The Hereditary Count of Serenno sat motionless at his desk in a luxuriously furnished study deep within the ancestral castle. Through the window, the colorful ancient stained glass let in flickers of early dawn. The sun was asserting its rights, driving away the darkness from the expensive interior items. Far from all of the galaxy's wealthiest people could boast such decor. But the former Jedi sincerely believed he deserved such elegance. A small reward for decades of asceticism spent in the depths of the Jedi Temple.
Although Dooku's eyes were closed, the man wasn't sleeping. His mind, one of the sharpest in the Confederacy, was constantly working. And unfortunately, the longer the war lasted, the less time was allotted for sleep and rest.
The Confederacy of Independent Systems existed as a unified state only thanks to his political talents. Without a single ruler, without an iron will, the entire secession enterprise would have been doomed from the start. Because this gathering of cowards and greedy profiteers that formed the Separatist Council — the CIS legislative body — knew only how to divide profits. Not how to lead a war on a galactic scale.
And it was all the more unfortunate that if Dooku or General Grievous — the second-in-command — died, power would pass to Nute Gunray. A puny, weak, vindictive Neimoidian whelp who couldn't bring any of his global plans to completion. Couldn't blockade Naboo, couldn't kill Amidala…
A worthless fool. Just like all aliens.
Finishing his morning meditation, the count sighed deeply.
What a pity that the implementation of Lord Sidious's Plan required so much time. At times, attending the Separatist Council meetings, the count caught himself thinking he wanted to destroy them all. Release the dormant fury and finish the bastards with a few swings of his crimson blade.
"Lord Tyranus," a miniature figure of the teacher appeared above the desktop.
"Lord Sidious," the former Jedi respectfully greeted his mentor. "How may I be of service?"
"How are our affairs progressing?"
"Exactly according to your plan," the count stated without prevarication. He didn't want to and didn't like to lie. Therefore, the teacher would never hear facts distorted by Dooku's will. Especially since there was something to boast about.
"The coup on Dac has begun," he reported. "Riff Tamson organized a successful assassination of King Kolin. The Quarren, as planned, do not recognize his son's authority. Our forces have already invaded the sector. No significant resistance encountered anywhere. Tamson's fleet is reliably containing the Republic forces, so as soon as we secure the abdication of Lee-Char's heir from the throne, the Senate's dominance in this part of the galaxy can be forgotten."
"Master Unduli hasn't shown herself at all?" disbelief sounded in Sidious's voice.
"Exactly. Her forces are tied up fighting General Grievous's units across the oversector. If someone more proactive were in her place, we'd have to work harder…"
"Do not let your guard down, Lord Tyranus," the Sith advised. "The lack of initiative from the Mirialan could be a trap. I don't believe Dougan could simply ignore the clear instructions to break the blockade of Dac. It might be a trap…"
"Not forgetting about him for a second," Dooku said dryly. "Especially since our trap on Hypori will soon snap shut."
"Wonderful," Darth Sidious smiled. "So I understand General Grievous is on his way to Hypori?"
"He will arrive there in three hours."
"Will the name Mar Tuuk never appear in reports again?"
"His death is confirmed," Dooku agreed. "Surviving a volley of proton torpedoes…"
The fate of the ambitious Neimoidian, utterly devoid of talent, was sealed long before representatives of the Trade Federation began approaching the count with offers of various valuables. The multimillion-credit bribes offered to the CIS leader to influence General Grievous and return the failed commander "to the lineup" meant nothing to Dooku. He was rich and didn't need to replenish his accounts. However, Mar Tuuk was perfect for what the Lord had in mind. And for the first time in his long life, the count made a deal with his conscience. He "heeded the persuasions" of a dozen Neimoidians, accepting their "modest" gifts, and assigned Tuuk to the post of commander of the unit responsible for the defense of Hypori.
On this planet, the Sith planned to achieve several goals at once. First of all — to cause trouble for the Techno Union, avenging the inglorious loss of Ryloth on its leadership. Hypori, where the lion's share of Wat Tambor's assets were concentrated, would undoubtedly be captured by the Republic. That was inevitable when dealing with Dougan.
The galaxy and the Jedi could praise his command and organizational abilities as much as they wanted. To the Sith, his way of thinking was no mystery. Whoever stood behind him, the boy himself was extremely straightforward. He would never move to active operations while leaving a powerful CIS stronghold in his rear. Especially the only source of production of guided space mines. So guessing that he would strike at Hypori was not difficult.
And setting a trap was even easier. At the cost of his own death, Tuuk lured Dougan into a trap, forcing him to commit himself to the planet. He definitely wouldn't be able to finish the ground operation before Grievous's arrival. And with his arrival, the Jedi, like all other Force-wielding opponents of the general, would become one with the Force.
"What are your instructions regarding Senator Amidala, Lord?" asked Dooku.
"The Nabooan is beginning to lose her value in my plans," Sidious replied after a short contemplation. "However, her ambitious attempt to meet with a Confederacy senator… Another political absurdity that could cost us dearly if she succeeds. Do you know who she might meet with on Raxus?"
"Unfortunately, no, Lord," Dooku pressed his lips. "But it will soon come to light."
"Then it would be more logical to allow her to reach her goal, Count," Palpatine smiled. "Identify those she's cooperating with, and eliminate all problems at once. Liquidate the traitors, and Amidala… Well, she can be used as a hostage to achieve certain… goals. Notify me as soon as it's known who she intends to meet."
"As you command, Master," the former Jedi assured him of his diligence.
"Has Umbara already sent its representative?" inquired Darth Sidious.
"Yes, Sovereign," Dooku nodded. "The death of Senator Ma Deechi has brought many Umbarrans to our side. Their new representative – Al Comlin has already paid his respects and delivered a sharp criticism of the Republic in the Separatist Congress. His planet is completely in our power..."
Ma Deechi had represented the planet Umbara in the Galactic Senate for many years. With the start of the war, he joined the Militarist faction – the overwhelming majority of senators who desired resolving the conflict with the CIS exclusively through violent means. And in every way, without knowing it himself, he contributed to the swift execution of Lord Sidious's Plan.
Support for any bills aimed at strengthening the Republic's military power, increasing the size of the army and fleet – Ma Deechi supported any initiative he could profit from without much effort. Naturally, any such bill had its roots in the office of the Chancellor of the Republic.
Ma Deechi's death, though unexpected for the Sith, brought no less intriguing dividends. He died at the hands of the assistant of the Rodian Senator Onaconda Farr, also now deceased. The Umbarean, by his habit of poking his nose into colleagues' affairs, could not stay out of the blatant death of the Rodian. Farr's assistant, who killed her 'patron,' also got rid of Ma Deechi, believing he knew about her crime. A coincidence, nothing more.
