"Rishi Outpost," Alpha pressed the call key again. "This is Commando Alpha. Do you copy?"
In response—silence. Meanwhile, the base garrison should have responded at the first signals of an incoming transmission.
"You can call them five more times," Balda advised. "And maybe then they'll answer you. They're 'shinies'—they probably haven't even read the Regulations. Just stepped out of the test tube—and that's it, a blaster in their teeth and off to the front lines."
"Stop playing the fool," his brother snapped back. "The situation seems to be taking a serious turn."
"You mean the General's warning about the station being captured?" Balda leaned back carelessly in his chair, tossing his feet onto the instrument panel. "I think it's all 'empty talk.' How could the clankers have gotten this far into our rear?"
"And how were they able to do it the first time?" Alpha asked reasonably. Looking at his comrade, who was ignoring his murderous glares, he sighed. "Get your feet off the navigation panel. We don't need you breaking something here!"
"Afraid General Unduli will make you dust the whole interceptor?" the partner smirked insolently. But he took the advice nonetheless.
"I'm afraid General Dougan will have our heads for such treatment of HIS ship," Alpha corrected. "Or do you think it would have been better to fly in a shuttle?"
"And sit until my ass goes numb?" Balda grimaced. "No way. After all, are we Imperial Commandos or what?"
"Blurt out that 'Imperial' bit somewhere else, and you won't even have time to blink before they take you apart for scrap," Alpha promised grimly.
The General had been frank with them. As he had promised.
Of course, he hadn't told them everything. Но одно то, что он подробно знал о Чрезвычайных приказах, которые наизусть знал каждый клон, а большинство генералов-джедаев даже не догадывалось, говорило о его большой осведомленности. Of course, he hadn't removed the inhibitor chips from their heads and demonstrated them to each of the clones out of the goodness of his soul. The General was winning their loyalty. And, one had to admit, he had succeeded.
Every clone in the army knew why and for what purpose he was grown. To fight and sacrifice himself for the Republic. But to serve as a pawn in someone's dirty game… No, thank you.
To be a bargaining chip in big politics was not the fate every clone wanted. And even more so—no one wanted to die of accelerated aging, to be thrown onto the scrap heap of life. Perhaps some ordinary clones would have agreed to such a thing, but not the commandos. Not those who were "almost like Jango."
The General promised to free them from the inhibitors and foreign will—and he did it. The General promised to take care of every clone under his command—and he kept his word. Almost all the boys from the 204th were free of foreign will. Of course, they currently had no idea that one day they would have to make a choice. But Alpha knew for certain that the majority would follow their General. And the longer this war lasted, the more the ranks of those who would join them would expand.
No one wanted to die from rapid aging. A year had passed since they had been fighting. And, looking at his brothers, on whose faces the first wrinkles had already appeared, Alpha admitted that he had chosen the right side. A small genetic modification, using a vaccine developed by the General's people—and neither he nor Balda felt any age-related changes. Meanwhile, even Phob's gray hair was beginning to show. As it was for most of the first-generation clones.
Unlike other armies, the 13th didn't have its own commando squads. More precisely, they had them from the very beginning. As a result, by the time the General came to power, out of nearly a hundred, only a few remained alive—and even they were cripples for the rest of their short lives. One had a leg torn off, another an arm. The General found a job for each of them—he didn't scrap them, as many did. He didn't throw the soldiers out the gate, condemning them to a beggarly existence—as it turned out, pensions for each of them were not just non-existent, but the pathetic credits the Republic paid to the disabled were barely enough to feed their enormous appetites.
Currently, seven surviving commandos worked in the 13th Sectoral—all Alphas. In staff positions, of course, but at least they were on army rations. And that was only because the General personally oversaw the fate of every traumatized clone. All prosthetics, even the simplest ones, were provided by a Hutt company, but both commandos quickly discovered that this was happening by the will of THEIR Jedi. And they couldn't help but feel respect for him. For for the rest—from an ordinary Jedi to the Chancellor himself—they were only expendable material. But for Dougan—they were people first and foremost. HIS people.
Each of the wounded brothers underwent treatment in a luxury medical center on Christophsis where, as Balda had found out, in addition to treatment, the local medics secretly removed the inhibitor chips from the clones. Yes, given their own will, the clones might not want to stand under the banners of the Zakuul Empire—as their General called his secret state. But at least they would do it of their own free will.
At Dougan's request, he and Balda had already held discussions with each of the Alpha Commandos who had returned to work in the army after being certified disabled. Each of them expressed a desire to serve under General Dougan's command—and this should be told to him personally. Perhaps if the budget prosthetics for arms, legs, and eyes, which the wounded Alphas currently "sported," were replaced, it would be possible to assemble their own commando unit. Loyal to him personally. But all that would come after this mission.
General Unduli, also a supporter of their Jedi, warned that General Dougan would be waiting for them on Kamino after the inspection of the Rishi tracking station. They had to answer for many of those secret missions they performed among their own brothers, recruiting soldiers loyal to THEIR cause. The General should like this—almost all units were ready as one to stand under his flags. The only exceptions were General Kota's volunteers and the recently arrived 327th Star Corps of General Secura. Among the latter, not a single one had yet undergone the "procedures" on Christophsis, and therefore—talking to them was pointless.
Now their Fury—brand new, straight from the slips—a gift from the General to HIS Imperial Commandos—was approaching the tracking station on the Rishi moon. One of the many secret bases intended to preempt the enemy's approach. And, by all appearances, the enemy was already there. No clone—even one who hadn't finished basic training properly—would ignore the calls of an inspection team.
"Oh, they're awake!" Balda drew his attention, pointing a finger at the display, where a head wearing a Phase I helmet appeared. Well, well. You can't fool a commando that easily.
"Why are you taking so long to answer?" Balda barked. The "clone" "froze" for a moment, then replied:
"We had communication problems, Commander. But now everything is as before. Everything is fine."
"We are an inspection team," Alpha said, narrowing his eyes. The number of minor inconsistencies was multiplying. And it was making him tense. "And we decide how things are going with you."
"Inspection? We don't need an inspection. Everything is fine here. Thank you, sir."
"Were you not kept in the test tube long enough?" Balda flared up. "Or have you not sat in the brig for a long time, soldier?"
"Leave him, Balda," Alpha said in a deliberately level tone. "We'll land on the landing platform and sort it out. Soldier," he addressed the "clone" on the display. "Prepare for inspection."
