The Weaving Force: Chapter 75 (Patreon)

Chapter 75:

Anakin:

He glanced at his tac-map, and brought his speeder to a stop somewhere between the now-wrecked artillery of the still-amassing droid army and the fortifications at the mouth of the canyon leading to the temple.

His men whooped and laughed, celebrating the first win of the engagement as they pulled off their helmets to take a fresh breath of cold air, even as the blizzard picked up.

“Lets see those clankers shoot those fancy guns now, eh, General?” one of the men laughed, a flush of adrenaline on his face and satisfaction in his eyes.

Anakin smiled at the man, ready to answer back, when Rex tapped him on the shoulder, hard.

“Got a problem,” his second-in-command whispered harshly in his ear. “Readouts just came in. Sep fleet is charging guns, trained on this area!”

Anakin tried not to let his fear show as his rational mind kicked in, his knowledge of ships giving him the information he needed.

Three minutes. That’s the minimum amount of time he had before those guns were charged enough to breach the atmosphere. Add another two for them to narrow down the coordinates sufficiently to not wipe out their own army… if they cared enough.

“Let’s move!” he roared suddenly, his joyous men hearing the urgency in his voice and following immediately. Revving up their engines and rushing on screaming bikes across the snow capped valley, they sped back towards the relative safety of the shield’s enveloping protection.

“Give me a sitrep, Rex!” he demanded, more to keep his mind occupied on something that wasn’t the somewhat literal death hanging over their heads at the moment.

“All fronts are holding so far, as we expected, but that was just the first wave. Testing defenses, you know the drill,” the clone answered dismissively. “Fleet is still moving into position. Scans say more dropships, more fighters, more everything is still inbound.”

“I assume we can expect some surprises in the upcoming waves?” The question was more rhetorical than anything, because the Confederacy had been almost pumping out fresh models and prototype weapons by the bucket loads. Tossing anything at the wall that might stick.

The Republic was doing the same thing, really, but the ability to make specialized droids rather than just specialized equipment really made the Confederacy’s new weapons stand out in a way new armor or a different gun simply didn’t.

Attacking a major target like the Jedi’s second most important temple in the galaxy… Yes, it was guaranteed they’d be unveiling something new.

Rex continued, almost musing aloud, “This sortie probably screwed up their plans down on our end. They’ll commit more resources, which frees up other areas. Probably.”

Anakin could agree, though given the sheer size of the fleet and typical droid numbers, he couldn’t really say whether they would feel that diversion of resources anywhere else.

Snow whipped up in their wake, drawing close to the southernmost fortress and the protective shield. Red safety lights and bright flood lights illuminated the outline of the high walls and sturdy gates, letting them see the defenders through the white-out blizzard conditions.

“Almost there!” he cried.

Then the skies opened up.

The calm blue white of Ilum’s clouds parted into a poison-green glow as emerald fire rained down from above. The blasts were not the city destroyers that had been aimed and fired on Corellia. These were just barely more powerful than a heavy repeater. They kicked up chunks of destroyed rock and half melted slurry, blanketing the outside area as the shield rippled and bubbled just ahead of them.

Anakin’s senses burned bright, flaring with repeated warnings. He dodged and weaved, darting himself, Rex and their speeder through the rain of deadly bolts.

His men tried to do the same, following his path, others just speeding up as fast as they could in a straight line to reach the protective envelope just ahead of them.

Not all of them made it.

He saw one clone get blasted apart by a single shot, half his torso evaporating in green fire, dead before he realized he’d been hit. His speeder lost control, his partner sailing through the air as it crashed.

In another case, the speeder itself got hit, careening wildly, a fire-enveloped missile as it slammed into the shield with a horrible screech as metal twisted and men were broken on unyielding surface of the protective energy layer.

The screams coincided with the feeling of lives winking out around him.

But then, in a flash, the speeders with still-functioning IFF transponders were through.

The protective bubble of the shield washed over them. He, Rex, and the half-dozen other men could finally slow down and catch their breaths.

A half-dozen. Out of twenty.

