"Rishi Outpost," Alpha pressed the call button again. "Commando Alpha speaking. Over."
And in response — silence. While the base garrison should have responded at the first incoming transmission signals.
"You can call them five more times," Balda advised. "And maybe they'll answer you. They're 'shinies' they probably haven't even read the Regulations. Just out of the tube, and bam, blaster in your teeth, straight to the front lines."
"Stop clowning around," his brother snapped. "This is getting serious."
"You mean the general's warning about the station being captured?" Balda leaned back carelessly in his seat, propping his feet up on the instrument panel. "I think it's all bull. How could the tin cans have gotten this far behind our lines?"
"And how did they manage 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. The last thing we need is to break something here!"
"Afraid General Unduli will make you dust the whole interceptor?" The partner grinned insolently. But he did listen to the advice.
"I'm afraid General Dougan will give us hell for treating HIS ship like this," Alpha corrected. "Or do you think it would have been better to fly a shuttle?"
"And sit on my ass the whole way?" Balda grimaced. "No thanks. After all, are we Imperial Commandos or what?"
"Say 'Imperial' somewhere else, and before you can blink, you'll be taken apart for spare parts," Alpha promised darkly.
The General had been honest with them. As promised.
Of course, he hadn't told them everything. But the very fact that he knew in detail about the Contingency Orders — which every clone knew by heart, while most Jedi Generals didn't even suspect their existence — spoke to his extensive knowledge. Of course, he had removed the inhibitor chips from their heads and shown them to each of the clones, not out of the goodness of his heart. The General was winning their loyalty. And, it had to be admitted, he had succeeded.
Every clone in the army knew why and for what purpose he had been grown. To fight and sacrifice himself for the Republic. But to serve as a pawn in someone's dirty game… No thanks.
Being a bargaining chip in big politics was not the fate any clone wanted. And least of all did they want to die from accelerated aging, to be thrown onto the scrap heap of life. Maybe some of the regular clones would agree to that, but not the commandos. Not those who were "almost like Jango."
The General had promised to free them from the inhibitors and another's will — and he had done it. The General had promised to take care of every clone under his command — and he kept his word. Almost all the guys from the 204th were free from another's will. Of course, they didn't realize now that one day they would have to make a choice. But Alpha knew for sure that the majority would follow their General. And the longer this war lasted, the stronger the ranks of those who would join them would grow.
No one wanted to die from rapid aging. A year had passed since they had started fighting. And looking at his brothers, on whose faces the first wrinkles were already appearing, 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. While even Fob was starting to show gray hair. As were most of the brothers from the first generation of clones.
Unlike other armies, the 13th didn't have its own commando units. Well, they did — from the very beginning. But by the time the General came to power, only a handful were left alive out of nearly a hundred — and even those were cripples for the rest of their short lives. One had a leg torn off, another an arm. The General found work for each of them — didn't scrap them like many did. Didn't throw the soldiers out the door, condemning them to a beggarly existence — as it turned out, not only did they have no pension, but the meager credits the Republic paid to invalids were barely enough to feed their insatiable appetites.
Now, seven surviving commandos worked in the 13th Sector Army — all Alphas, every single one. In staff positions, of course, but at least on army rations. And even that was only because the General kept the fate of every injured clone under his personal control. All prosthetics, even the simplest ones, were provided by the Hutt company, but both commandos quickly figured out that this was happening by the will of THEIR Jedi. And they couldn't help but respect him for it. Because for everyone else — from an ordinary Jedi to the Chancellor himself — they were just expendable. But for Dougan, they were first and foremost people. HIS people.
Every wounded brother underwent treatment in a luxurious medical center on Christophsis, where, as Balda had found out, besides treatment, the local medics secretly removed the inhibitor chips from the clones. Yes, clones left to their own devices might not want to rally under the banner of the Zakuul Empire — that's what 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 spoken with each of the Alpha commandos who had returned to work in the army after being declared disabled. Every one of them expressed a desire to serve under General Dougan — and that needed to be reported to him personally. Perhaps, if they replaced the budget prosthetics of arms, legs, and eyes that the wounded Alphas were currently "sporting," they could assemble their own commando unit. Loyal to him personally. But all that could wait until after this mission.
General Unduli, also a supporter of their Jedi, had warned that General Dougan would be waiting for them on Kamino after the inspection of the tracking station on Rishi. They were to answer for many of the secret missions they had carried out among their own brothers, recruiting soldiers loyal to THEIR cause. The General should like this — almost all units were ready to a man to rally under his banners. The only exceptions were General Kota's volunteers and the recently arrived 327th Star Corps of General Secura. Not a single one from the latter had yet been through the "procedures" on Christophsis, so talking to them was pointless.
Now their "Fury" brand new, straight off the slipways — a gift from the General to HIS Imperial Commandos — was approaching the tracking station on Rishi's moon. One of the many secret bases designed to warn of an enemy approach. And, by the looks of it — the enemy was already there. No clone — not even one who hadn't properly finished training — would ignore calls from an inspection team.
"Oh, awake!" Balda drew his attention, pointing a finger at the display, which showed a head in a Phase-1 helmet. Yeah, right. You can't fool a commando that easily.
"Why did it take you so long to answer?" Balda barked. The "clone" "froze" for a moment, then replied:
"We had communication problems, Commander. But everything's back to normal now. All good."
"We're an inspection team," Alpha said, squinting. The number of small inconsistencies was multiplying. And it was making him tense. "And it's up to us to decide how things are going for you."
"Inspection? We don't need an inspection. Everything's fine here. Thank you, sir."
"What, did they not keep you in the tube long enough?" Balda flared up. "Or have you not been on 'latrine duty' for a while, soldier?"
"Leave him, Balda," Alpha said in a deliberately even tone. "We'll land on the platform and sort it out. Soldier," he addressed the "clone" on the display. "Prepare for inspection."
"Roger-roger. We'll be waiting for you on the landing platform." The connection cut off. And that only heightened their suspicions.
"What do you think?" he asked his brother.
"He's kind of…" Balda hesitated. "Mechanical, somehow. Talks just like…"
"… a droid," the commando supplied.
