Chapter Text
“Fire!”
No sooner had the clone commander yelled the order, then a rocket came flying from over the hill and hit the Republic gun dead on. It exploded in a ball of fire and smoke, sending clones flying and debris miles high into the air. Commander Fil ducked and narrowly avoided a large chunk of metal that flew precariously close to his head; lifting his head again he gritted his teeth at the destroyed weapon and dead troopers, not the first in this disastrous battle on a backwards planet somewhere in the Outer Rim, and he turned back to the battleground. It was carnage, the Separatist droid army was advancing inch by gruelling inch, their tanks crashing through and flattening the once beautiful trees of this planet’s forest into a horrible trail of destruction. Squaring his shoulders, Commander Fil readied his blaster and walked along the riverside, heading towards the remaining guns positioned on the beach, as well as their transport ships which had been primed and ready to flee ever since they had touched down a week ago. Fil hadn’t liked that, feeling like it implied surrender before the battle had begun, but the general had insisted on it, and now Fil knew why. Funny how their general, so positive and optimistic-
“Hey! Republic dog!” A Separatist battle droid had snuck up on him and fired, only for its head to be blown clean off as Commander Fil shot right back without hesitation. But it wasn’t alone; what looked like the remains of a battalion were marching over the remains of the gun, blasters all primed and aimed at the clone. Fil had his back to the river, and if he tried to run for the beach the droids would have a clear shot. He was doomed.
Then suddenly the water beside him broke as something shot up out of it, and the closest battle droids shrieked as they were doused in a wave of river water. The emerald-green lightsaber burst into being with its familiar hum as the figure landed in the middle of the battalion and began to make short work; handfuls of droids fell to the swing of the weapon, and with a single gesture of the hand many more were flung away or crushed inwards. Coming to himself Fil aimed his blaster at the stragglers and soon the threat lay decimated around him and his saviour.
“Commander Fil!” General Fisto smiled, a grin so wide only he could get away with it in the midst of such destruction. He leapt up again, and with a flip landed elegantly beside the clone commander. “Are you alright?”
“Yes sir. I was a safe distance when that last gun went up.” He replied, already feeling a little more at ease with the Jedi there.
“I am glad to hear it.” Glancing back at the wreckage, General Fisto turned towards the beach, and his jet eyes surveyed the scene, the sand littered with clone corpses and debris from their defences. His smile had gone. “Commander, what is your opinion of the situation?”
“We’re outnumbered.” Fil knew he was lucky; there were few generals to whom a clone could speak to so bluntly, but Kit Fisto had said from the start he wanted their honesty, and he had stuck fast to that. “Their weapons are far more powerful than ours too, and they have more ammo.”
The corner of General Fisto’s mouth twitched up as he replied, “Ah, but man and firepower alone cannot win a battle, hmm?”
“That’s true, sir.” Fil had to admit it. The amount of times he had heard of or seen the Jedi generals turning an outnumbered fight to their advantage had taught him to believe them. However, his general’s smile had not fully returned.
“And what is the death toll, Commander?” Fisto asked, his voice level. Commander Fil looked out over the beach.
“High, sir.” He admitted. “Almost two-thirds of our forces. Reinforcements are still not available from anywhere, I double-checked, but if we could hold out- “
“No.”
“Sir?” Fil stared at his general. “Do you think we can… win this thing still?”
“Oh certainly we could.” The Jedi nodded. “I was successful in my mission, by the way, the droids cannot use their longest-range guns when the controls are in pieces.” He casually spun his lightsaber hilt in his hand.
“Congratulations, sir. So should we advance?”
There was a pause, and it seemed like the general would speak when a bomb came sailing through the air right towards the two, beeping threateningly. Without even looking from the beach, General Fisto held out his hand and the bomb stopped in mid-air; a flick of his wrist and it went flying back in the direction it came from, exploding in the forest.
“Commander, it’s time we used our ships.”
“Our ships, sir?”