"Understood, understood. We'll be waiting for you on the landing platform," the connection cut off. And this only intensified the suspicion.
"What do you think?" he asked his brother.
"He's a bit…" Balda hesitated. "Mechanical, or something. He talks just like…"
"…a droid," the commando prompted.
Balda shot him a wary look.
"Tell me you don't think…"
"I'm almost certain of it," Alpha said, clenching his lips. "But we need to check. In case any of our people are still alive."
"We have a clear order—in case of capture, blow the station to dust," Balda reminded him.
Alpha closed his eyes to restrain himself from swearing. Yes, there was such an order. From General Dougan himself, relayed through General Unduli. But mindlessly following orders was not their style. That was for droids. They were commandos. And first and foremost, they had to gather information—how much the enemy had been able to damage Kamino's defenses. Blowing up the station was not a problem. A pair of proton torpedoes would be enough—even the station's shield wouldn't save it. Especially since it stood on a cliff—hit the mountainside, and the whole structure would plunge into the ravine.
"Turn on the cloaking," he ordered. "We'll land a few clicks from the outpost, then go on foot. And don't forget to take extra weapons this time—some exceptionally nasty creeps live here."
"Looks like this mission won't be as easy as I expected," Balda sighed, activating the optical cloaking. Hidden from any detection systems, their interceptor changed course. Alpha marked a landing spot behind a massive mountain ridge on the moon's surface. There, according to the complex's plans, a ventilation shaft should come out nearby—through it, they could get inside the complex and scout everything out. If they were lucky, they would find survivors. The whole squad couldn't have died, could they? It doesn't happen that way—at least not on his watch.
***
Shae, having scanned the text on the datapad screen, tossed the device aside with total indifference.
"I wonder, why the hell does he need this?" she asked Nadia, who was sitting across from her. The Sarkhai girl, with her doll-like appearance, sat with her eyes closed. Because of this, she looked more like a porcelain figurine than a living sentient.
"You don't actually expect the Lord to tell you the details of his plans, do you?" Kira asked her. The former Jedi, another member of their small gathering in Dougan's Coruscant lair, sat with her eyes closed, much like her Force-sensitive partner.
Shae knew that both were currently communicating directly with Dougan—for Force adepts, it was something like a holocom link. She herself had flatly refused to participate in such activities—she didn't need Valkorion's apprentice in her head. Or any other man.
That was why she received her next assignment in a trivial way—on a password-protected datapad. An expanded description of the task, without any hint as to why he needed all this. But there was a detailed diagram of the location, with the exact positions of the sought-after items. Another game "in the dark."
Just like the forwarding of all information obtained on Mandalore through an encrypted channel to one of Dougan's unknown underlings. Well, he hadn't left explanations as to exactly what to send. So, let the mysterious recipient read about tanks, destroyers, swoops, and freighters. She didn't mind. Something else was bothering her now.
"Does anyone know where he and that red-skinned whore are?" The question was more rhetorical. Apparently, the Hands weren't actually interested in where their master was hanging out. Enviable discipline. Shae couldn't help but admire such dutifulness—in her time, it had taken her a long while to achieve complete submission from the many fragmented Mandalorian clans. And this Jedi had managed it many times faster. Never mind the Sith—they always loved to submit to a stronger one. But to hear from both former Jedi girls that they were almost subservient to the one they hadn't liked not so long ago… It was all strange. It seemed Dougan had indeed subdued them.
It was a pity; at least one could chat with them out of boredom. As with Kenny.
Dougan had requisitioned the droid along with the ship as soon as he learned they had returned to Coruscant and were waiting for him at the appointed place. Not to say she valued the company of that metal blockhead, but in his company, it at least wasn't boring. But this way—it was as if there were living sentients, but also as if there was no one. You could shave them bald right now—they still wouldn't notice.
Nadia was the first to open her eyes. It didn't escape Shae that she began to breathe deeper, and her pupils dilated to the limit—she had seen this before when the Hands finished a communication session with Valkorion.
Meanwhile, the Sarkhai, suppressing a stealthy smile, shifted her focusing gaze to the Mandalorian.
"What is bothering you?"
"Why the kark did that Lethan scum drag us all to Coruscant if Dougan, as it turns out, is alive, well, and nothing threatens him?" Shae growled. "Every HoloNet channel is harping on about what a great guy he is, saving the Chancellor. The very same one who, for a moment, is his potential enemy."
"The Lord has his own motives for doing one thing or another," Kira joined the conversation. "If he did it, that's how it should be. It is not for us to judge."
"Certainly not for you," Vizla snorted. "It's written on both your faces that you'd jump into his bunk at the first opportunity."
"And what's wrong with that?" Grell wondered. Torch was speechless with surprise. Was this really coming from the quiet one who, after her precious Consular, hadn't let a single man closer than the tip of a lightsaber? "By the way, it's good for one's health."
"Try it sometime," Kira advised, rising from the table. "Maybe you'll stop being such a raging bitch."
"I can kick your ass in any state, Jedi," Vizla said threateningly.
"You couldn't on Rishi," Carsen shrugged cold-bloodedly. "What makes you think you can now?"
Both vixens headed toward the exit from the living room without saying goodbye. Naturally, discussing each other's assignments was not done among the Hands. That was why Valkorion had selected them—those capable of long-term autonomous missions.
But Mandalore the Avenger didn't want to be bored alone in a luxury penthouse either.
The irritation from the reminder of her defeat at the hands of Carsen and her Hero demanded an outlet. And the night falling over the skyscrapers of Coruscant was the best time to stretch her legs. On the lower levels of this viper's nest, there was always someone to beat the spirit out of.
***
"You shouldn't provoke her," Nadia said at the doorway to the bedroom. "Rick won't approve if we're bickering among ourselves."
Kira, pausing before the entrance to her own room, glanced at her friend with a slight smirk.
"Sometimes I so want her to lose control," she stated dreamily. "After Nar Shaddaa, I… feel a great need to vent all my emotions."
"I thought the slaughter in pursuit of the Arch reduced your fervor," the Sarkhai girl shook her head.
"I'm afraid I underestimated my dark thoughts," the former Child of the Emperor smiled. "Sometimes I catch myself thinking that drowning the galaxy in the blood of the Lord's enemies is a wonderful idea."