However, the blatant murder of Deechi within the Senate walls – seemingly the most protected place in the Galaxy – caused a wave of unrest among the Umbarrans. As a result – the planet, possessing an enviable military potential, with noise, scandals, and accusations from the Umbara government, represented by the harsh and uncompromising Senator Al Comlin, who exposed the incompetence and corruption of Republic colleagues, left the Republic and joined the Separatists. And the stung Republic senators were already discussing the prospects of military intervention on Umbara. Not knowing that the locals were warriors no worse than those who had washed the GAR in blood on Jabiim.
"How are our affairs on Rendili progressing?"
"I have sent Quinlan Vos to resolve that problem," Dooku reported. "Among this planet's government, there are many of our supporters, so there will be no problem convincing them of the need to openly join our side. And... if they do arise, Vos will be extremely persuasive."
"Excellent, Count," Palpatine smiled. "Let the Kiffar obtain all the necessary information about Dougan's dealings with the company 'Rendili StarDrive.' I want to know everything about it. The smallest details."
"They will be provided to you, Sovereign," the former Jedi assured.
"And yes," Sidious's figure was about to end the transmission, but the Sith seemed to remember something particularly important. "Spies inform me of several extremely notable tidings."
"I'm all ears..."
"Senator Organa has gone to Rendili. A pathetic attempt to gain political dividends by resolving the issue with the government. The Alderaanian believes he can convince them to remain loyal to the Republic. Another attempt to boost his own sense of self-importance and spite me by pulling some of the senators to his side."
"What will my orders be?"
"Organa should be eliminated," Sidious declared. "If you think Vos is ready – let him solve this problem too."
"As you command, Sovereign," Dooku bowed his head obediently. "The former Jedi is an excellent candidate to bring a little chaos to the galaxy in general and the Senate in particular."
"Exactly so, Darth Tyranus," a triumphant smirk appeared on the hologram of Sidious's lips. "And one last thing, Count. Don't delay resolving the Hypori issue."
"I am doing my best, Master," Dooku said restrainedly. "It's not easy, given the increasing demands from the Banking Clan. The Chairman has begun withdrawing Muun assets from the CIS cause. Of course, this only concerns the financial side – the shipyards and factories are under our full control. Clovis's actions have hit our economy hard, but at the same time, more and more Muuns are supporting us and openly joining the Separatist cause."
"Yes, Rush Clovis is your big failure," Sidious said with a hint of contempt. "Perhaps we should take active steps to... remove the Chairman and appoint our supporter in his place."
"I have already taken some steps in this regard," Dooku shared. "As soon as our people finish on Hypori, I will direct all CIS efforts toward Scipio."
"Not only there," Sidious said. "The destruction of Dougan's fleet, as well as himself and his supporters on Rendili – is undoubtedly important. But Darth Maul poses no less a threat to my plans than Dougan. Especially since he has subjugated Mandalore."
The aged aristocrat nodded silently.
His master's former apprentice had been considered dead for over ten years. And suddenly he found himself at the top of the criminal food chain. Given that he knew both Darth Sidious's true identity and the general concept of the Plan – yes, he was another obstacle on the Sith's path. Only, unlike the annoying and talented Jedi, the Zabrak now had truly enormous resources at his disposal – should he want to participate in the war on either side, that side would have a hard time. Why didn't Palpatine seek to gain such an ally? It was obvious. The Zabrak was a spent component. After his defeat on Naboo, he was conveniently forgotten by his master. And now he represented more of a threat than an asset to the Plan.
Though, at the same time, Dooku acknowledged that Maul possessed enviable perseverance and talents. He had easily subjugated almost the entire criminal underworld, not counting Hutt Space. Under other circumstances, bringing him to the CIS side would bring the Republic to its knees. However, the Plan aimed for the opposite.
"Our agent – a clone named Spar, claims that the Zabrak left the planet after his failure with Kenobi," the count recalled. "He left a large army of hardened thugs to control that territory, but his further plans are unknown to us. Even among the traitors from 'Death Watch' who went over to his side, there are no perceptive enough people who could be useful to us as informants."
"Which indicates once again that my wishes regarding the capture of Dougan's associate are being postponed?" a threat sounded in the Sovereign's question.
"Not at all," the former Jedi said firmly. "Spar and his men will strike soon – in the midst of the confrontation between the militia and the occupiers. In the ensuing chaos, extracting the woman and delivering her to the agreed location will be much easier."
"I trust your prudence, Lord Tyranus," Sidious said coldly, ending the communication session.
Dooku stared into the void for a moment longer, then, taking a deep breath, rose from the table.
A new day had arrived. Time to get to work.
* * *
A deafening blast rumbled somewhere in the distance.
Helnior, tearing himself away from contemplating the holographic map, shielded his eyes with light filters and directed his gaze toward the burgeoning fire on the southern approaches to the metropolis.
"Hermit's guys are at it again," Misk's irritated muttering reached him.
"As always, the 'Hellbringers' are making a mess on the front lines," another clone echoed him. Anton, it seemed.
"Well, yeah," Skip grumbled. "They're just passing through here."
The general was in no hurry to enter into a polemic with his subordinates. Simply because he saw no point in it.
Yes, the commandos from Captain Hermit's squad – the former commander of the 'Nimbus' squad from Jabiim – weren't known for 'clean' work. But they were effective. And that was of paramount importance when waging a war of extermination against an entire race.
"The enemy fighter fuel station is burning," Misk tapped his finger on the schematic, pointing to a section of the city development that had filled with red.
"So we can breathe easy," Skip concluded. "Now their Hutt small craft won't bother us. Is the attack time still the same, General?"
Helnior ignored the question from the commander of the Empire's 4th Storm Corps, still not taking his eyes off the picture of localized hell unfolding before him. He continued to contemplate as the sea of burning fuel flooded the enemy base, putting dozens of small but extremely nimble Ssi-ruuk ships out of commission – ships that had caused no small amount of trouble in the orbital battle.
The flame consumed absolutely everything – buildings, revetments, equipment, service personnel panicking and fleeing the barracks. Over a hundred charred bodies had already met a rather repulsive death in its essence. But they had chosen this path themselves.
The invasion of Ssi-ruuk space, located almost on the edge of the galaxy, had been ongoing for the second week. As Grand Moff Thrawn had predicted, the lizards had rejected the offer to voluntarily join the Empire and hand over their technologies to human scientists. In particular, the ability of 'entechment,' which consisted of transferring the life energy of a living being to power technical devices. The Emperor was interested in gaining access to this technology. At any cost.