Balda shot him a wary look.
"Tell me you don't think…"
"I'm almost certain of it," Alpha said, pressing his lips together. "But we need to check. Maybe some of our guys 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 keep from swearing. Yes, there was such an order. From General Dougan himself, relayed through General Unduli. But blindly following orders wasn't their style. That was for droids. They were commandos. And first and foremost, they needed to gather information — how badly the enemy had managed to damage Kamino's defenses. Blowing up the station wasn't a problem. A couple of proton torpedoes would be enough — not even the station's shields would save it. Especially since it was built on a cliff — hit the mountainside, and the whole structure would crash into the ravine.
"Engage the cloak," he ordered. "We'll land a few klicks from the outpost, then go on foot. And don't forget to grab extra weapons this time — there are some unusually nasty critters around here."
"Looks like this mission won't be as easy as I expected," Balda sighed, activating the optical camouflage. Hidden from any detection systems, their interceptor changed course. Alpha marked a landing spot behind a massive mountain ridge on the moon's surface. According to the complex's plans, there should be a ventilation shaft not far from there — they could use it to get inside the complex and scout things out. If they were lucky, they'd find survivors. The whole garrison couldn't have been wiped out, could it? That just doesn't happen — at least not on his watch.
* * *
Shea ran her eyes over the text on the datapad screen, then set the device aside with complete indifference.
"Interesting. What the hell does he need this for?" she asked Nadia, who was sitting across from her. The Sarkhai girl, with her doll-like features, sat with her eyes closed. And because of that, she looked more like a porcelain figurine than a living being.
"You don't 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, just like her Force-sensitive partner.
Shea knew that both of them were now communicating directly with Dougan — for Force adepts, it was something like a holocomm link. She herself had flatly refused to participate in such activities — the last thing she needed was Valkorion's apprentice in her head. Or any other man, for that matter.
That was why she had received her next assignment in a trivial way — on a password-protected datapad. A detailed description of the task, without any hint of why he needed it. But with a detailed diagram of the location, with precise indications of where the desired items were. Another game of "blind man's bluff."
Just like forwarding all the information obtained on Mandalore via an encrypted channel to one of Dougan's unknown underlings. Well, he hadn't left any instructions on what exactly to send. So let the mysterious recipient read about the tanks, and the destroyers, and the swoops, and the freighters. She didn't mind. What worried her now was something else.
"Does anyone know where he is and that red-skinned whore?" The question was rhetorical. Apparently, the Hands really weren't interested in where their master was. Enviable discipline. Shea couldn't help but admire such obedience — in her time, it had taken a lot of effort to achieve complete submission from the numerous scattered Mandalorian clans. And this Jedi had managed it in a fraction of the time. Fine, the Sith — they always liked to obey someone stronger. But hearing from both former Jedi that they were almost obsequious towards someone they had disliked not so long ago… It was all very strange. It seemed Dougan had subjugated them after all.
Too bad she couldn't at least chat with them out of boredom. Or 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 rendezvous point. Not that she treasured the company of that metal dummy, but at least it wasn't boring with him around. But as it was — there were living beings, and yet there was no one. You could shave their heads bald right now and they wouldn't even notice.
Nadia was the first to open her eyes. Shea didn't miss that she began to breathe more deeply, 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 furtive smile, shifted her focusing gaze to the Mandalorian woman.
"What's bothering you?"
"Why the hell did that Letan scum drag us all to Coruscant if Dougan, it turns out, is alive and well and nothing is threatening him?" Shea growled. "Every channel on the HoloNet is singing his praises, saying what a great guy he is, how he saved the Chancellor. The same Chancellor who, by the way, 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 way, then that's how it should be. It's not for us to judge."
"Certainly not for you," Vizla snorted. "It's written all over both your faces that you'd jump into his bed at the first opportunity."
"And what's wrong with that?" Grell asked in surprise. Shea Vizla was so stunned she lost the power of speech. Was this really the quiet one talking — the same woman who, after her precious consul, hadn't let any man closer than the tip of a lightsaber? "It's good for your health, by the way."
"You should try it sometime," Kira advised, rising from the table. "Maybe you'd stop being such a rabid bitch."
"I can kick your ass in any state, Jedi," Vizla said threateningly.
"You couldn't on Rishi," Karsen shrugged coolly. "What makes you think you can now?"
Both she-wolves headed for the exit of the living room without saying goodbye. Discussing each other's assignments, of course, wasn't done among the Hands. Valkorion had selected them precisely for that — capable of long autonomous missions.
But Mandalore the Avenger didn't feel like moping alone in the luxurious penthouse either.
The irritation from being reminded of her defeat at Karsen's and her Hero's hands demanded an outlet. And the night that had fallen over Coruscant's skyscrapers was the perfect time to stretch her legs. On the lower levels of this snake pit, there was always someone to beat the spirit out of.
* * *
"You shouldn't provoke her," Nadia said from the bedroom doorway. "Rick won't approve if we fight among ourselves."
Kira paused before the entrance to her own room and looked at her friend with a slight smirk.
"Sometimes I really wish she'd lose control," she said dreamily. "After Nar Shaddaa, I... feel a great need to let out all my emotions."
"I thought the massacre while chasing the ark would have tempered 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 Master's enemies would be a wonderful idea."
"Just don't do it without an order," Nadia advised. "I can sense he's fond of you. But I wouldn't want to see him break your neck for disobedience. Believe me — he won't be tormented by guilt. I saw it deep in his consciousness."
"Really?" Kira was surprised. "You never said."
"Back on Christophsis, during our joint meditation, I managed to touch his mind," Nadia admitted. Judging by the blush flooding her cheeks, she was extremely embarrassed. Valkorion never forgave such liberties. "He's... a very complex person. There's a huge darkness in him — something connected to childhood complexes. He keeps it under control, but at the same time he's afraid that one day it will overpower his pull toward the light. I'm sure Dougan won't kill for his own satisfaction. But I'm certain — for disobedience he'll ask very, very strictly. And if there's a reason, he'll kill, and won't feel the slightest pang of conscience."
