Ah.
You.
Bitch.
I stared at the impenetrably smug face of Mace Windu. The black (forgive me, but I'm not the least bit tolerant) Jedi looked at me like I was dirt. And he was waiting for an answer.
"I agree with the appointment proposed to me, Master Windu," I inclined my head in submission.
"The headquarters of the 13th Sector Army is located on the planet Ord-Padron," said Yoda. The hologram of the Grand Master poked its stick at me. "You are to proceed there, along with the troops under your command. You performed well in the Battle of Kamino, Knight Dougan. It was only thanks to your intervention that the enemy was unable to reach the third generation of clones."
"The credit is not mine alone, Grand Master," I honestly admitted. "Master Shaak Ti, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, the ARC troopers..."
"Knight Dougan is being modest," said Shaak Ti. "It was he who proposed collapsing the tunnel and held back the water pressure until reinforcements arrived."
After the battle on the ramp, leaving the young clones under the protection of a clone squad, I, along with Shaak Ti, Kenobi, and Skywalker, guided by Chancellor Lama Su, proceeded — not without a fight — to the laboratory where the third, youngest generation of clones was being grown. Future soldiers who still had to grow up.
Right there, literally a few corridors away, there was one of the auxiliary control points, next to which we discovered several hundred destroyed droids. That's where Shea and Vette had stolen the information from the central computer of Tipoca City.
If you can't summon an army — create one.
I never understood why the conflict was called the Clone Wars. To me, the name implied, like, a confrontation between clones themselves. Maybe it's a localization issue, maybe something else...
Odessen greeted us with the peaceful equilibrium of the Force, a pleasant climate, and a relatively calm animal world. Combined with the practically untouched base of the Eternal Alliance, the planet looked like the most suitable foundation for budding conspirators.
By my executive decision, Odessen became the headquarters of the Eternal Empire. The task of relocating the Imperial station and the Ghost Squadron to Odessen's orbit fell on Malgus's shoulders. Not without some grumbling, but the Sith went off to carry out the assignment, with the Twi'lek for company.
Vette, as the only one familiar with the Alliance base, set about putting it in order, compiling a defect list with R3's help for repairs or equipment replacement. But she hadn't even gotten halfway done when Malgus and the Ravagers returned. Entrusting the Sith and the fallen Jedi with care of the base, I took the Twi'lek for a more important mission. I needed her valuable technical skills elsewhere.
Ashara dutifully took over the reins of the base from Vette, while Malgus "played soldier," using Skywalker droids to move the station's supplies down to the planet.
Kira, under the cover of a trusted person holding a "numbered account," was dispatched by me to Rendili to oversee the repair and modernization of our fleet.
Nadia departed on a similar mission to Kuat. An extremely complex and responsible mission fell on her shoulders, one I'll detail in due time.
With the remaining three girls, I departed for Coruscant and then to Kamino.
The most agile part of my Hands was to infiltrate the Kaminoans' secret files. Everything interested me—from the structure of cloning technologies to the methods of gene alteration. Most of all, I was curious to understand what exactly made the clones turn their weapons on the Jedi: was it that chip sticking out of their heads, or the meek obedience to orders that the Kaminoans had bred into them?
I would have believed it was that the clones, created to execute orders in strict hierarchy, obeyed the head of state and carried out emergency Order 66—if Cody hadn't called Palpatine "Lord" in the movie. An address befitting a Sith Lord. Did the clones, or at least their commanders, know who Palpatine was? Or is the theory correct that the inhibitor chips made them do what they did...
"Creating an army of Mandalorians," Vizla said upon hearing who the donor for the clones was, "that's quite ambitious. It'll be interesting to dig through the dirty laundry of this little planet."
Atroxa silently accepted the order to accompany these two. Vette, however, chattered nonstop all the way to Coruscant about how the clone army was the right move on the Sith's part. Total unification, uniformity, no extra costs or civilian casualties. A product grown purely for war...
Her words gave me pause. So, once on Kamino, I asked Atroxa—while Shay and Vette were digging through files—to borrow a few incubators from the Kaminoans. Luckily, it turned out the storage with backup incubators was quite close by. Over an encrypted channel, the Lethan reported the successful completion of her secret mission.
