There is nothing more terrifying
than war for peace.
(folk saying)
***
Commander Rinaun, standing on the bridge of his flagship, the Acclamator, seemed almost oblivious to what was happening around him. Yet every one of his subordinates knew that the young naval officer never lost sight of the situation for even a moment.
Kernatuan Rinaun came from a rather old family, nearly all of whose members had served in the navy in one way or another. His distant ancestors had once served in the Republic Navy before the Ruusan Reformations and had remained even during the long decline afterward, taking positions aboard ships of the Justice Department. His grandfather had fought in Stark's Hyperspace War, so it was no surprise that Rinaun himself eventually joined the navy.
And then the war began. A war that had long been expected but for which no one was truly prepared. A war whose scale would have made even Ruusan pale in comparison. This conflict threatened to engulf the entire Galaxy—every system, every world.
Now, more than ever, intelligent commanders were needed. Just yesterday he had been a captain in the Justice Department, commanding a formation of nine light cruisers. Now, he bore the rank of commander. Though he had more than twenty ships under his flag, only five of them were Acclamator-class military assault ships; the rest were mere light cruisers.
When he received his assignment to the Twelfth Sectoral Fleet, Rinaun sighed bitterly. How could he not? The main Separatist-held worlds were strung along the Perlemian Trade Route. Battles here promised to be intense—the Neimoidian merchants and their allies would hardly surrender their most profitable systems without a fight.
Fortunately, the Republic now possessed a fleet and an army, though one comprised entirely of clones. According to some, these soldiers had been secretly created by the Jedi. But the claim was met with widespread skepticism. How could one secretly raise an army of millions and a fleet of thousands? And where would the Jedi find such funds?
Yes, the Jedi. When the navy learned that the clone army—and even its fleets—would be commanded by Jedi, the well-mannered officers of the service spoke more indecent words than Rinaun had ever heard in his life. Appointing pacifist peacekeepers with no experience in command was worse than putting an outsider in charge. These so-called monks, instead of directing troops, charged headlong into battle, swinging their lightsabers and dying ingloriously.
As one acquaintance from the newly formed headquarters on Lantilles had informed him, sixteen Jedi had already been killed since the start of the conflict. Sixteen, in just a few pitiful days!
And he did not need to look far for an example. Only two days earlier, a Jedi Knight had perished in their own sector—leading what he thought was a bold attack against a heavily fortified orbital defense. His entire squadron had been wiped out, and his assault ship destroyed by Separatist ships that had arrived in time to reinforce.
And now, after receiving a distress signal from yet another Jedi, Rinaun and his task force had rushed to extricate him from disaster. At least this one had shown some sense: he had dispatched his ship out of the system, losing only a single corvette in the retreat. Still, after three days, it was unlikely that any organized resistance from the Republic troops on the surface had survived. Captain Ragnos estimated that the Separatists fielded as many as four hundred thousand battle droids.
Of course, clones were far more effective, but the droids were cheaper and could be mass-produced without end. They required no lengthy training, no complex logistics—no food, no medical care. They could be repaired on the spot with an endless supply of spare parts from Confederacy ships or scavenged battlefields. Failing that, they could simply be melted down for scrap. For clones, the only comparable "repairs" covered their armor and ammunition.
After driving the Confederacy ships from the orbit of Donovia—losing one Acclamator in the process—they managed to establish contact with the Jedi General. Rinaun was surprised to find the landing force nearly intact. Losing only a single regiment after three days of combat seemed to him a small price.
Still wary that the Jedi might now demand assistance and meddle in the command structure, Rinaun asked cautiously:
"General, how long can you hold out? The Separatists are offering strong resistance, and we won't be able to reach you quickly."
"The Separatist ground forces ceased their attacks as soon as you arrived in-system," the Jedi replied calmly, his holographic figure armored in unfamiliar gear—strikingly different from the robes Rinaun expected. "We have enough provisions for another week. But our wounded need immediate medical attention."
"All right. I'll send your ship as soon as possible. But for now, it's needed here."
"I understand, Commander." The Jedi inclined his head, then cut the transmission.
Turning back from the projector, Rinaun focused once more on the battle.
***
For us, the fighting was over—at least for now. The Separatist forces had pulled back to their landing zone, preparing to make a stand. They would be dealt with by the newly arrived Republic units. To my surprise, the directive prohibiting units with five percent casualties from entering combat was still enforced. Before the war, clone training had set maximum acceptable losses at only one and a half percent.
The cruisers pushed the Separatist ships out of the system, though the space battle dragged on for some time. One Acclamator was destroyed, but fortunately our Marat emerged unscathed. Two Munificent-class star frigates followed one of the Lucrehulk into oblivion. For now, the score was even.
Leaning over the holographic projection displayed on the tactical table of the mobile command post, I listened to Commander Blam's report along with Ahsoka and the other unit commanders. The cruisers, once in range, had poured every weapon they possessed into the fight. Three thousand Vultures clashed against two hundred Republic starfighters.
"Thus, the total losses amount to 1,742 clones killed, another 1,207 wounded—more than 300 of them seriously," the clone concluded. "Forty-seven vehicles destroyed: eleven AT-TEs, three SPHAs, nine speeder bikes, and twenty-two AT-RTs."
Lovely. An entire regiment gone in the blink of an eye. At this pace, it was little wonder most of the first-wave clones wouldn't even survive halfway through the war. Especially under such "brilliant" Jedi leadership. If I, doing everything possible to preserve my troops, suffered so much in the first operation, what must it be like for clones whose commanders charged into battle with lightsabers blazing?
"What shall we do, Teacher?" Tano had not burned off her restless energy—she was practically bouncing in place, eager for action. What a creature of fire she was.
"Oh, now, padawan—we shall follow the noblest of pirate traditions!"
"...?" They all stared at me in confusion. I had never seen that expression on a Togruta's face before, but the others looked equally bewildered.
"Why, collecting trophies, of course! What did you think I meant?"
Turning to the commanders of the engineering and repair battalions, I pressed on with my plan:
"Here's your task. While we have the chance, begin salvaging and restoring both our equipment and the enemy's. I doubt our supplies will be replenished soon, or that our losses will be made up with fresh, factory-fresh vehicles. I also want everything from the following list—" I paused, thinking it through, then continued:
"Communication gear, all types of shield generators, including those stripped from droideks; droid weapons; intact or repairable droids, especially pit droids DUM-series, astromechs, anything useful for reverse-engineering captured hardware. Don't ignore combat droids either—we might be able to reprogram them. Next: internal and external power cells, spare armor plating, consumables, and spare parts. AAT tanks, MTT transports, droid bikes, surviving artillery systems. Stockpiles of missiles and shells. In short—bring in everything! We'll sort it later. Mobilize every available trooper!"
My little speech sparked some emotion, though only briefly. Soon they regained their composure—apparently, they were already getting used to my antics.