  I need to think.”  Sora Bulq didn’t tolerate failure and Skorr wasn’t about to let himself be held accountable for this mistake without coming up with a plan.

As he was trying to think, the command droid in the doorway spoke out.  Skorr had been so focused on the battle that he hadn’t even heard it clanking up the stairs.  “Commander, one of our STAP patrols reports that enemy gunships have been spotted inside the city.”

“What?” Skorr roared.

“Commander, one our STAP patrols reports that enemy gunships have been spotted inside the city,” the droid repeated in exactly the same tone as its first report.

Skorr’s vision was tunneling in as he turned towards Ravaal again.  All he wanted right then was to bring his hand up and crush the stupid Koorivar’s wind pipe with the Force.  “This is your fault, Major!  Didn’t you check the sensors before dropping the shield?”

Ravaal’s dark skin had gone as close to pale as possible.  “Of course, sir.  They were blank.  No enemies.  Nothing.”

“Then why the hell are there enemy ships in my city?”

“I, I don’t know, Commander.  They must have…  I don’t know.”

“You don’t seem to know much, do you, Major?”

Ravaal simply shook his head, apparently hoping that if he remained silent, Skorr would forget he existed.  For now, Skorr decided to grant him this wish.  The Koorivar was a distraction, and he needed to think.  Without the fighters, what do I have left?  There were the STAPs, but the light patrol craft didn’t stand much of a chance against Republic gunships.  He also had several tanks and a lot of battle droids.  I’ll send them out in a search pattern and—”

“Lorda Skorr.”  He turned towards the voice of one of the Morgukai clones.  The four of them had been standing at attention like statues at either side of the door.

“What, Clone?”  Between this clone’s demand for his attention, Ravaal’s stammering, the droid’s monotonous updates and that incessant chirping of the comm, Skorr was ready to be done with the lot of them.

“We have patrols with heavy weapons out in city, Lorda.  Mebbe we use droidies to lead bad guys into trap, eh?”  The clone had a broad smile on his flat face as he proposed his idea.  Skorr hadn’t known the flash-grown warriors were capable of such creative thinking, let alone that they had a sense of humor.  Right now, though, both qualities were exactly what he needed.

“Yes, that’s exactly what we’ll do.  What was your name again, warrior?”

“Ogdai, Lorda Skorr.”

“Well then, congratulations, Ogdai.  You’re my new major.  Ravaal, you’re relieved of your rank.  Keep monitoring the comms, but you can consider yourself a private.”  Skorr smiled, suddenly feeling a lot better.  “Now, let’s kill some clones.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Lock looked past the holographic targeting screen and through the transparisteel canopy at the empty streets of the caldera city.  Nobody out and about.  Looks like the Seps do have that curfew in effect.  Good.  With martial law declared over the city, their night op should attract less attention and limit civilian casualties.  Should.  Returning his gaze to the targeting screen, Lock tracked their progress towards the landing zone.  “Two klicks to the LZ, Lieutenant, and all still quiet.”

 “Alright, boys, approaching target,” Captain Wake said, speaking through his helmet’s comm to the team on the flight deck.  “We’ll try to get you to ground, but have those lines ready to fast-rope down if it ends up being a tighter fit than we—”

Two solid impacts thudded against the roof, rocking the ship as a group of seven STAPs, flying in a wedge above the buildings, passed over them.

“Bogies at ten o’clock, heading southeast,” Lock reported, as he and the port side gunner struggled to bring their composite laser sights onto the STAPs, but the enemy craft were already safely on the other side of the buildings.

Wake swore under his breath, then commed the ARC, “They’ve seen us now.  Permission to engage, Lieutenant?”

“They don’t know where we’re headed yet, but I’d rather they weren’t around to find out, not to mention rain fire on us at the LZ.  Take ‘em out, but be quick about it.”

Wake swung the ship hard to the left at the next intersection, tracking the STAPs on the radar.  Two streets over, Lock saw the droids, now flying in a loose formation at street level.  He opened up with the chin guns and the STAP lowest to the ground came apart under the repeating canon fire like a cheap toy.  In the same instant, he brought the wingtip laser beams onto the highest flying bogey.  Frost and Six were doing the same from their bubble turrets and three nearly simultaneous explosions blossomed.

Just like that, the enemy patrol was suddenly down by more than half.  Something in their droid brains registered this, and the remaining three STAPs peeled off in different directions.  The two on the right pulled up hard, flipping their drivers upside down as they attempted to loop back behind the larty.  Lock’s blasts from the wingtip lasers were just a hair too late to nail the center looper.  Six couldn’t bring his turret to bear fast enough either, so instead, he fired off one of the four light, air-to-air rockets under the starboard wing.  The rocket shot off, seeking the right-most.  The resulting explosion peppered their doughty gunship with shrapnel.  The left-most droid jinked hard to the left into a narrow alley just ahead of Frost’s laser, which tore chunks out of the corners of the buildings on either side.

“If he’s smart, he’ll stay in there and hide,” Wake said, then tutted.  “‘Course we all know if they were smart there wouldn’t be any of us left.  Looks like his buddy just gave us a tail, though.”

“On it,” Lock said.  The larty’s tail gun was automated and locked onto targets on its own.  It just needed the gunner to confirm the target and give permission to fire, which Lock was happy to do.  Solid impacts thudded against the aft of the ship, but the enemy patrol craft’s cannons just didn’t have the punch to do much more than give them a bumpy ride.  The same couldn’t be said in reverse, however, and the tail gun made short work of both STAP and droid.  “Clear aft.”

“How about our escapee?” Heke asked from behind.  “Are we tracking?”

 “We’ve got him,” Lock answered.  “Only one way out of that winding alley and he’ll be moving a lot slower than we will.  We’ll head him off at the pass.”

“Yep.  Hold tight.”  That was all Wake said to the poor clones on the flight deck before punching the acceleration hard.  He hit the starboard repulsors and pulled to the left, making a turn onto the next street that Lock suspected even the supernaturally skilled Jedi pilots would have admired.  Good old Wake.  The Captain certainly knew his trade.  But then, they all did.  That was what made the GAR the best army the Galaxy had ever seen.

The narrow street opened up into an expansive courtyard, overlooked by a huge domed government building.  Wake slowed the ship, anticipating the emergence of the final STAP.  Lock could still see the red V that marked the bogey on his radar.  From this view, the alley appeared to be a civilian foot-traffic street, which meant it was likely full of trees and vending stalls.  That explained the droid’s late arrival.  Sure enough, the craft emerged a moment later, like it hadn’t a care in the world.

Lock couldn’t tell whether the laser beams from his turrets or one from Frost or Six’s were the first to hit the clanker, but the end result was the same.  He knew they’d have a lot of fun rewatching the footage on their helmet cams in max slo-mo to see who would get to claim credit for the kill.

That was the last thing he remembered thinking, because the flashing red warning lights and alarm klaxon went off so close to the violent explosion that tore into the aft of the gunship that there wasn’t time to react.  The world went into swirling defocus as the LAAT spun towards the ground.  Wake’s warning of, “Brace, brace, brace!” was all the pilot said during the fall, but his hands were clearly busy as he managed to keep them from falling nose first.

The jarring impact of their crash bounced Lock’s head around inside his helmet.  He saw stars and tasted blood, and his vision hadn’t even cleared before the alloy shell of their wrecked ship began taking blaster fire that sounded like the worst hailstorm Kamino had to offer.

“Let’s go, Wake, time to bang out,” Lock said to his brother, whose head canted towards the controls of the fore cockpit.  Lock unbuckled his safety harness and started to reach forward to shake the pilot’s shoulder, but that was as far as he got before the cockpit door slid open and an armored hand was pulling him back into his seat.

“Wrong idea,” Heke said, keeping his restraining grip on Lock’s shoulder.  “Will the ejection capsule still fire?”

“Sir?”

“The ejection seats.  Will they still work?”

Lock couldn’t fathom what the ARC was thinking, nor why he was wasting time keeping the three of them in a ship that was about to be molten slag.  “They should, but sir, the men—”

“Need me in that building, and you’re going to put me on top of it.”

Realization dawned on Lock.  Fierfek, the idea was crazy, but also potentially brilliant.  But then that pretty much summed up ARC Troopers—crazy and brilliant.  “Alright, let’s get Captain Wake clear and you can—”

“No time,” Heke said as he scrambled over Lock, shoulder pauldron and kama scraping past his head.

Lock gritted his teeth.  “You’d better at least strap on to something.”

A large explosion went off next to their position in the courtyard, and the resulting dirt and debris showered the fuselage, adding their own notes to the staccato thuds of the blaster fire.

“No time!  Punch it, Lieutenant, now!”

You’re the boss.  But if that kriffing skirt of yours catches the wind and sends you flying, that’s just bloody well too bad.  Lock pulled the safety catch on the emergency ejection node and hit it.  Explosive bolts sent the view screen flying, followed a split second later by the repulsor assisted rocket that shot the entire cockpit compartment into the air.  The ejector didn’t exactly put them into orbit, but it gave Lock plenty of altitude to get above the building that continued to pour fire onto the crash site.

From up here, Lock could see that the building’s roof was indeed dominated by a green tiled dome, but the dome itself was surrounded by flat sections.  The ejection capsule was designed to be guided, though the repulsors on its underside left a lot to be desired for delicate landings.  Settling onto the flat section next to an access stairway that Heke—who was all but hanging off the capsule—was pointing to, was going to be tricky.  Lock only had a brief moment to spare a glance back to the crashed ship below.  The burning engines cast just enough firelight to see troopers—some lying down, wounded or dead—along with the bulky shapes of the four Katarn armored commandos, sheltered in the lee of the Larty.  He didn’t see Frost, but Six was still in his bubble turret, pouring composite laser into the building’s windows.  The last thing Lock saw before returning his attention to the landing was the streaking tail of a rocket that dead centered the starboard gunner.

Six!  Lock’s heart skipped a beat in concern for his friend, but the sight of the building’s roof rushing up beneath him brought him back to his own problems.  His brother was gone, he had no doubt of that, and he would have to mourn him later.  Lock pushed the repulsors to their max, then feathered the ones on the right down a little and the capsule drifted jerkily towards the stairwell.  With a little more maneuvering, they were now right where he wanted them, but the capsule was still coming down at a pretty good clip.  Let’s just hope that roof is sturdier than it looks.  Fortunately, the repulsors did their job during the last ten meters of the descent, and their capsule came to rest with nothing more than a solid crunch.

Heke was on the ground and rushing towards the access doors before Lock had even gotten out of his seat.  Reaching for the motionless form of his pilot, he hailed the ARC.  “Sir, Captain Wake—”

“Is unconscious, but he’ll be as dead as the rest of us if you don’t help me clear this building.”  Heke motioned for Lock to join him on the other side of the roof doors.  Lock swore and slid down the side of the capsule, then hustled over to take position opposite the ARC.

Heke had one hand pressed against the side of his helmet, making little nodding motions here and there.  He looked up, locking T-visored gazes with Lock.  “Sergeant Ge’verd has got eyes on the building and says they’re taking fire from the east quadrant of the ninth floor only.  That’s three floors down from here.  We’ll start there.”  Heke looked back down at the door controls, pulling what looked like a simple stylus out from one of his belt pouches.  He tapped it against the controls and the door made a sighing noise accompanied by the click of its lock disengaging.  Special Operations certainly did get their hands on some fancy toys.  He reached up to wedge his fingers into the slight gap and push the door open, sliding a strip cam in to check the other side.  He pulled the cam back out, nodded an all-clear, then paused.  “The sergeant also sends his compliments on your improvised landing.”  Without another word, the Alpha ARC put the toe of his boot against the exposed edge of the door and kicked it back into its housing.  In one smooth motion, he slid his WESTAR-M5 rifle on its sling into the crook of his right shoulder and burst into the stair well.

Lock was right on his heels, his DC-17s sidearm resting comfortably in a two-handed grip.  He followed the ARC down the pitch black stairwell, his surroundings illuminated by his visor’s grainy low-light amplifier.  Three floors down, Heke repeated the door breach maneuver, giving them access to a long, carpeted hallway that ran the length of the back of the building.  Carpet.  Footstep muffling carpet.  Our first lucky break.  The clones crept quietly down the corridor, following the steady cracks of enemy fire to a pair of large, transparisteel double doors.  A reception desk sat on the other side of the doors and the office room expanded off to the right, adjacent to the hallway they had just traversed.  The entire room was lit up with the flashing lights of discharging blasters.

Heke hefted two thermal detonators and motioned with hand signals that he would crack the door, toss them in and they would both rush in after the second explosion.  They could have communicated with words instead of signs; their helmets were sound proofed and the short-range comm was secure, but troopers were always hesitant to trust the tech too much.

Lock took a deep breath, then released it slowly.  He was up to this.  In addition to the countless hours in the flight simulator back on Kamino, he’d spent more than his fair share of time drilling room-clearing procedures.  All clones had.  Still…  As a soldier in the Grand Army, Lock pushed himself to be the very best at his job, and his job put him in the co-pilot seat of an LAAT/i; not with his boots on the ground and a rifle in his hands.  He knew he was good.  Good enough he’d put himself against any mongrel infantry soldier the Galaxy had to offer, but compared to Heke…  Heke practically breathed this stuff.  I’ll have my work cut out for me keeping up with him on the other side of that door.

The ARC held up three fingers, signaling a countdown, and ticked them off.  Three, two, one, GO!  Lock pulled one of the transparisteel doors open a half meter and Heke tossed one det deep into the room, then the other a bit closer.  Lock slammed the door shut and they both pressed themselves against the walls.  He felt the shock wave of the first muffled explosion deep in his chest.  The second blast shattered the doors and the next thing he knew he was in the room, boots crunching over debris and blaster pistol raised, searching for anything left standing.  Heke vaulted up and over the front desk, running in a low crouch to the windowed wall opposite them.  The plasma rounds from his WESTAR lit up the room with blue flashes as he fired controlled bursts into black armored shapes that were picking themselves up off of the floor.  Lock saw the silhouettes of two spindly B1 battle droids next to a door on the other side of the room.  He snapped his aim to the center mass of the droid on the right and squeezed off two quick bolts.  Shrapnel from the exploding torso of the B1 took the head off of its partner and both droids clattered to the floor in pieces.

Blurred motion in the right corner of his visor’s wrap-around vision was all the warning he had of an attacker bursting out of a partially collapsed cubicle.  Lock managed to get off one round into the enemy before it was on him, but it simply bellowed and kept coming.  It swung…—something—at his head and he dropped to one knee, narrowly avoiding what might well have decapitated him.  It tried to bring the weapon down on him, but Lock stood up and into the thrust, glancing the blow aside.  He was standing too close to his enemy now to bring even the stubby DC-17 pistol to bear, so he simply held on to the weapon and swung his armored fist into the underside of the creature’s chin.  Its head snapped back, but its weapon, which turned out to be about a meter and a half of metal rod, came up in both hands and knocked hard into Lock’s helmet.  He dropped his pistol and grabbed the staff with both hands, attempting to wrench it from his enemy’s grip, but it quickly became clear that that wasn’t going to happen.  The creature pushed forward, driving the pilot back into a wall with enough force to knock the wind out of his lungs.  It forced the metal staff, still gripped by all four of their combined hands, under Lock’s chin and against his trachea.

With its face practically pressed into his view plate, Lock got his first good look at his enemy.  Short horns jutted out from its scaly, nose-less, orange face.  So this was one of the Shadow Army clones that had brought the GAR to Saleucami.  Lock struggled to push back against the suffocating staff, but the Morgukai had leverage, and quite possibly weight and strength on its side.  Fortunately, Lock could see something the Nikto couldn’t, which was Heke rushing up behind it, vibroblade drawn.  The ARC could have simply shot the Morgukai, but the WESTAR had enough punch to put a hole in Lock after going through the reptilian.  When he was just meters away, however, one of the corpses on the ground sprang to life, swinging a large, curved vibrosword at the ARC Trooper.  Heke spun to face his attacker, bending backwards at the waist as he did so and avoiding the chopping blow.  The Morgukai kept his momentum going and planted a side kick into Heke’s torso that sent him sprawling backwards.

That was all Lock saw of their scuffle.  His vision was tunneling in, going black.  He knew it was time for something desperate.  He held on to the staff and brought both legs up high, as if he was going to grapple the Nikto in a schoolyard game of nuna-fight.  Instead, he swung his heels down as hard as he could into the enemy clone’s knee pits.  It worked; the Morgukai’s knees buckled and Lock straightened his right arm and wrenched his body to the left.  The Nikto lost his balance and the two clones crashed to the floor.  As they fell, Lock’s hand caught on something on his adversary’s belt:  the Nikto’s combat knife.  In a jerking motion, he tore it free from its leather scabbered.  Still chest-to-chest with the other clone on the ground, he brought the point of the blade up hard into the back of its skull.  Millions of years of evolution on their rugged home planet of Kintan had given Kajain’sa Niktos great natural armor.  Tough plates of pebbly scales overlapped thick muscle and dense bone, but these defenses simply weren’t enough to stop the hypersonic vibrations of the razor-sharp blade from sliding up to the hilt into the reptilian’s brain.

The Nikto spasmed wildly, then went completely still.  Lock rolled the dead weight off and looked up to see Heke standing over him.  The ARC Trooper, visibly panting and absolutely covered in dark red blood, held his hand out to help Lock to his feet.  Lock took the proffered hand, then retrieved his pistol.  In unspoken understanding, the two clones moved together through the room, making absolutely sure it was secure.  More than once, a single round was put through a downed Nikto’s head to confirm a kill.  After Heke’s surprise attacker, they weren’t taking any chances.

Satisfied that they were safe for the moment, the ARC Lieutenant approached the shattered windows, side on.  Lock followed, peeking down at the crash site.  It was abandoned.

“Tihaar, Saber, what’s your status?”  Heke’s voice, broadcast over the team’s comm, filled Lock’s ears.

Sergeant Ge’verd sounded slightly winded, “Working our way up to you, sir.  My boys and I are on the third floor.  No resistance so far.  Walking wounded are holed up with the bad cases and KIA’s on the ground floor.  We’ll join you presently.”

Lock looked to Heke and inclined his head upwards.  “Captain Wake.  I’ll check on him.”  His own voice came out in a hoarse croak past his raw windpipe.

Heke shook his head.  “We’ll wait for Tihaar and clear our way back up to him.  He’ll be all right a few more minutes.”  The ARC left that hanging, then just stared at Lock; a statue.  Is he challenging me to disobey his orders?  Some kind of macho guy test.  Lock was just about to reply when Heke broke the silence.  “You handled yourself well back there, by the way.  For a flyboy.”

ARCs really were crazy.  That last comment might have been meant as an insult, but Lock suspected he was legitimately trying to make nice.  Still, he was tired, and didn’t feel like playing mind games.  I just watched a brother get blown to bits, you barve.  I’m in no mood.  “You too, sir.  For a maniacal Spec Ops Jango wannabe, I mean.”

Lock expected a punch for that, or at least some kind of scathing warning.  Instead, Heke tossed his head back and laughed.  It was a loud, sharp, almost barking sound.  He slapped a hand hard on Lock’s armored shoulder.  “You’re alright, flyboy!”  He ambled off and started checking the bodies of the dead Morgukai, continuing to chuckle to himself.

Yep.  Crazy.

A short time later, Ge’verd’s voice popped up again on the comm, “Approaching your position, Lieutenant.  Hold fire.”  The four commandos filed into the office floor, the lines of their cargo net paint scheme in stark contrast to the light grey of their armor in the dimly lit room.

“Wayii, what a mess!” Solus, Tihaar’s sniper exclaimed.  “You two did a number up here.  Kandosii!”

Ge’verd looked down at the Morgukai that Lock had killed.  “So these are them, then, eh?  Our new clone rivals.”  He toed the clone’s armored torso.  “Intel said there weren’t supposed to be any of these shabuire in this caldera.”

Heke walked up to join the rest of them around the dead Nikto.  “Yeah, well, we all know what happens when you trust Intel.  Especially given its source…”

Jatne, the squad’s demolition expert, laughed.  “Looks like they die all the same.”  He pointed to the hilt of the vibroknife, still jutting out of the back of the corpse’s head.  “Your work, Loot?

Heke shook his head.  “Nope.  Credit for that one goes to Lieutenant Twenty-two.  Look at its facial scars, though.  All of the Nikto up here have them.”

“Right…”  Jatne appeared to be trying to remember something.  Lock was with him.  He recalled something from the Intel report about the Morgukai scarring themselves.  Some kind of warrior tradition, marking the completion of certain rights of passage.

Heke crouched down and turned the Nikto’s head.  “If this piece of Vos’ Intel can be believed, they get their scars after completing different parts of their post-flash training.  The diagonal one where the nose should be marks the end of their Morgukai training and the one on their forehead means they finished the Anzati stuff.  The rest, I don’t know.  These barves have all got the big two.  That means they were part of the first wave, ready to ship out.  These are the Sep equivalent to you RCs.  Real bad boys.”

Ge’verd tutted.  “Yeah, but this chakaar is ugly.  We’re tough and beautiful.”

The ARC stood up.  “We’re also behind schedule.  Twenty-two—”  Heke stopped himself.  “It’s Lock, right?”

Lock nodded.  “Yes, sir.”

“Go upstairs and check on your captain.  Resol, go with him.  Sergeant, take your squad and secure the last few floors.  I’ll comm Maze and Commander Reach.”

When they stepped onto the roof, Wake was still sitting in the cockpit seat.  Resol helped Lock get the pilot out of the ejection capsule and onto the roof.  The commando, who was his squad’s medic, connected his med-scanner to Wake’s helmet.

“Looks like the Captain has a broken arm and some brain swelling.  It’s serious, but not likely fatal.  We need to hole him up with the other bad WIAs until we can casevac them.”

Lock nodded, relieved.  “Thank you, private.”  Lock was by no means fluent in Mando’a, but he’d picked up a bit over the years.  He certainly knew how to count to ten.  The commando’s name, Resol, was Mando’a for six.  Six.  He had to ask.  “The rest of the larty crew…”

Resol’s visor met Lock’s.  He’d found that while direct, combat medics understood a lot better than the fleet surgeons what it was like to lose a brother.  Their bedside manner was good.  “Your crew chief is A-okay.  The port side turret gunner is in bad shape.  The larty crushed his turret and pinned his legs underneath.  We dug him out, but they’re both broken.  He might lose them.  The starboard gunner was KIA.”

“I know.  I saw the rocket.  Thank you.”  Lock suddenly felt guilty for not thinking about the infantry troopers.  He was about to ask when the low hum of repulsors filled the night air.  He and Resol crawled to the edge of the roof and peered over.  With his visor zoomed in and light amplifier on, Lock could see the shape of an MTT approaching from several blocks away on the right.

In use by the Trade Federation since before the Battle of Naboo, the Multi Troop Transport was essentially a heavily armored tube, with four antipersonnel blasters and onboard storage racks that could put one hundred and twelve B1 battle droids onto the field.  Since the Clone Wars, however, many had been modified to house the more dangerous models of droids as well.  Anything from Super Battle Droids to Droidekas could be waiting inside that armored hull.  Of course, it could also be full of more Morgukai clones.

Resol raised the others.  “Heads up.  Incoming MTT, from the West.”

Another voice popped onto the comm and his HUD identified the frequency as RC-7801, Solus.  Lock hadn’t yet spent enough time around Tihaar to pick up on the subtle differences in their speech, but his words fit the bill for the sniper, who seemed to be the squad’s resident wisecracker.  “Oh, good, a nice box of tinny toys.  And our Morgukai friends just happened to leave us the rocket launcher that shot down our shabla ship.  How thoughtful of them.”

Lock’s first instinct was to agree.  Yeah, payback time.  Then an idea popped into his head.  It was a long shot, but he had a feeling that Heke would be all over it.  “Hold that thought, Solus.” 

“Why?  You prefer your droids in one piece?”

“That one I do.  It’s our ticket out of here.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Captain Maze edged along the adobe wall to the corner of the building and looked out at the empty street.  The two commandos from Totten Squad who had already made the dash across to the alley on the other side signed the all-clear symbol and Maze sprinted over to join them.  Sergeant Case was next, followed by their demolitions expert, Leven.

Maze felt momentarily conspicuous in his red-trimmed ARC Trooper rig.  The dull bronze finish that the commandos had colored their Katarn armor did a much better job of blending in to the sandy background that dominated Saleucami.  It would have to serve, though.  Speed, as much as stealth, was the key to this mission.

Since being dropped off by Azure team’s larty, Maze and the commandos had been ducking from alley to alley on the final leg of progress toward their target.  He’d just received confirmation from Sergeant Cutty that their trooper escort was in position to the north of the substation, and that their exfil zone was secure.

Almost everything was going smoothly.  Commander Reach and his platoon had safely tucked the CR-25 into the amphitheater and had deployed several dozen recon remotes to give them a wide-spanning, if incomplete, picture of the city.  Lieutenant Bones and three squads had split off from there and were on route to begin their feint on the air base.  The two other gambits, carried out by Cyan and Teal teams, were commencing.  They were being met with expected resistance, but so far, neither team had suffered casualties.

Unfortunately, Heke’s team, Cobalt, had hit a huge snag.  Their gunship had been shot down before they’d even reached their LZ, and they had lost several troopers.  Maze had just received word from Heke that he and his team had neutralized the enemies who’d shot them down and were currently “acquiring transport.”  Heke had also confirmed that the enemy force had been made up mostly of Morgukai clones.  This was unsettling news.  Vos’ report had made it very clear that Sagujero’s garrison consisted entirely of battle droid infantry and a small contingent of Koorivar Fusiliers.  That meant that either the enemy clones had arrived after the last report or the intelligence network had been compromised.  Their whole mission could be a Sep trap.

None of that changes the fact that we still have a job to do.  No turning back now.

If Heke fell too far behind schedule, though, Maze would be forced to make adjustments.  The substation that Cobalt was bound for controlled the primary shield dome for the city, and was much more critical to their mission than the one that he and Totten Squad were about to infiltrate.

The only other issue had been Totten Squad themselves.  From the moment their boots had touched Saleucami soil, Sergeant Case had assumed total command of his squad, issuing orders before Maze could utter a word.  The message was subtle, but all too clear: This is our show, desk boy.  Let us do our job and try not to get killed.  Maze had known about Totten’s elitist attitude going in, so he chose to ignore it.  For now.  He legitimately needed them to be self directing so he could divert some attention to the overall tactical situation of the operation.  Still, he couldn’t afford insubordination in front of the infantry troopers.  He’d keep an eye on it.

The grimy alley was in a decidedly seedier part of the city.  The buildings on either side of Maze were low-rent apartments, with crumbling brick walls and old-fashioned durasteel fire-escapes.  According to the holochart on his HUD, the substation would be less than half a block down the street they were approaching.  Makes sense.  Put the poor folk next to the ugly, noisy power building.  Same back on Coruscant.  Same everywhere.

Just as he was about to reach the end of the alley, the squad’s point man, Rust, suddenly dropped to one knee and held up a hand, bringing everyone to a halt.  However he’d earned his nickname, it wasn’t from being out of practice; his attunement to the world around him had already saved them from being detected by an overhead STAP patrol.

“What’ve you got, Rust?” Case asked on their private team channel.

Rust didn’t answer immediately, still staring straight ahead into the street.  “I’m not sure, sir.  I thought I saw… something.”

“Let’s see what our eyes in the sky can show us,” Maze said as he enlarged the image on his HUD that displayed the real-time images that the recce remote were relaying from its position above the substation.  The street looked completely quiet.  Saguejero’s citizens must have been given reason to take the curfew very seriously.  Maze cycled through the remote’s image modes.  Thermal, UV, electromagnetic, and low light filters all showed the same thing: nothing.  The electric field put out by the substation did show up on the E-filter though, confirming that it was not only active, but diverting an abnormal amount of power.

Maze commed Sergeant Cutty anyway, just to be sure.  “We’re in position, Sergeant.  Can you confirm any targets at the substation from your position?”

“Negative.  Quiet as a tomb, sir.”

Case tapped one of his commandos on the shoulder plate.  “Alright lads, let’s do this the safe way then.  Slab, get on top of this roof and give us some sniper cover.”

There it was again.  Totten’s sergeant was taking command of the team without consulting Maze far too naturally.  It was time to set him straight.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Maze said evenly, “but I’ll provide the roof cover.  I want the four of you in that building together.”

Case turned his head slowly and a little too casually to meet Maze’s gaze.  “Don’t trouble yourself, Captain.  Slab’s our best sniper.  He’ll take good care of us.”

It was times like this that Maze suspected the Kaminoans had been right about the Alpha batch of ARC Troopers.  Getting along with others wasn’t their strong suit, and that owed as much to their untampered genetics as to the personality traits they had developed training under the Prime.  The urge to get his point across physically, as Jango might have done, sometimes got the better of Maze.  He had learned the hard way, however, to keep himself in check, and he employed those skills here.

“I gave you an order, Sergeant,” Maze said, leaning forward until his visor nearly touched Case’s.  “Do I need to be clearer?”

Case was silent for a long moment and only the tiny movements of his helmet and quiet clicking sounds over the comm gave away that he was grinding his teeth.  Finally, he took a breath and replied, “No sir, perfectly clear.  Right away, sir.”

Often, a little quiet menace went a lot further than a dramatic fit of rage.  Maze stood back up to his full height, slinging his DC-15c carbine.  “Hold position and wait on my mark.”

He marched back to the fire escape and looked it over.  Other than a place to dry laundry, it didn’t look like it got much use.  Large patches of rust were visible even from below in the darkness.  Normally, Maze would have used a grappling hook and the winch in his belt to scale the building, but it was hard to put that much faith in the decaying brick walls.  Hopefully the rickety fire escape would hold up better.

The bottom rung of the recessed ladder was three meters off of the ground.  That was a big jump for a man in full armor, even one as fit as Maze.  Better do it in one go.  Can’t have Totten see me miss and fall on my shebs.  Not after our little row there.  Maze backed up to the opposite wall to get enough room to build up momentum for his leap.  He took several quick steps forward and sprang up.  His outstretched hands just made contact with the metal rung.  The rest was a simple matter of hand over hand until he could get his feet onto the ladder.  Maze’s soft posting on Coruscant may not have been the best environment for keeping field-sharp, but it did give him access to state-of-the-art exercise facilities and the time to use them.  Rattling off fifty pull ups in full kit was part of his morning routine, and his discipline was paying off in spades now.

The windows of the apartment building were dark as he ascended past them.  Either they were abandoned, or the Separatist garrison had ordered power rationing to compensate for the extreme drain required by the shield generators.  Either way, it worked to his advantage.  He slipped onto the top of the roof without being spotted and belly-crawled to the edge, removing the verpine shatter gun from his back and sighting up.

The green-hued night-vision of the expensive scope provided a startlingly clear image.  Maze still couldn’t quite believe he’d been loaned one of Sergeant Skirata’s precious sniper rifles for this mission.

Two days earlier, Maze had been on his way back to Zey’s office from inspecting the CR-25 in Section Three when he’d run into Captain Ordo.  Ordo, ARC N-11, was HQ’s other resident ARC Captain, and along with his training sergeant, Kal Skirata, headed up Clone Intelligence.  Ordo and his five brothers weren’t part of Maze and Heke’s batch of one hundred Alpha ARCs, though.  The six Nulls had been the first clones created by the Kaminoans after Jango’s unaltered son, Boba.  Like the Alpha batch, they were prototypes, but unlike them, they had been extensively modified.  Apparently the cloners had attempted to improve Fett’s genome to create even more perfect killing machines.  The result had been only partially successful.  The Nulls were hyper-intelligent, hyper-lethal, and completely uncommandable.  Had Fett and Skirata not intervened, the six of them would have been reprogrammed, lethally.  Maze sometimes wondered about Jango’s wisdom in that particular decision, but then, the Kaminoans had had similar thoughts on the Alpha batch, so he wasn’t about to complain.

Ordo and Maze were hardly chummy, and their disagreements on procedure had led to physical violence on multiple occasions.  Since then, they had reached an understanding and had learned to get along, professionally at least.  For the most part, that meant staying out of each other’s way, which was what Maze had in mind on that occasion.

Ordo was walking toward him, and Maze tucked his chin close to his chest, intent on looking as if he was engrossed in comm data on his helmet.  Ordo didn’t take the hint and had diverted to block Maze’s path.  Maze had sighed and looked up.

