After completing the loading, we quickly rose into orbit and made a hyperjump. After confirming with the captain that the flight would take almost a day, I decided to take care of some matters. First of all, I talked to the Togruta.
"Well, Ahsoka, admit it—your brain is boiling?"
"How do they remember all this? It's just scary!" replied the slightly depressed girl, her tone edged with emotion.
"It's okay, you'll know everything soon too. That is, if you want to be a good officer, of course. All right, let's go find our cabins, and then you can tell me what you know..."
Half an hour later, having successfully found our cabins exactly where the captain had said they would be, we settled into mine.
"So, student, tell me." I folded my arms across my chest, looking at the girl.
"Um..." The Togruta hesitated. "What should I say?"
"For starters, what form of combat do you use, what Force techniques do you know, what sweets do you like?"
"Sweets?" Tano narrowed one eye in surprise.
"Well, I'm your teacher," I smiled, "which means I should know your tastes and preferences in food. But that's secondary for now—tell me about your techniques first."
"Um..." The little one hesitated again. "I studied Ataru, and Master Yoda himself praised me. I also know how to push, which seems to be pretty good, and... What can you do, Teacher?" She looked at me with her honest, wide eyes, as if to say, I answered.
Ah... Ataru. The fourth form—quite aggressive, focused on maneuverability and speed. Effective in combat, but not very suitable for deflecting shots. In general, it suited her character perfectly.
"I know how to meditate," I smiled. And I was telling the absolute truth! "But let's see what you're capable of." With these words, I took out my two training swords, one of which I tossed to Ahsoka. She caught it. "Of course, there isn't much space here, but you don't need to go all out—just show me your technique."
"Oka-a-ay." The Togruta activated the blade and, biting her lip, crouched slightly, taking an attacking stance.
I lowered my unactivated hilt and stood in a meditation pose, tuning into the flow of the Force. I couldn't mess up now, and since Shii-Cho against Ataru is... well, sad, I had to use my main trump card: the ability to concentrate on foresight, at least that's where the Balance Corps was strong.
"Um... Teacher?"
"Attack me."
"But you're not ready!"
"Attack."
Ahsoka struck from the side with a lightning-fast movement. Activating my sword, I blocked her strike—albeit with difficulty—then smoothly moved forward, shifting my weight onto the blade...
During the short fight, I realized... Well, I realized that my Padawan was a rather expressive personality, easily succumbing to excitement. Just like in a cartoon. And it also occurred to me that Togrutas seemed to have descended from predators.
"Enough," I said, stopping the duel. "Sit down, we need to talk."
Tano obediently sat down next to me.
"Ahsoka, you are excellent with a sword, but... you are too easily swayed by your emotions." Seeing no particular understanding on the girl's face, I tried to explain: "Understand that in battle you will have to command people. Maybe not right away, but you are my Padawan, and since I am a general, you will have to take the position of adjutant, at least for the sake of order. And to command, you need to keep a clear mind.
"If you lose your temper and rush at the droids with your sword, forcing your people to, for example, leave their comfortable defensive positions to cover you, you will let down the very soldiers you command. Don't forget—where you can pass with ease, ordinary beings who do not possess the Force will perish."
"But... how then should we fight?"
"There are different ways, but the main one is this." I gently tapped her forehead with my finger, watching as her blue eyes comically gathered into a cluster, trying to look up through her concentrated frown. "Brains, Ahsoka, brains!"
"A Jedi isn't a dumb droid attached to a sword. You have foresight, telekinesis, a sense of danger and right action—you just need to use it all. Just imagine what would happen if you were put behind a rapid-fire blaster." I'd love to say machine gun, but there's just no such word here.
"What?"
"Not a single miss, that's what. Where a normal being would hit ten times out of a hundred shots and scatter those hits among a few enemies, a Jedi would hit all hundred targets—each one a separate enemy, and each one in a vital spot. You get it?" I made a gesture with my hand and tried to move my eyebrows expressively in the spirit of Jack Sparrow. But I failed—I had neither eyebrows nor any particular artistic talent.
Tano first blushed at the sight, then snorted and quickly buried her mouth in her hands. Her shoulders began to shake violently, accompanied by stifled giggles. And yes, she was seriously trying to control herself. Even somewhat unexpectedly...
As for my lecture—honestly, I wasn't sure about its effectiveness. I hadn't tried it myself, and there was nothing even close to it in my predecessor's memory. But purely theoretically, it was more than possible. If some Masters were capable of fending off ten shots per second, then, guided by the Force, moving the barrel of a heavy blaster should be even more feasible. In general, I'd need to test the theory when the opportunity arose.
"S-sorry, Master, I..."
"Wait, I'm not done yet. Also, don't neglect learning from others—even clones. They were trained by the best specialists in the galaxy, especially the special forces. By the way..." I glanced at her. "Of course, we didn't have time to pick up armor at the Temple, and I'm afraid you won't find anything that fits you here. But we still need to stop by the quartermaster, at least to try out a blaster."
