Much knowledge brings much sorrow.
(King Solomon).
***
Jedi Master Shaak Ti wandered across the battlefield among the remains of combat vehicles, explosion craters, and droid debris, but her thoughts were far from the scene before her.
The battle on Geonosis had lasted twelve hours and ended only recently. Now, the fleet's ships descended to the planet to take troops on board. Medical frigates landed directly on the battlefield to provide assistance to the wounded as quickly as possible. Evacuation teams of clone medics and meddroids scurried across the plain, assisted by squads of clone infantry.
Despite the clones' quick, skillful, and decisive actions, casualties were unavoidable. Master Yoda had taken a great risk by sending untested troops into battle: theory is theory, but without practice, it is worth little. Although the clones were created as "weapons," Shaak Ti felt they were alive, and no two were truly the same, even if they looked identical.
The fighting had unfolded across almost the entire planet—wherever the Trade Federation and the Techno Union's automated droid factories and transport ships were located, their holds crammed with finished products. The Grand Army of the Republic's forces consisted of four corps—at least 150,000 clones, supported by thousands of armored vehicles. The fleet fielded fifty Venator-class Star Destroyers, thirty-five Consular-class corvettes, and twenty-five MedStar-class hospital ships. The number of fighters exceeded four hundred.
The Separatists had deployed at least one hundred ships in orbit, while another three hundred stood on the surface, loading millions of combat droids of every type—ranging from the simplest B1 battle droids to more advanced and dangerous models.
The battle in space had been fierce. The Trade Federation fleet, mainly composed of Lucrehulk-class core ships—the same that had "distinguished" themselves during the blockade of Naboo—offered strong resistance. The modernized vessels, equipped with additional turbolasers powered by more advanced reactors, were especially formidable. Yet the Republic fleet, despite losing fourteen Star Destroyers and sixteen frigates, managed a near miracle: eighty-three enemy ships were destroyed, seventy-three of them belonging to the Trade Federation. On the ground, Republic forces, overcoming the resistance of hundreds of thousands of battle droids, destroyed nearly a hundred more transports. But at least half of the enemy vessels escaped with full holds—their captains had held out until the very end.
Losses among the ground forces were immense. Hundreds of armored vehicles were destroyed. In just twelve hours, the Republic lost twelve thousand clones killed and another eight thousand wounded. There were not enough medical ships; the wounded had to be loaded onto the Star Destroyers that had landed on the surface.
Yes. Losses. A heavy sorrow settled into Shaak Ti's heart, gnawing at her with quiet pain. It had been a long, long time since the Order had suffered such devastation. The death of every Jedi echoed in the Force, and together they merged into one continuous stream of anguish. Two hundred and twelve Jedi had taken part in the rescue mission: Masters, Knights, and Padawans. Most were dead. A member of the Council, the Vurk Jedi Master Coleman Trebor, was slain when he attempted to attack Count Dooku, gunned down by the mercenary Jango Fett. Only twenty Jedi had escaped from the arena alive. There had been too many droids. The Jedi were not ready—not for this.
Count Dooku had also escaped. Obi-Wan Kenobi and his Padawan, Anakin Skywalker, had been unable to stop him. They had pursued him to a hidden hangar carved into the rocks, but he proved too powerful. The young Padawan was reckless, and Obi-Wan's mastery could not overcome the strength of Yoda's former apprentice. Both would have perished, had Yoda himself not intervened. Foreseeing danger, the Grand Master had arrived in time to save them, though both were gravely wounded—Skywalker lost an arm, while Obi-Wan suffered injuries to his shoulder and leg.
The Trade Federation ships escaped as well. Many were damaged, but under the cover of countless Vulture droid starfighters, the surviving Lucrehulks vanished into hyperspace. The Republic lost dozens of pilots in the effort. The Jedi pilots fared better in their Delta-7 starfighters, destroying 170 Vultures while losing only eight of their own craft.
***
While Shaak Ti lingered in thought—reflecting on events that had already altered the fate of the galaxy, though few yet understood it—the shouts of clones echoed above the battlefield:
"Over here! There's a wounded man here!"
"Evac transport needed! Two casualties here!"
The Togruta passed the wreckage of a walking tank, mangled by an explosion, when she heard a faint moan. Looking back, she saw a figure in clone armor struggling beneath the debris. Turning to the nearest medics, the Jedi called out:
"Over here!"
A pair of clone medics rushed over. Pushing aside heavy armor plating with practiced ease, they pulled free a clone officer—his armor markings showed him to be a platoon commander.
"Brother, are you all right?" one medic asked, kneeling beside him.
"Yes… just my head's ringing. We took a bad hit. The walker's ammo went up—took the reactor with it," the lieutenant muttered, struggling to sit up and brace himself with his hands.
Looking around, he asked, "Where's the Jedi?"
"Which one?" the medic replied, glancing about.
"The one who led us. He took a wound to the chest," the officer explained.
Shaak Ti remembered—a young Jedi Knight, always smiling, who had flown with them in the gunship. Closing her eyes, she reached out through the Force and sensed the faintest spark of life.
"There. Under the rubble," she said, pointing.
Calling over a squad of nearby infantry, the clones joined forces to clear the wreckage. Beneath it, they uncovered another clone trooper and a man in Jedi robes. The medic scanned the clone, then shook his head.
"This one's gone," he said grimly, before turning his scanner on the Jedi.
The sight was grim: the Jedi was covered in dust and soot, with a deep wound in his chest, burns across his arms and legs, his clothing ruined. The hair on his head had been scorched away, even his eyebrows gone. Shaak Ti did not immediately recognize him as her traveling companion.
Then the scanner beeped with a positive reading.
"This one's still alive," the clone reported, shaking his head in disbelief. With injuries like these, the man should have been dead—but somehow, through the Force or sheer will, he clung to life.
"Take him to the medical frigate immediately!" Shaak Ti ordered. For a Jedi, it was worth diverting a transport, even if only for one life—every survivor from the Temple mattered.
"Yes, ma'am." Two clones carefully lifted the Jedi onto a stretcher and hurried him toward the medical transport—an unarmed version of the BARC speeder bike, modified with two side-mounted stretcher racks. It could carry wounded troopers at speeds up to four hundred kilometers per hour, making battlefield evacuation nearly instantaneous. Often every extra minute meant the difference between life and death, and the clones did not waste those minutes. They never abandoned their brothers. Whenever possible, they retrieved not only the wounded but also the bodies of the fallen, to be returned to Kamino. There were too many casualties, however, and some had to be loaded onto landing craft instead.