Meanwhile, knowing my underlings were headed from Kamino to the Katana Fleet's deployment site to assess its condition, I, along with the other Jedi, was defending the third generation of clones. You have to admit, there's something devilishly ironic about it—Jedi saving the very ones who would later kill them.
Despite our victory on the landing platform, the tin cans continued to dominate throughout the territory of the "mushroom" we were defending. The first few levels passed with almost no fighting, but the closer we got to the laboratory, the more droids there were. But reinforcements arrived for us too—Kenobi and Skywalker, along with a squad of clone troopers. All together, retreating under the pressure of a numerically superior enemy, we moved toward the laboratories. The third-generation laboratories were located in the underwater part of the complex.
Arriving there, we were relieved to see hundreds and thousands of incubators untouched by war, with little clones floating inside.
"There's nowhere left to retreat," Skywalker noted.
"And we aren't retreating," I countered. "These clones"I pointed behind me—"are future soldiers. Either they grow up loyal to us, or they don't grow up at all. ARC troopers," I addressed the three clones, "mine the incubators. If we fall," I gestured with my blade at several droids that appeared at the far end of the underwater tunnel, "the clones must not fall into enemy hands."
"As you command," the commando saluted me. Alpha-17. In the short time we'd had, I'd gotten to know each of the three commandos—17, 22, and 56. Despite their outward similarity, they felt different in the Force.
Alpha-17, the one who'd knocked some sense into his two brothers for not recognizing me as a Jedi. Without overcomplicating things, I nicknamed him "Alpha."
Alpha-22, distrustful and surly, the one who'd doubted me at our first meeting. I dubbed him "Balda."
56... yeah, quite a character. The most complicated of all. Acts first, thinks later. One stunt of his with a grenade in the underwater tunnel nearly sent us to the bottom of the ocean. But, I have to admit—the droids had a rough time. Hence his name, "Berserk."
While Balda and Alpha dealt with the laboratory's self-destruct system—despite Lama Su's protests and objections—the Jedi and Berserk were shooting down the advancing droids.
More and more enemies kept coming. It seemed like the droids would never end. Utterly disregarding losses, wave after wave of the Separatists' mechanical soldiers advanced toward us.
Kenobi took a wound to the shoulder and was out of the fight. Five clones were killed, two wounded—one of them probably wouldn't make it. Shaak Ti started looking after the wounded as soon as a stray shot damaged her lightsaber.
When the entire tunnel floor was covered with droid wreckage, with ocean water sloshing between them generously seeping through the numerous holes from Berserk's grenade fragments, a plan formed in my mind.
"Skywalker," I called out to the Padawan, who was enthusiastically deflecting the advancing droids' own shots back at them.
"Huh?" the Chosen One responded with a sour expression.
"Two!" I mimicked the Tatooinian. "Ever tried holding back water pressure with the Force?"
"What?" the future Jedi looked at me, his eyes full of horror and bewilderment.
"Well, I guess we'll learn on the job." Gathering the Force—a lot of it—I sent it down the tunnel as a destructive Force Push.
The Force, like a colossal hammer, swept through the corridor, sweeping away and crushing everything in its path. The elegant, once-sturdy, but fragment-damaged arches of the underwater tunnel collapsed, dragging droids—both active and those who'd already met their digital god—to the bottom.
Almost immediately, the remaining stretch of corridor near the laboratory entrance began to fill with water.
Drawing in the power of the Force, I tried to find a balance between my calm (more accurately, my nonchalance) and my inner fear (if it didn't work, we'd all drown—and screw the others, but I'd feel sorry for dear me). I felt the Force flow through me, fill my entire body, clear my mind, and surge out of my hands like an invisible shield.
Like an energy film, the Force stood between us and the ocean waters, keeping us alive.
"Incredible," Skywalker whispered. "Where did you learn that?"
"The Force holds unimaginable power, Anakin." Obi-Wan came over to us. Despite his wound, he looked chipper. "That was an excellent idea, Knight Dougan," he praised me.
"You can just call me Rick," I offered. The Force streams I was directing made my hands tremble slightly from the strain, but it was manageable overall. I figured I could hold out for a while.