“Yes.” The general extended a long green finger and trailed it over the horizon in his vision. “We could advance, you are correct. There is a chance, slim but a chance nonetheless, that we could win if we did so. But it would cost us lives, hundreds more lives, Commander, and I am not willing to sacrifice you all for a single battle.” He turned, and Fil thought he saw a glimpse of sorrow deep within his black eyes. “We have lost too many men for this to be justified. Order the retreat.”
“Yes sir.” Firing up his commlink, Commander Fil send the word along the ranks of clones that retreat was imminent. Unsurprisingly, the overwhelming response was relief. “General Fisto, the men are ready. Shall we cease fire- or how shall we evacuate?”
“One gun battalion at a time; west to east. That way we should still have enough fire to let us get out of here in one piece.” General Fisto tilted his head. “Your thoughts?”
“Why not east to west, sir? That way the last guns to be left will be the ones closest to and defending the ships.”
“A very good point, Commander.” The Nautolan’s smile had somewhat returned. “That I agree with. Let’s go!”
With that, Kit jumped from the sandy ledge and onto the beach, running as every Jedi general was wont to do right into the thick of the action. The ships were far away to the west, and having received the word the clones stationed at the nearest gun were grouping together, still reloading and firing, but with longer gaps between each blast as they tried to shield themselves from the enemy’s bombardment.
“General Fisto!” One of them called, relief flooding his voice. “Sir, we have the order. But how do we get to the ships?”
“When I give the signal, flee towards the next gun.” Kit ordered. His lightsaber was raised, his mouth set, his determination so infectious even the battle-weary troops stood a little straighter. “Have no fear of the space between, I shall protect you.”
“From all this, sir?” Another clone gestured helplessly to the constant shelling and fire. This was his first battle. Kit managed to smile.
“Have faith in me.” He replied. “And have faith in the Force. Now!!”
Only clones could have such quick reflexes to respond to orders so quickly, the battalion dived out from the shelter of their gun and ran, the very ground beneath them shaking and exploding, and with blaster fire ringing in their ears, shots zooming through the air with dangerous proximity to their helmets. But not a single shot hit them; with every step they ran General Fisto was beside them, his lightsaber moving in a blur that none of them could comprehend as he deflected the shots that would have killed them instantaneously, and with a push of his hand sent bombs soaring back to their owners.
“Sir, that was incredible.” They reached the safety of the next gun intact, and the rookie clone was probably gaping at the Jedi behind his helmet. Kit chuckled.
“And you will live to see more of it.” He promised. “Now, you keep going, you have enough protection from the guns still operational.” Seeing them off and turning to this gun’s battalion, the general repeated his orders from before and readied his lightsaber once again.
“General Fisto, what about yourself? When are you getting on a ship?” Another clone asked.
“You are my priorities now.” Kit replied firmly. “All of you.”
“Thank you, sir.” The genuine surprise and gratitude of the replies sent a pang through the Nautolan’s hearts, and he found his own smile hadn’t quite vanished as he thought it had.
“Be ready.” He advised them, returning his attention to the battle. “And go!”
They may have been in retreat, but the battle was by no means over. Falling into some sort of domino effect, Kit flung himself into each no-man’s land between each gun, shielding his troops from attack and deflecting all the blows and blasts he was able. Fuelled by the Force and a desperate desire to just save the men who had given their all, he took each step by their sides, cutting swathes through a battle droid battalion that had made it onto the beach. But he could not deflect every shot; just metres from the final gun Kit stooped to catch a falling soldier with a shot to the leg and a burn scar mottling his cheek, his blade raised to suddenly deflect a blast which would have killed them both.
“General!” Commander Fil had reached the ships not far off, and was supervising the loading of clone troops on board. Almost every battalion had made it. “Sir, come on!”
“Here.” Kit turned and shifted the wounded clone towards Fil. “Get Reo on board; I will cover you.”
“General Fisto!” Fil felt no small amount of frustration rise within him, although he obediently began to lift Reo onto the ship, and called, “Our priorities are to protect you, don’t you remember?!”
“It does seem to slip my mind.” The Nautolan chuckled as he helped the wounded clone up to safety, which was hovering above the ground, ready to flee. His black eyes scanned the beach one last time, searching for any stragglers as the ship rose and rose, the others already leaving the atmosphere.