"Just wonderful," sarcasm froze on Kira's lips. "My previous master found me a new one just like him. Thanks for the revelation."
"As usual?" Nadia smiled. "Strictly between us?"
"Strictly between us," Kira returned her smile. "Now let's get some sleep. Fortunately, Vette and HK-47 have already left, and Shea probably won't stay long at the residence — so no one will bother us sleeping in. I've got an exciting secret trip to Devaron tomorrow for an extremely rare item."
"I have a similar mission on Mimban. Once I acquire what I'm looking for, I need to return to Zakuul with the ark to report to the Master."
"Believe me," Nadia replied sadly. "Your assignment is much easier."
* * *
"A pleasant meeting, Master Gallia." Despite the smile, fatigue was clearly readable on Shaak Ti's face — especially considering she was an alien. "I'm glad to see you, Master Dougan, Knights Tachi and Omas. Padawan Starstone." The apprentice received a separate nod from the Council member. "You arrived ahead of schedule."
"We had," the Tholothian cast a quick glance at the only man in their company, "a very suitable transport."
"Yes, I see." The Togruta's empty gaze swept over the Defender's hull. Even though she was clearly seeing this type of ship for the first time, it sparked no interest in her. "Master Unduli and Knight Secura are already waiting for us in the tactical center."
The motley group of Jedi of all stripes moved out of the hangar like a caravan, heading toward the interior of Tipoca City. The capital of Kamino, which also served as the central hub of planetary defense. And the location of the cargo so precious to me. Grievous was not to damage it at any cost.
"Any news?" I asked, walking to the left of the Master. Oli, already clad in her armor, strode beside me. A little further back and to the side — Kaili. At first I'd planned to find something from my reserves for her too, but it turned out I only had two sets of suitable armor — the kind worn by Jedi Consulars. One I gave to Siri — after all, she'd need the extra protection in battle. Never mind that, like my Padawan, she was now walking on the opposite side of the Togruta with her former teacher. Kaili probably wouldn't need armor — the infirmaries were located very far from the expected battlefield. The second set, "by right of the first night," as the Tholothian had told me with a smile that morning, went to her. There were still a few sets left — Zakuul armor, Naphém armor, the heavy armor of Jedi Knights that not even every man would dare wear before battle. And one last set of Sith warrior armor. Leftovers of luxury, so to speak. A pity — excellent armor. Light, incredibly durable. Despite being considered heavy armor, it weighed about three times less than equivalent Knight armor. I'd need to figure something out and build up a large stock — considering I'd worn two sets to the breaking point in a year, either I needed to be much more careful with valuable artifacts, or replenish my reserves. Fortunately, the New Forge worked without weekends or lunch breaks.
"Nothing concrete yet," Ti reported. "Patrols have spotted several scout droids, indicating Grievous's armada is close. But the tracking station on Rishi's moon has ceased operation. The commandos Master Unduli sent there returned half an hour ago and report a large concentration of enemy ships. Significantly larger than the Council reported."
"If that's the case, Grievous is no less than an hour and a half away from us," Adi calculated in her head. "Have our ground forces arrived yet?"
"Yes," the Togruta nodded almost imperceptibly. "Both Master Unduli and Knight Secura hurried as fast as they could. The unit commanders are currently discussing defense tactics in the command center. And here it is, by the way." She waved her hand in front of a fragile-looking bulkhead that, as we approached, slid apart in opposite directions like the shutter of a film camera.
So, you could say it had begun. If the station was destroyed, then Alpha and Balda had completed their task — we were warned that Grievous's armada was coming. I wondered how big his fleet was — I didn't want to get our asses kicked in our own backyard. I'd need to carve out a couple of minutes to talk to the guys.
The semi-dark command center greeted us with tactical consoles, around which clone operators scurried, marking the current status of the troops. And familiar figures stood in a semicircle around an activated holoprojector.
"Generals," the commanders of the 327th Star Corps and the 204th Legion greeted our procession in unison. Aayla Secura, who had been quietly discussing something with Unduli, immediately stopped her conversation and met us with a disarming smile.
The exchange of greetings dragged on for several minutes. Long 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 mission is complete. The boys are back. They even managed to pull out a few 'shinies' from there."
"Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated, Nyx," I assured him. "Are the troops ready?"
"Every single one," the Mirialan confirmed. "We had time to prepare for the invasion and take suitable positions."
"Good," I nodded. "Did you check the waters?"
"Yes, sir. Nothing suspicious."
And that was precisely what was alarming. As I recalled, the main part of the attack was carried out by Aqua Droids, which, in the heat of the space battle, would start popping up like jack-in-the-boxes onto the city's "plates." It would be a complete surprise for the defenders, allowing the droids to push the clones back from the front lines. And in the canonical events, it provided Ventress with almost training-ground conditions for capturing Jango Fett's DNA samples. Damn, I'd always been bothered by the question — why the hell did they even need that? Did they want to create a biological weapon against the Republic's army? They could have captured any clone on the battlefield — the blood was all the same.
"Double the vigilance," I ordered. "We can't afford to be caught off guard. And tell the troopers to use cover more often."
"Already done, General," the commander assured me.
In the series, and actually in the saga films too, it always bothered me that clones often poured fire at the enemy while standing in the open. No wonder they were mowed down by entire units. I had nothing against it — let that happen in other armies, but not in mine. They were clones, sure. But at the same time — living people. Not "Meat Droids," as some considered them, but actual people. Even if they were billions of copies with the same face. Every life I saved was one more soldier for my Stormtrooper Corps.
"There's no need for such pompous whispering," Adi Gallia somehow ended up beside me. "Master Ti is about to start the briefing."
Even through my armor, I felt a light — and, as I'd confirmed on the way here, nimble — hand land on my back. Gently nudging me toward the holoterminal. Good thing no one was behind me — it would have been hard to explain such familiarity later.
Though Luminara, standing on my other side, seemed to have noticed — it wasn't for nothing that her eyebrow crept up. I made a hand gesture meaning "I'll explain later," thanked the Force that Adi had stopped clowning around, and began listening to Shaak Ti's briefing.