He reminded himself that it was worth it. They’d taken out nearly twice that many artillery pieces, hundreds of droids, and even a field commander.

The casualties had even been light before the ships above opened fire.

It had been worth it. But he’d lost men - good men - to kill droids…

“Come on,” he sighed. The engine revved up as he turned the speeder towards the base. “You men deserve some rest before the fighting starts.”

“Yes, General,” Rex replied somberly behind him.

The men cheered as they returned to base. Anakin smiled and waved… for their sake.

—

CT-0033289

His jetpack screamed as he soared through the sky on wings of fire. Razor blades of sleet and ice felt like slivers of glass flensing his flesh even through the thick, protective layers of his heavy armor.

His breath was harsh in his ears, even through the vibrating pressure of the wind battering outside the hardened shell of his helmet. He followed the sensor readings on his specialized HUD, the uplink to the primary sensors and targeting arrays of the much more powerful computers in the temple triangulating the whole of the battlefield in real time.

Letting him and his brothers hone in on their targets.

He shifted his body at the last moment, his heavily armored boots and high impact shock absorbers taking the brunt of the impact before the maglocks snapped on, securing him to the side of the Seppie landing craft. Bracing himself between the two wings, he activated his plasma cutter.

Metal glowered red hot, melting like wax as he bored a hole into the side, through which he spied the still-deactivated clankers folded inside like sardines.

He pulled a thermal detonator, priming it before tossing it into the hole and deactivating his maglocks, letting gravity do the rest.

He stared up as he fell, watching the four-winged silhouette of the transport grow distant and then vanish into the white of the howling blizzard before it reappeared in a tremendous fireball, ripped apart from the inside. Its reactor, droids, and ammo were all consumed in red and blue flame. His jetpack flared to life to stop his descent, pulling him out of the path of the debris.

A sound made his stomach drop. His head snapped around to look behind him as a screaming vulture droid rushed through the howling gales straight towards him.

He scrambled, brain blanking on what to do, whether to try and climb or just shut off his jetpack. Some of his brothers said the world slowed to a crawl in moments like this. For him, it felt like it was suddenly on fast forward, his own body and brain seizing up in indecision.

And then it was too late.

He shut off the jetpack, but there was no way. The thing was gonna hit him dead on.

He crossed his arms in front of him, body curling into a tight ball, a feeble defense, but it was almost instinctive.

Then, with a tremendous stomp, two armored boots slammed down onto the vulture droid’s head. The entire chassis crumpled like a cheap tin can, folding almost literally in half as it was shoved straight down, shooting past 0033289’s feet before a hand reached forward, grabbing him by his chestplate and holding him unfailingly in the air.

“You alright, trooper?”

He didn’t answer, couldn’t, not immediately. He had to take a moment to get his breathing under control and remember to activate his jetpack’s hover mode.

“General, ma’am…” He swallowed, hesitating. “Thanks.”

That was… pathetically insufficient.

The General smiled through her breathing mask, her cheeks rising and eyes crinkling with the expression. “Any time.”

“How’d you find me?” He nearly asked, before catching sight of the cyan blue iris of her cybernetic pupil.

That’s right. She didn’t need a full helmet for an uplink with that bit of tech.

As if to prove his own internal deduction correct, she started looking around, eyes narrowing. “They’re pulling back.”

He started to look as well.

She was right.

The vulture droids had pulled far enough away that they were out of range of the anti-air guns. The remaining drop ships were hovering outside of range as well, somewhere between the lower atmosphere and low orbit.

And yet… more were still gathering. Not fully leaving.

He wasn’t sure if she noticed, but either way, she brought her hand up to her comlink. “My Lions,” she began, illiciting a series of chuckles, hooting calls and faux roars from the men who remembered her prebattle speech rang through the comms. She smiled again as she continued, pretending not to have noticed, “regroup, rearm, and rest. Get on standby ASAP for the next sortie. This fight ain’t done till we’ve got more scrap than mountain around us.”

“Yes, General!”

—

Pors Tonith:

“Sir… are you certain about this course of action?” the tactical droid questioned hesitantly.