“Sir!” Commander Fil lay down on the deck of the ship and tried to stretch a hand out to the Jedi as the ship climbed higher into the sky. Smiling, Kit shook his head and bent to jump, gathering the Force to propel his leap and reaching for his commander’s hand.
Then a rocket hit the gun behind him and the world exploded.
Being mid-air at the time, nothing could save Kit; the force of the blast caught him completely, breaking his brief hold on the ship and safety and sending the Jedi master flying backwards, surrounded by shards and chunks of burning, deadly debris. Hitting the ocean water with a force that would have broken every bone in his body were he not a Nautolan, Kit Fisto sank like a stone, knocked about by various pieces of destroyed gun and heavily dazed, his head ringing with the cries of his men as the ships sped them away. Then a second rocket, meant by the enemy to finish of what was left of him, broke the surface of the water. It was certainly not his stupefied instincts, only the Force allowed the Jedi to thrust out his palm and send the rocket back up above the waves. But he did not see it explode; that last effort of his power had overwhelmed him and he sank further into the cooling water, slipping further into unconsciousness…
In reality it was a matter of hours, but it truly felt like days before Kit’s senses trickled back like a stream gaining water as it flowed to a river. Beneath him, he could feel a soft, sandy bank of seafloor under the coarse fabric of his Jedi robe, and on his lips and gills he could taste the salt of the sea he was breathing. The light filtering in from the rolling waves above him only pierced at the Nautolan’s eyes and he groaned at the intrusion, wishing not for the first time that he had eyelids to block it out. Shifting out of the robe that was just weighing him down, Kit shook his head, untangling his tentacles and wincing at the sharp motions. Then he tried to sit up.
Pain shot through his side like white-hot lightning and he stifled a cry, one hand flying to his waist where his lightsaber hilt was digging into something very painfully. With great care, he pulled his weapon out of its holder, quietly thanking the Force he hadn’t lost it, and transferred it to his cloak pocket so it wouldn’t float away before rising in the water to a more vertical position and looking down at his chest. In a dazed wonder, his long fingers plucked the last shard of metal from the deep gash to his side, and watched a little dark blood seep from the wound and diffuse into the water.
“Salt on wounds.” Kit murmured to himself, consciously tasting the water in his next breath and noting that this sea was far saltier than any of the saltwater tanks back on Coruscant. “No wonder it hurts so much.” Nonetheless, he gently prodded at the wound, biting back a further gasp of pain as he tried to feel for any further debris inside. Finding none, the Nautolan Jedi was content to float for a minute or so, trying to soothe the aching in his head and gather his thoughts. Then he took a breath and let the currents of the water move around him, responding to his will and raising him to the crests of waves high above his head. A twitch of his hand and his lightsaber freed itself and floated up to join him.
Above the water, the sun was beginning to set and the air around him was nipping with the beginnings of a cold night, heightened by the lack of clouds in the sky, streaked with gold and orange from the sun dipping below the horizon. Kit looked right and left, finally locating the shore a good few miles off to the west and considered his options. For concealment, staying in the water was probably best, he decided, but to get closer he could use the rivers, the same ones that had been his paths for the mission earlier. Even injured, Kit found swimming and especially his speed to be in perfect order, but soon he had to slow down as he approached the entrance to a river; stilling his movements he instead held out his hands and commanded the currents to carry him into the river where he could see better. Hiding behind a rock on the riverbank, Kit broke the surface of the water and peeked over.