"Thanks to the efforts of Master Unduli and Knight Secura, we have substantial forces to repel the attack," she said. Two holograms of male officers appeared among those gathered. "Admiral Stryklen commands the main strike force." The older bald man with a short gray beard nodded formally to those assembled, greeting the Jedi. "That's nearly two dozen ships. Five Venators, including the one that brought the clones from the 327th Corps, seven Acclamators, and the same number of Hammerhead-class cruisers. Their primary task is to hold Grievous's armada in orbit, preventing an orbital bombardment of Tipoca City. Commodore Nial Declann," the dark-skinned officer followed the example of his senior in rank, "has ten Marauder-class corvettes at his disposal. Their task is to counter the CIS's light forces. It's a pity we don't have more ships, of course — according to commando intelligence, Grievous has nearly fifty line ships, from frigates to Recusants. Fortunately, he only has one dreadnought — his flagship."
"Let's hope he hasn't reinforced his armada since the last reconnaissance," Unduli voiced the general sentiment. "The stated number of ships is already enough to inflict significant damage on us."
"The more we lose here," Stryklen supported her, "the more holes there will be in the Iron Spear's defenses in the near future. As far as I know, we can't expect reinforcements anytime soon, Moff Dougan?"
"My sources report that Rendili and Sienar are prepared to provide us with a total of three dozen ships within this week," I recalled the details of my last conversation with my underlings. "And the same number over the following two weeks."
"Let's hope the CIS won't have enough strength to attack the oversector anytime soon," a hint of concern flickered across Secura's face. Understandable — she was now part of the Iron Spear herself. And she knew perfectly well that without fleet support, the ground forces wouldn't last long.
"That's why we must make every effort to destroy Grievous and his fleet here, at Kamino," Adi's motivation was certainly pompous, 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 defensive positions around the generator substation, the DNA storage facilities, near the barracks of cadets and clones finishing their training. We're also controlling all passages between buildings, the communications center, the command center, and the passages to the inner parts of the cloning laboratories."
"My soldiers are holding the perimeter — hangars, landing pads, ground-level passages," Commander Bly joined the conversation. As he spoke, he pointed to locations marked on the map as his men's defense sectors.
"Still, I consider a ground battle unlikely," Shaak Ti said with doubt in her voice. "Grievous is no fool and understands that Tipoca alone has up to fifty thousand clones of later production batches concentrated here. If necessary, we can deploy them to repel the attack."
"Sending untrained clones into battle?" Nyx questioned her words. "With all due respect, General — that's unnecessary casualties."
"I agree with the commander," I had to intervene. Whenever I remembered the episode from the series where clone cadets were exchanging fire with CIS battle droids from their own barracks, I didn't know whether to laugh — because copies of Jango Fett who were still wet behind the ears were smashing even the simple B-1s left and right — or to cry, because if even "children" could give the mechanical CIS army a beating, why the hell were adult clones dying in droves and returning to their units with "KIA" tags at every opportunity? "If the ground perimeter is breached, we must under no circumstances allow the enemy to penetrate deep into Tipoca City's facilities. Otherwise, we risk facing truly enormous destruction."
Even though I didn't know the capital's layout very well, the Kaminoans' "plates" were built to a standard design. Around the perimeter — numerous hangars. Behind them — technical rooms, utility sheds. And the "third layer" was the barracks, mixed with arsenals and training grounds. At the very center — medical stations and cloning conveyors. So if the droids broke through to the barracks, they could easily invade the holy of holies and wipe out all the young clones.
"In that case," Unduli concluded, "we must make every effort to hold Grievous in orbit and prevent a landing."
"Generals," a clone operator drew everyone's attention. "The enemy armada has emerged from hyperspace."
"Well, here we go," your humble servant summed up the meeting.
* * *
Even though only corvettes were under his command, Commodore Declann continued to command from the bridge of his usual flagship.
"Launch the fighters," he ordered. "Transmit to the corvettes — prepare to repel enemy small craft attack."
Rear Admiral Stryklen, the senior officer in this battle, had, in Nial's opinion, deployed his forces completely incorrectly. Instead of using the battle-tested tactic of mobile units, he had stretched the battle formation into two lines — one above the other.
The dark-skinned commander and his ships occupied the upper position in the formation. The line ships, arranged in battle order in a completely chaotic manner without regard for their specific characteristics and capabilities, stretched out beneath him. From the outside, such a formation probably looked formidable.
It didn't seem to make the slightest impression on the enemy.
Once the destruction of the tracking station on Rishi's moon became known, the vector of the CIS ships' entry into the system became embarrassingly obvious. That was why both opposing sides now found themselves face to face.
General Grievous's fleet appeared to have no formation at all. A jumble of ships of all known types, bunched together. At least the forward units of the Munificents were certainly like that. The destroyers following them were forming up on the fly into an order similar to that of the Republic ships. Apparently, the enemy intended to engage in a line battle. Considering that most Republic ships had strong enfilade fire, the slaughter would be terrible.
"It looks like Grievous is deliberately sacrificing some of his frigates to break through our lines," Stryklen noted, his hologram present on the bridge. "Hold your position, Commodore. And try to keep undamaged CIS vessels away from us."
"Understood," Nial replied. Once his superior was distracted by his own problems, he, as he had done many times before, tried to clear his mind of extraneous thoughts.
Now there was only him and this battle. The one in which the Commodore could not lose.
"All corvettes, open suppressive missile fire," he said, closing his eyes. Even if vaguely, he could see the battle picture much more broadly than if he had used tracking equipment.
The gift that had lain dormant in him since birth proved invaluable in military service. Of course, this wasn't school, where he could make the players of his favorite team perform better through his emotions and excitement. Here, everything was far more complex. And it demanded deep concentration from him.
He knew the location of every ship drawn into the confrontation — his own and those belonging to the Confederacy. He felt every salvo from missile and turbolaser batteries, every elusive maneuver made by allied or enemy ships. He sensed it before it even happened.
Nial froze, frowning in tense concentration; his breathing became uneven and ragged. Beads of sweat rolled down his body, soaking his uniform. But that didn't matter now. No one on board would notice — if the crew consisted of ordinary beings, maybe. But only clones were under his command — here and on every ship in the detachment.