Pors smiled thinly at the tactical droid. “And what would you suggest?”

“Jedi Dallon and Jedi Hebert are known outliers in strength and capability, compared to most other Jedi. Commit forces to keep occupied, but focus primary attack on other areas. South. West.”

“Where the conventional defenses are thickest.” He nodded.

“Calculations indicate these defenses can be overcome without compromising air power.”

“Possibly,” he felt the need to correct. “Possibly without compromising air power.” He stated, straightening. “The Jedi have grown to rely - very heavily - on the inordinate abilities of these two in their roster. But they have limits. All have limits.” He nodded. “We will be discovering them now, I assure you.”

He cast one more glance over the tactical holomap displaying the battle, reassuring himself in his chosen course of action.

Yes. This was the correct call.

“What are the estimated preparation times?” he demanded.

Obediently, the tactical droid took a moment to process.

“Three galactic standard hours.”

Pors nodded; that was what he’d assumed.

“Proceed.”

—

Taylor:

The time between the first and the second wave of attacks… was hell.

I wanted to leave. I wanted to check on the others. Vicky, my kids, my squad, even the Jedi Masters. Not talk with them over the comm, but see them. See for myself that they were okay. That they weren’t hurt.

There weren’t a lot of bugs on Ilum. I was limited here to just a handful of Ilum’s native species that could survive the cold, but even if I wasn’t, this battlefield covered miles. They were out of my range.

If something changed, and it would, I wouldn’t know until it was relayed through the comms. If someone was hurt I couldn’t get to them. Even if they were… this line needed me.

They wouldn’t give up after the first try. Flyers, heavier tanks, heavy infantry. They would attack if only to make sure they knew where I was and where I wasn’t.

I was stuck here.

And, all the while, I could see it. Feel it. Feel them gathering their resources, amassing their strength for the next big push. The one that would legitimately try to break through, not just poke and prod.

I felt…

I felt helpless. Powerless.

It was not a feeling I recalled with any fondness at all.

I forced myself to take a deep breath through my nostrils. Jedi meditations were always… odd… with me. I knew how to do them, had even achieved their trance-like states on occasion, but stilling my mind - my mind with everything that came with it - only happened on very rare, very peaceful moments.

This was not one of those moments.

But I tried anyway, if only to smother the worry and concern that felt like it was choking me.

I tried to breathe as Master Plo taught me, to be calm like Yaddle, even as I shunted all of my physical reactions into what little swarm I had: the large armored behemoths that were the ice crabs snapping their pincers and clacking their mandibles in agitation. My mind refused to be as still and placid as the rest of me.

The com crackled to life and I damn near lunged for it.

“Vicky.” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand, because that had better be her on the other end of this line.

“Tay-” I felt the breath that she released, my own relief cutting through my chest like a knife. I placed the com unit down, flicking on the holo viewer, and Vicky’s smirk was all the confirmation I needed to know she was fine.

A smirk that was quickly becoming disgustingly smug.

“You missed me,” she teased.

I didn’t stop myself from smiling a bit at her tone. “You’re the one who called to check up on me.”

“True,” she admitted, then smiled again. “But you ~missed~ me.”

Now I rolled my eyes. “Have you checked on the others yet?” I asked.

“Nah… called you first,” she admitted sheepishly. I’d almost call it shy, if I didn’t know her better than that. My Vicky was many things; ‘shy’ wasn’t one of them. “You ok?”

I nodded. “Yeah. The attack was… heavy, at least in terms of firepower. But they never got past the crabs.”

She snorted. “Yeah. Sure. Two story tall armor plated monsters that can double as flotation devices. We had reason to be worried on that front.”

“Next attack they’ll compensate, if only to keep me here,” I warned. “I’m sure it’ll be the same on your end.” I paused, the words somewhere in my throat. “Be careful.”

Her smile was a bit more subdued this time, a bit more sincere. Not the bravado and confidence she showed the world. Something that was just for me. A reassuring promise without words. “I will,” she said, then seemed to think. “Let’s split the checkups. I call Cere and Unduli, you call Annie?”

