The *Terminus* maintained overwatch while I descended alone.
Intelligence confirmed the Jedi General was still alive inside the Separatist command complex — a reinforced structure built into a canyon ridge. Heavy turrets guarded the approach. Droid infantry filled the trenches below.
Five modified AAT assault tanks rolled ahead of our landing zone, refitted as infantry fighting vehicles. Additional armor plating. Rocket pods mounted along the flanks. Rotary anti-personnel cannons installed in place of standard plasma repeaters.
They opened fire first.
Rockets streaked across the canyon, detonating along the defensive line. B1 and B2 battle droids were thrown from parapets as the AATs advanced, cannons mowing down formations with disciplined bursts.
From the opposite ridge, two Persuader-class droid tanks rumbled forward — long, low silhouettes bristling with heavy cannons.
"Target armor," I ordered over comms.
The AATs adjusted instantly. Coordinated rocket salvos struck the lead Persuader's tread assembly, disabling its mobility before a second volley detonated along its hull. The machine collapsed in on itself in a chain of internal explosions.
The second attempted to reposition.
It didn't get far.
A focused barrage struck its central chassis. Fire erupted from beneath the plating as its power core failed.
The canyon fell under Republic control within minutes.
I moved toward the complex entrance.
---
Inside, the corridors were narrow and fortified. Droidekas deployed immediately, shields flaring to life as they rolled into firing position.
I ignited my saber.
The modified hilt resembled Ezra Bridger's old design — compact, angular, with an integrated blaster emitter. Blue plasma extended from the emitter guard, humming steadily.
The first droideka opened fire.
I deflected two bolts, then angled my wrist and triggered the secondary function. A stun bolt discharged from the emitter housing, striking an exposed control node as the shield fluctuated under sustained fire from clone troopers behind me.
The droideka collapsed.
The second attempted to reposition. I holstered the saber mid-stride and drew the Z-rotary blaster from my back mount. The weapon's power cell glowed faintly — charged earlier through controlled Force-channeling.
I fired in short, controlled bursts.
The rotary spread shredded a line of B2 super battle droids advancing down the corridor. Metal plating sparked and fractured under the sustained barrage.
"Forward," I ordered calmly.
We advanced through resistance pockets until we reached the central command chamber.
The doors had been sealed from the inside.
I cut through.
---
She was human.
Mid-thirties, by appearance. Robes scorched. Lightsaber still clutched in her hand.
Her eyes were open.
But unfocused.
Around her lay dozens of deactivated droids — precise saber strikes marking each one. She had fought well.
Too long.
"General," I said carefully.
No response.
The Force around her felt unstable — not dark, not violent — but fractured. Overextended. Strained beyond sustainable limits.
A clone medic stepped forward cautiously. "Vitals are elevated but stable."
She flinched at sudden movement, blade snapping to guard position.
"I'm not your enemy," I said evenly.
For a moment, recognition flickered.
Then it vanished.
She had lost herself in the battle — pushed past mental endurance until something inside simply… broke.
I deactivated my saber and approached slowly.
When she swung — reflex, not intent — I sidestepped and caught her wrist, guiding the blade safely away. With my free hand, I triggered the stun function at minimal output.
The pulse struck her shoulder.
She collapsed into my arms, unconscious.
"No restraints," I said immediately as the medics moved in. "Transport her directly to the *Terminus*. Full psychological stabilization protocol."
This was the third.
Three Jedi commanders, all female, all shattered under the strain of sustained frontline command.
War was not what the Order had trained them for.
---
Back aboard the bridge, I opened a secure channel to the newly arrived Republic fleet.
Commander Rinaun's image appeared in the holoprojector — composed, observant.
"The Jedi General is secured," I reported. "Evacuation complete. You may proceed with precision bombardment of the remaining base installations."
Rinaun studied me for a moment before nodding.
"Understood. We will commence orbital fire once your forces clear the perimeter."
"There is additional information," I added. "Previous distress signals in this sector have already been resolved. Surviving Jedi and clone forces are currently regrouping at my forward operating base."
A pause.
"You're telling me," Rinaun said carefully, "that the other rescue calls have already been handled?"
"Yes, Commander."
Silence lingered — not disbelief, but recalculation.
"I will dispatch collection vessels to your coordinates," he said finally.
"Transmit confirmation codes upon arrival," I replied. "My escorts will grant passage."
The channel closed.
Outside the viewport, Acclamator-class ships shifted formation, preparing their firing solutions.
Below, the Separatist base began to burn under controlled orbital strikes.
Three rescues.
One sector stabilized.
But I could feel it — subtle shifts across hyperspace lanes, fleet movements beyond immediate range.
This was not the end of operations here.
It was the calm before escalation.
And for the first time, Republic command was beginning to notice the *Terminus*.