To their lethal misfortune, the lizards did not accept the unique offer. Perhaps because rumors of the fate of the Vagaari, a race destroyed by Lady Tann, had not yet reached them. Or maybe it was because the tiny reptilian brain could not wrap itself around the idea that in the Unknown Regions there existed a force sufficient to raze their miserable people to the ground. And that diplomacy for this force was not a demonstration of weakness, but on the contrary – a manifestation of humanity. Well, the Emperor's position toward such peoples was simple enough. Any potential threat must be eliminated. And in the case of the Ssi-ruuk, it wasn't even about them, following their folk tradition, having processed the Empire's ambassadors into fuel for their fighters.
"They burn well," Helnior finally pronounced, tearing himself away from the inferno. "That airbase won't cause us any more trouble."
In confirmation of his words, several more explosions rumbled through the air, an order of magnitude quieter and weaker than the previous one – the arsenal and repair workshops had detonated. Hmph, who would have known that reservoirs filled with the life force of living beings could blaze like that. However, better to burn everything to a Hutt than to continue marking time, losing droids on the lizards' defensive lines. Which could not help but adjust the command's plans toward increasing the timeline for capturing the planet.
And yet, the capture of Lwekk – the capital world of the Ssi-ruuk, had been allotted only a week according to Grand Admiral Thrawn's plan. After the fleet's swift dash to the planet and a long, bloody battle that ended in the unconditional victory of the Imperial dreadnoughts, the Chiss himself, leaving an orbital squadron of ten Dreadnought-class cruisers and a Gauntlet-class command ship as the flagship of the occupation forces, continued his victorious advance, turning the lizards' space fleet into cosmic dust. But those battles were already raging in other systems.
The ground operation to clear the planet was entrusted to him, Helnior. A former graduate of the Academy of Justice. A former loyal son of the Republic and Arkania. A former rebel.
It was beyond comprehension that someone as mighty as the Emperor would turn his gaze upon an otherwise unremarkable commander of a failed rebel movement. The Arkanian Revolution, which had thundered across the entire galaxy – an attempt to overthrow the corrupt government of his home planet, Arkania – ended in a grand failure for the rebels. The Republic and the Jedi Order intervened in the conflict, wiping out practically all the Renegades in one fell swoop.
Only a few managed to survive those events almost thirty years ago. Helnior was one such lucky survivor, choosing the profession of a mercenary for the following decades. Which brought him into contact more than once with former colleagues from the Justice Corps. One such was Admiral Block.
They hadn't been particular friends during their studies. And certainly not during their service. However, deciding to break with the Republic, the Admiral proposed that the Arkanian join the Empire as well.
Helnior had no particular objections, given that the hounds from Arkania continued to follow his trail. He didn't want to end his life, if captured by enemies, in the gem mines. But everything was heading exactly toward that. Bounty hunters had gotten too close to him. So the decision came on its own.
That's how he ended up on Zakuul. A planet that struck him with its luxury, comfort, and deserted streets. A world where every need was satisfied. Where the laws were clear and understandable, allowing no double interpretation.
Where Order reigned.
It was no sin to serve such a state.
He had only seen the Emperor briefly.
During his short visit to the capital, the Emperor personally laid eyes on a small group of beings who had sworn loyalty to him. Those upon whose shoulders fell the task of crushing the Empire's enemies on land. The Emperor gave a farewell word to each of his generals. And demanded from them extreme harshness in matters of ensuring state security.
"No mercy to those who pose a threat to us."
The words thrown by the ruler during the meeting matched all the criteria of Helnior's worldview.
And therefore, he found some peace in the fact that the last Ssi-ruuk airfield was now burning to ashes. The road to the lizards' capital was now open.
The smell of corpses burning in a massive bonfire irritated his nostrils. The stench spread for dozens of kilometers from the blazing lizard base. Gusts of wind carried it everywhere. The smell of death.
And of impending victory. No matter how it smelled.
In the five days he had spent in this world, the 'Hellbringers' had not for the first time doused the lizards with fire. They blew up everything that could burn long and bright. The Ssi-ruuk's strategic objects burned along with everyone inside. And, first of all, the numerous lizard airbases were set ablaze – their aircraft had been harassing the invasion army since the very first day of the landing. Fast, maneuverable, relatively well-armed, they had considerably thinned the ranks of the 'Skybies.' However, as soon as the newest equipment models were landed on the planet – the 'Shkval,' 'Shilka,' and 'Smerch' the situation changed dramatically. They multiplied any enemy aviation by zero with ease, turning it into a pile of scrap. Just as they ground the enemy infantry into bloody mincemeat.
Similarly, 'Grad' multiple rocket launcher systems burned down villages and dense columns of Ssi-ruuk slaves, causing a significant portion of the population to be turned into well-cooked chunks of meat by the Empire's army from the very first days.
True, not everyone liked this. He had more than once already observed the sight of vomiting organics – even the respirators integrated into their helmets didn't save the clones.
And he smirked at such things every time. Soldiers, stormtroopers, a cleanup team – call them what you will, living beings always remain living. With all the ensuing consequences. They get tired, make mistakes, show pity and compassion.
For this reason, he preferred to use droids – a habit developed since the time of the Arkanian Revolution. Machines never failed, silently carried out orders, and were orders of magnitude more effective than organic fighters. Especially considering that creating one droid, even one as advanced as a second-generation 'Skybie,' takes hundreds of times less time and resources than growing a clone – it became unclear why the Emperor had acquired an 'organic part' of the army at all. Droids were better. Of course, droids weren't very suitable for commando positions – which is why the general tolerated the presence of Captain Hermit's commando squad in his army.
No matter how much the Arkanian disclaimed, the command, in the person of Grand Admiral Thrawn, had still assigned him two Storm Corps – in addition to the aforementioned 4th, there was also a 3rd, which was led by the clone Misk. All of them had already been in battle, hardened fighters who had distinguished themselves in the annihilation of the Vagaari people. Despite excellent training and equipment, all corps that took part in that operation, without exception, suffered significant losses. The biological and organic weapons used by the enemy caused many problems for the soldiers. And only the large calibers of the fresh MSTA, delivered straight from assembly shops to the battlefield, turned the tide of the battle. And yet, the corps under Helnior's command had up to a third 'recruits' recently raised clones who had barely finished their training courses. Youngsters, fit only for removing corpses from the streets and burning them in huge pits – the consequences of the fleet's orbital strike on the planet. Sending them into action meant dooming oneself to unjustified losses in advance. And the Arkanian didn't want to sit idle in the rear waiting for reinforcements. The Ssi-ruuk had shown desperate resistance even against the hordes of 'Skybies' two corps would have been crushed by the lizards in a couple of days. And according to Block's information, clone reserves weren't that large, and their need was great in other places as well.