But credit goes to Alpha's quick thinking and Lama Su's will to live. The clone and the Prime Minister quickly figured out the laboratory's systems, and then a super-strong, hermetically sealed bulkhead cut the lab off from the ocean depths.
With my hands shaking from the strain, I thanked them both.
And although the Force streams that had passed through my body couldn't be compared to those I'd channeled while absorbing Exar Kun's spirit, it still wasn't easy for me.
Waiting for the evacuation team that Lama Su had already called, I sat down on the floor, my back against the wall. My body shook finely from the tension. I was again letting streams of Force through my body—not too powerful, but enough to reduce the strain on my agonizing nerve endings.
Master Ti gave the order, and the three ARC troopers hurried to disable the self-destruct system. Now, no longer fearing that death would come through the only entrance (which was also the exit), the clones and Jedi began bandaging wounds.
* * *
With heavy losses, the Separatists retreated. Part of their fleet floated in orbit as formless chunks of debris, but most of the ships managed to escape.
The Jedi, lacking hyperdrive rings, couldn't pursue the ships leaving the system. Oppo's much-vaunted Republic fleet was so battered it couldn't oppose the retreating Separatists. Two of the three Lucrehulk-class ships—the main assault vessels of the attacking fleet—and more than half of the original number of Munificent-class ships managed to escape. And although GAR command considered the battle a Republic victory, my opinion on the matter was skeptical.
The routine cleanup of bodies and clearing of rooms took several days. I stayed on Kamino the whole time. I received no orders to leave the planet, although most of the Jedi brotherhood—except Shaak Ti—had departed, taking almost all of the ships and combat-ready clones with them.
Kamino was left with nothing again.
A pair of Acclamators in orbit was nothing. A pittance compared to even one Lucrehulk.
But Sidiou's plans never included a Separatist takeover of Kamino...
The Council, in an extremely reduced composition, assigned me to the 13th Sector Army.
"Iron Spear."
And if I remembered anything about this particular army, it was that throughout the entire Clone Wars, the 13th oscillated like a sine wave through various attacks.
Well, one thing at a time.
With the start of the war, the Grand Army of the Republic command divided the Republic's space into twenty Oversectors. A high-ranking official—a Moff—was placed at the head of each. This person, in their own person, represented the majesty of the Republic's power in that sector. Yes, essentially, a Moff could say on any planet, "I am the law here!" and be absolutely right.
Reading the "brochure" on the datapad, I got a quick orientation, learning that there were twenty sector armies in total, conditionally divided into three groups: Northern, Southern, and Reserve. The 13th headed the list of Southern ones. Not surprising. The 13th Sector Army, "Iron Spear," under the command of Moff Bailur, with headquarters on Ord Pardron, was given the largest theater of operations. Its area of responsibility included all territories of Hutt Space, Bothan Space, and other unremarkable planets, all the way to the middle of nowhere. For example: Christophsis, Rodia, Toydaria...
The primary mission of the Iron Spear was the defense of Kamino. But seeing Christophsis and Hutt Space in the area of responsibility, I felt in my gut that I was in for a hell of a lot of crap.
At the same time, success in difficult endeavors promised dividends. Where else to make a name for yourself than in the hardest battles?
My modest achievements on Kamino were enough that all three ARC troopers—Alpha, Balda, and Berserk—stayed with me. The other surviving ARC troopers were snapped up by more eager parties, but I fought for "my own" almost in front of Shaak Ti. The Master, traditionally calm, graciously indulged my whim.
Soon after the assignment, an order came in.
Rothana, located in the area of responsibility of the neighboring 14th Army, was, as I've said, a secret production facility for Kuat Drive Yards. The Kaminoans chose it for producing equipment and ships for the GAR precisely because of the planet's secrecy. As far as I remember, the Separatists never managed to find its location throughout the Clone Wars.
Anyway. Rothana and Kamino were connected by a secret hyperspace route, along which equipment and ships arrived at the clone-makers. These were crewed and stocked with infantry, then dispatched to wherever they were most needed. And they were needed... right, everywhere.