"Just don't do it without an order," Nadia advised. "I feel he is sympathetic toward you. But I wouldn't want to see him break your neck for disobedience. Believe me—he won't be tormented by pangs of conscience. I saw it in the depths of his mind."
"Really?" Kira wondered. "You didn't say."
"Back then, on Christophsis, during the joint meditation, I managed to touch his mind," Nadia admitted. Judging by the blush that flooded her cheeks, the girl was extremely embarrassed. Valkorion never forgave such liberties. "He is… a very complex personality. There is a great darkness in him—something related to childhood complexes. He keeps it under control, but at the same time fears that it will one day overcome his pull toward the light. I'm certain Dougan won't kill for his own satisfaction. Но уверена — за непослушание он спросит очень и очень строго. And if there is a reason—he will kill and not feel the slightest remorse."
"Just wonderful," sarcasm froze on Kira's lips. "My previous master found a new one just like himself. Thanks for the revelation."
"As usual?" Nadia smiled. "Strictly between us?"
"Strictly between us," Kira returned the smile.
"And now, let's get some sleep. Luckily, Vette and HK-47 have already departed, and Shae likely won't stay long in the residence—meaning no one will interfere with our sleeping. And I have an exciting secret journey to Devaron tomorrow for an extremely rare item."
"I have a similar mission on Mimban. As soon as I get the sought-after item, I should return to Zakuul with the Arch to report to the Lord."
"Believe me," Nadia replied sadly. "Your task is much easier."
***
"A pleasant meeting, Master Gallia," despite the smile, fatigue was easily readable on Shaak Ti's face. Especially considering she was an alien. "I'm glad to see you, Master Dougan, Knights Tachi, Omas. Padawan Starstone," the student received a separate nod from the Council member. "You arrived ahead of schedule."
"We had," the Tholothian cast a quick glance toward the only man in their company. "Quite suitable transport."
"Yes, I see," the Togruta's blank gaze swept over the hull of the Defender. Despite the fact that she was clearly seeing this type of ship for the first time, it didn't spark interest in her. "Master Unduli and Knight Secura are already waiting for us in the tactical center."
A motley group of Jedi of all kinds rushed like a camp out of the hangar toward the interior rooms of Tipoca City. The capital of Kamino, and simultaneously the central hub of planetary defense. And the concentration point of such precious cargo for me. Damage to which Grievous must not be allowed at any cost.
"Any news?" I asked, walking to the left of the Master. Beside me marched Olee, already clad in armor. A bit further and slightly behind—Kylie. Initially, I had planned to find something for her from my stores too, but as it turned out, suitable armor—the kind worn by Jedi Consulars—I only had two sets left. One of which I gave to Siri—after all, she'd need extra protection in battle. Luckily, like my Padawan, she was now walking with her former teacher on the opposite side from the Togruta. Kylie was unlikely to need armor—the infirmaries were located very far from the presumed arena of combat. The second set, "by right of the first night," as the Tholothian smilingly told me in the morning, went into the latter's use. There were still several sets left—Zakuulan, Natheman armor, heavy Jedi Knight armor that not every man would risk putting on before a battle. And the last set of Sith Warrior armor. So to speak—the remnants of luxury. A pity—excellent armor. Light, incredibly strong. Never mind that it's considered heavy armor—it weighs about three times less than comparable Knight armor. I'll have to think and make myself a large supply—given that I've worn out two sets in a year, I should either be much more careful with valuable artifacts or replenish my stores. Luckily, the New Forge works without weekends or lunch breaks.
"Nothing concrete yet," Ti reported. "Patrols have detected several probe droids, which indicates the proximity of Grievous's armada. But the tracking station on the Rishi moon has ceased its operation. The commandos sent there by Master Unduli returned half an hour ago and report a large concentration of enemy ships. Significantly larger than reported by the Council."
"In that case, Grievous is no closer than an hour and a half's flight from us," Adi calculated. "Have our ground forces arrived yet?"
"Yes," the Togruta nodded barely noticeably. "Master Unduli and Knight Secura hurried as much as they could. Currently, unit commanders are discussing defense tactics in the command center. And here it is, by the way," she waved a hand before a fragile-looking bulkhead that, as we approached, split in different directions like the shutter of a film camera.
So, one might say—it's begun. Since the station is blown up, it means Alpha and Balda handled their task—we are warned that Grievous's armada is coming. I wonder what size his fleet is—we don't need to get thrashed in our own backyard. I'll need to carve out a couple of minutes to talk to the boys.
The dimly lit room of the command center met us with tactical consoles around which clone operators scurried, marking the current status of the troops. And familiar figures, standing in a semicircle around an active holoprojector.
"Generals," as one, the commanders of the 327th Star Corps and the 204th Legion greeted our procession. Aayla Secura, who had been quietly talking about something with Unduli, instantly stopped the conversation, meeting us with a disarming smile.
The exchange of greetings lasted for several minutes. Enough for Nyx and Luminara to approach me.
"Glad to see you in good health, General," the clone said quietly, firmly shaking my outstretched hand. "Your assignment is complete. The boys have returned. They even managed to pull a few 'shinies' out of there."
"The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated, Nyx," I assured him. "Are the soldiers ready?"
"Every one of them," the Mirialan assured me. "We've had time to prepare for the invasion and take up suitable positions."
"That's good," I nodded. "Has the water area been checked?"
"Affirmative, sir. But nothing suspicious."
And that is exactly what's alarming. As I recall, the main part of the attack was carried out by aqua droids that, in the heat of the space battle, would begin popping up like devils from a box onto the "saucers" of the city. This would be a total surprise for the defenders, allowing the droids to push the clones back from the front lines. And in canon events, it provided Ventress with almost proving-ground conditions to capture Jango Fett's DNA samples. Damn, the question always bothered me—why the hell did they need it? Did they want to create a biological weapon against the Republic's army? They could have captured any clone on the battlefield—the blood is the same for everyone.
"Double your vigilance," I ordered. "We don't need to be caught off guard. And tell the soldiers to use cover more often."
"Already done, General," the Commander assured me.
In the series, and actually in the films of the saga, it always bothered me that clones often poured fire on the enemy while standing in the open. No wonder they were mown down in whole units. I have nothing against it—let that happen in other armies, but not in mine. They are clones, of course. But they are also living people. Not "meat droids," as they are considered, but specifically people. Even if they are billions of copies with the same face. Every life I save is another soldier for my Stormtrooper Corps.
