The gunship’s durasteel blast doors had opened to reveal the harsh blizzard and relatively thin stone bridge that would serve as the day’s battleground. The 73rd Occupation Regiment was immediately pelted by snow and blaster fire as they leapt down onto the icy ground, attempting to maintain their balance while deploying foldaway blast shields and empty ammo crates alike as cover.
Jedi General Mon’grel Kbatha felt a shiver skirt his spine. Even his fur-covered body could not fully shield him from the planet’s sub-zero temperatures. He had little time to concern himself about the weather, however, as with a quick motion and the flick of a switch, he had ignited his azure hard-light blade to deflect an incoming blaster bolt that would have otherwise connected directly with his face.
Dozens of clone troopers sprinted past him, establishing a forward line as they began to implement their slow but steady press across the main bridge, firing at the unseen droid enemies securely nestled on the other side. Mygeeto’s eternal snow storm would prove to be as challenging of a foe as its Separatist invaders, meaning the Republic was already fighting a two pronged battle, one an unbeatable battle against nature itself.
Glancing to his right, Kbatha watched as his apprentice, Chell Raddus, and the elite four-man “Arc Squad” under the command of Clone Captain Alor reached the edge of the bridge, all warily glancing over the railing. He could barely make out their actions through the relentless flurry, but they appeared to secure a grappling hook to the ledge and tossing a woven cable over the side.
One by one they proceeded to vanish into the chalky abyss, the outline of the young Mon Calamari being the last to sink into obscurity as they embarked on their own stealthy assignment; to attempt to end this bloody conflict as quickly and efficiently as possible.
“Stay safe, my padawan…” Kbatha muttered, the words escaping in a cloud of condensation that was instantly and violently torn apart by the storm. The Jedi Master’s attention was returned once more to the battle at hand as a massive blast from what was most likely an enemy AAT struck the barricades beside him.
As he glanced around, he noted that in less than a minute, over a dozen of his men had already succumbed to the enemy barrage. If this kept up, at the rate they were advancing, they would all be dead before the tanks dropped at the bridge’s rear would even have a chance to catch up to them.
Clone Commander Frank stepped back beside the Jedi General, twin pistols drawn, rangefinder extended out in front of his face, alternating fire towards the end of the bridge. Even with his fancy equipment, Kbatha doubted that he could clearly see any of his targets. The best they could do was aim in the direction that enemy shots were coming from, which left them open to the exact same tactic from the enemy.
“I’m maintaining an open channel with Alor, sir. Their current ETA is six minutes, although who knows how long it will take them to reach the Tactical once they’re back up topside. I have faith in the Captain, though, and in General Raddus.”
For a brief moment, Kbatha reflected on everything he had taught his padawan, as well as all of the missed learning opportunities and words fallen on deaf ears over the past few months.
“As do I…,” he finally replied to his Clone Commander, knowing that faith and the Force were the only things they could rely on now.
The rest of “Pulsar Squad,” Sergeant Moon, Buckshot, and Deacon, grouped up on Frank and Kbatha, Moon deploying another barricade while Buckshot began to assemble a small auto-turret.
“They’ve stopped our advance,” Buckshot yelled, “we’re getting slaughtered even faster than I thought we would.”
“Better say a prayer for us,” Moon said, nudging Deacon, who was fixated on returning fire between the thin slats in their steel barrier.
“Where are those tanks?” Frank said, glancing back over his shoulder.
The last of the LAAT/i were touching down behind them, deploying the final few members of the 73rd. A little over a hundred men were now huddled together on about a 1 kilometer stretch of bridge.
“A few well placed AAT shots could probably end our campaign right here and now,” Buckshot called out.
“I’m sure the enemy could say the same if our darned Tridents would pick up the pace,” Frank replied, still looking towards the rear.
Mon’grel Kbatha used the Force to feel the subtle vibrations on the bridge. He had yet to feel the pulsating reverberations indicative of a clone-operated TX-130 Saber-class fighter tank, nor the successive rumblings created by the many repulsors firing underneath the GAR’s new Unstable Terrain Artillery Transports, referred to by the clones as simply, the “Tridents,” given their three massive, and quite devastating, forward facing cannons. The heavy artillery must have still been a ways back, although how far, it was impossible to see nor sense.