Despite the fact that Kuat Drive Yards had already supplied the GAR with its first Venators, the army's need for ships—even Acclamators—was monstrous.
My orders were to meet a squadron of Acclamators on Kamino, load each with a legion of clone infantry and a battalion of support services—engineers, medics, technicians—and then proceed to Ord Pardron, where the 13th Sector Army command would determine my next assignment.
The ships had already arrived and were undergoing standard loading. There wasn't much point in supervising it—the Kaminoans knew their business. The most disappointing part was that almost all the ships and clones would scatter to other sector armies. Only one LST and one legion of clones, the 204th, were allocated as reinforcements for the 13th.
Interestingly enough, I was to command them.
"Sir," I was studying the documents provided to me in a far corner of the cafeteria. The snow-white armor of the clones rippled before my eyes under the relentless artificial lighting of an unbearably bright white. My trio of "Alphas," dressed in ARC armor, surrounded me in a semicircle. After our shared battle, a certain warmth had developed between us.
"Spit it out, Alpha," I gestured for my officers to sit. Alpha, Balda, and Berserk sat down opposite me.
"General, is it true they're giving us a legion of 'shinies'?" Balda blurted out.
"That's right," I sighed. "A legion of rookies. But they're not completely green. The units in this legion took part in the Battle of Kamino."
"I thought they'd give you a more experienced unit," Berserk grumbled. "You saved the third generation!"
"We all saved it together," I reminded him. Sighing, I looked at each of the commandos in turn. "Guys, one victory doesn't mean we get to demand rewards. Hopes are pinned on us—to win this war. So let's do our duty and bring peace and prosperity to the galaxy, hm?"
Exchanging glances, the clones unanimously voiced their support.
"Well then, let's go take a look at our troops," I suggested, getting up from the table.
* * *
I looked at thousands of pairs of eyes, and they looked back at me.
Thousands of identical brown eyes of Jango Fett.
"Alpha, is this, pray tell, a joke?" I asked quietly.
"I don't think so, sir," the clone checked his datapad. "It's all... all five thousand three hundred and seventy-two clones. The 204th Legion, at full strength..."
Of the nine thousand-plus clones in the legion assigned to me, just over half had survived the meat grinder on Kamino. Another two hundred or so from this unit were floating in bacta, recovering from wounds. All the others who had survived the massacre stood before me.
"I think there's some kind of mistake," Balda scratched the back of his head. "There are too few of them."
"It's not a mistake," I countered. "We've been had."
"Been what, sir?" Berserk looked surprised.
"Cheated," I clarified.
We stood on landing platform nine. Two regiments of the 204th Legion, from the four that were supposed to exist, stood patiently with rifles at the ready under the drizzling rain, waiting for their commanders to give the order to board the Acclamator.
I stood before them, surrounded by three ARC troopers. A little further away, standing at attention facing the troops, were three clone commanders. Two of them—Phob and Day—had the remaining regiments under their command, each with 2,304 clones. The third, Fan, was in charge of an understrength third regiment of the remaining seven hundred soldiers. Five companies and a squad on top...
Five thousand three hundred and seventy-two clones, mired in apathy and despondency, stood silently before me. In the Force, they felt like a viscous emotional bog that needed to be shaken up.
"I'm going to strangle the Kaminoan who kept quiet about the shortage," I promised.
"Would you have refused the legion?" Alpha asked.
"No," I shook my head. "I would have found whoever commanded them during the battle and thrown him into the ocean."
The ARC troopers nodded approvingly.
"Legion," I amplified my voice with the Force, getting the soldiers' attention.
A flicker of surprise in the Force came from the clones toward me. And almost immediately vanished.
"I am Jedi Knight Rick Dougan, commanding the 204th Legion. From this moment on, we are one." A stir ran through the monolithic formation. The soldiers began talking quietly among themselves. They'd probably never heard anything like that from a Jedi before. From anyone, really. Meanwhile, the Force told me that attention toward my person was growing exponentially. The clones were clearly interested in the speech.
"Together, we will walk the path set before us," I promised. "The 204th Legion will become the very hands that break our enemies' necks and lead us to victory!"
I struck the center of my chest with my right fist, then thrust it forward in a salute. A moment later, every soldier, commando, and clone commander standing before me and beside me responded with the same gesture.