"No need to whisper so pompously," Adi Gallia was suddenly at my side. "Master Ti is about to begin the briefing."
Even through the armor, I felt a light and, as I'd managed to see on the way here, agile hand rest on my back. Gently pushing me toward the holoterminal. It was a good thing no one was behind me—it would be hard to explain such frivolity later.
However, Luminara, standing on my other side, seems to have noticed—it wasn't for nothing her eyebrow shot up like that. Making a gesture with my hand that I'd explain later, I thanked the Force that Adi stopped playing the fool and began listening to Shaak Ti's account.
"Thanks to the efforts of Master Unduli and Knight Secura, we have substantial forces to repel the attack," among those gathered appeared two holograms of male officers. "Admiral Strickland leads the main strike force," an older bald man with a short gray beard bowed formally to those gathered, greeting the Jedi. "That is almost twenty ships. Five Venators, including the one that brought the clones from the 327th Corps, seven Acclamators, and as many Hammerheads. Their main task is to hold back Grievous's armada in orbit, preventing orbital bombardment of Tipoca City. Commodore Niall Declann," the Black officer followed the senior's example, "has ten Marauder-class corvettes at his disposal. They are tasked with countering the CIS light forces. It's a pity we don't have more ships, of course—according to the commandos, Grievous has nearly fifty capital ships—from frigates to Recusants inclusive. Fortunately, he has only one dreadnought—his flagship."
"Let's hope that since the last reconnaissance he hasn't reinforced his armada," Unduli voiced the common opinion. "The stated number of ships is already enough to inflict significant damage on us."
"The more we lose here," Strickland supported her, "the more holes will appear in the defense of the Iron Spear in the near future. As far as I know, we have no reinforcements to expect from anywhere soon, Moff Dougan?"
"My sources report that Rendili and Sienar are ready to provide us with a total of thirty ships within this week," I recalled the details of the last conversation with my underlings. "As many over the following two weeks."
"Let's hope the CIS won't have enough strength to attack the supersector in the near future," a hint of concern flashed across Secura's face. It was understandable—she was now part of the Iron Spear herself. And she understood perfectly that without fleet support, ground units wouldn't last long.
"Therefore, we should exert every effort to destroy Grievous and his fleet here at Kamino," Adi's motivation was, of course, pathetic, but judging by the inspired faces of the Jedi—it worked.
"We believe a ground landing is possible," Nyx took the floor. "The 204th has taken up defenses around the generator substation, DNA storage, near the cadet and graduating clone barracks. We also control all passages between buildings, the communication center, command center, and passages into the interior parts of the cloning laboratories."
"My soldiers are covering the perimeter—hangars, landing pads, ground passages," Commander Bly joined the conversation. Simultaneously with his words, he pointed to points marked on the plan as his men's defense sectors.
"And yet, I consider a ground battle unlikely," Shaak Ti said with doubt in her voice. "Grievous is no fool and understands that up to fifty thousand clones in late stages of production are concentrated in Tipoca alone. If necessary, we can involve them to repel the attack."
"Throwing untrained clones into battle?" Nyx doubted her words. "With all due respect, General—that's unnecessary casualties."
"I agree with the Commander," I had to intervene. Every time I remember the episode from the series where clone cadets in their barracks were having a shootout with CIS battle droids, I don't know whether to laugh because Jango Fett's copies, who are still barely walking, are carving up even simple B-1s left and right, or to cry, because if even "children" are capable of giving the CIS mechanical army a thrashing, why the hell are adult clones dying in heaps and returning to their units' locations marked "Cargo 200" at every opportunity? "In the event of a breach of the ground perimeter, we must under no circumstances allow the enemy so deep into the rooms of Tipoca City. Otherwise, we risk facing truly massive destruction."
Even though I don't know the capital's layout very well, the Kaminoan "saucers" are built to a standard design. Numerous hangars are around the perimeter. Following them are technical rooms and utility areas. And the "third layer" is already the barracks, mixed with arsenals and training grounds. In the very center are medical stations and cloning conveyors. So, having broken through to the barracks, it's nothing for the droids to invade the holy of holies and ruin all the younglings.
"In that case," Unduli concluded. "We should exert every effort to hold Grievous in orbit and prevent a landing."
"Generals," a clone operator drew attention. "The enemy armada has exited hyperspace."
"Well, heaven help us," your humble servant summed up the meeting.
***
Despite the fact that only corvettes were under his command, Commodore Declann continued to command from the bridge of his steadfast flagship.
"Launch starfighters," he gave the order. "Relay to the corvettes—prepare to repel the enemy's starfighter attack."
Rear Admiral Strickland, the senior officer in this battle, had in Niall's opinion approached the deployment of his own forces completely incorrectly. Instead of using the mobile unit tactics proven in more than one battle, he had stretched the battle order into two lines—one on top of the other.
The dark-skinned Commander with his ships occupied the upper position in the formation. The capital ships, arranged in battle order in a completely chaotic manner, without regard for their specifics and capabilities, stretched out beneath him. Likely, from the side, such a formation was supposed to look formidable.
On the enemy, it seemed to have made not the slightest impression.
As soon as the destruction of the tracking station on the Rishi moon became known, the vector of the CIS ships' entry into the system became blatantly obvious. Therefore, now both opposing sides were face to face.
General Grievous's fleet seemed to have no formation. A hodgepodge of ships of all known types, clumped together. At least the forward detachments of Munificents certainly were. The destroyers following them were lining up on the move into an order similar to that of the Republican ships. Apparently, the enemy intended to engage in a line battle. Given that most Republic ships had strong enfilade fire, the slaughter would be terrible.
"It seems Grievous is deliberately sacrificing part of his frigates to break our lines," Strickland noted, his hologram present on the bridge. "Hold positions, Commodore. And try not to let undamaged CIS vessels near us."
"It will be done," Niall responded. Waiting until the superiors were distracted by their own problems, he, as he had many times before, tried to clear his mind of extraneous thoughts.
Now only he and this battle existed. The very one in which the Commodore could not lose.
"All corvettes open barraging missile fire," closing his eyes, he saw the battle picture, albeit vaguely, much more extensively than if he were using tracking equipment for it.
The gift that had lain dormant in him since birth provided an invaluable service in military life. Of course, this was not school, where with his emotions and feelings he sort of forced the players of his favorite team to play better. Here everything was far more complex. And required deep concentration from him.