“Captain,” Maze had said, trying and failing to keep the guarded edges out of his tone.

Ordo stood impassively without saying a word for a moment, apparently looking Maze over.  “I understand you’ll be leaving our company for a while to take the field.”  Slightly heavier in build than Maze and the other clones, Ordo had also picked up Skirata’s accent, rather than Jango’s Concord Dawn inflection that Maze and the other Alpha ARCs spoke in.  He knew that to an outsider, he and Ordo would have looked identical, but Maze sometimes had trouble thinking of the Nulls as vode at all.

Ordo’s nonchalant manner of knowing classified information was incredibly irritating.  The Nulls knew everything and they were very proud of it.  “That’s classified, but you are correct.  Now if you’ll excuse me.”  Maze had moved to pass Ordo and the Null side-stepped to block him.  Maze bristled, his hands balling up into fists.  Why Ordo was looking for a fight, he had no idea, but if he was intent on it, Maze was ready for him.  No sucker punches this time, Null.  Let’s see how this goes when we both know what’s coming.

Ordo had remained relaxed though, and simply inclined his head.  “Follow me Captain.  I have something for you.”  With that, he had walked past Maze and headed for the doors.

Maze’s first thought was that Ordo wanted a less public space to trade blows, but now he wasn’t sure.  For an army of men capable of such tremendous violence, fights between the clones were relatively rare, and when they did flare up, it was usually in the heat of the moment.  The Nulls were a different breed however…  Maze checked his chrono and saw that he was still well ahead of schedule to meet General Zey.  He could afford a slight detour.

Ordo led them back to Arca barracks, where both of their bunks were located.  Ordo and his brothers—on the rare occasions they were actually on Coruscant—shared a private room.  Maze suspected Skirata had had a hand in that as well.  The Null Captain removed his helmet upon entering the room and then reached under his bunk to pull out a camo-patterned durasteel case.  Ordo walked over to Maze and held the case out.  His expression was somewhat apprehensive.

Maze removed his own helmet and clipped it to his belt, regarding the case with the arched eyebrow expression that he knew he had picked up from Jango.  “I don’t hear any ticking.  This isn’t something I should bring by the EOD scanner, is it?”

Ordo pushed the case into Maze’s arms, “Just take it.”

Maze pressed the button to open the hermetically sealed case and revealed a wide muzzled, collapsible stocked Verpine shatter gun.  As projectile weapons went, they were top-of-the-line, and had a price sticker to match.  Ordo was violating more than one code by having it in his quarters.  Maze knew that his hard expression had been replaced by one of astonishment.  Why was Ordo giving him this?

Ordo still looked very unsure of himself.  “Sounds like you might encounter some wets on Saleucami in addition to the tinnies.  That’ll serve you better for them than anything GAR procurement has on hand.  It’s hardened against EMP and kinetic force, but be careful with it.”

“Ah, one of Skirata’s toys.”

Ordo’s scowl deepened.  “Kal’buir likes you.  He wanted me to loan it to you for the Saleucami Op.”

Things were starting to make sense.  Sergeant Skirata must have told Ordo to loan him one of his expensive Verps as a peace offering.  Maze had never thought that the surly little Mandalorian liked him, but he was well aware that he craved the affection of the clone soldiers.  I’m not one of your boys Skirata.  I don’t need adopting.  It was a kind gesture though, and Maze could certainly find a place in his arsenal for the sniper rifle.

Maze resealed the case, held it by its handle and shifted his gaze to meet Ordo’s eyes.  The Null appeared to be satisfied, as if he’d just done his duty, but happy wasn’t a word that came to mind.  The occasion merited a thank you, but with Ordo it somehow didn’t feel appropriate.  Maze just nodded to the other man and turned to leave, then paused at the door.  “Tell your sergeant I’ll put it to good use.”

And now he most certainly would.

***

“I’m in position,” Maze said on Azure’s team comm. 

Bringing up all nine of the HUD icons from Tibanna Squad’s helmet cams, it was clear that Sergeant Cutty’s men were ready and standing by as well.  Two troopers with long-barreled DC-15A rifles were overlooking the street from rooftops opposite of Maze’s position.

The rest of the squad was on the ground, covering each end of their alley with heavy weapons.  This was one of the many reasons the clones’ helmets gave them such an edge in battle.  It was one thing to confirm with a team leader that his men were in position, but it was another entirely to actually see exactly what they could.

Maze scanned the entire block without seeing the slightest sign of movement.  Unlike much of Sagujero, this part of the city didn’t boast any of the trees and gardens that gave the planet its name.  Saleucami meant “oasis,” which referred to the comparatively lush plant life that grew in the bottoms of the calderas.  The greenery dominated much of the aerial imagery of the city that Maze had studied, and the lack of such scenery here made his job a lot easier.

“All clear, Totten.  Move out.”  Maze watched the four commandos rush out in file, rifles up, as they crossed from his left to right en route to the substation building.  Case and his men stacked the entrance to the building.  Maze had to admire the fluid nature of their movements.  They had done this so many times that it was pure instinct and reflex.  Overruling Case’s order to put Slab on the rooftop had been about more than asserting authority; Maze wanted the team together in the substation.  Totten knew each other’s minds in a way that went beyond muscle memory and trained responses.

There was also a third reason Maze had put himself on the roof.  Slab probably was an exceptional sniper; Totten’s training sergeant had been a great marksman and instructor.  He simply wasn’t Jango Fett.  Maze had learned from one of the best flesh and blood shooters in the galaxy, and it showed.

When Maze had been five years old, he’d begun training in the classic sniper-spotter team tactics.  He and his buddy Ca had mastered the skill together, then learned how to achieve the same results on their own, using their armor’s sensors to substitute for a partner.  Maze had spent so much time on the range trying to match Jango’s phenomenal skill that marksmanship was one of the few areas he was actually measurably ahead of Ca, albeit just barely.

The commandos breached the door and stormed the building.  On his HUD, Maze watched the dizzyingly sweeping images of their POV icons as they cleared their way to the control room.  Intel had at least been right about the substation; the only staff were GNK power droids and other maintenance automata.  Totten didn’t encounter a single guard.

“Building’s clear, sir.” Sergeant Case announced.  “We’ll upload the worm into the control terminal while Leven plants the charges.  Five minutes, tops.”

“Carry on, Sergeant.”  Maze minimized Totten’s POV icons and continued scanning the area, searching for… what?  Heke’s confirmation of Morgukai forces changed the game for this operation.  The whole reason the GAR considered the enemy clones such a threat wasn’t just that their genetic host rivaled Fett as a template, but that Anzati instructors had been hired to train them.  The long-lived Anzati were famous for creating some of the galaxy’s best assassins.  Their ability to get into well defended places, unseen, neutralize their target and then slip away without a trace bordered on the supernatural.  If the Anzati had succeeded in passing on these skills to the Shadow Army clones, the enemy could be here, hidden in ways Maze hadn’t been trained to look for.

The minutes ticked by slowly as Maze systematically swept the area, again and again, keeping one eye on the remote’s aerial feed.  At four minutes and thirty-eight seconds on his chrono, Case’s voice popped back onto the comm.

“All done in here, sir.  Ready to move out on your orders.”  The edge to Case’s voice was gone now, Maze noticed.  Good man.  Just wound a little tight.

“Alright.  We’ll RV at the extraction point with Tibbana.  Move out at—”  Something caught Maze’s eye.  Movement.  Something tiny, and now it was gone.  Maze focused past one of the sharpshooters across from him to the back of the roof where he’d seen it.  Nothing for a moment, then another small, sliding movement.  Zooming in, he could make out the tops of two hands that gripped the edge of the building.

“Hold position.  Contact.  Edge of the roof behind Plaz,” Maze said, recalling the sharpshooter’s name with a little prompt from his HUD. “Not droid.  Repeat, target is not a droid.  I’ll take the shot, and then be ready for hard contact.”

Acknowledgement lights winked on from both Cutty and Case.  The ARC Captain took a breath and sighted on the top of the scaly hand.  It was a very small target, but at this range, with this rifle, and in Saleucami’s dry, windless air, Maze could choose which finger he wanted to hit.  What he couldn’t do was anticipate where the round would go afterward.  The projectile could easily skip into one of the apartment buildings and hit a sleeping tenant.  Collateral damage was sometimes unavoidable, though, and dwelling on it during a mission would get you killed.

Maze exhaled and squeezed the trigger.  The verpine rifle didn’t kick or make a sound, but the round that pulverized the enemy’s left hand certainly did its job.  Its right hand dropped out of view as the Morgukai lost its grip and fell to the streets below.

The block was silent for another long moment before targets began bursting on to the scene from all over.  Three black-armored Nikto darted to the edge of a high roof above the other sharpshooter, Fo.  Where in haran were they hiding?  How did they avoid the remote’s sensors?  The three Morgukai jumped and Maze put a round into the center mass of one while it was still in mid-air.  Its body landed in a crumpled heap on top of the roof.  Plaz fired across from the other roof and took out another before it could get up from its crouch.  The third dove for the cover of a ventilation stack before Maze could bring his sights onto it.

Maze kept his aim on the vent while simultaneously observing the block from the recon remote and issuing orders on the comm.  “Azure Actual to Indigo.  Contact with ground forces at my position.  Requesting air support.”

Commander Reach’s response was delayed long enough for Maze to observe the images of Tibanna Squad exchanging fire with advancing Morgukai from each end of their alley.  The troopers had pulled dumpsters into position to provide cover from the storm of red blaster bolts.

Reach’s voice was misleadingly calm and neutral, “Indigo to Azure.  Our birds are pretty tied up.  Cyan’s larty just took some heavy fire.  I’ll see what I can do.”

“Understood.  Azure out.”  Shab.  We’re on our own.  The exfil zone was too hot to push through.  They needed to clear this end of the alley to get Tibanna out, but the substation was blocking Maze’s line of fire to offer support from up on the roof.  “Totten, can you provide fire support for Tibanna and still hold the building?”

Case sounded like he was running, “Roger that, sir.  Already on it.  We’ll try to—”

Maze didn’t hear the rest over the sound of his helmet’s target lock warning siren.  He rolled away from the edge of the roof as chunks of exploding permacrete scattered over his armor.  Now lying on his back, Maze opened his tightly squeezed eyes to see a STAP patrol whiz over the rooftops.  The Seps had air cover, and his men didn’t.  They needed to bug out fast.

Wincing, Maze pushed himself onto one knee and picked up the briefly discarded verp.  He sighted up on the opposite roofs again, but he was too late.  The STAPs had strafed the sharpshooters as well, and Fo was still picking himself up.  The remaining Morgukai hadn’t wasted any time in seizing the initiative.  It bowled into Fo with enough force that they both went to the edge of the roof.  Maze didn’t have a shot.  The two clones toppled over and plunged down eight stories into the hard pavement.  He didn’t see them land, but it was almost certainly a deadly fall, even in armor.

Frustration and anger swept through Maze.  He gritted his teeth and rushed to the far end of the roof, where he could just see the backs of three Nikto firing on Tibanna’s position.  His first shot took a Morgukai squarely in its un-helmeted head.  His second passed under the armpit of another, where it was unprotected by armor plates.  The third clone realized it was under fire from a new position and began to dart away, but was immediately cut down by plasma fire from Tibanna when it broke cover.

The STAPs were circling back for another strafing run.  Maze had to get off of the roof and so did Plaz.  “Plaz!  Off the roof!  If you can’t regroup with your squad, RV with Totten at the substation.”  He slung the verp’s strap over his shoulder and sprinted to the fire escape.  He grabbed the bars of the ladder, rather than the rungs, and slid down fast.  Too fast.  Maze had made better landings in his life, but the high-impact soles of his boots and reinforced leg braces saved him from a broken ankle.

Reaching again for his blaster carbine, Maze retraced his steps to the end of the alley.  He could see Totten outside of the substation, where two of the commandos grappled with a single Morgukai.  They had it pinned to the ground and Rust—he thought it was Rust—was stabbing it with his knuckle-plate vibroblade again and again.

Maze opened his mouth to ask Case if Totten had finished clearing a route for Tibanna when Commander Reach interrupted him on the comm, “Heads up, Azure.  A platoon of droid infantry with armor support just diverted toward your position.  ETA six minutes.”

Things were going from bad to worse.  “Copy that.  Any word on that air support?”

“Negative, Azure.  Your zone is too hot and we’re still too tied up.  Can you fall back to LZ Alpha?”

That’s what Maze had in mind already.  It was the only route open to them.  “Affirmative.  We’ll contact you soonest.”

Maze switched back to his men.  “We’re falling back, soldiers.  Heavy armor inbound any minute.  Tibanna, can you break through to Totten’s position?”

Sergeant Cutty yelled loudly over the speakers.  Even in their sound-dampened helmets, he would be having a tough time hearing over the roar of so many discharging blasters.  “Still pinned down, Captain!  Enemy’s got heavy blasters in one of the store fronts!  We might have an easier time pushing back the way we came!”

The recon remote showed Maze what Cutty was talking about.  Red lines of blaster fire traced diagonally to Tibanna’s alley.

Case broke onto the frequency, “We’ll take out the store gunner, sir.”

It wouldn’t work.  They couldn’t get across the open plaza without being cut down.  “No, you won’t, Totten.  No time to go around.”  The tanks and droids were visible on the remote’s feed.  They only had a few minutes now.  “Try the other side, Tibanna.  We’ll regroup at LZ Alpha.  Totten, fall back to my position.  I’ll cover you.”

Dividing his forces was tactically a bad move, but it was the only option available.  The Separatists would know that the substation was compromised, but they’d be too late.  Totten had sliced a worm into the terminal that would overload the power output, and the only thing the Seps could do about it was shut down the whole system.  They’d likely be too busy disarming the decoy det charges to notice anyway.  Now they just had to get away and hope that Cobalt team could pull off their end of things.

Maze sighted up on the substation as Totten ran full tilt towards him.  Trooper Plaz was with them now, so he obviously hadn’t been able to reach his squad.  One by one, they darted into the cover of the alley.  Maze pulled back from the opening, then took out a string of micro-mines form his belt and laid them across the entrance to the alley.  Any enemy that wanted to pursue them would pay for it.

Leven caught Maze’s arm, “CT-4794 is still alive.  Vitals are weak, but that fall didn’t kill him.  We’ve got to get him out.”

Leven was right.  Fo’s pulse was steady, but his helmet cam hadn’t moved from where it stared at the pavement since his fall.  Maze didn’t want to leave him, but there was no way they’d make it back across the plaza and drag him back under fire.  Mercifully, it was Plaz who saved Maze from issuing the order to abandon a vod.

“We’ll never get him out.  Fo wouldn’t want our deaths on his conscience.”  Plaz turned his head from Leven to Maze.  “We need to go.”

Something in his tone made Maze think that the two troopers had talked about this very scenario, and now Plaz was honoring his brother’s wish.  Leven didn’t seem to agree.

“Kriff that.  You troopers might be willing to buy what those long-necks say about being expendable, but we don’t leave brothers behind.”  Case, Slab, and Rust all stared at Maze silently, a united front.

And I thought we were past this, Totten.  Maze wondered if Heke was having as much trouble with Tihaar Squad.  He doubted it.  “I’m sorry, soldiers.  I am.  But there’s no time.  We’ve still got a job to do and there’s a lot more lives on the line than just Fo’s.  When this is over, we’ll come back for him, one way or another.  Now move out.  That’s an order.”

Maze started moving as he said the words, half expecting Totten to head back the other way.  He wasn’t sure what he would have done if they had.  Fortunately, everyone followed and they ran down the alley.  The commandos wouldn’t forget this, he knew, but that was something for later.  They still had a long road ahead of them.

The mission was falling apart.  Maze’s first contact with the enemy clones had been sobering; these were no mindless droids.  He wasn’t sure they could make it out of many more encounters like that one.  That thought helped strengthen his resolve, however.  The Shadow Army couldn’t be allowed to leave Saleucami, and Auset’s reinforcements were the key to stopping them.  Now he just needed to survive long enough to make that happen.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

Separatist Airbase HQ, shortly after the Republic’s infiltration of Sagujero City

Tol Skorr’s face was bathed in blue light as he forced himself to look directly into Sora Bulq’s holoprojected eyes.  It wasn’t an easy task.  Bulq wasn’t particularly tall or intimidating for a Weequay.  In fact, he had a rather benign outward appearance.  But those eyes…  His gold irises always looked so calm and emotionless below his gray, leathery brows.  Just behind that surface, though, there was the faintest glimmer of the dark rage that simmered beneath.  He reminded Skorr of Dooku in that way.

In fact, the similarities between the two went on from there.  Dooku and Bulq had both been highly respected Jedi Masters before they resigned from the Order, and had both left on reasons of principle.  They were also master duelists and had connected with countless Jedi during the time they had served as lightsaber instructors.  Furthermore, both had been born into wealthy and influential families before coming to the Temple as infants.  Sora Bulq had been able to reclaim his family’s inheritance and put it towards the Separatists’ cause, just as the Count had.  It was little wonder, then, that Dooku had been quick to make Bulq his right hand man and second in command of the Dark Acolytes.

Skorr had been only a minor Knight during his years as a Jedi, and didn’t have any of the Weequay’s advantages to curry favor with the count.  Unlike many of Dooku’s other acolytes, though, Skorr didn’t begrudge Master Bulq any of his status.  You don’t get ahead by whining and complaining.  Skorr had gained favor in his master’s eyes by doing his job and showing his loyalty.  He knew that, in time, his worth would shine through on its own and Dooku would see the value of such a reliable servant.

At the moment, however, Skorr knew his reliability was in serious question.

“Tell me Skorr; did you drop the shields to launch our entire air wing before or after you knew there was an enemy force waiting outside?” asked the senior Dark Jedi.

“Before, of course,” Skorr said, hating himself for the wounded, defiant tone of his voice.  “Our external scanners came up blank before I dropped the shields.  Vos had a hand in this, Master, I know he did.”

Bulq looked unconvinced.  “Quinlan Vos knows the price he will pay if he defies me.  Be sure that you do as well.  Now, do you have the situation under control?”

“Yes, I do.  The Morgukai have already shot one of the enemy gunships down and the droids have repelled the attacks on both the magma reactor and the shield generator.  We’ll mop up the rest of them in no time.”

The eyes of Skorr’s superior continued to bear down on him.  “And how many more are there?  What are we up against?”

“Just a small force.  Our scouts say that all attacks have been carried out by platoon sized forces or smaller.  I’d say they only managed to land around a hundred men before our shields went back up.”

“We’ve seen time and again how much damage a small force of such clones can inflict, Skorr.  I want them found and eliminated immediately.”

Skorr crossed his arms and stood up a little taller.  “I’ll handle it.”

“See that you do.”

Their conversation was nearly over.  Relief washed over Skorr at getting off lighter than he’d expected to for his mistake.  But before Bulq signed off, a tremor shook the tower and the hologram flickered, then resolved.

“What was that?” Skorr and Bulq asked simultaneously.

The battle droid commander turned its long head toward them and replied, “We’re under attack, sirs.  Two of our C-9979’s were just destroyed.”

Skorr felt his pulse quicken.  How?  The clones couldn’t have gotten past our perimeter defenses.

Bulq’s image moved in a flash of anger.  “I thought you had the situation under control!”

Skorr had had enough of commanding from the rear.  The enemy was right under his nose now, and he knew only one way to deal with them.  “They’re dead men, Master Bulq.  I’ll take care of them personally.”

Bulq regained his composure, but the warning look he gave was as clear as his words.  “Yes.  Do that, Skorr.  You’ve proven you aren’t capable of much else.  Do not lose our air base.  Without the rest of those cargo ships, we lose our ability to move the Shadow Army when reinforcements give us a window.  I want constant updates.”

The blue hologram winked out of existence, leaving the room eerily still and silent.  Skorr could feel every set of eyes and photoreceptors on him, waiting to see what their flawed commander would do next.

Fine.  I’ll show them exactly what I’ll do next.  Skorr turned to the battle droid commander.  “Droid, put me through to whoever’s in charge of perimeter security.”

“Roger, roger.  Captain Stigel commands the guard.”

The Dark Jedi tapped the comm control and spoke into the receiver, “Captain, have you located the saboteurs?”

There was no response.  “Captain, I repeat, have you made contact with the enemy forces?”

After another second, a metallic voice broke the silence.  “Captain Stigel is no longer functioning, Commander.  I am 5B7-812, now in charge of the perimeter defenses.”

No longer functioning, huh?  Worthless Koorivar soldiers.  Apparently they weren’t any better than the droids they commanded.  His death fit with standard GAR tactics.  Take out the organic officer and you severely limit the droids’ ability to respond to changing battlefield conditions. 

“Do you have the clones pinned down?  Are you returning fire?”

“Roger, roger, sir.  Unknown number of enemy units firing on our position.  We’re taking heavy casualties.  Requesting----BLLLZZZT!”

Skorr twitched his head back from the squeal of static.  “Droid, what’s your position?  Feed me visuals.”

Another second of delay went by before a response came.  “Captain Stigel and 5B7-812 are no longer functioning.  I am 5B7-813, now in charge of the perimeter defenses.”

Skorr tapped the comm control off again and looked back to the commander droid.  “I want two units of spider droids to guard our North and South flanks.  Then send a platoon of SBDs to reinforce the droids at the perimeter.  Make sure they keep the clones occupied, but do not allow them past our lines.”

“And you, private Ravaal,” Skorr said, focusing on the newly demoted Koorivar officer.  “You are to remain here at your station and assist Officer Battle Droid in any way it sees fit.”  Skorr was unable to keep a satisfied smile from playing over his lips.  “Is that understood?”

“Roger, roger,” replied the droid.

“Yes, sir, Commander.”  To his credit, Ravaal kept his voice clear and his lumpy face blank.  Skorr wasn’t entirely sure the battle droid was programmed to command organic soldiers, but it didn’t matter.  His point had been made.

Finally, Skorr turned to Major Ogdai and locked eyes with the Morgukai warrior.  “If you want a job done right, Major, you use the right tool for that job.  Pick two squads of your best.  We’re going out to kill the enemies ourselves.”

* * *

Despite Sora Bulq’s worries, Skorr hadn’t in fact sent all of the base’s air assets into the battle above.  In addition to the STAPs buzzing around the city on recon, he still had a wing of HMP Predators at his disposal.  The Predators were heavy droid gunships, with similar firepower to the Republic’s LAAT/is.  While they didn’t come equipped to carry troops, the Morgukai had set about modifying these by roughly attaching cargo containers beneath the gunships’ ventral disc-shaped fuselages.  The result wasn’t pretty, but it was paying off now.

Standing amidst ten Morgukai on the deck of one such cargo container, Skorr watched the holoprojected images from their gunship’s photoreceptors.  They were flying at street level through the city outside of the base to a flanking position behind the assaulting GAR forces.  Holographic images of the streets whizzed by, casting blue light and shadows about their dark, improvised cargo bay.

Suddenly, Skorr’s attention was torn from the holoimages by a warning flicker from the Force.  It wasn’t a sense of imminent danger, but the tingling at the base of his skull was a warning nonetheless.  Activating the comlink housed in his wrist gauntlet, Skorr commed the droid brain that piloted the Predator, “Stop.  Hold position here.”

They lurched to a halt as the droid obeyed.  Skorr stretched out with his Force senses, trying to pinpoint the source of his unease.  There was something…  Something nearby, in the streets below.

He searched for Major Ogdai amongst his identical clones, but couldn’t be sure which one he was.  I’ll have to figure out some way of doing that, Skorr thought.  “Major,” he addressed to the audience, letting Ogdai step forward on his own.  “I’m getting out here.  Have the Predator double back and take you on a wider loop to the RV point with Squad Two.  When I’m done here, I’ll approach your position from the South.  If I’m late, you know what to do.”

Ogdai nodded and clasped his hand over his chest, “Yes, sir, Lorda Skorr!”

Skorr gestured for a clone to open the cargo doors behind him, then stepped out to drop the five meters to the streets below, landing without a sound.  A moment later, the low whine of the Predator’s drive kicked in and the gunship glided away, a black shadow carrying death into the night.

Skorr could feel something in the Force nearby, possibly a few blocks to the north.  He moved swiftly and silently through the dark streets toward his target.  Shadow Army clones and Anzati aren’t the only ones who know how to do stealth.

As he neared an intersection, another warning flicker caused him to duck into a shop’s doorway.  Skorr carefully edged his head past the corner, and there it was.  A republic gunship.  It was at least two hundred meters away, sitting next to a huge municipal droid garbage carrier.  Skorr needed Jedi vision enhancement techniques to make out the details in the dark at this distance.  It was facing away from him, but when he focused for long enough, he caught the slight movement of a man inside of one of the transparisteel bubble turrets.

Waiting patiently to support your friends after they’ve finished with the droids at our gate.  Three years ago, Skorr would have had to call in to the Predator gunships to take the Republic vessel down.  It was still the safe way to go.  Since training in the ways of the dark side under Dooku, however, Skorr’s powers had grown.  If he wanted the gunship destroyed, he need only summon up the will to do it himself.

As a member of the Jedi Order, Skorr had learned to harness the power of the Force’s energy by turning himself into a conduit for its flow.  Even the greatest and most powerful Jedi were mere tools, giving their bodies over to the Force’s apathetic stream.  Count Dooku had taught Skorr to bend the mystic energy to his will, by controlling it with his rage.  For the Dark Jedi, the experience was akin to turning himself into a pressure boiler.  Skorr could draw the Force into himself from one end without letting it out the other.  When it reached its boiling point, he found himself able to perform feats that he never could as a Jedi.

Now, he put that skill into practice.  Calling on all of the frustrations from earlier in the night, Skorr built his anger and channeled the dark side into himself.  His thoughts grew clear and focused.  Soon, there was only him and the gunship.  Him and his prey.

Skorr waited a moment longer, then at the quiet whisper from the Force that the time was right, he surged forward.  His approach angle was perfect; while there were no true blind spots on Republic gunships, he was beyond the range of either its fore or aft antipersonnel guns.  All he had to worry about was the port turret gunner…

Right on cue, the transparisteel bubble began to swivel in his direction.  Buoyed up by the Force, Skorr’s long strides propelled him faster than any mere mortal could run, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough.  He needed another few steps before he could make the jump to the open crew doors, and he didn’t have them.  The gunship was slowly rising on its repulsors and the gunner nearly had him in his sights.

He reached out and grabbed the clone’s throat in a Force choke hold.  The Count could have used the same technique to snap the man’s spine, but Skorr’s own powers weren’t that strong.  Not yet.  In another few moments, the gunner would lose consciousness, but not before he squeezed off a round.

Skorr’s body left the ground milliseconds before the green laser beam tore through the space he’d been occupying.  Riding the wave of Force energy, he hurtled toward the gunship, only to see another clone leveling a blaster carbine at him from the crew bay.  A pulse of desperate anger threatened to break Skorr’s grasp of the Force.

Anger is useful as long as you can control it.

It was the final bit of heat his dark side boiler needed.  Skorr sent one final burst of energy into his stranglehold on the gunner, crushing his windpipe, then shifted his full attention to this new threat.  Now just meters from the crew bay, Skorr’s lightsaber ignited to deflect the flurry of plasma in the same moment that he Force-pushed the clone out of the open door on the opposite side of the gunship.  His boots landed on the deck with a solid thud.

The dark side was a powerful ally indeed.

Without a moment to check to see if the fall had killed the clone, Skorr strode to the cockpit doors and burned through the locking mechanism with his lightsaber.  With a gesture, he sent the door into its housing, but was immediately forced to wrench his body back to avoid the blue plasma bolt that would have taken his head off.  The pilots in the cockpit were ready for him, it seemed.

Probing with the Force, Skorr could feel the eager readiness from the enemy on the other side.  A quick test proved that the clone’s iron grip wouldn’t part with his sidearm easily.  Summoning his final reserves of energy, he directed a concentrated push at the tip of the blaster pistol and simply nudged it a few degrees to the left.  It was enough.  The next shot went wide as he twisted his body back in and swung his blade in a shallow arc, slicing through the gun, as well as the man’s helmet and most of his face.

Screaming, the copilot dropped to his knees, giving Skorr a clear view at the pilot in front of him, still doggedly seated in front of his controls.  Skorr ran his lightsaber through the back of the chair.  Its tip blossomed from the pilot’s chest like a geyser of magma.  Taking the yoke from the dying man’s hands, he guided the gunship back down to a bumpy rest.

One more thing to take care of.  He swung out of the gunship to land next to the second laser turret.  The gunner had popped the bubble’s seal and had almost made it out when Skorr’s lightsaber opened him up from shoulder to hip.

Closing down his red blade, Skorr heaved a deep exhale.  Coming down from the highs brought on by such uses of the Force always left him feeling a bit drained.  A bit… mortal.  But there was still work to do.  He activated his comlink and hailed Ogdai.  “Status?”

After a moment, the Nikto whispered back to him, his guttural, nasally voice sounding especially funny spoken so quietly.  “We’re in position, Lorda.  Bug boys are still fighting droidies at entrance.  You want we wait for you before we open fire?”

Bug boys.  It had taken Skorr a while to figure out why the Morgukai called the clones that before putting it together.  Saleucami was crawling with bugs this time of year and one of the most numerous was a species of white-shelled, black-eyed beetle.  The resemblance to the plastoid armored clone troopers was obvious and Skorr quite liked the slur, even if he wasn’t about to use it in front of anyone himself.

 “No, Major.  I just took out their exfil craft, and I’m sure they know it.  Fire as soon as you’re ready.”  As much as Skorr was still looking forward to killing more troopers, his forces would need the element of surprise on their side against opponents the caliber of GAR clone troopers.

“Sir,” Ogdai replied.  The comm. fell silent, leaving Skorr with the sounds of battle coming from the firefight to the north.  He guessed he was a little over a kilometer from the fighting now, so he broke into a run.  If he hurried, he hoped he might still catch the tail end of the ambush.

* * *

And he did, too.  Even before he rounded the final corner, Skorr could tell that the skirmish was all but wrapped up.  The ambush had worked perfectly.  When he made the turn, Skorr could see a knot of clone troopers, pinned down by fire from two directions, behind a few shattered vehicles.  And amongst the burning wrecks was a squad of Morgukai, whose cortosis staffs flickered to deadly effect as they engaged the enemy at point blank range.

Still two blocks away, Skorr could tell he wouldn’t make it before the last of the troopers was cut down.  The Republic clones weren’t going down without a fight, though.  One Morgukai warrior took a burst of plasma bolts to the chest and face as he attempted to charge around a grounded hoverbus.  Another was collecting stab wounds from a vibroblade-wielding trooper as the two wrestled on the ground.

Valiant though their stand was, the troopers were outnumbered and outmaneuvered.  Now only moments from reaching the melee, Skorr watched as the final three troopers were finished off.  A Morgukai had gotten on top of the bus they were using for cover and simply dropped into their midst from behind.  He swung his staff down with him, catching a clone fully in the helmet.  If the force of the impact hadn’t been enough to break the man’s neck, the accompanying jolt of electricity directly into his brain finished the job.  The other troopers turned to gun the warrior down, giving the rest of the Morgukai the chance to break from the cover they had crept into and rush the enemy.  After that, it was over in the next few seconds.

Stealth and lightning fast, all-out assaults.  These were the hallmarks of the Shadow Army, and they had proven effective.  More effective than Skorr had dared hope, in fact.

To announce his presence, Skorr thumbed on his lightsaber and strode onto the scene.  Morgukai turned to face him, then snapped to attention.  One warrior was still bent over a downed trooper, putting his weight behind the point of his staff as it burned a hole into the clone’s chest.  The plasma blades on the staffs weren’t lighstabers; it was taking a little while to melt through the plastoid armor.  It worked in the end and after the trooper’s dying gurgles trailed off, the warrior deactivated his weapon and turned to face the Dark Jedi.

Somehow, Skorr thought this Morgukai was Major Ogdai.  No, he knew it was Ogdai.  The clone looked exactly like his surrounding comrades, but Skorr could feel the distinct presence of familiarity about him in the Force.  Skorr’s momentary pleasure at the realization that he could tell the clones apart quickly faded.  The idea of getting to know all of the clones well enough to pick up on each of their unique identities seemed a task far too tedious to consider.  Learning to identify their leaders would be more than sufficient.

Ogdai saluted.  “Lorda Skorr.  Bug boys all split up now.  One group holding out on far side of intersection.  You want we call Predators back to cut them off?”