In the Force, the clones surged with enthusiasm, with energy. Of course, I'm no Grandpa Goebbels, but still.
"We're heading to the sector army headquarters, the Iron Spear," I announced. "And from there—to smash the Separatist scum. I promise you I won't let you down, and I demand the same from you! Never again will we lose our soldiers needlessly! You have my word!"
The response was a roar from thousands of throats. Again and again, armored fists struck snow-white chest plates and shot into the air.
Now that sounded like applause. I felt a trace of warmth coming from the legion and allowed myself a smile.
"Phob, Day, Fan," I addressed the commanders. "Order the boarding. Alpha, Balda, Berserk—with me."
Following the three ARC troopers through the corridors of Tipoca City, I made my way to Prime Minister Lama Su's office. It was time to have a heart-to-heart with him.
* * *
Despite the fact that the battle on the planet had died down, Prime Minister Lama Su preferred not to remain alone anymore. So now, a pair of trained clones stood outside the doors of his office.
Last time, he'd had a stroke of incredible luck—Jedi Master Shaak Ti had been nearby. Together with three elite Republic Commandos of the Alpha-class and other Jedi, they had saved the expensive third-generation equipment from destruction. Yes, the clones for the Republic had also been preserved, but compared to the cost of the equipment...
Lama Su held the post of head of Kamino's ruling council of governors. Due to the isolationism of his fellow citizens, Lama Su was one of the few intermediaries who communicated with off-world guests.
But with the Jedi, as representatives of the largest order, Lama preferred to deal personally. The Order had assigned Master Shaak Ti to Kamino, where she wasn't needed at all. The Kaminoans knew their business. It wasn't for the Jedi to oversee the growth and training of the clone army.
Jedi. Expect no good from them.
A little over ten years ago, Lama Su had personally accepted the order to create a clone army from Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas. The payment had been an enormous injection into Kamino's economy. And now, the Galactic Republic itself was generously filling the coffers of the clone-makers' planet.
Isolation from the outside world had helped the Kaminoans achieve mastery in cloning. As staunch pragmatists, the native population of Kamino had absolutely no interest in the goals of the army being created. They were paid. They performed. Extra questions were bad for business.
The invasion of Kamino was also bad for business. The damage from the Separatist attack was still being tallied. Lama Su expressed his displeasure to the Jedi, and Shaak Ti assured him that such a thing would not be allowed to happen again.
His attention was drawn by a noise from behind the partition separating his office from other rooms. But before he could contact security, the doors slid open, admitting a Jedi he recognized, clad in armor, and one of the ARC clone troopers.
"Prime Minister," the Jedi greeted him politely. "I believe we need to talk."
The man placed a lightsaber hilt on the desk in front of him and, with an air of authority, sat down opposite the Kaminoan. The clone also positioned himself opposite, keeping a blaster carbine in his hands.
"What do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Jedi Knight?" the Kaminoan tried to maintain control of the situation.
"Deception," the man smiled. "The most ordinary deception..."
"I'm afraid I don't understand you," Lama Su said as sincerely as he could.
Instead of answering, the Jedi tossed a datapad onto the desk.
"The 204th Legion," he explained. "It's a little over half strength. And you signed documents stating my unit is at full complement."
"That's impossible," Lama Su said, fully aware of his own deceit. After the battle, more than half of the legions had departed understrength. A company here, a regiment there... there weren't enough ready clones for everyone—too many had died in battle. But it turned out that no one in the GAR was counting soldiers head by head, trusting the documents. So the shortages hadn't been uncovered. Instead, using such padding, the Kaminoans could receive considerable extra funds from the Republic, which more than covered the costs of Kamino's restoration. After all, for his planet, this war was just business. Business that paid well.
"You know I'm telling the truth, Prime Minister," the Jedi cut him off. "I'm supposed to deliver six legions to the sector army base. But at a headcount, at best we'd get four. So, Prime Minister, are you robbing the Republic?"
"No, that cannot be..." the Prime Minister began to justify himself.
"Lama Su," the Jedi leaned forward. "You don't need this scandal. That's why I'm offering a deal."