“And then we’ll both call Iskt and Karla,” I added. “Check on the kids.”

“Sounds good. Ping you in five.”

As she hung up, I felt I could breathe again, a knot uncoiling from my throat and chest

She’s alright. It’s ok. It’s alright.

—

Cere Junda:

Cere knew - academically, at least - that the starport was, in theory, the most unassailable of the four defensive lines. Four defensive lines that surrounded the mountains, valleys, cliffs and canyons leading to the Ilum Temple.

Mounted atop a high plateau, surrounded by razor sharp rocks coated in a sheen of frozen ice and snow, it gleamed like the teeth of some great beast, with the spaceport nestled in its gaping maw.

But that knowledge brought her little comfort as she beheld the skies above.

Vulture droids zipped and darted overhead, and the natural defenses that made them so unassailable also worked, to a degree, against them here. Unlike the temple, and the southern forward base, there was not enough room to mount sufficient anti-air weapons on this side.

And, right now, all of those guns were firing non-stop to try and stem the tide. The massive barrels glowed cherry red, even in Ilum’s cold temperatures. Vulture droids and dropships screamed, descending in fiery trails and out of control spins, some smashing against the defensive shield and others crashing into the rocks of the cliffs around them. The commander of the artillery had already informed both her and Master Luminara that this sort of continuous use couldn’t be kept up for more than an hour.

If these weren’t droids, the death toll would have been horrendous. Thousands, hundreds of thousands of ships and personnel lost. A tally that would make any sane commander think twice before doing such a thing.

But the fact was that these were droids. And droid lives were cheap. She could very readily see the CIS commander ordering his air power to continue the assault until the guns fell silent lest the barrels be warped beyond all use, or their cores explode in an overheated fireball if they forced the machines to keep firing through their safety failsafes.

Is that how they’d meet the assault here? With droid dropships falling right over their heads as the guns finally died around them?

It felt like it.

Beside her, Master Luminara seemed much more calm, much more composed. Sitting in a meditative position, her Force signature utterly calm and placid, eyes closed in serene grace.

Cere admired the Senior Master in that moment, wishing she could be just as calm and not nearly as fidgety or nervous as she was.

It was natural to be nervous, she supposed.

She wasn’t, after all, a Master.

Not really.

They certainly called her one.

She and the near hundred others that had been elevated from Knight to Master.

She understood why. She understood that the Clone Army needed commanders. That they needed to feel as though they were led by one of the venerable legends that were Jedi Masters, and not simply being handed to an inferior and woefully under prepared command staff.

And so… Masters they became.

Because they didn’t have time to be anything less.

She’d heard rumors that they’d considered doing the same for Senior Padawans. But Master Yaddle, supported by Master Plo Koon, had protested the idea vehemently.

Still, she knew she was not ready.

She was not a real Jedi Master.

Standing here, with Master Unduli, Master Rancisis… even the… unique cases of Master’s Hebert and Dallon, she felt so wholly out of her depth. It was like she was a Padawan again.

Even Skywalker, Knight Skywalker, who had barely been a Knight for six months now, seemed more ready than she was; like he was born to do this.

Maybe he was.

She didn’t know how to prepare Trilla for these trials ahead, for the danger. Skywalker seemed more than happy to delegate part of his responsibility to Hebert, the Crechemaster. She wasn’t so sure that was a good idea, tempting as it was.

One Master, one Padawan. The rules were there for a reason. A Padawan wasn’t meant to be trained by…a committee?

“You must still your mind, Master Junda.”

She startled, her eyes snapping towards Unduli, feeling mortified. “I am sorry… I didn’t mean to disturb.”

“It is alright,” Unduli consoled her. “War is nothing to take lightly. But our power comes from our calm.”

“You’re right, of course,” Cere sighed. “It’s just… I’ve never been in a battle before,” she whispered so the clones wouldn’t hear, “let alone commanded troops.”