The strain was monstrous — much heavier than what he had experienced breaking through to the surface of Jabiim. Very close to the torment he had endured at Bothawui. And in both battles, the enemy armada had been led by the same CIS general. The cyborg Grievous. A fiend from 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 sensitive to the Force. Not enough to be accepted into the Jedi Order, but stronger than any other being. No one could confirm this with certainty — neither his parents nor he himself had any desire to discuss such topics with Jedi. So he had cultivated and trained his gift on his own.
Ancient texts said that Jedi once possessed great power. Something called battle meditation. It helped them support allies and sow chaos in the minds of enemies. A truly useful skill, but even if Nial had been trained in this art, invading the electronic minds of Separatist droids was beyond anyone's ability.
No matter how hard he tried, the Commodore couldn't influence his allies either. He lacked the skills, knowledge, and strength. At least enough to help all Republic fighters in this battle.
Nial 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 precisely, cohesively, like a single organism. Nial tried with all his might to follow the instructions from those tomes his parents had bought for exorbitant sums in his childhood, but he couldn't tell whether he was having any effect on his subordinates, or whether their effective actions — which had already sent two Separatist frigates crashing into Kamino's ocean as seas of debris — were the result of fruitful training on this planet.
Hordes of enemy fighters that rushed to attack the Republic ships met stiff resistance from the clones.
From the hangar decks of his Acclamator, combat machines launched one after another, wedging themselves into the slaughter of light forces from both sides that had unfolded several hundred kilometers ahead of the Republic formation. Nial felt them: about fifty V-19 Torrents flying in tight formation, cutting into the enemy Vulture droid formation like a red-hot blade, drenching them in a sea of blue fire from two laser cannons. Swarms of concussion missiles launched from the fighters' and Marauders' launchers left the enemy's light forces no chance to break through to the Republic's line ships and inflict any significant damage.
The clones attacked the enemy furiously, trying to distract the nimble CIS fighters and bombers from the cruisers and destroyers that were so tempting to them. The bitterness of the losses at Ryloth and Geonosis was still too fresh to allow even a single death-dealing droid ship to slip through. Nial smiled. He liked working with subordinates like these. It seemed the command hadn't lied about their incredible learning ability — from battle to battle, the clones only got better. And deadlier.
The Commodore strained all his modest strength and extended his influence to touch the minds of the Republic fighter pilots. They were grim, but not in despair. Some were frightened by the enemy's numerical superiority, but they weren't panicking. All he sensed was discipline, determination, and resolve. Every single one would fulfill 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 sure he hadn't felt it before this moment. Every living fighter in this battle was a tiny spark of warmth and emotion. But among thousands of uniform lights — in space and on the planet — he sensed some that burned brighter than the rest.
Jedi. There could be no doubt. He had seen something similar before — in every operation he had participated in. Not fearing that any of them might detect him (since they hadn't done so before, it meant they couldn't), he continued to envelop the battlefield with the power of his mind. And the Jedi sparks grew brighter and brighter.
"Strange," Nial thought. "All the Temple guards are on the planet. Then why do I sense some of them in space?" The man listened to his sensations. There could be no doubt — among the rabble of frigates that were currently tearing Republic ships apart, Force adepts were clearly perceptible. The Commodore decided not to dwell on it — maybe some Jedi had decided to participate in the space battle and were currently piloting fighters.
Declann felt his right hand trembling — his body, just like at Bothawui, was telling him he was at his limit. He should temper his fervor — otherwise, as had happened before, he'd spend days with a skull-splitting headache. He should reduce his coverage of the battlefield just a little, return to assessing the actions of the line forces: the enemy frigates had managed to break through the curtain of turbolaser and missile fire to Kamino's orbit and were now exchanging fire with Republic ships at literally blaster-shot range. The fighters were managing without him; he needed to focus on the large ships.
"Shift fire to the frigates," his throat was dry, and the words tore from his throat as if he had spent several days in a desert under a scorching sun. That meant his head would start hurting as soon as he stopped using his gift. But never mind. This battle couldn't last forever...
"Enemy bombers have broken through to the Salvation!" a shout rang out on the bridge. But Nial felt it himself.
Hutt, what terrible timing — the moment he got distracted, a squadron of bombers managed to break through the fighter screen and rushed toward Admiral Stryklen's flagship. The brand-new Venator-class Star Destroyer Tranquility, despite having fighter cover, was completely unprepared for such a turn of events. A dozen kinetic projectiles fired by the enemy bombers swarmed like a deadly cloud into the open doors of the main hangar deck. The covering fighters gave chase, but it was too late — with a second salvo, the Separatist ships struck the bridge.
Sound doesn't travel in space. It's impossible in a medium without air.
But Nial's mind filled in the roar of explosions, the groaning of ship bulkheads, the screams of clones and officers torn apart by the shockwave. Through the prism of his gift, he felt hundreds of dim lights extinguish in the agony of death. He felt as if he had been doused with boiling water — the pain became unbearable, and in desperation, trying to protect his mind from the agony of dying people, he forced himself back to reality with an effort of will.
"The flagship is hit," a clone serving as his senior officer was immediately at his side. "The hangar is destroyed, the superstructure too."
"The Admiral?" Nial asked with parched lips. It felt as if several metal plates had been driven into his brain at once, splitting it into pieces. And each piece was now in agony, pulsing as if ready to burst out of his skull. It took great effort to suppress a groan. An officer must never show weakness under any circumstances.
"All dead, sir." The clone showed no regret. He was simply stating facts. But Declann could see that for himself — on the holographic projector it was clearly visible how the Salvation, having lost its main control center, engulfed in flames from dozens of breaches, its superstructures torn apart, was feebly, like a dying giant, returning fire with its remaining turbolaser batteries. The destroyer did not break formation — there had been no order to do so. The screening force had shielded the wounded giant from further threat, and now nothing was likely to threaten it — as long as it stayed in formation and its guns kept firing, no CIS ship could finish it off.
And yet, that single strike had done more damage to the Republic than the entire CIS fleet combined.