He knew the location of all ships involved in the confrontation: his own, and those belonging to the Confederacy. He felt every volley of the missile and turbolaser batteries, every subtle maneuver performed by allied or enemy ships. He felt it even before it happened.
Niall froze, frowning in tense concentration; his breathing became uneven and fitful. Beads of sweat rolled down his entire body, soaking his uniform. Но это сейчас не важно. No one on board would pay attention to it—had the crew consisted of ordinary sentients, perhaps. But only clones were under his command—here, and on every ship of the detachment.
The load was monstrous—much heavier than what he had experienced breaking through to the surface of Jabiim. Very close to the agony he had felt at Bothawui. And in both battles, the enemy armada was led by the same CIS general. The cyborg Grievous. A fiend of the Abyss, a relentless killer. He had to be stopped—and so, despite everything, Commodore Declann continued to maintain his mental focus.
Someone had once told him he was Force-sensitive. Not enough to be accepted into the Jedi Order, but stronger than any other sentient. No one could reliably confirm this—neither his parents nor he himself had a desire to talk to the Jedi on such topics. Therefore, the man raised and trained his gift himself.
Ancient books said that the Jedi once possessed great power. Something called battle meditation. It helped them support allies and bring chaos to the minds of enemies. A truly useful skill; however, even if Niall were trained in this art, invading the electronic minds of the Separatist droids was beyond anyone.
Try as he might, the Commodore also couldn't influence his allies. He lacked the skills, knowledge, and strength. At least, enough to provide aid to all Republic fighters in this battle.
Niall remained a passive observer in the battle, but even a timely noticed enemy maneuver was enough to prepare an adequate response. The clones on board his flagship acted clearly and harmoniously, like a single organism. Niall tried with all his might to follow the instructions from those folios his parents had purchased for exorbitant sums in his childhood, but he couldn't feel whether he was exerting any influence at all on his subordinates, or whether their effective actions—thanks to which two Separatist frigates were already falling into the Kaminoan ocean as a sea of debris—were the result of fruitful preparation on this planet.
Hordes of enemy starfighters, rushing to attack the Republic ships, met fierce resistance from the clones.
From his Acclamator's hangar decks, one by one combat machines launched, wedging themselves into the slaughter of the light forces of both sides unfolding several hundred kilometers ahead of the Republican line. Niall felt them: about fifty V-19 Torrents flying in tight formation, which like a red-hot blade crashed into the formation of enemy Vultures, drenching them in a sea of blue flame from two laser cannons. Swarms of strike missiles launched from the starfighters' and Marauders' launchers left not the slightest chance for the enemy's light forces to break through to the Republic's capital ships and inflict any significant damage.
The clones fiercely attacked the enemy, striving to distract the agile CIS starfighters and bombers from the cruisers and destroyers they so craved. The bitterness of the losses at Ryloth and Geonosis was still too fresh to allow even one death-bearing droid ship to slip away. Niall smiled. He liked working with such subordinates. It seemed that in speaking of their staggering learnability, command had not lied—from battle to battle, the clones only became better. And deadlier.
The Commodore strained all his minor strength and extended his influence to touch the minds of the Republic starfighter pilots. They were grim, but not in despair. Some were frightened by the enemy's numerical superiority, but they did not panic. All he felt was the discipline, goal-orientedness, and determination of the pilots. Every single one would perform his duty to the Republic to the end. And then he felt something else. Someone's presence in the battle.
It was barely perceptible, but he was certain he hadn't felt it until this moment. Every living fighter in this battle was a small spark of warmth and emotion. But among the thousands of identical lights—in space and on the planet—he felt some that burned brighter than the rest.
"Jedi," he thought. There could be no doubt. He had seen something similar in every operation he had participated in. Not fearing that any of them could detect him (since they hadn't done so before, it meant such a thing was beyond them), he continued to encompass the battlefield with the power of his mind. And the Jedi sparks became brighter and brighter.
"Strange," Niall thought. "After all, all the Temple-dwellers are on the planet. Then why do I feel some of them in space?" The man listened to his feelings. There could be no doubt—among the rabble of frigates that were now tearing the Republic ships to pieces, Force adepts were clearly felt. The Commodore decided not to dwell on this—perhaps one of the Jedi had decided to take part in the space battle and was currently piloting starfighters.
Declann felt his right hand trembling—his body, as it had then at Bothawui, was telling him he was at the limit of his capabilities. He should moderate his fervor—otherwise, he, like last time, would spend more than one day with a skull-splitting headache. He should reduce the scope of the battlefield just a little, return to assessing the actions of the capital forces: the enemy frigates had managed to break through the veil of turbolaser and missile fire to Kamino's orbit and were now exchanging fire with the Republic ships from literally a blaster shot's distance. The starfighters were managing without him; he needed to deal with the large ships.
"Shift fire to the frigates," his throat was parched and the words tore from his gullet as if he had spent several days in a desert under a scorching sun. It meant the headache would start as soon as he stopped using his gift. Но ничего. This battle couldn't last forever…
"Enemy bombers have broken through to the Salvation!" a cry went up on the bridge. But Niall felt it himself.
Kark, how ill-timed—as soon as he was distracted, a squadron of bombers had managed to break through the starfighter screen and rushed toward Admiral Strickland's flagship. The brand-new Venator-class Star Destroyer Tranquility, although it had starfighter cover, turned out to be completely unprepared for such a turn of events. A dozen kinetic projectiles launched by enemy bombers flooded into the open hangars of the main hangar deck in a lethal swarm. The escort starfighters gave chase, but too late—with a second volley, the Separatist ships covered the bridge.
Sound does not travel in space. It is impossible in an environment where there is no air.
But Niall's mind himself imagined the roar of explosions, the groan of ship bulkheads, the screams of clones and officers being torn apart by the shockwave. Through the prism of his gift, he felt hundreds of dim lights go out in the agony of death. He himself felt as if he had been doused with boiling water—the pain became unbearable, and in desperation, striving to protect his mind from the agony of dying people, he forced himself back to reality with an effort.
"Flagship hit," a clone who served as his senior officer was immediately at his side. "Hangar destroyed, superstructures too."
"The Admiral?" Niall asked with parched lips. It felt as if several metal plates had been driven into his brain at once, dividing it into parts. And each of them was now agonizing, pulsing as if ready to burst beyond the skull. It took great effort to restrain a groan. An officer must under no circumstances demonstrate his weakness.