“It isn’t something we should want, or become accustomed to,” Unduli agreed with her own sigh. “But… we have a responsibility to defend the Repub-”

Just then, a lieutenant burst into the room. “Generals!” he barked, his voice sounding like a million others through the modulator in his helmet. “Got a problem that’s gonna get a hell of a lot worse real damn soon.”

Cere felt her heart drop to her feet as Master Unduli stood up immediately. Her face was as placid and calm as ever, but the lines tightened ever so slightly to convey her seriousness.

“Show us, Lieutenant.”

The trooper obeyed, gesturing them to follow and marching out of the small room and out towards the spaceport itself.

Ilum did not have a large spaceport. One primary hangar for larger shuttles - though nothing significantly greater than a large freighter - and four other smaller hangars.

That was it. For these “five bare rooms” and a handful of rocks is what potentially hundreds, or even thousands, of clones would die to defend.

It seemed like such a waste. A pointless waste.

Still, she pushed these thoughts aside as best she could, following behind Master Unduli and the clone as they reached a small tactical computer setup in the junction between Hangars 2 and 3.

“Look here, ma’am. Probes recorded; scouts confirm,” the Lieutenant said grimly.

Luminara and she looked into the grainy, green holorecording.

It was a… vehicle. Like a spider, lumbering forward on slow, ponderous legs.

As the clawed limbs cracked the stone and the pebbles fell away, she realized the thing wasn’t walking. It was climbing.

The image pulled away, revealing a small army of these walkers, making their way up the cliff face.

Cere tried very hard not to show the dread across her face.

“How close are they?”

“Ten more minutes at their current pace,” the man answered, pointing west and south. “Bulk of ‘em are coming that way. Their landers touched down outside of our gun range. No way we could have stopped ‘em.”

“Don’t worry about it, Lieutenant,” Luminara replied easily, taking over the conversation, for which Cere was very grateful. “Just tell us what we’re looking at.”

“Intel pegs these as the LM-432. We just call ‘em crabs for short.” The Lieutenant shrugged. “So far, we’ve spotted two new variants.” The Lieutenant gestured to two different looking silhouettes. “We got the regular ones at the front. Heavily armored, heavily armed. Big dumb brutes that can take a beating, but nothin’ complicated. These though…”

The two silhouettes were magnified, additions and changes made into the original chassis of the crab droid highlighted in the display. The first was carrying four very large boxes on its underside, the other a three-pronged antenna of sorts, proudly sitting atop its ‘head’ like a very large crown. Or, rather ridiculously, a fork spearing a crab.

“Best guess for the first one is troop transport.” He answered.

Cere wondered how he could believe such tiny boxes would serve as a troop transport before she recalled just how small B1s could fold themselves. And even B2s, with their bulkier frames, could make their profile much, much smaller than they were at their full height.

Doing some quick mental math, she could easily see twenty to thirty droids fitting in each of those boxes.

And there were… a lot of these transport crab droids to boot.

“And the other must be some kind of coordinator.”

“You’re sure?” Unduli asked.

“No, ma’am,” the clone answered with a shrug. “Best guess.”

Just then, the comlink chimed, and Unduli answered it immediately. “Yes?”

The voice of Master Dallon answered. “Hey, Unduli. Just making sure everyone’s doing alright so far. How are things on your end?”

“Quiet, so far, Master Dallon,” Unduli answered cordially, “but we have a situation developing that will quickly become a problem, and I’m afraid I cannot speak for very long.”

“Alright, go do your thing. Call if you need me.”

For a moment, Cere considered actually calling out and answering. A passing flight from her and Master Dallon would quite literally smash those crab droids across the mountain side.

But then she stopped, knowing that Dallon had her own responsibilities. Her own duty.

Just as Cere had hers.

Master Unduli pocketed the comlink once again, the small device vanishing into the folds of her robe before she turned sharply. “Master Junda.”

“Yes?” She was proud of herself for keeping the quiver out of her voice.

“Come with me, please; I will need your help.”

—

Karla

She would have liked to say that they helped while waiting inside the temple.

That they prepared weapons, gave orders to the troops. That they did something.