Skorr was about to give his whole-hearted consent when a thought struck him.  The Republic clones had been beaten back and the airbase was now secure.  With their target denied to them, the enemy was falling back.  But to where?  In fact, all of the Separatist installations had repelled their attackers.  If they were looking to regroup for a last stand or a final assault, the stragglers here could lead him right to the rest of the Republic forces…

“No, Major.  I want to see where they’re running.  Send the remainder of the droids in pursuit, with orders to keep some distance.”

“Yes, Lorda.”  As Ogdai marched off to relay his orders and the sounds of blasterfire began to recede, Skorr became aware of a steady panting noise from nearby.  One of the Morgukai that had gone down under fire was still alive.

Skorr approached the injured clone and looked down at him.  What he saw was a true testament to Nikto resilience.  Blasterfire had torn into one side of his body from groin to lower ribs.  His left leg was attached by mere ragged threads, and his abdomen was a mess of melted armor, charred flesh and shattered bone.  Even without the medical training and Force-healing techniques he’d learned at the Jedi Temple, Skorr would have known immediately that he was looking at a fatal wound.  And yet… 

And yet, the clone continued to breathe on.  Moreover, when Skorr stretched out with the Force, he found that the warrior’s life force was strong.  If he was delivered to the med-droids soon enough, Skorr guessed that he might make it.

Ogdai had come back with several other Morgukai and Skorr passed on his assessment, “This one will live, Major.  Prep him for a medevac.”

Ogdai hesitated for a moment before responding, “Uh, yes Lorda.”

It was the first time any of the Morgukai had seemed hesitant to carry out an order.  Skorr found that odd.  And unease was radiating off of the the major in waves.

Skorr took another look at the injured clone, wondering if he’d misread his prognosis.  But the warrior was still panting the same shallow breaths, his steady eyes now locked with Ogdai’s.

“Problem, Major?” Skorr asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Ogdai turned to face him.  “Wounds are bad, Lorda.  You think droidie docs can make him whole?  Will he fight again?”

Skorr thought about that for a second.  It was possible of course, but it would be costly.  Had it just been the warrior’s leg, he figured it would be worth the time and money to graft a mechanical one on.  But with his torso in the shape it was in, it seemed more likely they’d just tube him up and stick him in a chair.  Skorr didn’t see any point in lying to the warriors.

“I doubt it.  Most likely, they’ll put him behind a desk somewhere.”  Skorr’s eyebrows lowered.  “Is that a problem?”

Still looking uncomfortable, Ogdai explained, “It is that…  Muk fought well.  He has earned a warrior’s death.  To bring him back now, with no chance to redeem himself on battlefield…  It would cause shame.”

Ogdai’s expression was now one of grim seriousness, and as Skorr looked back down, he could see that the warrior, Muk, was nodding.

“Is that right, clone?” Skorr asked.

“Yes, Lorda,” the clone gasped in between wheezing breaths.  “I am honored to fight and die… for victory.”

Technically, the warrior’s life wasn’t his to choose how it ended.  The Confederacy would view every Morgukai death as a monetary loss.  He briefly wondered if Sora Bulq knew that Bok was instilling such independent thinking into his clones.  The right thing to do was to deny the request and punish both clones for dissent.

Somehow, Skorr couldn’t bring himself to embrace that option.  Not because of his instilled Jedi training to honor the life and rights of all beings, but because the clone had earned it.  The Morgukai had just put it all on the line, going up against older, more experienced soldiers.  And they had won.  It was hard not to recognize that achievement.

“Alright,” Skorr stood up and nodded to Ogdai.  “I’ll leave you to it.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to Muk, so he simply nodded to him as well.  Ogdai took his place next to his comrade and clasped his hands.  Then he knelt forward and lowered his head until their horn-rimmed foreheads were touching.  The other warriors formed a half-circle around the pair, standing with their heads bowed.  Then they all began mumbling something in an alien language.  Skorr wasn’t sure if it was Huttese or their own Nikto dialect.

Ambling off a few paces, Skorr activated his wrist comlink, “Droid?”

The metallic voice came back immediately, “Roger-roger, sir.”

“We’re done here.  The base is secure.  I want you to relay that to General Bulq immediately.”  Skorr paused for a second.  “No, scratch that.  I want Ravaal to send the message.  Put him on.”

After a short pause, Ravaal answered in the new stiffly formal, cool voice he had adopted since his demotion.  “Commander.”

“After you contact General Bulq, I want an order out to all ground forces in the city to be ready to move at a moment’s notice.  That’s droids and organics, understood?”

“Yes, sir.  Anything else?”

“Yes.  Get the rest of those Predators in the air to help the STAPs find any Republic aircraft we missed.  We keep their infantry on the ground and we can track them back to wherever they regroup.  Then we smash them all.”

The sound of a blade clearing its sheath pulled Skorr’s attention back to the Morgukai.  Ogdai had drawn his vibroblade and was using it to make a diagonal cut into Muk’s chin.  More of their scarring rituals, Skorr figured.  Muk touched the open wound with his fingertips and brought his hand up to look at the fresh blood.  After a moment, he turned his eyes back to his comrade and nodded.

Without wasting a second, Ogdai placed the tip of his combat knife above the top of Muk’s chest armor and just below his clavicle.  Then he slid the long blade through the warrior’s ribs and into his heart.  The dying clone’s body tensed and trembled, then relaxed.  After Muk had gone completely still, Ogdai put away his blade, stood up, and walked back to Skorr’s side.

“Is done, Lorda.  My thanks.”

“Thanks are unnecessary,” Skorr replied.  There didn’t seem to be anything more to say and Ogdai seemed genuinely satisfied now that the affair was over.  Skorr wasn’t sure exactly what a warrior’s death meant to the Morgukai’s view of the afterlife—if they even believed in one—but based on the way the other Nikto had moved off and lost all interest in Muk’s corpse, it appeared to be all the ritual they needed.  Maybe it was like the Jedi’s belief in becoming one with the Force.

Enough philosophizing.  How the Morgukai viewed the mystic aspects of life was unimportant.  What mattered was what they thought of him.  Allowing them to indulge in their warrior rites here had been the right call, Skorr could feel it.  He now held not only their command, but their respect.  They were his, and that felt very, very good.

In fact, Skorr was feeling good all around.  With hundreds of organic warriors of Ogdai’s caliber ready to fight and die at his word, and with the enemy on the run, he was starting to forget the helpless frustration he’d experienced earlier in the command tower.  Tol Skorr was back in control.  There wasn’t anything he could think of that compared to that.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

From his seat, Lock focused on the cam feeds and carefully guided the MTT around a corner.  Seat was perhaps too generous a term for the metal rail his backside was currently perched on.  The multi-troop transport’s control room had been designed for spindly battle droid pilots, making both the seats and the controls more than a little awkward for its new organic commandeers.

Without a forward viewscreen, Lock was relying on video feeds from externally mounted cameras to guide the enormous armored transport through the streets to their target.  He was missing his larty deeply right now, or even one of the many GAR walkers or hovertanks he’d been certified to pilot.  Still, the MTT was armed and armored, with plenty of room for all of Cobalt Team, including their wounded and KIA.  Wake, Frost, and the other bad cases stood as good a chance here as they would anywhere else in Sagujero.  It would also—hopefully—give the team the camouflage they needed to make it the rest of the way to the substation.

Liberating the MTT from its droid owners had been easier than Lock could have hoped.  While it was Lock’s idea in the first place, it had been Heke who had gone racing off along the top of the roof with Jatne to get into position above the transport.  The droid pilots were clearly focused on the burning gunship in the streets and had stopped at what they thought was a nice, safe distance to disgorge their racks of droid infantry.  Heke had simply waited for the racks to finish unfolding and depositing all one hundred and twelve battle droids.  Then, with expertly aimed tosses, he and Jatne rained EMP grenades down onto the droids’ durasteel heads.  As the deactivated droids toppled over, Sergeant Stash and the other troopers from Saber Squad stormed into the open maw of the transport.  A minute later, Lock saw them come back out, dragging the ruined husks of the pilot and engineer droids.

More than ten years since the Battle of Naboo and these dumb droids still haven’t learned any new tricks, Lock thought to himself.  Not that he was complaining, of course.

He was nearly to the next intersection when things took an unexpected turn.  Rounding the corner ahead of them was a column of Super Battle Droids, marching in perfect order on an intercept path.

“Uh-oh.  We’ve got trouble, Lieutenant.”

Crammed into the co-pilot’s station next to Lock, Heke nodded.   “I see them.  What I don’t see is a wet officer with them.  Let’s just keep it slow and steady and hope they’re more interested in where they’re going than checking transponder codes for missing transports.”

Heke was right.  The SBDs were unsupervised and that likely meant they were on their way to reinforce someone.  Probably the building they’d just left, in fact.  Any trained commander with two brain cells to rub together would want to know why an unscathed armor unit was running away from the fight.  Fortunately, asking unnecessary questions usually ranked very low on the priority list of infantry battle droids.

Lock adjusted the transport’s throttle back a little to give the droids time to finish rounding the corner, hoping that was what a droid pilot would do.  The SBDs advanced obliviously, the steady chunk-chunk-chunk of their perfectly synchronized footsteps coming in over the external audio pick-up.  It was a sound the clones knew all too well, the sound of an enemy that—no matter how dumb—was completely unwavering and fearless.

He was nearly abreast with the lead droids now and Lock realized he was holding his breath.  It was hard to tell over the chunking noise as the droids marched by, but he was pretty sure every other clone in the transport was holding theirs as well.

Eventually the sound grew fainter and they were past the column of heavy infantry.  He was also nearly through the intersection, and decided to hold straight for one more block and double back rather than risk a tight, awkward turn and alert a wary droid.

Lock let his breath out in a whoosh and Heke gave him a solid pat on the back.  “Well done, pilot.  Looks like your mobile camo idea was worth the effort.”

“Yeah, let’s hear it for Lieutenant Lock,” Solus said over the short-range team comm.  There was a quiet murmur of approval from the troop bay below.  As a larty pilot, Lock had pulled off so many airlifts in hot zones that he’d long ago learned to take such praise from grateful soldiers without letting it go to his head.  The camaraderie still felt good, though.

“Don’t mention it, boys.  If this keeps up, the Seps might let us drive right up for front door parking.”

“Speaking of which,” Heke cut in.  “Remote feed from the sub-station shows a quiet scene.  But…  Word from Commander Reach says that’s exactly what Azure’s substation looked like before they were ambushed.”  He paused for a moment and Lock noticed the ARC was drumming his fingertips against his thigh plate.  “Unfortunately, we’re tight on time.  I say we give it a drive by, then you drop us off on the far side of the building.  Tihaar and I breach the station and you and Saber stand by for exfil.”

“You think we should just blast the place to make up time?”  Lock asked.  “We’ve got plenty of firepower now.”

Heke shook his head.  “Wouldn’t do us any good.  This substation only provides a small portion of the shield generator’s power.  But when we upload our worm and it links with Azure’s in the system, they’ll start redirecting power throughout the whole grid.  With enough noise from all of the fluctuating nodes, the generator will overload and shut down.”

“Huh,” was all Lock had to say to that explanation.  It seemed like one step too many to him, but he supposed the ARCs had their reasons for doing things this way.

“Believe me, this is much easier than trying to take out the big installations.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”  Lock could see the low, flat-roofed substation building now.  “Target in sight, sir.”

“Okay.  Stay on course and take us past the perimeter there.  Tihaar, up the ladder and ready to go.  Lock, get ready to open the rear hatch on my signal.”

“Yes, sir.”  Lock could hear the commandos climbing the ladder behind him.  Unfortunately, the control room was too small to stage everyone at once, so Tihaar would have to stack up on the ladder and wait for Lock to open the access hatch to the transport’s dorsal spine.  From there, it was still an awkward, six-meter scramble down the side to the ground.  If they could time it right, though…

The MTT passed the substation and Lock took the next left, behind a row of buildings. 

“Now,” Heke prompted.  Lock thumbed the control stud and the hatch hissed open behind him.  The ARC darted outside, followed by the commandos as each popped up from the crew bay below.  As soon as the fourth member of Tihaar Squad was through, Lock closed the hatch again.  At this speed, there would still be another several seconds before the transport was past the row of buildings and in view of the substation again.  If anyone was watching, it shouldn’t look like the MTT was up to anything unusual.

Now Lock would just take their transport on a nice, leisurely circle until he spotted a good place to tuck away and wait for word from Heke’s team.

“Bin,” he called down.  “Up here.  Co-pilot’s station.”  Lock was glad his crew chief was still with them.  He might not have had Captain Wake’s experience in a cockpit, but he was rock solid and knew his way around a vehicle.

Bin came up and wedged his way into the station next to Lock.  “Fancy that view from up here, eh?”  Bin joked.  “Guess now we just sit tight and wait for trouble.”

“As long as that trouble is just clankers and not more of those shabla Morgukai,” Sergeant Stash muttered from below.

“I heard that, ner vod,” one of the troopers agreed.

Lock smiled to himself.  Just a few hours earlier, he realized, he would have been annoyed to hear GAR soldiers throwing around Mandalorian slang like a bunch of merc thugs.  Now he was just happy that they were keeping their spirits up after losing brothers in the opening minutes of their mission.  And if Heke’s computer worm failed, he was afraid they’d need all the morale they could get.

* * *

Maze ducked his head to avoid crashing into a hanging flower pot as he ran full tilt through an outdoor market.  Totten Squad and Trooper Plaz were hot on his heels.  The low whine of STAP engines droned from somewhere behind and to the left, but to Maze’s relief, it wasn’t accompanied by strafing blasterfire.

The pursuing patrol craft had been harrying the team from the moment they fell back from the substation.  Maze had been forced to divert from LZ Alpha as they sought cover in Sagujero’s twisting alleys and plant-filled courtyards.  Along the way, Slab and Plaz had managed to score glancing shots as they returned fire at the STAPs.  So far, no one on his team had been hit.  Maze was beginning to wonder if the droids were actually trying to shoot them, or if they were being slowly herded into a trap.

Up ahead, he caught sight of a shop with a corrugated durasteel roof.  If they could get inside before the droids overflew them, it might provide enough shelter from the STAPs’ sensors to finally lose them.  Maze signaled his team toward the shop and pumped his flagging legs for all they were worth.

The shop’s walls were stone and the windows were small and barred, but the door looked to be wood.  Sergeant Case seemed to be making the same assessment.  Maze heard him pant the words “got the door,” and as the ARC slowed down to approach the entrance side-on, Totten’s sergeant simply lowered his head and shoulders like a smashball player and charged into it.  The old wood shattered, dumping Case unceremoniously across the threshold.  If there were any of the establishment’s proprietors inside, they had just gotten a big surprise.

Maze crouched outside the door with his back against the wall, sweeping the empty market with his carbine to make sure it was still clear.  The four other clones entered the building, and Maze slipped in behind them.  The shop was filled with decorative pottery, ranging in size from tiny teacups to shoulder-high vases.  Fortunately, there was only the one main room and it held no life-forms.  Leven, Rust and Slab were sweeping the room to make sure anyway, as Plaz helped Case prop the ruined door back in place.

“All clear, sir,” Rust said.

“Okay, defensive positions.  Let’s see if we lost them.”  Maze moved to the back wall and scrolled through his comm frequencies.  He’d been out of contact with the rest of the teams for far too long during their retreat.  It was time to check back in, but he was still too winded to manage more than a few words between breaths.  As he forced a few long exhales to help get his heart rate down, he brought up Tibanna’s POV icons.  All but Plaz and Fo’s had gone black.

Maze fought back his instant alarm.  The extra EM output from the substation could have just been scrambling the signal.  “Sergeant, check in with Tibanna,” Maze ordered as he switched to Commander Reach’s frequency.  Running an operation this big would have been impossible without delegating tasks.

“Azure to Indigo, what’s our status?” he asked.

Reach’s voice came back after a moment and Maze was once again glad for the communications encryption that their CR-25 could run.  The operation would have been impossible without long-range comms, too.  “The last stragglers are arriving at my position now, Azure.  Cobalt just reported they’re inside Target Beta.  How are things on your end?”

“We had to divert from LZ Alpha.  Too many STAP patrols,” Maze looked across to Case.  The commando shook his head in a negative gesture.  “Lost contact with Tibanna Squad.  We’ll try to regroup at RV Alpha and Beta before listing them MIA.”

Reach paused for a second, likely consulting with someone, “We haven’t seen them on any of the remote feeds, but we’ll keep looking.  In the meantime, I hope you don’t need that airlift anymore.  We just lost contact with Cyan’s larty and yours is still down for emergency repairs.  We also have visual confirmation of at least ten HMP Predators leaving the airbase.  Teal’s larty is the last one in the air and their movements are severely restricted.”

Maze was beginning to wonder if there would be any welcome news at all during this mission.  “Acknowledged, Indigo.  We can sit tight.  Report in immediately with word from Cobalt.”

“Roger that, Azure—hold one.  They’re reporting in now.  Patching them through.”

“—uploading.”  Heke’s voice was saying.  “Estimated completion in t-minus four hundred seconds.”

Maze let out a breath of relief.  Perhaps he’d thought too soon about that welcome news.  He broke in on the comm, “Excellent, Cobalt.  Airlift assets have been severely compromised.  Will you be able to dig in or fall back from your current position?”

Heke made his distinctive one-syllable laughing noise, “I reckon we’ll manage all right.  Lieutenant Twenty-Two helped us get our hands on some very reliable cover.”

Maze could only wonder on exactly what his brother ARC meant, but his confidence was a good sign.  He knew Heke well enough to tell it wasn’t just bluster.

“Copy.  Azure, standing by.”  Maze signed off and turned back to his team.  The clones were spread out around the shop, crouching or standing in firing positions behind what little cover they could find.

“Orders, Captain?” Case asked from next to the remains of the door, through which he had poked a strip cam to keep an eye on things outside.

“We hold position.”

“Shouldn’t we try to find Tibanna?” Leven piped up.

“Yes, and we will.  For now, I want everyone to rehydrate and take a breather before we go back out there.”  Maze flicked his eyes to the countdown timer that Heke had linked to his HUD.  “Because in about five minutes, the Seps are going to have much bigger things to worry about than a few scattered squads.”

* * *

Hajir Ravaal split his attention between the command tower’s comm board and the holographic display of the battles that raged both above and within the city.  A veteran infantry commander, Ravaal would have been completely at home leading forces against the invading clone troopers outside.  He’d pledged his loyalty to the Separatist cause on the day that his home planet of Kooriva withdrew from the Republic.  When Magistrate Argente had called on his people for soldiers, Ravaal had been proud that his own unit of fusiliers were chosen for off-planet duty.  Since then, he’d fought in several campaigns, including the battle of Moorja, where he’d earned the rank of major.

And now, to have that rank torn away by that… that clown.  And for what?  Because he couldn’t save the mad man from his own incompetence?  Because he’d already witnessed what happened when a soldier didn’t treat Tol Skorr as if he were Supreme Commander Grievous himself?  Ravaal had no doubt that the Dark Jedi was skilled at assassination, blackmail, bullying and all of the other shady dealings for which Count Dooku used him.  And of course, Skorr was a Jedi, which made him something of a super-weapon in his own right.  But as a military commander, he was beyond worthless.  He didn’t know the first thing about battle lines or strategy.  And if ruining Ravaal’s career wasn’t bad enough, he was likely to get them all killed as well.

Yes, Ravaal was trying very hard to maintain the discipline on which he prided himself.  He fingered his twisted cranial horn, suddenly wishing for the gems and stones he would decorate it with when out of uniform.  He was pulled out of his self-pitying reverie as another report came in.  Apparently, a small unit of clone troopers had been spotted crossing a street in the northern reach of the city.  The coordinates were the same from a similar report a few minutes earlier.

Perhaps Commander Skorr’s assessment wasn’t wrong after all.  Skorr believed that the clones had failed their assaults on their primary targets and were now gathering their forces for one last push.  But why would they rendezvous on the opposite end of the city, away from anything of strategic value?  Ravaal didn’t like it.  The clones were up to something, he just wasn’t sure what.

He slid his chair up to the holographic display of the city for a closer look.  There had been major assaults on the shield generator and the magma reactor, both located near the city’s center.  Then there had been the attack here on the airbase.  All had failed and all enemy units had withdrawn with light to medium casualties.  That wasn’t like the GAR soldiers he’d fought against at all.  There had to be something he was missing.

Ravaal continued to scroll through the list of reported enemy contacts.  There was another small unit of clones that had been routed by Morgukai scouts at a power substation.  The clones had been driven off and EOD units were currently disarming the explosives that had been left behind.

Finally, there was the gunship that had been shot down at Sagujero’s legislative building.  The Morgukai who had called in that attack hadn’t reported in since then.  Neither had the droid pickets that were sent to reinforce them.  Had the government building been their intended target?  Were the clones trying to take key political figures hostage?  If so, they were barking up the wrong tree.  The city had been put under martial law, and all local politicians had been confined to house arrest.

Ravaal kept looking over the map, hoping something would click into place.  There was something about that substation…  Why had the enemy bothered diverting their forces from legitimate targets to assault a municipal relay station?  Blowing it up would have put a quadrant of the city in the dark, but the main output from the reactor would continue to feed the shields.

To put himself at ease, Ravaal pulled up the reactor’s output feed and confirmed that all was still running at full capacity.  Everything looked fine, including both of the substations.  The substation in the north was still operating as the EOD unit cleared explosives and the one in the south near the government sector read green.

The government sector…

A chill settled into Ravaal’s stomach.  Twisting back to the map, he double checked the location of that crashed gunship.  It was only a few blocks from the second substation.  Was that where they were heading before they were shot down?  But even if they were, taking it out shouldn’t have been any more dangerous than the first.  Ravaal wasn’t sure what they were up to, but he knew this invasion hinged around those substations.  Now he had to do something about it.

The battle droid commander was standing behind him, utterly motionless.  It might have been silently relaying electronic orders, but it was impossible to tell.  “Commander 5B4-036,” he hailed.  He could have simply snapped “droid” as Commander Skorr would have, but Ravaal had been trained to address all military units by their proper rank and designation.  Doing differently with droids would be a breach of protocol, even if they were soulless automatons.

“Yes, Major?” it replied. 

Major?  Apparently Skorr hadn’t followed through with officially demoting him yet.  If he even knows how.  That could work to Ravaal’s advantage here.  Hearing his old rank spoken aloud was also somewhat inspiring.

“Has the droid picket at the southern substation reported any enemy contact?” he asked.

“SBD platoon D-14 has been redirected to Commander Skorr’s assault force.”

“Call them back, Commander.”

“Sir, I’m not authorized to direct any droid forces without confirmation from Commander Skorr.”

“Then get it!  We need all forces at that substation right now!”

“One moment, sir,” the droid said in a mild voice so different from Ravaal’s frantic tone that it would have been funny under other circumstances.  After what felt like an eternity, the droid reported again.  “Commander Skorr is not answering his comm unit.”

“Raise General Bulq, then.”  I’m sure he’ll be more than glad to help me fix Skorr’s mess.

“One moment, sir.”

A beeping klaxon pulled Ravaal’s attention away from the silent droid.  It was coming from the reactor status board.  Both substation icons were flashing red.

For a moment, Ravaal was struck motionless, staring at the flashing, red icons.  Then he noticed dozens and dozens of smaller lights flashing yellow.  A moment later, he realized they weren’t coming from the holoprojector at all, but rather from the window behind it.  Lights from the entire city were winking on and off.

Blowing the substations couldn’t cause that.  The clones must have gotten into the system.  Ravaal had to do something.  It might already be too late, but he had to try.  And the only thing he could think of was shutting down the reactor and initiating a cold re-boot.  When the system came back on line, it should be able to isolate whatever the enemy had done to get inside and lock down a direct feed to the generators.  It was a very sophisticated system and could cycle the re-boot in less than a minute.

It would mean opening the shield for that time, but there was no getting around that.  There was also no guarantee it would work, or even that they’d lose the reactor if he did nothing.  But if he didn’t try now…

Of course, Commander Skorr would find out if Ravaal’s plan went awry.  The insane ex-Jedi had already tried to ruin his life today and would be happy to end it later.  His memory slipped back a few weeks, to the moment when he watched Colonel Tolga clawing at his throat, desperately trying to breathe past Skorr’s invisible choke hold.  The colonel had countermanded a direct order from their new commander, and the Dark Jedi had seen fit to make an example of him.  What kind of example would he make of Ravaal if this failed?

Tolga had been a good officer.  A good soldier.  A good friend.  Suddenly, Ravaal wasn’t afraid of Skorr’s wrath.  When he’d accepted his commission into the Army of the Confederation of Independent Systems, he had sworn to give his life for their cause.  Being an officer was about more than inspiring troops and planning strategy.  Sometimes desperate situations required difficult decisions.

The reactor was under municipal operation and the state of martial law put that under military control.  From the command tower, he would have clearance to give orders to the droid operators there.

Major Hajir Ravaal stood to his full height and squared his shoulders, letting his gold epaulettes settle into their proper, parade ground position.  The city lights were still flickering beyond the window.  Taking one final breath, he keyed the comm board and made the call.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

Light pulsed sporadically into the room through the windows and the cracks in the ruined front door, casting strange shadows onto Captain Maze and the other clones.  Between flashes from the market’s street lights, Maze thought he could make out the winking of more distant lights from the city as well.

It was working.  The worm had gotten into the system and in another few moments, the shields would shut down.  All six clones stood stiff and silent, rapt by the flashing lights and the promise of success that they represented.  The flashes seemed to intensify and just as Maze was about to take a cautious step forward, they abruptly stopped.

He blinked a few times as his visor readjusted to the sudden darkness and fought a childish urge to step out into the street and gaze up at the sky to see if the shield was really gone.  Instead, he followed the plan and keyed for control of one of the surveillance remotes.  Its EM sensor picked up no signs that the dome was up.  Just to be sure, he guided the small, hovering sphere upward and beyond the shield’s maximum altitude.  Rather than meeting an explosive end, the remote continued to ascend safely.  The shield was down.

Finally, one of the commandos gave in to his curiosity.  “Is that it, sir?  Did it work?” Slab asked.

“It worked, alright,” Maze murmured.  Switching over to the team comm, he repeated the news.  “Shield is down.  I repeat, confirmation that the dome shield is down.”

Commander Reach replied, a touch of satisfaction creeping into his normally neutral tone, “Roger that.  Patching you through to all GAR forces.”

Maze noted the new frequency on his HUD and rattled off the code words that he’d memorized for the mission.  “Blue Actual to Red and Green teams.  You’re clear to commence with runs drayfill and welter.”

The first voice to reply wasn’t the one Maze was expecting.  “Roger that, Blue Actual.  This is Red Two.  Preparing for our run.”  Red Two was General Hett, and Maze tried not to wonder why he was giving Red Team’s orders instead of General Auset.

“I advise that Blue Team was unable to complete secondary mission objectives,” Maze added.  It had been a long shot, but the plan had included the possibility that Maze’s team would have time to sabotage the perimeter ion guns before the shields went down.  That had gone out the window with the Morgukai’s counter-attacks.  Fortunately, no one had fully expected it to be possible, and Red Team’s fighters were prepared to eliminate the guns on their own to allow Green Team to land the assault forces.

“Understood.  Stand by for—” Hett’s words were swallowed in a wash of static.  Maze checked the frequency and keyed the comm to reconnect.  It wasn’t working.  Blue Team’s frequency was the only one available again.  His first thought was that the CR-25 had been hit.

“Azure to Indigo.  Confirm that our comm equipment is still functional.”

Reach’s voice was back to its usual tight, clipped delivery.  “All boards read green, Azure.  Long range communications are being blocked.  We’re either being jammed, or…”

Maze’s thoughts finished Reach’s sentence for him.  He switched back to the remote he’d sent above the city.  Its feed was filled with static and was unresponsive to controls.  Keying for another, he switched to the EM filter and felt his breath catch at the results.

The massive, curved shape of the dome was back in place.  How?  The remote showed that the rest of the city was still pitch black and devoid of all but a few scattered EM fields.  But there was no doubting it.  Somehow the reactor had re-booted and was still shunting power to the shield generator.

Failsafes built into the grid that we didn’t know about?  Or has someone been on to us from the start?  The different possibilities for how things had gone wrong rushed at Maze.  Stop it, he ordered himself.  They’d known going in that the mission was a long shot.  Things had been bad from the start.  They were just worse now.  But Maze and his team were still standing, and they still had a job to do.  And he’d come up with contingency plans for a reason.

Maze could sense nervous tension from the other clones, especially the commandos of Totten Squad.  He was going to need them at peak performance if they stood any chance of salvaging the mission.  Re-focusing their resolve was going to be as important as what came after.

“Alright,” Maze said into the silence.  “Time for Plan B.”  He held up his index finger and pulled up the team comm to address Reach and Heke.  “It didn’t work, Blue Team.  The shield is still up.  Time to review our options and choose a contingency plan.  First, let’s have a sit-rep.”

Heke cut in first.  “The substation is dead.  They must be routing power straight to the generator, because they’re sure as shab not sending any here.  I’m pulling us back to our transport.”

Maze nodded.  “Acknowledged, Cobalt.  Proceed.  Indigo?”

“We’re dug in here,” Reach answered.  “All defenses are in place.  We’re picking up images of enemy forces throughout the city.  Looks like they’re marshalling for an assault on our position in the very near future.”

Maze clicked his teeth together.  That had been the point of the deliberately sloppy evasive maneuvers from the infantry teams after their feints in the city.  It looked like the Separatists were falling for it and were preparing for an all out attack on Commander Reach’s position.  This was one of the main reasons that Maze had hoped it wouldn’t come down to contingency plans.  His next order could mean the difference between life and death for Reach and his men.

If the Seps were willing to divert so many forces to assault Reach’s position, it would give Maze and Heke’s teams the breathing space they needed to make their move.  “Very well.  Good luck, Indigo.  Cobalt, looks like we get to draw straws for the nerf and the bantha,” Maze said, using the respective code words for the reactor and shield generator.

“We’re closer to both than you are at the moment,” said Heke.  “And I like my chances on the nerf better.  Might have better luck hitting one together than splitting up.”

Heke was right, Maze knew, but he hated the idea of putting all of their eggs in one basket again.  Then a sudden thought struck him.  Taking the shields out wouldn’t do them much good if they couldn’t guarantee their assault forces could get in.  Red Team’s fighters had started their attack run only to be thwarted when the shields went back up.  They were likely scrambling to re-engage the enemy droid fighters.  If Heke’s team took down the shields, the ion guns would have an easy time cutting down any aircraft that tried to approach.

Maze didn’t like where that conclusion led him, but his course was suddenly clear.  “Hold that thought, Cobalt.  You’re going to have to assault nerf on your own.  I’ll be taking Azure off to deal with the hawkbat problem.”

Heke laughed shortly, “Yeah, I had a feeling that’s where you’d end up.  That’s alright.  We’ll make out okay on our own.”

Maze knew that that was a very optimistic way of looking at the situation.  Heke had maybe a dozen men to assault an entire installation.  It was another suicide mission.  But his team had managed to get their hands on that mysterious transport, and Maze knew they stood a better chance of getting close to the reactor than any other team with such camouflage.

“Azure Actual to Indigo,” Maze said as he redirected his attention back to the bulk of their forces, “Azure and Cobalt may be out of contact.  You have tactical command of your available forces.”  Maze felt a sudden desire to give the infantry soldiers a way out of their dead end.  “If you think you can break off after the enemy begins their assault, you have permission to do so.”

Reach’s icy-cool demeanor finally cracked.  “Ha!  I wouldn’t dream of it.  You lot have gotten to have all of the fun so far.  Our turn now.  Besides, we’ve got a few surprises for the Seps that I’d hate to see go to waste.”

“Roger that,” Maze said, thinking again of how fortunate he was to have a commander like Reach on this mission.  Maze resolved to make sure there would be reinforcements to bail him and the others out before it was too late.  “Where do we stand on air assets?”

Captain Forr, the leader of Teal team that had remained onboard their larty to direct units from the air, popped onto the comm.  “We’re still holed up, avoiding those Predators.  Cyan reports they just finished repairs to their larty and are standing by for orders.  Also, remote feeds show that Azure’s larty is still intact and abandoned near the Sep air base.  Crew appears to be KIA, but I could run replacement crewers and get it back in the air.”