"All dead, sir," the clone radiated no regret. He only stated the facts. But those Declann saw himself—on the holographic projector it was clearly visible how the Salvation, deprived of its main control post, engulfed in fire from dozens of breaches, with mangled superstructures, was sluggishly, like a dying giant, firing back with its remaining turbolaser turrets. The destroyer did not break formation—there had been no order for that. The escort had relieved the wounded giant of the threat, and now nothing was likely to threaten it—as long as it was in formation and its guns were active, no CIS ship could finish it off.
However, this single strike had done more harm to the Republic than the entire CIS fleet combined.
The Republic fleet had lost its commander. And now, without leadership, without a clear plan and cold calculations, their ships would inevitably be beaten.
Niall went cold, realizing that everything could turn into a total collapse. The Republic could suffer a defeat and hundreds of thousands of lives would become a useless sacrifice—having routed the fleet, Grievous could easily arrange an orbital bombardment of the clones' homeworld. He would surely not leave a single intact structure on the surface of the oceanic planet. Which meant—if they lost here, defeat in the war awaited them.
"Who is the senior officer in the fleet?" he asked with a hint of panic. He thought he had spoken the phrase in a level tone, but having finished speaking, realized he had shouted it. Because of the headache, he couldn't control his senses properly. A bad sign—it was the same after Bothawui when he had to get involved in the slaughter at Rodia. "Who has taken command?"
The first officer looked at him without looking away. As if he couldn't find the words for an answer. Or did he not know it?
Nonsense, such a thing couldn't be! The command hierarchy in the fleet was outlined quite clearly. And in this task force, there were only two figures empowered to give orders.
One of them had now either evaporated in the bridge explosion of the Salvation or died in the cold vacuum, thrown overboard during decompression.
And the second…
"You are next in the chain of command, sir," the first officer finally found his voice. "What are your orders?"
***
It's pleasant to realize you weren't wrong. And it's painfully disgusting to understand that the new scenario could be even worse than the canon one.
The bad premonition that appeared in me after Nyx reported that there was no sign of droids in the ocean around the city didn't leave me right up until the moment debris from Separatist ships began falling from the sky.
More precisely, that's what we thought at first.
The realization of how brilliantly we'd been played appeared just as dozens of boarding pods began to detach from the large uncontrolled pieces of hull. Resembling huge nails, they crashed like a metal rain onto the roofs of Tipoca City's structures in a wide variety of places.
The entire plan—to keep the enemy on the periphery—went down the drain.
Obviously, the idea of an underwater strike came in the events I knew from Ventress. Now, without her participation, Grievous acted more straightforwardly. But no less effectively.
The first landing pods plunged into the outer parts of the Kaminoan buildings. The battle joined on the city's perimeter didn't seem so bad—even I believed that maybe everything would be all right. But the Force is such a bitch.
Like a metal rain, dozens of landing pods plunged into the buildings, dropping enemy units into our rear. Instead of the presumed purposeful offensive, we got not only battles all over Tipoca City's exterior, but large pockets of combat all over the city's territory. The pods that hit the central parts of the Kaminoan structures alone were enough to understand—the clone production conveyors were under threat. And not only them. The first aid stations, where Shaak Ti had sent Kylie, were also under attack. And this made me curse everything in the world. What kind of fighter is a healer? Why did I even risk her life, deciding to save more clones?!
"I hate all this running around," Olee shared her opinion with me. The girl, not falling a step behind me, raced toward the central sector of Tipoca's main building. Right where Kylie was. And Prime Minister Lama Su—the only local who was in on my plans. If he dies—my Spaarti cloning cylinders were a lost cause. If Kylie dies—I certainly won't forgive myself for that. I've grown attached to this girl—with my tendency to spend time in the Halls of Healing, having my own healer is a vital necessity.
Alarm buzzers roared irritably, every now and then filling the empty corridors with reflections of emergency lamps. While Adi and Siri stood watch on the front line, and Unduli and Secura were in the technical zone, Olee and I, against my wishes naturally, ended up closer to the central part. As the last line of defense. But Grievous outplayed everyone. There was no single direction of breakthrough—now every squad had to fight its own battle with hordes of commando droids and B-2s sowing chaos and destruction around.
It's easy to say—a position in the central part of the complex. Seems simple enough—but it's a real labyrinth here. And to get from one breach to another, one had to do a fair amount of running.
Clone units were blocked in their own zones of responsibility. Therefore, like a fire brigade, I and my Padawan dashed from one landing pod to another, separating droids into parts that couldn't be repaired. We acted separately—special skill isn't needed to oppose the clankers. But the pursuit of groups that had broken through to the center brought us together.
Ahead, something banged powerfully—the floor even vibrated. One of the branches of the intersection ahead on our course breathed fire and scraps of droids.
"Looks like someone's defending up ahead," Olee cheered up.
The fact that anyone was able to delay the droids in this direction was a great joy. It means it won't be so easy for them to break through to the laboratories. And where the kark is Shaak Ti? She took on the protection of the headquarters and the planetary leadership—and this scuffle is less than a kilometer from the Prime Minister's residence.
"Then we need to help," I threw out, noticing that rows of super droids had appeared at the intersection, pouring fire on the spot from where the explosion had recently roared.
Dozens of meters separated us, so, throwing my right hand forward, I toppled a good dozen droids with a Force Push. Speeding up to the limit, I burst into the fray.
Paying no attention to their comrades who had flown aside, the B-2s pressed on. By eye—there were about twenty of them, marching in rows of five. Eh, I could use a grenade in the very center of their formation.
The blade sang, slipping from the hilt. A swing—and two droids fell, sliced diagonally. Without stopping, I moved through the droid formation, not pausing for a second. Delay in such a slaughter is death. Focus on one droid—another will shoot you. So no flirting with death and posturing—only effective destruction of the surrounding hostile environment.
The Force boiled in me like the waves of a raging sea. Enveloping me in a protective cocoon, it simultaneously fueled my muscles, not allowing my body to give out at the most unsuitable moment. Passing it through myself, I seemed to turn into a whirlwind surrounded by a lethal yellow aura, separating piece after piece from the enemy fighters.
Not a minute passed before only smoking debris remained of the enemy squad.
"Never seen anything like it," an enthusiastic voice sounded behind me. Just from that branch where the explosion had occurred.