This meant that there was only one course of action that would preserve Kbatha’s life, as well as the lives of his remaining men. They just needed to buy enough time for Chell to cut the head off the mechanical “beast,” even if, at this point in the war, it felt more and more like they were fighting hydras.
“How much can you see, Commander?” Kbatha inquired of Frank, who was now scanning the distant side of the bridge in a strained manner.
“Thermals are picking up faint droid heat signatures. I can see two small fallback positions with machine guns and B2s, but I still can’t see any enemy tanks, so I know there’s at least one more row of droids behind that. Could be more. Probably situated in clusters.”
Kbatha groaned. After all these years, he accepted that two of the things he hated most were the unknown and not being in command of a situation. An emotion as strong as hate was unbecoming of a Jedi Master. But not knowing what the growing darkness consuming these Clone Wars was, the growing darkness that crept into his dreams and visions alike, had already almost driven him mad. And he would take hate over madness anyday. So, at the very least, not knowing exactly where a few battle droids were was nothing in comparison to his all consuming concerns on a much grander scale.
He would have to trust in the Force. Let it guide his actions. Exhibit a level of outward calmness that could only inspire his men to fight even harder. If their leader showed no fear, then why should they. And that devotion just might win them the day.
“Alor says three minutes ‘til arrival. They’re currently crawling through some ducts, but they can hear the sound of the AAT cannon taking potshots at us. Says it sounds like there’s only one,” Frank reported, and the rest of Pulsar Squad turned their expressionless helmets towards their General.
“Commander?” Kbatha spoke once again.
“Sir?”
“Follow me.”
Switching from a defensive to aggressive lightsaber style, Jedi Master Kbatha leapt over the barricade directly into the fray. This sudden movement momentarily took his troops by surprise, but they let only a few brief instants pass before they rallied behind him.
It took six long strides before Kbatha could see the first row of droids, another five before his blade first connected with one.
With a pivot of his foot he spun, slicing through four battle droids in one swing, including the one operating a mounted gatling gun. He continued racing forward, spinning as he deflected bolts from both front and rear. He trusted the 73rd to take out the rest of the first defensive line and protect his back while he rapidly made his way towards the next gaggle of barricades.
As the Jedi General grew close enough to make out the enemies before him, he realized that this line was less of an inconvenience and more of a full roadblock. Four heavy machine guns stood before him, surrounded by both B1 and B2 Battle Droids.
Kbatha slid to a stop, spinning his saber in a circular motion in front of him, a frenzied attempt to create as large of a shield as possible from his lone blade. Blaster fire no longer whizzed past him from behind, meaning he needn’t watch his back anymore, yet he also still lacked any blaster support from the rear.
Feeling the wind shift in his favor, Kbatha committed to one final leap, landing right in the middle of the dozens of droids. He performed a spinning duck, detracting his lightsaber for a brief moment as he violently extended both of his arms towards the droids in his sightline.
The barricades and rubble were thrown forward, a number of droids taken with them. The Force carried a large wave of snow over them all, furiously knocking down the mounted machine guns as they sprayed red bolts into the soupy sky. Before any of the droids had a chance to recover, he threw his arms to the left. As gracefully as pure destruction could be, a number of droids and obstacles were swept cleanly over the side of the bridge, vanishing into the chasm below.
With half of the droids at this position dealt with, Kbatha turned to address those behind him. As he prepared another taxing, large-scale Force maneuver, a blue bolt of energy ripped past his head, severing a Battle Droid’s torso from its still-standing legs.
A swarm of Clone Troopers suddenly surrounded the Jedi once again, moving with precision and confidence.
“Keep moving forward, General, we’ll clean up your leftovers!” Commander Frank called out, laying down suppressive fire as the Jedi nodded at him.
Kbatha vaulted over the droids ahead, landing on the other side and praying the next droid line he encountered would be his last. If all went as he hoped, he would reach the enemy’s command outpost right after his apprentice emerged from the underbelly of the bridge. They would finish the battle’s resident Super Tactical Droid and disorient the forces that remained. He could deal with one armored tank if it came to it, but that was only if his optimistic predictions were, in fact, correct.
And the Force would very soon reveal that they were not.
***
The beginning of the assault was uncannily quiet. This was no stealth mission, but as they descended the ramp and silently splashed onto the landing pad’s inch of standing water, no shots rained down on them from either side.