Now, that was welcome news.  One larty wouldn’t have done much good with all of the enemy gunships in the air, but three was a slightly different story.  It also gave Maze an idea.  “Hold position for now.  Cobalt, do you think you could spare your pilot and a few troopers after they drop you off at nerf?  I want that bird in the air ASAP.”

“I doubt Lieutenant Twenty-Two is going to like it, but we can definitely spare their help,” Heke replied.  “We’ve got wounded that I wasn’t thrilled about leaving behind anyway.  I’ll redirect them as soon as we’re in.  Cobalt, over and out.”

With that, it was done.  The situation was no less bleak than it had been a few minutes earlier, but now the clones had a plan.  The final obstacle Maze had to worry about was his battered and weary team.  Spread out among the pottery in the abandoned store, the soldiers stood silent and ready.

Maze spread his hands out in front of him.  “Now’s the time for comments.”  Turning his gaze to Totten’s sergeant, Maze could see the man’s hands bound into tense fists.  “Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir,” said Case.  “I request only that we trade jobs with Cobalt Team.  We’re the better squad for assaulting the reactor.  Totten’s done jobs just like it before.  Back on Jabiim.”

And look how well that battle turned out, Maze thought.  “Denied, sergeant.  Cobalt’s closer and they’ve got a way inside.  We’ve got more than our work cut out for us with the ion guns.”  The ARC paused to lock T-visors with all five members of his team.  “Any other input?” he asked earnestly.

The clones were silent.  Totten was standing rigid with tension at being left out of what they thought was the harder, more prestigious job.  It was a blow to their pride, but as Maze had noted earlier, the men were professionals and they were hardly blind to the reality of the situation.  Meanwhile, Plaz stood rock-solid, his mind clearly focused on the present.

“Alright, then,” Maze said at last.  “Let’s move out, Azure.”

* * *

“For the record, sir, I still think this is crazy,” said Lock.

“Noted,” Heke said from just behind him.  “But we need that reactor down, and we’re all that’s left to do it,” he went on.  “So that’s what we’re going to do.”

Upon reboarding the MTT, the ARC had been content to observe their progress from behind the control station, rather than booting Sergeant Bin out of the co-pilot’s seat.  Earlier in the mission, Lock had been annoyed by Heke’s constant hovering, but had gradually resigned himself to accepting it as his fate.  Now, he found himself dreading the man’s imminent departure.

“I know, but do you really think you can take it with just ten men?” Lock asked.

“I know I can.  I’d take it alone if I had to.  And I won’t have ten men, I’ll have eight.”

“What?” Lock asked in surprise, turning slightly in his seat to look back at the ARC.  To his right, he could see Bin mirroring his movement.  Lock knew that the plan was for him and Bin to proceed on to Azure Team’s downed larty after dropping Heke and his men off to get the gunship back in the air.  Much as he’d been excited at the prospect of being back in the cockpit of an LAAT/i, he knew that the commandos would need all the help they could get at the reactor.  The thought that Heke was giving up even more of his infiltration team to run escort was ridiculous.

“No sense sending you into the fray at less than peak capacity.  You two are going to need those ball turrets manned if you’re going to stand a chance at getting back here to pull us out,” Heke inclined his head toward the troops in the cargo bay below.  “Sergeant, pick two of your troopers to stay with Lieutenant Twenty-Two and the wounded.”

“Yes, sir,” said Stash.  “Zero-Two-Four-One, you’re hanging back,” he said to the most serious case of Saber Squad’s walking wounded.  “Thirty-Four, you’ve got the most time with heavy lasers.  Stay with him.”

“Wait…” a weak voice piped up onto the team comm.  “I can man the gun, sir.”

To Lock’s surprise, the voice belonged to Frost.  Since the medics had stabilized him, the gunner had been hanging on in stoic silence as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

“No you can’t, Frost,” Lock said to his brother before Stash or Heke thought about accepting his offer.  “You just hang tough.  You’re in no shape to fight.”

“It’s just my legs, Loot.  I don’t need them in the ball.”

“But you do need your eyes open.  I’m not about to have a passed-out gunner on my wing.”

“The IM-6 will have extra stims and painkillers on board, along with plasma and whatever else I need.  Just pump me up and point me at ‘em.”  Frost’s pleading tone took on a grim seriousness.  “Come on, sir, let me do this.”

“Permission granted, soldier.” Heke said.  Lock glared at the ARC from behind his visor, but deep down, he knew it was the right call.

“Okay,” Stash cut in.  “You’re back with us, Thirty-Four, but I still need you on that turret, Four-One.”

“Well there you go, Bargain,” Thirty-Four said.  “Between his legs and your arm, you’ll almost make a full trooper to man the guns.”

Lock felt himself start to smile at the clone’s teasing joke.  Then a full grin broke through when something else clicked in his brain.  Trooper Zero-Two-Four-One.  Bargain.  Two-for-one bargain.  After all of these years and the myriad of troopers he’d known, Lock appreciated that there were still number nick-names that he hadn’t heard before.

His attention was pulled back to more pressing matters when he noticed how close they were getting to the reactor on his HUD’s navisystem.  “Almost there, Lieutenant,” he said to Heke.  “So…  How we doin’ this?  Straight up to the front door?”

“Not sure yet,” Heke replied.  “Recce remotes show a pretty quiet scene, but I’m still counting a lot of turrets on that building and four AAT tanks on guard.  I guess we’ll have to see what they think of us when we get there.”

“Actually, sir,” Ge’verd offered from below.  “The boys and I were looking at those remote feeds, and I think we may have found a way in.”

*

Ultimately, Heke had liked Tihaar’s plan enough to give it a go.  It would still depend on the reception they got from the Separatist emplacements at the reactor, but Lock couldn’t come up with anything better himself.  Either way, they were about to find out.

As they cleared a final row of buildings, Lock saw the reactor complex marked by faint running lights.  As significant installations went, it was fairly unremarkable.  Essentially a giant hexagon, the portion of the reactor visible from the surface was basically just a flat-roofed, five-meter high slab of duracrete with walls that sloped gently in from bottom to top.  As in so many other cases, though, looks could be deceiving.  The real heart of the installation was deep underground, where state-of-the-art thermal generators drew power from Saleucami’s warren of magma tunnels.

“Okay, Lock,” Heke said quietly.  “Nice and easy toward the back.”

“Roger that,” Lock whispered back, as he guided the MTT on a steady path along the side of the building, noting that neither the nearest droid tank nor the numerous blaster turrets on the roof were tracking them.  Another lucky break.

Lock knew they’d need it.  The commandos had noticed that four of the five walls held a single emergency ventilation port in the center, and that one of those walls was directly across from a street that dead-ended there.  The plan from there was as straight-forward as possible.  It boiled down to a quick breach, a quicker drop off, and an even quicker getaway.  Lock could only hope that this plan would work better than the mission’s last one.

“Almost there, sir.  We’re looking good.”

“Excellent,” Heke said.  “Now who’s got that Sep rocket launcher?” he called down to the crew bay.

“Got it here, sir,” a trooper replied.  “You need a hole in something?”

“Yep.  Let’s have it.”

“Aww, sir…”

“Rank hath its privileges, Private,” Heke said, affecting the posh, Coruscanti accent of a bridge officer.  He reached down the ladder and took hold of the proffered weapon from the jealous trooper. “Okay, commandos, you know the drill.  After the pilot makes our hole for us, we’re up.  Me first, then Jatne and Solus out with anti-armor.  I hit the tank, you nail the turrets, then keep on that tank if it’s still moving.”

The command deck suddenly got a lot more crowded as two members from Tihaar crammed in next to Heke.  The ARC braced himself behind Lock and Bin’s seats.  “Alright, flyboys, this part’s all you.”

They were now nearly abreast with the ventilation port, and Lock pivoted the MTT to face it head on.  This was the part of the plan he was least sure about, but he didn’t have much choice but to try.  He looked slightly to his right at Sergeant Bin, saw the man’s tiny nod of readiness and sent them forward at full speed.

Red canon fire blasted chunks from the duracrete as Bin opened up with the twin anti-personnel turrets.  The MTT was only capable of making thirty-five kilometers an hour on flat ground, but even at the slightly slower speed Lock reached when they rammed the wall, the transport still weighed hundreds of tons.

They came to an abrupt halt that was far less jarring than Lock was expecting.  Before he could even put the transport into reverse to start backing out of the rubble, Heke’s hand darted in and keyed the rear hatch.

The portal hissed open, Heke and the commandos piled out, and Lock quickly lost count of the number of explosions that followed.  All he could see of the carnage outside on the cam feed was a shattered AAT and a lot of smoke.

“Clear!” Heke yelled.  “Move out!  Go, go, go!”

Lock’s ears were filled with the clamor of many sets of armored feet and hands on durasteel rungs as the clones shot up the ladder behind him.  Amidst the noise, Lock hadn’t even noticed Ge’verd leaning over him until the sergeant took him by the shoulder.  “Your gunner Frost is a good lad,” he said briskly.  “Ori atin.  Get him back safe, eh?”

“Will do,” was all Lock managed before the commando was out the back after the final trooper.

And with that, Lock and the others were onto their part of the plan: drawing the enemy’s fire.  Multi-Troop Transports wouldn’t exactly spin on a credit, but Lock thought he made a pretty good one-eighty as he backed away from the shattered wall and turned the transport toward their escape vector.

Lock gunned the drive for all it was worth, trying hard not to look too closely at the remote feed of two inbound AATs.  He made the cover of the outlying buildings and took the turn at the first intersection they hit.  Then he slowed the transport to the speed of a slow walk and keyed for the front hatch to start opening.

“Out you go, Bin,” Lock ordered.

“Don’t you mean, ‘out we go,’ Loot?” the crew chief asked as he slipped out of the co-pilot’s seat.

“One last thing I’ve got to do,” Lock held up a hand to cut Bin off.  “No arguments, Sergeant.  No time.  I’ll catch up with you right quick.  Now get down and help Bargain with the wounded.”

“Everyone wants to be a hero.  This is what happens when you spend too much time around ARC Troopers,” Bin muttered, but didn’t offer any further argument as he slid down the ladder.  Lock knew that Bin would have his hands full helping Bargain maneuver the awkward chain of repulsor gurneys.  Captain Wake, Frost, and another trooper from Saber Squad were all in no condition to walk and were therefore going to slow them down a lot.  The real moral quandary came from the tough decision they’d had to make about their KIA.  Private Six and the two troopers who had been killed in their crash were going to have to remain aboard the MTT.  Lock hoped they’d get a chance to pick them up later, but knew full well that might not happen.

Lock split his attention between a side-view cam of the team’s exfil, the worrying images from the remote of the pair of tanks nearing their position and the commands he was punching into the MTT’s console.

After what felt like an eternity, Bin’s voice boomed, “Clear.”  Lock noted the white-armored clones disappearing into the nearest alley and punched the accelerator to full speed again.  Finishing the command sequence, he activated the autopilot and scrambled out of his seat.  The AATs were faster than his transport and he knew the tanks would be on him any second.

That thought gave him the surge of adrenaline he needed to slip down the ladder and make a dash for the still-open front hatch.  As he rushed down the ramp, Lock tried hard to ignore the bodies of his fallen comrades lying on the deck.

He dove out of the hatch, peddling his legs furiously to keep his feet from shooting out beneath him when they touched the moving ground.  Stumbling a little, Lock righted himself and sprinted full-tilt for the nearest intersection.  He noted with satisfaction that the MTT trundled on, driverless, on the pre-programmed course he’d set for it.  In the best-case scenario, it would end up back at the reactor as a back-up exfil vehicle for Heke’s team.  But even in the worst case, it would still help keep the Separatist forces busy for a little while as they chased it down and blew it to slag.

“On my way,” Lock panted as he ran down a side street toward the RV.  They’d better be there.

Lock was still thinking that when he rounded the final corner and saw the most beautiful sight he’d ever laid eyes on.  A trooper was helping Bin and Bargain load the last gurney onto Teal Team’s larty.

Lock had heard Captain Forr confirm that he could make the RV point to give them a lift.  He’d then heard him when he commed that they were in position and ready to make the extraction.  But he hadn’t fully believed help would arrive until he saw it in person.  Having made so many airlifts, Lock had never known how good it felt to be on the receiving end of one.

Strangely enough, Lock’s mind was on a different thought as Bin grabbed his plastoid gauntlet and helped him aboard the gunship.  He had originally taken Ge’verd’s parting words to look after Frost at face value.  Now, he suddenly understood what the commando had meant and was impressed by the subtle but very effective way he’d shifted Lock’s focus away from the mission at the reactor and onto his own job.

It was a perceptive and kind gesture, especially in the face of Ge’verd’s own imminent concerns.  Lock resolved to thank him if they all got out of this mess alive.  He also resolved to ask him what in the hell ori atin meant.

* * *

“Confirmed, sir,” the Koorivar lieutenant said as he lowered his night-vision macrobinoculars.  “It’s definitely a CR-25.”

Standing with his arms folded across his armored chest, Skorr rocked back slightly on his heels and spared the young Fusilier a sideways glance.  “And?  Can you see anything different about it?”

The lieutenant narrowed his eyes behind his yellow combat goggles.  “Yes,” he said as he flicked his gaze back and forth from the mouth of the amphitheater to the images on his datapad.  “All of our battlefield images of Republic CR-25s show a much shinier, smoother hull.  This one appears to have matte black panels added on.  Some kind of stealth coating, perhaps?”

Exactly, Skorr thought.  That must be how they snuck in past our sensors.  “And we have no records of any such stealth ships being used by the Republic?”

“No, sir.”

It was as Skorr had thought.  The Republic sent a prototype stealth vessel into the city with a small assault force, hoping to take him unawares.  And now their mission had failed.  Ravaal had seen to that when he’d taken it upon his own authority to shut down the reactor and root out the enemy virus.  It had been a risky move, but the Koorivar had likely saved them all by doing it.  Of course, Skorr hadn’t let his subordinate know that that was how he felt.  He didn’t plan on letting him get credit for it either.

Now, all that was left to do was finish off the besieged clones.  That and to take their ship for himself.

“Very well, lieutenant.  We’ll begin our assault as planned.  But,” Skorr held up a warning finger and leaned in a few centimeters.  “I want that ship intact.”

The Koorivar swallowed audibly.  “Yes, sir.  I’ll alert our officers to avoid all possible direct damage to the CR-25.”  The lieutenant saluted and marched back toward his fellow Fusiliers.  Along the way, he had to pass through a knot of Morgukai.  The Koorivar was tall and fit; clearly an able soldier.  But compared to the solid bulk of the cloned killing machines, he and his comrades looked spindly and awkward.  It was the Nikto, rather than the droids and Fusiliers that Skorr would rely on to take the enemy ship intact.

Skorr turned back to the scene before him.  From his position atop the roof of a two-story convenience store, he had a perfect view across the open public square that separated his forces from the Republic’s.  The Koorivar lieutenant had seemed apprehensive about Skorr observing the battlefield from such an exposed location, but had the sense not to voice his concerns.  He and the other command staff now clustered toward the rear of the roof.  For his part, Skorr wasn’t concerned about making himself a target.  In fact, he wanted the Republic clones to be able to see him and know that he wasn’t afraid.  And he needed to see his target with his own eyes.

Daylight was still hours away, and with most of the city in a black-out, the public square was completely dark.  But with a little help from the Force, Skorr was able to discern the cavernous maw of the natural amphitheater where the Republic clone troopers had holed themselves up.  Carved out by magma into the wall of the caldera, the amphitheater was the city’s site for sporting events and concerts.  The spectacle it would house today, Skorr decided, would be its most famous yet.

Filling every street for blocks on either side of him were nearly all of the forces in the city.  Thousands of battle droids stood at silent attention.  The low drone of circling Predators could be heard above, punctuated by the higher notes of droid-piloted STAPs.  With their backs up against the wall, the besieged clone troopers had nowhere to run.  They would die.  The trick would be taking them out without wasting too many of the droids.

Skorr had heard the ludicrously one-sided kill ratios that the Republic’s troopers boasted over droids, particularly during sieges.  These clones were trapped, but they were in a highly defensible position and the Dark Jedi very much hoped to avoid telling Sora Bulq that he’d lost his entire garrison to finish off a single company of troopers.

On the other hand, if I can take that ship intact, Sora will likely forgive everything that’s gone wrong today.  If the Separatists’ weapons scientists could reverse-engineer the technology, they could create their own stealth ships.  The perfect shadow troop carriers for the perfect shadow army.  The Republic had sent soldiers to stop the Morgukai from escaping Saleucami, and in so doing, the fools had given up the final key to evening the odds in the Clone Wars.  And it would all be thanks to Tol Skorr.

Skorr smiled to himself, imagining how impressed Dooku would be when he, rather than Sora Bulq, delivered the Shadow Army to General Grievous.  With Ventress and the other Acolytes dead and Quinlan Vos on his self-destructive path, Skorr would be sure to come out of the war as the Count’s disciple of choice.  From there, his possibilities in the Confederacy’s new order would be endless.

“Commander droid,” Skorr snapped in a firm voice.  “Order a Predator to fire a volley of missiles through the amphitheater’s opening.  We’ll soften up the defenders, but make sure they avoid targeting the troop carrier.”

“Roger, roger, sir.”

Skorr looked up from his position behind the bulk of his droid forces.  The dark shape of one of the droid gunships dropped in below the line of buildings and cruised over the open grounds that ringed the low opening of the amphitheater.  Before it could fire a missile, however, Skorr noticed a small movement along the side of the CR-25.  Green turbolaser fire lanced out directly into the nose of the Predator.  The gunship, doughty though it was, crumpled from the direct hit, dropped nose first into the pavilion and showered the open space with exploding debris.

Well, I wasn’t expecting this to be easy, Skorr thought.  “Looks like our prize has teeth,” he said to no one in particular.  “We’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.  Droid, send Battle Group One in.  SBDs up front, backed by Bee-Ones.  I want droidekas up the ramps to provide cover fire.”

“Roger, roger, sir.  Battle Group One, attack.”

With a synchronized snap to attention from hundreds of droids, the lead units began marching forward.  The bulky super battle droids picked up speed and advanced at a jog, blaster arms leveled and tracking along the raised first level of the arena.  Skorr scanned the opening again for some sign of the hidden defenders.  They had to be holding some heavy weapons back there, and the undefended ranks of droids would make for a gunner’s dream.

However, as the seconds stretched on, the arena’s mouth remained empty and motionless.  Were the troopers hiding inside of or behind the shielded troop ship, waiting to engage the droids in close quarters?  The droids were nearly to the entrance now, and the shiny brown shapes of rolling droidekas suddenly pulled ahead of the rest, heading for the smooth ramps that led to the arena’s first level.  If the clones are foolish enough to let the Destroyers make a beach head, they’ll be—”

An explosion thundered, which Skorr felt as much as he heard.  Even with the Force to steady him, he staggered back a step, a dull thud in his chest from the overpressure.  The entire opening of the arena was illuminated for a split second by brilliant flashes, then disappeared behind a curtain of billowing dust and smoke.  And then came the answer to the lack of defenders, with a hail of enemy fire.  Blue and yellow bolts of heavy plasma raked the rows of droids that weren’t protected behind buildings.  Shrapnel and grit from the explosion rained down around Skorr’s position, cutting a few of the armored machines down where they stood.

“Return fire!” Skorr yelled.

“Sir,” the droid behind him said over the din of explosions and discharging blasters.  “Our targeting sensors can’t penetrate the dust and heat from the explosion.  We won’t be able to avoid hitting the enemy troop ship.”

“It’s got shields, you idiot,” he snapped back.  “Just put fire down everywhere but where it was sitting.”

“Yes, sir.”

But it was too late.  Even as AATs moved forward to fire heavy cannon rounds into the hidden opening, the enemy fire came to a sudden stop.  Over the ringing in his ears, the only sound Skorr could hear was the ticking of cooling metal.  As the dust began to clear, he saw the ruins of his entire battle group in the form of twisted metal husks jutting out from piles of crumbled stone.  The clones must have laid down mines and shaped charges to blow the front of the building out directly into the lines of advancing droids.  And worse, the smooth ramps and even steps that ascended the five meters to the arena’s opening were now a solid barrier of uneven rubble.

Skorr unclipped his lightsaber from his belt and squeezed the cylinder hard enough to feel the metal flex in his grip.  The urge to ignite his weapon and charge into battle was palpable, but he knew it would be a futile effort.  The handful of enemy clones had just made a fool of him again and he intended to make them pay.

“Major!  Lieutenant!” he called over his shoulder.

Ogdai and the Koorivar hurried to him and snapped salutes.  “Did any of your snipers or spotters get a good look at the enemy defenders through the dust?”

Ogdai’s reply was quicker.  “No, Lorda.  Bug boys didn’t poke heads up until after the explosion.  We did get count on weapons positions, though.  Three E-Webbs and twenty-two rifles, at least.”

Skorr nodded, then turned to the Fusilier.  “Is that what your men saw too, Lieutenant?”

“Uh, no, sir.”  The Koorivar shook his head quickly and pressed on, unable to hide the quaver in his voice.  “I mean, yes, sir.  We did confirm heavy repeating blasters and DC-15 fire, but we couldn’t make an exact count.”

“Then what good are your men, Lieutenant?  Dismissed.”  Skorr turned back to his major.  “I need to know if we can—”

“Commander Skorr,” the forgotten droid interrupted.  “Urgent news.  Major Ravaal reports there has been an alert of a breach at the reactor.  Enemy forces.”

Earlier that evening, Skorr would have wheeled on the droid, unable to believe what he was hearing.  After all of the disastrous events that had transpired since then, he simply let out a long breath.  He’d come to the realization that he’d somehow been cursed.  “Private Ravaal,” were the words that came out of Skorr’s mouth before he could think to say anything else.  “He isn’t a major anymore.”

Once again, he would have to make a decision.  His orders from Sora Bulq were to protect the air base at all costs.  His place should be at the reactor, killing the sneaking saboteurs who had slipped past him.  But if he did that, it meant abandoning the assault on the amphitheater to the incompetent fools he left behind.  The clones might find a way to escape or destroy their ship before he had a chance to take it.

It wasn’t fair.  Skorr was reminded of the bitter memory of the last time he’d gone after a ship and failed a mission because of it.  Then it hit him.  Vos.

This had to be Quinlan Vos’s plan.  He had deliberately laid the CR-25 out as bait to lure Skorr away from the vulnerable reactor.  He knew the ironic similarity to the Hell’s Anvil debacle wouldn’t be lost on his rival.

You’re expecting me to do the opposite of that this time, aren’t you, Vos?  Nice try.

A certainty swept over Skorr that he knew stemmed from the Force.  The CR-25 was the true prize here.  Even if they did lose the entire city, that stealth ship would be the key to escaping Saleucami.  Sora Bulq would see that eventually.

“Major Ogdai, take a squad and deal with the infiltrators at the reactor.  There should be enough speeder bikes to get you there quickly enough.”

The Nikto pulled his lips back into a tight grin, revealing his flat, strong teeth.  “With pleasure, Lorda Skorr.  We will bring you enemy heads on the ends of our staffs.”

Skorr smiled back at him.  “Good.  I know you will.  But leave me your best lieutenant.”  Skorr turned back to the amphitheater and focused his dark rage on the clones hiding inside of it.  “I still have a siege to break.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

Captain Maze found himself once again peering out from a dark alley at the next obstacle in his team’s way.  The six clones had made quick progress from the sanctuary of the pottery store to the northern edge of the city.  Now that they had reached their destination, the plan was to scale the walls of the caldera and tackle the perimeter ion guns above.

A job easier said than done.  Sagujero sat in a deep crater that sloped gently from its tiered western edge to sharp cliffs on all other sides.  The range finder built into Maze’s HUD calculated the distance to the rim above them at 112.6 meters.  It wasn’t the highest point in the city, but it still made for a long climb.  Fortunately, a steep wall was exactly what Maze and the others were looking for.  Patrols on the rim would be less likely to see them coming from an abrupt edge.

Maze brought up the icons of the team’s reconnaissance remotes.  There were several fewer now than when he’d last checked.  STAP patrols or sniper scouts must have finally taken notice of one and started tracking them down.  Maze wasn’t terribly concerned by this, however.  They were nearly past the part of their mission that relied heavily on real-time recon images.

For now, though, he did need the remotes.  He selected the one nearest to their position and watched as it zoomed in on the cliff’s perimeter above him.  They were directly beneath one of the city’s eight large ion gun turrets.  While much smaller and less powerful than the planetary gun at the Separatist headquarters in the city to the north, each of these was capable of bringing down a larty with one shot.  They were the reason his team’s gunships had to fly below the cover of buildings and they could devastate General K’kruhk’s reinforcements when they tried to land.

The remote highlighted the turret above, as well as the two that sat half a kilometer away on either side.  They would scale the wall here, then split up into teams of two and attempt to capture those three turrets.  The remote also picked up a patrol of five battle droids marching along the wall.  Maze decided it would be better wait for them to pass than to attempt neutralizing them and risk detection.

Maze signaled the other members of Azure Team to hold position as the droids clanked by above.  After so many recent close calls, the clones had reached an unspoken consensus to minimize use of the comm system, even their short-range, secure frequency.  It might have seemed like they were being paranoid to an outsider, and perhaps they were.  Maze had yet to meet a veteran without a healthy dose of paranoia.

Once the droid patrol was a healthy distance past their position, Maze waved the team forward.  He and the others darted out of the alley and approached the steep wall.  Each of them knew exactly what to do now.  Maze pulled out the collapsible grappling hook from his belt and slotted it into the barrel of his carbine.  The entire DC line of BlasTech’s rifles was designed to fire the grapples and could easily put one over the edge of the one hundred-odd meter wall in front of them.  He sighted up above and fired.

With a muffled pop, the hook shot up, trailing a high-tensile micro-cable behind it.  When the cable stopped free-spooling, Maze gave a gentle tug.  The grapples were self-deploying and would affix themselves to any hard surface on contact.  The hold felt solid and the recon remote showed six tiny hooks attached to the edge of the cliff.  Feeding the end of the cable into the micro-winch on his belt, Maze signaled his team and waited for their confirmation.  With the team ready, Maze flipped the switch on his winch and felt his weight being lifted from his waist.

Maze and the others could have climbed the cable hand-over-hand if they had to, but the winches let them “walk” up the wall with their high-traction boots, leaving a hand free.  The ARC used his to train his blaster’s sights on the edge above.  The mechanical advantage would allow him to save energy on the climb, but he still felt ludicrously exposed on the side of the naked wall.

Slowly and surely, they made their way up.  Two meters before they were finally to the top, Maze signaled the team to stop and gave the edge a final scan.  The droid patrol was now nearly a kilometer away.  If they moved quickly, they should be able to slip over the edge in the darkness without being spotted.  They did so, and Maze was glad to have fresh arms to pull himself over smoothly and quietly.

After collecting their grapples, the team ran at a crouch for the shadow of the ion gun turret.  The turrets were large towers that reminded Maze of a description of ancient lighthouses that he’d read about in a text on historical maritime navies.  But rather than stone and mortar, this tower was made of durasteel and topped with the long barrel of an ion cannon.

Creeping up to a stack of supply crates behind the turret, the clones hunkered down.  Maze pointed at himself and Plaz, then jerked his thumb back at the ion cannon.  He then indicated that he and the trooper would provide cover for the commandos as the squad split up to take the ion cannons on either side of their position.  Case nodded and sent Rust and Slab to the left, then hurried off to the right with Leven.

Maze reflected that Totten Squad didn’t have any trouble taking orders, as long as the orders were ones that they agreed with.  He shook his head as he shouldered the verp rifle to cover his arc.  He was tired of the commandos and their idiosyncrasies.  He was also tired of the snags they kept hitting on this operation.  Taking these ion cannons was essential, but relied on everything going right.  If they could capture all three quietly, and if they could use them to neutralize the other turrets, and if flight lieutenant Twenty-two could get the third larty in the air, then they might stand a chance at surviving the air strikes they would bring on themselves.  It was a lot of ifs.

Maze realized that he was allowing himself to get frustrated and took a deep breath.  One thing at a time.  Just like always.  Anticipate and react.  That had been his mantra during training and it had saved his life more times than he could remember.

Through his scope, the dark shapes of Case and Leven crept up to their target and disappeared into cover.  Behind Maze, Plaz signaled that Rust and Slab were in position as well.  The ARC nodded and set a countdown timer for five minutes.  They would listen for word from the larty pilots that the gunships were standing by for support, but the longer they waited, the more they risked detection.  When the time was up, they were going in, with or without air support.  If they were on their own, they’d have their hands full surviving inbound Predators, but he’d deal with that then.  One thing at a time.

* * *

Coarse grains of sand pelted Ogdai’s face as he rode a speeder bike at the head of a column of his warriors.  Sand was everywhere on Saleucami, even within the sheltered caldera cities.  Most locals, as well as the Separatist’s organic soldiers, required goggles to protect their eyes when riding uncovered repulsor-craft.  Ogdai and the rest of the Morgukai clones, however, paid the stinging grains little heed.  The black, glassy substrate of their volcanic homewold, Kintan, had honed the Kajain’sa subspecies of Nikto into beings ideally suited for such desert climates.

Kintan.  He had never actually been to the planet, but the very word stirred feelings of pride and hope in Ogdai’s heart.  He and the rest of his unit were part of the first batch of clones hatched on Saleucami.  They had been trained in the ways of the Morgukai warriors by their progenitor, Bok.  He had taught them of both their tragic past and of their glorious future.  Bok had once been the last of the Morgukai, but with the raising of the Shadow Army, the cult had been reborn.

As Ogdai’s skills grew, he had been inducted into Bok’s circle of elites.  The head Morgukai had shared with those chosen few their true purpose and a path to honor.  The Separatist leader and Bok’s lorda, Count Dooku, had promised the warrior that when the war to destroy the Republic was over, Bok could return to Kintan with his army.  They would pry their homeworld from the slimy grip of its Hutt owners and root the Morgukai tradition back into the land that had birthed it.  That noble dream had driven Ogdai every day since.  The only thing that stood in its way was the army that currently trapped them on Saleucami.

Today, that meant purging the invading bug boys from the city.  Ogdai’s immediate lorda, the former Jedi named Skorr, had given him the honor of killing the saboteurs at the magma reactor, a pleasure he anticipated eagerly.

The ten warriors shot through the dark streets at full speed.  When they had nearly reached the reactor complex, Ogdai noticed the burning hulk of a Multi-Troop Transport under the guns of three droid tanks.  It would have normally called for further investigation, but the tanks were neither giving nor receiving fire and there was little time to waste.

They pulled up to the front of the building and dismounted their speeders.  The complex only had one entrance and the wide bay door in front of them looked perfectly untouched.  If the enemy had come in this way, they hadn’t breeched the entrance by force.

“Ka’syr, Drig, find out where bug boys got in,” Ogdai ordered.  The two warriors remounted their speeder bikes and took off in opposite directions to sweep the perimeter of the building.  Ogdai entered a security override code into the control panel and the half-meter thick durasteel door cycled open.

Ogdai’s warriors drew their blaster rifles and covered the opening door from positions that gave them optimum cross-fire of the front lobby.  The empty room flared with pulsing red emergency lights and an alarm klaxon sounded every other second.  It gave Ogdai hope that they might not be too late.  Security droids and emergency bulkheads would slow the enemy’s progress.

The Morgukai entered the building in pairs, covering one another.  Ogdai was technically in command, but his warriors didn’t require any orders.  They had their mission and knew exactly how to see it done.  Before he could step through the entrance, the comlink in Ogdai’s left gauntlet buzzed.  He brought it up to this face and answered. 

“Enemy breached through vent in eastern wall, Lorda,” Drig’s voice reported.  “We follow now.”

Ogdai pictured the holoimages of the facility that he’d studied shortly after arriving in Sagujero.  The four emergency vents each went down to a separate reactor, but the vents themselves were chambered and were too small for a human.  The enemy clones would have to descend several floors and make their way through numerous corridors before they could reach the hexagonal lower level where they could do any damage.

“Yes.  Follow their path.  We try to head them off.” Ogdai responded.  “Switching to silent running.”

Ogdai shouldered his rifle and glided forward with the long, heel-first strides that he’d learned from his Anzati instructors.  The vampiric assassins were not Morgukai, so Ogdai had cared little about their culture, but they were unparalleled in the arts of stealth and infiltration.  While he had come nowhere near to their level of mastery, Ogdai was proud of the way that he and his brethren had learned to disappear into the shadows and move without making a sound.