So Helnior wasn't eager to send his Storm Corps to the front lines. There was a lack of coordination between units, the veterans hadn't yet had time to share their knowledge with the newcomers. The 'instant memory,' with which necessary knowledge was integrated into each clone before birth, was, of course, a good thing. Theory was never superfluous. However, one should not forget about the soldiers gaining practical knowledge. Every fighter must understand that he must be maximally effective. But, unlike droids, a stormtrooper must hammer into his subconscious that his primary task is to minimize collateral damage from his actions.
Which, in fact, was what they were currently doing, while their commanders participated in discussing the upcoming morning assault on the lizards' capital. Even though the attack would be carried out exclusively by the forces of 'Skybies' and combat artillery droids, the stormtroopers would still have to conduct a cleanup, yard by yard, house by house, destroying those who had managed to weather the first wave of the attack...
"Enjoying the view, General?" a female voice came from behind.
Helnior slowly turned his head, following with his eyes the blue-skinned alien approaching him, entering his command tent pitched on the approaches to the capital metropolis. The clones nearby snapped to attention. They hadn't yet had dealings this close with a representative of the Emperor himself. Well, everything happens for the first time someday. Meeting with high command was no exception.
Mechanically noting that two tall silent figures stepped in behind the girl, clad in the white-silver armor of the Imperial Guard, now familiar to the eyes of Zakuul's citizens, he approached the tactical holoterminal, watching as the girl's escorts took positions on either side of the entrance.
"Lady Tann, glad to see you," he said courteously. However, from his voice, one could tell that the officer was completely indifferent. Emotions, for the Arkanian that he was for a good half of his genes, were a luxury. One not worth applying to various kinds of aliens. Even those close to the human race.
"Likewise," the Chiss replied, smiling. Which, for a moment, made her look rather... sweet. "As I understand it, your droids have practically finished conquering this world?"
"Only the capital remains," the general shrugged. "At the moment, it's untouched. According to our information, the entechment facilities that interest the Emperor are located there. We," he nodded toward the two clone commanders, "are just working on a plan for the upcoming assault."
"A rather optimistic forecast," the Chiss praised. But, following the smile, all emotion on her face seemed to erase. "The operation to capture the capital is being transferred to my command."
"By whose order?" Helnior frowned, gesturing for both clones to leave. The Marshals, barely perceptibly nodding, left the command tent.
"Such is the Emperor's will," Tann reported dryly. "The assault on the capital... requires an extremely delicate approach."
"Because of the entechment technology?" the Arkanian narrowed his eyes.
"Exactly," Lady Tann agreed. "Don't get me wrong. You are extremely effective at destroying enemy manpower and infrastructure... But the capital's industry must fall to the Empire intact."
"You're not satisfied with my use of droids?" the Arkanian grunted, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Not at all," the Chiss shook her head. "The Empire's military doctrine assumes the presence of both droids and the Storm Corps in the army for precisely that reason – for large-scale and 'delicate' attacks..."
"Don't teach me my job," the general remarked dryly. "My business is death. And believe me, business is very good."
"Oh, I have no doubt," Sev'rance smirked, noisily inhaling the acrid air, filled with the stench of burnt flesh. "And, I confess, under other circumstances, I would even help you in the total annihilation of these bastards. But for the Empire, it's more important to preserve this technology intact."
"You expect me to simply step aside and watch you take credit for my achievements?" the Arkanian rasped. "That won't happen. I don't claim other people's glory, but I won't give up my own."
"In this, we are similar," the girl smiled. "However, discussing orders is not my style."
"I agree," Helnior remarked, casting a glance at the dying inferno on the enemy side. "However, I think a compromise can be reached without violating any orders or principles."
"You are a walking intrigue, General," the Chiss smiled. "I'd like to hear it. I hope it won't take long? The corps assigned to me are finishing preparations for the start of the operation."
"Swift," the general assessed. In his entire career, he had never met female commanders who acted so quickly. "It's simple. The Ssi-ruuk capital has two main access routes," he pointed at the map. "I suggest you begin the offensive from one of them, the northern one. It's closest to the areas we're interested in."
"Are you suggesting leaving the Ssi-ruuk a path of retreat?" the Chiss asked in surprise. Casting a glance at the plan, she pointed at the landscape. "The southern access route leads, after fifty kilometers, to a rather extensive valley. If they get there..."
"They won't," Helnior stated confidently. Approaching the holoterminal, he clicked keys, causing new marks to appear on the hologram. "At these points, I have placed artillery – a division of 'Hyacinths' with cover. As soon as they leave the city – and they will, the moment your stormtroopers rain down on their heads – the lizards will find themselves under artillery fire, which will cut them off from the approaches to the city and kill every last one. And whoever it doesn't, my 'Skybies' will finish off."
"Simple, ambitious, and in typical Arkanian traditions of dismissive attitude toward other beings," a playful smile played on the girl's lips. "I think, General, you and I will work well together."
"I don't doubt it," Helnior replied indifferently.
* * *
"Do you remember, I asked you about the green stuff?" Doogan said, running his palm over his face in hopes of shaking off his drowsiness. "You urgently need it. And a lot of it. With a surplus. Things are very bad."
Oli, sitting to his right, looked with a slight hint of challenge at the women seated on the opposite side of the table. Senator Amidala looked somewhat embarrassed, evidently realizing that her expressed thoughts had stirred a storm of indignation in the Jedi. But the man was too tired from recent events to give vent to his emotions. However, through the Force, the girl could feel the passions boiling inside him.
Even though she hadn't suppressed her resentment toward her mentor, the conversation with Ahsoka... helped clarify most points.
As well as experiencing a sense of shame.
First and foremost, at herself. The unbridled emotions that had seized the girl's mind after the known events, the thirst for destruction, the pleasure from the uncontrolled fall into Darkness... Yes, all of this had given her a Power much greater than she could ever have obtained. And this... was mesmerizing. To feel infinite might, to sense every life around her, to know that you could kill dozens, hundreds, perhaps even thousands of beings in an instant at your own will. You only had to want it.
However, her teacher, yet again, had swiftly burst into the world of her wet fantasies, turning it upside down. With two salvos from his weapons, he had, as it were, knocked the wind out of her, releasing all her fury, her desire for a bloody harvest. Like air from a child's balloon.