Slowly turning, I extinguished the blade. There were no enemies there—I had felt that before throwing myself into the foe's ranks.
"General, sir, you were matchless," an Alpha rose from behind a small barricade arranged in the corridor. "'Shinies' almost messed their pants when they saw you," he nodded toward several clones standing nearby.
Four outwardly identical men, clad in Phase I armor. Without our legion's markings or any identifying marks at all.
"Glad to see you, buddy," I shook the commando's hand. "Who are these guys?"
"Balda and I saved them from the Rishi outpost," he made a hand gesture and the soldiers obediently removed their helmets. Four identical, but at the same time completely different faces. "This is their first real fight, not counting the scuffle at the tracking station. Currently not assigned to any unit, so I requisitioned them for the defense of the medical center."
"CT-782, General," the first introduced himself, at whose feet was a stationary heavy blaster repeater. The local analog of a heavy machine gun.
"CT-21-0408, General," the next echoed him.
"CT-4040," the third clone with a satisfied face tapped his palm to his temple. Then, pointing to his brother, who was tensely peering into the corridors. "This is CT-5555, General. Don't mind him—he's always this dazed."
The clone jokingly poked his brother in the shoulder with his fist. This caused the latter to look as if "the light in the room had been switched on." He jumped, scanning those present.
"Fives," he grimaced. "I asked you, call me 'Fives.'"
"So that's it," I smirked. "Domino Squad, then."
At the mention of their cadet unit, the clones immediately snapped to attention. Not only did they have a whole Jedi General here. But also an unusual one—one who knew who they were just a few months ago.
"Exactly so, sir," the "double forty" confirmed. "We're the best of the worst, even passed the test not on the first try…"
"Shut your trap, Cutup," the Alpha threatened. Then, looking at me, he said in an apologetic tone. "Balda and I shouldn't have saved him from the eel."
"What do you mean, saved?" Olee asked. Ah, there she is. In the heat of battle, I'd even forgotten about her.
"In the most ordinary way," 782 said crossly. "Clankers pushed us off the station, we hid in the ventilation. But there was a problem—we left our weapons behind when we retreated…"
"You mean ran," Cutup "politely" corrected him.
"Quiet," Alpha growled softly. "But overall he's right, sir. They cleared the station since there were five times as many clankers there. They acted correctly, in principle, though it's a pity they didn't think to take the weapons. If Balda and I hadn't taken spare blasters—Cutup would surely have been eaten by the eel. We managed to blast the beast in the face with a carbine at the last moment."
"Well, I see everything's fine here," I smiled. "Where's your partner, by the way?"
"He's with the Foxtrot Commando Squad guarding the genetic storage half a kilometer from here," Alpha reported. "As the clankers started falling from the sky, General Shaak Ti ordered a post to be organized near the storage."
"Well thought out," I praised him. "Are there droids behind you?"
"It's half a kilometer straight from us to the medcenter," Cutup intervened. "If there were—we'd have noticed."
"Hmm, well yes," I smiled. "Alpha, take command of these loafers," I pointed to the four. "You'll have your own… Hurricane Team."
I spoke the last phrase with clear sarcasm. Which didn't escape any of the clones. Satisfied grunting came from under Alpha's helmet.
There was a mixed attitude toward commandos in the line infantry. Some saw them as truly elite fighters, others believed their reputation was greatly exaggerated. Given how many commandos fell in the very first battle of this war—up to half of the total personnel—it was no wonder there were hotheads claiming that clones trained personally by Jango were no better than their less creative brothers.
But using "my" Alphas as an example, I can say for sure—these guys can give anyone a run for their money. The money spent on their creation and training was definitely not wasted.
The floor shook perceptibly. The emergency lighting flickered more than usual. It seems something more serious than ordinary landing barges hit the building.
And as if in confirmation of these words, the commlink came to life.
"General," Balda's voice sounded in a cacophony of blaster shots. "We have guests. Clankers are accompanying… kark knows who they are, but they have lightsabers! They're breaking through in all directions, we won't hold out long!"
"Dark Acolytes," Olee exclaimed. "We need to intervene!"
"Absolutely," I promised. Then, shifting my gaze to the clones, I noted that they, without waiting for orders, had put their helmets back on and were checking their weapons before the fight. The genetic storage was not that far away. There was no access to Kamino's cloning capacities from it. There was one passage to the holy of holies—and currently Alpha's team was holding it.
"We're off to rescue Balda," I explained to the Captain. "You'll have to hold out with all your might—surely the clankers will rush here too."
"Copy that, General," the commando saluted. "Okay, Cutup, Hevy—get to the armory, bring everything you can carry…"
Checking if the second lightsaber was in place, I looked at the Padawan. The girl was outwardly calm. But it didn't escape me that she was gripping her lightsaber hilt far too hard. Was she ready to fight what awaited us? I don't know who's leading the breakthrough there, but it's certainly not the weakest of Dooku's servants. However, I didn't have many options.
"It's our time, Olee," nodding to the Padawan in the direction of the explosions, I broke into a run without saying goodbye to the clones. Thank the Force, Starstone didn't even think of falling behind. I felt the girl pumping the Force through herself, tuning in for the battle. Well, perhaps now she faces the very first trial to check the absorption of everything I've managed to teach her. I hope it wasn't too little. Otherwise…
No, to hell with it. Even if the girl is a pain in the ass, my conscience wouldn't allow me to risk her life. Kark, where did I even get one? Since when do I care about anyone's life but my own?! Why did my character change as soon as I felt the Jedi life for myself?!
"This is Dougan," I activated my own commlink on the Jedi frequency. "We have a defense breach near the genetic storage. Clones report Dark Acolytes."
"We're bogged down on the outskirts," Adi Gallia responded. "Trying to retreat to the center, but if we run now—we'll be cut down."
"Looks like you'll have to manage on your own," Shaak Ti intervened. "Droids are on the approaches to the command center—they came through the service corridors. Knight Omas and I are holding them back here."
"What about Unduli and Secura?" Not hearing an answer from the named Jedi, I became alert. Olee was shooting angry glares at me—apparently, the kid guessed I'm too afraid to imagine her in battle. On the one hand, of course, she's far from the worst fencer, and after my training, her skills have increased even more. But who is opposing us?! If it were some weakling, I'd relax. However, if there's a truly serious opponent—the same Savage Opress—I won't risk her life.
