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Ahsoka should be used to this by now. The cacophony of noise echoing around the battlefield, the distant screaming from the med tent, Rex bellowing orders from the front line. Ahsoka’s supposed to be with him, she’s meant to be at the front, leading like Master Skywalker always does. But she’s standing here, feet glued to the spot, saber hanging uselessly by her side as her head pounds with each booming, grating sound that crashes into her.
“You alright Commander?” a voice yells next to her. Ahsoka shudders, but manages to turn her attention to the man next to her, she’s supposed to be able to tell who is who just by using the Force, Anakin says. She has no idea who is standing next to her.
“All good,” she insists, just about managing to stretch a smile over her face and exchange a firm nod with the trooper before he rushes off into the fray. Ahsoka should join him. She should be fighting.
Somehow, she manages to lift one foot off the ground and place it forwards a few inches. Her saber lifts into a ready position as she takes another step, and another and then another. It comes back naturally, but it doesn’t feel as though the order for her feet to move is from her mind. It just happens.
A blaster bolt surges through the air, a green glow appears in front of her chest, deflecting the shot before it can hit her. Everything happens in a swirling blur of flashing light, noise melts into one painful whine in her head, people run forward, then back a few paces before pushing forward once more.
Anakin is somewhere nearby, a glow of blue twists around in dizzying patterns that put the meagre movements Ahsoka manages to force her own saber through to shame. She should be able to do what her master is doing, stars, she’s done it enough times in the training room. Even on the battlefield, she can always keep up, whether it be dismantling droids or fending off Count Dooku, Ahsoka hasn’t ever struggled. Not like this.
This is embarrassing.
Ahsoka knows that it’s embarrassing, knows that if Anakin could see her right now he’d be scolding her, even over the noise of the battle. And yet, she can’t bring herself to focus on the present. The grass beneath her boots is fake, the pink clouds on a yellow sky fade out of her vision and it’s all she can do to keep the red bolts flying all around from striking her body.
Sure, they’ve been in the action more often than not lately. And, yes, she’s supposed to be on a meditative retreat right now with the other Padawans in her class, but she’s needed here. There’s a war on and that means that everything else becomes second. Priorities have changed and education is no longer the point of an apprenticeship. No, being a Padawan means that you are the leader, not the learner; you come up with the plans, you give the word for the battle to commence, you send hundreds of men to their deaths.
That is what it is to be a Padawan now and Ahsoka knows this. So why can’t she accept it? Master Skywalker says that if she wants to be a great Jedi, she must learn to accept when something cannot be changed, only managed. This cannot be changed, but Ahsoka can’t seem to manage it either.
Ahsoka yelps suddenly, jumping sideways as a bolt comes out of nowhere, shooting past her shoulder just a little too close for comfort. Only a moment is allowed for recovery, she adjusts her tunic and focuses back on the battle.
Several hundred feet of ground has been won since she last took stock of where they were and five new Separatist tanks have joined the battle. She should probably be paying a bit more attention.
"Sir, General Skywalker has sent us to take out the tanks," a voice yells as someone runs up to her. This one she recognises; Links is easily distinguishable by the large blue chain painted down the armour covering his left arm.
Now Ahsoka really has to focus. They need to take out the tanks. They need a plan. They need explosives, stealth and precision. Wandering around in a stunned daze won’t do.
"Then we’d better get going, hadn’t we, boys?" Ahsoka offers up another awkward grin that feels nothing like how it once had. The novelty of battle has worn off, the momentary enjoyment in the determination to achieve victory is gone. War holds no fun, after all.
Once more, her feet are moving underneath her, hitting the grassy surface with little impact; an effect of both the springtime dew and low gravity on this planet. Ahsoka doesn’t remember the name of it.
They need a plan. This is her job now, she must lead these men through the operation and succeed for Master Skywalker. For Anakin. Destroying these tanks, Ahsoka knows even through the strange haze of exhaustion or maybe something more, is imperative.
"Links, take your men and circle around the back, place the explosives underneath the tanks and then meet me on the West side of the Separatist line," Ahsoka barks, the words coming from Anakin’s voice in her head, a plan he had used just two days ago on a different planet in a different battle against the same enemy.
Together, the small squad delves deeper into Separatist territory, aiming to reach the tanks settled at the back of the enemy’s army. The grassy landscape that had marked the Republic’s line gives way to cracked and broken dirt, charred from the bombs dropped the previous morning in anticipation of the afternoon’s attack. Links taps his visor twice then points to the ground, a warning for everyone to watch their step. Tripping and falling could easily blow their cover.
Ahsoka goes along the front of the tanks alone, knowing, just as Anakin had, that one Jedi slipping through the middle of a Separatist army is less conspicuous than a whole squad. Metal grazes against her fingers as she slings countless hemispherical devices under the tanks. Speed is the key here, the quicker she makes her way across the line of tanks, hugging the edge of them so as to not be detected by the drivers, the more likely she is to survive and succeed. That’s all her life is now: survive the battle, succeed in victory.
Links is waiting for her with the others crouched down behind him just as she makes it to the fifth tank, pulling out the last two bombs. As her thumbs run over the switch, activating the weapons, her eyes fail to scan the ground in front of her. A sharp tug in the back of her mind snaps her back to attention, but not soon enough.