The rage vanished as if it had never been. Anger gave way to apathy, the lust for killing to shame.
She, as many times before, was exhausted to the limit, which allowed her teacher to once again get into her head. To play with her worldview like a puppet. To make her step back and look at herself from the outside. Even if all those words were spoken by Ahsoka, the girl knew exactly who had put the Togruta up to this educational work.
And when the last echoes of the battle rumbled outside, listening to Tano's words, more like a justification and a statement of her own superiority, Oli suddenly understood clearly that her friend was right.
How long had she chased after her teacher, lusting after him? How many hints, half-hints, openly spoken phrases had there been? A ton and a little cart.
And what about actions?
Not one. All her desires were limited to verbal initiative. Deep down, Starstone understood that she only wanted the man she adored to make the first move. To cross the line — the last Jedi dogmas that bound them. As for herself... was she afraid of that? Afraid to act. Yes, that was it. Afraid. And of what? Rejection? Ridicule?
Looking inside herself, the Emperor's apprentice found the answer to her question. She did nothing to achieve her goal. Because she sincerely believed she couldn't handle a direct refusal. How would she feel if she showed up and tried to seduce Dougan, and instead of surrendering to his male nature, he threw her out the door? She'd probably die of shame. And so, terrified of that, she did absolutely nothing. She hoped her words would be enough for her teacher to make the first move.
She was content with half-joking promises that stoked his interest. Comic objections and exclamations that accompanied her passionate improvisations.
But to take a step toward her destiny, to take real action to get what she wanted... No, she didn't have the nerve.
Meanwhile, Tano, without overthinking it, simply went and did what she wanted. And she didn't regret barging into the Emperor's quarters in the middle of the night and staying there until morning, sating her lust. Getting what she wanted.
Ahsoka was right — sitting on your ass won't get you what you're after.
And Oli had already proven more than once that behind all this verbal bravado lived a coward. She hadn't been able to become stronger without accepting Rick's offer to get power from the crystal on Zakuul. She hadn't been able to turn her fantasies into reality. She hadn't been able, even now, to fully surrender to her emotions and gain greater power.
And only now, having tamed her inner demons, she looked at those around her with different eyes. As an adept of the Unified Force. A full-fledged apprentice of the Emperor. As a woman who would get what she wanted. Well, if she still didn't get it, then... To hell with it. Better to take that step and accept its consequences than not take it and torment herself all her life with thoughts of what might have been otherwise.
And so...
The girl stole a glance at the man's face.
"You're a rare bastard, Dougan. Can't deny that. But that forbidden feeling is still so alluring — to get a man vested with such power, such magnetic force..."
The main thing, as Ahsoka had warned, was to figure herself out. Not to turn infatuation and natural desires into self-deception about great love. To rein in her feelings and emotions and look at the whole situation with a cool head.
Yes, he was the Emperor. And his real potential was hardly comparable to the power most Council members possessed. But... he wasn't the only man in the world. Desirable — yes. But was there a future after her desires were fulfilled? Would her attraction to Rick disappear the moment they got out of bed? Was everything she felt when looking at this man just a teenage crush with no prospects, the moment the girl-brain's infatuation collided with the grim reality of everyday life?
Too complex a question to answer just like that.
And unfortunately, she couldn't share her thoughts with anyone... Simply because she couldn't trust anyone that much. Before, she'd thought Ahsoka was that person... But what fool would keep trusting someone who'd easily slept with the object of your adoration?
Meanwhile, not finding an answer to her question, Oli returned to the reality around her. The atmosphere in the hall was still tense. Ahsoka was clearly bored, the Zeltron was studying the interior with a sly look, and the senator, looking even more flustered than a few minutes ago, was staring at one point.
And only Rick, with a distant gaze, seething with a hurricane of emotions, sat motionless as a statue of an ancient thinker. Oli reached out to him through the Force...
Right now, he didn't think he had the right to tell the Naboo woman everything he thought of her. But he should have. How smart did you have to be to come up with something like this. Crossing half the galaxy on a civilian ship, arriving at the site of a barely finished brutal battle... And for what?! For an extravagant request... Holocalls, apparently, were invented for idiots.
Though, to be fair, his teacher used to say, "If you want results — talk in person. If you want to be told where to go — call." The senator, as a hardened political schemer, probably knew that maxim too.
"Does she not have a functioning brain?" Starstone quietly asked the Togruta. Ahsoka leaned in and whispered back:
"I don't know her well, but sometimes it seems like a random action generator makes decisions for her."
"A natural fool, then?" the dark-haired girl clarified.
"If not worse," the partner added fuel to the fire.
"Sorry to interrupt your lovely, almost family squabble," the Zeltron said with a charming smile. Oli, clenching her teeth, shot her a hateful look. But the reporter ignored her glances. A pity. Too bad that, unlike Sariss, the young Padawan didn't possess the deadly gaze and couldn't make that woman, painted up like the last Coruscant harlot, choke on her own blood. "But perhaps you'll first answer my question?"
"Need some green stuff too?" Dougan asked wearily. "I can arrange it."
"Although I am a highly erudite being," the Zeltron modestly stated, leaning forward and revealing to the only man in the room her immodest charms, literally spilling out of her décolletage, "this is the first time I've heard of 'green stuff.' What is it? And why must one drink it?"
"On my home planet, green stuff is a cure-all," Rick explained. "Universal. Helps with everything. Only plantain is better. And you need to drink it because it helps fix what's loose in the head. Which in you and the esteemed" the last word was spoken in a tone that left no doubt the Jedi actually meant something quite different — "Lady Amidala's case simply won't heal. That's why you keep bleeding regularly..."
"Tell me he's not talking about that," Oli leaned toward her friend again. "That's... indecent."
"What exactly?" the Togruta didn't catch on.
"Well... you know..."
"Oli, you're speaking in riddles."
"Ah," Starstone sighed quietly. "Well, you know, once a month every girl dies..."
"Now that's just 'ew,'" the Togruta hissed, noticing the man's gaze fixed on their pair. Both apprentices, putting on innocent expressions, became models of Jedi obedience, politely falling silent and turning into ears.
"Intricate," the Zeltron continued. "And yet?"
"You're both suicidal," the Jedi sighed. "One — an ordinary senator — wants to cross the front line in my area of responsibility and go deep into enemy territory... Remind me, why?"
"I need to speak with a senator from the Confederacy," the Naboo woman said quietly. "I'm sure Bonteri will hear me out, she has influence on..."