The black armored Nikto spread out and flooded down the wide, metal corridor like a wave of dark liquid.  Halfway down the hall, a door slid open and punctuated the flashing red emergency lighting with bright white illumination.  Simultaneously with the rest of his warriors, Ogdai’s rifle snapped onto a small figure that peered out from the doorway. 

Whatever it was, the creature was clearly one of the reactor’s civilian staff, rather than a large, armored clone trooper.  Its small size likely saved its life.  Belatedly, it caught sight of the Morgukai moving toward it, squeaked and ducked back into the room.  Before the door could close again, two warriors had burst into the room and gestured an all clear to the others outside.

Ogdai stepped in to see roughly a dozen civilians of various species—though primarily dwarfish Ugnaughts—cowering around a large table in the break room.

“Enemy came through here,” Ogdai barked.  “Anyone see them?”

The group of technicians continued to cower and looked even more afraid as he approached them.  Perhaps none of them had seen a Morgukai warrior up close before.  “You,” Ogdai said, leveling a finger at a pale human male with thinning hair.  “What you see?”

The man swallowed.  “N-nothing.  We were evacuating when we heard blaster fire.  Mr. Jessen sent us in here and—”

“Pah!” Ogdai cut him off.  He should have known it was a waste of time to bother with the civilians. 

Leaving the technicians behind without another word, the Morgukai redoubled their efforts to catch up to their prey, sacrificing stealth for speed.  Further down the corridor, they came upon signs that the enemy had already passed through.  A Wroonian technician sprawled next to a pile of shattered battle droids.  The brief firefight had happened very recently:  the smell of discharged blasters lingered on the air and fresh blood was still pooling slowly beneath the tech’s corpse.  Ogdai noticed a small blaster in the blue skinned alien’s hand and fought down a wave of contempt.  The Wroonian had been a fool.  Only a warrior had any right to bring weapons into battle.  Those who died imitating true killers deserved their fate.

After rounding a bend in the corridor, they reached the door to the turbolift that led to the lower levels.  Its control panel flashed red.  The security team must have shut it down to limit the enemy’s movements.  Fortunately, Ogdai had codes to unlock it.  It was possible that the clone troopers had sliced in and gained access to the lift anyway, but if they hadn’t they would have been forced to take the emergency stairs.  Punching in the code, Ogdai hoped for the latter.

Somewhere below were his enemies.  Ogdai and his brethren would find them and pit themselves against the Republic’s finest.  Only the best would come back up alive.

* * *

From his rooftop viewpoint, Skorr watched the wreckage of the last STAP crash to the ground.  He had hoped to gather some good recon images of the amphitheater’s defenses by sending a flight of the patrol craft into the cavern from multiple approaches.

The clone defenders had thought differently and managed to shoot all nine down before a single one of the droid-piloted fliers could get so much as a look in.

Skorr cursed under his breath.  If I could just get in there with a squad of Morgukai…  He had spent the past quarter of an hour working with Ogdai’s second-in-command to come with a way of doing that.  Nothing looked good.  The enemy’s field of fire and blistering arsenal were simply too good to get inside without taking huge losses.  Skorr didn’t like his own odds against the turbolasers on the CR-25, either.

It was looking more and more like he’d have to throw everything he had at the clone troopers and hope there would be enough of the stealth ship left to salvage afterwards.

“Commander!” a voice called from behind.  Skorr turned to see the young Koorivar lieutenant climbing the ladder to the roof.  He let the alien close the remaining distance between them before answering.

“One of your men better have found something useful.”

“No sir, not one of my command.  Major Ravaal…”  He cut himself off and blanched.  “I mean, private…  Um, fusilier Ravaal?”

“Spit it out,” Skorr snapped.  “Or you’ll be demoted to private yourself.”  Skorr reflected that stripping Ravaal of his rank was turning out to be more trouble than it was worth.  Come to think of it, he couldn’t quite remember exactly what the officer’s failure had been in the first place.

“Uh, yes, sir.  Well, Ravaal has been following our assault on the enemy defenders, and he found something he thinks you could use.”

“Oh, and what’s that?  He didn’t happen to find General Grievous offering us a hand did he?”

“No, sir,” the fusilier carried on past Skorr’s sarcasm.  He clearly wanted to deliver his message and escape the Dark Jedi’s attention as quickly as possible.  “He found this.”

The lieutenant thumbed on a small holoprojector and rotated the image for Skorr to see.  “These are old maintenance records from the amphitheater.”  A blue, three-dimensional representation of the real life opening in front of them spun slowly in the air.  The Koorivar zoomed in on the portion of the image that extended up into the rock wall.  Three tubes snaked through the rock from the ceiling of the cavern to the surface above the caldera.

Skorr peered closer at the image, intrigued.  “What are those, lieutenant?”

The young soldier seemed to forget his earlier discomfort and smiled.  “We’re not sure, sir, but they appear to be vents or skylights, carved out by magma.  The indigenous people who inhabited the caldera before modern technology might have used them to—”

“Are they accessible?” Skorr demanded.

The fusilier’s smile quickly vanished.  “Yes, sir.  These records show that the surface accesses were capped with durasteel hatches and the tubes now house electrical cables for ceiling lights that are no longer in use.  Ravaal assured me that it’s highly unlikely that the Republic soldiers could have gathered intelligence on these tubes.  He had them pulled from back-catalogued files that don’t exist on the municipal mainframe.”

Skorr was already in motion toward the ladder.  This was the answer to his problem.  Those clones are mine, he thought.  That ship is mine.  “Lieutenant,” he called over his shoulder.

“Sir!” chorused the simultaneous replies from both the Koorivar and the Nikto.

Skorr turned back and pointed at the fusilier.  “Not you,” his finger drifted to the Morgukai.  “You.  Gather four squads and call down our cargo-fitted Predators.  I need you,” Skorr’s finger jabbed back to the Koorivar, “Here.  Once we’ve got their backs turned, you’ll bring a full battle group in to secure the amphitheater.  I also need you in contact with Major Ogdai.  Anything he needs at the reactor that we don’t need here, you get to him.  Think you can handle that?”

The fusilier straightened and snapped off a salute.  “Sir, yes, sir!”

“Good.  Get to it.”  Skorr tilted his head up to gaze into the darkness at the ridge above the amphitheater’s mouth.  “Just one more push,” he said to himself.  Then this night is behind me, and I will be the hero of the hour.

* * *

“All systems green,” Lock reported over his helmet comm.

“Roger that,” reported Teal Team’s crew chief.  “Your med droid is docking himself now.  You should be good to go.”

“Thanks for the assist, Teal.”

“Yeah, thanks a lot mate,” said Frost, his voice sounding stronger than it had a few minutes earlier.  “We owe you one.”

“Ha!  If things get as hairy as I think they’re going to, you’ll have plenty of chances to pay us back.”  Lock watched the crew chief and Captain Forr jog back from where they’d helped to get Frost strapped into his turret.  He turned back and offered a quick salute.  “Good luck, Cobalt.”

The two clones remounted their gunship as it rose slowly from the ground on its repulsors.  Dust billowed in its wake as it took off and disappeared into the dark streets.  Lock and his crew were on their own again.  It felt good to be back in the seat of a gunship, even if that meant being behind the pilot’s flightstick instead of the gunner’s controls he was used to.  Unfortunately, that was about all that felt good.

After getting picked up by Teal’s larty, the clones had made their way to their present location, in hopes of putting a downed gunship back in the air.  They’d found the gunship in perfect working order, but its crew had been butchered to the last man.  Some of them he’d only known for the few months that they’d been assigned to the 271^st, others he’d trained with his whole life.  But all five were more than just fallen brothers—they’d been Lock’s friends.  What was most disturbing about their deaths was how they’d been killed.

Sergeant Ten, their crew chief was lying over a hundred meters from the vessel in a crumpled heap, his head bent at an unnatural angle.  It appeared that he’d fallen or been thrown from the gunship while it was still in flight. What killed Hitch, the port side gunner, was a mystery.  When they pulled his limp body out of his bubble, his vitals were cold and his armor sensors showed that he’d been dead for over an hour.  There were no signs that he’d died on impact from a crash landing or concussive forces during flight.  There was no doubt, however, about what had killed the remaining three clones.

As a flight officer, Lock had spent the majority of his career in the air, but after the battles he’d flown in were over, he’d spent countless hours searching for survivors and assisting with the cleanup of shattered warzones.  He’d seen the damage done to man and machine alike by plasma fire, laser blasts, explosives and flying shrapnel.  He’d also seen the effects made by the signature weapons of his Jedi Generals.  The corpses of the starboard gunner and both pilots that they’d pulled out of the cabin each bore the unmistakable burn marks of a lightsaber blade.

Knowing they were up against a Jedi sent chills along Lock’s spine.  He knew from the briefing that the former Jedi Master, Sora Bulq, was in charge of Saleucami’s Separatist forces.  There was also an appendix that another of Dooku’s traitors—Scar or something—was suspected to be on planet.  It was one thing to read their names and another entirely to see what an enemy Jedi could do.  For a single being to take out an entire larty crew…

Well, the idiot should have destroyed the gunship, too.  Let’s see what happens the next time you get into this bird’s sights.

Thoughts of revenge helped focus him, but Lock was still shaken.  Try as he might to ignore it, he was acutely aware of the hole in the back of his flight seat.  The skin on his back prickled right where the lightsaber had burned through and killed Lieutenant Tare.  Lock squirmed, as if trying to scratch an itch he couldn’t quite reach.

“Steady, sir,” Bin said quietly from behind.  “Let’s try to put it out of our minds for now, eh?  We need you on top form.”

“I am on top form, Sergeant,” Lock snapped back.  “Just keep your eye out for bogeys and worry about your own job.”  He felt instantly guilty for his words, but Lock was as annoyed at having his mind read as he was of Bin’s ability to shrug off the deaths of their comrades.

“Roger that,” Bin replied, utterly matter of fact.

Lock sighed.  “Sorry, Bin.  Not your fault.  I’m just not happy about leaving more dead brothers behind.”

“I know.  We’ll come back for them.  All of them.”  A series of static pulses on the team comm punctuated Bin’s last words.  “Whoa, here we go.”

The signal meant that Captain Maze and the rest of his team were in position.  In another minute, they would take control of three ion guns and open fire on the remaining five.  Cyan and Teal team’s larties would help mop up the canons that survived.  With the perimeter guns out of the picture, Lock would finally be free to ascend above the cover of the buildings and engage the swarm of enemy aircraft that went after Captain Maze.

As Teal’s crew chief had put it, things were about to get hairy.  Lock wished he felt more confident about their chances than he did.  He’d do his best, but he knew he wasn’t as good of a pilot as Captain Wake.  Furthermore, Bin wasn’t an experienced co-pilot, Frost was only fighting through chemical assistance and sheer willpower, and their fourth member, Bargain, was manning a bubble turret in combat for the first time.

“Okay, boys,” Lock said, willing calm and confidence into his voice.  “About a minute to go-time.  Everyone ready?”

“Good to go,” Bin said, suddenly sounding more serious than normal.

“Yes, sir, Lieutenant,” confirmed Bargain.

“You know it, Loot.  Payback time.”

Frost’s words, and the grim tone behind them, helped settle Lock’s nerves.  They reminded him of Sergeant Ge’verd’s parting advice.  Your gunner Frost is a good lad.  Get him back safe.

That I will, Lock thought.  Who cares if we’re going in a few rounds short of a full plasma cartridge?  We’re no worse off than any of the other teams in this crazy op.  Lock eased power into the repulsorlifts and watched the meters on the altimeter reading rise.  The familiar feeling of controlling the awesome power of an LAAT/i settled in and Lock knew he was ready, too.

“You said it, Private.  Payback time.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

Ogdai felt his stomach rise as the turbolift stopped its plummet to the level of the reactor core.  A moment later, the doors parted and Morgukai spilled out, weapons ready.  The sound of distant blasterfire echoed down the smooth stone walls of the tunnel.

Without a word, the eight Nikto parted into two groups and advanced along either side of the curving tunnel.  Down here at the heart of the facility, large portions of the station were made up of natural lava tubes.  Ogdai could feel the nearby magama’s warmth in the air.  It had a most comforting effect on him.  He and his brethren had been grown and trained in subterranean facilities much like this one.  Kajain’sa Nikto could tolerate extreme temperatures at either end of the thermometer, though they very much preferred the heat.  The dry, hot conditions of Saleucami’s surface were comfortable, but the dark, sultry caverns felt like home.  Ogdai hoped that small advantage would help against the invaders ahead.

The sight of the overturned husk of a droideka did nothing to help bolster those hopes.  While he had never fought against one and had come to generally despise droid soldiers, Ogdai knew how deadly the rolling, shielded destroyer droids could be.  That the enemy clones had eliminated it without taking losses spoke volumes to their experience and skill.

The tunnel continued to wind as it sloped ever downward.   Ogdai recalled from the station’s floorplans that they would eventually make a full 360 and would emerge directly beneath the turbolift doors where they had started.   The complex had likely been set up that way as a safety measure to protect the personnel above from a catastrophic magma breach.

The further they descended, the louder the reports from discharging blasters grew, until they finally reached the end and Ogdai caught sight of the two warriors he had sent ahead.  Ka’syr and Drig were on either side of a narrow gap in a pair of partially opened blast doors, blind-firing into the room beyond.  Return fire thudded into the doors, with an occasional blue bolt clearing the gap and ricocheting down the tunnel.

Morgukai rushed in from either side to add their own weapons’ fire to that of their comrades.  Ogdai took the opportunity to grab Ka’syr by the elbow and pull him close.

“Report!” he barked loudly enough to be heard over the din.

The warrior leaned in even more to yell his report into Ogdai’s ear.  “We follow Bug Boys’ path down stairs and catch up with them here!  Got one, mebbe two while they were fighting with droidies on other side!  They took cover after, but we have them pinned down!”

Ogdai nodded and laid an approving hand on Ka’syr’s armored shoulder.  They had the enemy trapped, and now it was just a matter of time before he and his warriors were able to pick them all off.  The honorable thing to do was to charge into the room with staffs ignited and face the enemy up close.  Ogdai had learned that there were times when personal honor had to be sacrificed for the greater honor of winning the battle at large.  Protecting the magma reactors that powered the dome shield was too important a mission to risk failure.  Ogdai resolved to be careful against enemies who had already proven to be worthy opponents.

With that in mind, Ogdai pictured the room that the enemy was trapped in beyond the blast doors.   According to the plans, it was large and ovular, with two more doors on either end that lead off to the rest of the complex.  Beyond those, the complex resembled an octagonal ring, built around a massive magma pumping station.  The four central points of that octagon each contained a chamber filled with the reactors that generated power from the supplied magma.  As far as he could remember, the ovular room didn’t contain any vital components for the reactors or the pump.  That meant he was clear to use explosives to kill the saboteurs.

Ogdai took a step forward to order his warriors to begin throwing thermal detonators through the gap and was suddenly lifted from his feet and slammed into the stone wall of the tunnel.  Before his brain could make sense of what had happened, the Nikto major was picking himself up off the ground and shaking his head to clear it.  He couldn’t hear over the ringing in his ears, but he could see most of his warriors following suit and scrambling back to their feet.  Two remained still, either unconscious or dead.  That question was answered a moment later as blue blasterfire scythed through the now widened gap and into the downed warriors.  Ogdai and the others dove back toward the walls and into cover.

Pressed up against the gently rippling texture of the tunnel wall, Ogdai felt the dull thud of a second, more distant explosion, followed by a third.   Realization dawned on him and he felt his blood quicken in alarm.  “Bug boys blowing doors!” he yelled, hoping the others could hear him over the ringing in their own ears.  “We go in loud, now!”

Two warriors hurled thermal detonators into the chamber.  As soon as the twin explosions sounded, two others resumed their positions against the slightly warped blast doors and poured scarlet plasma back at their enemies.  The warriors fired from the shoulder, standing at their full height.  It wasn’t perfect cover, but it gave Ogdai a window to rush through the gap at a crouch, firing his blaster one handed as he scuttled into the unknown.

Ogdai catalogued his surroundings subconsciously as he moved.  The room was indeed large and ovular, and was fortunately filled with supply crates and piles of spare parts.  He took a few more strides to the right, then threw himself behind a spool of thick electrical conduit.

Further to his right, Ogdai caught a glimpse of three armored shapes darting into one of the newly breeched doorways.  He fired off a few hasty shots, but it was too late.  All three enemy clones were now on their way to the nearest reactor chamber.

Ogdai felt something slam into his boots as Ka’syr slid in to join him behind the cover of the spool.  The major turned back to see Drig, only a few meters away, brought down by enemy fire while he was still out in the open.  Ogdai and Ka’syr poured fire into the enemy position and bought enough time for a fourth warrior to make the run into cover.

The clones on the other end of the room—Ogdai wasn’t sure how many were left—stayed under the cover of a spread of supply crates.  They weren’t even bothering to return fire at the room’s single remaining battle droid.  The Morgukai realized they didn’t have to.  All they needed to do was buy time for their three comrades who were making their way to the reactor chamber.  Two can play at that game, he thought.

Ogdai held out an open palm to halt another warrior from attempting to join him.  He pointed toward the besieged Republic soldiers and closed a fist.  The warrior nodded and joined the other three survivors in laying down covering fire from the room’s entrance.

Ogdai and his two companions, Ka’syr and a warrior named Hish, began crawling toward the smaller open door in pursuit of the escaped saboteurs.  There wasn’t enough cover to flank the enemy position in this room, but the piles of spare parts provided a good enough screen to get there unharmed.

After they had made it through the portal, Ogdai peered down the dimly-lit hallway, which was nothing more than a prefabricated durasteel corridor with safety bulkheads at each end.  He could see an orange glow coming from the open door at the far end.  Part of a silhouette moved from that end and blasterfire followed immediately after.

The three Nikto took cover in a recessed maintenance alcove.  The clones at the far end had the advantage.  The Morgukai had to come to them, and the narrow corridor was a deadly gauntlet to run.

Ogdai took a deep breath through his mouth, then exhaled through the nasal flaps below his jaw.  He looked up at the ceiling, hoping to find a means of escape, and was amazed to see a maintenance hatch, providing access to a space above the corridor’s ceiling.

The Nikto smiled with relief.  Fortune chooses to give us one more chance.  Ogdai resolved to make the most of the gift.  He tapped Hish on the shoulder and held out his blaster for the other warrior to take.  He mocked a gesture of firing a rifle with each hand, then nodded toward Ka’syr and the ceiling.  Hish bowed his head in understanding.

It was something of a gamble, but Ogdai hoped that return fire from two blasters would lead the Bug Boys to believe all three Morgukai were still trapped in the corridor.  He and Ka’syr wasted no time crawling into the maintenance tunnel and silently crept to the end of the hallway.  Through the durasteel grating of the ceiling, Ogdai saw a single clone trooper leaning out of the doorway to exchange fire with Hish.

Ka’syr, who was still carrying his blaster, aimed his weapon and squeezed the trigger as soon as the unfortunate human provided a big enough target.  Red bolts of plasma cut through the thin ceiling grating and burned huge, black holes into the armor of their enemy.

Ogdai put his armored boot against the melted edges of the ruined grating and kicked a hole wide enough for him and Ka’syr to drop through.  The two Morgukai slipped down and Hish sprinted down the corridor to join them.

The door ahead stood open, but Ogdai couldn’t see much inside beyond the charred remains of the trooper at its threshold.  There were at least two enemies inside, and he had no way of knowing where they were, but it no longer mattered.  The time for caution had passed.

Hish held Ogdai’s blaster out for him to take.  The Morgukai major shook his head and slid his combat staff from the clip on his back.  He knew that the reactor chamber was filled with piping that transported magma, and the fewer blaster bolts flying around in there, the better.  Besides, he would take his staff over a clumsy blaster in such close quarters every time.

Ka’syr followed suit, but Hish chose to hold on to both blasters.  Ogdai felt a fleeting sense of pride for the unwavering courage his warriors displayed.  In the next few moments, they would know either victory, or an honorable death in combat.  What more can Morgukai ask for?

The three warriors burst into the room, Ogdai and Ka’syr going right and Hish breaking left.  A cluster of generators—giant, magma-filled, transparisteel bulbs—dominated the center of the chamber.  A computer terminal sat off to the left, next to a slowly opening door.  Simultaneously, two clones stepped out from behind the bulbs and opened fire.

Out of the corner of his left eye, Ogdai saw Hish suddenly riddled with a hail of plasma, but not before one of his own crimson bolts struck the enemy in the face.

To the right, blasterfire traced out from the other enemy’s rifle.  Ogdai could feel the heat and pressure from the bolts as they missed his body by mere centimeters.  He heard them thud into something behind him and the smell of charred flesh a moment later confirmed that Ka’syr had been hit.  Ogdai continued forward, bringing his staff down in a long arc.

The electro-generating end of the staff slammed into the clone’s rifle with a flash of discharged electricity.  The blaster was torn from the enemy’s hands.  Ogdai followed through with his swing, twirling the staff over in a blur and slicing the plasma-bladed end across the unarmed human’s chest.

In the brief moment after what should have been a killing stroke, Ogdai got a full view of the enemy clone.  He seemed larger than the other Republic bug boys, but that was only because of the armor he wore.  The plastoid suit that covered the man from head to toe was thicker and bulkier than the others and the visor on the helmet was wider, forming a clear “T” shape.  A checkered pattern of paint that resembled a cargo net covered the armor, save for a narrow stripe on the chest where Ogdai’s blade had burned it off.  The cut didn’t go much deeper than that, leaving the soldier beneath unharmed.

Ogdai recalled from holo-images of enemy units that these extra-armored clones were designated Republic Commandos and were supposed to be better trained and more versatile than the standard infantry drones.  This commando lived up to his reputation.   The human slipped forward before Ogdai could bring his staff around for a third swing.  One hand grabbed the weapon while the other darted out and caught Ogdai in the side.

A sharp pain lanced into Ogdai’s torso.  He hadn’t seen a blade in the commando’s hand, but there was no mistaking the cutting sensation he felt between a pair of ribs.  Ogdai was taken over by grim determination.  The pain meant nothing to him.  Killing the commando meant everything.

Bug boy good, he thought.  But Morgukai better.  Ogdai had spent his entire life, short though it had been, learning to fight hand to hand.  Lorda Bok and his father T’syr had even fought and bested Jedi.  If they could beat Jeedai, how can I let mere human beat me?

Ogdai let go of his staff with one hand and clamped his arm down on the human’s knife arm, pinning it to his side and driving the blade deeper into his own flesh.  Ogdai took a breath and prepared himself for his next move.   It was going to hurt him as much as the enemy, but he hoped that knowing it was coming would give him the edge.

With a small flick of his wrist, Ogdai forced the bottom end of his staff against the commando’s shin.  Electricity lanced through the human.  Holding on to each other as they were, the jolt conducted into the Morgukai.  The commando’s knees buckled in the same instant Ogdai’s did.

As they fell to the ground, the Nikto followed through with the move he’d started.  The club end of the staff hit the ground, but the blade emitting end caught the human beneath the rim of his helmet.  Ogdai’s electrically spasming hand squeezed the blade stud and yellow plasma flashed into life and burned into the black body-suit.  While the commando’s armor was capable of standing up to the blade, the material beneath was not.  Plasma cut through the man’s throat and severed the spine at the base of his skull.

With one knee on the ground, Ogdai struggled to keep from falling over.  He held the staff upright, with the commando still impaled on it, until the after-effect of his self electrocution passed.  The Nikto pushed himself up to stand and slid the blade free from the neck of his vanquished foe.  The commando toppled over, his nearly severed head resting limply against a shoulder.

Ogdai’s vision cleared and he surveyed his surroundings.  Hish and Ka’syr lay dead on the ground near the door.  On the opposite end of the room was the form of the other enemy clone—another commando—next to a computer terminal.  The room was secure.  For now.

Ogdai raised his gauntlet comm to his lips and keyed the frequency for the rest of his team.  High-pitched static emitted from the tiny speaker.  The tone meant that the pulse readings for the full squad had flatlined.  Ogdai’s team was dead.

The Morgukai swore and took a step forward only to find his movements sluggish.  He looked down and saw blood running freely down his right side and pooling on the ground.  The wound was worse than he had originally thought.  He could still fight, but he doubted he would survive another round with the enemies who had just killed his team.

So, death comes for me now, eh?  It was a moment that Ogdai could have looked forward to, if it hadn’t been marked with the shame of failure.  He looked up at the cluster of generators, standing up like a forest of glowing stalagmites.  After the enemy had killed him, they would finish laying their charges and obliterate the facility.  Unless…

Ogdai realized there was still one option left to him.  Yes, it would mean his death, but it would be an honorable death.  According to the information on the facility’s fail-safe measures, a magma breach in any one of the generator rooms would lock down all safety bulkheads in the reactor core.  He would have to destroy this room, but the other three generators and the pump would be saved.  It would be enough to keep the city’s shields up.

The Nikto limped over to the nearest generator, using his staff as a crutch.  The transparisteel tube loomed above him.  Magma swirled within the shaft and the large bulb it terminated in.  It was warm, but not as hot as it should have been.  That was because a magnetic presser field kept the magma contained several millimeters beneath the actual surface of the transparisteel.  Otherwise, the material would melt.

Ogdai thumbed on his plasma blade and plunged it into the base of the generator.  There was a shower of sparks and a muffled pop.  He pulled his staff free and took a few steps back.  The magma seemed to grow as it filled the space of the now-absent field.  Transparisteel glowed and a wave of heat radiated out into the room.

The Morgukai warrior closed his eyes and bowed his head, standing before the red-hot tube like a being at prayer.  In moments, his death would come and with it, he would buy victory.

Behind him, a quiet scuffing sound intruded on Ogdai’s final moments.  He turned to see the second commando rising to his feet.  The clone fumbled with his ruined helmet and popped the seal.

The human beneath the armor looked dazed.  Ogdai realized it was the first time he had actually seen one of his enemies face-to-face.  The clone had short, black hair and tan, soft flesh.  A trickle of blood ran down his forehead and into one eye.  The other eye settled onto Ogdai and locked gazes with the Morgukai.

Ogdai brought his staff up into a guard, then tipped the point in a silent salute.  “Well done, Bug Boy.  You live long enough to see defeat.”  Ogdai cocked his head back to the glowing magma reactor.  “Lava gonna breach, then we die.”

The commando shook his head slowly and rested his hand on the sidearm holstered at his waist.  “We’ll see about that,” he said.

“No need for weapons.  Is just you and me now, commando,” Ogdai tossed his staff to land in the maze of reactors.  “All is left is to decide whose skill is greater.  Hand to hand!  Warrior-to-warrior!”  The Nikto pulled his lips back in a grin, suddenly overcome with joy at such an honorable death.  His only regret was that he hadn’t lived to see Kintan.

The tinkling crash of breaking transparisteel punctuated Ogdai’s words, followed by the gush of running magma.  Molten rock pooled at the base of the reactor, slowly filling the shallow depression that housed the other generators.

An alarm klaxon blared into life, accompanied by flashing emergency lights.  Behind the commando, the large door to the pumping chamber began to slide down, trapping the two clones together.

Ogdai was about to make his first attack when the commando turned and dove toward the closing door.  He hit the ground belly first and slid for half a meter.  Coward! was Ogdai’s first thought.  His second was that the human was still trying to accomplish his mission.  For a moment, Ogdai thought the commando had indeed escaped.  Then, when the human was less than halfway through the portal, the door cut him off.  Literally.

With a sickening crunch, over a metric ton of advanced alloy pressed into the commando’s torso.  Armor, flesh and bone yielded beneath the door, bending, flexing and popping.  If the human screamed in his final moments, Ogdai couldn’t hear it over the klaxon.

The door groaned and shuddered as it continued its course through the human blockage.  When it was finally a few centimeters from sealing with the floor it stopped altogether.

“No!” Ogdai yelled.  He ran to the commando’s corpse and reached down to grab it by the ankles.  The Morgukai pulled with all of his strength, attempting to wrench the human free.  He felt something tear around the knife wound in his side, but the crumpled mass of man and armor remained in place.

He spun back toward the reactors, searching for his discarded staff.  If he could cut through the armor with the plasma blade…  But it was too late.  Magma was already spilling over the lip in the floor and oozing out into the room.  In another few moments, it would reach the gap in the door and run down the ramp into the pump room.  The pump would be destroyed, the other reactors would stop and then…

Ogdai watched as the orange magma moved inexorably toward him.  The room was growing unbearably hot now, even for a Nikto.  Kajain’sa’Nikto were a species known throughout the galaxy for their lack of fear.  As a Morgukai, Ogdai had learned to confront and master what animal instincts for survival that he did have.  Pain and death were simple facts of his life, and were nothing to be afraid of.  But there was one thing that did terrify him:  the shame of failure.

That was Ogdai’s last thought before the lava consumed him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

The data on the targeting screen was complete gibberish.  It took Captain Maze several frantic, vital seconds of searching before he found the input port he needed beneath a piece of charred Koorivar viscera.  The lone fusilier and two battle droids that had occupied the ion turret’s control room had offered little resistance to Maze and Plaz’s assault, but the mess they had made in dying threatened to ruin the mission.

Maze had known that using lethal rounds around all of the delicate control boards was risky, but time constraints had left him with few other options.  He’d been more worried about flying shrapnel from the droids, but the wet officer he’d killed with a headshot from one of his twin DC-17s sidearms had proven more troublesome.  Plasma weapons were certainly cleaner than ballistic slugthrowers, but clean was relative term.

Viscera or no viscera, his datapad successfully interfaced with the turret’s controls.  Sergeant Case and Private Rust reported similar luck at their turrets, with no casualties.  All three larties had likewise reported in as ready.  Plaz was back at the bottom of the spiral staircase, guarding Maze’s back against incoming ground forces.

No time like the present.  Maze had never run simulations for this particular model of ion canon turret, but the controls were simple enough.  He settled into the chair that a droid had previously occupied and maneuvered the targeting reticule over the distant ion turret at the rim’s four-o’clock position.  Maze’s first shot would be the signal for the others to open fire on their targets.  He pressed the firing stud and watched as a white bolt of ionized particles flashed out from the massive barrel in front of him.

The enemy turret erupted in a shower of sparks and arcing bolts of electricity.  Less than a second later, the turrets to the right and left of it took similar hits.  Maze kept his sensors centered on his targeted turret and watched the readings.  Aside from black pock marks of carbon scoring, the turret looked fine, but the scanners reported that its electronic signature was completely dead.  Maze suspected that the engineers who would go in after the battle would most likely be able to salvage it for later use, along with the two that Case and Rust had just taken out.

He held no such beliefs for the remaining two turrets, which were engulfed in blossoms of orange fire from detonating high explosive missiles, courtesy of the hidden larties.

With that, Sagujero’s rim lost its entire complement of perimeter defense weapons.  On cue, the three remaining larties rose into view, finally free to fly above the cover of the city’s buildings.

Then the black shape of an HMP Predator gunship drifted up and into view.  Followed by another.   And another.  The sky suddenly became a very target rich environment as nearly a dozen Predators and over a score of STAPs filled the air.

The droid flyers looked confused.  Each swiveled about, scanning for enemies.  Until Maze fired again, they likely wouldn’t designate him as hostile.  He didn’t relish the thought of becoming a sitting nuna in the turret when they did work out that he was a threat.  So, this is what the poor lads who get stuck with artillery MOs feel like?  Maze found a new reason to be thankful that he’d been born an ARC Trooper.

He shifted the turret’s aim to the nearest Predator and acquired a lock.  The droid gunship attempted evasive maneuvers as its warning programming detected that it was being targeted.  It almost worked; Maze’s shot nearly missed, catching the gunship on the aft of its disc-shaped fuselage.  The impact of the ion bolt spun the ship over in midair.  One of its thrusters must have survived the blast because the Predator continued its forward momentum throughout its tumbling descent.  Maze didn’t see it crash, but he did feel the tremor when the gunship finally collided with the cliff wall somewhere below.

By then, Maze was busy picking out another target from the chaos of flashing ion bolts, composite lasers, and streaking missiles as the others opened up on the remaining STAPs and Predators.  Curiously enough, rather than worrying about being blown up, Maze caught himself dwelling on a small thought in the back of his mind.  Whoever wins this battle is going to have their hands full cleaning up the mess we leave behind.