"No word from them," after a few seconds of silence, Siri reported over the air. "They headed toward the barracks—a large group of commandos landed there."
"Copy that," apparently, both aliens ran into Grievous. If my memory serves me right, he personally commanded the clearing of the clone dwellings. And in the events I know, he ran into Kenobi there. I hope they both turn out to be no worse than Obi-Wan.
Having crossed several corridors, we finally approached the site of the battle. Ahead at a T-junction, the sounds of shots were heard, and the air literally trembled with the abundance of red blaster bolts. I didn't see any return fire, but after a year of war, I'd already learned to distinguish the "voice" of the Republic DC rifles. It turns out some of our people are still alive. Literally, a weight was lifted from my chest. We made it in time.
There were literally ten meters left to the intersection when human figures in armor appeared in view. Clones! Only two—one in Katarn armor, clearly a commando from that very Foxtrot Squad. The second—definitely Balda. There aren't that many clones wandering around here in the armor of the Devastation Squad.
The pair, running around the corner, almost let off a burst at us. Balda reacted in time, lowering his weapon himself and pushing his comrade's blaster aside.
"Don't shoot, Gregor, it's friendly!" The name of the clone commando seemed familiar to me, but the droids appearing after the duo interrupted my memories.
"Cover the clones!" I shouted to Olee, activating my blade on the move. The golden blade intercepted a twin scarlet streak fired by a B-2 toward Balda mid-flight and reflected it back.
Olee, following my example, seemed to grow into the floor with her feet, working her blade, reflecting shots back at the enemy.
"What's the situation?" I shouted, addressing the pair of commandos who had knelt behind us. Not a bad position. Given that not a single enemy bolt was leaking past me and my student, both clones were firing at the enemy in almost proving-ground conditions—inflicting damage without harm to their own health.
"We held out as long as we could, sir!" Balda's shout barely overrode the roar of the battle. The droids were pressing on us like madmen—that's the advantage of a mechanical army. No sense of self-preservation. The forward clankers had already fallen, forming something of an obstacle in the way from the section of the corridor where reinforcements were coming to the Seps. "But there are too many clankers! Until those two arrived, we were managing—we barricaded ourselves at the DNA storage entrance. But as soon as the horned one appeared…"
"Is there a Sith here?" Olee interrupted the clone. "Dooku's apprentice?"
"Kark knows who he is!" Balda snapped, picking off a B-2 with a precision shot that was aiming its arm with built-in blasters at the Padawan who had been distracted from the battle. "He cut down almost Gregor's entire squad in a minute—three people! Sorry General, but we retreated from the storage…"
"It's five meters around the corner," Gregor added. "If it weren't for that one with the sword…"
"We'll take it back now," I said resolutely.
Mother karker. Looks like Savage Opress is indeed in the game. And if he's reached Jango Fett's DNA—it means we'll have to run after him if we can't intercept him in the storage itself.
"We're breaking through," choosing a moment, I crushed a new wave of B-2s with the Force, thereby creating some empty space in front of me and Olee. However, as soon as we stepped out of our cover, blaster shots flickered from two sides: it seems another squad of clankers had approached from the opposite direction. "Cover my back."
The last phrase, thrown at the Padawan, had its effect. Olee, and both commandos with her, switched to the Separatist reinforcements—objectively there were about four times as many as those advancing from the storage. And although the Force was swirling like a whirlpool around me, I had no desire to fight on two fronts.
There were only about half a dozen super droids in front of me—trifles compared to what was left behind. Speeding up, I focused only on them.
I ducked under the first, sliding under his belly, simultaneously dividing him into two neat halves. Without leaving the prone position, I ricocheted a short burst into the next. Like a whirlwind, I was on my feet, reflecting the precision shots of the third into the wall, simultaneously cutting off his arm with the weapon with a sweep of the sword. I spun around my axis, using his body as a shield from the remaining ones.
A Force Push threw the damaged droid onto the two standing behind him. All three, clattering like an old Moskvich on potholes, headed to the far end of the corridor, where they met the wall with a crash and turned into a pile of scrap metal. I didn't stand on ceremony with the last one separating me from the DNA storage—gathering the Force, I simply crushed him to the size of an astromech. This one is definitely no longer fit for further functioning.
So, the way to the storage is open. Casting a quick glance over my shoulder, I saw their situation was under control.
Olee was bravely holding the defense, creating an impenetrable protection with her lightsaber around her. The trio of Republicans had pushed the enemy beyond the intersection, thereby depriving the clankers of the opportunity to shift into the adjacent corridor we had come from and increase the firing sector. The girl is acting remarkably intelligently—growing up beside me.
The droids, choosing her as their priority target, concentrated massed fire on the Padawan. Against any other, of course, it would have worked. Но моя ученица воистину блестяще усвоила преподанные ей уроки.
She drew the Force not as a pathetic trickle, but as a full-fledged mountain river. Not limiting herself to fencing, the girl threw droids aside, not losing concentration for a moment. I confess, at this moment a scene from books belonging to the Vong invasion era flashed in my memory.
There, on Coruscant, covering Jacen Solo, one of the Jedi stood like an insurmountable wall in the path of enemy warriors, crushing them by the dozens. Not one of them passed, broke through. Each found his death. So Starstone stood under the onslaught of droids, like a mountain ridge on the shore against which the raging oceanic waves break. The commandos were performing the same combination—staying behind and drenching the enemy with short bursts. And, by all appearances, they can hold out this way for a long time.
No, it seems I was resolutely worried about the Padawan for nothing. She has something to surprise with.
But enough admiring the girl—some noise was heard in the DNA storage room. It seems Dooku's apprentice found what he was looking for after all. Olee and the clones will cover my back—meaning it's time to deal with the Dathomirian spawn.
A massive figure—a head, or even two, taller than me, encased in heavy armor, stepped outside the storage. Turning a black-and-yellow head topped with a crown of long horns in my direction, he smiled predatorily.
"You—Jedi!" he stated, activating a lightsaber staff in his hands, taking an awkward pose for attack. Savage bared his teeth like a predator ready to pounce on a defenseless victim.
Is this some kind of joke? Does he even know which end of a lightsaber to hold? Ah, yes. Dooku reproached him for having no brains, no imagination, and no technique besides physical strength. Well, this will be easy.
"Well, and you—are a future corpse," I promised, raising my blade over my right shoulder, holding the hilt with both hands.
No one intended to stand on ceremony with this animal.