"Padmé, admit it — are you really an idiot?!" Dougan slammed his palm on the table, sending a metallic ring through the room. Amidala flinched, staring into the Jedi's eyes with a stunned look. Oli, frowning, clearly felt the confusion radiating from her... "Not only is this physically nearly impossible — flying to Raxus from here takes over two days in peacetime, and now, given the situation at the front, you'll have to sneak through the backwoods. Not only is this the direct area of responsibility of Master Unduli, and you should have turned to her for help — at least she'd have sent you back to Coruscant in a less expressive manner. But you're also asking for an escort... Should I give you a squadron? Or maybe a whole fleet?"
"No, of course not," a flush colored the senator's cheeks. "I thought you wouldn't mind accompanying me yourself..."
"And here we go again," the Jedi rolled his eyes. "Two highest-ranking officials of the Republic — a senator and a Grand Moff — heading straight into Separatist hands... Haven't you had enough adventures on the Malevolence? Or do you need more adrenaline? Well, let me let you in on a secret — the Raxus system hosts one of the largest enemy fleet concentrations on the Outer Rim. It's a strategically important world for the Confederacy, and it's flooded with droids, police forces, and other friends who'd be only too happy to get hostages like you into their hands. I don't know about you, Senator, but I have no desire to spend an indefinite time in Separatist dungeons."
"I understand all the risks, but for the Republic and a faster end to the war..."
"Then fly there alone, what's the problem?" the Jedi spread his hands. "Why does someone always have to take the fall when you make grand decisions, our strong and independent lady?"
"Oh," the Zeltron exclaimed, clapping her hands cheerfully. "What a wonderful situation. This will get enormous ratings..."
"And you're ready to stick your head in a noose for ratings," Dougan's gaze hardened. "No, how many brain cells must you have to talk a senator into bringing you literally to a battlefield that hasn't even cooled yet. And to us — especially since the situation here is dire. We're practically surrounded, and who knows where the next batch of Separatists might come from, which we'll have to clean up long, hard, and tearfully."
"And yet," Elin said in a playful tone that made the blood in Oli's veins boil, "spending time in an active army, getting to broadcast live from battlefields... That's any journalist's dream. That kind of content interests every being in the galaxy, which means such broadcasts would get the highest ratings. I won't explain what perks come from that kind of popularity peak — after all, Jedi don't seek material or other gain." Oli saw her teacher's eyes flash unpleasantly. Oh, "don't seek." You don't know Jedi well, and Rick Dougan in particular. "But prime time is guaranteed. And it's worth the risk..."
"Yes, I get it with you," the Jedi waved his hand. "You have permission from my command to be in the combat zone. Unfortunately, I can't grab you by the scruff and throw you out. But believe me, I'll do everything to keep you from sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."
"Excuse me?" the Zeltron was taken aback. "But I'm a journalist, I need to be in the thick of things..."
"Right," the Jedi nodded. "That's why you'll get a unique chance — to watch the fall of Hypori... from the bridge of my flagship."
"This is outrageous!" the journalist jumped to her feet. "High Command and the Chancellor personally approved my assignment to Gent so I could cover events from the front lines. Show the Republic's citizens what this war is about. All its horrors and all the heroic moments the state's defenders perform daily to restore peace and order in the galaxy. How am I supposed to do that standing on the bridge of your cruiser?"
"On the bridge?" the Jedi's eyebrows shot up. "You're overestimating yourself. I think we can find you a spot somewhere in the mess hall..."
"That's too much!" the reporter threw out. "I'll contact Coruscant immediately and demand..."
A sharp sound cut her off. The speakers of the alert system wailed, demanding attention.
The Master, as if shaking off his hesitation, immediately activated his comlink, listening to the duty officer's voice whispering in his earpiece.
From behind the doors came the thud of footsteps and sharp shouts from crew members. Oli sensed a general grim determination, readiness for the inevitable... No panic, confusion, or fear. People hurried to their battle stations with a firm intention to do their duty. That meant only one thing...
Judging by Ahsoka's wide eyes, she too had guessed the reason for the alert.
"As much as I'd like to get rid of you both," the man said with a sigh full of sorrow, looking at the senator and the reporter, "you'll both have to stay aboard the Telos."
"What? For what reason?" the women asked in unison.
"A Separatist fleet has emerged from hyperspace," Dougan noted grimly. "I'm afraid, Miss Tyrell, you'll still get the chance to watch a grand battle. And most likely — even participate in it."
"Is it... that bad?" Senator Amidala quietly asked.
"Oh, it's nothing," Dougan waved his hand. However, through the Force, Oli understood he was nowhere near that carefree. "So what if General Grievous has arrived. And brought a couple hundred ships with him."
* * *
The triangular ship with a gray-silver hull and a split bow cut through the icy voids of vacuum, materializing in orbit at enormous speed, then sharply decelerated as if hitting an insurmountable obstacle. But a technically savvy observer, if they could be here, would easily dismiss various assumptions, stating that this phenomenon was merely the end result of traveling through hyperspace. And quite logical at that. Such was the physics of superluminal movement for starships in the Celestial River galaxy.
"Hyperspace jump complete," the clone reported, pulling away from the control terminal. "Scanning space... No ships detected."
Silence answered him. No point in saying anything when everything was already clear.
"Correction," the same operator said. "Twenty-three new marks. Identifying. Transponders from our fleet."
"The fleet is in position, Lady Ventress," her flagship's commander appeared in view, keeping a respectful distance from the Force-sensitive. Although he displayed admirable composure, she didn't sense any fawning or desire to curry favor with her. That commanded respect. Especially given the base creatures she usually dealt with, ready for any treachery just to ingratiate themselves.
"I see, Captain Allous," she noted quietly, addressing the "god" aboard the Indomitable by name for the first time — a Harrower-class dreadnought leading a fleet of a dozen similar ships, reinforced by an equal number of Terminus-class battlecruisers.
And now this entire armada followed her to bring the power of the Empire to this Force-forsaken corner of the galaxy. And she was to do it — the conduit of the Emperor's will. One of his many Hands.
"So, the Endor system," she voiced her location.
Nothing remarkable. One star, with four planets orbiting it. The Indomitable, like the entire fleet, had materialized in orbit of the first celestial body — a gas giant, actually called Endor.
The giant had nine moons, but the Emperor was primarily interested in the one that, in the Republic's very fragmentary records, was called the "Sanctuary Moon."
Covered in forests and lakes, the moon was inhabited by intelligent life — Asajj felt it through the Force. Though these creatures were primitive, and in other circumstances the witch would simply order the stormtroopers to exterminate them all. But the Emperor demanded peaceful coexistence.