The Kaminoan, terrified of possible trouble, suddenly calmed down, realizing that this Jedi might be someone he could do business with. Not as stubborn as the clones or Shaak Ti.
"I am ready to hear your proposals for resolving this... misunderstanding," the Prime Minister smiled.
The Jedi smiled back, extending a new datapad. Staring at what was written on the screen, the Kaminoan slowly sank into a state of shock.
"This is... this is outrageous!" he exclaimed.
"Outrageous is robbing the Republic," I noted. "You're playing a very dangerous game, Prime Minister. But if you accommodate me, no one will ever know about your schemes. Naturally, except for those present in this room."
Lama Su looked anxiously at the Jedi, then at the clone accompanying him.
"I think," he finally said, "Kamino can help you."
"Excellent," I smiled. "My representative will visit you shortly."
* * *
Ord Pardron.
A tiny ball in the middle of the Dufilvian sector.
Once, the planet had served as a defensive and reconnaissance outpost—a world from which the Republic had taken its broad strides into the exploration of the galaxy.
With the start of the Clone Wars, the planet was remembered again.
Old structures, in some places simply gnawed out of the rock, were spruced up with fresh paint and construction concrete. Patrol ships and fighters swarmed the orbit. A squadron of Acclamators, transformed more into carriers than landing transports, stood guard in the system. They were supported by a quintet of proud beauties—Venators, gleaming with new plating. Clearly, they hadn't seen battle yet. Unlike most civilian bases, this one couldn't boast strong defenses. Besides the escort squadron, there was also an orbital fortress station in the system, to which my Acclamator docked. And although it reminded me of a medical station from the Clone Wars cartoon, the presence of hundreds of gun emplacements on its surface dispelled my distrust.
Almost immediately upon arrival in the system, I received an incoming call from Moff Bailur. I was in the ship's bridge, surrounded by the regimental commanders, ARC troopers, and the Acclamator's officers. But since the bridge had no separate communication room, I had to take the call in front of everyone present.
"Aaaaah," the hologram of a short, slightly plump, graying man drawled. Rurkh Bailur in person. "A Jedi. Finally, you've arrived."
"Moff Bailur," I gave a slight bow. "Glad to have made it."
"Have your ship dock at the station," the Moff ordered. "We need to meet. I'll be waiting at the residence on the planet."
With those words, the commander of the system army disconnected.
"I'll arrange for a shuttle to be prepared," the ship's commander, Aeon Kreeves, commented dryly.
We'd gotten acquainted during the flight. Kreeves, a veteran of the Judicial Forces, had ten years of experience fighting pirates across the Outer Rim. When the war broke out, he didn't hesitate to file a transfer request to the forming army.
Tall, with a sickly pallor and a short crew cut of dark hair, the captain had already seen combat. On a different Acclamator, though.
Aeon had made a name for himself during the Battle of Atracken. Although his ship's mission was only to deploy ground forces, the captain did his best to support the advance. A taking-off LST provided supporting fire for the attacking clones, significantly thinning out the Separatist defenses.
It was only logical that the Separatists wouldn't appreciate that. Three Munificent-class ships were waiting for Aeon in orbit, turning his ship into swiss cheese. With horrific hull damage and heavy casualties, his Acclamator limped to the nearest Republic base.
The new ship was scrapped, and the captain himself was suspended and under investigation for nearly a month. In the end, the tribunal deemed his actions correct, pinned a medal on the captain, and sent him to Rothana for a new ship.
"Thank you, Commander," I replied. "Alpha, you're in charge. Make sure the second set of ammunition and food supplies for the legion are loaded onto the ship."
"Yes, sir, General," the Commando saluted the regiment commanders and left the bridge that same instant.
"Balda," I called over the second ARC. "Go to the station and find out what's going on around here. I don't like the local situation."
"I'll do it up right," the second one saluted.
"Berserk," I called out to my last elite clone. "You'll accompany me to meet the Moff."
"As you command," the 'Alpha' shrugged.
* * *
The Moff met me in the operations center.