* * *

Skorr shielded his eyes as yet another brilliant flash of blue-white lit up the night sky.  The ion cannons—his ion cannons—were swatting droid gunships out of the air like bugs.

Skorr hadn’t seen the first ion blasts or missile strikes that had obliterated the rim’s other turrets.  He’d been too busy trying to find the access hatches to the lava tubes that would provide a path for him and his thirty Morgukai into the amphitheater below. 

Unfortunately, the plans that Major Ravaal had sent him didn’t specify that a duracrete perimeter wall had been poured directly over the hatches.  Or rather, the plans did include coordinates for the wall, but it was supposed to be three meters further away from the edge of the rim.  It appeared that the droids on guard duty had decided to bulk up the rampart in certain sections.  Worthless hunks of clanking bolts.  Why bother programming them to make decisions at all if they’re going to—

Another explosion thundered and flaming shards of alloy that had once been a STAP cascaded down into the city.  Skorr could see at least two enemy gunships weaving through the air, using the droids’ numbers to their advantage by forcing them to fire into the midst of their own forces.  The whole scene made Skorr think of a swarm of angry insects fighting over a bowl of leftovers.  It might have been funny if it hadn’t been his sole duty to protect those leftovers.

Less than a kilometer to his left, Skorr could see the dome of the first of the three enemy-controlled ion turrets burp fire into the melee.  He’d given up his initial hope that the turrets were simply malfunctioning.  The clones had duped him again.  He briefly wondered if they had deliberately led him to underestimate their numbers.  They seemed to be popping up all over the city, when they were all supposed to be holed up in the amphitheater.

It didn’t matter.  Even if there were a few more of the clones than he’d thought, he still had one thing they didn’t:  time.  The forces in the amphitheater were surrounded.  They and their stealth ship prize would keep.  But the infiltrators who were using his turrets against him were dead men.  There was just one thing here to take care of first.

“Stop!” Skorr commanded to the groups of Morgukai clustered near the duracrete wall.  The Nikto clones turned away from their search for the hidden hatches and stared at their commander.  “Step back and watch,” he said.  “I’ll handle this.”

Skorr strode forward confidently, scattering the obedient clones from their interrupted task.  The Dark Jedi laid a hand on the wall and closed his eyes.  It was warm to the touch, radiating heat from the sun that had set hours earlier.  As he reached out to the Force, the warm feeling on his hand, along with all other physical stimuli, vanished from his perception.

He began feeding the power of the Dark Side into himself.  A small part of his conscious mind noted that channeling his frustration into usable anger was a skill he was fast becoming an expert with.  The day had been nothing if not a learning opportunity.

When he could feel himself swelling with so much power that he was having trouble keeping it in, Skorr opened the valve and set the Force to work.  He used it to send sonic vibrations into the wall.  The waves of energy pulsed out of him, shaking the ground beneath like the aftershock tremors of a groundquake.

Skorr’s perception flowed out with them, following each pulse’s journey down through the duracrete and rock, then riding back on the reverberations that echoed back up.  With each pulse’s complete journey, a picture began to form in Skorr’s mind.  He could see where the duracrete met the solid rock of Saleucami.  He could see where that rock ended and gave way to the open air of the caldera.  And he could see the spaces within the rock where there was nothing but air.

Gradually, the pulses grew fainter, and Skorr felt himself slip out of the rhythmic trance and back into the physical world.  The sound of shaking rock had been replaced by the noise of his own heavy breathing.  Sweat was pouring down his face and dripping off the tip of his nose.  The hand he had placed on the wall to channel the Force into it was now supporting most of his weight.  Aware of thirty pairs of eyes on him, Skorr made an effort to stop his panting and totter back to his full height. 

When he finally felt stable enough to risk taking a few steps, Skorr drew his lightsaber and paced to one of the two parts of the wall he had identified.  He held his emitter against the duractrete at a roughly forty-five-degree angle and thumbed the blade on.  Red light and the guttering sound of burning stone were accompanied by thin wisps of smoke that emerged from the hole the blade bored into the wall.  Skorr switched the lightsaber off, paced a few meters to his left and repeated the maneuver.  The clones remained silent and still throughout.

“There and there,” Skorr said, his voice emerging a bit huskier than he would have liked.  “Follow those lines down through the wall and you’ll find our hatches.”  Nikto surged forward, attacking the wall with their plasma blades like half-starved akks.

The Dark Jedi turned to face the rest of the clones.  “I want a squad here standing guard while they dig.  The rest of you, move out on me.  We’re taking those turrets back.”

The Nikto warriors saluted and slipped into the shadow cast by the wall, very nearly disappearing.  Skorr felt himself smile, a feeling of self-satisfaction growing within him alongside his returning strength.  He really hadn’t known whether or not he could use the Force like that to find the lava tubes.  It wasn’t a skill he’d learned as a Jedi.  But the Count had told him that the Dark Side was the key to unlocking many new and powerful abilities.  It was an intoxicating glimpse into a future full of possibilities.

Skorr started pacing after the Morgukai.  With each step, the fatigue from his use of the Force drained away.  He began putting on more speed, until he was racing along the wall like a swoop bike at full throttle.  He relished the moment each time he blew past one of the sprinting clones.

When he was only a few hundred meters from the first turret, a wave of warning swept over Skorr so fiercely that he was stopped in his tracks.  For a moment, he was sure that a stray missile was about to land at his feet, but the Force-alert hadn’t given him any sense of direction.  Shaken, Skorr started running after the dark shapes of the Morgukai who had just passed him again.  Then a feeling like static electricity caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end.

Proximity EMP mines set up by the clones to stop droids?  Skorr’s eyes, enhanced by the Force to see better in the dark, swept the ground for such traps.  There was nothing.  Another buzzing sensation alerted him, but this time it was merely the feeling of his wrist commlink.  Normally, Skorr would have ignored it when he was in the middle of battle, but his sudden feeling of unease prompted him to take the call.

“—are down,” Ravaal’s voice was saying.  “I repeat, catastrophic failure to magma generators.  Perimeter shields are down.”

Impossible, Skorr thought.  Some kind of enemy trick.  The clones must have hacked into our emergency frequency.  But it fit with the warning from the Force and the feeling of static electricity.

Skorr reached out to the Force again.  There was a distinct feeling that something about the battle had changed.  There was more to it, but Skorr couldn’t grasp the rest.  He had always struggled with interpreting the subtle nuances of the Force.  Distant memories of his infuriatingly patient old Jedi Master nagging him to “be mindful” and to “let the Force guide you” echoed in Skorr’s mind.

He shook his head to clear it and turned to face the night sky.  The Force could be misinterpreted, but he had always been able to rely on his eyes.

He felt them go wide at the sight of approaching enemy starfighters.  No, not just starfighters.  Republic gunships, by the dozen, were dropping from the western sky.  In another few moments, they would be over the rim and into the city.

Skorr yelled after the Morgukai to form up and turn back.  Then he leaned against the wall and looked out over the city, his mind racing with the options he had available.

There weren’t many.  He could stay in Sagujero and lead the defense against the enemy reinforcements.  He might even win, but he doubted it.  Most of his ground forces were consolidated in front of the amphitheater.  Unless Sora Bulq could get reinforcements in time, Skorr knew it would be almost impossible to mobilize the droids to repel invaders.

The other option was surrender.  The word itself was hard to swallow.  Would the Order even take him back?  They had accepted all of the Jedi that came back after Bulq’s attempt to create a schism failed, early in the war.  But those fools had never actually joined up with the Separatists, nor come over to the Dark Side.  He would have to do as Quinlan Vos had recently done; to plead his case to the Council that he hadn’t actually crossed over and was merely doing what he had to do to survive in Dooku’s camp.

No.  Skorr hadn’t left his former life to end up crawling back to his forgotten brothers and sisters.   To go back to their constraining, narrow-minded way of life.  He had thrown in his lot with Dooku, and he would see that path through.  But not at the cost of his own life.

The Morgukai had formed up around him, waiting silently for orders.  His comlink was also squawking away.  Ravaal was trying to reach him.  Skorr didn’t mind letting the Koorivar fret for a while longer in the command center, so he silenced the comlink and turned to the Morgukai.

“Change of plans.  We’ve lost the shields,” Skorr paused, expecting some kind of reaction from the clones after dropping that bombshell on them, but they simply stared at him in stoic silence.  “That doesn’t change our mission,” he continued.  “It just speeds it up.  We need to make sure that stealth ship ends up in our hands now more than ever.  We’ll rejoin the others, get down there and take it, then punch our way back to HQ.”

At that, one of the Morgukai did pipe up.  “Yes, Lorda.  Then we come back with reinforcements to take back city, yes?”

“Exactly,” Skorr replied.  Returning to Sagujero wasn’t part of his plan at all, though he would if Bulq ordered it.  As long as he could escape the mess he was currently in, Skorr was content to take whatever followed.  “Now let’s go get that damn ship.”

* * *

Flight Lieutenant Lock goosed his gunship’s thrusters and angled its nose up.  His crew’s effort to help clear the skies of enemies had defied the odds, and at the moment they didn’t have any STAPs or Predators to target.  One of Blue Team’s three gunships had gone down in the fighting, but it was starting to look like they’d taken out a good chunk of the enemy aircraft.  Now they were on to the next phase of the operation:  helping Green Team’s reinforcements land safely.

Lock could just make out the dark shapes of the friendly gunships and starfighters against the indigo of the night sky.  They were much easier to identify on his targeting display, where their blue icons contrasted neatly with the red shapes of the surviving enemy fighters.  There were a lot more of the latter than he would have liked.

As they rose above the city and cleared the caldera’s rim, Lock could see flat Saleucami desert stretching into the distance.  A narrow band of gold was beginning to form on the eastern horizon.  Morning, Lock thought.  We’ve been fighting all bloody night.

Streaks of red and green laser fire crisscrossed back and forth between the oncoming ships.  A dense flurry of red anti-aircraft fire was pouring toward the enemy fighters from the craggy hills to the north.  Lock was about to order Bin to get a missile lock on the AA guns when a voice came over the comms.

“Red Leader to Blue Team, do not fire on ridge-top AA guns.  I repeat, do not fire on AA guns.  They are now under Republic control and will provide support fire.”

 “We read you, Red Leader,” replied Captain Forr from his gunship, flying off Lock’s port wing.  “Can’t wait to hear how you pulled that one off.”

Lock recognized the tell-tale, nasal Nikto voice of Red Leader as General Auset.  The Jedi Master’s starfighter wasn’t showing up on Lock’s targeting display, but it was good to hear that the general was still in the fight.

“Acquire targets, Blue Three,” Captain Forr ordered as they raced toward the ongoing dogfight.  “Fire on my mark, then break hard to starboard.  We’ll break port.  We loop around after Green Team passes and then follow them in.”

“Yes, Captain,” Lock said.

Lock found himself wishing Blue Two was still in the fight to add another set of firepower to their assault.   It was a cold way to think about the deaths of his friends, but that was simply how his brain processed information in combat.  He sometimes wished that it worked the same way when he was trying to fall asleep at night.

“Mark!” yelled Captain Forr.

Lock had a brief moment to simply watch missiles and lasers streak toward the enemy fighters, then he was lost in the world of concentrating on twisting and turning into evasive maneuvers.  Nearby explosions buffeted his larty this way and that, lasers streaked by his canopy so close that his visor had to increase its polarization to protect his eyes, and at one point, he had to juke his flightstick as hard as he could to avoid colliding with a burning ARC-170 as it tumbled toward the ground below.

Then they were through the gauntlet and Lock was about to let out a breath of relief when a Vulture fighter flashed in front of the gunship.  Bin’s wingtip lasers narrowly missed its belly.  Frost’s laser blast, however, sheared through its starboard wing pylon, sending the droid on a spiraling descent.

“Nice shooting, Private,” Lock said.

“Two hundred points!” Frost yelled, the volume of his voice startling Lock.

Lock selected Frost’s personal frequency.  “You holding up okay, Frost?”

“Never better, Loot!”  Frost shouted back.  “Just keep ‘em coming!  You set ‘em up and I’ll knock ‘em down!   Whoo!  That’s twenty more!  What else you got, clankers?!”

Lock switched back off of Frost’s personal comm-freq.  That was the most yelling he’d ever heard from his port gunner.  He hadn’t earned the nick-name “Frost” for that kind of heated commentary in combat.  Yes, those stimms were working all right.  He just hoped the inevitable come-down wouldn’t be until after the dogfight was over.

Lock looped their larty around in a curving one-eighty and sent them in pursuit of Green Team.  “We’re following them in.  Be ready to swat down any fighters on the way down.  Give me a status report on your chin guns, Sergeant,” Lock said to Bin, having noticed the crew chief hadn’t been using them to full effect.

“Right, sir.”  Bin said, sounding a little overwhelmed.  “Er… they’re reading green, sir.”

Lock considered a moment, and then decided, “Turn them over to me, Sergeant.”

“Right away, sir,” Bin replied.

Lock thumbed the control stud on his yoke and saw crosshairs pop into existence on his view screen.  Part of him wondered if he wanted access to the antipersonnel lasers simply because his training as a gunner demanded that he be able to shoot at something.  Normally, a larty’s pilot concentrated solely on flying and the co-pilot handled all of the weapons.  But two wing-tip lasers, three AP guns and the mass driver launchers were a lot for Bin to handle on his first combat flight.

“Be advised,” Captain Maze’s voice broke in.  “Hawkbats are pulling out of this fight.  Repeat, hawkbats are bugging out.”

“Acknowledged,” General Hett’s voice replied.  “Good luck.”

It might have seemed like cowardice to some that Maze and Totten Squad were abandoning their posts on the ion guns, but Lock understood the decision.  The big turrets were great at defending bases from medium to large ships at a distance, but were next to useless in chaotic dogfights.  An ion blast was as likely to take out a friendly as an enemy.

And there were certainly plenty of both to go around.

Larties really weren’t designed for this kind of aerial combat either, but Lock was an old-guard gunship pilot.  In the first few months of the Clone Wars, the Grand Army hadn’t had a starfighter corps.  Until Sienar started churning out V-19 Torrents, the fleet had relied on the handful of Jedi starfighters to protect its landers.  Jedi starfighters and the larties themselves.  Lock and his original gunship crew had spent countless hours in both simulators and actual combat learning to make themselves into the hardest targets a droid fighter could dream of.

If droids could dream, of course.  The pair of lightning-fast tri-fighters that shot by Lock’s canopy in pursuit of an LAAT/c certainly didn’t seem like they suffered from night-terrors of Republic gunships.  He’d have to teach them otherwise.

Lock jerked the stick to port and angled the gunship after the droids.  He selected the cargo ship’s comm frequency.  “Blue Three to Green Nine, we’ve got the bandits on your six.”

“Much obliged, Blue Three,” Green Nine’s pilot replied, voice clearly straining with the effort of performing evasive maneuvers.  “We lost our escort on the way down.”

Like the smaller infantry larties, LAAT/c’s were hardy vessels, but their job was to deliver heavy equipment into a hot zone—such as the Saber Tank that Green Nine carried—and make a quick exfil.  They were slower and more lightly armed than the infantry troop carriers, and it wouldn’t take long for the two tri-fighters to turn the gunship and its cargo into burning wreckage.

Lock switched back to his team’s private comm and was about to say, Alright lads, you know the drill, when he remembered that they didn’t in fact know the drill.  Frost did, of course, but Sergeant Bin lacked the practice to man the guns with the kind of unspoken efficiency that Lock was used to, and Bargain was an infantry trooper by training.  Lock would have to talk his crew through their firing sequences.

“Bin, get missile locks on those two tris,” he ordered.

“Acquiring,” Bin said.  “They’ll outrun our mass drivers easily, though.”

“I’m counting on it.  As soon as they go evasive, we hit ‘em with the lasers.  Bin, Bargain, you’ve got the starboard bogey.  Frost, you and I go for port.  Fire missiles when ready, Sergeant.”

Lock angled the nose of the gunship slightly down and began picking up speed.  He hovered the chin gun’s targeting reticule just above and to the left of one of the pursuing tri-fighters.  It was hard not to take the shot.  The droids were firing a steady stream of lasers at the cargo ship, scoring hits despite Green Nine’s attempts to hold them off with return fire from the stern laser cannon.   In another moment, it would be too late.

“Targets acquired.  Missiles away,” Bin called.

Two HE missiles streaked off from above the canopy.  The tri-fighters responded instantly, breaking off in opposite directions.  Lock’s thumbs were down an instant before, anticipating the move.  Green lasers tracked an intercept course with the port tri.  It rolled hard even as it looped, spinning on attitude thrusters like a drill bit.

Lock’s chin gun lasers drew explosive sparks from its fuselage as they scored glancing blows.  Just as the fighter was about to break past his firing arc, a steady laser stream from Frost’s turret connected with its nose.  The tri continued its high-speed roll as it flew into the composite laser’s destructive energy, tearing itself apart on the beam.   The husk of the droid was already dead in the air when the HE missile finally reached its target.  The explosion that followed came almost as an afterthought.

“Our tri slipped past us,” Bin said urgently.  “It’s looping behind us now.”

Lock couldn’t see the surviving droid, only the chem-trails of the second HE missile as it futilely tried to track its escaping target.  Lock knew exactly what the tri-fighter was going to do.  It would finish its quick, tight loop and make a run at the rear of their larty from above.  Only Bin’s wingtip lasers stood a chance at hitting it from that angle, and tris were simply too fast to track.

He didn’t intend to let the droid have its way.  “Hang on,” he said.  “Gunners, prepare to fire.”

Lock cut thrust and powered up the starboard wing’s repulsors to full.  The gunship rolled over to port 180 degrees, inverting itself.  Before they started to lose momentum and plummet, Lock pushed thrust back to full and jammed the flight stick up as hard as he could.  In a starfighter, the maneuver would have made an impressive spectacle, but Lock suspected the boxy gunship’s looping roll looked more like the erratic flight of a drunken trundlebee.

But looking good was for fighter jocks.  A gunship pilot’s job was about getting results, nothing more.  Ardent streaks of green laser shot out from the bubble turrets as both gunners fired “down” at the tri-fighter.  Once again, the pursuing droid spun and rolled, twisting past the lasers.  Two hard thumps shook the larty as light laser-canon rounds connected with the ship’s belly.  Fortunately, Lock’s loop had forced it to break off its run before it could connect with its heavy canon.

Fierfek, Lock swore to himself.  It won’t fall for that one again.  He pulled out of his roll and tried to loop after the tri.  “Ready another missile, Bin,” he ordered.  “We’ll try to—”

A nearby explosion cut him off, accompanied by the tri-fighter’s tracking icon disappearing from the sensor board.

“Dusted your bogey, Blue Three,” a gravelly female voice said over the comms.  Half a second later, a red-trimmed Jedi interceptor shot past on the left.  The fighter’s signature belonged to Red Four, General Sian Jeisel.

“Thanks for the assist, ma’am,” Lock said to the Devaronian pilot.  “We owe you one.”

“No, you don’t,” she replied tersely.  “I was Green Nine’s escort before I was cut off from him.”

Then the Jedi starfighter was gone, diving into the cover of the buildings in pursuit of Green Nine.

“Erm, your welcome then,” Lock muttered after disconnecting from Red Four’s channel.

“Guess she’s good without our help now?” Bin suggested.

Lock guided the larty down to skim just above the tops of the buildings.  “Yeah,” he replied.  “But Green Team’s infantry still needs air support.  That’s our next job.”

The sky was getting noticeably lighter now.  It had already been a long, long night.  Lock just hoped that General K’kruhk’s forces could finish taking the city quickly, before it turned into a long day as well.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

Captain Maze clipped on to the grapple line and gave it a solid tug.  Off to his right and left, Case, Leven, Rust and Plaz were doing the same.  Slab was perched on a cargo container nearby with his sniper rifle, providing cover.

Maze took one last look over the war torn city and felt himself sigh.  He knew it wasn’t just from fatigue.  He had finally reached that bittersweet moment in an advanced-force mission when his particular role was no longer vital.  Against all odds, he and the rest of Blue Team had accomplished their objective and brought down Sagujero’s dome shield.  They’d even gone on to eliminate the base’s perimeter defenses and most of its air assets as well.

Now it was up to General K’kruhk and his men to finish the job of capturing the city.  Maze’s personal preference would have been to remain on the rim, designating targets from the high vantage, but he was under orders to rendezvous with K’kruhk ASAP.  Now that the Jedi were on planet, Maze’s role as Task Force Commander was over.  He was back to plain old Captain Maze again.

Maze set his frustrations aside and took solace in knowing that he’d gotten his job done.  There would be plenty of time later to beat himself up for his many failings, but for now, he couldn’t deny that he was feeling a healthy dose of professional pride.

The ARC captain was about to order his men to begin their descent when a voice broke over the comms.  “Blue Base to all GAR forces.  We’re coming out hot.”  Blue Base was the call sign for the CR-25 and its two pilots.  Maze signaled the others to get away from the caldera’s edge and into cover.

Lying on his belly, Maze could hear and feel a low rumble building to the north.  He was just far enough away from Commander Reach’s position in the amphitheater to glimpse the opening of the cavern.  Maze adjusted his visor to zoom in and saw twin beams of green turbolaser fire lance outwards.  He couldn’t tell where they hit the droid ranks, but he was in a perfect position to watch the CR-25 come bursting through the opening.  Armored Assault Tanks fired futilely at the stealth ship as it rose above the city.  Its three engines carried the boxy cargo shuttle swiftly past Maze and the others, drawing the attention of several vultures and tri-fighters.

If larties had a tough time keeping up in a dogfight, CR-25’s weren’t even in the race.  Their powerful turbolasers and deflector shields certainly made them capable of defending themselves, but they were as slow and un-maneuverable as they looked.  It wouldn’t take the droids long to whittle away at Blue Base’s shields and knock it back out of the fight.  If it had been alone, that was.

Two Jedi starfighters, an ARC-170, and three V-wings settled into formation and dropped in behind the droid fighters.  The Republic craft allowed the droids to pursue Blue Base until the entire line of ships was beyond the rim and over the open desert.  Then they opened fire, eliminating the enemy fighters with ruthless precision.

Rust whistled appreciatively.  “There’s one for the highlight holo.  They even got the wreckage clear of the city.  Beautiful maneuver and intact Jedi morals.  They make it look so easy.”

“That’s not all,” Sergeant Case said with a laugh.  “Look at the cave!  Reach has got the droids with their backs turned.”

Maze looked back down into the city.  The cavern mouth was alive with fire from heavy repeating blasters.  Zooming in, Maze saw troopers pouring out of the opening under covering fire and heading off to flank the droid army.

Maze felt himself smile.  Yes, Commander Reach had meant it when he said he had a few surprises in store for the enemy.  That also meant that there was something Maze and his team could do to help the battle en route to their rendezvous with General K’kruhk.

“Let’s move out, Azure.  I want us on the ground and into position on those buildings just south of the droids.  Reach’s men are going to need help holding out until the cavalry gets in from the west.”  Azure team was only a six-man fireteam, but there was a lot of damage they could do in the right position with the armament they were packing.

Maze was in the act of getting up when Slab said, “Wait one,” his voice a cold growl.

Maze lowered himself back to the sandy ground and froze.  “What have you got, private,” he asked, whispering despite his soundproofed helmet.

Totten’s sniper didn’t respond for several seconds.  “Movement.  Due north.”  Another long pause.  “Three—make that four targets up here on the rim.  Confirmed Nikto.”  Slab spoke with the deceptively slow cadence that all snipers and spotters adopted when they were staring at targets through a scope.  “Now there are four more.  Sir, it looks like they’re coming out of hatches above the amphitheater.”

Sure enough, Maze could see the dark shapes of Morgukai moving swiftly and silently on Slab’s HUD view.  He minimized the feed and started belly crawling towards the sniper’s position.  “I’m coming up.  Defensive positions,” he ordered the others.

Maze unslung Skirata’s verp and clambered onto the cargo container.  He sidled in next to Slab and sighted up with the rifle.  The last of the Morgukai was emerging from what looked like roughly cut holes into the Separatists’ duracrete rampart.  There were now at least two dozen of the armored Nikto spread out along the rim to the north.

Slab continued his monotonous narrative.  “That makes thirty-one Nikto, sir.  No.  Thirty Nikto and one human.”

Maze hadn’t been expecting that.  So far, the only Separatist forces they had encountered were droids, Morgukai and Koorivar.  “Where is he, private?” Maze asked.

“Three targets in from the closest opening.”  Maze shifted his aim.  Sure enough, one of the armored shapes wasn’t a Nikto.  It appeared to be a large human male with long hair tied back loosely behind his head.  Maze zoomed in on the man’s face and caught a decent view of his profile as he turned toward one of the Nikto.  He was barking orders, and Maze could tell by the flying drops of warm spittle on the thermal scope that the man was angry.  The night optics also highlighted dark lines around the man’s right eye:  scar tissue.  The scars were in a distinctive pattern that Maze recognized.

He felt his pulse quicken.  If this was the human that Maze thought he was…  He shifted his aim down toward the man’s waist and could just make out the shape of a long metal cylinder attached to his belt.

Maze wasted no time.  “Blue Actual to Control,” he said urgently.  “I have eyes on Separatist Commander Tol Skorr.  Requesting immediate air support at these coordinates.”

There was a brief pause before a new voice answered Maze.  The dome shield was down now, so all air control was being directed by General Rancisis’ command.  “Understood, Blue Actual,” said a clone major.  “Transmitting your request to all available air assets.”

The comm clicked off and Maze felt the seconds tick by in slow motion.  Maze had a moment to feel guilty for completely forgetting Reach and his men.  But this was a very high-profile target.  Commander Skorr was one of Dooku’s few surviving Jedi traitors, not to mention one of the highest ranking enemy officers on Saleucami.  Standing orders put his apprehension or elimination very high on the priority list.

 The renegade Jedi turned again.  He was waving his hand to the north, but he hadn’t moved yet.  Still, no pilots were calling out an attack run.  No missiles were streaking in on Skorr’s position.  Maze tried to swallow his frustration and remind himself that the air battle was still very hot.

“Sir, what are we waiting for?” Case asked at last.  “We’ve got him.  Let’s take the shot.”

Maze could hear the tight focus behind Case’s request, and he understood.  A familiar feeling was taking over in the ARC’s brain.  His focus was narrowing in.  He wanted Skorr.  Badly.  It must have been the same feeling that had driven Jango Fett to become the best bounty hunter in the galaxy.  There was an intense thrill in the hunt, in finding a target and taking him down.  And even more than the men of Totten Squad, Maze was Jango’s clone, the product of Fett’s training and unaltered DNA.  He could feel his finger tightening on the trigger, almost involuntarily.

But I’m more than just training and DNA, Maze thought.  If I take this shot, it’s not going to be in a moment of blind bloodlust.

“I’d prefer an airstrike, Sergeant,” Maze said.  “Don’t forget that the target is a Jedi.  No guarantee we’ll bring him down with small arms.”  The others knew that.  They’d been witnessing what Jedi were capable of for nearly three years.  But it needed saying.  If Skorr survived the first salvo, he and his thirty Morgukai were almost certain to overrun their position.

But, after another thirty seconds, Maze knew couldn’t afford to wait any longer.  They might not be able to take him down on their own, but they had to try before he slipped away.

“Time’s up,” Maze decided.  “Everyone targets Commander Skorr.  Fire on my mark, then start picking off Morgukai whether he goes down or not.  I’ll stay on Skorr.”

No, there were no guarantees.  Skorr didn’t seem to have sensed them yet, but a Jedi could block a lot with a lightsaber from one direction.  Hopefully six rifles would be enough to get through.

Maze shifted his aim slightly from Skorr’s chest to his head, then back again.  The Dark Jedi was wearing armor.  Could it stop a round from a verpine?  No, a head shot was still the safest option.

He sighted up.  “Mark,” he said.  Then Maze squeezed the trigger.

* * *

Skorr’s head was spinning.  The world was swirling around him as his brain tried to catch up with the series of events that had just unfolded. 

One minute he’d been yelling orders at his Morgukai lieutenant near the edge of the caldera rim.  Skorr was still reeling after the stealth ship—his prize—had blasted off into the dawning sky and out of his reach.  The next thing he knew, his lightsaber was alive in his hands.

His crimson blade and the Force shield he’d instinctively thrown up had been enough to save his life, but only barely.  Skorr still didn’t know how many shots had been aimed at him, only that he’d managed to block three with his lightsaber.  The others he’d deflected with the Force, but two had gotten through, one grazing his torso armor and the other nicking his left thigh.  The latter had taken the Dark Jedi off of his feet, another turn of events that had saved his life.

The final reason that Tol Skorr was still breathing was the undying loyalty of the clones under his command.  The lieutenant and another warrior had come diving in on top of him, shielding him with their bodies.  That act of bravery had cost them their lives, of course.  Their limp bodies now hung in mid-air, suspended in a Force grip, where they continued to screen Skorr from incoming fire.

Behind the dead Morgukai, Skorr had risen into a crouch.  His wounded leg had gone from dull and numb to a painful throb, and it screamed in protest when he moved it.  Skorr reached down with his left hand and felt around the burned fabric of his trousers.  His fingertips came away wet with blood, but he could tell he wasn’t bleeding fast.  Skorr closed his eyes and poured the Force into the wound, wiling the damaged tissue to knit and mend and causing the pain to ebb.  It was a Jedi technique, one he’d learned as a child.  He didn’t know what kind of healing powers a true Dark Side adept was capable of, but Skorr was willing to fall back on old tricks for now.

Now, about those damn snipers.

As he might have guessed, the Morgukai had spread out and were returning fire with their blaster rifles.  Unfortunately, they were still in a very bad position.  On one side, their backs were up against the three-meter high wall of the duracrete rampart.  And on the other was a fatal drop into the city below.  Despite their efforts, Skorr could feel Morgukai lives winking out of existence, one by one.

Skorr knew that they were going to need his help to turn the tables on the snipers.  It was plainly obvious where the incoming fire was coming from, but Skorr wanted to know exactly what he was up against before he jumped into the melee.

The Dark Jedi pushed out with the Force, seeking his enemies.  Republic clone troopers were notoriously difficult to sense.  They all shared a similar aura of guarded purpose and duty, but they rarely exhibited the easily sensed radical leaps in emotion that most beings were prone to during combat.  In the Force, they felt remarkably similar to the Morgukai clones.

Skorr felt his vision obscure behind a swirling red mist.  The blaster riddled Nikto corpses dissolved before his eyes as he plunged into the Dark Side.  Chaotic waves of pain and destruction from the battle at large threatened to break Skorr’s concentration, but he pushed on toward the sense of immediate danger.  Just faintly, he could sense enemies, exactly where his physical senses told him they should be.  They didn’t give off a feeling of malice or hate, but there was a sense of grim and deadly purpose focused directly at Skorr.  He grabbed those tendrils of focus and followed them back.  Tightly spinning whirlpools in the mist vortexed outward, illuminating six sparks of energy.

Six.  Skorr knew exactly where they were hiding now. 

“Half of you!” he bellowed at the Morgukai.  “Lay down fire!  There are four enemies to the right of the turret and two to the left!  Hit ‘em hard!  The rest of you, up and over that wall!  We’re moving in close and gutting those bugs!”

Skorr finally dropped the corpses he was using as a shield and stood up, blocking the sniper fire that immediately sought him out.  Around him, the surviving Nikto scurried to carry out his orders.

Like performers in a circus, warriors lined up against the wall and helped boost others into the air.  Skorr saw a glimpse of one Nikto as he nimbly vaulted to the top of the rampart, only to catch a well placed sniper round in the chest.  The warrior fell back off of the wall to the ground and rolled the last few meters over the edge of the rim to plunge into the city far below.

Skorr gritted his teeth.  Over half of his warriors were already dead.  He broke into a run, doing his best to ignore the pain he still felt in his thigh, and leapt to the top of the wall.  His feet hadn’t even touched down when his lightsaber blade intercepted another round, and he noted absently by the way it skipped off that it was a projectile, rather than a plasma bolt.

Several Morgukai were up with him now, and they were using their higher vantage to send more accurate shots at the enemy position.  The remaining warriors used the respite to slip onto the walkway and then drop to the far side, safe from enemy fire.

For his part, Skorr chose to remain on the wall.  Let the fools try to hit me now, he thought.  Six clones?  I’ve taken on whole platoons.  He ran on, blocking the occaisional shots that came his way.