But they didn’t.

All the preparations had been made weeks ago. All quartermasters had full stocks of their weapons and ammunition. All engineers had the anti-air guns primed and at the best condition they’d ever been, and were actively repairing any that were already damaged. Guelzo and the rest of the squad were put in command of the reserves…

There was… nothing for them to do. Nothing they could help with.

So all they did was watch the battle unfold, following the flow of information on the holomap, listening to reports relayed through the comm channels.

She felt… useless, sitting here in the command center, tucked safely away while the others were all fighting out there.

Master Rancisis had ceased his meditations when the first wave had petered out, and while he didn’t look exhausted, it was clear to Karla and the others that his use of battle meditation had indeed been tiring even for such a relatively short time.

But then again, she’d heard he’d also been helping with it during the fleet battle… so maybe it wasn’t exactly a “short” time, either.

“Are you alright?”

The question made her turn, looking and finding Padawan Trilla asking as she walked up beside her.

Karla smiled as best she could. “Yeah, I’m fine, just…”

“Frustrated?” It wasn’t really a question, seeing how it was said with a knowing, relatable exasperation.

Karla answered it anyway. “Yeah.”

“It is frustrating.” Master Rancisis, quiet as a garden snake as Miss Vicky would say, slid up beside them, a steaming cup of some kind of tea clasped in his hands. “You feel as though you could do more. Should do more. You wish to help. Not let them shoulder all of the risk.” The Council member said. “I understand.”

“You can at least help.” She said, then blanched a bit at how she was back talking to a Council member.

Was this back talk? It felt like back talk.

…

…

…Maybe Master Skywalker was a bad influence…

…Maybe Miss Vicky was too…

…

And… probably Miss Taylor…

Master Rancisis huffed a breath. “Yes, I suppose there is that difference.”

Iskt and Ahsoka made their way over. Her best friend was wrapped in specialized clothes running hot, hot enough that he gave off a pleasant warmth around him, so as he drew closer she (and Trilla) scooted closer. It was like reaching a warm fire, and even Angelica gave a pleased little gurgle in Karla’s hands.

If her friend noticed, he pretended not to.

“We updated the Noble Team on what’s happening.” Ahsoka chimed in. ”They’ll be ready to move out on your order.”

Master Rancisis nodded. “Good.”

It, however, did confuse Karla. “Update? We haven’t heard anything on comms so far.” She’d know, she’d been glued to it for the last few hours.

“Battle meditation does come with some advantages for the caster, not just its recipients.” The Council member answered somewhat cryptically. He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes. “I must gather my strength for the next assault. It will begin imminently.”

“What’re they doing?” Iskt questioned, speaking up. “You’re ordering two of our reserves to the west, so you must have some idea.”

The Jedi Master turned, looking at them, then back to the holomap. “Tonith has identified two potential weak points he can exploit in our defenses.”

“And one of those is the west?” Trilla gasped, her face paling as the sour, painful spike of fear cut through the room, worry for her Master shining brightly in her emotions.

But the Master simply nodded, “Indeed. The north as well.”

“Miss Victoria?” Karla boggled, incredulity and horror warring within her.

How was Miss Victoria a weak point?

But again, Rancisis simply nodded.

—

Vicky

“General Victoria, we got a major problem.”

Vicky’s eyes snapped open. On recommendation of… basically everyone, she was to try and get as much sleep as possible between attacks. She was the lynchpin of the defenses here.

She hadn’t exactly succeeded, maybe at best dozing off ever so slightly before her brain snapped awake every few minutes wondering if something was happening. Even as the Fragile One tried to reassure her and tell her she’d wake her up in an emergency, it was still damn near impossible to shut her brain or her adrenaline off right now.

So when the clone lieutenant called she was fully awake and cognizant, springing up and marching out of the small prefab tent that had been set up for her here.

“What’s wrong!?”

He didn’t speak, merely showing her the readout.

Vicky blinked, certain that her brain was still somewhat sleep-addled, but then she blinked again and realized that no, the information he was showing her was indeed real.

“This accurate?” She tried again, wincing.