The intense monsoon that engulfed them was momentarily shielding them from the prying eyes of the Empire.
But that tranquility would not last for long.
With a cliff to their back, and stone walls to their side, the team had only one direction to push.
Forward.
The communication jammer was hopefully already in play, although none of them dared utter a request to verify. They could only trust that their cobbled-together technologies pulled their own weight, so that they could, in turn, do their crucial part.
Barrion, the Elnacon, was the last commando to disembark from the shuttle, the first rebels already dismounting the landing pad and sinking into the muddy ground before them. Their hoods and ponchos protected them from most of the heavy rain, although a few sadistic droplets found their target, connecting with their faces and limiting their vision quite drastically.
Of course, Chell didn’t mind. As an amphibious species, he was most comfortable when wet. His bulbous eyes could protect themselves from the downpour, but the deep mud and slick surfaces that the rain brought with it would still prove a challenge, even for him.
The team had silently agreed to keep pressing forward until the enemy took the first shot. No use giving themselves away further back from their goal than necessary. Still, two of their team, a Rodian and one of the Dresellians, stopped their approach, propping their sniper rifles among an assortment of crates scattered across the muddy loading area.
The enemy base would soon come into view, securely nestled within the rockface before them, and they would begin their assault and ascent.
At that moment there was a bright red flash.
A scorching hole appeared briefly near the sunken ankle of one of the commandos, quickly being extinguished by rain and filled in with mud.
“Return fire,” Chell heard Halberd call out, although his message was not relayed across their comms. That was their confirmation that the temporary jamming burst had, in fact, gone into effect, giving the team an additional boost of confidence. Their enemies were fighting deaf.
Long blue bolts went whizzing past from behind, the two trained snipers presumably hitting their marks.
Chell glanced over just in time to see Barrion grunt and yell out a phrase in his native tongue before his massive chaingun revved to life, peppering the enemies in front of them and ensuring the Imps were now suppressed by a violent surge from two separate locations.
The team continued to move forward, and before long their target came into full view. Like most Imperial installations, it was stark gray, with a large, reinforced door located at the base of the structure, while stairs ran up along either side to a balcony-like landing on top. Behind said platform was a slanted transparisteel wall housing the command center on the other side. And above it all was a large gantry with railed walkways covered in blinking hazard lights that existed solely for the sake of low flying vessels braving Jabiim’s perpetual rainstorms.
Stormtroopers and armed technicians were scattered across these various locations, relying only on thin railing for protection from both falls and incoming laserfire. This base was clearly not designed with combat in mind, or at least not with a priority on protecting those who inhabited it.
As they sludged onward, more and more enemies came into view. There must have been at least twenty enemy soldiers raining fire down on them as they neared the foot of the structure.
A Storm Trooper landed in the slop beside Chell from somewhere up above, splattering his cloak with mud which was quickly washed clean by the torrential rain.
Chell was able to land a shot on one of the men firing from the balcony above before he reached the temporary shelter beneath it.
All of the commandos, save for the two sharpshooters laying down cover fire from the rear, converged on the bases’ main door.
One of their Human compatriots, a man named Crish, swung a satchel around from his back, unclipping it and unraveling a cloth scroll housing an assortment of small tools secured within.
Freeing a digiotoscope and a scramble-pick from their unraveled shelter, he began to tamper with the control panel to their left, the sounds of blaster bolts dying out, replaced almost exclusively by the droning downpour. The commandos kept an eye on their flanks, fully expecting Imperial troops to begin to descend the stairways in an attempt to engage their aggressors on the ground.
While Chell kept a close eye on Crish’s progress, he felt for his lightsaber again. Simply brushing the metallic hilt with his webbed hands was enough to calm any fears. He could sense the kyber crystal housed within pulsating with energy much more than usual. It was itching to be used, whether as a tool or weapon, yet he did not yield to it’s metaphysical demands. He carried it only as a reminder. As a stress reliever. And as a precautionary measure. He must not give himself away.
To distract himself from these yearnings, Chell turned towards their next obstacle, the massive blast door. Diagonal lines ran across its face, mud splatters decorated its caudal portions, and its frame stood at least three meters tall and five meters wide.
It was more than large enough to allow the passage of repulsor-powered ore haulers. If Chell was being honest, it could even accommodate something the size of a small Imperial…
“Tank!”
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