Before she can find a way to break her fall while holding active bombs in both hands, the dirt is in her face, a harsh impact that cracks against her nose and scrapes her forehead as she falls, stifling a pained groan. Coarse dirt coats her tongue as she spits the debris out onto the ground, just underneath the tank.
The tank. The mission. The world is spinning and Ahsoka can’t quite remember where she is, but she knows that the bombs in her hands go on the tank. She reaches up and places them on the warm metal of the tank’s underside. There. Done.
"Commander!" Links is yelling at her from the other side of the Separatist line and it takes Ahsoka a moment too long to realise why he’s risking their cover to call to her. Two commando droids have spotted her, heads swivelling in her direction as their guns lift towards her. The shots start before Ahsoka can react. She should have reacted faster. She could have. But she can’t.
With more concentration than should be necessary, Ahsoka forces her aching legs underneath her body, leaning against the tank behind her for support as she hoists herself to her feet. Her ribs scream in protest, a horrid grinding feeling taking over inside but she ignores it. Lightsaber in hand, Ahsoka ignites it and begins deflecting the bolts.
Each movement pulls her body the wrong way, sharp spikes of pain ricochet between every nerve. It burns and throbs and pinches until each sickening sensation blurs into the next, creating one long, never-ending stream of agony. It shouldn’t hurt this much, it’s like everything Ahsoka can feel is dialled up to a hundred with no way of easing it.
Except her pain doesn’t matter. The operation does.
"Light it up, Links!" Ahsoka bellows over the roar of gunfire, growling to herself when the trooper seems to hesitate, "That’s an order, Sergeant!"
That line has quickly become one of Ahsoka’s least favourites. It doesn’t feel right that she, a fourteen year old Padawan learner should be pulling rank. She’s quickly learned that Captain Rex was right: experience outranks everything and she has nothing.
To her credit, Ahsoka times it perfectly. Despite the way the world tilts side to side or how she can’t distinguish the individual sounds howling around her, she gets it right.
Links raises the detonator up, his thumb hovers over the button and Ahsoka finally feels the Force open up again. Her guide returns and she finds the exact moment to jump. Pain explodes in her knees as she propels herself upward, she soars in a perfect arc through the air, one hand pointed down to keep her airborne while the other stretches out to her comrades.
The Force flows through her, the connection bursting forth from underneath layers of exhaustion and a deep-seated pain that has nothing to do with her fall. She watches as Links and the other troopers are all carried away from the explosion that shakes the ground several metres below.
She timed the jump perfectly, the landing however, slips Ahsoka’s mind. She has just enough time to remember to tuck and roll as she hurtles to the surface, head bent low into her chest as she once more slams into the floor, this time landing on her back, staring up at the sky.
The yellow sky seems to smirk down at her as though laughing at her incompetence, scorning her for not being good enough. She should have stuck the landing. Instead, she lies here in a heap with Links crouching over her as footsteps thunder towards them.
"Stay down, Commander, we’ve got you," Links insists, pressing a firm hand into Ahsoka’s shoulder when she tries to defy him. "I said stay down, General Skywalker is coming,"
Great. Now Anakin will have something else to insist is missing from Ahsoka’s training: basic balance and the ability to stick a simple landing. As if on cue, Anakin’s voice drifts towards her, the sound muffled as though by a laser-screen.
"Snips! Kriff, you’ve got to time those landings better!" he shouts, skidding on his knees to Ahsoka’s side, almost taking one of her lekku off with his knee.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m fine," Ahsoka insists, once more trying to get up only to be pushed back down by Links’ hand.
"Of course you are. Links, head back to the men, we’ve almost got them on the run," Anakin orders. The sergeant nods, hauling himself to his feet and signalling for the rest of his squad to follow him back into the battle.
In their place, a much more familiar helmet fills Ahsoka’s vision: Kix. A bag is set down next to Ahsoka, Kix is holding a scanner over her body and asking her something, but she can’t really hear what he’s saying. So she insists that she’s fine.
Truthfully, it’s the only option on the battlefield: get up or stay down. Ahsoka knows she can get up, it’s what Anakin wants her to do and she’s already failed him enough in this battle. She won’t do it again.
A hand appears in front of her face, several fuzzy and swaying fingers extended. There’s too many to count and she’s probably supposed to count them as it’s the one of the first things Kix checks, simple though it is.
"Three," Ahsoka mutters, not sure if it’s the right answer but something about the number feels right.
"Good, get back out there, Commander, you’re just fine," Kix announces and then the ground disappears out from under her.
Anakin’s mechanical hand is wrapped around Ahsoka’s arm, hauling her to her feet and it’s all she can do to stay upright when he lets go. He’s already run off, not wanting to miss more of the action than he has to. Not wanting to waste more time with his inept Padawan.
Nothing feels fine. The world is spinning and Ahsoka’s trying to figure out what just happened because Kix has cleared her but the lightsaber in her hand is too heavy. Blood is trickling down her face from her nose, probably broken yet somehow ignored. This isn't fine. This is war. But that means it must be fine. She must be fine.
Ahsoka lifts her lightsaber, ignites it and forces her feet to carry her forward once more.