The Lieutenant nodded. “Checked it three times.”

…

“Ma’am?”

“Get everyone available and inform Master Rancisis. We’re apparently gonna be dealing with damn near ten thousand flyers ramming down our throats in ten minutes.”

—

Cere Junda

The droids were close now, their massive footsteps sending vibrations through the earth. Blasters chirped as they fired down and up the mountain side. The clones above, the droids rising from below, exchanging fire. Clones screamed in pain as they were hit, while armor piercing rockets made metal groan and howl, the droids hit struggling to maintain their grips on the crags and rocky cliffs they tried to climb as they returned fire.

She could smell the scent of ozone, the burning of flesh and slagged metal. It was overwhelming and Cere struggled to keep her panic from rising.

“Focus.” Master Unduli said, eyes shut in concentration. “As Master Yoda says: size does not matter to the Force.”

Cere tried to internalize the words, features tightening and brows knitting together. She followed Master Unduli’s guiding hand as it reached out within the eddies and flows of the Force itself.

Then, they grasped.

And pulled.

Great bone rattling cracks ripped through the air around them, the tremors quaking the snow and earth they knelt on.

All at once, the mountainside came crumbling down in a tremendous, terrible avalanche, snow and rock falling onto the droids like an all powerful, implacable wave.

She saw several of the behemoths torn down, falling to the cliffs far below to shatter upon the ruin of the mountainside.

The clones cheered.

Then, breaking free of the stone, ice and sleet, the droids kept climbing.

Not as many as before.

But still many.

“Troopers!” Unduli called in a voice that rang clear and loud, carrying over the din and chaos of the battle, “Prepare to engage!” She turned, looking to Cere with a grim finality in her voice. “Take the left, I’ll hold the center.”

Woodenly, Cere felt her head bob once up, then down, her lightsaber grasped in a white knuckled fist as she rose to her feet.

—

As the behemoths rose over the edge of the mountains, battered, bruised, broken, but not quite dead, they unloaded their payloads, and suddenly the mountain was swarmed with thousands of B1, B2 and droideka droids, and it was all Cere could do to survive. Her blade deflected blaster bolts as soldiers rallied to her side and the starport, so coveted by both sides, was rapidly becoming a crumbling, blasted ruin all around her.

Unnoticed by her, or even Master Unduli, several of the crab droids, the coordinators as they’d been dubbed, ceased moving as a collection of fast moving ships punched through the upper atmosphere, too fast and too sudden for anyone to warn them.

—

Pors Tonith

Pors watched the holodisplay from his command throne. The southern force advancing, the western force finally engaged properly, and the northern air battle beginning in earnest, even as the eastern lake forces reassembled themselves into a nominal threat.

But there were two messages he was waiting for, his eyes closed, mouth set in a frown.

He watched the Jedi defenders on the four battlelines. The valorous Dallon looked like a being of myth, flying through the skies with a sword of light, as if bringing righteous judgment from some long lost spirit. Skywalker, standing like a wall, refusing to give an inch of ground without a score of destroyed droids to show for it, his men just as defiant as they stood with him. Master’s Unduli and Junda, a perfect depiction of ancient Jedi nobility. Stories he and the galaxy at large had grown up with as children.

It was all so very beautiful in a way.

Then, through the din and clamor of a hundred messages and reports, he heard it. Confirmation.

“Heh heh. We’re here. Finally. Now. We Kill Jedi. Now I win!”

“Infiltration successful.”

Pors finally allowed himself to smile.

(X)(X)(X)

So, fun fact... I thought by this point I'd have Obi-Wan swooping in. But this battle seems to be... a fair bit *larger* than I initially projected in my notes. Like... A lot bigger.

I'm bad at math.

Still, we're getting into the "Pitched battle" portion of the war on Illum Next chapter is gonna be an adrenaline rush from start to finish. And I wonder if you guys can figure out what Pors plan is/what's happened so far and how things will play out in the short term. You readers are pretty clever sometimes so I wouldn't put it past you to get what's happened. I believe in you :D