The Republican fleet had lost its commander. And now, without leadership, without a clear plan and cold calculations, their ships would inevitably be pummeled.
Nial went cold, realizing everything could turn into a complete catastrophe. The Republic could be defeated, and hundreds of thousands of lives would become a useless sacrifice — crushing the fleet, Grievous could easily carry out an orbital bombardment of the clones' homeworld. He would surely leave not a single structure intact on the surface of that ocean 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 touch of panic. It seemed to him that he had spoken in an even tone, but as soon as he finished, he realized he had shouted it. Because of the headache, he could not properly control his senses. A bad sign — it had been the same after Bothawui, when he'd had to wade into the slaughter on Rodia. "Who has taken command?"
The senior aide was staring at him without looking away. As if he couldn't find the words to answer. Or perhaps didn't know the answer?
Nonsense, that couldn't be! The chain of command in the fleet was clearly defined. And in this formation, there were only two figures vested with the authority to give orders.
One of them had either been vaporized when the Salvation command bridge exploded, or had died in cold vacuum, thrown overboard during decompression.
And the second…
"You're next in the chain of command, sir," the senior aide finally found his voice. "What are your orders?"
* * *
It's pleasant to realize you were right. And teeth-grindingly disgusting to understand that the new turn of events could be even worse than the canon one.
The bad feeling I'd had ever since Nyx reported that there wasn't a single droid in the ocean around the city had stuck with me right up until the moment debris from Sep ships started raining from the sky.
Or rather, that's what we thought at first.
The realization of just how thoroughly we'd been played came exactly when dozens of boarding modules began detaching from the large, uncontrolled chunks of hull. Like enormous nails, they fell in a metal rain onto the roofs of Tipoca City's structures in a wide variety of locations.
The entire plan — keeping the enemy on the periphery — had gone to hell.
Obviously, the idea of striking from underwater had originated with Ventress in the events I knew. Now, without her involvement, Grievous was acting more directly. But no less effectively.
The first landing modules slammed into the outer parts of the Kaminoan buildings. The battle brewing on the city's perimeter didn't seem so terrible — even I believed that maybe everything would turn out fine. But the Force is such a bitch.
Like a metal downpour, dozens of landing modules stabbed into the buildings, dropping enemy units behind our lines. Instead of the planned focused offensive, we now had not only fighting all along the outer perimeter of Tipoca City, but also large pockets of combat all throughout the city. The number of modules that had struck the central parts of Kaminoan buildings alone was enough to understand — the clone production lines were threatened. And not just them. The first-aid stations where Shaak Ti had sent Kaili were also under attack. And that made me curse everything in existence. What kind of fighter is a healer? Why had I risked her life at all, deciding to save more clones?!
"I hate all this running around," Oli shared her opinion with me. The girl, not falling a step behind, was racing toward the central sector of Tipoca's main building. It was right where Kaili was. And also Prime Minister Lama Su — the only local who was in on my plans. If he died, my Spaarti cloning cylinders were done for. If Kaili died, I would never forgive myself. I'd grown attached to that girl — with my tendency to spend time in the Halls of Healing, having my own healer was vital.
The alarm buzzers roared annoyingly, repeatedly filling the empty corridors with the flashing of emergency lamps. While Adi and Siri stood watch on the front line, and Unduli and Secura were in the technical zone, Oli and I had ended up, against my will of course, closer to the central section. As the last line of defense. But Grievous had outplayed everyone. There was no single breakthrough direction — now each unit had to fight its own battle against the hordes of sabotage droids and B2s, sowing chaos and destruction all around.
It's easy to say — a position in the central part of the complex. Sounds simple enough — but it's a real labyrinth here. And getting from one incursion point to another took quite a lot of running.
Clone units had been pinned down in their own areas of responsibility. So, like a fire brigade, my Padawan and I rushed from one landing module to another, taking the droids apart into non-repairable pieces. We operated separately — no special skill was needed to fight tin cans. But the pursuit of the groups that had broken through to the center brought us together.
Something went boom ahead — strong enough that vibration ran through the floor. One of the branches of the intersection ahead on our course belched fire and droid fragments.
"Looks like someone's holding the line up ahead," Oli perked up.
The fact that someone had managed to stop the droids on this approach was already great news. That meant it wouldn't be so easy for them to break through to the labs. And where the hell was Shaak Ti? She had taken responsibility for the defense of the command center and planetary leadership — and this mess was less than a kilometer from the Prime Minister's residence.
"Then we need to help," I said, noticing that ranks of super battle droids had appeared at the intersection, pouring fire at the spot where the explosion had just occurred.
We were separated by a few dozen meters, so, thrusting my right arm forward, I used Force Push to knock over a good dozen droids. Accelerating to the limit, I burst into the fight.
Ignoring their comrades who had been knocked aside, the B2s pressed forward. By my count — about twenty of them, marching in rows of five each. Man, if only I had a grenade right in the middle of their formation.
The blade sang as it slid from the hilt. A swing — and two droids fell, cut diagonally. Without stopping, I advanced through the droid ranks, never pausing for a second. Hesitation in such a slaughter meant death. Focus on one droid — another will shoot you. So no flirting with death and no posing — only efficient destruction of the surrounding hostile environment.
The Force boiled within me like the waves of a raging sea. Wrapping me in a protective cocoon, it at the same time fed my muscles, not letting my body give out at the worst possible moment. Channeling it through myself, I became like a whirlwind surrounded by a deadly yellow aura, hacking piece after piece off the enemy fighters.
In less than a minute, nothing remained of the enemy squad but smoking wreckage.
"Never seen anything like it," came an enthusiastic voice from behind me. From that very branch where the explosion had occurred.
I turned slowly and deactivated the blade. There were no enemies there — I had sensed that before charging into the enemy formation.
"General, sir, that was unparalleled," Alpha said, rising from behind a small barricade set up in the corridor. "The 'Brilliant ones' almost shit their pants when they saw you." He nodded toward a few clones standing nearby.
Four outwardly identical clones, wearing Phase-I armor. No markings from our legion or any identification whatsoever.
"Good to see you, buddy." I shook the commando's hand. "Who are these guys?"