The base of the 'Iron Spear' sectoral army was situated deep within the mountain. Long ago, at the dawn of colonization, the ancient Republicans had founded a multi-level base under the vault of the rock mass. From here, strikes were launched against the enemies of the Republic. From here, the brave warriors of the Galactic spread democracy and dispensed justice.
The headquarters gave me déjà vu. As if I had returned to Odessen.
But unlike my base, this one was like a disturbed hive. Dozens, maybe even hundreds of sentients — and that's not counting the clones — filled the numerous rooms, monitoring information at work terminals.
Amid all this chaos, the stocky figure of the Moff flickered.
"Knight Dougan," Bailur greeted me. The Moff's small, plump, soft hands told me more than his face, which was extremely wrinkled from demonstrative mental effort.
He wasn't a warrior. And most likely, he knew even less about military matters than I did. I wouldn't have to expect any help, useful advice, or orders from him.
With a mental sigh, I returned the greeting.
"How good that you've arrived," the Moff remarked. "I simply need fresh forces."
"I'm ready to help with whatever I can," I shrugged.
Following the commander of the sectoral army, I, along with the silently accompanying Berserk, reached the operational holographic terminal. It seemed to be a special room for briefings, separated from the main part of the operations center by massive bulkheads. The room had the aforementioned holographic terminal in the center and a few chairs in the far corner.
The Moff gestured to a clone in a Republic uniform, and a hologram of the planet immediately appeared.
"Christophsis," Bailur explained. "Have you ever been here, General?"
"Never in my life," I admitted. In my head, thoughts were spinning about how the very first animated film about the Clone Wars I'd ever seen was about the battle for this planet. As far as I remembered, in the official chronology of the Clone Wars, it was one of the largest and bloodiest battles.
"Well then," the Moff concluded, "you'll have to visit there in the near future. Captain H," the Moff turned away to the green light on his comlink, "continue the briefing. I have an urgent call."
"The planet is located in the Christoph system, in the Savarin sector," said the clone who had started the hologram. "Since the beginning of the war, the Confederacy has landed on the planet and has controlled it ever since. Warm Loathsom commands the CIS forces. Senator Organa organized refugee camps on the planet, but the Separatists pushed the humanitarian mission out, establishing an orbital blockade. Generals Skywalker and Kenobi broke the blockade, landed on the planet, and managed to evacuate most of the civilians. General Skywalker's 501st Legion, as part of General Kenobi's 7th Air Corps, along with attached forces, is conducting successful battles for the planet."
"It all sounds smooth," Berserk remarked. "But if the generals' actions are successful, why do they need us?"
"The generals landed troops on the planet," Captain H explained. "And both of their attached Venators have returned to replenish ammunition. Admiral Yularen explained that due to a Separatist sabotage, the forces of Generals Skywalker and Kenobi are out of ammunition. Additionally, in the battle for the capital, they suffered heavy losses and need support."
"You want to send my legion to support Kenobi and Skywalker?" I clarified.
"Not only that," Bailur remarked, returning to the terminal. "Admiral Yularen reports that the Jedi Temple has contacted him, and Grand Master Yoda asks to relay an urgent message to General Kenobi..."
"Motherf—" I mentally cursed. "This was in the feature-length cartoon... Yoda sent a new Padawan to Kenobi..."
"Allow me to introduce myself," came the sound of bulkheads opening behind me. "Ahsoka Tano."
* * *
"This is so cool," the little one squealed. "I'm going on a mission with a real combat general."
"Damned Bailur! I mentally cursed the commander. Not only did he send me to fight at the ass-end of the galaxy, but he also ordered me to deliver this thorn in my side to Skywalker."
"Sir," Berserk asked me quietly, but loud enough for the Togruta to hear, "can I shoot her?"
"Not now," I waved him off. "We'll deliver her to Christophsis and get her off our backs."
"Actually," the girl even blushed, "I didn't force myself on you. Moff Bailur said it would be better this way — Admiral Yularen's Venator will cover your legion's landing."
"Oh, right, sure," I snorted. The events of the cartoon were surfacing more and more clearly in my memory. The Venator that Ahsoka would arrive on would be shelled by Separatist ships and would have to retreat.
So, I could forget about the legion's landing right away. As soon as the Venator and the Acclamator appeared in the enemy's kill zone, they would be blown to pieces. And with them, my barely re-equipped legion.