"So I can mow down droids without missing?" the girl asked, showing her understanding.
"That too. But first and foremost, we need something long-range against enemy fighters. The Neimoidian battleship is a massive, three-kilometer-long bagel that can hold up to 1,500 Vultures. If that crowd attacks our positions, it won't be pretty for anyone. In short, it's better to be able to shoot down a flying beast with a blaster than to helplessly clench your sword and curse it as it circles overhead."
"Uh-huh..." The Togruta nodded thoughtfully.
"Here." I handed her a belt with several pockets. "Here's a dry ration, a water flask, and a comlink to contact me. Don't lose it. Now let's go—we only have a day, and we still need to plan the operation and get some sleep..."
***
The beep of the alarm clock instantly jolted me awake. Less than an hour left. Oh boy.
After a quick wash and a bite to eat, I headed for the bridge, dragging the yawning Tano along with me.
"General," the captain greeted.
I nodded, casting a glance around. The clone crew was busy at their stations, instruments and holographic panels glowing everywhere. And, of course, there were no "glassed-in verandas" with panoramic views of space on this bridge—just armored walls. That was the harsh reality of a combat command deck on my flagship. And honestly, that was a good thing.
"Five... four... three... two... one... hyperspace jump complete!" one of the operators reported in a monotone.
We emerged from hyperspace near the center of the system, as confirmed by the holographic panel, which immediately displayed a star map with our position marked. Activity on the bridge swelled like an avalanche, reports pouring in from every direction.
An image of our target planet soon appeared on the screen—a reddish-brown sphere shrouded in green atmosphere, with vast seas spread across its surface and small ice caps at the poles.
A second later, a dot in orbit resolved into the unfinished frame of a Lucrehulk-class core ship, magnified and outlined with scanner data. Several small vessels bustled around it, but the most striking detail was the absence of its inner sphere. That central core, a completely independent ship four hundred meters in diameter, had clearly descended to the planet.
"General?" Zabrak turned to me.
"You're in charge, Captain," I said. I had no intention of interfering in the work of professionals with my amateur ideas. But I was very interested in watching—and learning.
"We're approaching the station!" Ntor snapped, nodding sharply as he began issuing orders. "Light cruisers, engage the small craft! Deploy the fighters!"
The Marat surged toward the Separatist vessel. Fighters poured from our hangar in waves, wings unfolding into attack position as they accelerated. At first, the enemy ship ignored us. Then, suddenly, a pair of dots detached from its hull—identified by the computer as transports—shooting away into the distance. Moments later, a barrage of turbolaser and laser fire came streaking toward us.
"We've engaged in fire contact!"
Boom! A bluish flash lit the surveillance screens.
"Direct hit! Shields at seventy-six percent—no hull damage!" reported one of the operators.
Our guns, however, hit harder. Despite its massive arsenal—forty-eight turbolasers, one hundred ninety-two laser cannons, and one hundred twenty-four quad-laser batteries, all helpfully marked on the holographic overlay—the enemy could only bring thirty percent of its weapons to bear, thanks to the station's shape and design. We, with our wedge-shaped hull, were able to unleash nearly ninety percent of our firepower. Even so, it wasn't enough to crack those shields quickly. That monster carried serious reactors.
"Prepare torpedoes!" the captain ordered.
"Enemy shields down to thirty-four percent!" another operator announced.
Closing to within twenty kilometers—if I was interpreting the local measurement system correctly—the Marat braked hard and loosed its torpedoes. Four massive, fifteen-meter warheads streaked forward, slipping past scattered anti-aircraft fire. Three splashed harmlessly against the shields in clouds of plasma. The fourth punched through the overloaded barrier and drove straight into the station's left hangar.
A colossal explosion bulged the hull outward, and moments later the entire ship was wracked by chain detonations.
"Keep firing! Break this monstrosity apart!"
Light cruisers and fighters swarmed around the Lucrehulk's hangars, cutting down the departing Vultures. Dogfights flared.
"Yellow Six, I've got two on my tail!"
"Yellow Six, this is Yellow Seven—thirty degrees up, I've got them!"
"Two Vultures down!"
"I'm hit! I repeat, I'm hit—shhh—"
"Hold on, boys! Covering the ships!"
The pilots' conversations were broadcast into the control room. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Ahsoka clenching and unclenching her fists. No doubt about it—what she wanted more than anything was to be out there herself, at the stick of a starfighter, right in the thick of the fight.
Less than ten minutes into the engagement, the twisted wreckage that had once been the station began tumbling into the atmosphere.
"Well," I remarked dryly, "the natives are in for a feast—plenty of free gifts falling from the sky." Not because I thought it particularly witty, but simply to ease the tension.
One of the operators, clearly taking me literally, hurried to clarify:
"Sir, calculations show the debris will fall into one of the inland seas."
"Is that so? Well then, it's not meant to be."