"Balda and I rescued them from the Rishi outpost post." He made a gesture, and the soldiers obediently removed their helmets. Four identical, yet completely different faces. "This is their first real battle, not counting their part in the skirmish at the tracking station. They're not assigned to any unit right now, so I commandeered them for the medical center's defense."
"KS-782, General," the first one introduced himself. A stationary heavy blaster repeater sat at his feet — a local equivalent of a tripod-mounted machine gun.
"KS-21-0408, General," the next echoed him.
"KS-4040." The third clone, with a pleased expression, touched his palm to his temple. Then, pointing at his brother who was staring tensely down the corridors, he said, "This is KS-5555, General. Don't mind him — he's always this hit in the head."
The clone jokingly punched his brother in the shoulder. It was like a light had just been turned on in the latter's head. He flinched, sweeping his gaze over everyone present.
"Fives," he winced. "I've asked you, call me Fives."
"Is that so." I smirked. "The Domino Squad, then."
At the mention of their cadet unit, the clones snapped to attention instantly. Not only did they have a Jedi General in front of them, but an unusual one — one who knew what they'd been just a few months ago.
"Yes, sir," confirmed 'twice-forty.' "We're the best of the worst — even failed the test the first time…"
"Shut it, Joker," Alpha threatened. Then, looking at me, he said in a guilty tone, "Balda and I shouldn't have saved him from the eel."
"What do you mean, saved?" Oli asked. Oh, there she was. In the heat of battle, I'd even forgotten about her.
"In the most ordinary way," 782 said angrily. "The buckets drove us out of the station, and we hid in the ventilation. The problem was — we left our weapons when we retreated…"
"You mean when you ran," Joker 'politely' corrected him.
"Quiet," Alpha growled softly. "But basically he's right, sir. They bailed from the station because there were about five times as many tin cans there. The idea was sound, but it's a shame they didn't think to grab their weapons. If Balda and I hadn't brought spare blasters — Joker would definitely have been eel chow. Managed to blast the bastard in the face with a carbine at the last second."
"Well, looks like you've got everything under control here." I smiled. "By the way, where's your partner?"
"He's with the Foxtrot Commando squad guarding the genetic repository half a klick from here," Alpha reported. "When the buckets started falling from the sky, General Shaak Ti ordered a guard post set up near the repository."
"Sensible plan." I praised him. "Any droids on your tail?"
"It's half a klick straight from here to the medical center," Joker cut in. "If there were, we'd have noticed."
"Hm, fair enough." I smiled. "Alpha, take command of these louts." I pointed at the four. "You'll have your own… Hurricane Team."
I said the last phrase with obvious sarcasm. It didn't escape any of the clones. A pleased snort came from under Alpha's helmet.
The attitude toward commandos in the line infantry was mixed. Some saw them as truly elite fighters, while others thought their reputation was greatly exaggerated. Considering how many commandos had fallen in the very first battle of this war — up to half of all personnel — it was no wonder there were hotheads who claimed that the clones personally trained by Jango were no better than their less creative brothers.
But from the example of 'my' Alphas, I could say for sure — these guys could outclass anyone. The money spent on their creation and training was definitely not wasted.
A heavy tremor shook everything. The emergency lighting flickered more frequently than usual. Something bigger than ordinary landing barges had apparently smashed into the structure.
And as if in confirmation, the comlink came alive.
"General," Balda's voice sounded through a cacophony of blaster fire. "We've got company. The buckets are escorting… hell knows who they are, but they have lightsabers! They're breaking through everywhere — we won't hold long!"
"Dark Acolytes," Oli exclaimed. "We need to intervene!"
"Absolutely." I promised. Then, shifting my gaze to the clones, I noted that they had already put their helmets back on without waiting for orders, checking their weapons before battle. The genetic repository wasn't that far away. It had no access to Kamino's cloning capabilities. There was only one passage to the holy of holies — and Alpha's team was holding it now.
"We're going to help Balda," I explained to the captain. "You'll have to hold on with all your might — those tin cans will probably come this way too."
"Understood, General." The commando saluted. "Alright, Joker, Hevy — run to the arsenal, grab everything you can carry…"
Checking that my second lightsaber was in place, I looked at my Padawan. The girl seemed calm on the outside. But I didn't miss the fact that she was gripping her lightsaber hilt too tightly. Was she ready to face what awaited us? I didn't know who was leading the breakthrough, but it certainly wasn't the weakest of Dooku's servants. Still, I didn't have many options.
"It's our time, Oli." Nodding to the Padawan in the direction of the explosions, I took off running without saying goodbye to the clones. Thank the Force, Starstone didn't even think about falling behind. I could feel the girl channeling the Force through herself, steeling herself for battle. Well, perhaps now she would face her very first trial — a test of how well she had absorbed everything I'd managed to teach her. I hoped it wasn't too little. Otherwise…
No, to hell with it. Even if the girl was a pain in the ass, my conscience wouldn't let me risk her life. Hell, where had this conscience even come from? Since when did I care about anyone else's life besides my own? Why had my character changed the moment I truly experienced the Jedi life?!
"This is Dougan," I activated my comlink on the Jedi frequency. "We have a defensive breach near the genetic repository. The clones report Dark Acolytes."
"We're bogged down on the outskirts," Adi Gallia replied. "Trying to fall back to the center, but if we run now, we'll be cut down."
"Looks like you'll have to handle it yourselves," Shaak Ti cut in. "Droids at the approaches to the command center — they came through the service corridors. Knight Omas and I are holding them here."
"What about Unduli and Secura?" Not hearing a response from the Jedi I'd named, I became wary. Oli was throwing me angry looks — apparently, the little one had figured out that I was too afraid to imagine her in combat. On one hand, she was hardly the worst fencer, and after my training, her skills had improved even more. But who were we up against?! If it were some weakling, I'd relax. But if there was truly a serious opponent — say, Savage Opress — I wouldn't risk her life.
"No word from them," Siri reported after several seconds of silence. "They went toward the barracks — a large group of saboteurs landed there."