Surrender of the republic’s forces had clearly not been enough; a landscape of destruction was spread out before the Jedi’s eyes. Smoke curled up into the sky as the forest burned, staining the sunset, and the few trees that had escaped the flames lay flattened by the army’s tanks, which were now patrolling up and down the beach. Droid battalions moved from one republic cannon to the next in order to either destroy them or repurpose them for their own use. They moved or just kicked clones’ bodies out of their way. When he saw that, a surge of anger soared to Kit’s head, making his head tresses flare and blocking out even the pain of his side; how dare they treat the dead like that?! How dare they show such little respect to brave men who had fought-
Like a blow to his chest, Kit wrenched himself back to the moment. Anger. No, no, he mustn’t feel anger, nor fear, nor pain. These clones had sacrificed themselves for him and the cause of the republic, he would not repay such acts by allowing the Dark Side any leverage. Mentally scolding himself for not doing this before, Kit sank back under the water and seated himself cross-legged on the riverbed, muddier than the sea had been but therefore softer. He clung to that gentle texture, clung to its contrast with the sharp emotions as he breathed out and enveloped himself in meditation. Just as his master had taught him to do many years ago he envisioned each emotion within him, trapped with a breath in and then expelled into the Force with each exhale, seeping out of his gills and away from him to be replaced with tranquillity, as sweet a relief as bacta would feel on that gash. It got easier with each breath, and he felt the tension that had gathered in his shoulders ease, felt the muscles in his forehead relax from a frown, and even felt the head ache subside to give way for a clarity of the senses, of the mind.
“Master!”
His eyes jolting back into focus, Kit almost looked around. What was that? The Force seemed ready to answer, tugging on his mind like a hand over his, and he willingly reached out for that tug with his mind, stretching out in meditation-
Then suddenly Kit found himself in a corridor, back on Coruscant, at the Jedi temple. Home. And opposite him was Commander Fil, one arm in a sling but otherwise unharmed.
“Sir, I really-“
“No!” Kit’s breath caught in his throat as he looked beside him to see Nahdar Vebb, his padawan, standing with wide eyes and clenched fists. “My master is alive, I know, I know he is!” In desperation that rolled off him even in a vision, the Mon Cal turned to none other than Grand Master Yoda, who was looking from clone to padawan with a frown on his aged face. “Grand Master Yoda, I know Master Kit is alive. My bond with him is still strong, I- I would feel it if he had died!”
Fil winced. “Grand Master, with every bit of respect due, we saw the explosion. It nearly threw our ship over! The chances of General Fisto surviving at that close range are-“
“Higher than you clones might think.” Nahdar interrupted, a fierce defiance etched on his face. Where had he picked that up from again…?
“Calm yourself, young one.” Kit subconsciously knew this was the first thing Yoda had said in the whole conversation. The Grand Master fixed Nahdar with a steady gaze. “A strong Jedi your master is, you are right. And yet invulnerable, the Jedi are not. You know that.”
“Yes, Master Yoda.” The padawan looked at the floor, somewhat deflated. Kit wished he could reach out to him.
“But meditate on this you must!” Yoda banged his stick on the ground determinedly. “Rule out his survival or demise we shall not yet, but you, young padawan; focus on your bond with your master and know the truth we soon shall.”
“…yes Master Yoda.” Nahdar turned to go, his conflict of emotions raging within him like a tumultuous storm.
“Nahdar!” Kit tried to call out to his padawan, but the vision shattered and he was back underwater in the river, with the droid army practically over his head. Never mind them; re-focussing his mind the Jedi master now mentally reached for the bond between him and his padawan. “Nahdar.” He called to it. “Nahdar! Can you hear me?!”
But he couldn’t. As the Nautolan reached for him the bond became scrambled and frazzled, affected badly by the stress and worry that was clouding the focus of his apprentice. “Nahdar!” Slipping out of meditation, Kit shook his head. If he got back, then he would need to spend time with his padawan; such turmoil in emotions needed checking. “Hang on, not if I get back.” Kit reminded himself. “When I get back.” He must not give in to doubt himself, and by now it was surely time to begin an escape. Rising up in the water, Kit broke the surface again in complete silence to see the tiny pink moon beginning its climb into the sky, and he watched as a battalion of droids halted a patrol not far from the riverbank.
“Squadron 2C to return to Forest Base.” The corporal’s monotoned voice commanded.
“But sir, isn’t that the base for air ships?” another droid questioned. Ships? A plan began to form in Kit’s head, and a smile began to form on his thin lips, the first one since the battle.
It was time to get out of here.