Establish contact. Sign a peace agreement.
Even if the furry Ewoks living here hadn't reached space yet, they could cause many problems for the occupiers. It was far easier to make them friends than to live in constant tension, expecting an inevitable attack. And the success of the latter was directly proportional to the fact that the natives knew their world far better than the newcomers.
"Draigan," she addressed her flagship's commander. "Order the ships to launch reconnaissance probes and establish system patrols. When the transport ships with materials for base construction arrive, I want to know every detail about every piece of rock here."
"It will be done, Lady Ventress," the man responded, immediately relaying orders to his subordinates.
The witch herself, casting one last look at the gas giant, slowly turned and walked toward the tactical holoterminal, where two identical figures in massive black-silver armor already stood.
"Anton, Smoke," she addressed the marshals of the 11th and 12th Imperial Assault Corps attached to her. "Mobilize your men. A shuttle must be ready in two hours for the trip to the surface."
"Will a company of stormtroopers be enough for escort?" the taciturn Smoke inquired.
"Quite. Anton," the clone with the unusual name and a cybernetic prosthetic instead of his left arm gave her a sullen look. The witch, not deigning to acknowledge him, pointed to a vast plain on the moon's surface. "Have your men land immediately. Set up an advance camp, observation posts, hidden positions. Don't engage first — only retaliatory actions. The locals shouldn't feel threatened by you."
"It will be done," malice rang in the clone's voice. Asajj turned her gaze to him. The clone held the visual duel. But his whole demeanor showed he found the witch's company unpleasant. Given that her blade had severed his arm less than a year ago, when he served in the Grand Army of the Republic, that was unsurprising. Now they served the same master. And the clone would have to learn to live with the past staying in the past. Otherwise, they wouldn't work together.
"You're dismissed," she commanded. Both saluted and quickly left. A trail of poorly concealed irritation, originating from Anton, followed them.
Well, so be it. Over time, he would understand that back then she had no choice — they were enemies. Let him be quick and able to avoid death at her hands. But unfortunately, what was done couldn't be undone.
And he should use the second chance the Emperor had given him and several thousand other disabled clones who hadn't wanted to return to the Republic's army. Disillusioned with how they'd been treated — thrown onto the scrap heap of life the moment they were wounded in the war and lost their combat effectiveness — these clones had embraced the offer to join the Empire's assault corps with unexpected enthusiasm. They were inserted into all existing infantry units in small groups. A small security measure — a large collective of like-minded people could cause problems. But small groups embedded among absolutely loyal Imperial clones would never pose a threat to the state. Most would absorb the spirit of service to the Emperor. And those who thought of breaking their oath faced a court-martial and a death sentence. They were strict about that on Zakuul. No chance of rehabilitation through hard labor in the mines here — droids handled mineral extraction. In all worlds of the Empire. Simple, cheap, reliable.
The Assault Corps was the elite of the armed forces. Absolutely loyal to the Empire and the Emperor. They were raised and trained so that they were ready with equal zeal to crush the enemy's defenses or turn a peaceful planet's surface to glass, if such an order came.
And no matter how much Anton resented her presence — he would never go against her order. However, the animosity between them should be smoothed over. Not now, but when there was time.
Asajj ran her hand over her shaven head. The habit of removing hair was ingrained at the subconscious level, and she no longer noticed doing it automatically. And sometimes she wanted to pass for normal.
Unfortunately, that wasn't the lot of the Emperor's Hand.
Normalcy wasn't the specialty of this group of Force adepts.
Sighing, the girl adjusted the already perfectly secured lightsaber hilts on her belt and slowly headed toward the turbolift. She should refresh her memory of the Emperor's instructions before beginning her diplomatic mission on the Sanctuary Moon. There could be no mistakes.
Zakuul wasn't the Confederacy — mistakes weren't forgiven here.
* * *
The droids stopped firing for a few minutes.
"They're cooking up some nasty surprise again," grumbled a fighter hidden behind a barricade.
And judging by the grim silence, the rest of the soldiers in the sparse front-line defense thought the same.
"It's happened before," Flash reminded them, reloading his own weapon. "They get new orders..."
"Or they're flanking our positions, sir," another soldier suggested, ignoring subordination and cutting off his commander. The commander of the 204th Legion turned his helmeted head toward the talkative subordinate and was met with silence. A dozen identical fighters, without a word, busily checked their weapons, pretending nothing had happened.
"Fine, moving on," Flash thought. "At least you've got each other's backs."
Working with the soldiers of "Dougan's Fist" was... not easy. Returning from retirement to the front, crippled in past battles, Flash had encountered a tight-knit group of veterans whose combat experience, even among the rank and file, surpassed his own. The legion was a single organism, operating by its own rules, firmly rooted in Mandalorian traditions. "Die but deliver" that was the motto on the lower part of the 204th's battle standard. Rumor had it the Grand Moff himself came up with it. Given that he was responsible for a huge number of innovations — introducing new, improved armor, implementing the practice of issuing battle standards to distinguished units, organizing funerals for fallen soldiers (instead of the widespread practice of shipping corpses back to Kamino, where organs and body parts of the dead were used as "spare parts" for the severely wounded) — it was no wonder the motto could also be his.
Other corps had mottos too. For example, the 305th Landing Corps vied to chant theirs: "After us — silence." The 21st Corps, the "Galactic Marines," trained to fight in complex and extreme environments, liked to say "Snow, water — all the same," which was supposed to demonstrate their utter indifference to the hardships of service.
The 204th... was a thing unto itself. The soldiers hadn't yet internally accepted their new commander, constantly hinting that Nyx — the previous commander — would have done things differently. Maybe so. But Nyx now led the corps. And he had more important things to do. Especially now.
The landing on Hypori had gone without major issues. No sooner had the battle in orbit subsided than fighters, bombers, and assault craft began pounding the Separatists' firing points and fortifications. Meanwhile, the Acclamators entering the atmosphere were utterly unceremoniously leveling everything related to droid production with their onboard artillery.
The 204th's mission was to attack, capture, clear, and hold one of the Techno Union's largest assembly lines. Dropping directly onto the droids' heads from gunships, the legion took control of the entire production facility in less than two hours. And despite being able to support their neighbors — the 7th Air Corps — command had clearly ordered: hold the facility. At any cost.
However, for the past five hours, a fierce battle had raged between the "Blade" Fleet and the Separatists over the clones' heads. Which, in turn, deprived ground forces of air cover — the sluggish LAAT/i in this case couldn't oppose the Separatist "Nantex" fighters that kept slipping through the sky, hunting for choice prey.