"Understood." Apparently, both aliens had run into Grievous. If my memory served me right, he personally commanded the cleanup of the clone quarters. And in the events I knew, he ran into Kenobi there. I could only hope both of them would prove no worse than Obi-Wan.
After clearing several corridors, we finally approached the battle. Ahead, at a T-shaped intersection, came the sounds of gunfire, and the air literally trembled from the abundance of red blaster bolts. I couldn't see any return fire, but over a year of war, I'd learned to distinguish the 'voice' of Republican DCs. So someone from our side was still alive. A literal weight fell from my shoulders. We'd made it.
About ten meters remained to the intersection when human figures in armor appeared in my field of view. Clones!
Only two — one in Katarn-class armor, clearly a commando from the Foxtrot squad. The second was definitely Balda. Not many clones around here walked around in Desolation Squad armor.
The pair, having dashed around the corner, almost opened fire on us. Balda reacted in time, lowering his own weapon and pushing his comrade's blaster aside.
"Don't shoot, Gregor, these are friendlies!" The commando's name seemed familiar, but the droids that appeared right behind the pair cut off my recollections.
"Cover the clones!" I shouted to Oli, activating my blade mid-stride. The golden blade, on the fly, intercepted a paired crimson burst that a B2 had fired at Balda, and deflected it back.
Oli, following my example, seemed to grow roots into the floor, wielding her blade and reflecting shots back at the enemy.
"What's the situation?" I called out to the pair of commandos, who had dropped to one knee behind us. Not a bad position. Since not a single enemy bolt was getting past my apprentice and me, both clones were laying down fire on the enemy in almost range-perfect conditions — dealing damage without risk to themselves.
"We held as long as we could, sir!" Balda's shout barely cut through the din of battle. The droids were charging at us like madmen — there was the advantage of a mechanical army. No sense of self-preservation. The front rank of buckets had already fallen, forming a sort of obstacle at the mouth of the corridor section from where Sep reinforcements were coming. "But there are too many tin cans! Before those two showed up, we were managing — we'd barricaded the entrance to the DNA repository. But as soon as the horned one appeared…"
"There's a Sith here?" Oli interrupted the clone. "One of Dooku's apprentices?"
"Hell if I know what he even is!" Balda snapped back, taking out a B2 with a well-aimed shot — a droid that had been aiming its arm-mounted blasters at the distracted Padawan. "He cut down almost all of Gregor's squad in a minute — three men! Sorry, General, but we retreated from the repository…"
"It's five meters around that corner," Gregor added. "If it weren't for the one with the sword…"
"We'll take it back now," I said decisively.
Damn it. This really looked like Savage Opress. And if he'd gotten to Jango Fett's DNA – that meant we'd have to chase him down if we couldn't intercept him in the repository itself.
"We'll push through." Seizing the moment, I used the Force to crush a new wave of B2s, creating some open space between Oli and me. But the moment we came out of cover, blaster fire started flashing from two sides — apparently, another squad of buckets had approached from the opposite direction. "Cover my back."
That last phrase, thrown to my Padawan, had its effect. Oli, and with her both commandos, switched to the Sep reinforcements — there were objectively about four times as many of them as those advancing from the repository side. And while the Force swirled around me like a whirlpool, I had no desire to fight on two fronts.
In front of me were only about half a dozen super battle droids — nothing compared to what was behind. Accelerating, I focused only on them.
I ducked under the first, sliding beneath its belly while simultaneously splitting it into two neat halves. Without getting up, I ricocheted a short burst into the next. Spinning to my feet, I reflected aimed shots from the third into the wall while lopping off its weapon-arm with a swing of my blade. I spun on my axis, using its chassis as cover from the remaining ones.
A Force Push sent the damaged droid into the two behind it. All three, clattering like an old Moskvich over potholes, went tumbling down to the far end of the corridor, where they met the wall with a crash and turned into scrap metal. With the last one separating me from the DNA repository, I didn't bother — gathering the Force, I simply crushed it to the size of an astromech droid. That one was definitely not functioning anymore.
So, the path to the repository was clear. I threw a quick glance behind me and confirmed they had the situation under control.
Oli was bravely holding the line, forming an impenetrable barrier with her lightsaber. The three Republicans had pushed the enemy past the intersection, preventing the buckets from moving into the adjacent corridor we'd come from and widening their firing arc. The girl was acting remarkably smart — she was growing right next to me.
The droids, choosing her as the primary target, had concentrated a massive volley on my Padawan. Against anyone else, it would have worked, of course. But my student had truly and brilliantly absorbed the lessons I'd taught her.
She drew the Force not as a pitiful trickle, but as a full-fledged mountain river. Not limiting herself to fencing, she threw droids aside without losing concentration for a single moment. I had to admit, at that moment, a scene from the books about the Vong invasion era surfaced in my memory.
There, on Coruscant, covering Jacen Solo, one of the Jedi had stood as an impassable wall against the enemy warriors, cutting them down by the dozen. Not a single one got through, not a single one broke past. Each met their death. Just as Starstone stood against the onslaught of droids, like a mountain ridge on the shore against which raging ocean waves break. The commandos kept playing the same combination — staying behind and pouring short bursts into the enemy. And it seemed, they could hold like that for a long time.
No, it looked like I had been completely wrong to worry about my Padawan. She had things to surprise me with.
But enough admiring the girl — some noise was coming from inside the DNA repository. It seemed Dooku's apprentice had found what he was looking for after all. Oli and the clones would cover my back — which meant it was time to deal with the Dathomirian spawn.
A massive figure — at least a head, maybe two, above me, encased in heavy armor, stepped out of the repository. Turning a black-and-yellow head crowned with horns toward me, he smiled predatorily.
"A Jedi!" he stated, activating a light pike in his hands, assuming an awkward attack stance. Savage bared his teeth, like a predator ready to pounce on a helpless victim.
Was this some kind of joke? Did he even know which end of the lightsaber to hold? Oh, right. Dooku had scolded him for having nothing but physical strength — no brains, no imagination, no technique. Well, this would be easy.
"And you — a future corpse," I promised, raising my blade over my right shoulder, gripping the hilt with both hands.
No one was going to stand on ceremony with this animal.