Skorr felt a small rush of excitement as he anticipated the bloodshed ahead.  He hadn’t forgotten about the rest of the battle, though.  After he finished with the snipers he would still have a decision to make.  It wasn’t a hard one—Sagujero  was lost.  All that was left was to figure out how to get away as cleanly as possible.

In between deflections, Skorr spared his lightsaber hand long enough to punch in a few buttons on his gauntlet.  That ought to give me a few minutes.  Long enough to finish up here.

It was always important to have a backup plan.

* * *

Lock never got tired of scrapping droids.  He’d been doing it steadily for almost three years now, and it felt as good today as it had on Geonosis.

This is what larties were made to do, he thought as he strafed a line of hulking Super Battle Droids with fully automatic AP laser fire.  Bin, Frost and Bargain were using their composite laser beams to do the same to the rest of the droid platoon they’d swept down on.

As soon as it had started, it was over.  The two AATs that had been shattered by Bin’s opening missilve salvo were still ablaze, casting long shadows in the wide intersection.  Illuminated by the fires and the light of the graying dawn, Lock could see that they had taken out the entire droid platoon and its armored escort.

“All clear, Major,” Lock reported.

“Much obliged, lieutenant,” replied the voice of Major Cav.  “Feel free to leave us some clankers next time.  Can’t let you fly boys have all the fun.”

“Ha!  Not a chance.  That’s like asking a fanteel not to swim.  Scrapping tinnies is what we do, sir,” Bin said over the comm.  Lock could hear the smile in his voice.  Yes, the crew chief was settling right in to that gunner seat.

Lock cranked the power on the repulsors and rose out of the intersection and above the rooftops.  Below him, he watched Cav’s unit of saber tanks and the company of infantry troops they were escorting pick their way through the cluttered streets.  From here, they had a clear path to reinforce Commander Reach and the rest of the beleaguered 33^rd.

After all of the setbacks and casualties that Blue Team had suffered, everything was finally starting to fall into place.  General K’kruhk’s forces were on the ground and were well on the way to taking the city.  The ploy to lure the bulk of Sagujero’s droid forces into one place couldn’t have worked better.  If Commander Reach didn’t get a medal for that, Lock didn’t know who should.  But then, most clones didn’t hold much stock in awards or accolades.  Getting your brothers out alive was all anyone asked for.

“Well, on to the next one,” Lock said to his crew.  They were one of the few craft still participating in the ground engagement.  General Hett had led the rest of his starfighters and most of Green Team’s larties on a path into the stratosphere to head off a wing of droid fighters returning from a Separatist frigate after refueling.  Without any enemy aircraft to worry about, Lock and a few other gunships remained dirtside to help clear out lines of resistance and allow K’kruhk’s forces to engage the droid army.

“Okay, I’ve got a unit of spiders coming in from the airbase,” Bin reported.  “We should be able to cut them off before they get into a flanking position.”

“Roger that,” Lock said.  He was adjusting his heading to the new coordinates that Bin fed him when a general alert came through on the comm.

“Ground forces have eyes on Separatist Commander Tol Skorr.  Air strike requested.  Any available assets are to make their way to these coordinates.”

“That’s the turncoat Jedi, isn’t it?” Bin asked.

Cold realization settled on Lock.  “Yeah, that’s the name I remember.”  A wash of denials from other pilots cut him off before he could say more.

“Bad timing,” General Hett was saying.  “We’re engaged with a superior enemy force in low orbit and I can’t spare anyone.”  The Jedi’s words about his dire situation were at odds with his calm voice.

Lock looked at his readout screen and scanned for the blue symbols of friendly larties.  It appeared that he and his crew were the closest to Commander Skorr’s coordinates.  And the capture or elimination of a Separatist commander overrode their current objective as a priority.

“Blue Three will comply,” he said over the comm.  “Moving into position now.  ETA, one minute.”

Lock rolled the gunship toward the new course and jammed on the thrusters.  “Looks like we’re gonna get our chance at payback after all, boys,” he said.  The prickly sensation in his back where it touched the lightsaber burn in the seat had returned.

“Damn right, Loot—whoa!” Bin exclaimed.  “Predator, four-o’clock!”

Lock twisted the flightstick hard, spinning the gunship into evasive manuevers.  He caught a brief glimpse of a large, dark sphere of alloy and the bright wash of chem-trails as a missile shot past the cockpit.

“Guess we missed one, eh?” Bin said.

Lock gritted his teeth.  Predators and larties were too much alike.  Low on maneuverability, but high on armor and firepower.  These kinds of dogfights could take a while.

“Let’s just take him out,” he snapped as he tried to loop the cumbersome gunship into position behind the droid.  “We’re not letting that Skorr barve get away.  We’re not.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

“Well, that didn’t work,” Rust muttered over the comm.

“Yeah, I think we just made him mad,” Plaz agreed.

Maze swung around the side of the cargo container he was using for cover and snapped on to the target of the advancing enemy.  It wasn’t hard.  The renegade Jedi’s red lightsaber could be seen from orbit, and he was moving along the walkway towards them far slower than he could have.

The shabuir is taking his time on purpose, Maze thought.  The Morgukai who had made it to the far side of the rampart would be on them any minute, and the Separatist commander was drawing their fire to keep Maze and his men pinned down.  He certainly seemed to know they didn’t have anything with enough punch to hurt him.

Maze took the shot anyway, only to see the long-haired human casually adjust the angle of his blade and swat the projectile away.  The ARC captain dropped back into cover and avoided another flurry of red blaster darts.  There were still a few Morgukai firing from the wall behind Skorr.  Their carbines weren’t very accurate, but it was enough to force Azure Team’s collective heads down and keep them from firing off any more simultaneous volleys.

Next to Maze, Slab swung around for another shot, only to be forced back down by enemy fire.  The commando sniper made an irritated rumble in his throat.

“Hold steady, soldiers,” Case said.  “The bastard’ll be in grenade range any second.  Let’s see how easily he bats those aside.”

“Anti-armor rounds only,” Maze cautioned.  “I reckon he’ll just send anything we throw at him back our way.”  Maze took a second to inventory his ammo.  Only a few verpine rounds left and he’d be back to his carbine and sidearms.  He didn’t much care for the thought of their plasma rounds being directed back into him.

The immediate problem, though, was the Morgukai.  The sneaky chakaare could be on the other side of the cargo container right now, for all Maze knew.  He wasn’t sure exactly how many were still alive, but he figured they’d picked off around twenty.  That left ten or so, which had Azure Team outnumbered.  They had to survive long enough to take Skorr down, or at least delay him until a larty could arrive on scene.

“Leven, Plaz,” Maze called out.  “I need you two clipped on to the repel lines and over the lip.  Stay out of sight until l give the signal, then come up shooting.”

The commando and trooper hurried off to carry out Maze’s orders.  He calculated that the large ion gun tower should provide enough cover to screen them from enemy eyes.  Maze wasn’t even sure the ploy would help, but he wanted as many lines of fire as he could get when the Morgukai showed up, and cover was hard to come by on the rim.

Maze peaked around his crate for another look at Skorr.  He was still just outside of effective grenade range, but it was worth a try.

“Case, Rust, put some anti-armor in front of that barve.  Maybe that will hurry him along,” Maze ordered.

“With pleasure, sir,” Rust said.

Come on Jetii, Maze thought.  Come on in close, just how you like it.  Maze had never gone up against a Jedi before, and he didn’t have any delusions about his chances against a lightsaber.  But he was ready to go down fighting.  He had his vibroblade.  And a thermal detonator if it came to that.  One way or another, Skorr wasn’t getting out alive.

“Green Six to Azure Team,” a clone’s voice announced loudly on the comm.  “I’d get my heads down if I were you.  We’re coming in for a strafing run on the VIP and we’ll be making some noise.”

It was music to Maze’s ears.  He fired off another hastily aimed shot at Skorr before hitting the dirt behind cover.  There was a small, irrational part of him that wanted to stand there and watch the traitor Jedi as he was engulfed in flames, but fortunately, that part of Maze’s brain was superseded by years of training.

He lay on the ground, holding one hand to the side of his helmet as he shouted some last-minute advice to Green Six.  “Be advised, Green Six.  The target still has at least a squad’s worth of Morgukai infantry with him.  They’re on the eastern side of the walkway, moving towards our position.”

The larty pilots probably heard the last part of Maze’s warning, but his final words were lost to his own ears as the sound of two enormous and very close explosions overrode his helmet’s sound dampeners.

* * *

For the second time in minutes, Skorr’s life had been saved only by a last-second warning from the Force.  He pried himself out from a pile of rubble, wondering how fortunate he should feel about that.  After the past two near misses, he wasn’t sure he was up for a third.

The duracrete rampart he’d been standing on a moment ago was now a blown-out crater, at least ten meters wide.

Alerted by the Force, Skorr had had just enough time to drop to the far side of the wall and seek out the missiles speeding toward him.  He’d managed to alter the trajectory of one with a Force grip that pulled it down into the side of the cliff wall.  The second had mostly eluded him, detonating against the hard ground some distance in front of the wall.  Six meters of duracrete had absorbed most of the blast, but even still, Skorr had been buffeted like a rag doll and showered with debris.  If it weren’t for his armor and his ability to divert most of it with the Force, that alone might have been enough to kill him.  As it was, he was bleeding in several new places and the ordeal hadn’t done his injured leg any favors.

And now, he still had a flying death machine to contend with.  The Republic gunship’s pilots seemed to have temporarily lost Skorr in the wreckage of their missile strike, but they were doing a good job of working on the Morgukai in the meantime.  One of the Nikto that had been laying down covering fire from the walkway a few seconds ago had somehow survived the blast and was now valiantly pumping carbine rounds into the air in pursuit of the enemy craft.  It was a futile effort with such a light weapon, but Skorr suspected he was trying to buy time for his comrades.

It bought him death instead.  One of the gunship’s bubble turrets adjusted its aim and fired at the warrior.  The green laser beam caught the Morgukai full in the chest, easily melting through the layers of cortosis armor.  Rather than neatly bisecting the clone as a lightsaber blade might have, the intense heat of the laser instantly superheated every gram of his torso’s flesh and made… quite the mess of him.

Skorr had already taken down a gunship on his own today.  That one had been grounded and simple enough for him to get the drop on.  This one wasn’t such easy prey.  Even with the remaining Morgukai to help distract the Republic craft, Skorr wasn’t sure he’d be able to take it out.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to.  Skorr keyed a few buttons on his gauntlet and congratulated himself for taking precautions.

A moment later, the enemy gunship was consumed in the crippling explosion of two detonating concussion missiles.  Lethal shrapnel showered down all around the rim.  He deflected everything that came his way with the Force and even put some effort into diverting the bulk of it away from the warriors that had been much closer to the blast.  Skorr didn’t need their aid at this point, but he preferred them alive all the same.

Before the flaming wreckage had settled, a dark, angular shape drifted over the ruined wall and touched down near Skorr, shadowed by another, larger vessel.

Skorr had never been overly satisfied with his personal starfighter, a Z-95 Headhunter with a glossy black finish that made it almost invisible in the darkness of space.  It was merely a tool, filling a necessary void after his last ship had been destroyed by Quinlan Vos.  Nevertheless, it had its uses.  It had been modified from the outdated stock model to include an on-board hyperdrive, as well as a slot for an R-4 astromech unit that boasted the same combat programming droid tri-fighters were equipped with.

The little black droid that had piloted the Headhunter—as well as shot down the Republic gunship—swiveled its domed head towards its master and tootled softly.  Skorr signaled for the surviving Morgukai to form up on his position.

The Dark Jedi settled into the shadow of the second vessel, a bulky Sheathipede transport shuttle.  Piloted by another droid, the transport was even less impressive than Skorr’s starfighter.  Sheathipedes were ugly, slow and weaponless.  They did come equipped with powerful deflector shields, and, most importantly, they could hold a decent compliment of passengers.  It was the latter that Skorr was most concerned with.  The Morgukai survivors would be accompanying him back to Sora Bulq’s headquarters.  They had earned that much, he figured.  And besides, the Morgukai were the entire reason the Separatists were on Saleucami.  These half dozen warriors were battle hardened elites.  Returning with them was better than arriving empty handed.

The Nikto clones silently formed up in the lee of the shuttle, taking up defensive positions.  They didn’t speak a word, but were clearly waiting for orders.  There was just one more thing Skorr had to do before ordering them aboard the escape craft.

He keyed his gauntlet’s comlink and spoke into it.  “Ravaal.  Come in, Ravaal.”

“Commander?” an incredulous, weary voice answered a moment later.  “I’ve been trying to reach you for—”

“Do you still hold the airbase?” Skorr demanded.

“For the moment, sir,” the Koorivar responded, sounding more irritated than frightened.  “But we won’t be able to hold it for long.  I haven’t been able to reach lieutenant—”

“How would you like your rank back, Ravaal?” Skorr asked.  He could hear the other stammer something so he plowed on over him.  “Never mind major.  How does colonel sound?”

Ravaal was silent for a moment, then responded in what Skorr decided was a much humbler tone.  “Colonel sounds very good, sir.  But it’s not going to matter if we’re all dead.”

“Hold the city, Ravaal, and I can personally guarantee your promotion.”

“Of course you will, sir,” Ravaal said.  “Are you still in communication with the main droid forces?”

“I’ve been cut off from them,” Skorr replied.  “But I’m currently in command of a large contingent of reinforcements.  We’re getting into position for a counterattack, but I’ll be out of communication until we commence.  I’m leaving you in command of Sagujero’s forces in the meantime.”

The lie came all too easily to Skorr’s lips.  The only thing he didn’t like about it was the necessity of delivering it in front of the Morgukai.  But Skorr needed a capable officer to hold the city for as long as possible while he made his escape.

There was another long moment of silence.  Skorr was beginning to fear that Ravaal hadn’t fallen for it.  Finally, the Koorivar spoke in a quiet, flat voice.  “Very well, sir.  I will carry out my duty to the best of my abilities.”

Skorr smiled.  “See that you do.  Hold Sagujero at all costs.  I promise your efforts will be rewarded.”

“Of course, sir.  Ravaal out.”

Skorr closed the link and turned briefly to look up at the ion gun tower behind him.  The clone snipers were still there, probably preparing a counterattack this very moment.  He would have liked nothing more than to finish the job of ending their pitiful lives, but that was a luxury he simply couldn’t afford.  The entire might of the invading army could be sent up after him any minute.

Another day, he thought.  Another battle.  The enemy clones wouldn’t be going anywhere.  There would be plenty of chances to pay them back later.

* * *

“Come on, you kriffing hunk of junk!  Hold together,” Lock swore through gritted teeth as the larty jerked hard to port again.  They had lost most of the repulsor projectors in the starboard wing—along with that laser canon—in the dogfight with the Predator.  Now the onboard computer was working hard to recalibrate and restore smooth, if limited, control of the craft.

Before going down, the enemy gunship had also managed to take out the stern AP turret and had damaged the power feed to Bargain’s starboard bubble turret.  Lock realized that they had gotten lucky.  The Predator had been nearly out of missiles, which was probably the only reason they were still alive.  Now the droid craft was completely out of commission, thanks to a beautiful one-two punch from Frost’s air-to-air rocket and laser blast combo.  And while Bargain’s turret was useless and his armor had been splattered with melted transparisteel, the trooper had been otherwise unhurt.

Okay, Lock thought.  Port bubble turret: check.  Port wingtip laser: check.  Chin guns: check.  Add in a few missiles and we’ve still got more than enough punch to take out that kriffing Sep Jedi.

“Eyes on.  We’re almost there,” Lock said to his team.  He could see the ion tower that marked Captain Maze’s position, as well as the flames where Green Six had just been shot down.  “I’ve still got no readings on the ship that took out Green Six.  Gunners, what’s your status?”

“I’m sorted sir,” came Bargain’s unhappy reply.  Lock could hear him grunting in apparent struggle.  “But I’m still not having any luck with the turret.  If I could just get this… bubble to open up I’d man a deece on the deck.  Transparisteel’s welded shut.  Sorry I’m no use.”

Bargain was definitely an infantry trooper to the core.  Sitting down in a fight was clearly hard enough for him, let alone sitting without a weapon to use.  “Not your fault, private.  Just hold tight a little longer and we’ll put down and get you out of there.  Frost?”

“Power feed to port turret still running at one hundred percent.  Two rockets left and ready to fire.”  Frost’s voice was tight and flat.  The stims and painkillers had to be wearing off.

“How are you holding up, soldier?” Lock asked.

“Still operational, sir.  Pain’s coming back, but it’s not too bad yet.”

“One more run, Frost.  That’s all we need.”  Lock felt bad for pushing Frost this far, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it right now.

“Both targets’ engines are hot, Blue Three,” the voice of Captain Maze advised on the comm.  It sounded like the ARC Trooper was running.  “We don’t have a current visual, but our initial look suggests a one-man fighter craft and a small shuttle.  We can’t confirm which vessel Skorr is aboard.  Moving to a better vantage now.”

“Understood, Azure,” Lock had been hoping for better intel than that.  It meant that they would have to go after the first target they got a shot at and then try to double back for a run on the second.

“Blue One to Blue Three,” Captain Forr called out.  “We’re coming in behind you and will pursue whichever target you pass up.”

“Roger that, Captain,” Lock said, relieved to hear backup was on its way.  “We’ll call it out.”

“We’re in scanner range,” Bin said.  “I’m confirming two vessels.  One life form on the smaller, multiple on the larger.”

They were almost past the tower and into visual range now.  Lock felt his thumbs start to depress on the firing studs for the chin guns.

“There they go!” Bin exclaimed.  “Moving in opposite directions.”

Lock could just make out a dark blur, lit up by engine wash as one vessel accelerated in the opposite direction away from them.  Then it was screened by the ion turret.  A smaller shape shot off to the left, crossing in front of and below the larty.

He squeezed off a snap shot of AP fire that went just wide of the target, then swung the gunship hard to port.  “We’re going after the fighter, Blue One.  The shuttle is heading due south.  It’s all yours.”

“Copy that, Blue Three,” Captain Forr replied.

Lock could make out the dark shape of the enemy fighter.  It appeared to be a little longer and slimmer than a V-wing.  The targeting computer was identifying it as a Z-95 Headhunter class snubfighter.  It accelerated hard, nose angled up in a steep climb.  Lock pulled up on the flight stick, trying to track the target, but the compromised repulsors had trouble keeping up.  The larty was even more sluggish than usual, and Lock could tell they weren’t going to be able to give much of a chase.  Green lances of laser fire burned after the Headhunter from two angles on Lock’s left.  One of them looked like it connected, but if it did, the fighter must have had strong enough shields to deflect the blast.

“Damn,” Bin grunted.  “The barve’s going to get away.  I can’t get a missile lock.”

Lock pushed the acceleration to full throttle.  If they could just drop in behind the fighter, they might get one more shot.

Suddenly, laser fire from a new direction tracked the Headhunter.  Red streaks of energy poured straight down from high in the atmosphere into the enemy fighter.  Even from the distance that Lock was removed, he could see that several of the lasers connected.

The Headhunter rolled and dove, attempting to break off from its new attacker.  Lock could see now that the friendly fire was coming from a wedge-shaped Delta-7 Aethersprite.  The Headhunter made another crisp snap-roll and changed direction, but the out-dated snubfighter simply wasn’t maneuverable enough to out-fly the nimble Jedi starfighter.

In an elegant, tight loop, the Delta-7 changed course and slid in directly behind the Headhunter.  A steady stream of laser fire connected with the enemy’s rear deflectors.  Lock saw several small explosions erupt from the Headhunter, followed by a much larger one as its engines blew.

Lock felt a flood of relief.  His sensors weren’t picking up an ejector seat.  The pilot hadn’t punched out.  If it was Skorr behind the controls, there was no way the Separatist commander had survived.

“Good shooting, General,” Lock said over the comm.  He wasn’t exactly sure who the pilot was.  His call-sign didn’t identify him as part of either Red or Green Flight.

“Wasn’t him,” the voice of the Jedi pilot replied.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Skorr.  That wasn’t him.”

Lock’s feeling of relief started to die.  “Are you sure, sir?  We had a positive reading for one life form aboard—”

“I’m telling you that wasn’t Skorr,” the Jedi said in a tone that suggested he was stating an obvious fact.  “Trust me; I’d know if it was.  I’m starting to think he actually likes it when I shoot his ships down,” he added, seemingly to no one in particular.

Lock wasn’t sure how he felt about taking the Jedi’s word without any proof, but at the moment, the next step was obvious either way.  “That means he’s on the shuttle, sir.”  He switched back to Blue One’s frequency.  “Blue One, Commander Skorr is on that shuttle.  What’s your status?”

Captain Forr was clearly frustrated.  “I’ve lost sight of the shuttle.  It’s a Sheathipede and the blasted thing’s faster than it looks.  Major deflectors, too.  It’s shrugged off everything we’ve hit it with.  We’re pursuing it into the canyons to the north now, but we don’t have a visual.”

“Leave it to me,” the Jedi pilot cut in.

Lock was already adjusting course, swinging over the city and angling the gunship back towards the east.  “On your six, sir.”

“No,” the Jedi said emphatically.  “Remain here.”

Lock’s brow furrowed in confusion.  Perhaps the General had noticed that their gunship was damaged.  “We’re a little banged up, but we can still assist in the search, sir.”

“I said to stay here, clone,” the Jedi snapped.  “General K’kruhk needs your help securing the city.  That’s an order.”

Realization suddenly dawned on Lock.  The Jedi fighter wasn’t identified as a member of Red or Green Flight because he was the one pilot who had joined General Auset’s wing of fighters from Saleucami’s surface.  He was already on planet as part of High General Rancisis’ original forces.  He was Quinlan Vos.

Lock didn’t know all the details on General Vos’ sordid history during the clone wars, but the words double agent and renegade sprang to mind.  His warning bells went off and he felt a knot in his gut that didn’t have anything to do with being dismissively referred to as clone.

“Yes, sir,” he said at last.  Lock wasn’t sure if Sergeant Bin had made the same connection about the Jedi’s identity, but knowing his brother as he did, he was expecting some kind of objection.  Before he could say anything to him, however, Captain Maze’s voice cut back in.

“I need airlift, Blue Three,” the ARC Trooper said.

“Right away, sir,” Lock confirmed automatically.  He was still a little shaken by his thoughts on General Vos, but he was glad to have been given an immediate task to focus on.  He cut acceleration, kicked in the repuslor coils and angled his nose down toward the ion tower where Maze and the rest of Azure Team were holed up.  “Where to, sir?”

Maze’s voice dropped to the pitch that all clones adopted when they voiced critical information over the comm.  No one ever felt completely comfortable trusting the encryption, even if it had proven to be unbreakable thus far.  “General K’kruhk is requesting my presence at the enemy airbase.  Apparently, he just received word that the acting Separatist CO is accepting terms of surrender.”

Lock heard Maze’s words, but his brain was having trouble making sense of them.

After a moment of silence, Captain Maze spoke again, and Lock thought he could detect notes of relief in the taciturn ARC Trooper’s voice.  “The battle is over, Lieutenant.  We won.”

* * *

The Sheathipede shuttle wound its way through the hidden path of canyons and tunnels deep within the mountain range that led to the Separatist headquarters.  It had been a close call, but the shuttle’s powerful shields had held and the droid pilot managed to evade all Republic pursuit.  Occaisonally, they would break out of the darkness of the warrens into an open ravine and sunlight would flood the interior of the shuttle through the viewports.  The long night was finally over, and if Skorr had to guess, the battle nearly was as well.

You failed, Tol.  Sagujero’s fall was your fault.

The voice filled Skorr’s head, but he couldn’t be sure to whom it belonged.  Sora Bulq?  Count Dooku?

Himself?

Skorr clenched his teeth, screwed his eyes tightly shut and pressed the back of his head into the crash seat behind him.  He was filthy, he was exhausted and his wounded leg was throbbing like a Kisutchian hamma fruit.  They would arrive at HQ any minute, and explaining himself to Sora Bulq was the last thing Skorr wanted to do.

All he had to show for himself was a battered shuttle and five Morgukai clones.  The rest of them were dead, or well on their way to being so.  And Skorr wasn’t sure what to make of these few.  He had forced them to retreat, which he knew caused them great shame, even if they were too proud to show it outwardly.  Furthermore, Skorr had ordered one of their comrades aboard his Headhunter right before they fled.  The warrior had stoically accepted his duty and played the role of bait for the enemy pilots’ life-form scanners.  The Shadow Army didn’t devote any time to teaching its warriors to operate starfighters, so when the clone was eventually shot down, he was unable to meet his end fighting in honest combat.  The surviving Nikto were sure to remember this and Skorr knew they would never hold him in the same esteem they had before.

Without intending to, Skorr began to slow his breathing and attempted to clear his mind.  As things kept going from bad to worse, he found himself relying increasingly on old Jedi teachings.  It made him feel guilty, as if he was turning his back on his new alliance with the Dark Side of the Force.

Skorr held on to that thought for a moment, then let it out in another long exhale.  Perhaps there were still lessons from his past that could continue to serve him in the future.  Acceptance with the way things were, rather than how you wanted them to be, was a Jedi tenet.  It ran opposite to the Dark Side viewpoint that your own will was all you needed to shape the world around you, but he could still use it in the meantime, just as he had with the healing technique he’d employed in battle.

Acceptance.  Yes, Skorr had little choice but to accept the punishment that awaited him.  His standing in Bulq’s esteem—and more importantly, Dooku’s— would fall.  But in addition to Jedi skills, Skorr had abilities unique to his own personality to employ as well.  He could be patient.  He knew how to put his head down and do the dirty jobs that needed doing.

Sora Bulq would be angry that Skorr lost the airbase; that was inevitable.  But the fallen Jedi Master wouldn’t kill him, he was sure of it.  The Separatists had just suffered a major defeat in the Battle of Saleucami, and they were going to need every able soldier they could field.

And Skorr was as able in combat as anyone on the planet.  He would lead the Morgukai on the battlefield and kill all who stood in his way.  He would melt into the shadows of the city and communicate with Vos’ spies.  These were roles at which Skorr excelled.  They would make him invaluable to Master Bulq and would provide him with opportunities for revenge.

Revenge on the Republic’s clones for costing him this setback.  Revenge on Quinlan Vos for the hand he’d played in it and everything else he’d done to foil Skorr in the past.  And if he was lucky, Sora Bulq could yet fall in the fight ahead.  Then Skorr alone would emerge from Saleucami, the victorious leader of the Shadow Army.  He would be Count Dooku’s last remaining servant.

As the shuttle began to slow, nearly to the end of its journey, Tol Skorr found himself smiling.  He wasn’t in the clear yet, he knew.  He would still have to tread carefully to survive his present circumstances.  But he had seen past them to a future full of possibilities.  He would find a way to save himself and come out ahead.

He always did.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14

Republic Controlled Airbase, Sagujero, Saleucami, Approximately eleven hours after the cease fire

Mug of steaming caf in hand, Captain Maze stepped out of the makeshift commissary and into the evening air.  He took a sip of the brew and made a face.  The insta-caf crystals that the GAR support personnel supplied were a far cry from the freshly roasted beans that General Zey purchased weekly from the Blue Bantha café back on Coruscant.

He shook his head, realizing there actually were things about his soft desk job that he missed.  That’s why I needed this mission, he thought.  Perspective.

Maze angled his face up to catch the last gleaming rays of light as the sun settled below the rim of the caldera to the west.  Since the cease-fire had been issued around dawn and the remaining droids had been deactivated, an entire day of logistics, debriefings and after-action reports had occupied every moment of the ARC Captain’s time.

Most time consuming of all had been the negotiation of terms for the Koorivar Fusilier prisoners of war with their leader, a remarkably reasonable major named Ravaal.  Maze hadn’t been needed for those proceedings, but in the end, he’d been glad to be there.  He’d learned that Ravaal had been the one to foil his team’s initial attempt to disable the shield, and while Maze couldn’t thank the Separatist officer for the clones that had been killed as a result, he couldn’t help but respect the Koorivar’s abilities.  It was a reminder that the Republic’s enemies were made up of more than just mindless droids and Nemoidian bean counters.  Again, perspective.

Maze took another sip and conceded that the weak caf felt good—almost as good as the two plates of hot food Maze had just shoveled down—but its caffeinated contents wouldn’t be enough to keep him on his feet for much longer.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to be.  The Jedi Generals and their command staff had moved into the city, and were in the process of taking over and cycling fresh troops in to relieve the soldiers who had been in combat for the longest.  Maze had been ordered by General K’kruhk to get six hours of rack time and Maze wasn’t about to argue with him.

The ARC made his way across the airfield to a hangar where temporary barracks had been designated for his Special Operations team.  He paused as a trio of AT-RT’s clomped by on patrol.  The troopers who piloted the bipedal walkers looked down and saluted.  Maze returned their salute and resumed his walk.

Two troopers from Commander Reach’s 33^rd Assault and Reconnaissance Regiment stood guard outside of the opening to the aircraft hangar.  Maze was certain that guards from Rancisis or K’kruhk’s forces could have relieved the members from the combat-weary infiltration team, but the GAR simply didn’t work that way.  Units looked after themselves.

The troopers snapped to attention at Maze’s approach.

“At ease, soldiers,” he said.  “How long have you been on guard duty?”

“Twenty standard minutes, sir,” the trooper on the right said.  “We’re on third watch.”

“Excellent,” Maze nodded, pleased to hear that the survivors of his infantry escort were being looked after.  They’d suffered higher losses than any other unit in the battle, save for the clone pilots of Red Team.  “This mission wouldn’t have been possible without the sacrifice of you and your brothers,” Maze told them.

“Thank you, sir,” the trooper on the left said.  “We were honored to serve with you and your team.”

Maze knew the troopers had to be experiencing a lot of emotions other than honor, but he wasn’t expecting them to share their grief with him.  He nodded again, ready to leave them to their watch and head in to find his bunk, when the faint smell of smoke touched his nostrils.

One of the troopers must have noticed his nose wrinkle.  “Lieutenant A-Forty-Nine arrived a few minutes ago, sir.  He’s around back.”

Heke.  Maze hadn’t had a chance to see his brother ARC since he’d returned to base after the cease-fire.  Sleep would have to wait a while longer.  “Thank you,” he told the troopers.  “As you were.”

Maze rounded the corner of the building and headed up the alley between it and the adjacent hangar.  He found Heke perched on a small cargo crate, one foot resting on his helmet.  The ARC lieutenant was smoking one of the thin cigarras that he was fond of.  Maze didn’t know of any other clones who smoked, even if it wasn’t technically against any regulations.

“Ca told me you’d picked up some nasty habits,” Maze made a show of waving smoke away from his face before taking a seat on a crate next to Heke.

Heke turned his head and blew a cloud of t’bac directly at Maze’s face.  “Well, Ca’s a nosey square.  Always was.”

Maze ducked his head away, unable to repress a slight smile from forming beneath his mask of disgust.  “I’ll be sure and tell him you said that.”

Heke spread his arms.  “Be my guest.  Just so long as you don’t lecture me on how I’m taking years off my life.”  The ARC lieutenant laughed loudly and took another blissful drag.

“No, no lectures from me.  I gave up thinking you’d ever learn any sense back on Kamino.  I just wanted to say I’m sorry about how things went down in the reactor,” Maze said.

Heke snorted, “Well if those di’kutla Nikto would just shabla die like normal soldiers, then half of this shabla city would still have power.”

Maze sighed.  Heke’s team had gone down into the magma reactor facility intending to disable the system’s generators, but to leave it in a state that could be salvaged later.  As the old adage went, no plan survives contact with the enemy, and the entire station had been critically damaged.  Now Sagujero was without its primary source of power, leaving them unable to deploy the dome shield, power the surviving ion turrets, or even run the majority of the city’s infrastructure.  The latter point had become a problem with the number of refugees the GAR had on its hands.  The locals were free from Tol Skorr’s strict martial law, but their new Republic liberators had just crippled their city.  Maze was just glad that the Jedi Generals were the ones in charge of handling that situation.

Maze looked to his brother.  “No one’s blaming you for the loss of power, Heke.  And… that’s not what I meant about the reactor.”

“I know what you meant, ner vod.”  Heke took a long drag on his cigarra and stared off into space.  After a long pause, he breathed the slightly sweet-smelling smoke out into the silence.  “We knew our chances going in.  I don’t think anyone was expecting to make it back up.”