Details of the fleet battle were unknown, but no one had canceled the order. Holding the facility meant it had to be done. That was their lot.
As soon as enemy ships appeared in orbit, the ground forces — all four corps — found themselves cut off from the fleet. But they continued their mission: to seize all industrial centers on the planet. And so far, they were succeeding.
But the Separatists weren't idle either. As soon as their ships appeared in the system, thousands of B3 ultra battle droids flooded from the planet's depths to the surface. The battle took on new colors. Chiefly — the operation of jamming equipment that blocked communication between units.
And the periodic ceasefires from the enemy.
The reason for the latter was unclear, even though this had already happened three times in the last hour. Perhaps during this time the "tin cans" were receiving new orders, new software, or simply rebooting. Perhaps the jamming equipment affecting clone communications also affected the droids. There were many possibilities for what was happening. Fewer answers than ever.
But regardless, the legion had an excellent opportunity to replenish ammunition, drag the wounded from the front lines deeper into the droid factory, where they would receive qualified medical care.
Or, as most of the squad guys guarding the main entrance to the building did, snack on high-calorie nutrient bars. Flash, having designated a couple of sentries with a nod, crouched down, removed his helmet and carefully placed it on the floor beside him, then pulled an untouched ration pack from his backpack. While his mechanical fingers automatically sorted through the backpack's contents, the clone noted once again that the new armor he'd received upon taking his current position was far more comfortable than Phase One, the armor he and all other clones had started the war in. The fact alone that it was meticulously designed for a soldier to carry a useful load in a rigidly attached backpack case on his back already made it far superior to what they'd had to fight in before.
"Something's up with Alpha. Maybe he and his guys decided to stop and pick up some presents for us?" one of the soldiers said.
"Yeah, right. They're commandos — probably rooting around in Separatist rear lines, causing trouble."
"Don't expect them back until they find that jammer," Flash replied, his mouth full.
Task Force Laskovyi May was supposed to operate in the western part of the industrial quarter, where the soldiers of the 204th had dug in. Essentially, it was a small city made up of hundreds of 'districts,' each producing specific components for droids. The clones had taken the largest space — the assembly workshop, where behind hundreds of conveyor lines were now set up rear-echelon units, a field infirmary, a kitchen, and an ammunition depot whose stock shrank with every firefight. Alpha and his four men were a commando squad attached to the corps that included his legion. And since the situation had escalated, they'd been constantly prowling the enemy's rear, gathering intelligence, delivering rare but valuable data and command orders, or blowing up parts of the complex — whether out of sporting interest or because they'd found something important for the operation's success.
The last time Alpha had appeared at the legion's position, he'd informed Flash that the Separatist armada, despite its numerical advantage, still couldn't finish off the Grand Moff's fleet. Whether it was because the admiral commanding the Republic starships was genuinely talented, or because he had support ships from the landing reinforcement in his rear that were supposed to deliver the second wave of ground troops. Either way, instead of the swift assault the Separatists had apparently planned, they'd found themselves caught between two fires. Unable to fully engage either force without leaving the other at their backs. A stalemate. But it couldn't last forever — meaning the already battered Republic starships were in for a serious fight. Possibly the last one their crews would ever see.
From behind the barricade — massive industrial structures blocking the main entrance — came a noise. Glancing at the sentries, Flash noted they hadn't raised the alarm yet. Either they couldn't make out anything in the haze surrounding the complex — the aftermath of Alpha's numerous sabotage operations — or the noise had nothing to do with a potential threat.
But it was worth checking with his own eyes. A commander's sacred duty is to be sure of his people's safety.
Flash sprang to his feet nimbly, scaling several meters in seconds to reach an improvised 'bridge' the channel of a massive metal beam that served as excellent cover for clones firing at the advancing enemy from elevated positions.
In front of the complex's main entrance lay a courtyard where droid parts manufactured in other 'districts' were stockpiled. Automated systems grabbed them and delivered them to the assembly workshop, from which the machines moved under their own power to an even larger area — the 'parking lot.' When the clones had first taken this position, thousands of spare parts for enemy soldiers lay before them. Now all of it was reduced to heaps of metal scrap, fused in places into huge piles from the firefights and explosives. Several dozen impressively sized craters stood out amid the mess, fuel puddles glinting at their bottoms. A little surprise for when things got really bad.
At first glance, the craters seemed randomly placed and insignificant. In reality, they'd been created by clone sappers, who'd used low-yield explosives to scar the landscape. If the enemy launched a major assault, precise shots from the clones would ignite the fuel. The droid ranks would fall into an ambush — the heat from the burning fuel was enough to melt metal in seconds. So, there was a backup plan. Too bad it was one-use — fuel supplies were limited anyway, and after setting up the aforementioned trap, there was none left at all.
The roar of engines reached Flash, but from here, through the thick curtain of fumes and smoke, nothing was visible; to find out what it was, he'd have to peek over the barricade, something the clone really didn't want to do. The sound resembled Vulture droids — the most common CIS starfighter model. And experience had proven that the non-living but overly aggressive, well-armed, and well-protected enemy could not only fly and ruin the day for brother pilots but also move across solid ground.
Yet, aside from the sounds, nothing at all emerged from the haze. No Vulture, no familiar marching B2s.
"Don't let your guard down," he ordered.
Flash glanced covertly at his wrist chrono. Right. Looks like the lull was dragging on — the droids had never before taken a full hour between assaults on Republic positions. And it had been over forty minutes since the last attack.
Clearly, the mechanical bastards were up to something. But what?
"Alert!" one of the sentries yelled. "Droids and—"
A crimson blaster bolt slammed into his chest plate, literally tearing the observer off the floor and hurling his body from a five-meter height straight down onto the heads of the scrambling clones.
"Here we go," Flash sighed resignedly, catching a glimpse of the massive hull of a Separatist AAT tank slowly rolling into direct-fire range against the clones holed up behind the barricade, who were already taking their positions and readying their weapons.
The tank stopped, just a few meters short of the first pit. Its turret moved, adjusting the cannon slightly to the right of where it had fired its shot.
"Bad news," one of the clones said quietly, settling in next to the commander. Pointing toward a growing shadow behind the AAT's stern, he identified it without error:
"Hailfire, sir."
"Couldn't this day have waited with the surprises," Flash grumbled, shaking his head, grimacing as he realized that the chances of surviving this fight were rapidly approaching zero.
Then the Separatist tank opened fire, and all hell broke loose around them.