Speaking of which.
By squeezing Lama Su in all the sensitive spots, I had finally found a way out of the personnel shortage situation.
Like the 204th, a large number of clone units had suffered on Kamino. A shortfall of over three thousand clones could have been a disaster for us. The reassignments the Kaminoans were doing could backfire on them, not on me. So, without much ceremony, I went through the barracks on Kamino, requisitioning every clone I could get my hands on.
By the time of departure, I had managed to equip the legion with three full-strength infantry clone regiments out of the required four. The fourth regiment was cobbled together "from here and there."
The first battalion, part of the fourth regiment, was equipped with jetpack clones. Copies of Jango Fett with jetpacks on their backs seemed like an outstanding acquisition to me.
The second battalion was made up of clone medics, specially grown by the Kaminoans to provide field medical assistance to clones on the battlefield.
The third battalion was equipped with heavy-weapons clones. Armed with heavy armor and weapons, these clones were created to fight not only infantry but also enemy vehicles. Silent and sullen, they didn't enjoy friendly support from the other clones. They didn't particularly seek conversation either. During the entire flight to Ord Pardron, I hadn't seen a single 'heavy' outside their quarters.
The last battalion was the most disliked by every single clone in the legion.
Helldivers. With reinforced armor and helmets resembling beehives, they had undergone intensive training on Kamino for future missions involving high-altitude drops. But something went wrong in the cloning process, and the Helldivers became a unit that lacked sympathy among their brothers. When I found out that one of the Jedi who had come to defend Kamino had left a whole battalion behind, replacing them with regular infantry, I couldn't afford to pass up such a luxury.
It would seem that after equipping the unit, I should have stopped my grasping little hands, but no.
The fifth regiment in my legion, and the first above the standard complement, consisted of four battalions of clone engineers. And if, hearing 'engineers,' you think these guys only get issued sapper shovels, you'd be wrong. A combat engineer battalion had maximum versatility. Combining the skills of pilots, technicians, medics, armorers, and so on, these guys were simply irreplaceable. By regulation, they were part of one of the full-strength legions, but I decided to strike while the iron was hot.
For the same reason, two hundred clone snipers were also attached to the legion. To round out the number, I also scooped up another eighty flamethrower troopers.
Now the strength of my legion was eleven thousand eight hundred clones.
On board the Acclamator assigned to me, the Aeon Kreeves, my little army was now stationed. Along with manpower, I could also rely on 320 74-Z speeder bikes, 80 LAAT gunships, and 48 AT-TE walkers. The icing on the cake was 36 SPHAs — the infamous self-propelled heavy artillery that had shot down Sep ships on Geonosis.
With these forces, I could capture a planet in the Outer Rim and ride out everything that was happening there. But I hadn't stopped remembering my plan. Capturing one planet was nothing compared to capturing a galaxy.
"What do you mean, General?" Berserk's voice brought me back to reality.
"The Separatists are unlikely to have calmed down," I remarked. "They need Christophsis, which means that as soon as our ships left for reinforcements, they must have pulled in more forces and resumed the blockade. If they don't, I'll be disappointed in them."
"Perhaps," Berserk remarked, "we shouldn't throw all our forces in there? Let's wait until the path is safe..."
"If the siege was broken once," Skywalker's future headache came to the wrong conclusion, "then it should be broken again. My message from Grand Master Yoda..."
"Lord," I rolled my eyes. "No one gives a damn what you've come up with. Better make a useful suggestion..."
Almost at the ramp of the shuttle that would return us to the Acclamator (which, by the way, I had named 'Rhino,' in honor of the large landing ships of the USSR Navy), we met Alpha and Balda, who were waiting for us.
"The decision to split up was correct, General," remarked the careless Balda. "There's information..."
Alpha unceremoniously drove his elbow into his brother's chest plate.
"The General just got out of a meeting, Balda," the Commando said in an oily voice.
"Let's get back to the ship, gentlemen," I commanded. "On the way, we should pay Admiral Yularen a visit."
Looking at the little thorn in my side, I briefly considered whether Skywalker really needed a student.