“You know I would have sent more men with you if I had them, right?”  Maze knew it was a dumb question as soon as it left his lips, but he needed to ask.

“Now, let’s not go down that road, Maze.”  Heke tapped the ash of his cigarra off on a dirty, scuffed knee plate.  “We made those calls together, and there’s no going back now.  If we’d done it any other way, there wouldn’t have been any birds left to pull my sorry shebs out of there.”

Maze nodded.  “Yeah, well Lieutenant Twenty-two was about ready to desert so he could be the one to make the evac, but I’d already sent him and his battered larty with a load full of wounded to the Inspiration.”

Heke laughed.  “I told Lock he was alright for a flyboy.  Guess it went to his head.”

“I think he was just worried about Tihaar, actually.  I haven’t had a chance to check in on them or the others.  How’re they holding up?”

Heke shrugged.  “Resol and Solus have been through it before.  Haran knows the boys from the 33^rd have, too.”

Maze stared into his half-empty cup of caf and thought about that.  He was no stranger to death.  There wasn’t a clone in the Grand Army who was.  But he was an ARC Trooper.  He’d been trained to be self-sufficient.  Independent.  Alone.  His buddy Ca was the closest person in his life, and he rarely saw him at all these days.  Folks like Heke and General Zey came in somewhere after that.  How would he feel if he lost any of them?

It was a question Maze had spent little time pondering in the past.  There hadn’t been a need to, and Jango Fett had taught them that there was no point dwelling on the things you couldn’t change.  But Maze was thinking about it now.  He’d been the one who’d sent so many brothers to their deaths, after all.

“Look, I watched Ge’verd and Jatne die.”  Heke said all of a sudden.  “And the trooper, Reggs,who went with them.  I could see ‘em on their POV cams.”

“I know, Heke.  I saw it in the after-action report you sent me.  You don’t have to relive it again.”

“Too late.”  Heke looked intently at Maze and tapped his temple.  “The images are up here now, with all the rest.  If Resol and Solus were watching, they’re up there for them too.  And they aren’t going away.  But the point is, neither is what their brothers died for.  They gave it all and now look,” he gestured around them at the airbase.  “We’re all here, and those horn-faced freaks aren’t leaving Saleucami anytime soon.”  Heke took one last drag from his cigarra and ground its burning tip out on the cargo bin.  “None of that’s gonna make things easier for Tihaar tonight, but it will down the line.  Mark my words.”

 “I’m sure it will.  Thanks, Heke,” Maze said as he pushed his aching body back upright.  “Guess there’ll be plenty of time to think about it later.  Right now, I’m off for some sleep.  You had any rack time yet?”

Heke shook his head and stood up as well, scooping his helmet off the ground.  “Nah, never feels right this soon after an op, no matter how drained I am.  Besides,” he said with a smile.  “Can’t have both of us ARCs out at the same time.  You’ll ruin our omniscient image.”  Heke punctuated this with more of his sharp laughter.

Maze turned and headed back down the alley.  “Right, well just remember we’re still human,” he called over his shoulder.

“Speak for yourself, Captain,” Heke called back, still laughing to himself.

Maze passed the guards and headed in to find his bunk.  After he had stripped off, inspected and stacked his armor plates and finally crawled into bed, he found that he was glad he didn’t have Ge’verd and Jatne’s deaths to play back in his head.  Before sleep finally took him, he realized he was equally glad to be exhausted enough to avoid any of the images he’d collected himself that day.

* * *

Two days later, 968 Days after Geonosis

The room was crowded and noisy.  Lock had spent his entire life surrounded by his fellow clones, and most of the time the presence of so many brothers was comforting.  Other times, he longed for the privacy of a cockpit, where there were fewer intrusions on his thoughts.  Now was one of those times.

He and Sergeant Bin had made their way here directly after landing at the airbase.  Before that, they had been aboard the Inspiration for over a standard day, alternating their time between assisting with repairs on damaged larties and waiting for word on Wake and Frost.  Both of their brothers were now in orbit aboard the Judicious, receiving treatment in the less crowded ship.  They still hadn’t been updated on Wake or Frost when they’d received orders to report for a debriefing with Blue Team at the Republic HQ in Sagujero.

When the battle had ended, he and Bin had taken Captain Maze to the airbase, and then been ordered to load up their damaged LAAT/i with wounded and get them to the medical staff on the Inspiration.  As much as Lock had wanted to get Frost to the medics, he’d been overwhelmed with a need to make the airlift personally when Heke had called for an evac at the reactor.

It was difficult to put aside his feelings of guilt for not being part of the sabotage mission, especially once he’d learned how many casualties Heke’s team had suffered.  Orders were orders, of course, and he, Bin, Frost and Bargain had certainly done their part in the sky, but he still wondered if a few extra boots on the ground might have made the difference for the commandos and troopers who’d lost their lives down in the reactor.

Lock could see the bulky forms of Solus and Resol, sitting a few rows ahead of him.  It was easy to distinguish their cargo net-patterned armor from the dull bronze finish of the four members of Totten Squad sitting next to them.  Lock was determined to talk to them and let them know he was sorry he hadn’t been with them at the reactor, but he hadn’t had a chance when he’d filed in with the others.  And somehow talking to them in a crowded briefing room didn’t feel right, especially with Totten listening in.

Of course, it wasn’t really a briefing room.  Lock suspected it had housed maintenance droids or other heavy equipment until very recently.  The large, dark lubricant stain directly beneath his chair certainly suggested as much.  He found himself idly sliding his booted feet across it as he leaned back in his metal folding chair and listened to his comrades swap stories.

“And he gets hit, right?” Tig, one of Reach’s troopers from the 33^rd was saying.  “But instead of punching out, the crazy barve guides his interceptor right into the craggy peak and actually lands the thing.  Then he takes over the AAs and starts blasting droids out of the sky.”

“Oh, come on, mate,” the trooper sitting to Lock’s left said as he turned to address Tig.

“Don’t believe me?” Tig said with raised eyebrows.  “Go ask Zero.  He was tailgunning from the One-Seventy on General Auset’s wing.  He saw the whole thing, right down to the General wading into the droid gunners with his saber and all.”

The familiar sound of armored boots clicking on duracrete reached Lock’s ears as silence suddenly spread from one end of the room to the other.  The dark silhouettes of three shoulder-pauldron wearing clones were outlined in the open garage door against the bright morning sunshine.

Commander Reach stepped into the room first and bellowed, “Aten-shun!”

Every clone in the room bolted to their feet as Captain Maze strode in next, followed by Lieutenant Heke.  The second ARC posted up on the left side of the doorway, standing opposite Commander Reach.

Maze reached the center of the room and popped his helmet seal.  “At ease, soldiers,” said his unfiltered voice after he’d lifted his bucket off.

Lock took his seat along with the others.  He watched Commander Reach stand at ease, thinking it was strange to see a full commander taking orders from a captain.  The infiltration team’s chain of command was in a sort of gray area at the moment.  Technically, Captain Maze no longer held the temporary rank of Task Force Commander, but he was still the officer in charge of their mission.  Reach’s deference to Maze’s authority was another example of the clones putting pragmatism over pride when protocol failed to provide clear rules.

“I won’t keep you long,” the ARC captain said, clearly intent on getting down to business.  “After this meeting, Blue Team will dissolve.  Here are your transfer orders,” Maze paused for a moment and let his eyes drift over the crowd. 

“The men of the 33^rd will be attached to General Vos’ scout forces.  He has a fleet of BARC speeders that he’s looking forward to seeing put to use.  I know you won’t disappoint him.  And,” Maze said, leaning in slightly.  “I have some good news for you.

“This mission was all about reinforcements.  Spread thin as we are, we thought General Auset’s combined forces were all Saleucami could expect.  But now that we’ve established a secure landing zone, we just heard word from High Command that the remainder of the 33^rd Assault and Reconnaissance Regiment have been scheduled to rotate to this theater as soon as they finish their current advance force mission.”

Cheers and applause broke out from the infantry troopers that made up most of the crowd.  Lock clapped along, feeling genuinely happy for them.  He knew that the prospect of seeing brothers from their unit would help ease the pain of losing so many others.

“Commander Reach has the rest of the pertinent details,” Maze’s eyes scanned the crowd again and Lock couldn’t help but feel a slight chill of anticipation when the ARC looked directly at him.  “I’m sorry to report that the survivors of the 271^st Air Combat Wing won’t be rejoining their own unit as quickly.  You are to be transferred into General Rancisis’ larty fleet, now under the command of General Hett.  This action severely reduced the enemy’s anti-aircraft and starfighter strength.  General Rancisis intends to capitalize on this and make full use of our gunships.”

Lock exchanged a look with Bin.  These were the exact orders they had expected, but it was still one thing to speculate and something else to hear them given.  Lock couldn’t say he was happy to hear that he was remaining on Saleucami, conceivably for the remainder of the siege.  At the moment, though, he was for more concerned with what would happen to him and Bin if they were no longer flying with Captain Wake.  He expected he would find out soon enough.

“Finally,” Maze was saying.  “Blue Base is departing for Coruscant within the hour, and all SOB forces will be aboard.  You can expect your next assignments when we arrive.”

And apparently, that was that.  Maze and his fellow commandos would be off to sabotage and assassinate on other planets while the rest of the clones remained on Saleucami to keep the equally dangerous Morgukai from escaping.  There were a few more words and then everyone was standing up and filing out.  Lock’s eyes were locked on the backs of the two commandos of Tihaar Squad.  He was going to make sure he caught up with them before they departed.  He was so focused on that task that he almost missed it when Maze made a final request that he, Bin and the infantry trooper, Plaz, see him immediately.

He exchanged a confused look with Bin and marched up to the ARC captain, Plaz trailing slightly behind.  The three of them stood at attention and saluted.  As the senior officer among the three of them, Lock took the lead.  “You wanted to see us, sir?”

Maze nodded and his grimly serious expression appeared to soften a fraction.  “It’s about your wounded brothers.  I’ve received word on all of their statuses.”

Lock’s guts twisted at the words, and he thought he noticed slight changes in posture from Bin and Plaz.  He wasn’t ready for any more bad news.

“All three of them are in stable condition,” Maze went on and Lock felt a wash of relief.  The ARC looked at him and Bin.  “Your pilot has come out of his coma, but he’s in a state of severe disorientation.  It could be a long recovery.  And your turret gunner’s legs were successfully amputated, but our medical stores are completely out of leg prosthetics.  He’s in a bacta tank recovering now.”  Maze turned to Plaz, continuing on as if he was reading a weather report.  “Your squad-mate is in a tank as well, but it looks like his spine is going to need more repairs than even bacta can manage.”

Lock and the others were silent, not sure what to say.  Fortunately, Maze didn’t seem to expect anything.  “There’s only so much the med wards can accomplish and Saleucami is far down the list for a visit from a MedStar frigate.”

The ARC looked at each of them in turn and leaned in slightly.  “Fortunately, I was able to pull a few strings while your brothers were still nominally under my command.  There's a rehab center back on Triple Zero.  They do long-term work with brain injury and prosthetic patients better than anywhere else in the GAR.  I’ve arranged for your brothers to be transferred to our vessel and transported to Coruscant with us.”

Lock felt himself being tugged in two directions.  This medical center sounded like a better option for his brothers than he could have wished for.  The idea that Wake and Frost might make full recoveries filled him with hope.  But Coruscant was an awfully long way from the Outer Rim.  He wondered what the chances were that he’d ever see his surviving crew members again.

Captain Maze appeared to read his mind.  “The rehab center is part of the same complex as Arca Barracks.  I could check in on your brothers from time to time and send word on their progress, if you like.”

“I…” Lock stammered.  “That’s very generous of you, sir.  Thank you.”

Maze simply shrugged, his face still the same almost-scowl, despite the kindness he was showing.  “It’s the least I can do.  I’m afraid the decision of where and how they get redeployed after recovering is entirely out of my hands though.”

“Of course, sir,” Lock said.  “You’ve already done more than we could have hoped for.”

“Very well.”  One corner of Maze’s mouth quirked a few millimeters.  “Good luck with the rest of the siege.”  He brought his hand up to his brow in salute, and Lock and his fellow clones quickly followed suit.  “Dismissed.”

Lock and the others filed out into the bright, hot sunshine of Saleucami.  Plaz offered a quick goodbye and hurried off to rejoin the rest of his unit.  Lock was feeling slightly dazed, equally relieved and surprised by Captain Maze’s news.  He was preoccupied enough that he flinched slightly when Bin punched him playfully in the arm.

“How ‘bout that from Ay Twenty Six, eh?” he laughed.  “Reckon anyone will believe it?  What was that joke about ARC Troopers you like so much?  The only thing more dangerous than flying without—”

“Can it, Bin.” Lock snapped.  “I may have said a few things about Special Operations in the past, but it’s not like I…”  Lock suddenly remembered something.  “Stang!”  He spun on his heel and started back in the direction he and Bin had come from.

“What’s the matter?” Bin called after him.  “Need the ‘freshers?”

Lock hurried on, ignoring Bin and hoping he wouldn’t be too late.

* * *

Captain Maze watched the three clones as they filed out of the briefing room, thinking that his conversation with them could have gone better.

He had initially been excited when his request to transfer their wounded brothers to the rehab center on Coruscant had gone through.  It was a small consolation, but he’d hoped it would help ease at least one set of worries during the remainder of their deployment on Saleucami.

Now he couldn’t help but think about what an empty offer it was.

What had initially felt like a tremendous win at Sagujero now felt somewhat hollow.  The Republic was essentially just back to zero.  The Shadow Army clones weren’t going anywhere and the battle lines had been re-drawn, but the engagement was far from over and victory remained uncertain. 

Such was the nature of war, of course, particularly for sieges, and Maze was hardly blind to that.  He’d spent more time than most studying military history.  But it was still hard to pack up and leave a job unfinished when the men he’d just served with were staying behind.

But your job is done, he reminded himself.  And what in haran are you doing worrying about any of this anyway?  Maze had always prided himself on his ability to stay focused on his job and leave the big picture to those up the chain of command.  He’d done a good job on Saleucami, despite the unavoidable casualties.  That had always been enough for him in the past.  Hadn’t it?

Maze shook his head and headed outside.  The war had just gone on for too long, that was all.  It was hard to win one engagement after another and not see anything change.  He couldn’t be the only clone that was having these thoughts.  He’d send a message to Ca when he got back to Triple Zero and see how his brother felt about it.

Totten Squad was standing just outside the entrance and Maze could tell by their undivided focus on him that they were hoping for a word.  Totten’s armor details were uniform in appearance, and Maze would have even wagered good credits that they went to great pains to make sure their grooming schedule was perfectly synchronized.  But there was still no mistaking Sergeant Case from the rest of his squad.  His posture held an air of authority that was hard to miss.

“Captain,” he said.

“Yes, sergeant?” Maze replied, preparing himself for more unsolicited advice from the commando.

“We just wanted to say that it was instructive serving with you, sir.  We’d never worked with an ARC Captain in the field before.  We might not have agreed on procedure in every case, but your methods proved highly effective in the end.”  Case took a deep breath through his nostrils.  “We’ll remember them in future operations.”

Maze couldn’t help from bristling.  “I gave the impression that I was looking for your approval, did I?”

To the ARC’s surprise, the commando sergeant actually smiled.  “No, sir.  But we aim to come away with something new on every mission.  It’s one of the reasons we have a perfect record,” he offered matter of factly.  “Thank you for contributing to our skill set.”  Case held out his gauntleted hand for shaking.

Maze looked at the commando’s proffered hand for a moment before accepting it.  During the operation, there had been times when he’d considered writing Totten up for insubordination.  They’d never gone so far as to disobey an order, but their constant questioning had wasted time, and that could be just as dangerous in battle.

But they had also been tremendously effective and reliable and had even volunteered to go back out for search and recovery when Maze rendezvoused with General K’kruhk after the battle.  They’d been the ones to find Plaz’s dead squad mates and to call in an airlift for his paralyzed brother, Fo.

No, there was no questioning their ability or loyalty, especially in the light of General Vos’ curious failure to locate Commander Skorr after ordering away all assistance.  In the end, Maze had decided on simply including a note in their performance evaluation regarding their “high efficiency working autonomously” and to recommend that they be deployed on solo operations or under the command of inexperienced Jedi officers.

Maze took Case’s hand and shook it, then did the same with the rest of the squad.  “It was instructive for me as well,” he told them.  “I don’t get to evaluate commandos in the field nearly as often as I’d like.  Totten certainly lives up to its reputation.”

Maze hadn’t meant that last remark wholly as a compliment, but the commandos seemed to take it at face value.

“Thank you, sir,” Case said.  “There’s nothing quite like the feeling of a successful job done, is there?”  Case and his squad mates were practically beaming, and he could feel just how true those words were for them.  “We’ll see you aboard.”

Maze nodded and turned toward the air field.  Heke had ambled off with Commander Reach, and the two officers were apparently deep in conversation.  Beyond them, the newly taken base was bustling with activity.  General Rancisis was still moving in forces and matériel from the Inspiration.  At the far northern end of the flat field of duracrete, Maze could see the dark shape of the stealth CR-25, where it sat ready for departure.  He was looking forward to returning it to the egg-heads in Sector Three and letting them know that all their hard work hadn’t been wasted.

As soon as that thought entered his mind, it was replaced with reflections on Totten Squad, and how genuinely satisfied they seemed to feel about the battle.  That was how he’d always operated before and he envied them.

But something had changed in Maze during the mission; there was no denying it.  Maybe he’d just finally seen the death of one brother too many.  Maybe fighting against the Shadow Army was sitting ill with him.  Frightening as the Nikto were in battle, they were a group of cloned soldiers created to fight for a government in which they held no stake and that gave them more in common with Maze and his fellow GAR soldiers than he cared to think about.

Whatever was causing it, Maze was finding it increasingly difficult to get all the solace he needed from his job alone.  There was something missing from his life, but he wasn’t sure how to go about finding out exactly what it was, let alone how to do anything about it.

Perhaps he’d have a chance to talk about that with Ca as well.  There wasn’t anyone else he’d be comfortable discussing it with.  Maybe not even him.

Maze took one final look across the caldera at the city of Sagujero.  The six ion cannons that he’d managed to preserve, now manned by clone gunners and backed up by portable AA guns, were swiveling as they kept their constant vigil over the unshielded city.  There were more than a few shattered buildings whose surviving residents had been forced to abandon.

All in all, it was a hot, dusty hole of a city full of bitter memories, and Maze couldn’t say he was sad to leave it behind.  But it was one tiny step closer to the end of the war and a place the ARC Captain knew he would never forget.

Maze turned back to the CR-25, put his head down and started walking across the air field.  He was happy to sit out the remainder of the hour until departure inside of the troop ship, catching up on some data work.  He still had a duty to uphold, after all.  For now, that would have to be enough.  The rest he would just have to figure out as he went along.

* * *

Lock hated being in a hurry on base.  They were still technically in a combat zone, which meant that suddenly sprinting across the air field would be a major breach of protocol.  Running could cause an alert; so instead, Lock was limited to walking as briskly as possible without actually breaking into a jog.

His hurried steps had taken him past the garage briefing room and he was making his way across the duracrete to a corner of the airfield where the bulky black shape of the CR-25 loomed over a cluster of cargo larties.

So intent was he, on reaching his destination that he failed to recognize two figures off to his left until it was too late.

“What’s the matter, Lieutenant?” called the familiar voice of ARC Lieutenant Heke as he and Commander Reach turned their heads to face Lock.  “Need the ‘freshers?”

Lock ground his teeth and slowed his pace, hoping to get by without having to talk for long.  He knew it wasn’t fair to blame Heke for the way things had gone in the reactor, but the ARC had been the one to order Lock and the others to split off and he couldn’t help but feel somewhat bitter about it.

“Erm, no, Lieutenant.  Just ah, on my way…” he started.

“I can see where you’re going, and they aren’t there.”

Lock came to a full halt and looked toward the CR-25 uncertainly.  “Oh…”

“Tihaar headed off towards the barracks, probably to get something from commissary.  Hold on a sec,” Heke held one had up to cup the side of his helmet and nodded a few times.  “Yep, they’re at commissary.  I told them you’ll meet them outside.”

Lock felt guilty for having misread Heke again.  “I uh, thank you, Lieutenant.”  He cleared his throat.  “I should say—”

Heke cut him off with a laugh and a shooing gesture with his hand.  “Say it to Tihaar.  And thanks for having my back, flyboy.”

Lock started to say something more, then just nodded.  “Right.”  He saluted the ARC Trooper and the clone commander and headed toward the cluster of barracks where the commissary was located.

The clone pilot stopped outside of the open bay doors of the commissary, which had been another maintenance hangar, though a much larger one than the improvised briefing room he’d just left.  Troopers were coming and going out of the building in a steady stream.

He counted at least four different colors and patterns to the sea of armor he was staring at and remembered that the GAR’s forces on Saleucami were made up of six separate infantry units and several air wings.  It was the most rag-tag combined force he’d ever served with and he felt a moment of excitement when he realized how much of the war he’d have a chance to catch up on as the clones swapped stories.  Many of the troopers were doing just that.  Lock recognized two gray-trimmed troopers from Reach’s 33^rd walking alongside a squad of clones wearing white sand-trooper armor.

Even amongst the varied units, it was easy to pick out the two commandos in their cargo-net patterned Katarn armor as they emerged from the building.  One of them was pushing a large hovercart with a closed lid.  The two surviving members of Tihaar recognized lock and nodded to him as they walked up.

“Good to see you, Lock,” the empty handed commando said.

“You too, Resol,” Lock replied, feely pretty sure he could tell him from his brother Solus now.  “Picking up a to-go box for the trip?”

“Got it in one, Lieutenant,” Solus said.  He gestured for Lock to follow as he guided the cart past the building and back toward the troop ship.

When they’d gotten out of sight from the other troopers, he pressed a button and opened the side hatch of the cart.  Lock could scarcely believe his eyes at the rows of delicious goods revealed inside.  Pastries, cakes, smoked meats, cheeses, fresh fruit, and bottles of fizzy drinks were stacked from top to bottom.  For the high-metabolismed, peckish clones, it was an absolute treasure trove of goodies.

“You got that in there?” Lock asked when he’d recovered his wits.  Resol and Solus nodded emphatically, looking like a couple of cadets on their first day of fam-firing on Kamino.  Lock narrowed his eyes behind his visor.  “I don’t recall seeing anything like that at mess anywhere else I’ve been stationed.”

The commandos exchanged a glance.  Solus pressed the button to reseal the cart and started pushing it again.  “Well, this isn’t exactly on the menu,” he said.

“We were given orders to acquire some edible provisions for the trip back to Trip Zip, and the mongrel quartermaster in there happened to have some special items on hand for an upcoming officer’s dinner,” Resol continued.

 “And he just gave it to you?” Lock asked, incredulous.

“Not quite.  We had a very expensive piece of barter, courtesy of Captain Maze.”

“Still a shabla shame, if you ask me,” Solus said, shaking his head.  “I didn’t even get a chance to shoulder it.  When am I ever going to have a genuine, top-of-the-line Verpine in my hands again?”

“Come off it ner vod,” Resol said with a playful push to Solus’ arm.  “It’s not like you were going to keep it.  And now we all get something to enjoy during the long trip back.”

“Yeah, yeah, but you heard what Slab said about the way Maze was putting Morguks down with that thing.  One shot, one kill.  No kick, no flash, no noise.  Mmm mmm mh!”

Resol just shrugged.  “No better than our deeces for clankers though.  And it’s not like it did any wonders against that Sep Jedi, did it?”

“Yeah.  Still…” Resol said wistfully.

The three of them had reached the open aft end of the CR-25 and Solus guided the hovercart up the ramp and into the cargo bay.  Lock followed him in on the heels of Resol and scanned the interior of the ship as his visor automatically depolarized and adjusted to the dim lighting.

Compared to the tight crew-bay of a larty, the cargo ship was fairly spacious, especially now, with all of its crew and cargo offloaded.  Lock’s eyes were immediately drawn to the sole occupant, sitting near the fore of the ship on one of the crew benches.

Captain Maze’s helmet was resting beside him, and his face was lit up in blue from the glow of the datapad he was tapping at.  “Any luck, commandos?” he asked without looking up from the screen.

Solus gestured at the hover cart.  “Yes, sir.  We were successful in locating the provisions you requested.  Unfortunately, we accidentally lost your personal weapon along the way.”

Lock noticed Maze’s right eyebrow rise a little higher on his forehead.  “Ah, well.  Captain En-One-One is going to be very disappointed to hear that.  Unfortunate.”

“I’m sure it will turn up eventually, sir.  GAR personnel will be sure to put it to good use on-planet,” Solus said.  Lock could hear the smile in his voice, matching the one he himself was wearing behind his helmet.  Heke and Maze continued to surprise him.  So much for ARC Troopers being the rule-loving, humorless Fett impersonators he’d always believed them to be.

“Indeed,” Maze said.  “You can leave the cart there.  The IM-6 droid can take care of it after it finishes prepping the beds for our wounded passengers.”

The commandos saluted and turned to head back down the ramp.  Lock followed suit, moving out of the way as the Jawa sized medical droid hovered on to the scene and took possession of the cart.  Lock was by no means fluent in binary, but the noisy chittering it was making suggested that it found food handling beneath its duties as a medical professional.

“Sorry that took so long, Loot,” Solus said when Lock met the commandos at the bottom of the ramp.  “I hope we didn’t eat up all of your time.  I’d go back up and snag some sweet rolls if I was you, but I’m guessing that pastries weren’t what you wanted to see us about.”

“Uh, no,” Lock said, casting a glance back into the cargo bay and thinking that a sweet roll did sound pretty good.  “Bin and I are still waiting for a new larty to crew.  We’re not due to brief with our new CO for another six hours, so yeah, I’ve got time…”  He suddenly felt a little awkward and couldn’t remember exactly why it seemed so important to seek Tihaar out.

The commandos didn’t seem to notice though.  “We’ve got a while ‘til takeoff too.  Let’s go find some shade,” Resol said.

The three of them ambled around to the far side of the troop ship and sat down where it blocked them from the climbing sun.  Resol and Solus popped the seals on their helmets and set them on the sandy ground beside them.  Lock noticed them casting subtle glances around at the rock walls to the east.  Lock wasn’t sure if they were scanning for possible hidden snipers or were just worried about a superior officer catching them with their buckets off inside of a combat zone.  In the end, Lock decided he was safe in either case and took his off as well.

Solus reclined against the hull of the troop ship, resting his head on his hands and looking up at the sky.  Resol cleared his throat and looked Lock in the eye.  “You wanted to talk, ner vod?”

Lock found himself fidgeting with the latch on one of his belt pouches.  “Yes,” he said at last.  “I just…  Well, you two seem to be holding up better than I thought you would be.”

“Glad we’re giving off that impression,” Solus said, still gazing up at the sky.

Resol smiled sadly.  “The last few days have been hard, I’m not gonna lie.  It can’t be any different for you, can it Lock?”

Lock frowned.  He’d lost one crew-mate to death, and two more to injury.  He’d never see Six again, and it wasn’t likely he’d see Wake or Frost either.  “No, it’s been hard alright.  I just didn’t expect to see you guys seeming so much like your old selves after…”

“Grief is different for everyone,” Resol said with a weary wisdom that befitted his role of combat medic.  “And you seem to be doing pretty well yourself.”

“Sure, but I can’t say as I’ve been cracking any jokes since then.  Gonna be a while until that feels right, know what I mean?”

Resol nodded.  “I do.  It isn’t always easy to remember, but it helps for us to focus on the fact that they aren’t really gone.  Not entirely.”

Lock raised an eyebrow.  “Come again?”

“Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la,” Solus said from the ground.  His eyes were closed now and he looked like he was ready to fall asleep.

“Uh, come again?” Lock repeated, this time with more emphasis.

Resol laughed quietly.  “It means, ‘not gone, merely marching far away.’   A bit of Mando wisdom that  serves as sort of a lead in for a tradition for remembering the fallen.”

Lock still wasn’t sure he liked the idea of adopting Mandalorian culture as his own, but he couldn’t help but feel intrigued.  “Hmm.  How’s that work?”

“Not much to it really,” Resol said.  “You just say the names of the vode you’ve lost over the years that you don’t want to forget.  The idea is that as long as they live on in your mind, they aren’t really gone.”

“Been doin’ it since we were kids,” Solus said.  “Especially since we teamed up with Jatne and Ge’verd.  They were big on aay’han.”

Resol seemed to notice Lock’s look of confusion.  “The feeling you get when you remember lost comrades.  Joy and sadness at the same time.  Bittersweet sums it up the best, I suppose.”

Lock pursed his lips.  “So, it’s not like an afterlife thing then?”

Resol tilted his head.  “Not exactly.  Depends on who you ask though.  I think it was for Ge’verd and Jatne.  Their trainer was a lot more spiritually mando than ours was.”

Solus chuckled lightly.  “Sarge always said, ‘Facts are facts.  The rest is only as real as you make it.’”

That sounded about right to Lock.  “Your sergeant sounds like a wise man,” he said.

“Woman, actually,” Resol said with a smile.  “And she is.  She taught us the naming tradition when our unit lost its first cadet during live-fire training.  We still say Brokar’s name every day.”

“Every day?” Lock asked.

“We do, yes.  But it doesn’t have to be that often.  The point is just to remember.  Keep their memories around and their spirit—or however you want to see—stays too.  So do the things you learned from them.  It makes you stronger; helps keep you safe.  That’s how Ge’verd would describe it anyway.”

Lock found himself nodding as he looked off at the craggy hills.  There were a lot of names floating around in his head.  Some, he’d forgotten, and so many others he’d never learned at all before they were gone.  The idea of reciting them all seemed daunting, but at the same time, he felt a sudden duty to try.  Then another thought struck him, and he remembered part of the reason he’d come looking for Tihaar in the first place.

“Ge’verd said something to me, just before you went into the reactor.  He told me to get Frost back okay.  Then he called him ori atin.  What does that mean?”  Lock could have looked up the translation by now, but he’d wanted to ask Ge’verd and it still seemed important to ask his brothers in person.

“It means, ‘very tough,’” Solus said.  The sniper opened his eyes and leaned forward to sit up.

Lock laughed a single syllable.  “Should have been Ge’verd’s name.”  Another thought struck him.  “What does his name mean?”

Solus and Resol glanced at each other, each wearing the same small smile.  “’Almost a warrior’,” answered Resol.

Now Lock did laugh for real.  The commandos joined in for a moment.  “Guess his sergeant had a sense of humor too, eh?  I’ll bet there’s a good story behind that name.”

“I’m sure there was,” Resol said.  “Ge’verd always said he’d tell us someday.  Jatne never spilled the beans either.  Guess we’ll never know now.”

A silence settled over the three of them, and the moment of joviality was gone.  Still, Lock didn’t feel nearly as awkward as he had at the beginning of the conversation.  “Well gentlemen,” he said as he scooped up his helmet and pushed himself back up to his feet.  “Glad I caught up with you.”

“You too, Lock.  Thanks for seeing us off,” said Resol.

“Mind if I ask one favor?”

“’Course not,” said Solus as he too stood up.  “Anything.”

“If Wake is with it enough during the journey, would you mind sharing the naming tradition with him.  He’d like that.”

“You got it, ner vod.  No sweat,” said Resol.

“Shab, we’ll do more than that,” Solus said, spreading his arms.  “Wake wanted to see the dha verda, didn’t he?  We’ll have Sergeant Case and his boys dancing all the way back to Coruscant.”

Lock laughed again.  “That, I’d love to see.”  He resealed his helmet and came forward to accept armor clacking hugs from the two commandos.  “Take care, both of you.  Don’t let Heke eat all of those sweet rolls, eh?”

“Not a chance,” Solus said with a covetous look on his face.  “They’re all mine.”

“Good luck, Lock.  We’ll see ya when you’ve finished knifing the last Morgukai on-planet,” said Resol.

“Right,” Lock turned and headed off towards his assigned barracks.  He decided he’d comm Bin and see if his brother wanted to find an open cockpit to run some flight simulators.  There was a good chance he was going to be flying as a pilot now, and he wanted to be as sharp as possible.

He also decided that he’d make a point of getting to know his passengers, whenever he could.  He’d learn their names, and he hoped that might help him do whatever he could to make sure he didn’t have to add them to the list.